by Henry, April
“My stepmom.” She gave him what he guessed she thought was a friendly smile. It was more like a dog baring its teeth. “Let me talk to her and it will buy you some time. I’ll tell her she parked in a different row than she thinks. She was in a hurry when she went into the drugstore. It will keep her looking for a few more minutes.”
“I don’t think so,” Griffin said, and watched the fake smile fall from her face like a plate from a shelf. He pressed the power button on the phone until the display dwindled and went black. But even with the power off, could the police somehow trace the phone? He slid the window down and threw the phone as far as he could, where it landed in a tangle of blackberry bushes. Too late, he remembered his fingerprints would be on it. He had taken off his gloves to tie her up and then neglected to put them back on again. He swore under his breath. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He was just as dumb as Roy always said. Why couldn’t he ever think things through? Feeling his pulse thrumming in his temples, Griffin tried to reassure himself that it would be all right. No one would find that phone for years.
He pulled back onto the road. When he came to a fork, he took a back way that wound between fields. Here the houses were miles apart. He got a cigarette out of his shirt pocket and flicked his lighter.
“You are not going to smoke in my stepmom’s car!”
“What?” He was half amused, half angry. Didn’t she realize who was in charge now?
“First of all, I’m sick. I can barely breathe as it is. Second, my stepmom will kill you if you stink up her car.”
Griffin snorted. But he took the cigarette out of his mouth and put it and the lighter back in his shirt pocket.
For a long time, the car was absolutely silent except for the ragged sound of the girl’s breathing. After about fifteen minutes, he saw a car approaching them. As it got closer, he tensed. Would she try to signal somehow, maybe press her feet against the window, or heave herself up so that her face appeared? He angled the rearview mirror so he could look at her. He watched her face tense and could tell she was weighing her options, the same as he would have in her place. But there weren’t many. The car passed without incident. The driver was an older man talking on a mobile. Griffin doubted that the Escalade had even registered on his consciousness.
Her voice, coming from under the blanket, made him jump. “What’s your name?”
“What? Are you serious? Do you really think I would tell you that?” He countered with, “What’s your name?” For a second, Griffin thought of what it must be like to be her. To be blind. Like being on an amusement park ride in the dark, one of those rides where skeletons jumped out at you or ghosts glided up behind you and you only knew they were there when they wailed in your ear.
“It’s Cheyenne,” she said softly. “Cheyenne Wilder.”
“Why did your parents name you Cheyenne?” Griffin asked as they drove past two horses – one brown and one black – running free. His eyes followed them for a moment. “Isn’t that an Indian tribe?”
“I’m one-thirty-second Indian. Not enough to really matter.”
High cheekbones, dark hair, dark eyes – he could see it. His panic had eased a little. “How old are you?” he asked. It was hard to tell. Fourteen? Eighteen? She was smaller than him, maybe five two, and not wearing any makeup, but she also seemed self-assured. Maybe you had to grow up fast if you were blind.
“Sixteen.”
“How come you’re blind?”
Instead of answering, Cheyenne shifted and changed the subject. “Where are you taking me?”
He shook his head, forgetting again that she couldn’t see him. Then he said, “I can’t tell you that.”
“Well, then, how long until we get there?”
“When we do.” An odd flash of memory, some vacation with his parents. His dad just drove, never taking his eyes off the road and never answering Griffin’s questions. His mom turned around in the seat and talked to him, snuck him little snacks. They had played games, like spotting as many different license plates as they could, or vying with each other to think of animals whose names started with each letter of the alphabet. “Ape, bear, cheetah…” Griffin hadn’t thought about that trip for a long time.
He looked back at Cheyenne again. Her eyes were open but unfocused, which was kind of freaky. It reminded him of parties he had been to, people so drugged or drunk they were lost in their own world. It was weird that he could look at her and she wouldn’t know.
As he watched, Cheyenne began to cough again, explosions that jerked her body around on the seat. Finally, she choked out, “Can you get me a cough drop from my purse?”
