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She was missing for more than eighteen years, held captive by Phillip Craig and Nancy Garrido, and gave birth to two daughters during her imprisonment. On August 26, , Garrido showed up for a meeting with his parole officer; he brought Jaycee, her daughters, and his wife Nancy with him.

Their unusual behavior raised suspicions and an investigation revealed the tent behind the Garridos' home where Jaycee had been living for nearly two decades. A Stolen Life was written by Jaycee herself and covers the period from the time of her abduction in up until the present. In her stark, compelling narrative, she opens up about what she experienced--and offers an extraordinary account of courage and resilience. Also in This Series.

More Like This. More Copies In Prospector. Loading Prospector Copies Table of Contents. Loading Table Of Contents Loading Excerpt LC Subjects. Dugard, Jaycee Lee, -- -- Kidnapping, Kidnapping -- California. Kidnapping victims -- California -- Biography. Sexually abused children -- California -- Biography.

More Details. Similar Series From NoveList. Similar Titles From NoveList. Similar Authors From NoveList. For eighteen years I was a prisoner.

A Stolen Life: A Memoir

I was an object for someone to use and abuse. For eighteen years I was not allowed to speak my own name. I became a mother and was forced to be a sister. For eighteen years I survived an impossible situation. On August 26, , I took my name back. My name is Jaycee Lee Dugard. A Stolen Life is my story—in my own words, in my own way, exactly as I remember it. Reviews Review Policy. Published on. Export option. Learn More. Flag as inappropriate. It syncs automatically with your account and allows you to listen online or offline wherever you are. Laptops and Computers You can listen to audiobooks purchased on Google Play using your computer's web browser.

Listeners also liked. See more. Freedom: My Book of Firsts. Jaycee Dugard. In the follow-up to her 1 bestselling memoir, A Stolen Life, Jaycee Dugard tells the story of her first experiences after years in captivity: the joys that accompanied her newfound freedom and the challenges of adjusting to life on her own.

When Jaycee Dugard was eleven years old, she was abducted from a school bus stop within sight of her home in South Lake Tahoe, California. She was missing for more than eighteen years, held captive by Philip and Nancy Garrido, and gave birth to two daughters during her imprisonment. In A Stolen Life Jaycee told the story of her life from her abduction in through her reappearance in Freedom: My Book of Firsts is about everything that happened next.

Natascha Kampusch. On March 2nd, , ten-year-old Natascha Kampusch was kidnapped, and found herself locked in a house that would be her home for the next eight years. She was starved, beaten, treated as a slave, and forced to work for her deranged captor. But she never forgot who she was, and she never gave up hope of returning to the world.

This is her story. Malala Yousafzai. When I almost died it was just after midday. Malala Yousafzai refused to be silenced and fought for her right to an education. On Tuesday, October 9, , when she was fifteen, she almost paid the ultimate price. I walk in front of him down the small flight of stairs to the downstairs porch. Once again he puts the blanket on me. I have nothing on but the towel and the blanket now. My backpack is gone. My clothes are gone. My shoes are gone. All I have is the tiny butterfly ring on my pinkie that my mom gave me. I have nothing but this stranger and my feet to guide me.

The first thing I feel is the hardness of concrete. Then my feet feel the tickling cold sensation of wet grass. But I can feel the ground and I can hear a train. I think to myself I must remember that there is a train nearby so that when I am found I can tell whoever finds me that I was being held somewhere where I can hear a train. The next thing my feet feel are sticks or some kind of small branches and dirt. Some are pointy and sharp, and I can also feel rocks which hurt my feet.

The rocks pass and now I feel we are back on hard cold concrete. I hear a gate or fence being pushed open and closed behind us. We walk a little further and I hear him fiddling with something that rattles and jingles. It sounds like a lock. I briefly wonder where the other person from the car is. I feel teeny tiny pebbles on my feet.

He tells me to watch my step, that I need to step up to the step in front of me. I make the step up and feel hard carpet on the bottom of my feet now. Not the soft kind but the low-to-the-ground kind. I hear the door shut behind me. He leads me a little further into this new room. Then we enter another door. He takes the blanket off my head, and I see a bunch of blankets on the floor. This looks like that minus the egg-crate mattress. He says I can sleep there. All of a sudden I realize how tired I am. I feel like I can barely stand up.

My whole body is shaking from head to toe. He says he will be back later and he wants me to stay in here and to be quiet. He says to put my hands behind my back. I continue to sit on the floor. He bends down and turns my body so he can put the cuffs on me.

