by Paul Blades
They continued up the road for about another twenty miles or so. The man was studying the map that Carly kept in the glove box. He had gone through the whole glove box, rifling through the nonsense she kept in there. There wasn’t much of use in it. He did pocket her Swiss Army knife that she kept there for emergencies. There was also a small flashlight.
Using the flashlight, the man traced their route so far with his finger. Carly tried to glance over to see where he was taking her, but the way he kept the map angled away from her, she couldn’t tell. He put it away after a while and settled back. When they had gone twenty or so miles, it had taken them over a half hour to cover that distance, they went through another semi built up area. The man spied a convenience store open on the left hand side of the road.
“Pull in there,” he told her.
When they came to a stop, he turned to her, showing her the knife again. “You’re coming in with me. If you give me any trouble, I’ll stick you like a pig. Then I’ll have to kill the clerk as well. You don’t want that to happen, do you?”
Carly eyed the man nervously. “N-no,” she replied.
He had had her pull into a parking slot where they couldn’t be seen from inside the store. He made her get out his side again.
“Stay close to me,” he told her.
The store was well lit. There was a young, gangly kid behind the counter and no one else in the store. He was reading a book. He gave them a slight nod when they entered and went back to his story.
The man dragged Carly around the store, holding on to her injured arm, ordering her to pick up this and that. She had picked up a plastic carrying basket at the door and obediently put the items into it. Peanut butter, bread, a few cans of canned stew, soup, some baked beans, chips, a liter of Pepsi, cookies, napkins, and assorted other items, including a can of French Roast Maxwell House coffee. She was unhappy when he told her to put a roll of duct tape into the bag as well as a coil of thin clothesline. When they had gathered their stuff, he led her to the counter. Before adding everything up, he asked the kid to get a carton of Marlboro’s and a pack of lighters. He tossed in a collection of candy bars. He bought three hotdogs from the automatic grill and had Carly put mustard and chili on them. Carly was surprised when he added a small rubber ball from a display on the counter to their pile.
The store had a shelf full of bottles of alcohol behind the counter. The man asked the kid for a fifth of Jim Beam.
“I can’t,” the kid said. “It’s after 10 o’clock.”
The man smiled, took a twenty out of his pocket, and placed it on the counter. The kid looked at him and then up at the security camera. The twenty dollar bill won out and he slipped the fifth into one of the plastic bags. He had Carly pay for the merchandise with a credit card, take another $40.00 out of her account, and then carry their loot out to the car. She put the bags into the back seat at the man’s instructions and then climbed back into the car. When the man was settled, she started the engine and got back on the road in the direction they were traveling.
When they got on the road, the man pulled a sweatshirt our from under his coat. He had apparently shoplifted it when no one was looking. How he did it without her seeing it was perplexing. Why he did it was a conundrum. It wasn’t his money they were spending. As he removed his outer jacket, Carly understood why he had lifted the sweatshirt. The man was obviously on the run from something. His beige jacket stood out like a sore thumb. He had taken the sweatshirt to disguise his appearance. He had not paid for it so that if the kid at the store was ever questioned, he would not be able to report what he would now be wearing. The man apparently had a finely honed craftiness. He would be a tough man to fool.
Underneath the jacket, he was wearing a white t-shirt. It looked new and remarkably white as if washed in bleach. Where the man came from and where they were going was a mystery. Had he committed a pernicious crime? Had he escaped from somewhere?
Then it struck her. He had escaped from prison. She had seen prison clothes before once when she had gone to the county courthouse for jury duty. Some the prisoners were picking up trash and manicuring the lawn and bushes. They had worn clothing just like the man was wearing.
She watched from the side of her eyes him putting on the sweat shirt. He was heavily muscled, like he had been working out for years. There was a tattoo on his neck, crudely drawn. It was some kind of Chinese or Japanese ideogram. There were some more tattoos on his arms. They looked like they had been drawn by a child. They were prison tattoos. She had heard about them. He slipped the sweatshirt over his head and down his torso. It was dark blue and had a white Michigan State logo on the front. He tossed his jacket into the back seat. He had also lifted a black baseball cap. He took off the knit cap that he had been wearing, tossed it back with the jacket and put the baseball cap on. He looked at her and smiled. “Presto, chango!” he said.
The man wolfed down the chili dogs, throwing the wrappers out the window as soon as he was done. He then ripped open the carton of cigarettes, opened a pack and lit one up. He gave a deep sigh as he released the initial intake of tar and nicotine. He looked at Carly. “Twelve years,” he said. “It still feels just as good.”
Twelve years since he had a cigarette. He had been in prison for twelve years! And if he had escaped after all that time, he must have had a long time left on his sentence. Otherwise it wouldn’t make sense to escape. That meant that he had done something very, very bad.
The cigarette smoke filled up the passenger compartment. Carly hated cigarette smoke. Her father had died of lung cancer and she was of the opinion that all cigarettes should be outlawed and that anyone who smoked was stupid. She couldn’t help but wish her father’s fate on her kidnapper.