He pulled off on a gravel turnout but left the engine running. After rummaging in her purse, he found a pack of cough drops. “Here you go,” he said. She opened her mouth. Even though he hadn’t been to mass since his mom left when he was ten, Griffin suddenly felt like a priest with a communion wafer. As he gave Cheyenne the cough drop, his fingertips grazed her lips.
“Look,” he said, “I’m going to need to cover your face for a second. And when we stop, I’ll need you to stay quiet, okay?”
For a moment, the only sound was her sucking on the lozenge. Then finally she nodded.
Griffin pulled the blanket loosely over her face, then put the car in gear and drove on. As he did, he unconsciously rubbed his fingertips together, the ones that had touched her lips.
HERE BE DRAGONS
The kidnapper couldn’t see her. Nobody could see her. It was like she was invisible. As she lay on the backseat of the car, hidden under the blanket, Cheyenne allowed herself to cry without making any sound. In the last three years, she had gotten good at it.
After the accident, her dad had fallen apart. Every night in the hospital, he slept in her room. Her mom would have done the same, but her mom was gone. Her dad traveled so much on business that it was her mom who knew her best, who knew everything about her. Who else would remember that Cheyenne loved chocolate chip Teddy Grahams and was scared of moths? Who was going to take her shopping for bras and talk to her about the kids at school? In the hospital, Cheyenne’s dad sometimes woke her up because he was crying in his sleep. She had realized it was her job to be strong for him, so Cheyenne had hid her real feelings, her real self, so that he wouldn’t guess how bad it was.
Now, hidden under the blanket, she felt her chest ache. She didn’t know how much of it was from holding the sobs in and how much was from the pneumonia. Danielle had already guessed it was pneumonia by listening with her stethoscope to the crackle in Cheyenne’s lungs, as well as the dead area where there should have been breath sounds but weren’t. Even though Cheyenne had never seen anything but a blurry slice of Danielle, she still had a clear mental picture of her. Blond, shoulder-length, straight hair and a slender body, looking something like one of a million actresses on TV, although Danielle was smarter than any two or three of them put together.
The visit to the doctor’s office had just been a formality, a way to get the prescription that a nurse wasn’t allowed to write. The doctor had tapped the X-ray, making a hollow plastic sound, and told them that it showed a shadow over the bottom of Cheyenne’s right lung. “With antibiotics, we can knock this thing out in a few days. It will take you some time to regain your stamina, but you’ll be well on your way to recovery by the time school starts after Christmas break.”
Cheyenne took a long, shuddering breath. Her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. Everything seemed unreal. This couldn’t be happening to her. It was like those old maps from back when they thought the world was flat, where out past the land, far out in the ocean, they had written “Here be Dragons.”
She took a deep breath. Think, Cheyenne commanded herself. Concentrate. She had to use whatever advantages she had. Except she didn’t have any. If only Phantom were here! More than anything, she missed him. She wished she hadn’t left him at home, but Danielle had thought it would be easier since all they were doing was walking from the car to the doctor’s office and b
ack, and she didn’t need a guide dog for that. But if Cheyenne had had Phantom with her, this creepy guy wouldn’t even have gotten in the car.
Now here she was, blind, kidnapped, tied up, and going who knows where with a criminal. Her mobile phone was gone. And she was very sick.
No! Cheyenne mouthed the word to herself. She had to stay on track. Think. She was blind. That was a fact. That was her greatest weakness. But could she somehow use it to her advantage?
And there were a few advantages to being blind – not many, certainly not enough. But a few. For one thing, she knew how to use all her other senses in a way that most sighted people never did. They smelled and heard and touched all the same things she did, but they had let that part of their brain go numb with disuse, so the sensations didn’t register. And Cheyenne had learned the hard way to always, always pay attention to what was around her, to pick up as many clues as she could.
