44

Sam now drove. Bobby Ellis spoke to the OnBoard technician.

Sam kept his eyes on the highway, but he saw Bobby’s chin move up and down. He was listening and seemingly agreeing with someone.

And then Bobby said: “Thank you. I appreciate it. You’ve got my number. You can call back if there are any changes.”

Bobby pressed a button on his cell phone and ended the call. “The car hasn’t moved in five minutes. It looks like it’s in a rest stop.”

Sam took his eyes off the road to look at Bobby. “Call the police.”

“We don’t need to do that.”

Sam’s voice got louder. “Yes, we do. Call them.”

Bobby shook his head. “We’ll be there in less than thirty minutes.”

Sam was yelling now. “Just call! Do it! Call the police!”

“It’s not the police. We’re not in a city anymore. The jurisdiction would be state troopers.”

Sam reached for his cell phone. “So we call state troopers!”

But before he could do that, his own phone rang. Sam looked down at the digital display.

He knew that number. It was the Bell house.

He felt his heart inside his chest fold inward with relief.

This was it.

It was Emily calling from home. Right here would be the explanation. And this nightmare would all be over.

Sam pressed the button and heard Riddle’s voice. It was tight. Low. Barely audible. “I think Dad got out of jail. I think he’s trying to get us.”

They stood at the back of the silver car with the trunk now popped open, and Emily was struck by the sound that the wind makes when it blows pine trees.

She’d heard it her whole life. A gentle swooshing.

The needles rub up against one another and create a rustling noise that a person never forgets.

Would she remember this day with the sound of the pine needles?

Would she live to have that experience?

Focus.

On.

Details.

If she could see every single thing around her, every small detail, that meant that she was, in fact, alive.

He had one hand on her upper arm. He gripped it. Very hard.

She knew that there would be bruises in two places: where his thumb dug into the inner portion of her arm, and on the outside, where his other fingers took hold.

He had one hand on her. And one hand on the gun. The heat coming from inside the trunk could be felt several feet away.

She glanced down and saw camping stuff.

A tent. A sleeping bag. A tarp. It was all neatly packed. She also saw a tennis racket.

She couldn’t picture the Monster playing tennis. Underneath the racket was a pair of white tennis shoes. But they were small. With hot pink fabric lining the inside. They were women’s shoes.

They must belong to the person who owned the car. The stolen car. She hoped the owner was still alive. And searching for her Honda.

But Robb Ellis’s SUV was parked in this lot, and Destiny was somewhere in the cinder-block building, and that had to mean people were coming to help her.

Then the Monster holding the gun said, “Get in.”

She couldn’t stand to see his eyes. She saw Sam in those eyes. So she stared at the ground as she asked: “You want me to get into the trunk?”

His voice was hard. “Right now.”

She still had her purse over her shoulder. He suddenly released his grip on her arm and ripped the purse off her body. And for a brief moment, that felt like a violent assault worse than being forced into a trunk.

That was her purse. It had her things. Her useless cell phone and her wallet with her ID. Without her identification, how would anyone ever know who she was?

He flung the purse into the bushes and grabbed her arm so hard, it felt as if he were going to break it. The purse no longer mattered.

Gone.

She smelled alcohol on his sour breath as she heard: “Get in the trunk right now.”

She lifted her right leg into the back and then lowered her body, which felt like someone else’s, as she climbed into the dark space.

In order to be able to fit, she had to bring her legs up to her chest and, for a moment, she thought he was going to slam the lid of the trunk straight down on her head.

She wasn’t yet crunched up enough to fit into the space. She cringed, but he didn’t hit her.

It was just a threat.

She pulled herself together and then put her head down on a hot nylon bag, which held the tent. She felt a metal pole against her ear.

And then the Monster banged the lid shut, which plunged her into darkness.

She heard the electronic chirp and the click of the car locks sucking into place.

She had her legs folded up so close to her body that her chin rested on her sweating knees. It was the crunch of a fetal position.

She was going back to being unborn.

Was the first step in dying returning to darkness and the crammed place where someone else did the breathing?

Her chest had difficulty rising and falling, expanding and contracting.

It wasn’t just how hot the air was. Or how compressed her body felt in the metal container that was the trunk of a new-model Honda sedan.

It was more than that.

She suddenly felt certain that this was her coffin.

She decided that this was what it must feel like to be conscious when they put you in the final resting place.

Her lips moved to form a single word.

Destiny.

She couldn’t see Emily.

But the tall man with the coppery hair had shut the trunk. She could see again. He was now walking away from the car. And he had something in his hand as it slid into his pocket.

Was it the gun?

