The Road To Deliverance

by James, Harper

  He opened the driver’s door, leaned across to retrieve the plastic bag with the food. She shimmied back and forth, worked her skirt back down. Before Mr Helpful offered to do it for her.

  A sandwich landed in her lap. She stared at the sorry offering with its stale, curled up edges.

  ‘You didn’t do what I said. About getting a fresh one from the back.’

  ‘Oh, I did.’ His voice was bright, full of fun. ‘That’s mine. Thanks for the tip.’

  She didn’t rise to the bait.

  ‘I suppose I’ve got to eat this with my hands tied.’

  He nodded. Fished in the bag, pulled out a paper napkin.

  ‘Afraid so. Here, let me help you.’ He dabbed at her chin with the napkin. ‘You’ve got a little drool there.’

  She shook her head violently, swiped at his hand. He only laughed and got back in the front.

  ‘YOU WANT TO TALK to me about the text?’

  He jerked as if she’d snapped him out of a reverie. From the set of his jaw it was clear his mind was occupied by things that were far from pleasant.

  ‘What?’

  ‘At the convenience store. I saw you get a text. You looked like you wanted to smash your phone into a million pieces.’

  He let out a short laugh.

  ‘I thought you were too busy trying to untie yourself.’

  She gave him a smile, shows how much you know.

  ‘Women can multi-task. Didn’t you know?’

  He didn’t say anything for a while. Something told her he didn’t plan to.

  ‘I’ll take that as a no, shall I?’

  His eyes caught hers in the mirror.

  ‘You never give up do you?’

  ‘What else am I going to do? It’s okay for you, concentrating on the road. I’ve been sitting here for hour after hour with nothing to do while my mind tries to drive me crazy.’ The last word came out more like a scream. She couldn’t help it.

  ‘What? You’re back to that is he going to kill me, isn’t he going to kill me, crap again? I can’t help you with that, Sarah.’

  ‘Yes, you can.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Tell me what’s going on.’ She let more frustration show in her voice than she wanted to. ‘All you’ve said is I’ve got to trust you.’

  ‘So, trust me.’

  ‘Yeah, right. It’s actually kind of hard when so far all you’ve done is knock me unconscious and try to put me in the trunk. Oh, and keep me tied up the whole time.’

  She caught sight of the now familiar curl at the side of his mouth. She bet he was thinking about their wrestling match in the back seat.

  ‘It could be a whole lot worse.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he repeated with some force. ‘If I was a psychopath like you think, I’d have killed you at the gas station when you hit me. Or actually put you in the trunk where you belong when you tried to escape at the store.’

  ‘Instead of getting distracted trying to bury your face in my—’

  ‘In your what?’ he cut in, his voice thick. ‘If I’d wanted to bury my face anywhere, I’d have buried it. Period.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really. And you’d have been screaming, more, more, please, please, give me more ‘till your throat was raw.’

  ‘Is that so?’ she spluttered, trying hard to control the almost irresistible urge to laugh in his smug face at the ridiculous conversation. ‘Is that what all the women you kidnap do?’

  He nodded so vigorously his whole body rocked.

  ‘You better believe it. And not only the ones I kidnap either.’

  ‘In your dreams.’

  ‘And yours.’

  It was like talking to a child who always has to have the last word.

  ‘I can’t believe I’ve been kidnapped by a man with the brains and the emotional development of a fourteen-year-old boy.’

  ‘Sounds like we’re a perfect match.’

  There wasn’t a lot to say after that. The silence stretched out. Uncomfortably for her, although she’d bet he was savoring every moment.

  ‘And no, I don’t want to talk about it,’ he said suddenly.

  ‘Sure about that? There’s definitely something boiling up inside of you that needs to come out soon.’

  He let out a low whistle.

  ‘Hot-shot lawyer and amateur psychiatrist all rolled into one. Impressive.’

  She sat up, banged her hands into the back of his headrest, made him jump.