About ten minutes after they had left the store, the man ordered Carly to enter a shopping center parking lot and turn around. All the stores were closed and there were no other cars in the lot. He ordered Carly to get back on the road but in the other direction. Carla was perplexed. Were they going back to the store? They passed it about ten minutes later. She kept wondering what they were doing. After about another fifteen minutes they came to a crossroads. County Road 597 intersected Route 29. He told her to take a right.
Then she realized what was up. She had wondered about the use of the credit card. He knew that it could be traced. But by doubling back, he could deceive any pursuers into believing that he had continued to go north from the convenience store. If the kid was questioned, and if he noticed them leaving, he would tell the police that they had made a left out of the parking lot, going north. That’s where they would look for them. Not here on Route 597 going west. A feeling of torpor passed through her as she resigned herself to her fate. Although she was sure that the man would be caught sooner or later, for her sake, it would certainly be later and, in all probability, much too late.
They drove through the night. The man made himself a peanut butter sandwich. He had bought a half gallon of milk and he drank it right from the carton. He lit up a new cigarette about every twenty minutes or so like he had never quit. He otherwise remained silent. He kept the radio off. She had wondered about that too, but now she knew that he didn’t want her to have too much information about him. His escape must be all over the radio. She didn’t even know his name.
The moon had sunk below the horizon and the night had turned dark. There were few lights along the winding, two laned country road they were following, limited to the occasional intersection with another County Road from time to time. Where Carly lived, the terrain was mostly flat, farming country, but to the west it became more hilly, as the land built up to the mountains beyond. There were hardly any other cars on the road. When one came towards them, Carly had the momentary illusion that the driver, whoever he or she was, would recognize her, and him, and call the police. But of course the vehicles were going too fast for any recognition to be possible. The glare of the headlights obscured the windshields of each of the cars, and as of yet, no one would know that s
he was missing.
Once in a while, a car would approach them from behind. Its headlights would illuminate the inside of the car. It would either follow them for fifteen or twenty minutes or so, and then pull off to one of the side roads, or rev up its engines and stream past them on some straightaway. Every time Carly saw the headlights approaching from the rear, she said a little prayer that it was a cop car and that the cop would find a reason to pull them over, but it never happened.
The man sat quietly, smoking cigarettes, eating cookies and chips, drinking from the half gallon of milk, or just staring into the windshield. The only sound was the slight noise of the well tuned engine and the hum of her radial tires on the pavement. He was completely self possessed, as if he had years and years of practice sitting alone and being his own, silent company. He had no interest in or need for chit chat. He didn’t even put on the radio, which would have helped Carly maintain her alertness.
Ghostly looking, darkened, old houses swept past them, an occasional two pump gas station, a darkened diner or country store. Even the infrequent bar they passed was closed. Carly was becoming more and more tired as the night wore on. She found herself fading. He offered her some soda, but she declined. Once, he let her stop and pee by the side of the road. He made her woefully self conscious as he watched her draw her panties to her ankles from under her dress, spread her legs and release her water onto the road’s apron. She thought of running off, but he was too close to her and poised, cat like, as if he expected her to give it a try. He made her sit in the car on the passenger side when he took his leak. She could not help but think of his cock in his hand and where it might be later.
The light on the dashboard said it was 4:45 when Carly began to fall asleep. She had left Randy’s a little after 11:30. The man had kidnapped her about a half hour later. That meant that they had been driving for almost 5 hours. Three times she caught herself nodding off. The car would sway and she would realize that her eyes were closing and that her chin was sinking. After the third time, she finally told the man that she couldn’t drive any more. She was too tired.
“Just a little further,” he told her. “We’ll find a place to stop.”
A half hour later, they approached a motel on the right hand side. It consisted of a frame house that doubled as an office and a series of little cabins. The vacancy sign was on. He ordered her to pull into the lot.
When they got out of the car, they had to ring a bell to call down the night attendant. It took several long rings over a number of minutes. While the vacancy light had been on, all the inside lights were off. Finally, a light flicked on way back in the house. A few moments later, one flicked on in the office. A thin, elderly man came to the door. Carly could just make him out through the curtain that covered the inside of the window on the door. He fiddled with the door handle and then opened the door inwards.
The man had shown Carly the knife just before they rang the bell with the usual dreadful warning. He had told her what to say when they got inside.
“Hello! Hello!” the old man proclaimed. He was wearing a pair of striped pajamas and a thin cotton bathrobe, plaid with thin black lines on a field of red. His hair was mussy and gray, a little longer than short. He had a thin, boney nose and big ears. He was a little taller than Carly, but not taller than her kidnapper.
“You’ll be wanting a room, I guess,” the man said to them. “But I guess that’s a stupid question this time of night. Come in! Come in! Latecomers are welcome! The wife says we ought to turn the light out at 11, but every once in a while we get a late customer like you two. Every little bit helps, you know.”
