Thursday
I craned my neck trying to watch where they were headed, but it was getting pretty dark now, and the road was full of traffic. I couldn’t tell which pair of taillights belonged to the car that held my daughter. Ten seconds, and I’d already lost her.
Panic washed over me, bringing with it a deep sense of despair, so deep I couldn’t find bottom. Had this really just happened? I leaned my head against the steering wheel, seemingly paralyzed. Frigid air whistled through the car. I wanted to turn on the heat, but I couldn’t; the bastards had taken my keys. Which also included my house key, the key to Rachel’s apartment, and the key to Luke’s place. I was stuck.
Luke. I had to call Luke. He’d know what to do. Thankfully, my bag was still crammed into the space between the front seats—they’d known exactly what they wanted when they overpowered us, and it wasn’t money. I frantically fished out my cell, trying to avoid the bits of glass that were sprayed across the seats, and snapped it on. My location didn’t matter now; they’d obviously known where I was since we left the house. How? Did Rachel leave her cell on by mistake? No. She’d handed it over to Luke. Was my cell somehow emitting signals? No. I’d just turned it on. I’d have to figure it out later; I couldn’t concentrate. My hands shook as I punched in Luke’s cell.
My call went to voice mail. I slumped in defeat. He’d turned his cell off. He’d said he was going to. He was obviously still on the road, still thinking we were behind him. How could my world be ripped apart so quickly?
“Luke,” I said shakily, “call me right away. Rachel was kidnapped on 94. I—I don’t know what to do!”
I disconnected, my gut a tight knot. The assholes had to be in Wisconsin by now. Was that where they were headed? Or would they turn around on a back road and race back to Illinois? My paralysis extended to my mental faculties. I didn’t know what to do, whom to call.
The police. Of course. But which force? My village? No. It wasn’t their jurisdiction. Jimmy Saclarides in Lake Geneva? Did I even have his number? I had to call someone. Doing nothing would let them get farther away. Then I realized in my half-crazy thought process that it didn’t matter. Call 911.
A woman’s voice answered. “What’s your emergency?”
“My daughter has been kidnapped!” I shouted. “On Interstate 94. Please help me!”
The woman’s voice was calm. Even soothing. “What’s your location, sweetheart?”
“I just told you!” I screamed. How stupid was she?
“Where on 94 are you, honey?” Still calm. Rational.
“I don’t know,” I sobbed. I gazed around. Where the hell was I? Wait. I did know. “A couple of miles before the state line and the turnoff to Lake Geneva. South of Route 50. In Illinois.”
“Good girl. Wait there. Help is on the way.”
Three minutes passed. I know because I called Luke every few seconds, hung up, checked the time. I wondered whether to get out of the car, but with the onset of night, the temperature dropped, and even with the windows down, it was still warmer inside than out. I recalled there might be a blanket in the trunk, but I didn’t have a key to open it. Then I remembered the lever on the side of my seat that opened the trunk automatically. Clearly, my brain was sluggish. I pulled the lever, got out, and found the blanket. I draped it around my shoulders and climbed back into the car. Traffic was still slow, but again, no one stopped. Two more interminable minutes passed. The warp speed of the kidnapping had evaporated; now time moved in ultra-slow motion.
Night had fallen. I was alone on the highway, and my Rachel, my heart, was gone. If I didn’t have Rachel, I had nothing. My eyes grew wet. Tears rolled down my cheeks, building to a steady stream. Along with them came wracking sobs. I buried my face in my hands. I didn’t even try to stop.