12

The cab of the old truck was a tight fit for three people. Kevin sat in the middle, a solid physical barrier between Muriel and Vernon. It seemed the truck had lost its shock absorbers years ago.

The closer they got to civilization, the more people turned and stared at the rusty exterior of the truck and the dark smoke emanating from its exhaust pipe.

Muriel sank into the vinyl seat, her right hand clenching the broken seam on the side.

Kevin pointed out the windshield. “You need to get on the highway up there. See the big green sign? We want to go south.”

Muriel was tired and dirty. If only she could step out of a luxurious bubble bath and wrap herself in a thick terry-cloth robe still warm from the dryer. Maybe then she could figure everything out.

This whole predicament started with her prayer for someone to mow her lawn. That problem seemed so simple now. At least compared to merging, and seizures, and improper old men. If Stan wouldn’t let her take money out of her account, maybe she could barter something in return for lawn mowing. Howard’s birdcall CDs. Or a homemade cake. No one had time to bake anymore.

Vernon’s truck rolled by the entrance to the highway.

Kevin turned his head to look out the back passenger window. “You missed it! How could you miss the entrance ramp? It was right there! You didn’t even slow down.”

“Don’t worry, sonny. I know where I’m going.”

“You can’t know where you’re going. I haven’t told you where I live. All I’ve done is give you one simple direction. And you missed it!”

Vernon shrugged. “You might be able to tell me where you live. Or not. I don’t know. You’re just a young punk. And something’s wrong with your head. So I’m the one who’s going to tell you where you need to go. And I’m the one who’s going to get you there. Hang on.” Vernon turned the wheel of the truck sharply to the left. The truck screeched around the corner.

Kevin’s solid mass fell against Muriel’s side. He jerked himself upright.

“Where are you taking us?” Muriel’s voice trembled.

Vernon didn’t even grunt an acknowledgement of her question.

It was scary enough to be threatened by a teen with a gun. But this was worse. She had fifteen years of experience with all types of teenagers. But she had never met anyone like Vernon. He drove down dark city streets with no regard for directions, or stop signs, or even red lights.

Factory buildings loomed on either side of the road. Their blackened windows were protected by metal grates, their doors secured with thick chains. People were imprisoned in such buildings, shut in rat-infested basements, held captive for years. The sound-proof rooms would be crawling with spiders and cockroaches. The police had a hard time finding people held in them. Even on TV.

Muriel swallowed hard. “I’d rather go back to your field. I need to be with my friend’s car. She’ll be very angry to know I abandoned it. She might never speak to me again.”

A stop light was turning from green to yellow.

We can jump out. We can make a run for it. Muriel felt for the door handle. Just as she did, the lock on her door went down with a loud click.

Kevin heard it, too, because he stiffened.

Muriel pulled at the lock. Natalie had childproofing like that in her mini-van when Chloe was a toddler. Only a lever on the driver’s side could undo it. It didn’t matter. They couldn’t have exited the truck anyway.

Vernon was going through the now red light, horns blaring around him. His truck took another sharp, fast turn. Once again, centrifugal force threw Muriel and Kevin together. Muriel took advantage of their sudden closeness. Her voice was just a whisper. “Your gun.”

“What?”

“Your gun. Get out your gun. You can make him stop so we can get away.”

Kevin looked out the windows. “Here? You want him to stop here? In this neighborhood? Are you crazy? We’d get mugged.”

“Your gun will protect us, won’t it?”

Vernon’s deep voice boomed. “What are you two yakking about?”

“Nothing.” Kevin’s voice quavered.

Muriel recognized a fear that was not present before.

“Well, then, shut up,” said Vernon.

“Your gun, Kevin. You don’t have to kill him. You don’t even have to shoot him. Just threaten him like you threatened me. Make him do what you say. You’re the one who has the power here.”

Kevin shook his head.

“You threatened me with your gun yesterday. Don’t you remember? You said to move over and start driving. You said if I didn’t, you’d shoot me.” Muriel looked at Kevin, her eyebrows raised, her head shaking ever so slightly.

Kevin shook his head again. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. I know you can. I have faith in you.”

“You don’t understand, Mrs. B.”

“What don’t I understand?”

Kevin pursed his lips together for a long minute before he spoke. “There isn’t any gun. There never was.”

What? If there wasn’t any gun, it was all up to her. Muriel opened her purse and moved the contents. Her lipstick had to be in here somewhere.

“What in the world are you doing?” Vernon turned to glare at Muriel, causing the truck to veer to the right.

Muriel grabbed the door handle. “You just missed that parked car by two inches.” Oh, dear. I sound just like Howard.

“Inches. Feet. It don’t matter. I missed it, didn’t I? I asked what you’re doing. Answer me.”

Muriel’s mind went blank. The only thing she could think of was the truth. She gave Vernon what she hoped would pass for an innocent smile. “I’m looking for my lipstick.”

“Lipstick? What in the…”

“It’s what women do when they get nervous. I thought I’d put on a little lipstick to cheer myself up.”

