Bonnie

It was hot and hard to breathe. Her head hurt like hell.

Bonnie woke and struggled to remove the cloth from her face. She pulled at the dark fabric, finding that her hands were tied together in front of her and she was in a small enclosed space. She managed to get the pillowcase, or what she assumed was a pillowcase, off her head.

Then she had to work on not panicking.

Bonnie wasn't a fan of tight spaces. She wasn't exactly claustrophobic, but she didn't enjoy spelunking or being buried in a pillow fort. She liked being able to breathe and to stretch out without touching anything.

She couldn't do either of those things.

Panic clawed up from her stomach and gripped at her throat. She wanted to scream. She wanted to kick and thrash and fight for her freedom, but she knew that it wouldn't do any good. So, she closed her eyes, counted backward from ten and focused on her breathing.

It was an exercise she did with her autistic kids when they got overwhelmed. It worked. Her chest loosened and her heart beat more regularly the closer she got to one. Deep breathing also seemed to help the ache in her head.

You can do this, she told herself. She wasn't quite sure what “this” was just yet, but she was going to do her best not to freak out. She needed to stay calm and come up with a plan. Panic wasn't her friend right now.

“Three, two, one,” she said softly. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes to evaluate what she could see.

She was in a small, dark space. It smelled faintly of gasoline. A pale glow caught her attention, and she wiggled to look at it. It was an emergency escape trunk light. She reached up and pulled at it, but nothing happened. She wasn't terribly surprised.

It was kind of stupid to lock someone in a trunk and keep the escape latch still working.

She'd heard that if someone ever kidnapped her and put her in the trunk of the car, that she should kick out the taillight. That way, anyone driving by them would see her, and the police would catch them.

She wiggled around in the tight space, very carefully ignoring just how tight it was, and tried to figure out where the taillights were. She guessed and kicked hard.

Nothing happened except it hurt her foot. She tried a different spot but heard a metal thud. Of course, if the kidnappers disabled the security latch, they would probably have a plan in place to protect the taillights too.

She sighed and tried to relax and think. There had to be something else she could do.

She wiggled, searching for her phone, but it wasn't in her pocket. Her attacker probably took it. She did a mental inventory: shoes, jeans, t-shirt. Hands bound, hooded, and her head hurt like she'd been drugged. There wasn't a lot she could do with any of that.

She had seen on TV where a modern-day Sherlock Holmes was able to tell where in London they were by focusing on the sounds of the street and what direction the car was turning. She had no hope of doing that herself, but she figured she might at least keep her brain thinking.

The car wasn't on. The engine was running, but they weren't moving. She heard a voice coming from the front. She quieted her breathing and listened as hard as she could.

“No, Boss... Too much security… I don't... can't...” The words faded in and out, but only one voice said them. Whoever it was that had her was talking on the phone. The phone conversation continued with her kidnapper obviously getting frustrated. She wondered what had him staying stationary and why they weren't speeding down the mountain and calling her brother to keep him from testifying.

Her stomach twisted, not just from the stress, but from the pounding in her head. Whatever they'd used to knock her out was making her nauseous. She was just glad she hadn't eaten much of that sandwich. Given that she had no idea how long she'd been in the car, she didn't know how much of it she was going to throw up. At least there wasn't going to be much either way.

She closed her eyes to help her concentrate. Deep breaths, in and out. Go to your happy place. She'd guided so many kids into calmer spaces using this method. It was time she made it work for herself.

Go to your happy place.

She expected to find herself sitting on the beach in Mexico sipping margaritas with her girlfriends, but that wasn't the memory she wanted. That didn't give her the peace she was looking for.

Instead, she wanted to be in the pool with Tyson and Dylan. She wanted to splash and hear their laughter. She imagined herself there in the pool with them. She could see Dylan's dark eyes smiling as he pretended to be a shark and chase Tyson. Tyson would shriek with delight, and he'd smile so wide it had to hurt.

That was her happy place. Those two were her happy place.

What if she never saw them again? What if they killed her to keep her brother from talking? The panic gripped at her throat, choking off her supply of air. She whimpered, unable to scream. She was afraid in a way she'd never thought possible. Every cell of her body shook with terror.

She heard the car door slam and the driver mumble something as he walked away. She had no idea what was happening or how to get out of this.

“Deep breaths, go to your happy place,” she whispered. She thought of Tyson's sweet smile when he succeeded in swimming. She thought of the way Dylan's hand would rest on her hip as he stood beside her and watched their boy swim.

Slowly, she pushed the fear down and focused on them. They were who she was going to fight for. She was going to get back to them if it was the last thing she did.