1:06 a.m. I blinked, retinas burning. Worry ate at me. We had talked about how important it was to be on time. My mind raced through the possibilities. She was running through a portion of Ms. Lacey’s field that we weren’t familiar with. Maybe she fell.
1:11 a.m. I got a reality check. She should’ve arrived by now. I started the car, careful not to let the headlights flip on, and backed it onto the shoulder of the road, as deep into the underbrush as I possibly could. My gut told me something bad had happened, and I needed to search for her.
The summer night’s volume raged against my ears when I opened the car door. My flashlight was in my backpack on the passenger’s seat. As I turned to retrieve it, a few things happened simultaneously. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, and gooseflesh raced down my spine. Two footsteps tapping the pavement sounded on the driver’s side, followed by the distinct sound of exploding windows in the distance.
By the time I turned back to my open door, it was too late.
A rag covered my face, pain seared through my leg, and my conscious mind faded to black.
* * *
Sirens pulled my brain from the deep. My eyes fluttered open and watered, resisting the morning’s first light and the obtrusive blue flashing. The smell of gasoline burned my sinuses. I lifted my hand to rub my temple, which was throbbing. Warm, sticky liquid transferred onto my hand.
Blood.
Panic churned in my gut, and my eyes flew open. I was still in my car, except my car was…I couldn’t figure out where. Some ditch, somewhere. I must’ve been traveling with some decent speed, because a limp airbag hung in my lap. How did I get here?
I glanced around the car, and wiped my hand on the passenger’s seat. My backpack still sat there, and a gas can was upside down on the floorboard, leaking gasoline.A gas can?A few knotted, white rags littered the back seat, along with crunched Bud Light cans. An open, tepid can of the vile stuff sat in my console cup holder.
I didn’t remember drinking. Heck, I’d never even liked Bud Light. I already had one DUI on my record. I glanced in the rearview at the flashing lights. This wasn’t good at all.
Gracie!
Memory of our failed plans hit me like a punch to the gut. The air left my lungs. She never showed. Never met me at the end of the road. Where was Gracie? Did her dad find out? Was she safe? I remembered the sound of windows exploding…
Someone attacked me.
In that moment, I knew the truth. Gracie’s father did this. He knew we were trying to run away. A tsunami of dread washed over me. I was upstream from something terrible.
I had to find Gracie.
The airbag across my lap stunk of chemicals. I took the corners of it and shoved them into the gaps on the steering wheel to free my legs. In the process, a pink post-it note caught my eye. It was stuck onto the edge of my wheel. I plucked it off and held it close to my face. My vision blurred, and my fingers stained the pink paper red.
The paper read: “Talk and she dies.”
A few moments passed as I weighed its words. The note must be talking about Gracie. But I didn’t understand it. Talk about what?
My clumsy hand grabbed my wallet off the console, and I shoved the note deep inside, fingers shaking.
Panic tipped into hysteria. My throat thickened as I gasped for air. This couldn’t be happening. Was Gracie’s life in danger? I reached for the door handle, and tumbled out onto the ground, taken off guard by the weakness in my legs. I pressed my hands into the dewy grass, rising to stand as the morning’s gray light illuminated my body. Dry blood was caked all over me. It was still gooey where the blood had pooled in the folds of my shirt. I steadied myself against the open door, now understanding why the corners of my vision dissolved, and why the blood drained from my head with the force of gravity. I blinked hard, fighting the impending blackout.
The sirens reached a deafening level as the two squad cars pulled in behind the Buick. A tiny surge of hope rose within me. I could explain everything to them; they could help me find Gracie!
The sirens flipped off, and a blaring loudspeaker took their place. “Lay down on the ground!” Confusion swept over me. I stood there, blinking against the pulsing light. The command came again, with more force and followed by a string of cursing. “Lay down on the ground!”
I eased my hands over my head and dropped to my knees. Did I do something wrong? My pulse quickened, and I felt my heart beating in my throat. Thinking was hard. My brain was foggy and tipsy. Not wanting to cause a problem, I obeyed, lowering myself onto the sloped ground. The two officers flew out of the cars, pointing guns at me. The shouting and cursing continued. “Stay on the ground! Stay on the ground!” They approached me, guns trained. One dropped a knee to my back and cuffed me, while the other patted my pockets and legs.
They were still barking orders and information. About my rights, or something like that. I didn’t hear them. My mind was on one thing and one thing alone. I attempted to raise my voice above theirs, and I squirmed under their firm hands, the grass and bits of black asphalt grinding into the good side of my face. “You don’t understand. I didn’t do anything. I have to find Gr—” My words trailed off as the note, now seared into my brain, etched across my mind’s eye.
“Talk and she dies.”
Silence fell over me as the buzz of activity continued. Gracie’s words from the night before reverberated in my head: “He has clients on the inside.”I remembered the mayor, there with her. There with her father. My breath slowed as reality nestled deep into my spirit. Fear like I’d never known wrapped its tentacles around me.
The dew softened the stiff congealed blood on my shirt.
Their walkies clicked with rapid-fire communication. Location was announced. We were off farm road 287 in Boiling Springs.
Boiling Springs? How the heck…
