Cheyenne was shaking, partly with fear, and partly, she thought, because her temperature must be spiking again. It had been one hundred and two in the doctor’s office. Dr. Guinn had prescribed antibiotics and said Cheyenne would be all done with them by Christmas. Now the thought struck like a blow to the stomach. Will I be alive to see Christmas at all? “That’s why we were at the shopping center, so my stepmom could pick up my prescription at the pharmacy. If I can’t breathe through my mouth, I’ll smother.”
He hesitated for a long time. Finally he said roughly, “Promise you won’t scream?”
“I promise.” Why should either of them believe the other? Cheyenne wondered bleakly as he pulled the blanket over her. They had no reason to tell the truth and every reason to lie. Which meant that he could be planning to hurt her, to chain her up in his basement for years, to shoot her in the heart. Just like she was thinking about how to get away, to get someone’s attention, to hurt him so bad that he couldn’t hurt her back. There was no point in either one of them trusting the other.
Even though he had pulled the blanket over her head as well as her body, the kidnapper had arranged it so it didn’t cover her face. Good. She could still breathe. And because he could see her face, he would remember she was a person, not a long bundle like a rolled-up carpet. It would be a lot easier to shoot a rolled-up carpet. She heard him climb back into the front seat and then the car started.
Cheyenne tried to figure out the direction the car was heading, but she had lost track in the first few minutes after he stole it. All she knew was that the road was quiet and that couldn’t be good for her. Quiet meant no one to notice. Quiet meant he could kill her or do whatever he wanted and no one would know. Her thoughts became darker. Danielle and her dad would be called in to identify her body. What would this man do after she was dead? Would he leave her body in the car and abandon both on some logging road that no one would venture down until spring? Or tumble her out into a ditch in the countryside? Or bury her in a shallow grave in the mountains?
The only thing that might save her life was the fact that she couldn’t describe what he looked like.
But if Cheyenne couldn’t see, how could she escape?
WHO’S IN CHARGE NOW?
Griffin turned the key in the ignition and drove away, still feeling amazed. He started to push the cigarette lighter back into the console, but then stopped and put it in his pocket. He might need it again. He had been afraid that the girl might try to shove his hand away when he threatened to shoot her. Instead she had frozen with fear.
The fact that she had really believed the car’s lighter was a gun made Griffin feel oddly powerful. Like he could just wish and make it so.
When music started playing behind him, he almost drove off the road. Then he realized it was a mobile phone playing the first few notes to a popular song. After pulling over, Griffin reached back for her purse. He looked in the phone’s window that showed caller ID. “It says Danielle Wilder,” he said. “Who’s that?”
“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.