  ‘That’s right. Laugh it off. Be a typical man. Keep it all bottled up inside until it’s too late to do anything about it and it all erupts.’ She threw herself back against the seat. ‘It hasn’t worked for two million years, but, hey, maybe it’ll work today.’

  ‘Feel better now?’

  She shook her head in despair.

  ‘Do I feel better? It’s not about me, but, no, I don’t feel better now that you ask. I’ve had enough of being abducted by a fourteen-year-old boy in the body of a full-grown psychopath.’

  She slumped down in the seat. Stared at her hands in her lap. Outside it was growing dark. It was still light enough for her to see Cole as he watched her silently in the mirror.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly from the front. ‘I really don’t want to talk about it. Call me stupid, superstitious, whatever. If you say it out loud, it makes it more real.’

  She saw the fear in his eyes then. Until he deliberately looked away so she couldn’t.

  ‘Have you never heard people say a problem shared is a problem halved for Christ’s sake?’

  His head nodded in agreement. It didn’t mean a thing. Nothing she said did.

  ‘Sure, I have. But have you never heard people say a problem shared is twice as many people in danger?’

  Chapter 20

  SARAH HAD BEEN DOZING when she became aware of the car slowing down. She yawned and stretched as best she could. It’s not easy with your hands tied. She glanced at her watch. 9:05 p.m. They’d been on the road twenty-one hours. She gazed out at the neon sign of a small motel lighting up the night sky. Cole pulled to a stop in front of the office, twisted around to study her.

  ‘Where are we?’

  ‘Just outside Lacombe, Louisiana.’

  ‘So, is this it? The end of the road?’

  He shook his head, if only.

  ‘No. We’re about two-thirds the way. Still got a long way to go’—he glanced at his own watch as he said it—‘but I need a break. We’ll stop for three hours. I want to be back on the road by midnight. You’ve got a choice here, Sarah—’

  ‘Don’t tell me . . . trunk or bed?’

  He smiled without any warmth in it. Despite that, he had a nice smile. It reminded her of somebody.

  ‘You got it. Let me tell you how it’s going to work. I’m going to go pay for a room while you stay here. If you try to untie yourself again or do anything else, we’ll drive on. Then I’ll stop on the shoulder and put you in the trunk. This time there’ll be no fun and games. You will end up in the trunk even if I have to knock you unconscious—’

  ‘Like before.’

  ‘—and then I’ll stop at the next motel, get myself a nice, warm room while you spend a miserable couple hours folded double in the trunk with your knees in your mouth. Where, by the way, there’s plenty of room for them.’

  She didn’t respond to the jibe. His face made it clear she was one wrong word away from going in the trunk anyway.

  ‘Oh, I nearly forgot. You’ll spend the rest of the journey in there as well. It’s your choice.’

  She wanted to shout at him, you call that a choice?

  ‘Just go get a room.’

  Maybe it was the resignation in her voice that made him soften a little. He smiled again, a proper one this time, not simply a confirmation that he was going to get his way. Again.

  ‘You can freshen up a bit. I’ll see if I can get us something to eat as well.’

  She watched him disappear into the off
ice, thought about what to do with her very limited options. She hadn’t gotten very far by the time he returned and drove them down to the last room, the one furthest from the office.

  When he opened the door, she swung her legs around and out onto the asphalt to make it easier for him to get at the rope around her ankles. It didn’t work like that this time.

  Instead of bending down and untying them, he took hold of her hands, pulled her out and upright before she knew what was happening. Then he dipped one shoulder, leaned into her stomach, flipped her over his shoulder.

  She let out a gasp of surprise. Nobody had ever picked her up like that before—and certainly not as easily. It was like she was six years old.

  ‘Shush,’ he hissed, ‘or I’ll drop you on your butt and drag you.’

  She shushed. He carried her the few yards to their room—it sounded so romantic put like that—unlocked the door, then ruined it all by dumping her unceremoniously on the bed like a sack of coal.

