The rest of our trip to the pond was silent. Pip was always just at the edge of our sight, always waiting for us, as delighted by the scenery as we should’ve been—as we had been. Jake had ruined it. I glared at his back as he trudged, too fast on purpose, through the forest ahead of me. I hated him. He had ruined it, and he kept ruining it. We’d had a moment back there, and he had ruined it.

More than that, as I trudged over the slippery mud and tufts of grass and inconvenient tree roots, I hated myself. Why was it that whenever I was within 10 feet of that heartless man, I lost all sense of control? He was a criminal, my kidnapper no less, and forgetting it could mean the difference between me being getting away and being stuck there, maybe even the difference between life and death.

It seemed like hours had passed by the time Pip stopped moving. As we advanced, it soon became clear why: We’d reached the pond, in all its weeping willowed glory. Really, it was less a pond and more a watering hole for the delicate trees. Surrounded by willows on all sides, the pond itself was a forest of bowing branches with lance-shaped leaves blowing in the wind.

“Kinda secluded,” Jake said.

I said nothing. Pip bounded into the water ahead of us, barking excitedly at some escaping ducks. Jake passed me and, a few steps in, paused.

“You coming?”

I shook my head.

“I told you I’d come, but I’m not joining. I don’t swim.”

Jake tilted his face and scratched his short-haired head.

“Don’t, or can’t?”

Sitting down, I looked away.

“Both.”

“Oh, okay,” he said.

I could feel his gaze still on me, but I didn’t look up. Finally, he walked away. I heard the rustling of leaves and the thud of his clothes hitting the ground. When I looked up, he was half obscured by the leaves. He wasn’t looking at me anymore. He and Pip were swimming around each other, grinning like they’d just won the lottery or something.

It was funny seeing him like this. He looked like a regular, happy guy—a good guy, a kind one.

“You sure you don’t want to join?”

Jake had stopped and was staring at me. I shook my head, got up, and walked away. At a nearby tree, I sat with my back leaned against it and my eyes half closed. I exhaled my worries and inhaled the clear forest air. Footsteps sounded, and then something settled right beside me.

“Sorry,” Jake said. “I don’t mean to be pushy. Seems like a delicate subject for you. Did something happen?”

I stood up and started walking back the way we’d come.

“My mom was bringing me home from swimming lessons when she died. I never went back. Swimming only reminds me of how it was my fault and… Never mind. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Jake jogged up behind me.

“Hey, we don’t have to. It’s just—”

“No, Jake.” I stopped and turned to face him. “Let’s not pretend this is something different than what it is. You kidnapped me. You are my kidnapper—not my friend, not my lover, and certainly not my confidante. So stop playing whatever game it is you’re playing and please, please, just leave me alone.”

Jake’s face assumed its mask-like appearance. His hands balled up, he watched with a cold look as I turned away.

The walk back was quiet. The soft padding of Jake and Pip behind me was audible, but they made no attempt to catch up. When I got back, I waited on the porch for Jake to open the door.

He, however, made straight for the black van.

“Front door’s open,” he said as he opened the driver’s door.

Then his phone rang.

“Hello? Yeah, yeah, Mr. Pryce. Your daughter is right here. You wanna talk to her?”

Walking over to me with a sardonic smile, Jake shoved the phone at me.

“Papa?”

“Alice, oh God, Alice!”

There were tears in his voice.

“Alice, are you all right?”

“Yes, Papa, I’m fine. He hasn’t done anything to me. I’m fine.”

“Thank God. Alice, where are they keeping you?”

The phone was snatched out of my hand, and then Jake said into it, “There you go, Daddy. Proof as requested. Now, either you pay up, or that’s the last time you’ll be talking to your daughter. Your choice.”

Hanging up, Jake shot me another sneer.

“Man, is Daddy a real businessman. Even wanted to bargain his way out of this.” Tucking the phone in his pocket, he added, “But the price isn’t up to me; I’m just the middleman.”

For another minute, we stared at each other. Then he flung out his hand toward the door behind me.

“Stay inside. I’ve got errands to run. I’ll be back tonight.”

Then he got in his van without another word. I started for the door and then stopped halfway. The van’s engine revved up, and I turned around. The vehicle hadn’t moved yet; its black bulk was in the same place as before. I could still join him if I wanted to. After all, being stuck here wasn’t going to do me any good.

Hurrying up to the van, I creaked open the back door and hopped in just as it started moving. The engine roared just loudly enough that my shutting the door was inaudible as the van rumbled onto the road.

* * *

Huddled in the back, I was less than comfortable. Jake was driving so fast over the bumpy roads that I wondered if he knew I was in the back and was doing it on purpose. The whole vehicle was clattering so much that I thought I was going to go crazy.

