Faint of Heart

by Strand, Jeff

  Another knock at the door, and this time it was Stephen who entered the room, holding the plate with the bagel. He adjusted his glasses and looked her over. "Get a good night's sleep?"

  Rebecca shrugged.

  "Don't have much of a personality, do you? Oh well, not your fault, I guess." He extended the plate toward her. "Here's breakfast."

  She wasn't the least bit hungry, but she stood up and took the plate from him anyway. Stephen gestured for her to sit back down on the bed.

  "I'm not the kind of person who likes to bog things down with a lot of rules and regulations," Stephen explained, standing in the center of the room. "So we're going to keep this simple. Like I said, it'll pretty much be a 'learn as you go' experience. You can bail out whenever you want, and the only penalty will be that your husband dies a torturous, ghastly, agonizing, miserable, messy death. Something wrong with your bagel?"

  "No," said Rebecca, shaking her head.

  "Then eat up. You'll need the energy."

  She forced herself to take a bite. Even with the thick layer of grape jelly, the bagel was dry in her mouth.

  "So there's really only one major rule," said Stephen. "Absolutely no police involvement. If the cops get involved, then you're no longer following in Gary's footsteps, and you've lost. If you purposely get other people involved that you're not supposed to, that'll cost you Gary's life, too. Understand?"

  Rebecca nodded as she strained to swallow her first bite of bagel.

  "Say 'I understand.' It makes you seem more human."

  "I understand."

  "Much better. Hurry up and finish eating. The car's all packed and ready to go."

  * * *

  Gary's car was parked outside the cabin. As they walked out the front door, Stephen handed her Gary's set of keys, which were easily identifiable by the Homer Simpson keychain. They'd also provided her with a pair of tennis shoes and a leather jacket. It wasn't as heavy as she'd like, but it would definitely keep some of the outdoor chill away.

  "As soon as you hit the main highway, open the glove compartment," Stephen told her.

  "Don't peek early," said Alan.

  "That's right. Realize that we'll be listening and watching, and that we aren't the only ones participating in this little game. So think about that before you try anything that your hubby wouldn't have done."

  "When do I get to talk to him?" Rebecca asked.

  "I never said you did," said Stephen.

  "Yes you did!"

  "No. I said we'd prove that he was alive. That may or may not involve speaking to him, and I don't want to spoil any of the surprises." Stephen patted her on the shoulder. "If you make it far enough, you'll get the reassurance you need to keep going. I promise."

  The promise of a psychopath like Stephen didn't mean much to Rebecca, but she said nothing. They walked her over to the car, as Alan whistled a happy tune. She recognized Gary's camping supplies in the back seat and again had to fight back tears.

  She tried to make herself believe that it was all a joke, that Gary was capable of pulling such a mean-spirited, hateful prank, and that he'd pop out of the backseat and shout "Surprise!" as soon as she got in the car. Right now she'd give anything in the world to beat the shit out of him for doing something so cruel.

  But it wasn't a joke.

  She got in the car and shut the door. She turned on the engine, put the car in reverse, and began to back up. Alan walked over, tapped on the window, and gestured for her to roll it down.

  "Don't forget your seatbelt," he said. "It's not just a good idea, it's the law."

  The words "Screw you" came dangerously close to passing through her lips, but instead she clenched her teeth, put on her seatbelt, and rolled the window back up.

  She drove away from the cabin.

  * * *

  She felt an incredible sense of relief as she drove down the dirt road, away from Alan and Stephen. Despite all of their talk about the game she was going to play, she'd still expected to be shot or stabbed at any moment.

  Why hadn't they given her the proof that Gary was still alive up front?

  Was he still alive?

  Yes. He had to be.

  Why not just drive to the nearest phone and call the police? Maybe they were bluffing about listening in.

  Maybe. But it probably wouldn't take much to set up a hidden webcam in the car. For now, anyway, she had to follow their instructions.

  She looked over at the glove compartment. She was dying to know what was inside, but she also had to believe that they'd make good on their threat to murder Gary if she violated the rules.

  She could wait a few more minutes, or however long it took to get to the main highway.

  Then the whole reality of the situation struck her again. Even if she followed the rules, how could she possibly win? How could she relive Gary's experience and do better than him? She didn't know the first thing about camping...she'd probably die even without encountering the other dangers!

  No. She had to stop thinking like that.

  She had to be strong. She wasn't some sheltered spoiled little girl who'd never left Daddy's house. She'd put herself through college while working full-time, a year of which was also spent caring for her dying mother. She could handle this.

  Yeah, just keep deluding yourself, and you'll make it through, no problem.

