THE DRIVE
Sara
Dread amplifies with every step I’m forced to take. I press my feet against the floor, but my attempts to slow us down, hoping someone might notice and intervene, shrink the closer we get to the rear door. It creaks open, and the chill of first light cools my heated cheeks.
I have no idea how I ended up here. A frantic time lapse of the last few hours barrels through my thoughts, what I said, what I did, the moment everything turned.
A tightness creeps into my chest. Is it all my fault?
Nothing I replay helps me out of this. I can understand the police. I cannot understand this.
I try to make sense of it. Gabe must be waiting around the corner, ready to drag me home once again. This could just be a scare tactic, a slap on the wrist to remind me to obey my father. Eighteen or not.
We head straight toward a white van parked behind a dumpster.
No police lettering or stickers stand out.
It doesn’t even have a license plate. No, no, no.
I’ve seen this before, in movies, in nightmares.
Nothing good happens in a van like that.
Why did I let it come this far? I wanted to resist, to slap him, to shove him away.
But my body locked up, wouldn’t obey. I didn’t know what to do then. I do now.
I pull in a breath to scream, but he’s faster. He slams his palm across my mouth, nearly covering my entire face, before I can get out the tiniest sound. His other hand forces my left arm up my back, pain surging until every ounce of defiance collapses.
This can’t be happening.
My knees buckle as he pushes me forward, each step looser than the last. The world tips, edges blur. A high ringing fills my ears. Next thing I know, I’m shoved into the van. I fall hard but hit a mattress instead of metal.
“It’s going to be a long ride, princess. Make yourself comfortable.”
The door slams with a final, metallic thunk, the sound reverberating through my bones.
“FUCK YOU!” I scream at the top of my lungs. “You sick bastard! Let me out!”
There is no time to process as terror hijacks me. I pound my fists against the inner walls, ignoring the pain in my hands, shouting until my throat burns. My voice dies in the padded silence. I kick the lining, cry out again.
No one answers.
No one comes.
Sleep Token’s “Take Me Back to Eden” blares through the speakers at full power.
Not the tender, hushed intro, but the thundering metal section, drowning out any sound I could possibly make.
Is he kidding me? The black walls trap the music inside, making every drumbeat press against my body.
It’s so loud I can’t even hear my own thoughts.
The van surges forward, knocking me over. Fortunately, the mattress spares me from breaking anything. It smells new in here, so clean it makes my skin prickle.
The sole source of light comes from a narrow glass-covered gap into the driver’s cabin. I crawl toward it, lean my face close, and see nothing but my own wide-eyed reflection returning my stare.
I slouch onto the mattress, lungs working overtime.
In the corner, a red light blinks. Must be a camera.
Is he watching me from the front? Creep!
Glaring into the red light, I show him my middle finger.
Then my mind goes dark in a different way.
A mattress, a camera, nothing else in here. Is this what it is?
The walls around me are closing in, the blinking LED mocking my distress.
I sit up fast, heart slamming against my ribs.
A gasp claws its way out of me, and I scoot to the corner, seeking protection that isn’t there.
He didn’t touch me like that. He didn’t hint.
But this setup, why else would someone do this? The thought makes me nauseous.
Will I be the next missing girl?
No. No, I won’t go there. Not yet.
So what else could he want? If it’s ransom, Dad will pay. He’ll have to. It shouldn’t matter how much I’ve embarrassed him. I’m still his only family. That has to matter. Also, my abduction makes him appear weak. His weaknesses don’t go public. He’d prevent it at all costs—literally.
Money can’t be the only reason, though. It’s leverage, provocation.
I’m a pawn in one of his dirty deals. Or maybe...
maybe this is Dad. Maybe he sent someone to teach me a lesson and put me in my place, just to make sure I’m too scared to screw up again.
It shouldn’t be possible, but it is. The way he looked at me that night, when he threatened to send me away, sticks with me.
To him, I’m a liability, not a daughter, a headline waiting to happen.
And he was right. If cameras capture what I did at the rally site, it doesn’t matter where I am.
It’ll hit the news anyway. Everyone will see, and I will not only have him exposed, I’ll also have thwarted his plans to—gosh, I can’t think clearly with this music coming straight from inside my head.
Even after I pull up my knees and block my ears, the heavy thrum still vibrates through my chest.
Before long, the road straightens out, and the volume finally drops. We must be out of the city now. Without a window or a clock, only the road thrumming up through the floor into my spine and the weight of my own thoughts remain. I soon lose track of whether time is dragging or slipping away.
Eventually, the van veers off the street and grinds to a halt. The music stops. The driver’s door opens and slams shut. Air catches in my lungs as I strain to hear what’s happening. My pulse picks up pace.
The lock clicks. The metal door swings open. I prepare myself for defense, expecting any woman’s worst nightmare to become my reality. The scream he stole from me earlier rises again, ready to break free.
Then he’s there, a bottle of water in one hand, a paper bag in the other.
“Hungry?”