Page 125 of Denial
I go through the regular motions, pretending it’s really hard to find her. We both know this game is more about the tag for us than it is about the hiding.
I check the regular places—the tube slide and the tunnels on top of the climbing feature. When those come up empty, I turn my sights on the tunnels.
Her favorite spot.
I approach from the side, making sure she can’t see me coming, though I can’t say the same for my footsteps in the woodchips. I’m not as silently graceful as she is. I jump into the middle, peering into the left one as I shout, “Boo!”
Nothing.
I immediately whip my head around and stop dead.
“Get away from her,” I snarl, a sound filled with protective fury.
Jake sits in the tunnel beside Nellie with his palm silencing her cries. Tears stream down her cheeks from wide, fearful eyes.
I don’t even have time to take in the purplish-yellow bruises marring half his face before I scramble in. I claw at his arms, scratching deep as I yell, “Get your hands off her!”
Jake smiles with bruised lips.
The barrel of a gun presses into my back. A fist in my hair yanks me backward, and I lose my hold on Nellie as I crash against the earth.
The last thing I hear is her screaming.
34
Alice
Nellie’s screamsabruptly cut off.
Panic slices through my body like a hot knife. The fabric, stuffed haphazardly into my mouth, blocks my screams for her, leaving me silenced and dry-heaving on the rough carpet fibers. Hot metal vibrates beneath my back, the grinding of tires tearing up asphalt only just now audible. The sharp chemical smell of motor oil fills every tight inhale.
My ears ring. My head buzzes and pounds like an angry hive of bees has moved in, leaving me aching and confused. Worsened by the darkness surrounding me.
The trunk vibrates as the car picks up speed, the asphalt switching to the popping rocks of a gravel dirt road. The driver hits a pothole hard enough to slam my shoulder against the wheel well. Pain streaks down my arm, and I surrender a cry from deep in my throat. Testing my limbs, I find my arms tied at the wrists with something smooth, not plastic or metal. A rope? A shoelace, maybe?
My breathing starts to sharpen. Too fast and thin for the confined space. Instinctively, I close my eyes, but it doesn’t make a difference in the nearly pitch-black darkness.
I remember the self-defense demonstration from the community safety day and Officer Calloway’s box-breathing instruction. In for four, hold for four, out for four, hold for four.
In for four.
Pause.
Out for four.
Pause.
The panic recedes somewhat. Not enough to stop my heart from beating out of my chest, but it’s a start.
The car slows suddenly. We turn right. I listen as we travel over rough bumps. What sounds like branches scraping against the side of the vehicle. This part of the road must be unused and overgrown.
Fear tightens my stomach. Sweat beads on my brow.
The vehicle slows, this time stopping altogether. The engine idles for long minutes while I strain to hear anything. Inside, I plead for Nellie to start screaming again. Not from pain, but from fear. Anything to know she’s still okay and fighting.
The truck latch clicks, a thin sliver of light splitting the darkness. I squint as the lid lifts fully open.
Two men stand over me, their faces blurry. Hands grab each half of my body and haul me from the trunk. I twist and elbow and knee whatever is in reach, landing blows with animalistic grunts.
