Saving Bobbi

Pam Louwagie: Opening the door, he paused to let his eyes adjust from the bright light of the summer day outside before he could see her.

The girl was huddled with a friend on a grimy mattress on the floor, lolling in a methamphetamine haze.

Instruments of modern-day bondage lay scattered about: A drug pipe keeping her in a meth-induced stupor, willing to do almost anything for the next high. A prepaid credit card. Three cellphones, tethering the girls to pimps and johns 24/7.

Dressed up in white lingerie and thick eye shadow, Bobbi Larson was just 17 and a long way from home.

"What's going on?" she yelled when she heard people in the hall of the Minneapolis bungalow.

Then a man about her dad's a…