He moved toward the bathroom, which meant he was coming toward her. He had a limp. She understood from his twisted face that something was causing him pain.

Destiny remained frozen at the back corner of the building.

As the man came closer, something about him looked familiar.

He had strange-colored hair and a choppy haircut, and his jaw was set at an angle that showed tension, even from a distance.

Destiny took a deep breath.

Well, he didn’t scare her.

She exhaled.

Okay.

He did scare her.

He totally scared her.

But she hadn’t struck out on her own as a kid by being scared.

Or maybe she had.

So maybe she had used fear to her advantage. That was another way to see it.

She could feel her heart pounding, and her sweat made her dress stick to her now as if spray-on adhesive had been applied to her body.

He entered the cinder-block crapper, and it was quiet.

Maybe the girl had flushed herself down the toilet.

He had to use the facilities, and suddenly she was nothing to him. Just another person who didn’t believe a sign that said Closed meant anything.

Or maybe she was some kind of junkie, and she’d shot up and was now slumped over in a stupor in a dirty stall.

He hoped that she had overdosed.

Clarence went around the privacy wall that led to the men’s area and was greeted by the institutional toilets that were exactly like those in prison.

He was surprised that just the sight of the stainless steel brought up a wave of hate that crashed over him hard.

That pain felt like electricity running down an exposed wire touched by his open hand.

He felt dizzy.

His ache was so deep.

He would share the feeling with the world.

Destiny looked across the hot blacktop of the parking lot, and heat was making wavy lines that were shaking everything.

It wasn’t now or never.

It was maybe now. Maybe never.

What was she even doing here?

A voice inside screamed that she was there for a reason. She had to do something. She was the kid who jumped into the cold pool. She never stuck her toe in first.

And then a switch was flipped, and she took off at a run. It was as if she were on fire.

The big rig. That was the answer. That was where she would find help.

When she reached the truck, she grabbed the chrome handle next to the driver’s-side door and hoisted herself up.

But the door was locked.

Destiny’s fist pounded the hot glass.

It was silent inside.

Not a sound.

And no one in sight.

Destiny’s head whipped back to the cinder-block bathroom.

He hadn’t come out.

She then jumped down from the step below the driver’s door. Hitting the pavement hard, she took off again in a sprint.

This time she ran for the silver car.

The distance seemed great because she felt so exposed. When she reached the Honda, she was out of breath. She could see that no one was inside, but her hand still went for the door handle on the passenger’s side.

Locked.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

So where was Emily?

In frustration she made a fist and hit the trunk.

And then from inside something hit back.

It was dark and roasting hot.

And it smelled like dirt.

The tent wrapped up in the nylon sack had been in the campsite for three days, and the outdoors was now a part of the baking upholstery. The tennis racket and the tennis balls, pushed over next to the spare tire, also had a distinctive odor.

She hadn’t been inside for long, and she already felt as if she were suffocating.

And then suddenly, in this tomb, there was a sound.

A thud. Just above her head.

But it didn’t seem like the thud that the Monster would make. It was a pop. A small hand?

Should she scream at the top of her lungs for the world to hear?

Instead she made a fist with her right hand, and she had only a few inches of available motion, but she hit back. Not a thud but a bump.

And then she heard a muffled voice: “OhmyGod! Emily?”

It was Destiny.

Emily opened her mouth to answer, and she tried, but her voice was closed down, and the tightness in her throat released only the smallest of sounds. Only a murmur:

“Help me.…”

The trunk of the silver car was locked.

Destiny looked up at the cinder-block bathroom.

He was coming.

She couldn’t see him. But she knew.

He was coming. He had to be.

Destiny grabbed each of the doors’ handles and tried again, even though it was obvious to her this was a waste of time.

But if she could get a door open, she would find the release to the trunk. Inside would be a lever.

And then she saw the stack of cinder blocks on the other side of the parking lot. They were next to the piles of sand and gravel.

Destiny took off across the blacktop, running to the cinder-block stack.

Her legs felt like rubber. They didn’t belong to her. She was someone else now.

Destiny picked up a cinder block. It was much heavier than she’d thought. The cement edge tore at her hand when she grabbed it. She barely felt her skin rip.

She tried to run back to the car, but she was small and the cinder block was heavy. She gripped it with both hands, trying to hold it in front of her legs.

All the while was the knowledge that he was coming.

The cinder block hit her thighs and slammed into her knees. She was bleeding from her hand and from her right leg as she approached the silver car.

Then, using all the strength in her upper body, she threw the cinder block at the window on the passenger’s side.

It hit with a violent crash, and the glass fell like a sheet. It looked like broken diamonds glistening on the seats.

The car alarm was blaring now. And it seemed like the whole world could hear.