Jameson Crawford, known simply as Jaime, had been driving trucks for fifteen years and knew every highway from Atlanta to Savannah. But tonight, a delivery deadline was tight, and an overturned semi had Interstate 16 backed up for miles. Desperate for a shortcut, Jaime veered his massive 18-wheeler onto an abandoned, barely maintained logging road through Georgia’s dense backwoods. It was 2:00 a.m. on a velvet-dark Tuesday. The world felt empty, broken only by the rumble of his engine.

Then, he almost missed her.

A flash of pale skin in his peripheral vision made Jaime hit the brakes. The truck shrieked to a stop. Staring into the oppressive darkness, he grabbed his flashlight and climbed out. His light cut through the forest until it landed on a sight that froze his blood: a woman chained to a massive oak tree twenty yards off the road.

She was terrifyingly still. Her blonde hair was matted, her white dress torn and filthy. Her bare feet were bleeding. For a horrible moment, Jaime thought she was dead. But then, she raised her head. Their eyes met, and terror transformed into desperate hope.

“Hey. Hey. It’s okay. I’m here to help,” Jaime shouted, running toward her.

Up close, she was worse. Bruised, dehydrated, with deep grooves cut into her wrists by the heavy, industrial-grade chains. “Please,” she rasped, “Please help me. He’s coming back.”

The chains were padlocked, unbreakable without tools. “Who did this to you?” Jaime demanded.

“My ex-husband, Clay Pierce.”

Jaime sprinted back to his cab, grabbed his toolbox and a bottle of water, his hands shaking. The bolt cutters weren’t strong enough, but years of roadside repairs had taught him resourcefulness. Working frantically at the lock mechanism, sweat pouring down his face, he finally heard a metallic snap. The chains fell away, and the woman collapsed.

Jaime caught her before she hit the ground. “I got you. You’re safe now.”

She clung to him, sobbing. “Thank you. I thought I was going to die here. I’ve been here since Sunday.” She was Delaney Pierce, dangerously underweight and severely hurt. Jaime lifted her, cradling her against his chest. As he carried her back to the truck, he was acutely aware of the risk, a Black man appearing out of the darkness, yet Delaney didn’t resist. She buried her face in his shoulder, holding onto him like he was the only solid thing left.

 The Monster and the Protector

Jaime set Delaney gently in the passenger seat and immediately called for emergency assistance on his CB radio. He gave his statement to Detective Warren Hayes at Mercy Regional Hospital.

“You’re sure she said her ex-husband did this? Clay Pierce?” Hayes asked, taking careful notes.

“That’s what she told me. She was terrified he’d come back for her.”

Hayes looked grim. “Pierce. Wealthy family, auto dealerships. If it’s the same guy, this just got complicated. Men like Clay Pierce have expensive lawyers and political connections.”

Delaney’s full horror story emerged over the next two days. Clay, unable to accept their divorce, had kidnapped her at gunpoint, drugged her, and chained her to the tree as a calculated act of humiliation and slow murder. He’d even returned once, gloating that no one would believe the word of a “crazy ex-wife” over a “respected businessman.”

“But he didn’t count on Jaime,” her best friend, V, interjected.

The doctor confirmed Delaney was severely malnourished and infected, but she would live. When Jaime visited her, she reached for his hand. “Three days I was chained to that tree… I prayed. I begged God to send help. And he sent you.”

When a social worker suggested a shelter, Jaime cut in. “My mother has a big house in Macon. Extra bedrooms. Delaney can stay there until Clay’s arrested.”

“Mr. Crawford,” the social worker hesitated. “That’s generous. But… I’m black and she’s white and people will talk.”