  ‘The perfect gentleman, as ever.’

  SHE SAT UP AND looked around. The room was exactly as she’d expected it to be, only not as clean.

  A bit like her.

  She’d been in the same clothes and underwear for more than thirty-six hours since getting ready for work the previous day. There wasn’t much chance of things improving over the next thirty-six hours either.

  ‘I’d like to take a shower.’

  He dropped his backpack by the side of the bed.

  ‘Sure thing, go ahead.’

  He didn’t turn around or make a move to do anything about it.

  ‘I didn’t mean in my clothes.’

  He turned then. She held out her bound wrists.

  ‘Right. I see what you mean. You want me to untie you.’

  ‘Well, it makes it kind of hard to get undressed if you don’t.’

  The words were out before she could bite them back. His face told her what was coming before he said it. She had to stop making it so easy for him.

  ‘That’s not a problem. I can help you with that.’

  He took a step towards her like it was a big game—another one where he was the one having all the fun. Like a pillow fight where he was the only one with a pillow.

  ‘No!’

  It came out louder than she meant it to. He stopped again.

  ‘Just untie me, okay. I won’t try to get away.’

  He stared at her for a long moment. Disappointment clouded his face. It made her a little sad to see the mischievous grin of a few seconds before wiped away. He knelt down without another word, untied her feet first, went to work on her wrists.

  She flexed her hands and fingers, massaging them to get some sensation back.

  ‘Thank you. That’s much better. Now we’re almost like two normal people. Almost.’

  ‘There’s something I should tell you.’

  It wasn’t going to be anything she’d want to hear. After less than twenty-four hours in his company, she already knew how his mind worked, recognized the tell-tale signs in his voice.

  ‘I’m not going to like it, am I?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘No, you’re not.’

  He paused, almost embarrassed by what he was about to say. Her heartbeat picked up. How bad could it be?

  ‘I’m not letting you out of my sight.’

  It took a second for it to sink in. She was sure her mouth must have dropped open.

  ‘You think you’re coming in the bathroom with me?’

  He ran his hand through his hair.

  ‘Not think. I am.’

  ‘You can’t be serious.’

  ‘You’ve only got yourself to blame. Every time my back’s turned, you try to get away.’

  She stood there speechless as he walked over to the bathroom, opened the door.

  ‘See. There’s a window. You think I’m going to let you lock yourself in there and then climb out the window.’

  She walked over to see for herself. He didn’t move out of the way. She was forced to lean up against him to see into the bathroom.

  ‘You think I’d fit through that window? I’m flattered, but get real.’

  ‘You might all soaped up.’

  She felt in her gut, more than heard, the catch in his voice. In the right circumstances—and these weren’t—there’s something about getting all soapy and slippery.

  ‘I suppose that’s something else you can help me with, you being so amenable?’

  ‘Even . . .’ He cleared his throat. ‘Even if you didn’t actually climb out, there’s nothing to stop you leaning out and screaming the place down.’

  She threw herself back down on the bed. As always, he held all the cards.

  ‘Suit yourself.’

  She lay there staring up at the ceiling, not knowing what to do. Cleanliness or modesty? Trouble was, once she’d decided she wanted a shower, she wouldn’t settle until she got one. There was a hint of staleness on her clothes, a residual stickiness from the spilled drink on her skin.

  ‘I think you need one.’ He sniffed loudly.

  She rolled over. Turned away so she didn’t have to look at his face, see how much fun he was having. Not that she needed to see his face.

  ‘You’re not so fresh yourself,’ she mumbled to the wall.

  Big mistake.

  ‘We could always—’

  ‘No! We couldn’t.’

  He laughed, gotcha.

  ‘I was going to say we’ll take it in turns.’

  ‘No, you weren’t. You were going to say we could take one together.’

  He gasped in mock surprise.

  ‘It never crossed my mind.’

