by Dan Padavona
“They’re not paying me enough for this crap,” she says, growling as she stomps the gas pedal and rolls through a stop sign.
Good. No one coming. Nadia checks the mirrors and ensures no police cars whip off the curb in pursuit. Halfway to the library, she flips the dial on the satellite radio and settles on an alternative rock station. She exhales. The clock reads 7:50. Barring an unexpected road closure, she’ll pull into the library parking lot with a minute to spare. If the doors aren’t open at eight on the button, Mr. Trumble will raise hell with the head librarian. It’s not that she’s unappreciative of the old man’s love for books, but get a Kindle already. Either that or sleep until nine once in a while.
While she sips from the travel mug, the tire clips a pothole. The top flies off the mug. Scalding coffee rains down on her stomach and lap.
“Shit!”
She swore she’d secured the lid. That’s what she gets for buying the cheapest travel mug on the Wal-Mart shelf. Cursing again, she slows and pulls to the curb, drawing a honk from the BMW riding her bumper. She looks up and watches the businessman flip her off. The coffee seeps through her clothes and scalds her skin. Now she really will be late.
Stepping out of the car with a fistful of tissues, she stands curbside beneath a Japanese maple and wipes the coffee off her clothes. No saving the outfit. The next paycheck will pay for new clothes, if there’s any money left over after the rent. A midnight blue Subaru Forester slows as it approaches her car from behind. Maybe a good Samaritan wants to check on her. But the driver doesn’t stop. The SUV pauses at the intersection, turns the corner, and disappears around a brick apartment complex.
Her skin feels hot and angry, pulled one size too tight over her bones. Worried she blistered her stomach, Nadia wrings her shirt out with trembling hands. What a mess. What a disaster of a morning. To make matters worse, her phone rings inside the car, playing a calypso song that usually lifts her spirit. Now it grates her nerves and makes her want to scream at the caller to leave her alone. Leaning over the passenger side window, she reads Kealan’s name on the screen.
“Thanks for the vase of black widows, asshole,” she says, scowling down at the screen until it turns black and the godforsaken calypso song stops. “This is great. Just great.”
Brushing off her clothes and still aching with burns, Nadia climbs into the car and shifts into drive. Before she pulls off the curb, she lowers the window and dumps the coffee. She’s tempted to hurl the cheap mug across the macadam. No, she doesn’t litter. Some poor soul across the street will have to pick up her trash, and that’s not fair.
Her eyes well with tears as she stops at the intersection and takes a right turn near the apartment complex. As she crawls toward a red light, the phone rings again.
“Leave me alone, Kealan.”
The steel drums bang out a festive tune. A quick glance at the screen verifies it’s not Kealan this time. It’s an unknown number. She suspects Kealan keeps a prepaid phone, and he’s calling her on a line she won’t recognize, tricking her into answering. As the song continues and the traffic light glares down at her with one red eye, she drums her fingers on the steering wheel. The clock reads 8:01.
Anticipating the light change when she watches the other light switch to yellow, she looks both ways and punches the gas. Another check of the mirror for a police car. All this effort for a job that pays a few bucks above minimum wage.
It’s three minutes past eight when she pulls into the parking lot. Navigating behind the library to the employee parking spaces, she thanks the heavens Mr. Trumble hasn’t arrived. With any luck—and she’s due for a run of good fortune—she’ll unlock the doors before anyone notices the library didn’t open at eight o’clock. After she turns the lights on, she’ll check her Linkedin account. The librarian job seemed like a great idea a year ago. A relaxing atmosphere with plenty of quiet time. Plus, she loved to visit the library during her teens. But the hours switch every day, forcing her to adjust her sleep schedule on the fly. Her heart sinks as she pulls into her usual spot beneath the hemlock tree. There’s a vehicle here already. Is that the same Forrester that passed her on the curb? If so, the jerk parked in the head librarian’s space.