I can feel the cold metal and the soft fur. He helps me to lie down on my side. It is not comfortable to lay on your side with your hands behind your back. He says he will be back later to check on me and bring me something to eat. Then he is gone and I can hear the lock being put back on the door. The tears start again, softly at first then my silent sobs rack my body. I cry myself to sleep alone. Reflection To this day when I close my eyes and think back, I can still hear the sound of that lock. I can hear the squeak of the big, thick soundproof door closing me in.

It gives me a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach when I think of the many long hours I spent in that room all alone. Today I sometimes struggle with feelings of loneliness even when I am not alone. I think this feeling began in that room Phillip put me in. Hours turned into days, days to weeks, and weeks to months and then years. I have spent a lifetime alone, or so it seems to me sometimes. I have gained a lot of freedom this past year.

Being with my family and meeting new friends and reuniting with old has been a dream come true. People and animals keep the loneliness away. I know the feeling of loneliness is just in my head because I am not alone, but it still creeps back at times. I do enjoy time to myself. I love to read and write and spend time with my pets. However, my mind pulls me back to those days of confinement and I feel myself needing to call a friend or make a plan for lunch—anything to not be alone.

I am working through these feelings. I enjoy life so much more now, and I try hard to appreciate each and every day, but deep down I am still afraid it will be taken away. I wonder how much time has passed. I realize that my nightmare is real. My body feels tight and it hurts. My mind wants to leave and be somewhere else. I struggle to gain a sitting position, but the handcuffs make it difficult. I finally manage awkwardly. Maybe I should just try to go back to sleep. My mind is worrying about all the things I was supposed to do that day.

Will I get in trouble? Does anyone know what happened? Where is my mom? Is she still at work? Is she looking for me? Did Carl see this man take me? Is he sending someone to get me? When can I go home? Will this stranger take me home? All these questions go through my mind.


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My head still feels fuzzy. But every time I try to sit up I fall back down. I am so tired. I turn so I am now lying on my back more, which is a little more comfortable. This room is small. My bed back at home would not fit in this room. There is a window above my makeshift bed. There is a towel and blinds covering the window, so I can only see a little bit of light. It looks like moonlight. I wish I could see the moon. We would debate about which moon was better, the crescent or the full. I always voted for the full and she liked the crescent. I wonder what kind of moon is out tonight.

It feels like I have been here forever. Has it been an hour or more? I have no way of telling. The legs are covered in carpet. There is also some strangelooking equipment on tables. They are big and from what I can see from this angle have sliding dials on them. There is also a big pane of glass in the wall that separates this room from the next. The walls are made of some kind of wood.

It looks like a lot of different woods all mixed together to create a panel that has many colors. I want to feel it but instead scrape my knuckle along the side of it. It is very rough and I think I got a splinter in my knuckle. I wonder what will happen to me. I move from side to side. I want to get up and walk around. My legs feel like they are falling asleep and are getting cramps. I lay back down and fall asleep quickly. The towel on the window shows that the sun is up. This room is getting hot when I wake the next morning; at least I think it is morning. There is really no way to know for sure.

How much time has passed? I close my eyes thinking, Will I ever want to open them again? Maybe if I go to sleep, then when I wake up I will be in my own bed and this will be just a bad dream. I close my eyes and give in to oblivion once again. Reflection He did come in that day to check on me. He brought me fast food and a soda. I think he came in at least once a day to bring me something to drink and eat.

I became totally dependent on him for everything. He would take off the handcuffs while he was there so I could eat. He brought in a bucket for me to use as a toilet.

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I hated when he would put the cuffs back on when he left, so eventually I looked forward to seeing him and getting them off. Even though they were covered in soft fur, they still bit into my wrists and made my skin raw. It was hot in that room and I would sweat buckets all day. He said he was working on getting a cooler for the room and that would make it cooler for me. In the meantime he brought in a fan, which helped a lot. I would ask him every day when he was going to let me go home.

He would try to make me smile with all these silly voices he would make. He had an English accent, a Texan accent, and an Australian accent. I feel this was all part of his plan to manipulate me into being compliant with him. He used his powers of persuasion to gain my trust. He became my entire world. I depended on him for food, water, my toilet. He was my only source of amusement. I craved human contact so much by then that I actually looked forward to him coming to see me; it felt like he was bestowing a gift to me … his presence.

He was all I knew for months. I slept a lot during this time. There was nothing else to do and sleeping helped to shut off my broken heart. When I dreamed, I dreamed I could fly. When I would wake, I would have no concept of time.


