Alone

Chapter 9

Riley

The world freezes. Peter looks surprisingly calm, belying the desperate edge to his voice. Chloe is behind me, so I can't see her, but I hear the slight intake of her breath. Joe's mouth is hanging open in disbelief, and Tom is barely breathing. While Joe is still gaping at his son, I take a deep, calming breath and jump forward. Joe turns at my movement, but a little too late. In just a minute, Joe is held at plate-point just like Tom. For a long moment, nothing happens, then Joe's belt buckle hits the floor with an audible clink and he raises his empty hands in a gesture of surrender. Chloe, still clutching a long shard of ceramic, rushes forward and snatches the gun from Tom's waistband. As she turns it on Joe, I carefully lean down and pick up his belt. Peter, understanding what I am doing, unbuckles his own belt and binds Tom's hands behind his back without releasing the piece of porcelain. Once their hands are bound, Peter takes Tom's belt off his waist and binds his legs with it. I walk over to the bed and pull out the trunk. When I open the lid, it is filled with unfolded clothes, but the belt is right on top, so I don't have to dig. I use it to bind Joe's legs, trussing him just the way Peter has tied Tom. When both of the men are bound, Peter motions me toward the door. Chloe remains standing guard a little way from the men, clumsily aiming the pistol at them, as I walk over and join Peter. He looks like he can't believe what we've done, and he keeps looking over at his dad like he expects him to come storming over, strap in hand, any minute. "Now what do we do?" I shrug. "Take the Bronco, I guess. Do you know how to get out of here?" He nods uncertainly. "Yeah, but I can't drive." I nod more confidently than I feel. "I can. Come on, Chloe." Chloe backs toward us, never taking her eyes or the gun off the two men. "Are we just going to leave them here?" I look at Peter. Sudden fury darkens his face, and he nods resolutely before turning to the door. Chloe and I trade a glance, then look at the men before following Peter to the Bronco. I climb in the driver seat, trying not to let Peter and Chloe see me hesitate when I see that the Bronco has an automatic transmission. Chloe slides across the seat and Peter climbs in beside her, slamming the door like a final defiant gesture at his father. Chloe and I both wince as I slam my left foot into the floorboard, through the missing clutch. Peter looks doubtfully across at me as I carefully press the brake and shift, watching the indicator on the dash until it points at D. We roll slowly down the road, into the trees and downhill, crossing the waterbar that woke me up on the way to the cabin. When we finally reach a wider road, Peter points wordlessly to the left, and we turn downhill again. Finally, after almost an hour on winding, twisting roads, we roll through a tiny, rundown town. As the last of the buildings fall behind us, Chloe looks over at me. "Aren't you going to stop and find a phone?" I shake my head. Peter looks curiously at me, but doesn't say anything. My mind is a blur for the next several hours, until the gas light comes on and dings. We stop in the next town, a dusty, dead place with one gas station. Without a word, Peter opens the glove box and hands me a thick envelope. When I open the flap, I blink at a thick stack of hundred dollar bills. I'm still staring at it when Chloe turns to Peter. "If your dad has this much money, why is he going around kidnapping people?" He shrugs, looking uncomfortable. I narrow my eyes suspiciously at him, then shake my head and pull a hundred out of the envelope. The hundred is more than enough to fill the Bronco, so I come out of the station with drinks and snacks. Chloe and Peter are leaning against the passenger's side of the Bronco, staring idly across the street. When we are back on the highway, Chloe asks timidly, "Where are we going, Riley?" My hands tighten on the steering wheel. The question has been running through my head ever since we left the cabin. My answer is quiet. "I don't know. Home, I guess." She shifts beside me in the seat. "Is it safe for you to go home?" I smile as I look sideways at her. Even after all that she's been through the last two days, she is still worried about my dad. I have to admit, I am too, but I don't let on to her. "I don't know, but you need to go home regardless." She nods, looking relieved, and almost whispers, "Thanks." Peter tears his gaze away from his window and looks over at Chloe with regret on his face. "I don't think that's a good idea." We both look expectantly at him. He winces. "Look, I have to tell you something." I look back at the road, then at him. He bites at his lip, looking from one of us to the other. Finally, his shoulders slump and his eyes drop "Dad didn't just pick you randomly. The money in the glove box came from someone who wanted us to take you." I turn back to the road, trying to digest this. Chloe speaks from beside me, her voice sounding hollow. "Which one of us?" I glance at Peter again. His head is down and his fingers are working furiously at the hem of his t-shirt. "I don't know. Dad wouldn't tell me." I set my eyes back on the road and continue driving in silence. Peter and Chloe are silent beside me, but they are both moving unceasingly, unable to sit still in the tense silence. Chloe taps one foot on the floorboard, shifts in the seat, picks at the buttons on her pink blouse. Peter cracks his knuckles and taps out a rhythm on the door. Except for the small motions of driving, I sit still as stone and stare at the road ahead. Despite the new information, when our small road intersects a highway, I turn east. Neither of the others question me. I suddenly don't want to go home to my father. I don't want to fight the urge to run every time I hear his pickup on the driveway, don't want to worry about doing every little thing right so I don't set him off. I don't want to go home, but I don't know where else to go. Chloe might be able to go home fine, but I can't. And Peter? Who knows what's going to happen to him. I keep driving until the fuel warning dings again. At the edge of the next town, a sign catches my eye. "Welcome to Sand Springs, Colorado" A memory springs into my head. Mom used to get letter from her brother Simon every month. That last year, when I was just learning to read at school, I took one of the letters off of the kitchen counter and hid it in my room to practice my letters. Mom left less than a month later. A week to the day after she left, Uncle Simon called. We were sitting at the table eating lunch, Dad tense and silent, me trying to be invisible. I guess I managed it, because when he answered the phone, he didn't shoo me away. I listened to the conversation, but I didn't understand most of it. I don't remember most of the words, but I remember the terror that flooded through me when Uncle Simon's hard, cold voice said, "She's gone, David. You lost her for all of us." I kept the letter for seven years, moving it whenever I found a better hiding place. Finally, two years ago, my bed frame broke and Dad helped me move a new one in. When we picked up my mattress, several papers that had been sandwiched between the mattress and box springs fluttered to the floor. Dad picked them up without a word and shoved them in his back pocket. I had forgotten about the papers I'd hidden several years before, but at the sight of them, I remembered what they were. Dad burned the papers in the woodstove that night, but I'd memorized the words years before. The return address was in Sand Springs, Colorado.