Sleeping in My Jeans

by Connie King Leonard

  Every other garage I’ve seen has tons of cars parked out front. Sometimes every square inch of their parking lots are filled with vehicles. So why don’t I see any here?

  Finding Ruby parked in front would be ideal. I could call the police, and they could come out and question the guy. Even if the mechanic didn’t kidnap Mom, he might have information that could help us. Mom would have called him to check on Ruby. The mechanic could give us clues to when and where Mom was when she disappeared. By then, the police would be into the case and would keep right on looking for Mom and not leave their search until Monday morning.

  I don’t say a word to Meg, just point down the driveway toward the back of the building. Meg nods and follows me. We step into a wide alley. The backs of businesses on the next street face us, and dumpsters sit next to back doors. Nobody is around. I glance toward the garage. No cars. No Ruby.

  Our beautiful sunny day has deepened to dusk, with shadows blending together from soft gray to deep charcoal. Meg and I inch forward, hugging the wall until we’re standing behind the first dumpster.

  Why have I brought Meg so close to the garage? Jack said he’d come, yet I charge on, unable to rein in my anxiety. Should I text him? See if he’s close?

  My phone rings. I jump, so startled by the noise my knees threaten to give out. Mom? I stuff my hand in my pocket and pull out my phone, staring at the number.

  Meg grabs my arm. “Mommy?”

  I shake my head and whisper, “The mechanic.” Could he hear the ring from inside and two doors away? That’s not possible, is it?

  Meg whispers, “I’m scared.”

  “I know, honey,” I whisper back. “But we’re late. He probably wants to know why.” My stomach rolls over. If I don’t answer the call, he could suspect something. Would he hurt Mom because he got mad that we stood him up? Another ring.

  I press the call button and pull the phone to my ear. My mouth is too dry to say hello. I just wait.

  “You’re late,” says the mechanic.

  I swallow, trying to make my throat work. “I … I had more car trouble and I … my car won’t start and … I can’t get there. I’m sorry.” I take a breath and keep my voice low, trying not to sound like I’m whispering. “It must be a bigger problem than I thought.” I remember my story about taking a trip and add, “I’m going to take the bus. For my trip. A bus instead of the car.”

  The mechanic hangs up on me. I stare at the phone in my hand for several seconds before I shove it into my pocket. Did my words sound believable? Maybe he’s just disgusted that I wasted his time.

  I try to be rational. The guy could have ditched Ruby and taken Mom almost anywhere. Then again, Mom might be one small building away. So close we could yell and she’d hear us. The draw to find her is so strong that I can’t think of doing anything different, but I’m not totally stupid. I need backup. A way out if things go bad.

  Fear tightens a band around my chest, making it harder and harder for me to breathe. I open my hand, stare at my phone for too long, and finally tap the icon for the police.

  “Who are you calling?” whispers Meg.

  I push a strand of Meg’s hair behind her ear. “The police.”

  “Eugene Police Department. May I help you?”

  Sweat turns my palms damp and slippery. I wipe one hand down the leg of my jeans and grip my phone tighter with the other. Words won’t form in my head, even though seconds are ticking off my phone plan. I have to say something, but what?

  “May I help you?” My hesitation irritates the woman. Like she thinks I’m a kid making a prank call, tying up the phone line so somebody with a real emergency can’t get through.

  I keep my voice low, almost a whisper. “Can I speak to Officer Rodriguez please?” Why do I ask for him? Why do I trust a man I only met a couple of times? Another cop might be nicer.

  “I’m sorry. He’s out of the office right now, but I can take your call.”

  “No.” The word comes out too quickly and even a bit rude. “I mean, can I leave him a message?”

  “I’ll connect you to his voicemail, but if this is important, you need to give me the information so we can help you.”

  Officer Rodriguez knows the mess we’re in, and yet he didn’t haul Meg and me off to children’s services and charge Mom with not taking care of her kids. I trust him, but I wonder how long it will take him to check his messages. What if he’s on a vacation to Hawaii and doesn’t come back to work for days—or even weeks?

