Wanted (6 page)

“I done told them a million times before—a last-minute truck grab ain’t a good idea!”

“Hey…” I tried to pull him from his raving, but I don’t think he paid any attention. In a way it was cute, almost like a toddler having a tantrum. And under a different set of circumstances, I might have laughed, but I was fed-up and annoyed with this entire business. Frankly, the last thing I wanted to do was listen to him harp on. “Hey!”

Finally, he looked at me with wide eyes. It was as though he had forgotten I was in the room.

I scowled so hard I hoped he could feel it. “Maybe you could quit complaining for a minute and forget that you’re not the only one here having a bad day.” I pointed to the bungees still attached to my legs. “Just imagine what my Dad is going through right now.”

At that my voice trailed off. I didn’t want to think about Dad and the horrors that were probably going through his mind. With any luck, he wasn’t being as imaginative as I had been in regard to my welfare. I always thought I got my creativity from Mom. I silently prayed that for the sake of Dad’s sanity, I was right.

“What ‘bout your Ma?” The sound of his voice interrupted my thoughts. I noticed his tone was back to normal, his accent much more diluted.

The mention of my Mom upset me without explanation. Maybe it was the many implications of death throughout the last few hours or just my constant attempts to avoid thinking about how much I missed her. Whatever it was made me angry enough to pick up the bottle cap from the floor and chuck it at him. Naturally it was off by about a foot and a half and bounced off the wall instead—not that it would have done any damage, anyway.

“She’s dead—but thanks for bringing up happy memories.” I sulked helplessly and pulled my knees up as high to my chest as I could get them with tied legs. I remembered my Mom’s passionate dislike of sarcasm and her frequent reminders of it being ‘the lowest form of humor…yada, yada, yada.’ I heard his low chuckle erupt from across the room.

“Are you…laughing?” I mentioned my dead Mother and this person was laughing? I wanted to claw his eyes out. Since that wasn’t an option, I reached around me for something else to throw, but the empty water bottles were just out of reach.

“What were you trying to hit?” His laughter grew louder, bubbling in the room around us and filling the kitchenette once again. It even overpowered the sound of the tools from below us until they shut off altogether.

I huffed and ground my teeth together. “You.”

His laughter increased until he actually had to clutch his stomach to keep from falling over.

I crossed my arms over my chest as best as I could, feeling uncomfortable by both his mocking and the fact that I very much enjoyed the sound of his laughter. It was a rich, fluid sound that was evenly tuned and entirely pleasant to my senses. It occurred to me that I was warped and should be deeply offended, but in reality I was only slightly cross.

“Shut up,” I demanded.

He managed to get ahold of himself long enough to stand up and open the solitary window. It protested with a loud crack and a piece of wood split from the panel. I was glad I hadn’t bothered with it.

His laugh had now devolved into a rumbling chuckle that came in with a warm breeze.

“Now I get that saying ‘throw like a girl.’” His face broke into a grin at my shocked expression. My last piece of patience had evaporated. And while I still wasn’t as disgusted as I should have been, I was no longer willing to shield my anger.

“Who do you think you are?” I spat the words out like sour milk. “You have no right to insult people, let alone kidnap them and worry their parents to death!”

He closed the distance between us and scrunched down, putting his weight on his heels. “I told you.”

“Excuse me?”

“I ain’t a nice guy.”

I smiled and lunged at him, putting as much weight as I could on my confined legs. While it wasn’t going to do any good, it took him by surprise enough to knock him on his backside. He put out his hands to steady himself.

“That might be true.” In all my nervousness, I still tried to laugh. “But you seem harmless enough.”

“You’re vicious.” He sat back down.

I attempted to laugh again. “I try.”

He opened his mouth to say something else but was interrupted by the sound of his name being called in the distance. The noise startled us both, but at least he seemed to understand the source. I could hear firecrackers going off one by one and the voices of the guys shouting loud profanities all at once.

Without explanation, he got up and walked away. Although it grossed me out, my curiosity was insufferable after about twenty seconds, so I lowered my head to the dirt-caked floor, just touching my ear to the surface. I heard heavy footsteps on the stairs, and the sound of doors slamming before I heard Charlie’s voice again. His voice was too muffled to make out the exact words, but knowing he was close-by gave me a strange sort of comfort. After a couple of seconds, I heard Polo cackling with laughter.

