At the White Pine Motor Lodge
“What do you want with me?” she said. “Why am I so valuable to you?”
“Not that question. The question of why you’re so keen on capturing a random college student and transporting her across state lines—which, by the way, makes you a federal criminal.”
The other moment Tess remembered was after Vivian told the story and she had asked Tess if she understood its meaning.
Tess remembered exactly how she had replied.
“You used a psychological condition to exploit your opponent’s weakness and achieve victory.
” If a psychological condition was a weapon, then Tess was heavily armed.
But how did you use OCD and anxiety to defeat a guy with a gun threatening to kill the one person left in the world who still loved you?
Should I finish writing a history paper or should I go to the cafeteria and have dinner?
Neither—you should count the cars in the gold parking lot.
She sometimes felt used by the voices, but at least they had always been clear in their demands.
And the voices may not have made helpful decisions, but they did often determine Tess’s next step.
And they had chosen today to go silent. Still uncertain about her next move, Tess stood up and stretched.
“Where do you think you’re going?” said Montag 5.
“I’m not going anywhere,” said Tess. “Thanks to you. I’m just sick of sitting on the floor.”
“Nobody’s going out to buy you a La-Z-Boy.”
“You’re an ass, you know that?”
“Sticks and stones, Miss Maxwell.”
“Actually, I am going somewhere.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I’m going to pee, unless you’d like me to do that here on the floor.”
“Keep the door open,” said Montag 5, waving his gun in the direction of the bathroom.
“Gee, thanks for the privacy.”
“I better hear tinkling in there,” said Montag 5 as Tess stepped into the tiny bathroom tiled in sickly green.
“Have you always enjoyed eavesdropping on other people’s urination?” said Tess, but Montag 5 responded only with a grunt.
She had been frightened when she first saw him holding the gun to Aunt Vivian’s head a few hours ago.
Then her fear had gradually turned into despondency and then annoyance at the sheer inconvenience of being kidnapped.
But this latest insult to her dignity had transformed annoyance into anger.
Maybe I’m going through the five stages of kidnapping, she thought.
Fear, depression, annoyance, anger…surely the next stages had to be action and then escape.
If the voices wouldn’t use her, she’d use them.
She flushed the toilet, washed her hands in the freezing-cold water in the cracked sink, and strode back out into the room. Staring straight ahead so no one could think she was addressing either the apparently sleeping Vivian or Montag 5 she shouted, “Why should I do that?”
“Why should you do what?” said Montag 5. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t you hear them?” asked Tess.
Vivian stirred from her “nap” and sat up in the bed.
“Hear who?” said Montag 5. “Nobody’s talking in here but you, and it’s fine by me if you shut up.”
“The voices,” said Tess, running to the window and pulling at the curtain that had remained closed since their arrival.
“Get away from there,” said Montag 5, jumping up and pushing Tess back from the curtain. She stumbled and fell backward onto the bed.
“You have to hear them,” said Tess. “They’re more real than ever. I can’t be the only one.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” said Montag 5. For the first time since he arrived at Vivian’s door, Tess sensed nervousness creeping into his demeanor. He feared not being in control, she guessed, and her behavior had wrong-footed him.
“It’s her OCD,” said Vivian.
“Sorry if I woke you up, Aunt Vivian,” said Tess, “but they’re so loud.”
“She has OCD?” said Montag 5. “Doesn’t that mean she should be cleaning or something?”
“You’re a psychological genius, aren’t you?” said Vivian.
“You know I could shoot you,” said Montag 5 to Vivian. “Not kill you or anything. Just take out a kneecap.”
“I can’t!” cried Tess. “He won’t let me.”
“The voices tell her to do things.”
“And if I don’t,” said Tess, who had managed to conjure up some tears, “something horrible will happen.”
“You’re being held at gunpoint,” said Montag 5. “Isn’t it a little late to prevent horrible things?”
“I have to count the cars in the parking lot,” said Tess, her voice slightly calmer. She took a step toward the door.
“No, you don’t,” said Montag 5, moving in front of her.
Tess had no idea what she’d do if she succeeded in getting past Montag 5 and out the door.
She couldn’t very well run down the road and expect him not to catch up with her.
The chances of a police officer or a helpful bystander being in just the right place seemed slim on this remote two-lane road.
Nor did she dare to hope that Nemo 7 would be waiting to whisk her away, even if he had claimed to be a friend.
And she believed Montag 5 would not hesitate to shoot Vivian in the kneecap, which would only make Tess feel more guilty than she already did.
Besides, she needed Vivian. Harry’s message had said, “Find Vivian and get to the island.”
So, no, Tess did not have a plan. But she did know that counting cars in the parking lot was closer to freedom than sitting in this motel room. She took a step toward Montag 5 and shouted in his face, “I have to count the cars!”
“Stop shouting,” said Montag 5. “You’re going to attract attention.”
“Then let me out,” said Tess. “It will only take a few minutes. You can watch me. But I have to count the cars.” She placed her hands over her ears, shook her head violently, and shouted again. “Stop saying that. I’m going! I just need him to get out of the way.”
Tess had heard actors talk about using emotional recall in their performances: remembering traumatic moments in life to reproduce a traumatic moment onstage.
She thought it sounded horrible. Why would you choose a profession that forced you to relive the worst moments of your life over and over?
But now she understood. Tapping into her experiences with the voices, and into the emotions that came with those experiences, but doing it on her own terms for her own reasons, gave her a sense of power and control that she never had when the voices really spoke to her.
She could see the exhaustion and confusion in Montag 5’s face. And she could see him wavering.
“Look at this place,” he said at last. “I bet there aren’t three cars in the parking lot.”
“You know as well as I do that lot is nearly full,” said Vivian. “The walls are too thin to hide the fact that these rooms rent by the hour.”
“I have to count the cars,” said Tess.
“Can’t you just look out the window and count them?”
Tess began pacing up and down furiously, making a loud whimpering noise that she hoped would grate on Montag 5.
“She has to touch them,” said Vivian.
“I’m not having her set off a bunch of car alarms,” said Montag 5.
“She won’t set off the damn alarms,” said Vivian, taking a step toward Montag 5. “I’ve seen her count thousands of cars, and she never sets off one alarm. She barely touches the tip of her finger to the back while she memorizes the license plate.”
Tess thought this was a nice touch. She had, in fact, counted cars in parking lots many times, especially at college.
The voices had been particularly fond of sending her to some faraway lot on the campus at three o’clock in the morning.
And it was true that she had never set off an alarm, though she hadn’t told Vivian that.
But memorizing the license plates—well played, Aunt Vivian.
“I can’t let her out there long enough to memorize license plates,” said Montag 5.
“She can do it as quickly as you can blink your eyes,” said Vivian with what sounded like pride.
“Photographic memory?” said Montag 5.
“Only for license plates,” said Vivian.
“Yours is NCL-3140,” said Tess. In fact, Tess had never memorized a license plate number in her life and had only gotten a quick glance at the plate on the black sedan as Nemo 7 had ushered her into the back seat. She did know that it began with an N, but the rest was pure bluffing.