Chapter 27
Helen
I’m about ten gloriously short steps away from the bathroom when the clerk calls after me: “Inside ladies’ bathroom is broken, hon. You’ll have to use the one out back.”
Son of a preacher. I hope I can make it that far. “Okay, thanks!”
I hobble outside, attempting to keep my legs pressed together and not making very good progress as a result. Thad’s busy filling up the tank, so I don’t know if he can see me, but I make a waving motion and point behind the building to let him know where I’m going.
The bathroom is one of those creepy concrete things that is about a hundred yards back from the main building, which increases both its spooky factor (why is it so far away, is this the bathroom for plague victims?) and its inconvenience (again, why so far away?). At least we aren’t in Chicago, so I won’t literally freeze my tushy off, but it’s still an outdoor bathroom with no heat in February.
But it’s open and has a working toilet, and beggars can’t be choosers, so I relieve my poor, overtaxed bladder. Ah, sweet relief.
When I step out of the stall to wash my hands, I stop short.
There is a middle-aged man standing in the entrance to the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe. He’s on the shorter side but bulky, with scars on his face and neck, suggesting he’s not an accountant or bank teller. He smiles when he sees me, but it is not a nice expression, and one of his teeth glints gold in the fluorescent lights.
“You’re not supposed to be in here,” I blurt out stupidly.
He straightens. “Here’s what’s gonna happen. My car’s right outside. You’re gonna come with me and get inside and not do anything stupid. And no one will get hurt.” He lifts his coat to show me the gun he has holstered against his hip. “Understand?”
My brain freezes at the sight. I’ve never seen a gun before. Not in real life. Based on TV shows and movies, it feels like they should be everywhere, almost commonplace, but I realize in this moment just how bizarre it is to see one up close and know it might be used against me.
“I understand.” I hear myself responding woodenly.
Another mean grin. “Good girl. Dean always said you were smart.”
“Dean sent you?” For a moment, I’m calmed by the thought. This isn’t some random man trying to kidnap me out of a bathroom. It’s a man who knows Dean, and who for some reason has followed me here. The distinction isn’tgreat, but it’s something.
“In a way,” says the man, with that not-nice smile, like he’s laughing at some joke that’s entirely at my expense.
I remember what Thad said about bad people coming after Dean, and any hope I feel about this being a gentler sort of kidnapping vanishes. He’s not here to take me to Dean. He’s here to use me as bait.
“You set off on this little road trip out of the blue, so I figured you and your boyfriend must know where Dean is. Think you can lead me to him, sweetheart?”
I don’t know which is worse: To tell him the truth, that yes, I think I might know where Dean is, and throw my brother to the wolves. Or to lie, and give this guy absolutely no reason to keep me around. Maybe if he believes I don’t know where Dean is, he’ll just leave me here.
But there’s also another alternative that does not end so well for me if he decides I’m worthless.
I make myself nod. “I can do that.”
“Good girl.” He reaches for me and I shudder, but obediently move toward him. “You are a good girl, aren’t you? You wanna help your brother get out of this?”
I nod again, more out of fear than agreement. I don’t want to do anything, especially in this enclosed space, that will anger this man.
“Good girl,” he says again, making my skin crawl. “I’m sure you’ll be able to help us convince Dean to give us back our Molly.”
The first coherent thought that snags my mind is the word Molly. I may have lived a relatively coddled life, but I know that Molly is another name for a drug—I think maybe ecstasy? Dean stole this guy’s ecstasy? I know from what Thad’s told me that Dean has been getting into worse and worse crimes, but somehow it’s still jarring to hear he’s gotten mixed up in the world of drugs. And now, apparently, I’m mixed up in it, too. Because somehow I’m meant to persuade Dean to give it back, and something tells me I’m not going to have a lot of say in justhowI’m used to persuadehim.
Grinning with his gold-flecked teeth, the mobster grips my arm and leads me outside.
My mind is racing frantically, trying to figure out what to do next. My hope was I would see someone outside and be able to call for help, but there’s no one back here—except for another man, sitting in the driver’s seat of the car waiting for me. His expression, like the man holding on to my arm, is one of unambiguous menace. I don’t know for certain what they plan to do to me, but I know it isn’t going to be good.
I can’t let them get me inside that car. I know that much. I may have spent five years as a sister, but I was a sister inBoston, and we were trained to be wary of our surroundings. Never let someone get you into a car and take you to a second location. When in doubt, cause a scene.
So, I do.
I have no idea if anyone’s even close enough to hear me, but as soon as we’re out of the bathroom, I scream like my hair is on fire. Like I’ve opened my car to find it’s full of cobras. Like I’m swimming in the ocean and see a fin cutting through the water toward me.
