Little Sister

by MacDonald, Patricia

  “Open the fucking door,” he said. “And get out.”

  For a moment Beth hesitated, trying to think of an alternative. But the gun barrel mocked her, assuring her of her impotence. “I have to do it,” she said, half to Francie, half to herself.

  Francie nodded.

  / knew it, Beth thought. / knew he was crazy. It was no comfort. Slowly she opened the door and, with leaden limbs, pushed herself out of the car.

  “You, too, babe,” he said to Francie.

  Francie got out, her eyes trained on his face.

  “We’re going back to my truck,” he said. “Move it.”

  “Someone will see our car,” said Francie.

  “So they’ll see your car. You had an accident and you left it there. Just like we did this afternoon. No one will care.”

  Francie gave him a baleful look and joined Beth, who was slumped against the back of the car.

  “Get going,” said Andrew, gesturing with the gun.

  “Don’t wave that thing,” Beth muttered.

  “What?” said Andrew.

  “Come on.” Francie urged her.

  They walked back toward the vehicle parked by the side of the road. As they approached it, Francie exclaimed, “That’s the tow truck from Noah’s.”

  “That’s right,” said Andrew with a satisfied smile. “Fooled ya.” He poked the gun into Beth’s ribs, and she lurched forward.

  “Did you steal it from him?” Francie asked.

  “I borrowed it.”

  “He would never lend that truck to you. You stole it, didn’t you?”

  “No,” said Andrew. “I convinced him to give it to me as a present. With this.” He brandished the gun.

  “He’ll call the police,” said Francie.

  Andrew’s eyes had a vacant expression. “No, he won’t. He won’t be calling anyone.”

  “Did you hurt him?” Francie asked.

  “Don’t even talk to him,” Beth whispered.

  “Don’t tell her what to do,” Andrew screamed at Beth, poking the gun in her cheek.

  Beth felt the cold metal on her flesh, pressing up against her teeth. Her stomach flipped over.

  “You’ve told her what to do for the last time,” said Andrew. “I knew when I saw you what you were like. Bossing her around. Thinking you owned her. Well, we’ll see who owns her. Get in the truck,” he said. He indicated the driver’s seat to Beth. “You’re driving.”

  Slowly Beth pulled the door open and climbed in. Andrew turned to Francie. “Come on.” He steered her around to the other side.

  Beth sat in the cab, staring numbly at the dashboard of the truck. “I can’t drive one of these,” she said. “I’ve never driven one.”

  The passenger door opened, and Andrew climbed in, pushing Francie ahead of him. He dragged her onto his lap and forced her head down. “You’ll drive it,” he said. “It’s not that different from driving a Volkswagen when it’s not towing anything. Now move it. Make a U-turn. We’re going back this way.”

  Beth turned on the ignition and fumbled anxiously with the stick

  shift, her foot sliding on the clutch. She looked both ways, but there was no one coming. She pulled out and around for the U-turn. The truck bucked and stalled as she lifted her foot too quickly off the clutch.

  “Be careful,” Andrew screamed. “You don’t want this to go off accidentally.” He pressed the gun to Beth’s side.

  Beth licked her lips and shook her head. Where was he taking them? she wondered. It was like a nightmare come to life. Slowly she put the truck back in gear and eased up on the clutch as she gave it gas. The truck started to roll down the highway.

  “We’re by the lake,” said Francie.

  “That’s right. By our place,” said Andrew.

  Beth felt her palms sweat on the wheel. What place? she thought. She tried to force herself not to panic. He was still holding the gun on her while he stroked Francie’s hair with his free hand. Beth wet her lips again and spoke in a shaky voice. “Andrew, listen,” she said, “there’s no need for this. We’re not strangers. We can talk this over, and no one will be hurt.”

  “That’s far enough,” Andrew cried. “Turn off here. And shut up. Go down that dirt road.”

  Beth hesitated, unable to see the dirt road in the darkness.

  “Go,” Andrew shrieked.

  “I can’t see it,” Beth cried.