As she kills the engine, something about the blue SUV makes her skin crawl. It’s impossible to see past the tinted windows. Cocking her head, she reads the license plate and recognizes the frame. The SUV came from a local dealership, the same place that sold Kealan a used Kia last August. Thinking of Kealan leaves a sick feeling in her throat. She can’t imagine he placed the spiders inside the vase. Who in their right mind would capture the creepy, venomous spiders just to play a prank or gain a measure of revenge? She recalls stories, some urban legends, of venomous spiders and tarantulas hitching rides in banana crates, only to crawl out and surprise a screaming elderly lady in New York or Minnesota. She suspects store-bought flowers contain many spiders and nasty bugs. How could Kealan know? As upset as she is with him, she can’t blame her ex-boyfriend. He’s lucky the black widows didn’t bite him on the way to the library. Perhaps she should extend the olive branch and call him. Warn him to check his car for arachnids before he drives again.
Nadia locks her vehicle and crosses the lot. Her shoes click the blacktop. The mist curling around the building warns of cooler mornings to come in October. By Thanksgiving, the trees will be bare, and she’ll be able to see beyond the hemlock and through the fence to the neighborhood on the opposite end of the block. Another look back at the Forrester.
A shoe scuffs in front of her as a shadow lurches around the corner of the library. She spins around as the needle stabs into her neck. A ski mask covers her attacker’s face. As her legs give out, the man catches her fall.
Nadia’s eyes flutter shut as he drags her behind the building.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Monday, September 14th
3:55 p.m.
A warm September wind tosses Jennifer’s hair around as she sits on Sean Braden’s steps. Another day, another lie. She told her mother she needed the Prius to drive back to school because she forgot her homework in her locker. Instead, she drove to Sean’s house, only to discover him on the street, playing lacrosse with JT.
The breeze caresses her bare legs as she watches. Sean catches the pass from JT, cradles the ball, and performs a dodge before shooting the ball back to his friend. JT is the better of the two players and holds a scholarship to play lacrosse at Duke next year. But Sean scored twenty-four goals last season and led the team in assists. A stack of offers to play in college lie on Sean’s bedroom desk.
Remembering the scholarships fills Jennifer’s cheeks with heat. Yesterday at this time, her head buzzing from the glass of Merlot, she followed Sean to his bedroom. They kissed on the edge of the bed, and though she knew it was wrong, she allowed him to lower her to the mattress and kiss her from her neck down to her shoulder. They’d dated for a week, and she wasn’t ready to go farther with him. That didn’t prevent arousal from coursing through her blood when his powerful hands wandered to her thighs.
They kissed until he forced his tongue past her lips. She told him to stop, to slow down. Sean respected her wishes, but the disappointment was clear on his face. He expected more. Instead of pushing their relationship beyond a comfortable level, he turned on the high-definition television mounted on his wall, and they watched Amazon Prime movies until dinner time. She’s embarrassed she fell asleep beside him. He whispered in her ear to bring her awake. A flash of anxiety shot through her veins when she realized what had happened, then she kissed him goodbye with a promise to call him later. Sean wore an amused expression as she rushed around, gathering her belongings and snatching her keys off his desk. Mom hadn’t asked questions when she returned home, though she warned Jennifer to call in the future. It wasn’t her car to drive around town all day, and Mom needed to buy groceries.
On any other day, Jennifer might have snapped and argued for her own car. She isn’t an entitled brat. Jennifer works si
xteen hours per week at Kohl’s, and she’s saved eight-hundred dollars since Easter. A little more, and she can buy a used car if Mom loans her the balance. Jennifer will pay her back. Besides, she needs the car for college. She knows what Hunter goes through at Coastal Carolina, always bumming rides from his friends and wasting money on Uber.
And if Jennifer gets her own car, she can visit Sean anytime she wants without Mom looking over her shoulder.
The ball shoots back and forth, the game continuing until an Audi drives past and forces Sean and JT to move to the curb. As soon as the car disappears, the boys return to play.
“No, this is how you execute a question mark dodge,” JT says. The boy brushes the blonde hair off his forehead, cradles the ball, dodges in an arc, and whips the ball back to Sean. “See what I mean?”
