by Dan Padavona
His eyes light with amusement.
“I don’t want your money, Nadia,” he says in his fake baritone voice. The man knows her name. “This isn’t about ransom.”
Nadia sniffles.
“What do you want?”
“You betrayed me. I offer myself to you, and you turn away as if you’ve lost interest.”
“Kealan? Why are you doing this?”
A guttural chuckle.
“You’ll perform a test. If you pass, I promise to let you go.”
Her head swims with possibilities. She doesn’t understand what he’s talking about. She’s even less confident he’ll stay true to his word. Despite the promise, Kealan must know she’ll run straight to the police after he releases her. He’s acted skittish in recent months. But kidnapping? He’ll give her some impossible test, one she has no chance to pass. Then he’ll keep her here, locked away from the world. But where is here? Did he purchase a house in the country without telling her? He holds too many secrets.
Then it hits Nadia. Kealan means to rape her. Which is ridiculous because she always gave him the sex he craved. She willingly did so. Sex was never the problem between them.
“You don’t have to do this, Kealan. We had something good together. Let’s talk this through and get back to where we were last year.”
He blinks. That got through to him. She needs him to focus on her words.
“We discussed marriage, remember? I told you I wasn’t ready. It wasn’t because I didn’t love you. Our relationship hadn’t grown in a long time. We were going through the motions, and you know that’s true. We just needed a change, something to make love feel like an adventure again."
The masked man towers over her. She wants to look away from the hideous mask. But she needs to keep him talking. He’s lost his mind. Kealan went to the extreme of abducting her in plain sight. There’s no telling how far he’ll go.
“Time for your first test, Nadia.”
He weaves around the chair. She catches scents of cologne and body odor as he passes. She’s too afraid to turn her head. Pulse quickening, she eyes the door. He has a better angle on the door, and she’s still dizzy from the injection. No chance she’ll escape. But she can’t sit here without fighting back.
The tank lid on a lower shelf vivarium creaks open. He dons thick, black gloves that stretch to his elbows. What is he doing? Her first thought is he’ll fish a snake out of the enclosure. Kealan kept a milk snake when they first met, but he sold the pet after he realized the harmless reptile made her nauseous.
She inches off the chair.
“It’s not worth the effort, Nadia,” he warns in his baritone voice. “I double-locked the front and back doors from the inside, and you don’t have the keys.”
Screw him. Nadia bolts for the door. Her legs turn into gelatin as she lunges for the handle. He catches her, presses her against the wall. Her head spins, residual effects from the injection. Unable to stand on two feet, she stumbles and leans against his thick frame.
“I warned you, did I not?”
Hauling her back to the chair, he shoves her down and warns her with his glare. Then he returns to the vivariums. She sways in place, can’t stop the room from spinning. The tank opens again. She doesn’t comprehend what she sees when he pulls a black, spindly bulk out of the log. It isn’t until the legs move that her brain registers the form as a spider. A massive spider, larger than anything she’s encountered in the wild.
Her lips quiver as he stands before her.
“No need to panic, Nadia. This is a beautiful creature, a perfect specimen.”
She flinches when he places the spider on her lap. The beast appears the size of a tarantula, but with less hair. The fangs poise above her flesh.
“What is that thing? What are you doing, Kealan?”
“Shh. You’ll panic the spider, and that’s not something you want to do.” He pushes the air down with his hands, a motion meant to calm her. “Sit still for another five minutes, and you’ll pass the test.”
Five minutes. Her body trembles as she clamps a scream behind her teeth. Whatever the thing is, it’s dangerous. And it’s eager to strike if she flinches.
“Take it away. Please. I’ll do anything you say.”
“Will you, now? I doubt your sincerity. You spurned me too many times, Nadia.”
When Nadia’s arm shakes, the spider raises its front legs. She’s watched enough nature videos to know this is a sign of aggression. Nadia understands the need to remain still. But the spider sends her into a frenzy, nerves frayed.
“Don’t let it bite me.”