  Andrew leaned over and grabbed the wheel, turning it sharply to the left. The truck jerked sideways and slid across the road. As they were upon it, Beth saw the entrance and straightened the wheel out just in time to ease them off the highway. The truck bumped along down the path, the headlights picking up the bare trees and bushes as they crunched over rocks and fallen branches.

  “Sure, you want to talk it over,” said Andrew, a sneer in his voice. “Well, no wonder. You think you can talk your way out of what’s waiting for you. That’s a good joke. I’d want to talk it over, too, if I were you. But I’ll tell you a secret. You’ve got nothing left to say.”

  Beth tried to ignore his words and concentrate on the dirt pathway. Maybe someone will come along, she thought. Please, someone, come along. Please.

  “Stop here,” he said. “All right now, get out. You, too, babe.”

  While Beth and Francie climbed down from the truck, Andrew reached behind the seat and pulled out a large spool of wire and some wire cutters. He jumped down from the cab and cut off a length of wire, which he handed to Francie.

  “Here,” he said, “twist this around her wrists good and tight.”

  Beth could see that Francie did not want to take the wire. Andrew shook it at her, and Francie’s terror-filled eyes met Beth’s. Beth held out her wrists. “Behind her back,” Andrew growled.

  Slowly Francie began to wind the wire around her sister’s hands. “Tight,” Andrew ordered. “I want it to hurt. And hurry.”

  Francie did as she was told. She wrapped the wire around Beth’s hands and twisted the ends together. Andrew came over and twisted it several more times, making Beth cry out in pain. Francie stifled a protest by putting her fist to her mouth.

  Andrew smiled at Francie. “Good job,” he said. “Now you’re going to have to get back up in the cab.”

  Francie glanced fearfully at Beth and then climbed back up into the truck.

  “That’s far enough,” said Andrew. After tucking the gun in his belt, he unrolled several other lengths of wire and then snipped them off. He threw the wire clippers under the truck and then wired Francie’s hands and feet. “Sorry, babe,” he whispered. “It will be for only a little while.”

  “What are you doing?” Francie cried.

  “I’ll be back soon. I have to take your sister with me. I have to punish her for all she’s done.”

  “She didn’t do anything, Andrew,” Francie whimpered. “Don’t hurt her. Please don’t. Let me come along with you. I don’t want to stay here alone.”

  Andrew laughed indulgently. “I won’t be gone long. Then you and me can get going.”

  Francie squirmed away from him. “I don’t want to go anywhere. Where are you taking Beth?”

  “Stay here, Francie,” Beth said in a shaky voice. “I’ll be all right.” The words sounded hollow. Beth felt as if her stomach were being twisted on a skewer.

  “Don’t tell her what to do,” Andrew cried. He pulled out the gun and whacked Beth in the face with the butt. Beth heard a crack in her cheekbone and felt it throb.

  Andrew took a handkerchief from his pocket and used it to gag Francie. Then he pushed her down on the seat of the cab. “Stay here, and I’ll be right back.” He reached back behind the seat and pulled out the duffel bag. Slinging it over his shoulder, he slammed the truck’s door, locked it, and dropped the keys into his pocket.

  Francie struggled up in the seat.

  “Go on,” said Andrew. “Move.” He pushed the gun to Beth’s back, and she fell forward. She took a breath of the cold, damp night air.

  and it fel
t like a stabbing in her chest. Looking back, she saw Francie’s face pressed to the window, her eyes frantic, her mouth held down and open by the filthy gag.

  “Hurry up,” said Andrew, shoving her forward. She stumbled and then regained her balance. She kept on walking.

  Chapter 30

  ANDREW OPENED THE DUFFEL BAG and pulled out a flashlight. He switched it on, but he kept it trained on his own path, leaving Beth to negotiate her way in the dark. He nudged her as she went, and she slipped and slid on the icy surface of decaying leaves, occasionally tripping across the branches that littered the rutted path. Every so often she would be smacked square in the face by the low-hanging branches because she could not use her hands to shield her face.