After a few minutes, Jake apparently calmed down, because the van was no longer rocketing ahead at an insane speed. Before long, I was able to sink back onto the cool metal, close my eyes, and relax.

The previous day may have been overwhelming, but today was turning out to be no walk in the park either. What was Jake going to do to me if my dad didn’t pay up? Would he really turn me over to his boss and let the guy kill me if need be? Minutes passed, and the quivering of the rope coil next to me became some sort of rhythm until, suddenly, it stopped. The van had stopped.

Straining myself to sit upright again, I saw we had driven into a dark, high-walled alleyway. At the sound of voices, I shifted my gaze and saw two big burly men to my right walking straight for the van.

Ducking, I grabbed the rope and curled myself into a ball, though it would make no difference, really. If those men came in the back, I was done for.

I heard the slam of a front door and popped my head up. The alley was empty.

Voices came from the front. Thank God. The men had gone in the front with Jake. I was safe—for now.

The van continuing on once more. Peering out the back window, I watched as we drove away from the alley, pulled onto a street, and passed Paramount Theater, some impressive skyscrapers, and other tourist attractions. Downtown Denver. That was where we were.

A turn brought us past Shelby’s Bar and Grill, Papa’s and my favorite brunch place for bacon and eggs. Then we took another turn past a towering hotel and one final one that brought us in front of an ivory building that was so tall and symmetrically perfect that it looked like some kind of religious building. The sign, however, read Bank of the West.

We stopped there, and I gulped. Whatever the reason we were here, it couldn’t have been good.

The slam of the front doors sounded, and through the back window, I saw Jake and the two burly, black-shirted men walk toward the bank, their backs to me. Now was my chance.

I got out of the back of the van and found myself following them. I told myself to stop and speak with the people whose heads were turning after Jake and the men, but my feet continued on, driven by some strange urge.

One step into the bank, only a few feet behind the men, and I knew.

Masks. Jake and the two burly men were wearing black ski masks. They went nicely with the guns raised in their hands. The explosion of gunshots was just part of the chaos, paired with the yelling and people racing by.

The ski-masked man in front was yelling at the teller. “The safe—now!” he said. He shot at the bear head mounted on the wall and hit it dead between the eyes. This was all a dream. It had to be. Then the men in the black masks saw me, and I quickly realized this was happening and I was in very real danger.

“Alice! Get out of here!” Jake yelled. He didn’t point his gun at me.

His partner, however, did.

“On the floor!” he yelled, his big black pistol providing the unspoken “or else.”

As I was crouching down, there was the sound of a scuffle, then more footsteps and yells. A second later, my arm was grabbed. Jake was pulling me out of the building while I looked back. The two ski-masked men were on the floor, and all the floor-bound customers were gaping at us as we left.

Outside, the van was too far away. The sidewalk was full of people who were staring and pointing. My name was being uttered like a soft chant among the crowd: “Alice, Alice Pryce.”

But Jake’s hand was a shackle around my wrist, throwing me into the front seat and slamming my door. After running around and hopping into the driver’s seat, he slammed his foot on the gas and the van took off down the street. Far-off sirens wailed, but the van was careening in the opposite direction. Jake was forced by red lights and cars to slow down, and he maneuvered onto sidewalks when there wasn’t enough room on the road. The far-off sirens were constant; they knew where we were going even when we didn’t.

Blocks and city streets merged into one never-ending obstacle course, where every car was too slow and every pedestrian was just fast enough to get in the way. But our advance was relentless. Jake drove purely with the gas, letting up to break but never stopping, always careening and wheeling around cars coming from the opposite direction at the last second.

I was so harried that, even by the time we were out of the city and on the highway, my head was swiveling from one window to another, searching for the cops who were bound to still be on our tail. After a few more minutes, however, I sank back in the seat as the enormity of what had just happened settled upon me.

“What…was that?” I asked.

Jake kept his eyes on the road and didn’t even look at me.

“Owed a guy a favor.”

I eyed his cool profile incredulously.

“You owed a guy a favor. That’s it?”

Jake twisted his head to look at me, and his face was once again a tense mask of rage.

“I don’t have to explain anything to you, princess. You weren’t even supposed to be here, remember? What were you thinking? You almost got yourself killed!”

Under the furious inquisition of his emerald eyes, I could only lower mine.

“I…don’t know,” I admitted, turning to stare out the window.

“Why didn’t you escape?” he asked, more quietly this time.

The same answer popped into my mind, but I didn’t bother saying it. I kept my gaze on the clear, oblivious sky, which knew as much as I did. Why on earth had I felt drawn to the one man who had done this to me when the obvious thing to do would have been to run away, escape? What was wrong with me?

