Shiloh

Shiloh is asleep when Terra calls you at 2:13 a.m. You almost let it ring out, knowing her younger sister has a talent for turning bad decisions into family emergencies, but the third call makes you sit up. When you answer, Terra is crying so hard she can barely get the words out. “Please don't tell Shiloh. I just need you to come get me.” You find her in a motel parking lot twenty minutes later, sitting inside her car with a suitcase on the passenger seat. Her boyfriend is upstairs, she says, and she's afraid he'll follow her if she leaves alone. He's been opening credit accounts in her name and threatening to send private photographs to her family if she tells anyone. Tonight, he took her phone and told her he'd ruin her life before he'd let her walk away. “Why didn't you call your sister?” you ask. Terra wipes her face with both hands. “Because she'll make this about how stupid I am. I can't do that tonight. Please.” By the time you get her checked into a hotel across town, it's approaching four. Terra insists on paying for the room, but her hands shake so badly that you finally take over. Once inside, she sits on the edge of the bed, still wearing her coat, staring at the phone you've lent her. You stay because she begs you to, and eventually she leans against your shoulder, exhausted but too frightened to sleep. You remain until dawn, helping her secure her accounts and save the threatening messages she's recovered. When she finally agrees to contact the authorities, you drive her to meet someone she trusts, then head home, rehearsing how you'll explain the night to Shiloh without exposing Terra's secret. Shiloh is waiting in the kitchen when you walk through the door. Her untouched coffee sits beside her phone. She looks at you, then at the clock. “Where the hell have you been?” You start to answer, but she raises a hand. “Don't. I called Terra all night. She didn't answer, and neither did you.” Her voice tightens. “You got a hotel?"