Gone [Zouis]

Chapter 3

Zayn's POV

I froze at the touch of the cold metal. I could tell he meant what he said. He sounded angry and out of control, just like I felt. We were both quiet until the car passed them and the sound of its engine faded. I could feel my strength draining away with it.

"Look-- Can't you just chill?" His voice sounded a little calmer.

I made myself nod.

"I don't need this crap. I don't need you screaming and kicking and scratching. I can't think when you do that. So are you going to be quiet?"

I nodded again, wishing I could curl up into a tighter and tighter ball, grow smaller and smaller until I just disappeared.

"I am going to let you go." He insisted.

Something must have flickered on my face, betrayed my doubt.

"I am! Just not now. Right now, I'm going to have to tie you up and cover you with a blanket so no one can see you. And tonight, once it's dark, I'll let you go."

My head ached where it had slammed against the window. That had probably only been five minutes ago, but it felt like a life time.

Where were we now that he felt he could hold me down in the backseat without anyone noticing? That last car had been the only one that I had heard since he had turned onto this road.

"Take off your shoes." I thought he was trying to stop me from running away, until he added, "And pull out the laces."

I did as he said, wondering where the gun was pointing. At my head? At my heart? Or had he already set it down? The tiny slice of blurry vision I had left didn't reveal any clues.

He ordered me to lie down on my side, facing the seat, then tied my hands together behind me. I knew he couldn't be holding the gun when he did this, but he could still pick it up and shoot me if I gave him any trouble.

I did as he asked, but at the same time tensed my wrists and held them as far apart as I could without it looking suspicious. With the second shoelace, he tied my ankles together. Why couldn't I have worn loafers?

My mind raced. When he was finished, I rolled over so that I was facing him. I wanted him to see my face, to see my eyes even though I couldn't see his. It would probably be easier to shoot someone in the back.

I didn't want to make it easy for him.

I felt his hands go down my pockets on my pants and began to rummage through them.

"Are you looking for money?" I said. "Because I don't have much."

I knew I had a twenty, two tens, and some ones. The twenty was folded the long way, the ten the short way, and the ones weren't folded at all. Coins were a lot easier. Each was a different diameter and thickness, and some had smooth edges and some didn't. Even before the accident, when a coin fell to the floor, I had been able to tell what it was, just by the sound it made.

Now I can offer him a bargaining chip. "I do have an ATM card. Let me go, and I'll give you my PIN. I've got over three thousand dollars in my account."

"Three thousand dollars?" There was something about his voice that made me think he was younger than I first thought. He sounded incredulous.

I dared to let myself hope. "You can have all of it. I don't think you can get more than a thousand out at a time, but I won't tell them that you have the card. I swear."

"I don't want your money!" There was a strange tone to his voice. It was almost like he was hurt by my accusation, which didn't make any sense. It was okay to steal a car, it was okay to kidnap me, but it wasn't okay to take my money?

"I'm looking for something in your pocket to gag you with."

"You can't. I'm really sick. If you gag me, I won't be able to breathe." It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either. But if he gagged me, it would make it that much less likely that I would be able to get help.

I was shaking, partly with fear, and partly because my temperature must be spiking again. It had been one hundred and two at the doctor's office. Dr. Lynn had prescribed antibiotics and said I 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 aunt could pick up my prescription at the pharmacy."

He hesitated for a long time. Finally he said roughly, "Promise you won't scream?"

"I promise." Why should either of us believe each other? I wondered bleakly as he pulled the blanket over me. We had no reason to tell the truth and every reason to lie. Which meant he could be planning to hurt me, to chain me up in his basement for years, to shoot me in the heart. Just like I was thinking about to get away, to get someone's attention, to hurt him so bad he that couldn't hurt me back. There was no point in either one of us trusting each other.

Even though he had pulled the blanket over my head as well as my body, the kidnapper had arranged it so it didn't cover my face. Good. I could still breathe. I heard him climb back into the front seat and then the car started.

I tried to figure out the direction the car was heading, but I had lost track in the first few minutes after he stole it. All I knew was that the road was quiet and that couldn't be good for me. Quiet meant no one to notice. Quiet meant he could kill me or do whatever he wanted and no one would know. My thoughts became darker. What would this man do after I was dead? Would he leave my body in the car and abandon both on some logging road that no one would venture down until spring? Or tumble me out into a ditch on the countryside? Or bury me in a shallow grave int the mountains?

The only thing that might save my life was the fact that I couldn't describe what he looked like.

But if I couldn't see, how could I escape?