He stepped behind a tall desk that was more like a free standing counter. It was covered with Formica, pink with black speckles. On it was a large light green pad with the black registration book open on it. A standing card listed their rates. Behind the desk was a large Currier and Ives print of some country scene. On the walls of the small room were prints of ducks and deer and other wildlife. The motel license hung in a frame and there was a sign that said that checkout time was 10 A.M., the letters burnt into a foot long piece of raw wood.
“How long ya staying?” the old man asked. He was looking at them, measuring them. Carly wore no ring and there was an obvious age difference between her and her captor, not to mention how they were dressed. She was nervous, wanting desperately to tell the man that she was a prisoner, and not wanting to provoke the carnage that would inevitably result if she did. She said the words she had been told.
“We’d like to stay the day. We’ve been traveling all night.”
“Well, check out time is 10,” the old man said. “If you want to stay longer you’ll have to pay for two days.”
“That’s not a problem,” Carly replied. There was a definite tremor in her voice, one she couldn’t control. Her hands were shaking and she was afraid that the old man might notice it when she signed the register.
“That’ll be $45 a day. $90 all told. Plus tax.”
The man counted out five twenties and laid them on the desk. The old man scooped the bills up, put them in the drawer under the desk, and produced their change.
“You gotta sign the book,” he said. And then looking them over again said, “It don’t matter to me what name you use.”
The man had told her what names to use. She signed the book Ralph and Alice Kramden. The old man looked at the names without comment.
He went to the rack on the wall behind the desk to select a key.
“We’d like one as far away from the road as possible,” she told him. “We’ll probably sleep most of the day and we don’t want to be disturbed.”
“I’ll give ya number twelve, it’s way in the back. Nice cabin too. Roomy, ya know. I usually get more for it, but as you paid for two days, I’ll let it go,” he announced. “There’s color TV, cable, and the heat’s good. We just redid the bathroom so it’s real nice. You want I should show it to you?”
“No thanks,” Carly answered. “We’ll find it.”
They had parked the car off to the side so that the motel clerk wouldn’t see it. The man made Carly get in like before and they drove slowly deeper into the collection of huts. There were a few cars parked outside a few of the units and a long tractor trailer along the edge of the property. The numbers of the cabins were highlighted on their doors in brass lettering. They saw 10, then 11 and then 12, just like the man said, way in the back and about 30 yards away from the nearest cabin. The parking spot was partly obscured by a large evergreen tree. It was perfect for the man’s needs.
He had her get out the passenger side and take all the bags out of the back seat. He held her arm and marched her to the door. She waited, her tiredness muting somewhat her terror of what awaited her beyond it. He hadn’t touched her so far, at least not in that way, and he hadn’t made any comments. “Maybe he’s gay,” she thought hopefully. She had heard that men did that in prison. Maybe he would leave her alone. And maybe, just maybe, when he fell asleep, she could escape.
The door swung outwards and the man motioned her to go in. It was all dark inside. He flicked the switch near the door, on the left. The room erupted in light. It was paneled in golden stained oak. There was a thin commercial carpet on the floor. The bed was a double, smaller than queen size. It was covered by a light green blanket. A brown and red comforter was folded at its foot. The foot of the bed faced the door. True to the old man’s word, it seemed larger than the other cabins. There were two wooden chairs, stained to match the walls, abutting a small wooden table to the right of the bed. There was a small refrigerator, about 2” by 3”, a tiny sink and a two burner electric stove. An ashtray and two glasses covered with thin, white paper bags were on the table. The bathroom was on the other side. The TV was to the right of the door. It had a cable box. To the left of the door was a double window. The curtain was open. Under the window was an electric heater built into the wall. The room smelled a little musty as if there hadn’t been anyone in it for a while.
“Put those bags on the table,” the man told her.
While she was doing that, he closed the curtain to the large window and turned on the wall heater. It roared to life and hot air started to stream out of it.
“Go sit over there,” the man told her, pointing to the other side of the bed near the bathroom.
Carly, obediently and morosely, shuffled over to the bed and sat down. She had to turn her body so that she could keep her eyes on the man.
He sat down in one of the chairs. Then he seemed to think a minute. He got up and said, “Stay right there,” and walked out the door.
Carly’s heart started to race. She was all alone! She looked quickly around. There was a window just opposite the bed, no more than three feet away from her. It was locked, but all it needed was a twist of the clasp at the top of the bottom half. She could be out in a second! She would run, run, run! She would scream! She would get away!
But what if he caught her? What would he do? He would slice her up! He would kill her! But maybe not! Maybe she would get away! Maybe he would hop in the car and make a getaway before anyone came out of the other cabins! She had to try it! She just had to!
Just as she was getting up the nerve to rise and approach the window, the door to the cabin opened again. He had in his arms the jacket and cap he had been wearing and her yellow purse. If anyone came up to the car while they were sleeping, they wouldn’t see them now. He was careful all right.
Despair flowed through Carly’s body like a sickness. She was a fool! Her indecision has cost her her chance, maybe her life! Why was she such a coward? She thought she was going to throw up.
