Eleven Hours

by Paullina Simons

  Knocking the pretzel bag out of her hands, the man grabbed her under her arms and lifted her to her feet. Didi had a second to feel his strength. This late in her pregnancy, even her husband had trouble helping her off the couch or up from the bed. If she was on the floor, forget it. Rich would need a car jack.

  Didi’s legs weren’t making it easy for him, yet he yanked her up as if she were a stubborn weed. As soon as she got to her feet, she started to sink down again.

  “Let’s go,” he snapped, shoving her lightly with his body. “Come on now. You may be pregnant, but you’re not crippled. Not five minutes ago you were breezing through the mall, not a care in the world, bags and all. You can go ten feet now, can’t you?” Staring at her, he said, “What did you do to yourself? Look.” He wiped her mouth with his hand and showed her the blood. “Say something.”

  Didi tried to talk, but the words wouldn’t come. Fear for her life, fear for her baby, fear for her family—all the fear in the world was in her mouth, and her mouth was bloody and mute. She felt as if her throat were filling with cement. Nothing was moving except her tongue, which labored to help her breathe. She felt nearly paralyzed when she thought of leaving what she perceived as the safety of her own car. She was at her unlocked door. If only she’d hit the panic button instead of the unlock. Maybe it would have scared him off. Maybe it would have. Is that what it all came down to? Hitting the wrong damn button on her key ring?

  He shoved her again. Didi moved. She took a few tentative steps and walked out into the main row. A car drove by.

  Suddenly hope sprang up inside her. Between cars she had no chance, but here in the open, maybe someone would see her. Maybe someone would see her running—

  Running? Who was she kidding? Hadn’t she just sunk to the ground faster than an anchor into water? She couldn’t run, hadn’t run in months. With the baby’s head between her legs, pressing down on the blood vessels in her pelvis, she had to take stairs one at a time. She couldn’t even pretend-run after her girls.

  My girls. Didi gasped and dropped the bags.

  “Could you pick those up, please, ma’am?” he asked.

  “I can’t,” Didi panted. “They’re too heavy for me.” She wanted to leave a trace of herself behind.

  “Pick them up, please,” he said.

  Shaking her head, Didi said, “I can’t. Let’s just leave them.”

  Bending his head to look at her sideways, he said, “Now, you know that we can’t leave your bags in the middle of the parking lot.”

  “Forget it,” she said, pretending not to understand him. She was trying to fight the fear that was pulling her down to the ground again. What could he do in the middle of a sunny parking lot, a hundred feet away from Central Expressway, in broad daylight?

  She didn’t think he’d do much, and that gave her a little bit of courage. She thought, he seems pretty calm. He is being reasonable, therefore he can’t be crazy.

  Bravely, Didi repeated, “Forget it. I don’t want them. Really. If you can’t carry them, just leave them.”

  “Oh, shit,” he mumbled under his breath. He grabbed all the bags off the ground with his left hand, keeping his right hand on her. “I’ll take your bags. Happy now? Come on, let’s try to walk a little faster.”

  The man hurried, but she dragged her feet. “It’s only a little further. Then you can sit down,” he said kindly.

  But Didi wouldn’t hurry. She wanted to walk, to crawl, slower and slower, until she stopped and sat down, and had a drink and maybe some food, and stopped hyperventilating, and had her baby and woke up from a bad dream.

  She promised herself she would never go to NorthPark again. Or any mall again without her husband, without a friend, or without a gun. A whole lot of good a gun would have done her here. Excuse me for a second while I ransack through my handbag so I can shoot you.

  How long had it been? How was it possible that in the minutes since he had approached her, Didi had not seen anyone in the parking lot? Where was everybody?

  She nearly yelped with joy and hope when she saw two women in the next row getting out of a car.

  Didi didn’t know if any sound would come out when she opened her mouth, but the terror that had made her weaker a minute ago when she saw no way out made her stronger now when she saw a chance for escape.

  “Help! Help me!” she screamed, moving away from the man. He was fast. He dug his fingers into her arm.