So how could she use her senses to her advantage? She sniffed, but all she could smell was the stale residue of the cigarette smoke on this guy’s clothes. Until they stopped and he opened the door, she wouldn’t have any clues from her nose. Her ears told her just as little. All she knew was that it had been at least twenty minutes since another car had passed them. And she had long ago lost track of the direction they were headed. They had been on a winding road for a while – but for how long? She twisted her hands until she could run her thumb over the numbers on her Braille watch. It was almost eleven. This guy had stolen the car about forty-five minutes ago. Okay, so they were forty-five miles or less away from the mall. She roughed out the math problem in her head. The result was disheartening. That meant she could be anywhere within a space a little greater than six thousand square miles. Even if they stopped soon, how could her dad and Danielle or even the police find her in all that space?
Cheyenne forced her mind back to the things she might be able to control. Like the guy who had kidnapped her. What could she do to get an advantage over him?
She decided that the first step would be to get him to untie her. Poor blindy, that’s what she had to make him think. Once she could use her hands, she could find a phone. Or a weapon. She could even take her cane and run away as soon as it was dark. She longed for it to be nighttime, when she would be more than a sighted person’s equal.
When they got wherever they were going, she would talk him into freeing her hands. Then she would collect all the clues and tools she could and bide her time. And if it seemed like he was going to do something bad, she wouldn’t go quietly. She would give him the fight of his life.
It seemed impossible, but Cheyenne must have fallen asleep. The next thing she knew, the car was lurching down a gravel road so bumpy she almost rolled off the seat. Over the noise in the cab, she heard a dog barking. Judging by how deep the sound was, it was a big dog. And not very well trained.
Another noise was layered over the barking, a high-pitched metallic whine. A saw. The sound, which was coming from someplace in front of the car, abruptly ceased. The window whirred as it glided down. Cold seeped in and pressed against her, even under the blanket. The smells of wood smoke and pine needles filled the car.
The dog stopped barking and started to whine. Footsteps crunched on gravel. Cheyenne’s problem had just gotten twice as complicated. Now there were two people, not one. But maybe this new person would see how ridiculous it was that she was a prisoner. Maybe he or she – it would be a lot better if it were a she – would insist that Cheyenne be freed immediately.
But it was a man who spoke, in a rough voice that mingled interest and suspicion. “God damn, Griffin, what’s this?” Cheyenne filed the name away. Griffin. If she ever got free – she quickly amended that to when – she would make this Griffin pay. “Where’d you get it?”
“At the mall. Somebody left the keys in it.”
“God damn!” The same words, only this time filled with respect. “But what happened to your face?” Good, she had hurt Griffin. Then the other man must have realized what was under the blanket, because his tone changed. “What in hell is that in the backseat?”
“It’s a girl.”
“You killed a girl!” Disbelief.
“No, no,” Griffin said hastily. “She’s just tied up. She was in the car. Lying down in the backseat. I didn’t see her at first. And by the time I did, it was too late. So I had to take her with me.”
The smack of flesh meeting flesh. Cheyenne realized that the other man had just slapped Griffin.
“So you brought her back here? That wasn’t a real smart idea. Why am I not surprised that it was you that thought of it?”
“What else did you want me to do?” Griffin whined. “In five more minutes, the place would have been crawling with cops. I had to get away as fast as I could. I’ll just wait until tonight, and go drop her out on a logging road. And then I’ll hightail it out of there.”
“You idiot! She knows what you look like. And now she’s been here. I don’t need to spell it out for you. She’ll say who we are. She’ll get the cops back here. Are you trying to back me into a corner?”
“But she’s blind, Dad!”
Dad?
IN CASE THE LAW COMES LOOKING
“Give me her purse,” Roy demanded. He held out his hand. “Let’s see who she is.” He was still angry, that was clear, but Roy was always at least a little bit angry.
The thing was, Griffin thought, watching his dad carefully, his cheek still stinging, how angry was he?