Sean repeats the dodge and passes the ball to JT, winding up as if he means to take a shot.
“How’s that?”
“You got it, bro. You’ll lead the team in scoring this spring if you keep working on it. Check this out.”
JT spins back, throws a fake, then turns and rockets the ball back to Sean. Except his aim is off. The ball veers left. Jennifer watches with wide eyes as the lacrosse ball whips at full speed toward Mom’s Prius. Before the warning leaves her mouth, the ball smashes against the windshield.
Sean and JT drop their mouths and stare. It’s quiet for an uncomfortable second before JT bursts into laughter. Sean’s face breaks, and now he doubles over, pointing at the windshield.
“What did you do, dick face?”
JT’s shoulders shake. He laughs too hard to answer. Jennifer comes out of her crouch on the porch steps and stares. A crack runs across the windshield from the driver’s seat to the center console.
“Oh, God. Mom is gonna kill me.”
As she plods with leaden legs down the walkway, the crack seems to grow, the damage worse with every step. Sean and JT can’t stop laughing.
“You did it on purpose,” Jennifer says, turning her fury on JT.
JT’s face goes blank. Then he points the stick at Jennifer and laughs harder. Sean grins from ear to ear as he shuffles to Jennifer, moving with an easy swagger which proves he doesn’t consider the damage anything to worry about.
“Stop laughing,” she tells Sean. “It’s not funny. Do you see the windshield?”
“Easy,” he says, draping an arm over her shoulder. “JT didn’t do it on purpose.”
“The hell he didn’t. He aimed for the car.”
“Why would I do that?” JT asks, the smile fading from his face. “You need to get your girl under control, Sean. One little mistake, and she’s ready to blame the world’s problems on me.”
“Okay, cool it,” Sean says, lifting a placating hand to calm everyone. “We can deal with this. JT, you’ve got money saved for something like this, right?”
“Don’t put this on me, dude. I’m not paying for the damage.”
“What if each of us pitched in a third of the cost? I’ll call the window repair place. They’ll fix it right at the curb.” Sean turns to Jennifer. “Heck, if you give them the insurance card, we won’t have to pay anything.”
JT bobs his head.
“Yeah, that’s a better idea.”
Jennifer sets her hands on her hips.
“I can’t put this through insurance. My mom will see the report and know I wasn’t at Kaitlyn’s.”
This makes JT break into giggles again.
“You need your mother’s permission to hang out with your boyfriend? Aren’t you a senior?” JT waves his hand at them. “Screw this, I’m not paying. Insurance will cover the cost. Until you figure this out, I’m out of here.”
JT hops into a black sports car as Jennifer stares with incredulity. Mom will ground Jennifer from the car and take her freedom away. Her vision turns red. She pictures JT flat on his back as Jennifer rains punches on his bloodied face. This is his fault.
“He’s just leaving like nothing happened?”
Her answer comes when JT revs the engine and shoots off the curb like the devil is on his tail. Jennifer leans her head into Sean’s chest and sobs.
Fury ripples beneath her flesh. Sean sets a hand on her shoulder, and she throws it off.
“Hey, calm down. Easy, Jennifer.”
A sob croaks from her throat. For a second, she wanted to slam her fist into Sean’s cheek for defending JT. What’s happening to her? Something black and sinuous snakes through Jennifer’s body. It wants to come out.
When the anger departs, it leaves her alone with her worries. She glares at the crack in the windshield.
“I’m so dead. She’ll never let me drive the car again.”
Sean strokes the hair from her eyes.
“Don’t consider the glass half-full all the time. I’ll call the repairman. Put it through insurance like I suggested. I’ll tell your mother you stopped by to drop off a homework assignment and a tree branch fell and cracked the windshield. She won’t ask questions.”
“She won’t ask questions? Mom works for the freaking FBI.”
Sean grabs her shoulders and holds her at arm’s length, meeting her eyes.