  “His voicemail please.” I wait, gripping the phone in my sweaty palm.

  After a couple of clicks and dings, his voice rumbles, “Rodriguez. Leave a message.”

  I take a deep breath and try to calm myself. “This is Mattie Rollins. I’m calling about my mom, Rita. You met us when we were sleeping in the car, my mom, and my little sister, Meg, and me.”

  My words catch in my throat, but once I get going they tumble out, tripping over each other. “Mom didn’t pick us up outside the library last night, and Meg and I think she’s been kidnapped by the mechanic she got to work on Ruby—that’s our car—so that’s where we are, at Thirty-Nine Forty West Second Avenue. It’s a warehouse kind of building, and I’m going to peek in the window to see if I can get a glimpse of Ruby or Mom.” I stop to catch my breath, and then quickly add, “It’s four forty-seven on Sunday, November nineteenth. If I don’t call you back in one hour, please come look for us.”

  I end the call. Meg looks at me, her face quiet and sober. I whisper, “I’m going to get closer, Meg, but you have to stay here.” I kneel and show her how she can peek between the dumpster and the wall. That way, she can watch me but still stay hidden.

  “No matter what happens, I want you to stay right here and be very, very quiet. Do you understand?”

  Meg nods.

  “At Darren’s, you didn’t mind me. Will you stay here this time? Promise?”

  Meg makes a big X over her heart. “I promise, Mattie.”

  “Even if the mechanic comes out and grabs me like Darren did, you have to stay here, or you could get hurt, and so could I.” I take a pencil out of my backpack and rewrite the address of the garage. I show Meg the numbers and explain each one to make sure she understands.

  Meg rolls her eyes and whispers back at me. “I know how to read numbers.”

  I’m so nervous I can hardly talk. “I know,” I whisper, “just making sure.” I write nine-one-one in big numbers above the address. “If something happens to me, tap these numbers, nine-one-one, tell the person this address, and ask them to send the police.” I point to the numbers. “You’ll have to stay quiet and hidden until it’s safe to make the call, though, understand?”

  Meg’s sassy look is gone. Her job is important, more important than anything she’s ever done, and she knows it. “I’ll call them, Mattie. Don’t worry.”

  I bring up Jack’s number on my phone and write a text. Meg is hiding behind a dumpster in the alley behind 3920 West Second Avenue. If I’m not there, take Meg away and make sure the police are on the way to 3940. Do not come after me!

  I hit send, a little afraid my text will freak Jack out so much he’ll get into an accident on the way. I hand the phone to Meg and chastise myself for getting Meg into this. Calling the police is too much responsibility for a six-year-old. I should have waited to investigate the garage until she could go with Jack. Caution begs me to listen and stay back, yet I am too anxious to get a glimpse of Ruby or Mom to pay attention.

  Meg grabs the sleeve of my sweatshirt and tugs it back and forth. “Don’t worry, Mattie. I can tap nine-one-one.”

  I give Meg a weak smile and stand up, but I’m so charged with fear and doubt I can barely hold myself together. I take a deep breath, blow it out, and peer around the dumpster.

  Two windows, evenly spaced with a single back door between them, face the alley. The closest window
is lit with a soft yellow light that spills out into the growing dusk. If I pop my head in front of that window, I might be able to spot Ruby or Mom, but it’s risky. The mechanic could look out at that very moment and spot me.

  I lean my back against the wall of the building. This is stupid. I didn’t hear a car leave or the shop’s front door slam, so that means he’s still in there. I could call the police right now and tell them the whole story, but can they search the garage just because I think the guy’s got Mom? I doubt it.

  All I need is a glimpse of Ruby or a tiny piece of Mom’s clothing. Any little bit of evidence that Mom has been here would be enough to let the cops look through the garage.

  I pull myself away from the wall and peer around the dumpster. Every minute that ticks by could make the difference between Mom being alive or not. Sweat beads on my neck and slides down the middle of my back. I slip off my backpack, set it on the pavement beside Meg, and rub my palms down the arms of my sweatshirt. I lean over and whisper to Meg. “You’re sure you know what to do?”