  She stopped the car as she reached the turn onto Frontier Road. The road was a good sixty miles long, so she still didn't know exactly where she was, but at least now she was a little better oriented. Doug lived on this road, and Gary would have been by to pick him up.

  Rebecca reached over and opened the glove compartment.

  Along with the registration, owner's manual, and various other accumulated pieces of paper, there were three yellow envelopes. The one on top bulged out about an inch, while the other two were thin enough that they might be empty.

  She removed the top one. "Open Me First!" was written on it in blue marker.

  Palms sweating, she tore it open.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The bulge was Gary's wallet. Besides that, the envelope contained two small folded pieces of paper.

  She opened them and read the first.

  J&H Convenience Store. Ten miles south on Frontier Road. Fill up the tank.

  The second read:

  Shopping List:

  Four twelve-packs of beer.

  Potato chips--rippled.

  One Alaska map.

  One bottle anti-freeze.

  One bottle motor oil.

  One hot dog that has been sitting in that display rack since before you lost your virginity. Cover it with so much mustard that no processed pig parts are visible. Eat that disgusting thing.

  Pay in cash.

  Don't miss anything. We're not kidding.

  Do not open envelope #2 until this is done. We're not kidding about that, either.

  Rebecca frowned. That was it? A shopping list?

  She wasn't sure whether to be relieved or completely freaked out. Maybe things had gone bad while Gary, Scott, and Doug were picking up their last minute supplies at the convenience store. Or immediately after that.

  His wallet appeared to be mostly untouched. It still contained Gary's driver's license, three twenty dollar-bills, a ten, and six ones. And a picture of her; the only good picture taken in the last three years. It did not contain his credit cards. Gary would have put these items on his debit card, so it appeared that they weren't doing an exact replication of the events in favor of not creating a traceable charge.

  She looked at the other two envelopes. Were they as simple as a shopping list, or something much worse?

  Would they really know if she peeked ahead?

  She closed the glove compartment to reduce temptation, then pocketed Gary's wallet and turned right onto Frontier Road.

  It was never a very busy road. In fact, if somebody was going to set up an ambush, this would be a pretty good place to do it.

  Had Gary even mad
e it to the convenience store?

  They wouldn't give her a shopping list if he hadn't, would they? The list definitely contained the kind of items that the men would've bought, and ordering a hot dog with a disturbing amount of mustard for breakfast was definitely a Gary trait. Gary, Doug, and Scott at least made it that far.

  But she didn't know nearly enough about this "game," or about Alan and Stephen, to assume that things were going to move along in a straightforward fashion.

  She had to be ready for an ambush.

  As much as she wanted to turn on the radio, to give herself some background music to calm her nerves, she didn't dare. She had to be as aware of her surroundings as she possibly could.

  She glanced at the odometer. She'd gone one mile now. The gas tank was about half full. He'd been going to Bleser, which was about eighty miles away, so driving there and back would use up about half a tank.

  Two miles.

  A semi passed in the opposite lane. She half-expected it to do a sudden swerve, knocking her off the road, but of course it didn't.

  Three miles. Then four. Five.

  She began to relax. Not a lot, but enough to loosen her grip on the steering wheel a bit, to let some blood flow to her fingers.

  Six miles.

  A hitchhiker stood by the side of the road, shoulders slumped and head hung. He stuck out his thumb half-heartedly as she approached.

  Rebecca sucked in a deep breath.

  She couldn't see his face very well, but he had a thick black beard. It could easily be a disguise, except that neither of the kidnappers could have made it out here before her, unless an underground shuttle system had been installed out in rural Alaska without her being made aware of it.

  Stephen had said that he and Alan weren't the only ones involved.

  She sped up and drifted into the opposite lane. The hitchhiker didn't even look up as she passed.

  She continued to watch him in the rearview mirror, waiting for him to pull out a gun and open fire.

  Rebecca nearly lost control of the vehicle when she saw the hitchhiker raise his head.

  But he didn't do anything. Just watched her as he became smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror, finally disappearing as the road gradually veered to the left.

  A regular old standard-issue hitchhiker. Nothing more.

  He might have slit her throat and stolen her car if she'd picked him up, but he certainly wasn't waiting there to ambush her.

  Maybe he could've helped her. A ride to town in exchange for assisting her in saving her husband from a ghoulish death. Too bad that was against the rules.

  A couple of minutes later, she turned into the parking lot of the J&H Convenience Store and pulled up alongside the single gas pump. There were only two other cars here, not surprising for a convenience store way out in the middle of nowhere, even if a quarter after seven was a prime coffee hour.