  As she stumbled along, she felt her heart thud loudly in her chest, but it was from fury as much as fear. She was furious at herself for having stopped the car, for having fallen for his trick. They had been in the police station just this afternoon, and she could have pressed charges against him for kidnapping and had him locked up. And if she had, she would not be here, at the mercy of this madman with a gun. She thought that if she’d had her hands loose, she could actually kill him. She had never felt that sensation before. But even as she thought that, she realized that it was more likely he would kill her. Perhaps very soon.

  She tried to calm herself, to assess the situation and think clearly. He is dangerous, it’s true, she thought. And you can’t hurt him. But you may be able to outwit him. You are a lot smarter than he is. You have to think of something.

  They broke through the woods into a clearing and came out upon the lake. Its slick surface shone in the moonlight. Andrew switched off his flashlight. About fifty feet from shore Beth saw a small house with a bridge leading out to it. Otherwise, there were no buildings or

  any signs of life around the lake’s dark perimeter. She felt Andrew step up behind her and thrust the gun into her back. His warm, sour breath befouled the clean night air.

  “Across the bridge,” he said. “Go on.”

  Okay, Beth thought. Maybe he is going to leave me here. Maybe I can talk him into that. But then he’ll go back and get Francie. The thought of Francie’s being forced to go with him made her feel physically sick. He prodded her in the back with the muzzle of the gun.

  “Fm going,” said Beth. The touch of the gun made her blood run cold, but she also felt, with a shaky hopefulness, that he was not necessarily going to kill her. He seemed calm and pretty rational under the circumstances. If he were going to shoot her, he probably would have done it at the car. Play your cards right, she thought. Your life may depend on it.

  They reached the doorway of the skating house, and Andrew held her by the arm as he pushed back the bolt that secured the door of the little hut. He had stuffed the gun in his belt, and Beth stared down at it. She pictured herself kicking him, trying to knock him over and run, but caution warned against it. Her hands were bound, and he did have a gun. If she tried to attack him, he might lose his cool and shoot her after all. No, she thought, the only hope is to try to reason with him. If she could convince him, and he ended up leaving her there, she would be able to get out eventually. It was Francie she was really worried about. Once he took off with her, there was no predicting what he might do.

  “Andrew,” said Beth as calmly as possible, “I know you see me as the enemy, and I know you think I’m trying to come between you and Francie, but I want you to know it’s not true. I’m just concerned about her, and I want her to be happy just as you do. I think if we could just talk it over, we could find a good solution for all of us.” Her mouth was dry after her short speech.

  Andrew pushed the door open and looked inside. Then he reached out and shoved Beth as hard as he could into the house. Beth tried to keep her balance, but he had caught her off guard, and she did not have the use of her arms. She pitched forward and landed on the floor of the skating house, scraping her face against the cold, rough floor. For a minute she just lay there, her face bleeding, her arms aching. She half expected to hear the door slam shut behind her, to be left alone like a prisoner in a dungeon. Instead, she heard him enter the room and drop his duffel bag down on the floor.

  Beth hesitated for a moment, and then, with all her strength, she

  pulled herself up and faced him, resting her back and her numb, bound hands against one of the walls.

  He was crouched down over the duffel bag, rummaging around inside it. She could see that he was removing some items from the bag, but she could not tell what they were in the darkness.

  Try again, she told herself. Don’t give up. Try to get him to talk to you. He’s a human being. He has feelings. Appeal to him. Give him a chance to be the hero. She could feel a vein throbbing in her neck, visible evidence of her fear if he chose to look.

  “This isn’t the way it should be, Andrew,” she said gingerly. “You’re an intelligent, sensitive person. I’ve heard a lot of good things about you. You’re not the kind of guy who is going to keep a couple of helpless women tied up and make them suffer, no matter how unfairly you’ve been treated in the past. The future can be very different for you.”

  Andrew rocked back on his heels and looked around the skating house. “This is our place,” he said. “Me and Francie. I found this place for her.”

