8

I held my swollen stomach with one hand and pulled myself across the seat. I let go of my babies and turned the key in the ignition. Before I even got behind the wheel, Brown’s shocked face morphed to anger. My bulging belly wouldn’t let me fit, but I would not be deterred. I pushed on the gas with my left foot and the car lunged forward.

Brown jumped out of the way, sprinted to the driver side, grabbed the open door and propelled himself into the car headfirst. He shifted the car into park, switched off the engine, then yanked the keys out and stuffed them into his pocket.

Epic fail.

What was I thinking? I’d put my babies in danger with each attempt to escape. I’d have to see how this played out. I’d surely broken his trust now.

Rage glowed on his red face, veins protruding from his neck and temples. Without a word he grabbed my arm.

“Please, you’re hurting me!” I swiveled, drawing my legs up as far as I could on the seat so that when he pulled me out, I slid on my back. I didn’t want my stomach scraped across that steering wheel. As soon as I was out of the car, he kicked the door shut. He pulled me behind. Each stumbling step I took caused more pressure below my babies.

He plunged a shaky hand into his slacks pocket and retrieved his keys again. His fingers fumbled until he found the one he wanted and he shoved it into the front door lock.

I tripped over the threshold as he yanked me into a dark room.

He threw me onto a dingy, dark colored couch. Stale cigarette smoke permeated the atmosphere. Brown locked the front door and then sat in a tattered recliner perpendicular to the couch. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands. Was he trying to calm himself or fueling his angry thoughts?

I surveyed the room. Sparse furniture, just a square wooden table and two chairs a few feet from the couch. Stove, refrigerator, and sink along the north wall, heavily draped windows on the east side. Two doors, probably bedroom and bathroom lined up on the west side. No pictures on the wall. I craned my neck to look back at the entrance. Just the front door and another, larger draped window.

He raised his head and looked at me. “I guess you must be starving by now. How about a bowl of chili?”

Seriously? Drag me into this secluded place where no one can find me and then say “how about a bowl of chili?” Calm down. Keep your head. I took a deep breath. “I’m not hungry, but it’s the babies I’m concerned about. This whole thing’s not good for them. Besides, the longer I’m gone, the more trouble you’ll be in.”

“Well, then. Let’s feed those babies, have our little talk, and then you’ll be on your way.” He stood and walked to the kitchen area.

“Chili might be a little hard on my system at this point.” I hadn’t been able to eat much lately. I certainly didn’t want to get sick in this situation.

“It’s beef stew, then.” He opened the cabinet above the sink, revealing rows of canned food.

“Please, and some water.” Keep thinking, keep thinking. Even if I could make it to the bathroom or bedroom, I didn’t know if there was a lock on the door, or whether I could get out of the window.

“Can I go to the bathroom, please?”

It’s over there.” He motioned toward the bathroom door. He faced away as he twisted a can opener around a stew can.

Pushing off the couch, I made my way across the room. I expected him to say something like “don’t try anything funny.”

Silence.

Why should he say anything? No lock on the bathroom door. One small window near the ceiling, opened an inch. No way out. In everything give thanks, for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you. Giving thanks might quell my growing panic. I could be thankful that I was not in labor. I was alive, the children were alive. Certainly, Scott was looking for me. Probably he had the police on it as well. My heavenly Father knew where I was. Thank you, Father.

Music. I heard piano playing and the faint strains of Joy to the World. Was Brown listening to music on the radio? No, it was coming from outside, but distant. Someone must live near. Hope blossomed in my heart.

“You gonna stay in there all day?” Brown knocked on the bathroom door.

“Almost done.” Brown would certainly know about a neighbor. If there was help nearby, I didn’t want him to be aware that I knew it. I decided to keep my ears open, physically and spiritually.

The warming stew masked the rank smell of the cabin. Another reason to be thankful. My children needed nourishment in a big way. I walked to the little table and took a chair. The hard wooden seat caused pain in my lower back. “I’m sorry, I can’t sit here. Can I have my bowl on the couch?” Had I just said, “I’m sorry,” to a kidnapper? I needed to gain his trust.

“All right. I’ll bring it.” He waited for me to lumber back to the couch and then handed me the hot stew in a large cup. He walked back to the kitchen area for a spoon and bottled water and then brought them to me. He sat at the table and watched me eat. Awkward.

“You’re not eating?” I had to keep my voice sounding normal.

His moods seem to mirror mine, unless he got angry.

“No, you go ahead. There’s more if you want it.” He lightly tapped his knuckles on the table, his brow pensive. Was he ready to talk?

“So let’s have that conversation,” I said, between spoonfuls. I tried not to sound desperate. Would he let me go after this discussion?

“After you eat.” He wiped his trembling hands on his jeans.

