The two of them retreat to a corner of the room to confer in whispers while I stay seated on the bed. It’s hot in the room, the air stifling. Sweat settles in the curve of my back. I wish I thought to ask for a fan. Looking at my kidnappers, I hope they’re both suffering in those horrible masks.
They had me cancel everything for two weeks. Is that how long they intend to keep me here? Two weeks in this place with the two of them for company. I hope my dad concedes quickly to their demands.
After five more minutes of feeling snubbed by their conspiratorial murmuring, I decide to make an effort to personalize my interactions with them. It makes sense that it will be harder for them to harm me if they see me not just as a hostage but as a person too.
“Excuse me,” I say loudly.
Their bent heads swivel around to look at me.
“If you’re planning on keeping me here awhile, it will be easier if I can call you something.” When their eyes narrow, I add hastily, “Not your real names, of course.”
After a slight hesitation, the man says, “You have a point.” He turns to the woman. “Any preferences?”
“She can call mema’am. You can go bysirif you want.”
“Choose a name, will you,” he instructs irritably.
“Fine! She can call me Jill, after Jill Phipps.” There’s an edge to her voice when she addresses me. “Jill was protesting the export of veal calves from the UK’s Coventry Airport. She was sitting in the middle of the road with other protesters when an export truck failed to stop and crushed her under its wheels.”
Jilllooks at the man. “You have a name yet?”
He shrugs. “You’re obviously on a roll here. You pick one.”
Jill glares at me. “He’ll go by the name of Barry Horne. Barry was an animal liberation activist who was jailed for eighteen years for arson attacks. He went on three hunger strikes, trying to persuade the government to review its animal testing procedures. It was too much for his body and he died in prison.”
Silence shrouds them. I don’t know what to say. They’re naming themselves after martyrs. It’s not a good sign.
Dumping my handbag in the trash, Barry walks over to where I’m sitting, towering over me so I’m forced to tilt my head back to look at him. “You want to hand over that fork you palmed,” he says, almost gently.
Without a word, I open the drawer and give him the fork I stashed next to the apple.
Our gazes lock. “Let’s get this over with.”
Before I can absorb his words, he seizes my arm and pulls me upright. Jill materializes on my other side and takes hold of my arm above the elbow, her grip a little too tight.
“What are you doing? Where are you taking me?” I ask, my stomach plunging and my voice rising as they propel me toward the door.
They don’t answer. Their grim silence frightens me. Even Jill doesn’t seize the opportunity to jeer something derogatory at me. Suddenly the room, which seemed so unlivable a moment ago, now taunts me with its safe familiarity.
On their way out, Barry scoops up the trash can and deposits it outside the door, making sure I can’t retrieve any of the items inside. That is, if I ever come back.
“Wait! Please!” I plead. “Where are we going? What are you going to do to me?”
When they remain silent, I try to pull my arms free, but they simply tighten their hold as they hustle me down a carpeted hallway.
What does he want to get over with? Hurting me? Killing me? I try to take comfort in the fact that this man professes to care for animals. People are more important than animals, I reason, even as panic clutches my throat, so surely he won’t harm me.
A door on my right is slightly ajar and I catch a glimpse inside. My eyes widen. Toys are stacked on a shelf and there are Winnie the Pooh stickers on the wall.
The room belongs to a child.
It doesn’t make sense, I think wildly. None of it makes any sense.
Barry and Jill jerk me forward, forcing me to match their brisk pace. It’s as if they don’t want me to observe too much. But why not blindfold me?
Unless, my mind whispers on a shudder, it no longer matters what I see.
I’ve been pretty much running on bravado, but now my heart is beating too fast and tears are threatening to spill over. My chest burns with the effort of holding myself together.
