My legs were shaking and my heart was pounding so hard, I felt the pulse in my ears.
“Let me out! Let me out! Let me out!” I cried. I banged on the window, trying to get the attention of the driver in the next lane, but the windows were tinted black and no one could see me.
“Please,” I begged. I was sobbing now. “Please let me go.” But he didn’t answer. He stared at the road, silent and inexpressive like he was carved out of stone.
He took the parkway to Washington, the one without streetlights that cuts through the woods. He turned onto a dark road that I had seen many times but had never been on. It ended in a parking lot used by maintenance crews and road workers. He parked behind a snowplow and zipped the keys in his pocket. He spoke in a soft voice like he was trying to sound kind.
“I’ve been watching you for a long time. You’re special to me.
“I don’t want to hurt you. I only want to get to know you better.”
The air in the car seemed to expand and get thin. It was like being inside a balloon as it was being blown up. My body was only heartbeat and breath. The car was metal and glass. The man was his face. My hands weren’t even there.
The man said, “I’m going to tie your hands now, so I can keep you safe.”
Somewhere inside me a firm, quiet voice spoke up. You know these woods, it said. If you get away from him, you can find the path to your house and he won’t be able to catch you. Make him think you’re too scared to escape.
“No,” I said. “You don’t have to. I’ll go with you.”
Then I got sick, but since I hadn’t eaten anything since lunch there was nothing to throw up but water and bile. He picked up a rag from the floor and wiped my face.
“See,” he said, “nothing bad is going to happen.”
The man reached around to the backseat. I watched him lean over and twist. I heard him grunt with the effort because he was fat. I heard him push the rag under the rubber mat. I waited until he had turned around as far as he could, then I opened the door and ran.