“You two look comfy,” a familiar voice said.
I opened my eyes to see Alice looking as amused as she had sounded.
“So you’re up for a swim then?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“No, but I am up for a walk.”
“Great. We’ll let Pip choose which way to get there. She always finds the best routes,” I said.
And so we did, following the far-off blur of gray and white as she rocketed into a patch of trees a little off to our left.
We didn’t say much; the air was filled enough with what we didn’t. When I glanced over, she wasn’t looking at me. I didn’t blame her. This was only to pass the time. There was no point in swapping more words, in getting into this deeper than we had already, making this harder than it had to be.
Besides, the forest was enjoyable enough. Something about how the trees threw speckles of light onto the ground, how every chipmunk and squirrel seemed to be running in pointless haste or loitering extravagantly, something about the never-repeated collaboration of rock and foliage made me smile.
Maybe that had been my dad’s problem: Tucked away on the 23rd floor of a vomit-colored apartment building in the middle of New York City, trees were scarce. Sure, there was always Central Park, but I didn’t remember ever having gone there. I couldn’t even recall a single tree from the harried images of my childhood.
No, I remember harsh voices and hands raised, sneering mouths and staring eyes, but not a single tree or a kind smile. Nothing except…
“So, you’ve lived in Denver all your life?”
Alice glanced over, surprised by me breaking the silence.
“Yeah. Why?”
“No reason,” I said.
There was no point in getting into it. It hadn’t been her. There were thousands of brown-haired, blue-eyed girls; what were the odds?
Even as I walked on, Alice’s gaze wouldn’t shift.
“Why do you ask?”
“It’s stupid, all right?”
She said nothing, so, finally, I said, “What about trips then? You ever take a trip to New York when you were little?”
Alice stopped walking.
“Yeah, with my dad when I was ten. Why?”
“And the American Museum of Natural History—you didn’t go check that out, did you? Look at the big old dinosaur bones?”
Her face went white.
“What the hell, Jake?”
“Well, did you?”
Her eyebrows arched, her eyes flashed, and her lips pressed together.
“Screw you; I’m not telling you until you tell me why.”
“Okay. It’s just…I don’t know; it’s stupid. When I was a kid, must’ve been ten also, right before my dad died, we went there. It was a shitty trip; we spent the whole time arguing. But it had been the first time I’d been to a museum since I could remember.
“So, I was standing close to the dinosaur, way too close. Dad was a few feet off, on his phone I think. He told me to back up, but I didn’t. I wanted to see the dinosaur bones from below. I had never seen anything like it. I fell on the display and an alarm went off. As a big, tall, frowning security guard advanced from one side and my shouting dad from the other, as tears came to my eyes, I turned around and saw her: a little girl with the most beautiful blue eyes and brown pigtails with red ribbons. And as I looked at her, time seemed to freeze, and she—”
“Smiled at you,” Alice said softly. “Smiled at you and took your hand.”
As I gaped at Alice, she nodded and continued. “And then your yelling dad caught up with you, grabbed you by the arm, and ripped you away, while the security guard tailed you both.”
My eyes scanned her face, passing over the perfect ski-slope nose I could now see was faintly freckled, the upturned lower lip, the eyes in which I now saw the look I had seen then. It was the same impossible look, one that had seemed impossible then and still did now. It was a look of goodness, of kindness, of caring.
“It was you,” I whispered, and she nodded, taking my hand.
“It was you,” she said, tears coming to her eyes. “That day…that was the day I decided I wanted to help people and work for a charity. That was the day I started sponsoring Saffie in Sierra Leone. That day changed my life.”
We stared at each other, her words as if I had said them myself. That day, the strange fleeting kindness of that little girl, had given me hope in my darkest of times. And yet I swallowed this admission down. I couldn’t say it aloud.
Instead, I released her hand, looked away, and started walking again. If I admitted it, if I let the feelings that were bubbling inside me break free, if I let myself embrace Alice the way I wanted to, then everything would be ruined.
“You coming?” I called, and the crunch of footsteps after me was my answer.
I kept a pace fast enough that she’d have to jog to catch up. I didn’t look back.
I couldn’t explain it to her, couldn’t make her see that I destroyed everything I touched.
Chapter Nine
Alice
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.
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