Perhaps he wanted to apologize for his treatment of me and my mother. This was a load of trouble for something like that. Realization dawned on me. He thought I had money. He must have learned about the fire at Pinewood Manor. Maybe he saw the news reports about the Barkley house. I only had a living allowance from Gran. The insurance money was tied up in the Barkley house and the scholarship. He would be angry if I told him I didn’t have any money. I debated whether I should pretend I’d give him what he wanted or tell the truth. Either way, he would go to jail. He probably had no plans to let me go. My mind refused to consider what he would do to us.

“So how much did you get?” He put his cup down on the floor between his feet. He leaned toward me as though his life depended on it.

“What do you mean?” I had to buy time.

“I thought you wanted to get out of here. Don’t play dumb with me. I know the old lady left you that ancient mausoleum. How much did you get?”

“Is that what this is about? You want Gran’s money?” I stared at those hands that had bruised my arms. They shook now. “I’m not sure, exactly,” I whispered.

He stood, his fists balled. His face reddened, the veins flared at his temples.

Fear weakened me. A hard contraction rocked my senses. I puffed short breaths, holding my stomach with both hands. I never took my eyes from the angry man. Why didn’t the terror that creased my face have any effect on him? I felt a little foot or elbow under my hand. Enough was enough. My children were in danger. “If you don’t want to deliver these babies you’d better get me out of here.”

My anger surprised him. He stumbled a few steps back and tripped into his chair.

“I mean it. Kidnapping is one thing, but if anything happens to these babies, you’ll never get out of prison.” The contraction subsided. I took a deep breath and attempted to sit erect.

He dropped his head into his hands, his whole body shaking with broken sobbing.

“So, you need money, that’s it, isn’t it?”

“Not me, my daughter needs it. She’s sick. She’ll die without some expensive treatment. My insurance won’t cover it, and I don’t have any more.” He slid his hands over the top of his head, interlacing his white knuckles.

A daughter? One he cared enough about to put my life, my children and his own freedom in danger? Cast an unloved daughter aside, but then ask her for money to help the one worthy of his love?

“You’re lying.” My senses spiraled to white hot anger. My chest heaved rapidly. The babies went still as my blood pressure rose.

“It’s true.” He lifted his head but did not meet my eyes. He sat silent for a few moments.

I refused to believe him. I was worthless, expendable and disregarded by him most of my life. I wanted Scott to appear. I wanted my life back, the one where I’d been healed of my father’s rejection. This was too much.

“She’s,”—his desperate gaze locked with mine—“dying.”

A more intense pain gripped my lower back and abdomen. My priorities jumped front and center. I should have been counting the minutes since the last pain. I’d never abandon my children, and this pitiable little man would not rob them of their life.

“Look, I got a quarter of a million, which is tied up in a college scholarship and a missionary retreat. There isn’t enough to help you. Now take me to the hospital. At this point you’ve kidnapped me. Save yourself from murder charges, which is what it will be if we don’t make it.” I tried to stand, but the contraction overtook me.

“Not to help me. For Brenna.”

I threw my head back and wailed with intense pain. My breathing exercises from class were no match against the pain and panic. I opened my eyes.

He stood, wringing his hands.

“These babies are your grandchildren, doesn’t that matter?”

A short, hoarse yelp escaped his lips. He dropped to his knees. He mumbled and shook his head, eyes wild. “More to fail, more to ruin, all my fault. No, no, no, no.” He mumbled more, becoming incoherent.

I’d never seen anyone lose their mind, but I was certain Brown was losing his. I shouldn’t have spoken so harshly. If I didn’t do something quick to calm him, I’d be delivering alone, with a blabbering psychopath present. “I bet I can get you what you need. Sure, Gran left me some money in investments. I’ll get it for you. Just get me to the hospital and I’ll give it all to you, Daddy.” Again I was begging him for something he wouldn’t give me. He wouldn’t give love to me as a child, and now he refused to give me my life, and my babies’.

“Now who’s lying?” He whispered. He stood to his feet, leaning over me.

“No, I’ll get you the money. As much as you need. I will. Please. Just take me to the hospital. I’ll do all I can to help Brenna.”

“Not that. You called me ‘Daddy.’ You don’t mean it.” His weak voice had an eerie lilt.

Many years of unresolved hurt hung suspended in the air. But not mine.

His tortured eyes sank into a blackness that almost drew pity from me. I’d been healed by my heavenly Father. His guilt seemed to paralyze him in that moment. If he did have a daughter, what did I care? I was about to lose my own.

He moved as if he’d reach for my hand, then stopped. “No, no, no. More to fail. I don’t know how, I never did.”

I managed to stand, and took a few steps toward him. “It’s all right. I can help you.”

He stumbled toward the bathroom door, stopped mumbling, and turned to face me. He panted as if he’d been running.

I followed him. “Come on. Let’s go to the bank right now.”

“I’m sorry, Bailey. Daddy’s sorry. Tell Brenna Daddy’s sorry.” He opened the bathroom door and walked inside. He closed the door behind him.

A contraction threw me down, my back against the bathroom door.

The gunshot sent vibrations against the door and echoed through the cabin.

Water rushed between my legs.

Silence, and then blackness.