  She went inside. A young guy, maybe twenty-five, stood behind the counter, reading a copy of The Daily News Miner. He lowered his newspaper and gave Rebecca a friendly smile, which she tried but was unable to return.

  Beer first. She walked to the back of the store, which only had four small aisles, and opened the sliding door to the cooler. The shopping list hadn't said which brand to purchase, but since she didn't much care for the taste of beer anyway she picked out two twelve-packs of Budweiser, Gary's brand.

  "Hey, my kind of woman!" said the cashier as she set them on the front counter.

  "I'm getting two more," Rebecca said.

  "Works for me. That'll get you through those Monday morning blues."

  She got the rest of the necessary beer, a large bag of Ruffles, the motor oil, anti-freeze, and map. As she set them on the counter, she wondered why there were two cars in the parking lot besides her own if nobody else was in the convenience store except her and the cashier.

  "I don't suppose I could bother you for some I.D., could I?" asked the cashier. "It's a pain, I know, but they make me do it."

  "Not a pain at all," said Rebecca, suddenly realizing that she didn't have her I.D., just Gary's. "You know what, I left it at home. But I'm twenty-eight."

  "Funny, you don't look a day over twenty-seven," said the cashier. "No, I'm just kidding. I mean, not that you look older than that, just...sorry, without I.D., I'm not gonna be able to sell you the beer. I'll get in all kinds of trouble."

  "How will you get in trouble? I'm way over twenty-one."

  "I know, but I'm supposed to check I.D. if you don't look over thirty." He pointed over his shoulder and silently mouthed "My boss is in the back."

  At that moment, a tall, balding man emerged from a door behind the cashier, holding a clipboard. He nodded politely at Rebecca and walked down the aisle toward the cooler.

  "I also need to fill up my tank," said Rebecca, trying to keep her voice casual as she took out Gary's wallet.

  "Okay, but I still need to see identification," the cashier insisted.

  Damn it! She'd been able to fake her way into alcohol purchases when she was in college and not old enough, how come she couldn't do it when she was of legal age?

  Or was the cashier part of it?

  She took out Gary's driver's license and one of the twenties. She slid both of them together toward the cashier. "Here you go."

  He looked at the driver's license, appeared momentarily confused, then slid them both back to her. "Uh-uh. No way."

  "I just want to make my purchases, please," she said, putting the driver's license back in her pocket.

  "You could be an undercover cop."

  "I'm not, I swear."

  "What seems to be the problem?" asked the manager, stepping over to the counter.

  "No I.D.," said the cashier.

  The manager looked Rebecca over carefully. "Sorry, ma'am. No identification, no alcohol. It's the law."

  What was she supposed to say? That they absolutely, positively had to sell her this beer because her husband's life was at stake?

  Maybe a new tactic was in order. "I'm old enough by seven years," she said. "You know it and I know it, it's just some stupid formality. Are you really going to make me drive all the way home to get my license? Because if you do, I'm certainly not going to stop here on the way back. You're not the only place that sells beer."

  "We apologize for the inconvenience, but unfortunately there are no exceptions to our policy," said the manager. "Will you still be purchasing the other items?"

  She shrugged. "I need to fill my tank. Unleaded, please."

  "That will have to be pre-pay," the manager told her.

  She set a twenty on the counter and turned and walked out of the store. Though her life had taken some odd twists and turns over the years, she never would have guessed that she'd be involved in a life or death struggle to buy some goddamn beer without proper identification.

  A new approach sprung to mind as she pumped the gas, one that would only work if the manager left again. Well, it probably wouldn't work even then, but she had to give it a shot. After all, she might not be a movie star type, but she certainly wasn't a bad-looking woman.

  The manager was nowhere in sight as she returned.

  "Ring up the other stuff, too," she said. Rebecca considered batting her eyelashes but quickly decided that she'd just look ridiculous. "You know, if you bought the beer for me, we could share it."

  "Really?"

  "When do you get off?"

  "Not until four."

  "Do you get a lunch break?"

  "Noon."

  "Would you like to have some beer for lunch?"

  "Aren't you married?" he asked, glancing at her ring.

  "I won't tell if you won't."

  "All right, sounds good. Come back around noon and I'll have the beer waiting."

  "Wouldn't you rather I got a head start?"

  The cashier suddenly burst out laughing. "Lady, it's just some beer! Jeez, did your sorority threaten to kick you out if you didn't bring it back for a party or something?"
/>   "No, I just want to be able to buy what I came here for. I made a special trip."

  "Here's a suggestion. Make a special trip over to Alcoholics Anonymous. Get on a twelve-step program. Do something, because you're just plain scary."