Chapter 13

The humming sound beneath Johnny Buckley suddenly changed. The car was slowing down. His body rocked in the trunk as they drove over a series of bumps. He believed they were pulling off the highway, maybe onto a dirt road.

The car came to a halt. The engine stopped, too. He heard one of the car doors open. Maybe it was two. He couldn’t tell. And then there was silence. Complete and total silence.

He began to take slow breaths—in and out—the way his mom had said they did in her yoga class. She told him doing that would make him calm. It had worked when she took him to the dentist. It was helping, but he was still so afraid.

Please, please don’t leave me here, all alone.

“Hello?” he cried out. “Is anyone there?”

More silence. What if no one ever came for him? What if he was never seen again and died out here by himself?

“Can anyone hear me?” His voice was louder this time, but, still, no one answered.

He pounded his palms against the top of the car trunk. “Help! Help! Someone please help me!” He yelled as loud as he could.

The trunk popped open, and he screamed from fright. A three-inch crack of light appeared between the hood and the trunk. Someone was standing behind the car. A gray T-shirt, untucked except for the spot where it hitched up over the top of a gun tucked inside the man’s waistband. That’s all Johnny could make out other than the treetops and sky around them.

“See, that’s why we needed to pull over in the middle of nowhere.” The man’s voice was deep. He sounded casual, like there was nothing weird about making Johnny ride in the trunk or the weapon only inches away from Johnny’s head. “Had to see whether you were going to act up or not.”

“Please, mister. Don’t hurt me.”

“That’s the last thing I want to do, but I will if I have to. You understand? And I can go back to that hotel and find the rest of that family, too, if you don’t do what I say. I can’t have you yelling and screaming, do you understand?”

Johnny said nothing.

“That’s better. Now… are you hungry?”

He shook his head, but then realized the man couldn’t see him any better than he could see the man. “No, my stomach hurts.”

“That’s probably nausea from the chloroform. I was afraid of that. You didn’t throw up in there, did you?”

Johnny couldn’t tell whether the man was actually worried about him or was angry about the possibility of a mess in his car. “Uh-uh.”

“Don’t say ‘uh-uh.’ It’s not polite. You’re old enough to say yes or no, properly, like a young man.”

“I’m sorry. No, I didn’t get sick.”

“That’s better. Here, you’re probably thirsty, and this will help your stomach.” The man reached in and handed Johnny a can of ginger ale.

“I can’t drink it lying down,” Johnny said.

“Tell you what. I’ll pop the trunk all the way open so you can sit up and get some fresh air for a bit. But you got to promise not to try to run away or yell or any of that nonsense, okay? There’s no one around to hear you, and remember what I said I would do if you act up. Deal?”

“I’ll be good, mister. I promise.”

“Just like I knew you would be. Such a good kid.”