Ariel
When my eyes open, I see daylight streaming through the window. I’m lying in the back of a van with my hands tied in front of me, my feet bound together with a rope. The right side of my head hurts, a lot, and something is sticking my hair to my face.
The van hits a bump in the road and my head bounces on the metal flooring. How could I have misjudged Matt so badly?
I remember last night, play it over and over in my head.
I need to get to the police station to help Alina, so I grab my purse and head out. I haven’t made it but a block or so when I see Matt standing at the corner smoking a cigarette. I didn’t know he smoked.
“Hey, Matt,” I say with a smile even though it’s surprising to see him.
He turns, but he doesn’t smile back. Not at first. He drops the cigarette and puts it out with his work boot.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“Looking for you.” A mean grin spreads across his face, and his eyes look wild. For a second, I wonder if he’s taking some kind of illegal drug.
My smile drops.
I take a fearful step back.
He attacks. One hand covers my mouth, the other wraps around my body. There’s a nearby white van that he’s dragging me toward.
No! Oh, God . . . once he gets me inside, it’s over. I thrash, trying to get away. But he’s too strong.
The back doors of the van are ajar, and he uses his foot to open them the rest of the way.
I fight harder . . .
I can’t let him take me. . . .
He throws . . . throws me into the back like a ragdoll, and my head bounces on the metal floor. He climbs in with me and shuts the door.
A menacing look blankets his face as he pulls off a piece of duct tape and covers my mouth, then grabs my wrists and ties my hands together with rope.
I kick at him, but he grabs my legs and binds them together with a rope near my ankles.
He rummages through my purse. I watch as he takes the battery out of my cell.
“We can’t have anyone tracing you.”
With my purse searched and set aside, he straddles me, his hands roaming my body. It feels like a pat down except when his hands linger on my breasts, squeezing a little, before moving down between my legs . . . He applies a little pressure and I squeeze my eyes shut. Anything but this . . .
He doesn’t linger long when he pats down my legs and then removes my shoes.
When he finishes, he takes my purse and crawls out the back of the van.
I hear the front door open and close, the engine roars to life, and just like that, I’m taken.
How could I have been so wrong about Matt? Who else have I been wrong about?
Does Luca know I’ve been kidnapped? Not that anyone knows anything about me. Maybe Luca—he knows more than the others, but he doesn’t know that Frank Stone is my stepfather. I purposefully left that part out.
Lying on my side, I stare at the dirty bare sides of the van until a flash of yellowish orange grabs my attention. Something is tucked under the back of the driver’s seat.
Not wanting to remind Matt that I’m back here, I inch my arms toward the yellowish-orange thing.
His cell rings, and as I listen, I keep slowly moving.
“Yeah, I have her. It took a little while, but I’m sure it’s the girl you’ve been looking for.”
His head turns in my direction.
My eyes slam shut, and I freeze, hoping he’ll think I’m still out. When I think he’s turned back around, I barely crack one eye open to make sure.
“We should be there in two days, tops . . . okay, meet you there.” He clicks the phone off. I can tell he’s fiddling with something, and then I hear the strike of a lighter and smell the smoke.
I’m almost there. My fingers stretch and I almost . . . just a little more . . .
I got it! My fingers wrap around the bottle and as I slowly bring my arms back, I see it’s the pill bottle I never returned to the pharmacy. It must have flown out of my purse when he tossed it in here.
Not much of a weapon, but I still wriggle it under my shirt and stuff it in my bra between my breasts.
Hours later, I feel the van slow to a stop. Matt opens the door then slams it shut again. He’s gone for only a few minutes when he slides back in.
I smell French fries and my stomach rumbles loudly. He doesn’t offer me any as he drives away.
A few hours later, inside the van it is getting darker. I figure it must be late evening. He slows to a stop, gets out, and slams the door closed. I need to pee, and eat.
He’s gone for a little bit, maybe fifteen or twenty minutes, and when he comes back, he only drives the van a short distance.
The back doors swing open. “Come on,” he says as he unties my legs and grabs my arm, pulling me up from the floor.
We’re near the far end of a rundown one-level motel. A rusty old blue Chevy sits at the far end of the graveled lot. Trees surround the area. The only thing missing is a half-fallen swinging sign that reads Bates Motel.
Matt has a key with a #10 on it. He leads me to a peeling blue door.
Once inside, he drags the curtains closed and quickly rips the tape from my mouth.
Tears stain my eyes from the pain. It feels like the tape took my skin with it, but I don’t say anything.
As he unbinds my hands, he says, “Don’t try anything or I’ll tie you back up.”
I want to ask him why. But I already know. Ever since I escaped, I’ve been half-expecting this day to come. I just don’t know how they found me. I was careful. So careful.
Handing me a Burger King bag, he says, “I know you’re starving. Here.”
Tentatively, I take the bag and mutter, “Thank you.” I am thankful to have the food, but I’m angry for getting caught in the first place.
The only people who knew were Luca and . . . Shit! My mind races as I wonder if I gave Altruist enough information to find me. Luca wouldn’t do this to me, I just know it. But Altruist . . . Even though I tried to cover my tracks, I gave him Luca’s first name and that he owns a nightclub. The time frame fits.
My eyes slide to Matt as my anger grows. If he’s Altruist, I’ve talked to him almost every night. At one time, I considered him my only friend.
The cheeseburger and fries make my stomach happy, but . . . “I need to use the bathroom.”
Matt follows me in, making sure there’s no window I can escape from. There’s a small one that lets light in, but it’s too tiny to climb out of.
He searches under the sink, in the shower, and then says, “Hurry.”
A slow deep breath escapes my lips when he gives me privacy. I do my business, but I still scan the bathroom, hoping to find something . . . anything to help me. Maybe even leave a clue behind, some way to prove that I was here.
“Hurry up in there!” Matt yells through the door.
“I’m trying . . .” I quietly search under the cabinet . . . empty.
A glint of silver under peeling linoleum catches my eye. I pull it back a little farther and pick up a paperclip. My heart races and I try to think.
I unbend one end, open the cabinet under the sink and scratch out the word Brylee and then hook the paperclip onto my bra. When I wash my hands, I stare in horror at my bloodied face in the mirror. Using a wet finger, I moisten the blood and add a little DNA to my name under the cabinet. Then I scrub my face.
I’m reaching for the door when it bursts open and Matt fills the entrance.
“Sorry, I washed my face.” I try to sound innocent, scared, which I am so it’s not that hard.
He looks angry as he turns and walks away without a word. Sitting at a tiny round table near the front door, he places a cigarette between his lips and strikes a match. He blows the smoke up and then looks over at me, his eyes staring at the cut on the side of my head.
“You know, this would have been much easier if you had agreed to a date.” He takes another draw from his cigarette and I’m deciding if I should ask. Would he even tell me? I don’t need to know why.
“How did you find me?”
His lips curl up as he takes another draw. “For three years, everyone has been searching for you. Everyone knows what you look like. Imagine my surprise when I get a call from my cousin. He stops in for a drink, and there you stand behind the bar.” He laughs. “What are the chances?” Then he takes another puff. “We had to be sure, though, otherwise I would have taken you the first night.”
“It was by accident?” I ask incredulously, my eyes feeling as wide as saucers.
He blows a swirl of smoke up in the air and laughs. “Yes, it was.”