“Women. Unbelievable.” Vernon concentrated once again on driving. He had exited the section of dark, deserted streets. The street he was now driving down boasted streetlights at more frequent intervals. A drunk was staggering along, a brown bag clasped to his chest. A group of teens dressed in black outfits and sporting pink or green spiked hair congregated on one corner. A bald, middle-aged man walked a pit bull with a toothed metal collar on a thick leather leash.

“Lipstick?” Kevin looked at her as if she had gone mad.

“Lipstick.” Lipstick would make a nice bold statement on the passenger window of the truck. “H-E-L-P.” That’s what she was planning to write. She could scribble it before Vernon realized what she was doing.

Natalie had scribbled with crayons on the living room wall when she was three years old. “No, no, Natalie, my little cherub,” Howard had said. “We can’t use crayons on the walls.” So Natalie had dragged a chair to Muriel’s dresser, taken her lipstick, and used that on the wall instead.

Lipstick wasn’t easy to remove from a painted surface. Muriel bought an expensive product the local hardware store recommended. It didn’t work as well as the clerk promised. A faint tinge of pink remained until Howard, ever patient Howard, repainted the entire room.

Lipstick wouldn’t be easy to get off a truck window either. Vernon would have to stop the truck to try to wipe it off. He wouldn’t be able to reach the passenger window from the driver’s seat. She and Kevin might get a chance to run.

But what would a gang of teens do with a message asking for help? Or a man walking a pit bull? Would they be likely to call 9-1-1? Where was that lipstick anyway? If only she had bought a better purse. She never liked this one, not even when she saw it at the clearance sale. And just days after she’d purchased it, she’d discovered that the clasp opened at the most inappropriate times. No wonder the sign above the display read “All sales final.” Maybe she left the lipstick in one of the fields. She dug again then gave up and snapped her purse shut with a decided click.

The neighborhood they were now driving through was well lit. The two-lane road had changed to four driving lanes with a fifth middle lane for cars turning left. A shoe store took up most of the block on the right, a jewelry store and a fashion store were across the street. All three were barricaded behind metal grates, but the windows displayed good quality merchandise. Surely decent folks frequented the neighborhood. If Vernon wanted to do something terrible to them, he would have stopped the truck back in the area of blackened factories.

“Kevin and I could just get out here. I’m sure you have other things to do. Don’t your dogs need you at home?” Muriel’s voice quavered.

Vernon looked at her as if she were speaking an incomprehensible language. Then he turned the wheel of the truck sharply to the right and pressed the gas pedal down hard, ignoring the sign that said to stop before turning on a red light.

Around the corner, a hospital loomed like a fortress. Flashing red arrows signaled the entrance for the emergency room. Vernon made a sharp left turn into the parking lot, right in front of an oncoming minivan. He maneuvered around solid pillars as if he were practicing figure eights and came to rest in front of the sliding double doors. “Out,” he said.

“You’re just leaving us here?” Muriel’s voice trembled.

“You said your grandson had a seizure, didn’t you? If that’s true, this is where he needs to be. And if it’s not true, then the heck with you both. Troublemakers. That’s all you’ve been. Besides, I need to get back to my dogs. Unless you want to come back with me, pretty lady. Just the two of us? Help take care of my dogs?” Vernon raised his eyebrows and winked. His hand reached to the controls on his door.

Muriel felt for the handle of her door just as the click of the locks sounded.

Kevin pushed against her in an effort to get out.

She opened the door of the truck and stepped down. Oh, my. The step from the truck was high off the ground. Her right ankle turned. She fell, gasping in pain, her eyes widening.

Kevin had one foot out the door and no place to put it. “Get out of the way, Mrs. B, before this crazy dude changes his mind.”

“Kevin. I… I can’t. My ankle. I can’t move.”

“You have to move. You can’t leave me with this guy.”

Using her two hands and her good left foot, Muriel pulled herself far enough away from the truck to give Kevin some room.

Kevin jumped out and slammed the door shut. Vernon took off, squealing through the pillars again, making a left turn at the no left turn sign, then disappearing into the night. Dark exhaust from the truck lingered behind.

An orderly hurried over to Muriel. “Get a stretcher. This woman needs medical attention.”

“No! I don’t need help. Not me. It’s Kevin who needs help. I just want to go home.”

“She’s delirious, too,” the orderly yelled. “There, there, ma’am. You’re in safe hands now. There’s nothing to worry about. You’ll be well taken care of.”

“But I don’t need to be here.” Muriel turned to Kevin. “We’ll just call someone, Kevin. Won’t we? Your parents will come get you. I’m sure they will. Could they give me a ride home, too?”

Kevin shook his head vehemently. “I’m not calling my parents. No way. My dad’s the one I’m trying to get away from. Remember? All I have to do is sneak back home and get my pills. Once I start taking my pills again, I’ll be fine.”

“But Kevin. I don’t want to be in a hospital. Old people get pneumonia in hospitals. Then they die. I can’t die yet. I haven’t accomplished anything. I haven’t seen my great-grandchild. Please don’t leave me here all by myself.”

The orderly was peering at them now, his face just inches from Muriel’s, his eyes alternating between her face and Kevin’s. “Why, you’re the people who were all over the evening news. You, you’re the carjacker. And you, you’re the old lady who was kidnapped. Security!”