enough.
She shouldn’t have lied to her children.
She shouldn’t have gone out without a bra.
She rolled her body to see if she could move, jostle off the bindings, find out if there was any give. He had bound her tightly but she managed to propel herself onto her back. Stuck. Hands crushed. She felt the warmth of blood flowing into her right side and a sharp tingling. She couldn’t move. She lay on her back, feeling her arms and hands give way to numbness, as if some kind of electric parasite was shifting through her body. She tried to rock to her other side but it was useless.
A creak across the cabin.
Another creak. A footstep. Two.
Another step.
She could see him in her mind — the corn man, white jacket, white face, flickering eyes — and her stomach rose. Vomit lurched up her throat but couldn’t get past the tape. She swallowed it down. Some of it backed up her nose and she felt the seizure of suffocation. She forced herself to swallow hard, keep swallowing. She visualized her trachea and stomach and willed them calm so she could swallow the rest. Then she blew her nose hard and the vomit in her sinuses spit out onto her face. The smell was horrible; she could hardly breathe.
He stopped walking.
Her muscles quickened against the bindings. She felt her skin tear as her wrists and ankles swiveled to find a weakness somewhere. He must have been a fisherman, good with knots.
She was his catch.
This wasn’t happening.
He was walking again, slowly, walking toward her. He stopped inches away. Stood there. Was he watching her? Did he enjoy this?
She threw her stomach muscles into a spasm and propelled her body forward. She was sitting. If she could sit then she could find a way to stand. And if she could find a way to stand, she could hop. And if she could hop, she could use her head to poke around for a way out.
Except he was right there. Standing next to her. She could hear him breathing.
She couldn’t allow herself to stay trapped here when her children needed her. Especially Maxi; just a baby; she needed her medicine.
She recalled the feeling from childhood dreams in which she could fly, summoned the feeling into her muscles and projected herself onto her knees.
His hand clamped onto her arm and squeezed so hard she felt he would break skin. He pushed her back to the floor like a rag doll.
Then she felt it: a sharp prick in her arm, a hot flow into her muscles.
If only, if only...
Her body floated away like a piece of wood, no longer a part of her. And in what felt like staunch objection, her mind turned hyperaware. She sensed everything without gravity; she was an unearthed mass.
The swoosh of movement, water pressing against the surge of the boat. She was moving. Going somewhere. Being taken.
Where was he taking her?
Chapter 7
The house was quiet, the sun barely up. All the children were still asleep. Through the windows Sarah could see splinters of light on the tranquil surface of the lake. In their later years, she and Jonah were often up at this hour, and would carry their tea to the beach. They would sit on matching green recliners, a small, rotted tree-stump table between them holding their mugs, and face the water. Together they would watch the sun begin its arc across the sky, pushing orange-rose light into the fading blue darkness, easing open the morning. They finished their tea, recalled their lives, and discussed their day. It had been Sarah’s favorite way to start the morning.
She sat at her desk in the loft above the kitchen and looked at the picture of Emily she had faxed to the police station at Will’s request. It had been taken when she was pregnant with Maxi and Emily’s face was rounder than usual, but Sarah felt it captured her. Her face was angled away, looking at the boys pressed together on the couch as David read aloud to Sam. Her expression showed delight in their closeness, in David’s lovingness toward Sam, then five, and in Sam’s awe at the capabilities
She shouldn’t have lied to her children.
She shouldn’t have gone out without a bra.
She rolled her body to see if she could move, jostle off the bindings, find out if there was any give. He had bound her tightly but she managed to propel herself onto her back. Stuck. Hands crushed. She felt the warmth of blood flowing into her right side and a sharp tingling. She couldn’t move. She lay on her back, feeling her arms and hands give way to numbness, as if some kind of electric parasite was shifting through her body. She tried to rock to her other side but it was useless.
A creak across the cabin.
Another creak. A footstep. Two.
Another step.
She could see him in her mind — the corn man, white jacket, white face, flickering eyes — and her stomach rose. Vomit lurched up her throat but couldn’t get past the tape. She swallowed it down. Some of it backed up her nose and she felt the seizure of suffocation. She forced herself to swallow hard, keep swallowing. She visualized her trachea and stomach and willed them calm so she could swallow the rest. Then she blew her nose hard and the vomit in her sinuses spit out onto her face. The smell was horrible; she could hardly breathe.
He stopped walking.
Her muscles quickened against the bindings. She felt her skin tear as her wrists and ankles swiveled to find a weakness somewhere. He must have been a fisherman, good with knots.
She was his catch.
This wasn’t happening.
He was walking again, slowly, walking toward her. He stopped inches away. Stood there. Was he watching her? Did he enjoy this?
She threw her stomach muscles into a spasm and propelled her body forward. She was sitting. If she could sit then she could find a way to stand. And if she could find a way to stand, she could hop. And if she could hop, she could use her head to poke around for a way out.
Except he was right there. Standing next to her. She could hear him breathing.
She couldn’t allow herself to stay trapped here when her children needed her. Especially Maxi; just a baby; she needed her medicine.
She recalled the feeling from childhood dreams in which she could fly, summoned the feeling into her muscles and projected herself onto her knees.
His hand clamped onto her arm and squeezed so hard she felt he would break skin. He pushed her back to the floor like a rag doll.
Then she felt it: a sharp prick in her arm, a hot flow into her muscles.
If only, if only...
Her body floated away like a piece of wood, no longer a part of her. And in what felt like staunch objection, her mind turned hyperaware. She sensed everything without gravity; she was an unearthed mass.
The swoosh of movement, water pressing against the surge of the boat. She was moving. Going somewhere. Being taken.
Where was he taking her?
Chapter 7
The house was quiet, the sun barely up. All the children were still asleep. Through the windows Sarah could see splinters of light on the tranquil surface of the lake. In their later years, she and Jonah were often up at this hour, and would carry their tea to the beach. They would sit on matching green recliners, a small, rotted tree-stump table between them holding their mugs, and face the water. Together they would watch the sun begin its arc across the sky, pushing orange-rose light into the fading blue darkness, easing open the morning. They finished their tea, recalled their lives, and discussed their day. It had been Sarah’s favorite way to start the morning.
She sat at her desk in the loft above the kitchen and looked at the picture of Emily she had faxed to the police station at Will’s request. It had been taken when she was pregnant with Maxi and Emily’s face was rounder than usual, but Sarah felt it captured her. Her face was angled away, looking at the boys pressed together on the couch as David read aloud to Sam. Her expression showed delight in their closeness, in David’s lovingness toward Sam, then five, and in Sam’s awe at the capabilities
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