“Come on. She won’t get mad, and even if she does, she’ll get over it. Last year, Donald Tromboli backed into Main Street without looking. A bus tore the bumper off his parents’ car and mangled the back end. He caught hell, but he’s driving the car again. Parents expect we’ll have a mix up or two. They forgive and forget.”
“I don’t know. That doesn’t sound like my mother.”
Sean folds his arms and tilts his eyes skyward in thought. He snaps his fingers.
“Here’s what you do. You’re supposed to be at Kaitlyn’s house, right?”
“Yeah,” she says, sniffling.
“Easy. Drive the car to her house, park it on the curb, then call the repairman and act like it happened on Kaitlyn’s street. Then you can put it through insurance, and nobody will know better.”
“Seems like I’m breaking a million laws if I go along with this plan.”
Sean leans over and touches her cheek. When she doesn’t pull away, he kisses her forehead.
“What’s worse? Feeling guilty because the damage happened elsewhere, or risking a grounding?”
He has a point. Jennifer dries her face with a tissue.
“Okay, give me the number.”
Sean texts the phone number to Jennifer and promises he’ll vouch for her if anyone questions the damage. Slipping behind the wheel, Jennifer stares at the crack, wondering if it’s too dangerous to drive to Kaitlyn’s. She can barely see around the break. Glancing over her shoulder, she sees Sean on the porch. He lifts a thumb and grins.
Fine.
Jennifer starts the motor. She needs to bend low to see around the damage. Though she knows the route well, every road appears alien and unfamiliar. Keeping her speed under the limit, she keeps glancing at the mirror and worrying the police will pull her over or a neighbor will spot the damage and tell Mom.
She’s six blocks from Kaitlyn’s house when the police lights flash behind her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Monday, September 14th
4:15 p.m.
The light burns her eyes. Head spins.
Nadia’s eyelids flutter open. At first, she thinks she’s inside her apartment after partying too hard. Except she doesn’t party, and this room looks unfamiliar. She tries to stand, but grogginess keeps her seated on a steel chair like the ones they place on assembly room floors. The chair is cruel on her back, which stiffens and clenches.
Her hand moves to her neck. More pain. Like the world’s largest wasp lit fire into her neck. What happened? She remembers pulling into the library parking lot, rushing because she was late for work. Then…
The rest seeps behind an impenetrable wall of mist.
She’s inside a white bedroom with no pictures hanging off the walls to break the monotony. A window offers a view of rolling green fields, embellished by variegated
wildflowers that spread toward infinity. The land meets the blue sky. And nothing else. No buildings or houses as far as the eye can see. Just a dilapidated, detached single-car garage at the end of a dirt and stone driveway.
It’s hot. And dry. Like waking up in the middle of a desert.
Nadia pans the room and spies a closed door and a clothes hamper in the corner. Where is all that heat coming from?
Still too groggy to rise, she twists her head around. Blinks.
Two levels of glass terrariums placed on shelving rise toward the ceiling. The enclosures feature sand substrates, desert plant life, and hollow logs. Incandescent lights blare into each terrarium, bleeding heat into the room. Something moves inside one of the hollowed-out logs. It’s too dark inside the hiding place to see. As her heart thumps, the fog lifts from her memory as the parking lot attack comes back to her.
Someone kidnapped her. Kealan?
Suddenly aware of her surroundings, Nadia’s eyes snap to the door a moment before the handle turns. Clutching her hands to her chest, she recoils when a man fills the doorway. He wears a clown mask over his face, wild strands of red cartoon hair sticking out in all directions.
“Good, you’re awake.”
The man lowers his voice and speaks from the deepest reaches of his diaphragm. So Nadia won’t recognize his voice? Wearing jeans and sneakers, he moves with an effortless grace that marks him as young and fit. A black shirt wraps tight across his lean physique.
“I bet you wonder why I brought you here.”
Nadia shivers. She wants to make a run for the door, but the survival knife on his belt warns her not to fight him. She edges back, as far as the chair allows. He stands over her now. Piercing, familiar blue eyes glare down at her through the holes.
“Don’t hurt me. If it’s money you want, I’ll give you whatever you need.”