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  • A little light leaked through the towel on the window, but other than that not much light. I knew it must be night when Phillip would bring my dinner. I am very hungry today. I tell myself I should start counting days because when I am rescued I will need to be able to know how long I have been in this room. I have no way of keeping track of the days. The handcuffs are making my wrists raw and make it hard to use my hands. I have nothing to write on or with. He always brings me a soda, so I think maybe if I can save the paper on the straw, then I can count the days by how many straw papers I have, but he always takes the trash from me and puts on the cuffs and there is no time for paper straw saving.

    I try to keep track of the days by how many times the sun sets, but I fall asleep so easily and sometimes when I wake it is dark already. I can see a little light coming through the window but not much. It is either very early or the sun is setting. When the sun is up and the wind blows, the shadow on the towel that is hanging over the window looks like a person hanging from it. I wanted to see what was hanging outside the window.

    I grabbed a corner of towel with my teeth and wiggled and maneuvered until I could see out of the window as best I could. There was nothing but a medium-sized tree outside the window, nothing hanging from it but its large gangly branches and thick, full-size leaves. But I am so bored. There is nothing to do in this place. I make up stories in my head a lot. I have made up one about a boy that has come from the stars.

    He flies around the world and when he hears a child crying he always come to investigate. I imagine that one day this Star Boy hears me crying because I cry every single day. He thinks my cries are especially heart wrenching, and so he combs the earth in search of me. When he finds me he is able to open the window of my prison and I take his hand and he flies me all around the world. But in the end he always returns me to my prison. I wonder why this is so.

    He enters the door and has a milkshake in his hand. At first I smile at him and want him to think I am doing well. For some reason I think it is important for me to be happy around him. He comes in and crouches down and he says today will be a little different. He says I can have the milkshake and something to eat after we are done. Done with what? All of a sudden I am not hungry anymore. I have this terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach.

    South Lake Tahoe, California

    I want him to go away. I want to go away. I tell him I am not hungry. I just want to go home. He puts the milkshake on a shelf and bends down. He says to take off my towel and lay back on the pallet. He takes off the cuffs and relocks them in front of me instead of behind my back. He then sits down next to me and explains what he is going to do. He stands back up and takes off all his clothes. I do not want him to do that. I start to cry. He takes my handcuffed hands and holds them over my head. I feel so helpless and vulnerable. I feel so alone.

    He lies on top of me.

    Stolen Life: A Memoir

    He is so heavy. He forces my legs open and inserts the hard thing between his legs in me. It feels like I am being stretched apart. I am so small and he is so big. Why is he doing this? Is this normal? I try to scoot away. I try to close my legs. He just takes hold of my legs and shoves them further apart.

    He is too heavy and strong for me. He keeps my hands above my head. I try to think of anything but what is happening to me. Look anywhere except his face. I can feel the tears on my cheeks. He is making strange noises and grunting and sweating all over me. All of a sudden he makes a giant grunt and puts even more of his weight on me as he collapses.

    I cannot do anything. I cannot move. But I am too frightened by his act to say a thing in objection to him. Why are you doing this? What does it mean? Am I dying? Why am I bleeding? He leaves and comes back with a bucket of warm water and a washcloth. He takes the cuffs off and says he will go into the next room and give me some privacy to bathe. I wash up and wrap myself in the clean towel and then sit back down on the pallet on the floor. Milkshake all but forgotten.

    She is still a part of me and at times she comes out and makes me feel small and helpless once again. But something inside that frightened little girl made her a survivor and she has made me the person I am today. That rape turned out to be the first of many frequent encounters.

    I would make up stories in my head to pass the time. It was easy for me in those early days to escape into my dreamworld because I had always been a dreamer and had my head in the clouds a lot. I used to lose all track of time and it helped to keep me from going crazy. I remember thinking that I did not want know his name because I had heard that once you know their name, they can never let you go.

    He revealed it subtly without me realizing it. I remember the heat was getting really bad and I was so thankful to him when he finally installed an airconditioning unit. It seemed he had an answer for everything. I even started enjoying his company. I was locked in a room all by myself for days on end, and he was my only contact with the outside world. All I could do was survive and endure … Hours later as I lay staring at the ceiling, I notice the forgotten milkshake has enticed the ants to come. I regret not drinking it because now I am so hungry my stomach is growling at me.

    There is a long trail of ants that leads from the window to the milkshake. Some have ventured further and now I think they are starting to explore me. Maybe I smell so bad it is attracting them. The ants make my skin itch even worse than my unclean body already does and sometimes they get in my mouth and leave a spicy flavor behind.