  Meg repeats every step back to me, ending with “… and then I’ll tell the nine-one-one people to come fast because the me—mechanic just grabbed you.”

  I’m too nervous to speak or even nod, so I wrap my arm around Meg and plant a big kiss on the top of her head. I take a deep breath, let go of my sister, and slip around the dumpster. Walking as quickly and quietly as I can, I hurry across the front of the dumpster until I can press my body against the back wall. I slide along the wall until I pass the windows and door on thirty-nine thirty. I keep going until I’m almost at the window of thirty-nine forty.

  I lean against the wall and listen. Nothing. This is such a pitiful plan; I feel like a little kid with only one bad idea. No matter how much I doubt myself, though, I refuse to give up looking for Mom—even if all I have left is this one last attempt. I continue along the wall until I’m close to the window.

  Early evening settles over the alley. If I stick my head straight in front of the window, I’ll be a dark shadow against the gray light behind me, too easy to spot. I could wait against the wall, let the light fade until everything outside is pitch black. That might work, but it means standing out in the open for way too long.

  The sane, rational part of me screams to back away, call the police, and let them handle the whole situation. They are the experts and will know what to do, but law enforcement is also hampered by laws and regulations. If I can find one clue that this is Mom’s mechanic, I will race back to Meg and call them.

  I ignore reason and let my emotions drive me on. Mom could be a few feet away. If I could reach through the walls, she could even be close enough for me to touch. I take a deep breath and slide a bit farther along the wall until I’m right beside the window. My body is flat against the siding, and my ears are listening for any tiny noise from inside. Nothing.

  The back door flies open so hard it bangs against the wall and rattles the metal siding. I jump and nearly cry out before clamping my lips together and swallowing my terror.

  Instantly, I see my mistake—one more in a long string of blunders. I should have crept across the back of the building to the far window, not the close one. That way I could run away from Meg. Now, my only chance of escape is to turn around and lead the mechanic right back to my little sister. I press myself flat against the wall and hope he doesn’t look my way.

  A man steps out the door with a black plastic garbage bag in his hand. I push hard against the wall, but he spots me in an instant. A broad smile spreads across his thin face. He’s an average-sized guy with straight brown hair that is cut neat and trim. His jeans are clean, and his plaid shirt hangs over his belt but doesn’t look sloppy. He’s not very old, maybe thirty or thirty-five, and good-looking. If I saw him on the street, I’d think he was a nice guy with a decent job and a wife, with maybe even a couple of kids.

  The mechanic slings the garbage bag into the dumpster and takes a step toward me. “Let me guess.” The corner of his mouth curls into a sideways grin. “Your lights blink out.”

  This guy is totally different than I pictured. The mechanic in my mind had long, stringy hair and scars on his face. He wore greasy clothes, had rips in his jeans and tattoos running down his arms. The mechanic in my imagination made my skin crawl just to look at him. This guy looks like a person women would love to date.

  “You’re driving along, fine as fine until your lights just aren’t there anymore.” He says the words with a flare of drama, like he’s playing a part in a movie or telling a story. “I waited a whole hour for you.”

  His words don’t scare me—or his looks or smile or even the way he stands with his fingers in his front pockets. None of those things are threatening. His eyes don’t even wander over my body, undressing me like some of Darren’s friends. With all my fear and worry, am I transforming him into a complete monster, like I did with Darren?

  Tension bleeds from my shoulders. Maybe the mechanic fixed Ruby, and maybe he didn’t. Doesn’t matter. Mom could be anywhere. Just because I got an idea in my head doesn’t make it real.

  I look deeper into the man’s eyes. They’re a pale blue, but it’s not their color that brings back my fear. The mechanic’s eyes are cold and guarded, like he’s looking at me behind layers and layers of heavy glass.