  Didi flung her free arm and hit him across the face. “Help!” she screamed. “He’s—”

  The women turned and looked at them.

  And then he let go of her arm for a split second, just long enough to grab her around the neck, pull her to him, and kiss her hard on the mouth.

  He pressed his lips to hers, blowing air into her throat and sticking his tongue into her mouth. All the while he never stopped walking. She tried to pull away from his face, but he was too strong. He held her painfully tight around the neck. If he were her lover, she could have said, stop, you’re hurting me.

  But he wasn’t her lover.

  She saw the women smile to each other, nod, and keep on walking.

  He removed himself from her mouth, and when he did, she screamed once more. He pulled her to him again and pressed his lips on hers, but this time he bit her lip and clamped it between his teeth. “Stop it,” he said to her through his teeth. “Keep walking.”

  Whimpering into his mouth, she ran in little steps alongside him.

  Then he pulled away from her, and Didi whirled around to look for the two women. It was no use, because they were already inside the mall. The man stopped walking when they reached a beat-up beige station wagon. Clasping his right hand over her mouth, he dropped her bags and fumbled for the keys in his pocket. He opened the passenger door and sat her down in his car.

  Didi screamed, for she had nothing to lose. Whatever his intentions were, Didi was certain they did not involve his giving her a lift to the Laredo Grill. Her day went gray, and she began to scream again, but no one could hear her.

  He got in and started the car. “You know,” he said, “you should really stop that.”

  * * *

  They were racing through the NorthPark parking lot. The old car stank. Didi wondered for a moment if the stench came from her. Had she lost control of her bowels?

  But no. It was an old, bad odor. The car smelled of sour, rotted food. She looked over at him.

  He held the wheel tightly with both hands.

  She wanted to say something to him. But what? What? To save herself, she would have said anything.

  “What’s your name?” she asked in her friendliest voice. Is that the best I can come up with? she thought. What’s your name? What am I, a teenager at the school lockers?

  He didn’t answer her.

  Please show me the way, dear God, please show me the way out, for my kids, please hear my prayer.

  I guess it’s really happening, she thought, starting to rock back and forth, it’s happening. This man, he—I—I’ve been abducted. I’ve been snatched, stolen. He acts polite and tries to smile, but he’s kidnapped me. How’s Rich ever going to find me? And what could he want? Money? Of course, that must be it. He wants money. That’s what all kidnappers want. He doesn’t care about me. He saw me shopping at NorthPark and probably thought I was loaded.

  What would it do to tell him the truth? she thought. And what happens to me when he finds out the truth?

  Clasping her hands together, Didi tried to think of something comforting, but all that flashed through her was, Am I going to die? Right here, in this man’s car, this stinking car, die with a stranger? Is this how my life is going to end—

  My baby.

  Why was she thinking about death, about stinky cars? She couldn’t die, because if she did, her baby would too, and her baby could not die.

  That was impossible.

  The baby is counting on me not to let him die. That’s my job as his mother—to keep him and save him from harm. What kind
of mother would I be if I died on him? A bad kind, that’s what kind. Gently, she stroked her belly.

  Didi shuddered when she remembered the fight she had had with Richie yesterday. Poor Rich—he’ll be thinking I didn’t show up because I’m still mad at him. That stupid fight. It was just about this very thing—about harm coming to me and the baby. Rich got so mad he yelled at me that nothing was going to happen to the baby. He was angry at me for bringing bad thoughts into our house.

  Didi herself had felt silly for fearing the worst.

  Yesterday the worst had been some nebulous grief. She feared the baby might have two hearts, two brains, or not enough heart, not enough brain.

  Today—well, she couldn’t confront it.

  Didi’s hands were unsteady. Rubbing her belly gently, she looked out the side window.

