The hallway was bright, with brick walls painted white and plush carpets—not the kind of
carpet I expected to find in the hallway of an apartment building but the expensive kind that
your feet sink into and leave footprints behind when you walk on it barefoot. There were only
two doors on this floor, the one I had just exited, and the door to the elevator I was about to
enter. The apartment, I noted, must have been the penthouse.
Going down the elevator, Kid was silent, squirmy, eagerly spinning the key ring around his index
finger, clearly indifferent that I would be joining him, even if it would only be for a little
while—until I was dead. The elevator doors opened, and we stepped out into a closed-in garage,
with a garage door at the front and a laneway only big enough for cars to tightly enter and
exit. There were four vehicles in the garage: one was a newer model black pickup truck, and two
were beaten-up, rusty cars. The fourth car was an Audi, sleek black with tinted windows.
The Audi beeped as we came closer. Kid jumped right in and started it up. I hesitated, casting
my eyes in search of an exit that I might have missed.
He rolled down the window and stuck his head out. “Are you coming or not?”
I wasn’t dumb enough to assume that he was really giving me the choice.
My heart pumping through my ears, I climbed into the passenger side, the Audi’s locks clicking
shut as soon as I closed the door.
The kid excitedly gripped the steering wheel and side-glanced me. “Put your seatbelt on—this
is going to be fun.”
I did as I was told, and he hit the red button on the rearview mirror, which caused the garage
door to slide open.
We drove out onto the gloomy street. Kid didn’t let go of the gas pedal until we were driving
well above the speed limit. Darkened street signs flashed by. He sped through a red light,
swerving around a car that was patiently waiting its turn. What was the point of making me wear
my seatbelt if he was planning on killing us both by crashing the car?
With an extended grin, he weaved us in and out of traffic.
Eventually we moved away from the city streets and onto a country road. We picked up more speed,
but at least there were no other cars to play chicken with. I was able to unclench my teeth and
my stranglehold on the security bar against the door, using my free hand to wipe my newly
dampened cheeks.
With little distraction and the car’s novelty having worn off, Kid remembered that I was
sitting next to him.
“Sorry about hitting you on the head like that yesterday,” he said, his eyes still on the
road. “I didn’t think that I had hit you that hard.”
Unprepared for this discovery, I kept quiet. What was I supposed to say? Getting hit on the head
seemed insignificant compared to what was coming.
“How did you manage to sneak right by me?” he asked, like he was nervous with my silence.
“I didn’t sneak by anyone,” I hissed, my eyes shooting daggers at him. “I was just trying to
get home.”
“Who runs alone, in a dark cemetery, toward danger? It’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.
”
I had to look away to keep my temper under control long enough to come up with a plan.
When I was in eighth grade, our teacher fell ill after consuming the glue that had mysteriously
found its way into her morning coffee. We spent the rest of the day sitting in front of the TV
while the principal scurried to find a substitute teacher at the last minute. Of the multitude
of educational videos we were forced to watch that day, one had been a bad reenactment of an
attempted kidnapping. I didn’t have to rack my brain too long to remember the first rule: never
get in the car with a stranger who offers you candy.
I started to panic when I noticed the yellow road signs with pictures of crumbling rocks
flashing by us. We were heading into the mountains … the largely uninhabited mountains. And
then my panic triggered something—a hazy survival tip from one of those crime shows: make the
attacker see that you’re a real person, not just a nameless witness to a murder, or something
like that.
“My name is Emily,” I announced.
He looked at me like I was crazy.
Right. I’d forgotten that Cameron had already mentioned my name.
“What’s your name?” I asked, my full stomach lurching as the Audi sped into a curve.
He considered this while I gulped the takeout back down my throat. “You can call me Sexy Bull.
”
My head was buzzing, and a bead of sweat lined my forehead. We were going to bond whether or not
he wanted to.
“My mom’s name is Isabelle and my dad’s name is Burt; it’s short for Bernard. And I had a
teddy bear called Booger when I was a kid—he lost an eye after I tried to flat-iron his fur.
And my middle toe on my left foot is longer than my big toe. And when I was four—”
“Jesus, what’s wrong with you? Are you still high?” There was incredulity mixed with an edge
of worry in his voice.
“And when I was four—” I continued, but the Audi was rushing through curves and up and down
hills. The shadowed landscape was flashing by. Suddenly, as the car aggressively looped around a
cliff, I felt a knot in my throat; my heart started racing, and my body temperature went up a
thousand degrees.
“Oh God!” I yelled.
“What now?” he sighed, annoyed.
“You need to stop! I’m going to be sick!”