  Tension climbs back into me. Muscles in my back and neck turn rigid. Sweat beads on my forehead. It’s how ordinary the man is that makes me nervous and on edge. The curious way he looks at me with his head tipped to the side. The relaxed, easy way he stands while he seems to mentally record every breath I take.

  I can’t run back the way I came. That would endanger Meg. I step away from the wall, never taking my eyes away from him. “I’m looking for my mom.”

  “And why should I know anything about your mom?”

  The mechanic pulls his hands out of his pockets, holding them away from his sides. He doesn’t lunge for me, yet all I can think about is running. I have no evidence, nothing to link this man to Mom, but instinct tells me this is no regular auto mechanic just doing his job. This nice-looking guy is the creep who took my mom.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  My muscles ache to run. Nerves twitch, warning me I’m crazy to stand my ground. My job is to save myself and Meg too, but I’ve come too far and given up too much to quit now. “Just let Mom go. That’s all I want. Just my mom.”

  The man’s eyes never change, just keep studying me with that same calmness. “What if I say your mom isn’t here?” He steps away from the dumpster.

  He’s only one step closer, but the distance between us shrinks from several feet to what feels like inches. “You fixed our car. It’s an old, red Subaru.” Sweat runs down the side of my face even though the air is cool.

  “So?”

  “So you were the last one to see her.” I push the words out with more strength than I feel. “You took her. You … you … kidnapped her.”

  The mechanic snorts. “And you’re … let me guess. Sherlock Holmes?”

  Doubt creeps back into my mind. He’s so casual and easygoing, and he acts like finding me pressed against the wall of his garage isn’t the least bit crazy. What if this guy has nothing to hide, and all I’ve been doing is wasting time?

  We stand in the fading light of the alley and study each other. My doubts dissolve. The mechanic may be clean, neat, and look like a decent man, but he’s not surprised Mom is missing. Any person with a shred of humanity would say, “Your mother is missing? Have you called the police?” An innocent man would be shocked that I am alone. They would offer to help me find her or ask question after question to draw out my story. This guy just stands and watches me.

  My mind spins. I can’t run toward Meg, so that means sprinting right across his path. I take off before I lose my nerve, angling as far away from the mechanic as I can, hoping I’m fast enough to outrun him.

  I don’t
get ten feet before he lunges, grabs my arms from behind, and shoves me toward the gaping garage door.

  I struggle against him, but the guy wrestles me forward. “Monster!” I scream. “Sick, perverted—” He clamps a hand over my mouth and picks me up by my waist with the other.

  The mechanic’s body presses hard against me. He’s strong—all raw muscle, bone, and heartless drive. I kick his shins with my heels, claw at his hands, and throw my weight against his arms. His hands only clamp down tighter. In my panic, I struggle for air and choke on his sweaty smell. He drags me past the door, kicks it closed with his heel, and throws me onto the cement floor.

  I scramble to my feet and scurry away from the door. The garage is dim, lit by one light hanging over a cluttered workbench. A double-wide garage door covers most of the front wall. Three cars sit parked at odd angles. The one closest to the workbench is Ruby. I slide that way, keeping my eye on the mechanic standing near the door. He doesn’t come after me, but just stands and watches everything I do.

  “I’ll … I’ll scream.” My words come out so shaky and soft they sound ridiculously weak. I stand tall and throw the force of my fear behind them. “I’m serious. I’ll scream my head off.”

  “Go ahead.” The mechanic gives me that too-relaxed smile, like he’s discussing football scores or the weather. “No one’s around.”

  My mouth goes dry. “Someone will hear me.”

  “Doubt it.” He waves his arm at the walls imprisoning me. “The place is insulated, plus no one hangs around on the weekends.”

  Sweat runs down my face in long, icy streams. “Where’s Mom?”

  The mechanic nods his head toward an office area with a single room built above it. A staircase leads up the wall to a narrow door. “Up there.”

  Outside, there was no window that high up—which means there’s only one way into that room and one way out. In this big space, this garage full of cars and tools and junk, I’ve got a fighting chance. Racing to that little room? Trying to rescue Mom? I’d never get up the stairs before he’d get to me.