During the rest of the ride, the sky went from light blue and clear to gray-clouded and drab. Some trees and buildings and more roads rolled past, and still Jake’s unanswered question filled the car. Why hadn’t I escaped? Even once we’d gotten back to the cabin, it followed us up the steps and inside. I sat down on the couch and Jake sat beside me. His face was expressionless; what would happen next was anyone’s guess.

Suddenly, he rose and walked upstairs. I heard the sounds of shuffling and furniture being moved, and then Jake appeared at the top of the steps with an old box TV in his hands. I got up to help, but Jake only shook his head as he continued to descend the steps.

Placing the TV in front of the couch, Jake plugged the cord into a socket in the wall and then walked over and pressed a button on the top. The screen flashed to life, showing…us. It was footage from the bank: Jake and the others in ski masks and my small, tentative form. Jake pressed another button and the TV’s sound blared to life. He flopped onto the couch beside me, and we watched as a presenter with a bushy beard spoke in front of the footage of the Bank of the West. It was surreal, watching ourselves like this.

“Bungled bank robbery in downtown Denver this morning, where one thief mysteriously pulled out and fled at the last minute.”

A picture of me from happier times flashed on the screen.

“But what is puzzling police the most is the apparent involvement of Alice Pryce, daughter of superstore magnate Heston Pryce, whose kidnapping, earlier this week, has been a high priority for local and state police.”

They showed more footage of the bank robbery, with my wandering, disheveled form.

“In the video, it appears that Ms. Pryce is familiar with the robbers, and she even escapes with one of them. Gail, over to you.”

A scowling woman with a bun so tight it looked like it was pulling up all the features of her face appeared on the screen. Her voice was high and nasal.

“Well, Ronald, this has some wondering about the validity her alleged kidnapping.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, some are positing that it might all be a hoax on Ms. Pryce’s part to avoid responsibility for her involvement in this criminal gang, this group of individuals who attempted to rob the Bank of the West this morning.”

“Well, that is a theory. What about the robbers themselves? Any information on their identities?”

“Not at present, but police are asking anyone with any information at all to come forward. In fact, Heston Pryce himself is offering a 10,000-dollar reward for anyone with information on his daughter’s kidnapping or whereabouts—”

Jake got up, pressed a button on the top of the TV to turn it off, and then flopped back on the couch. We didn’t say anything for a minute.

“Who’s paying you?” I asked softly, but he only shook his head.

“I call him Sunshine and he calls me Green Eyes.”

I nodded and glanced over but couldn’t make out the expression on Jake’s face. He wouldn’t just keep me here indefinitely, would he? Suddenly, the whole situation seemed terrifyingly real, and words spilled out of me.

“When are you going to bring me home? My father, my friends, they must be so scared…”

I glanced over again, but Jake was staring at the blank screen of the TV.

“I’m sorry. I wish I could return you home. The job’s almost over; I’m sure you father will pay up soon. I’m sorry.”

All of this he said in a dead, cold voice, as if he were reading lines from a movie script. I stood up.

“Sorry isn’t good enough, Jake.”

After staring into his eyes for a moment, I turned on my heel and left.

I walked into the forest, not seeing where I was going and not caring. I walked not to go anyplace but to get away. From that cabin, that man—that selfish beast of a man who was systematically destroying my life piece by piece.

It was already getting dark out, but I didn’t care. Let it rain, let it pour, let it hail for all I cared. At least then the weather would match how I felt. The whole forest was alive with the upcoming storm. Birds squawked, squirrels and mice chattered, trees creaked, and on I walked. I slammed my feet into the dirt, tripping over tree roots and getting my feet entwined in thick ivy. I didn’t care. I wouldn’t stop, or couldn’t.

The rain finally came, the sky going black. I didn’t care. Let the icy drops dash against my face. Let them slide with the angry tears spilling down my cheeks. Let my legs run on and on and on, achingly, trippingly so.

The forest was black. The trees were blacker, but my eyes were blurry—the very air was blurry.

My legs were fast becoming dead. It was so cold, so very cold. Each raindrop was like an icicle, but I couldn’t stop. I ran through the darkness, seeing nothing and feeling nothing but those deathly cold drops, the coldest I’d ever felt.

At some point, my legs stopped, and a cold, wet mass of moss was my pillow. I couldn’t move. Huddled in a ball, my legs numb, images rolled in and out of my mind. Papa holding my mother’s lifeless body in the hospital. The dean of Brown University’s double chins jiggling as he handed me my diploma. A little girl running after me, her arms extended with the whole flag of Sierra Leone on her back. Paul’s empty, lifeless smile. The smell of Lux’s ever-changing hair dye. How Jake’s lips had felt on mine…