“I already know who she is. Her name’s Cheyenne Wilder.”
He got out of the car. Roy took a step closer. He was all up in Griffin’s face now, nose to nose, which was kind of a surprise. How long had he been nose to nose, eye to eye, with his dad? Sensing the tension, Duke started growling.
Griffin stepped back, holding his hands up in surrender.
His dad spit tobacco out of the side of his mouth. Roy was nothing but muscle and tattoo. Despite the cold, Roy was dressed the way he always was, in a black leather Harley vest open over a flannel shirt. The sleeves of the shirt had been torn off, ragged over his bulging pecs. The Skoal can in his chest pocket had left a faded circle on the plaid.
Jimbo and TJ came out of the barn. Griffin was glad for the distraction.
“Whoa! What is that?” Jimbo asked, shaking his head in admiration as he took in the Escalade. Even though he had plenty of personal insulation, Jimbo was wearing so many layers he looked like the Michelin man. Jimbo was always cold. “A little something you picked up shopping?”
“Sweet!” TJ chimed in. TJ was skinny and short, not much taller than Cheyenne, with a long dirty blond ponytail poking out of the back of his trucker’s cap.
“Only there’s a problem,” Roy said. The red in his face had faded slightly. “The car came with a little something extra. A girl.”
“A kid,” Griffin felt the need to interject. He could already see TJ perking up, and he didn’t need him to get the wrong idea. “And actually, she’s blind, so she didn’t see anything.”
The two men peered through the half-open window at Cheyenne. Underneath the blanket, she was absolutely still. Griffin hoped she couldn’t hear exactly what they were saying.
“So she’s really blind?” TJ asked in a loud voice.
Griffin saw her flinch under the blanket.
Jimbo nudged TJ. “He said blind, dummy, not deaf.”
Roy turned his head to spit tobacco juice. “Did you change the plates?”
“Hey, I didn’t know I was going to find a car. I didn’t bring any with me.”
“Where’s the Honda?”
Griffin didn’t want to answer, but he had to. “I had to leave it there.”
“Where’s it at? Don’t tell me it’s anywhere near where you got this.”
“The Honda is in the far end, by the bookshop,” Griffin said. “And the Escalade was on the complete opposite end of the parking lot.”
“We can’t leave it there overnight or someone might connect the dot
s between one car left in the parking lot and another car that got stolen.” Roy thought for a moment. “Give them the keys. You two can take the pickup and go out to Woodlands and get the Honda back.”
TJ and Jimbo mumbled agreement. Griffin tossed Jimbo the keys and the two men ambled off toward the pickup. When they were out of earshot, Roy turned to him.
“You’ve got us in a world of hurt, you know that? For right now, get her in the house. Keep her hands tied up, put her some place she can’t cause any problems, and then come back here. I’ll put the Escalade in the barn. Don’t use names and don’t tell her where we are. You and me need to talk about what we’re going to do. But not in front of her.”
When Griffin opened the car door and leaned in, Cheyenne’s body was rigid. As he pulled the blanket back, she rubbed her cheek on the striped scarf she wore around her neck, over her coat. She was, he realized, wiping away tears. The dampness still shone on her red face. It seemed strange that she could cry even when her eyes didn’t otherwise work.
He helped her sit up and then said, “I’m going to cut the shoelaces around your ankles now. Don’t move.” He took out his knife, unfolded the blade. So that he wouldn’t slip and cut her, he put one hand between her ankles, just below the taut shoelace, and felt how she trembled.
After cutting the shoelace loose, Griffin helped her up into a sitting position. As he did, Cheyenne whispered to him.
“Just give me my cane and let me go right now. I won’t tell anyone anything. I promise.”
He kept his answer short. “No.” He concentrated on slipping on her laceless shoes.
“Then tonight, when everyone’s asleep.”
He shook his head and then realized she couldn’t see him. But she must have felt the movement because she pressed her lips together until they were a thin white line.