  ‘Liar.’

  ‘I’m surprised at you, Sarah, married woman and all. Anyway, I’m only kidding. You can go in on your own. The window’s painted solid. The manager’s got the TV turned so loud he wouldn’t hear if the whole place blew up. And we’re the only guests. So, go ahead, shout as loud as you like. Get it off your chest. It’ll stop me from dozing off too.’

  With that he dropped heavily onto the bed, swung his feet up, stared at the ceiling. She kicked off her shoes and headed for the bathroom, eyes flicking to the table by the door as she went.

  There were keys on there. Trouble was, she couldn’t see how many. She looked away quickly, not wanting him to catch her.

  She paused in the bathroom doorway, looked back at him lying on the bed. His eyes were shut now. But would he fall asleep?

  Chapter 21

  SARAH SPENT a long time in the shower, even longer sitting on the toilet afterwards. The longer she stayed in the bathroom, the less time she spent tied up. At 10:45 p.m. she cracked the door open a fraction of an inch. The steady rhythm of Cole’s breathing told her he’d fallen asleep.

  She crept into the bedroom, fully-dressed, without her shoes. She was surprised at how young he looked in sleep, arm thrown above his head, mouth hanging open. Never a good look. His face was cleansed of whatever it was that was driving him, at peace for the moment.

  His phone wasn’t on the nightstand. He’d fallen asleep before setting an alarm. Nobody sets an alarm on their phone and puts it back in their pocket. You put it on the nightstand, next to your head.

  What now?

  Get the hell out of there while she had the chance, that much was a no-brainer. However, something in her attitude towards him had changed during their road trip together. A relationship of sorts had developed between them—it was back to the Stockholm Syndrome.

  He’d been right before. If she’d managed to escape, she’d have called the cops straight away. To get her car back if nothing else. And who gives a damn what happened to him. Now she had the chance to get away in her car by herself. She didn’t need to call the cops. The only reason would be to repay him for what he put her through. She wasn’t sure she wanted to do that to him now.

  Besides, the police might not believe her. It would’ve been different with her hands bound together in the back of the car. But now? Fre
shly showered in a motel room, not a mark on her. She imagined the smirks on the cops’ faces, the surreptitious winks, the way their questions would be phrased.

  Tell us one more time what exactly you were doing in a cheap motel room with some rope and a man who isn’t your husband.

  It would be her word against his. She would have to explain why she was asleep in the back of her car in the first place. Or he might say he was hitchhiking and she picked him up. It wouldn’t be too difficult to make it sound as if she was the unreliable witness, the drunk, the one making up stories.

  That wasn’t all.

  If she was honest with herself, it was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her by a long shot—now that she was able to end it on her terms. And with all her body parts intact.

  She’d leave him stranded here and they’d call it quits. Having to get himself back home again would be punishment enough. Or wherever he was going. It wasn’t her problem.

  Not yet, anyway.

  She waited a while longer until he was snoring gently, his breathing deep and even. She picked up her shoes from where she’d kicked them off, her eyes never leaving his face, alert for the slightest sign of him waking.

  The door key was still on the table over by the door. If he hadn’t fallen asleep, he’d have put it somewhere she couldn’t get at it. Like her car key. It was nowhere in sight.

  She put her shoes down carefully by the door. Crept towards the bed, not daring to breathe. The leather fob of her keyring was visible poking out of the front pocket of his jeans. Of course it was. It was waving at her, taunting her.

  Come and get me.

  She stood over him, staring at it. Willing it to inch its way out. He shifted on the bed, brought his knee up, trapped the key more tightly in the crease of his pocket.

  Her hand moved cautiously towards the fob. She watched it as if it were somebody else’s hand, like a fairground claw machine operated by her, not part of her.

  She pinched the fob tightly between her finger and thumb. The big question—slow and cautious or fast and decisive. Or nothing at all. Stand there all night until her fingers went numb or he woke up.