A grin forms beneath the mouth of the mask.
“That would be bad. What you’re looking at is a wonder of nature, a pure killing machine. This is the Australian funnel-web spider. One bite, and you’ll die a painful death within the hour. That is, without the antivenom. And yes, I keep a small quantity of antivenom. Call it an insurance policy.”
The spider crawls forward and scales her forearm to the elbow. Her legs tremor. Spittle trails off her lip.
“Oh, God. Take it away! Why are you doing this to me?”
“Calm yourself, Nadia. You’ll cause the spider to strike. Even were I willing to part with the antivenom, the pain would be excruciating.”
“It’s ready to bite now. Stop it. Get it off me.”
Despite her intention to remain still, her arm shakes as the spider crawls past her elbow. The man in the mask rolls her short-sleeve shirt to the shoulder, exposing soft flesh. Then the spider freezes. Front legs raised, fangs angled toward her skin.
“Four minutes remaining. This is a crucial moment. You agitated the spider, and now it sees you as a threat. Stop trembling, Nadia. Take a deep breath and hold it, if you wish to live.”
Nadia closes her eyes. She feels the weight of the thing pressing against her skin. Did it flinch?
“That’s better. A little longer, and you’ll pass the test. Whatever you do, don’t move a muscle.”
He whispers the command in her ear. Time stops. She can’t hear anything over her thumping heart.
Yet she can’t sit still. She wants nothing more than to shove Kealan out of the way and sprint for the door. Not that it will do any good.
“Very good, Nadia. You’re almost there.”
The arachnid shifts on her arm, dragging its humongous abdomen over her flesh. The man behind the mask inhales, and she knows something changed in the spider’s demeanor.
“Don’t breathe.”
Nadia screams a moment before the spider bites.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Monday, September 14th
4:55 p.m.
When Cynthia called and told Darcy she’d pulled Jennifer over for driving with a shattered windshield, Darcy had tried to pull her thoughts together. Had her daughter gotten into a car crash? Was she injured? With Julian at the store, Darcy ordered an Uber to drive her to the station. Julian offered to pick her up, but the store sits fifteen minutes from the house, and she couldn’t wait another second.
As Darcy strides down the hall, a familiar officer waves as he passes. Cynthia curls her head out from the break room. Before Darcy can find out what’s happening, Cynthia rounds the corner and blocks Darcy’s path, raising her hands to keep Darcy calm.
“Where’s Jennifer? Why did you bring her to the station?”
“Easy, Darcy,” Cynthia says, softening her voice. “She’s inside the break room.”
If Jennifer is in the break room, she’s not under arrest. Weight falls off her shoulders, but she still doesn’t understand what’s happening.
“Did she get into an accident and wreck the car?”
“Jennifer didn’t get into an accident, and your vehicle is fine. She’s upset. I calmed her down. But I’m afraid if she sees you, she’ll get defensive and become upset again.”
Wait. Why is Cynthia playing parent with Darcy’s daughter?
“I still don’t understand what happened.”
&nb
sp; Cynthia leads her away from the break room.
“From what I can gather, a lacrosse ball struck the windshield while Jennifer drove home.”
“Did this happen at Kaitlyn’s house?”
The female police officer gives an evasive glance toward the break room.
“I’m not sure where it occurred, but the kids ran off. I can send an officer to the neighborhood to find out who is responsible.”
Darcy rests against the wall.
“No. It sounds like an accident. I’ll call a windshield repair service.”
“Right.”
“Why did Jennifer drive the car with a broken windshield? She’s asking for an accident.”
Cynthia flicks the hair off her shoulders.
“That’s what I told her. I couldn’t let her drive, and I didn’t want to keep her at the scene given the state she’s in. She was too upset to talk and couldn’t stop crying.”
“So you put her in the cruiser and drove her to the station?”
“It’s not protocol. But I know you and Julian, and I thought the best thing to do was get Jennifer off the street and take her someplace quiet.”