  She thought, is God punishing me? I haven’t been penitent. I don’t say my prayers and there are some Sundays I don’t go to church and there are some I go and don’t want to. Who said Christianity was easy? It’s not like drinking water, accepting God into your heart. I’ve been remiss. And so have my children, and so has my husband. We watch TV, we make love, we don’t pray. We fight, we curse. I’ve been feeling cocky and now God is about to show me who’s boss.

  They went through a stop sign. Keep that up, Didi thought, and a nice police officer will soon be stopping you himself. At the next stop sign the man slowed down and pretended to stop. Didi looked at the door handle. The car must have slowed to twenty, maybe ten miles an hour. All she had to do was open the door and fall out. She lifted her trembling hand off her lap and reached for the handle.

  And stopped.

  The baby. When Didi fell out, would she fall on her belly? Would the shock of hitting the ground burst her water, would it snap the umbilical cord? Would it break her baby’s neck or crush its soft head?

  She glanced over at the man. He looked tranquil. Would she be able to crawl away fast enough from him? Or would he stop, slam the car into reverse, and roll over her, killing her and the baby? And then calmly drive away never to be found, never to be seen again.

  Didi knew one thing with absolute certainty: if she died, her baby had no chance. She closed her eyes briefly. Baby Evelyn or baby Adam, anything your mom can do, she will do, God help her.

  1:45 P.M.

  Rich called their hospital’s labor and delivery ward to see if a Didi Wood had been admitted and was told no.

  Finally he left the Laredo Grill. What mall had she been in? Was it Collin Creek right across the road, or the Galleria, or Valley View? NorthPark? She could have been calling from anywhere. She had had a doctor’s appointment at eleven, so perhaps she was at Collin Creek, which was the closest to the doctor and to the Laredo Grill. Rich wished he’d gone with her to the doctor’s as he usually did.

  He called the doctor’s office. The receptionist told him Didi had left at eleven-thirty after her routine weekly checkup. Then the doctor came on the phone and told Rich that Didi had dilated another centimeter to about two, normal for this stage in the pregnancy. Rich asked if Didi had mentioned where she might be heading. The doctor replied that Didi had said she might do a little shopping, but hadn’t said where. Rich hung up.

  Instead of going back to work, he drove to the Collin Creek Mall. His Didi was nothing if not a creature of habit, and whenever they went to the mall—any mall—Didi always parked near Dillard’s. He drove up and down the rows of cars, looking for their new white Town & Country—the Cadillac of all minivans, as the pamphlets had said.

  He thought he’d seen the van several times, but he was wrong.

  Remembering he had a meeting with marketing at three, Rich called his office manager and said he was tied up and couldn’t make it in. She sounded nervous on the phone, and said, “But Rich, your meeting.” And he said to her, “But Donna, my wife.” And hung up without an explanation.

  Then he called home. Maybe she wasn’t feeling well and had gone home to lie down. Totally unlike Didi, but maybe.

  No one answered. The babysitter must be picking Amanda up from school. Rich left a message for Didi to call him as soon as possible at the office. What could he do? He had to believe that Didi was still upset about the fight last night. It was the only explanation.

  But he didn’t believe that. It wasn’t like Didi to pay him back for anything. Even when they fought, she still made him dinner, still went to sleep with him, and she never stood him up if they made plans to meet. Never.

  Unprecedented events worried Rich. He remembered his dad, back in Chicago, every day for twenty-five years coming home from work on the 5:54 P.M. train. The train was sometimes late, but Richard Wood Sr. never missed that train—well, almost never. The day he missed the 5:54 was the day he died.

  1:45 P.M.

  Didi racked her brain to find something to say to stop the man, stop him before he drove his car out of the parking lot. Hope was a caged bird, and it was caged outside the NorthPark Mall. Once they were out of the lot and on Dallas streets or on the open road, the little bird called hope would flee this man’s car. Didi had to try something now, while there was still a chance. Her mouth was dry and her heart was beating fast as she took a deep breath.

  “Listen,” Didi said. “We’re not rich people, but—” She wanted to cry but wouldn’t let herself. “Call my husband. I’m sure he’ll give you money—”

  His soft laugh interrupted her.