I sat up and tried to listen for more sounds. From the urgency in the voices, I gathered that the men were downstairs doing something that was of relative value. More importantly however, it didn’t sound like it concerned me and I had a unique opportunity to evaluate my physical situation. Since I was alone, I could attempt escape and try to search for help. It was risky, but despite the agreement made, I had no intention of staying in that house for a moment longer than I possibly had to. If there was even the slightest chance I could be home by tonight, then I was going to take it.

With more freedom for my hands, I worked my fingers against the bungees, pulling to get the knots free. It didn’t accomplish much, as my fingers were much too soft against the frayed material, and it stung painfully on both my calves and fingers when I tried to break it. I looked around but saw nothing remotely sharp enough that would slice through. I knew I had nothing in my bag that would be helpful, and I didn’t have to guess if these guys had any useful cutlery in this room as they definitely didn’t appear to be the cooking type.

So I tugged and pried at the heavy knots. In a way it was kind of funny. Robbie or Dad would have probably gotten through this in about a minute. While I could quote Shakespeare, tell you the difference between a Rembrandt and Caravaggio, and speak a little Chinese (I emphasize the word ‘little’), I had no basic knowledge of any survival skills that had the potential to literally save my life at this moment in time.

“Ain’t no point in that.” I had been so distracted by my efforts I had forgotten to listen for anyone coming. At first the realization that I was no longer alone frightened me, but when I looked to the doorway and saw Charlie there, completely covered in soot and ash, I actually felt relieved.

I pinched my nose shut. “What is that terrible smell?” He came over towards me and shooed my hands away from the bungees, answering my question at the same time. I struggled against him, but not being particularly eager to get him angry, I gave up.

“Were you rolling in sulfur?”

He sighed. “No.” His voice was tight.

I started to laugh at the baked-in flakes of ash and something else in his hair. It reminded me of the many years Robbie dressed as a hobo for Halloween because he didn’t want to put any effort into a costume.

Despite everything else, I felt better that he was no longer wearing the holster with the guns. I wondered where they were, but as long as they weren’t near me, I decided it didn’t much matter. Seeing him ridiculously filthy also helped ease my apprehension, which may explain why I reached my hand out to shake the flakes of dirt from his head. I understood now that they were mostly rust and some kind of powder. But it wasn’t this that made me pause; it was my surprise at how soft the texture of his hair really was and how much I enjoyed the feel of it.

He was equally surprised, shooting his head up from securing my bonds to stare his eyes into mine. How quickly his chest seemed to rise and fall. I was beginning to wonder if I made him nervous.

“What were you doing down there?” I pulled my hand away from him like he was a lit flame. He gulped and then shook his head, blinking several times. It was almost as though he were waking from a deep dream.

“Better if you don’t know.” His voice was quiet, sleepy even.

“You smell really bad.”

“I know.”

“I have to use the bathroom.”

“Okay.”

“And my foot is asleep.”

“Okay.”

It amazed me the way he took considerable care not to touch me while he untied the binds around my legs. Unlike when he originally tied my wrists, he took his time, his fingers gingerly working at the bungee cord so he wouldn’t have to make physical contact with me. This couldn’t have been easy for him. I was so excited at the prospect of standing up that I persistently tapped the toes on the foot that was still awake. The second I was free, I sprung up like a jack-in-the-box, completely forgetting about my useless foot and nearly falling over from trying to balance myself. Before my reflexes could even respond, Charlie effortlessly caught me by my elbows and pulled me back to standing.

I laughed. “Thanks. I guess no one could ever accuse me of being graceful.”

He smiled briefly, but then his face went blank and his fists balled at his sides.

“Just up the steps.” He pointed to the door of the kitchenette and then added for good measure, “Don’t do nothin’ stupid.”

“Me? Stupid? Only at rest stops in the middle of the night.”

Although he was walking behind me, I could see him smile out of the corner of my eye.