“I’ll pay the ticket now, if you have it ready.”
“I’m not ticketing your daughter, Darcy. True, she needs a safety reminder if she wants to keep driving. But she’s been through enough, and the windshield will set you back a few hundred dollars.”
Darcy folds her arms.
“Then I want to see her.”
“Okay. But if you plan to punish your daughter, wait until she’s home and under control.”
Darcy pushes her tongue against the side of her mouth. She appreciates Cynthia taking care of Jennifer, but she shouldn’t dictate when or how Darcy will discipline her daughter. Besides, since it wasn’t Jennifer’s fault, there’s nothing to get upset over.
As Cynthia leads Darcy into the break room, Darcy takes a careful, measured step inside. Jennifer buries her face in her hands, shoulders lifting with each gulping sob. When Jennifer’s hands fall from her face, she stares at her mother with red eyes.
“It wasn’t my fault, I swear. I didn’t do anything.”
Darcy slides into the chair beside Jennifer.
“Officer Harpur told me everything. It’s all right.”
Jennifer swivels her head toward Cynthia, who gives her a tight-lipped smile. For a second, Darcy swears Cynthia shakes her head.
“I was just driving down the street, and this lacrosse ball flew into the windshield. Everything happened so fast, and whoever threw the ball ran off.”
“It’s not important,” Darcy says, laying a hand on her daughter’s forearm. “The only thing that matters is you’re safe.”
“So you’re not mad?”
Darcy studies the table top, then holds Jennifer’s eyes.
“I’m upset you drove with a broken windshield. You should have phoned me. The next time something like that happens, pull over and call for help.”
Cynthia tears a tissue from the box and hands it to Jennifer. The girl dabs her nose and sniffles.
“I’m sorry for screwing up.”
“Listen, we’re lucky Officer Harpur saw you and brought you to the station to keep you safe. She gave you a break. Officer Harpur could have ticketed you.”
“Yeah, that was pretty stupid of me.”
“You’re a smart girl, but you need to exercise better judgment. I want to speak with Officer Harpur for a minute. After, we’ll decide what to do about the car.”
Jennifer leans her face on her palm and lowers her eyes as Julian enters the room.
“What happened? Is Jennifer okay?”
“Someone tossed a lacrosse ball into the road, and it cracked the windshield while Jennifer was driving,” says Darcy.
He hugs Darcy on his way into the room, then moves to the table and drapes an arm over Jennifer’s shoulder. The girl perks up now that Julian is here.
Glancing at Cynthia, he asks, “Was it intentional?”
Cynthia’s eyes travel to Jennifer, who shakes her head.
“It appears to be an accident,” says Cynthia. “But Jennifer drove the car with a cracked windshield.”
“That wasn’t a smart move,” Julian says, directing his attention at Jennifer. “You know better than that.”
Jennifer rests her head on Julian’s shoulder.
“I won’t do it again.”
Julian pats her back and rises. His moves seem calculated and careful. He worries over his stab wound.
“Where is the car now?” he asks Darcy.
Darcy turns to Cynthia, who stares at the coffee maker and scratches behind her ear.
“At the corner of Charles and Woodruff,” Cynthia says.
“Wait, isn’t that several blocks from Kaitlyn’s house?”
“Jennifer might have become confused after the incident and taken a wrong turn.” Cynthia gives Julian a meaningful look. “May I talk to you for a second?”
Julian jangles the keys off his finger.
“Sure.” He glances at Darcy. “Sit with Jennifer for a bit. We’ll be back in five minutes.”
When Julian leaves with his new partner, Darcy turns a chair to face Jennifer.
“Any idea what that was about?”
Jennifer shrugs and worries a chipped nail. Darcy presses her lips together and decides not to push her daughter. But someone isn’t telling the truth. The clamor of officers moving down the corridor sounds loud as Darcy and Jennifer sit without speaking. Darcy opens her mouth to question her daughter more than once, then closes it. What’s happening? Why won’t Jennifer confide in Darcy, and why did Cynthia want to speak with Julian?