  So he was listening. Her words were getting through. Heartened, Didi went on.

  “I just want to say, I mean, if you—” She choked up. “If you let me out now, I’ll walk back to my car and I’ll never mention this to anybody. We’ll never see each other again, but, please, couldn’t you just … just let me go?” Didi’s legs felt clammy. Trying to ease the tension, she rubbed the Belly.

  “Tell me, won’t you be sad for us to part and never see each other again?” he asked.

  What is he talking about? thought Didi. It doesn’t make sense. Maybe he’s made a mistake. Maybe he’s mistaken me for someone else. He acts as if he knows me. A crazy mistake but a mistake. He must think I’m someone who lives in Starwood or in Highland Park. I’m not, I’m not, she wanted to say.

  “I’m sorry, do you know who I am?”

  “Yes,” the man said. “Fate has brought you to me.”

  Didi felt sick.

  Shaking her head, Didi said tearfully, “What does fate have to do with it?”

  “Why, everything,” he said.

  “But my husband is waiting for me,” Didi said. “If I don’t come soon, he’s going to get very worried. I know he’ll call the police—”

  “We’ll be far away then, ma’am,” he said.

  Didi’s heart expanded. It felt as if it were going to explode out of her chest. She put her hand over her mouth to stop herself from making a wailing sound.

  So he seemed to have plans for them. He was moving along, traveling somewhere, and she was hurtling with him. By the time Rich was aware she was missing, they’d be far away. Sweet Jesus, what did that mean?

  “He’ll get worried right away. I’m never late,” Didi said. “And if I am, I always call.”

  “You’re not near a phone,” he said.

  Didi almost mentioned her cell phone, but stopped herself. So the man hadn’t seen her call Rich at the Warner Bros. store. She didn’t want to alert him. Rich would definitely call her. Maybe there was a way to trace the cell phone to where she was. Maybe the phone had some kind of a Didi-homing device. The police could call the number and locate Didi. She kept quiet for a moment while sadness swept through her unsettled stomach.

  “I just want to say,” she tried again, “if it’s money you want, I’m sure we can come up with something—”

  He laughed softly again.

  “Or,” Didi tried, encouraged by his smiling. “You could let me out.” She looked at him with hope. “There’s no harm done—”

  “There is already.”

  “No, not really,”
she said quickly, wanting to wipe her mouth. “I think you’ve made a mistake. You must think I’m rich, but I’m not really—”

  “I don’t think that, ma’am,” he said.

  She pressed on, “But if you continue, then you know, this will be a … a…” She couldn’t get the awful word out.

  “Kidnapping?”

  “Yes,” she said. “All you have to do is let me out right here. Please,” she added. “Stop and think, think. Don’t you know that kidnapping is a capital crime? In Texas, I think you get life for it.”

  “They’d have to catch me first,” the man said.

  “But they always catch the—” Didi wanted to say the bad guy.

  “Not always,” he said. “Let them try to find us.”

  Didi stared at him, wanting to argue. Not catch the bad guy? That wasn’t possible. They always caught the bad guy.

  Didn’t they?

  “What you’re doing,” she said, “It’s—”

  “Yes, I know,” he interrupted, smiling coolly. “I’d better take care not to get caught then, hadn’t I?”

  Didi stopped looking at his upturned nose and faced the road. Her mind was frenzied. She tried to make her body outwardly still, but her legs from the knees down were uncontrollable.

  Didi saw he was headed toward US 75.

  As if reading her mind, the man said, “Hang on, baby. There is no looking back. Nice try, though. But we’re in it for the long haul. For the whole haul,” he said in his nasal drawl.

  Didi put her arms around herself and stared ahead. Fear was invading her lungs from the malodorous car every time she inhaled. They made a right onto the expressway service road, and in a few seconds were on Central Expressway at seventy miles an hour, heading in the direction of downtown Dallas.

  “Please,” she whispered.

  “I’m not even going to speed,” the man said. “I’m going to take it nice and easy.”