When I stepped out of the makeshift bathroom, he was waiting for me across the hall with a lit cigarette and a newspaper. The crude bathroom was only a half-bath with a large space where a tub had probably once been next to a filthy sink and toilet. I did find some soap, which was slightly shocking, considering the proprietors of the house. Simply washing my face and hands refreshed me considerably, but it had also brought back some of my more reliable senses. As I stared at Charlie with the newspaper in hand, it occurred to me that I had an opportunity to extract some information.

“Does it, um, say anything in there, um, you know?”

I crossed my arms over myself and tried to focus on the pattern of fading daises from the drooping wallpaper. I just hoped my obvious inquiry wouldn’t anger him somehow and lead to the retraction of our deal.

Charlie looked up at me with a hint of a smile. Through the smog his cigarette created, I could see the dark glimmering in his eyes again. I hugged myself tighter.

“What? ‘Bout you?” he teased.

I shifted my weight to my other hip and tried to hold his stare. “About anything of interest.”

His smile grew as he handed the newspaper to me very slowly and deliberately—even maintaining his grasp when I had it in my hand.

“Only interesting thing is on the front.” His eyes had this primitive refusal to leave mine, and I no longer had to force myself to keep his stare. On the contrary, I had difficulty looking away from his dark gaze. Now that his anger was gone, the colors in his eyes were shining, and the beauty was downright spellbinding. I wanted to shake my head and tell myself I was being much too literal. Yet he was content to keep me hypnotized, controlled with his stare. Finally, his eyes relinquished their hypnotic grip and he stood back. For this, I was both equally disappointed and relieved—a combination I could not totally absorb.

My fingers had to comb through the entire newspaper because it wasn’t folded properly. I was glad it was current, but felt like I was enduring a scavenger hunt that was designed for someone far more patient than myself.

Finally, my frustration came to an end when I found the front page.

“Teenager Kidnapped from Rest Stop”

New York, NY—
Adeline Battes, 17, was kidnapped last night from a rest stop just outside of Syracuse, New York on the return journey from Fort Drum, where her brother Pvt. Robert Bates prepares for his second deployment to Iraq. According to local reports, Michael Battes, Adeline’s father, contacted New York State police when he could not locate his daughter and cellular contact with her failed.

Additional details are coming in, but eyewitness testimony from rest stop employees claim a young woman fitting the description of Ms. Battes was seen leaving a rest stop exit approximately eighty yards from where her destroyed cellular telephone was discovered. Several hours later the body of a truck driver, whose name is not being released at this time, was found in the empty cab of his vehicle. At this time police are unsure if the incidents are related…

I sunk to the floor and pushed the paper as far away from me as possible. Nausea ran through my stomach, and I estimated that if I read anymore, considered reading more, or even smelled the printer’s ink, I would be sick. Kidnappings, murders, and any other crime more deviant than going over the speed limit was something I had only ever read about or seen in movies. But here it was, right in the middle of my own little world. This wasn’t the sort of thing I was meant to touch during my lifetime.

“They’re really playing up the cancer thing.”

I had never expected him to be so still next to me, nor the silence so comfortable.

“What?” My voice didn’t sound like my own. It was tired and worn, flat, like the air had been taken out.

“The other papers keep bringing up how your Ma died and saying that your brother is a war hero—”

I cut him off with my laugh. “Robbie is no war hero. He’s just…” I struggled for the right word, “Robbie.”

He reached out a hand to me, which I stared at before accepting. How strange that his hands had gotten me into this mess and now they were offering me assistance. Once I was back on my feet, I followed him to the kitchenette. It occurred to me to try and look for some means of escape, but all the remaining windows had been boarded up, and the short hallway back to the kitchenette revealed nothing but the smallest shards of broken glass in an array of colors. I mused that if the sun were around to touch them at a good angle, it might look like a stained window. I paused and looked down at my bare feet. I had been avoiding the fragments of glass, garbage, and anything else that I thought might be hazardous to my feet, but now I felt a sharp little pain pricking at my heel. I hopped up on one foot and revealed the culprit to be a shard of brown glass.

I pulled out the glass, chose not to comment about the lack of housekeeping, and continued to limp behind him.