Julian returns with Cynthia as Darcy struggles to make small-talk.
“I’ll take Jennifer home,” says Julian. “Then I’ll swing over to Charles and take care of the car. Can you phone Martin’s on South Jensen and have a repairman meet me there?”
“I’ll call now,” Darcy says, feeling useless and out of the loop.
As she gathers her belongings, she senses they’re waiting for her to leave so they can talk about what really happened with her car.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Tuesday, September 15th
11:20 a.m.
When the lunch bell rings, Ali Haynes drops her pen on the desk and massages the back of her neck. The students pile through the doorway, trampling over their classmates as if scrambling from a fire. What a morning. She arrived at school, brimming with optimism over her lesson plans and the presentation she created on her school-issued iPad.
Nobody cared. She drew blank stares and disinterested grunts from her morning classes. At least she has forty-five minutes of peace before the next group makes her feel unworthy of teaching. Or maybe kids don’t care about biology, unless it involves make out sessions in the back of a sedan.
Staring at her reflection in a handheld mirror, she unravels blonde hair from a tie and musses it with her hands. Then she runs a brush through the snarls, pulls it into a ponytail, and sets the mirror down in defeat. At twenty-five, she hasn’t reached tenure. There’s time to go back to school, rethink this teaching thing.
Except she loves teaching, and nothing gives her greater joy than seeing a student’s eyes light up upon solving a problem.
Ali removes her glasses and sets them on the desk. She cracks open a can of Pepsi and sips, squinting when the bubbles tickle her nose. Groping inside her bag, her hand closes on the peanut butter and jelly sandwich. She sets it on her desk and scowls. The ice pack flattened the sandwich. Jelly coats the inside of the plastic bag.
“After next year’s raise, I’m buying lunch at the cafe every day.”
The empty chairs stare back at her as she edges the sandwich out of the bag and takes a bite. It’s as fulfilling as the biology presentation was for her students. At least she has another forty minutes of quiet.
The phone rings. Groaning, she sets the sandwich down and hurries across the room. The Smith Town High School cla
ssrooms have wall-mounted phones, relics from fifty years ago. The curled cord only stretches six feet. Once, she attempted to stretch the cord an inch farther to pick a paper off the floor and pulled the front of the phone off the wall. The maintenance staff had been displeased.
“Ms. Haynes, this is Sally.”
Who else would it be? Nobody besides the snooty secretary can call this number. Ali winds her hand in the air, signaling Sally to get to the point before the flies buzzing around the florescent fixtures discover her sandwich.
“I have Tina Marquez’s mother on the line. I’m patching her through.”
Click. Silence.
This call won’t go well. Ali loves Tina Marquez. The girl studies hard and has an A-average through the first month of classes. But she doesn’t come from money and often wears the same clothes to school. Her classmates talk behind her back, and the nastier kids raise their voices so Tina hears. Ali brought the situation to the guidance counselor, and when Stanley did nothing to help, she elevated the problem to the senior high principal. No reply yet, and Ali doesn’t expect one.
Ali taps her foot and stretches the cord so she can glance into the hallway. Two boys shove each other into lockers. She’s about to drop the phone and break up the fight when they both laugh. Just freshman kids screwing around when they should be in the lunch hall.
“Is this Ms. Haynes?”
“Mrs. Marquez, we met at curriculum night. It’s good to hear from you again.”
“I don’t appreciate what those kids say about my Tina,” Marquez says, her voice trembling. It’s obvious the woman avoids confrontation and rarely speaks up for herself. Tina’s father walked out on the family last year, exacerbating their financial issues. “Every afternoon, Tina comes home and runs straight to her room. I can see she’s been crying.”
Ali lowers herself to the floor and sits with her knees bent in front of her.
“Yes, Mrs. Marquez. I’ve spoken to the principal and guidance department about the situation, and last week I pulled two students aside and warned them bullying won’t be tolerated in my classroom.”