  Fine, Beth thought. Okay. You pick the topic. She felt a flicker of hope. Whatever you want to talk about. “It’s a nice place,” she said. “No wonder you were so happy here.”

  Andrew’s head snapped around, and he looked at her with narrowed eyes. “How do you know what we did here?”

  “I don’t,” said Beth hurriedly. “I never even knew of this place. I just know that Francie was happy when she was with you. And I assume some of those happy times were—”

  “Nobody ever comes here,” he said. “That’s what I always liked about the place. We had it all to ourselves. No intruders.”

  Beth closed her eyes for a second and licked her dry lips. She struggled to keep her voice steady. “It’s good to have a place of your own.”

  Andrew came over to where Beth sat and studied her for a moment. Beth tried to keep her breathing shallow and even, although the smell which emanated from him made her feel like gasping. Suddenly he reached behind her and unwrapped the wire from her wrists.

  Beth felt the wires loosen on her hands and then come off. She looked at him wonderingly as he pulled her freed hands forward. She forced herself to remain as still as possible, so as not to alarm him with any sudden movement or loud exclamation. It’s working, she thought. Thank you, God. Maybe he just wanted to scare me. She

  squeezed her hands slowly open and shut, trying to get the blood circulating again. “That feels better,” she said softly.

  Andrew reached into his belt, pulled out the gun, and trained it on her without speaking for a moment. His eyes were flat black in the darkened room. “Unzip your jacket,” he said abruptly, “and take off your shirt.”

  Beth closed her eyes and felt the room start to spin around her as if she had been punched in the stomach. Oh, Lord, no, not that. It had not even occurred to her. A flash of hatred for him jolted her like a lightning bolt.

  “Hurry up,” he said, waving the gun. “Do it.”

  “Andrew,” she said in a voice strained through clenched teeth, “this is enough. Stop this, now.” Angry tears were forming behind her eyes, but she willed them back.

  “Go on,” he shouted.

  Beth’s hands balled into fists, and she glared at him, but he leveled the gun at her head. She hesitated, and then, with leaden fingers, she unzipped her jacket and removed it. The temperature in the skating house was near freezing, but she could feel sweat breaking out all over her.

  “Now the blouse and the pants. Everything. Come on,” he insisted.

  She undid the top two buttons and then stalled at the middle button, pretending not to be able to free it. Andrew’s hand shot out like a hook and ripped the blouse open. Beth jumped back and stared at him. “I�
��ll do it,” she cried.

  “Do it fast,” he said, his sharklike eyes fastened on her.

  She did not hesitate further. There was no way out of it. She knew he was capable of using the gun. He had already proved it tonight. She tried to pretend to herself that she was at a doctor’s office, undressing in front of an uninterested stranger. She felt a little cry form at the back of her throat as she pulled off her jeans and crouched before him in her underwear. She forced the cry down and waited for him to order her to remove her underwear. Her head was pounding now, but she told herself that she could survive this. She tried not to think of him pressing himself against her, penetrating her. The idea of it caused bile to rise to her throat.

  The order to remove her underwear did not come. She stole a look at Andrew and saw that the expression in his eyes had not changed. There was no lust or desire on his face, only an implacable look of loathing. He pointed to the pile of her clothes on the floor beside her. “Those are very messy,” he said. “Pile them up neatly.”

  Beth looked at him in disbelief. “What?” she asked.

  “Fold them in a neat pile,” he ordered.

  Beth shook her head and then saw that he was serious. She did not want to unwrap her arms from her chest, to expose herself further to his view. She turned away from him and then scuttled over as quickly as possible to the strewn garments and folded them with rapid, economical movements.

  “Good,” he said. “Now turn around and put your hands behind you again.”

  Beth knelt beside the clothes, her head bent, her whole body shuddering from the chills. “No,” she said, a catch in her voice.

  “No?” Andrew repeated incredulously.

  “Andrew, you have to stop this. Don’t do this. This is a crime, Andrew. If you leave now, if you just leave me here, you won’t be in trouble,” she pleaded with him.