    The cuffs make it near impossible to scratch and flick them away. I wish I could get in a nice hot bath and just soak all the grime away. First Kitty He says he is going to get me a kitty. I have been telling him how lonely I am and how much I love cats and all about the ones I used to have. All I do is lie here in this room all day long. I am so bored. One day after he was done having sex with me, he said if I promised to be good he would leave the cuffs off. I thought of many things I could say, but none of them were polite, so I just nodded. After he left and I got cleaned up in the bucket of water he left, I thought about venturing into the other room that is attached to the room that I am in.

    I made sure that I could hear the lock on the outer door click closed before I even dared to move, then I sat up and listened to all the sounds I could hear. Sometimes I can hear him coming even before I hear the lock. I can hear a lot of things that I never noticed before. I listen to the outside a lot.

    I hear the train—the whistle and how it rolls on the tracks. I can hear someone mowing the grass. I can hear birds. And I can hear airplanes overhead. I miss being outside. I am so bored just sitting in here. I even miss brushing my teeth. Oh, what I would give for a toothbrush! I will never forget the time my stepfather Carl grounded me for not brushing my teeth.

    He believed in brushing after every meal. One day my friend Shawnee must have called and he picked up the phone without telling me. She asked him if she and her dad could take me with them to the movies. I guess he said yes, and a little while later she was knocking on the front door. She asked if I was ready to go to the movies; she assumed Carl had told me about the movie and that I should get ready. He said he had checked and the brush was dry. I pleaded with him. I said I would go brush them right now, I said I brushed them when I woke up, I added I really wanted to go and if I had known I would have brushed my teeth.

    But he refused to relent, and I stayed behind with tears running down my face as Shawnee and her dad went off to the movies together. For some reason that day sticks in my head. It would be funny to see the look on his face if I ever told him that. I do try to keep my teeth clean by using my finger to scrape off the plaque. My tongue works for polishing, too.

    I wonder if I will ever be given a toothbrush again. I sleep a lot to pass the time. If I ever get to go home again, the first thing I want to do is hug my mom and never let go. My legs are so cramped here. I miss being able to run outside with my friends. If I ever get to go home, I would love to have my own dog. If I ever get the chance, I will run along the beach with my faithful dog by my side. I will take my dog everywhere with me and never be alone again.

    We will take long hikes together and he will run by my side as I ride my bike. I finally rally my courage and decide to check out the other room. As I creep in, it is very dark. There are no windows that I can see. There is a drum set and microphone stands and big huge speakers throughout the room. Phillip told me that he used to play music in here before I came. Sometimes Phillip brings his guitar in and plays music and sings to me.

    Once I asked and he said he wrote all the songs himself. I wonder. He says he is very good. And someday he will be famous. It is solidly locked. There is no hope of escaping. I have no idea where I am, and Phillip says that the Dobermans are still patrolling the yard. I fear he will find out that I tried to open the door somehow.

    He seems to know everything. I tiptoe very quietly back to my room and look around. I check out the strange equipment now that I can get a closeup view of them. I asked Phillip what they were and he said they were mixers for mixing his music. He said they cost thousands of dollars, but his mother, Pat, bought them for him for his music career.

    A Stolen Life: A Memoir - AbeBooks - Jaycee Dugard:

    That way it could be just the way he wanted it to sound. I had never heard of a mixer before. Before he left today he brought me a very small blackand-white TV. At night it gets much better reception and I watch the late shows. During the day it only gets infomercials and QVC. Very boring, but I seem to like it more and more.

    Sometimes like today I fall asleep to the sound of some lady trying to sell me an opal necklace. I wake up the next morning … at least I think it is still morning. I think I am getting more used to sensing what time it is. Phillip usually comes to see me in the morning and then again during the evening when it gets dark. I can finally go to the bathroom anytime I need to. He has left a bucket for me in the corner covered with a piece of wood. I sometimes look out the window. I have seen the dogs he talks about. Other than that, all I see are fences and weeds.

    I wonder if there are any people nearby. I wonder where I am. I can hear him unlocking the door. He is coming. Now I can hear his footsteps. He walks in and tells me to close my eyes. He says he has a surprise for me. I close my eyes and when I open them I see my new kitty. It looks like it is a couple months old and looks half-grown already. I feel disappointed. I was hoping for a little kitten, but I do not want him to see that I am disappointed. I smile and act happy.

    I am happy I will have company. The kitty meows and he hands it to me. She looks kind of like a dark tiger. With stripes running down her back. I pet her, and he says he is going to go find a box for the litter. Tigger is always happy and never sad. My new Tigger starts to explore her surroundings, and I sit back and watch her. Phillip comes back with a litter box and food and water. Then he says that he has to go and take Nancy to work.

    I have asked him about the other person that was with him when he got me, and he says that it was Nancy, his wife. I wonder if I will get to meet his wife, Nancy. I hope so.