Instead, he wound a long length of duct tape over her mouth and another over her eyes. Before her eyes could adjust to the relative dark behind the duct tape, Fallbrook picked her up and shoved her, headfirst, into what Brynna assumed was his SUV. She tried to struggle and kick, but he looped her feet with the zip ties just as easily. He shoved her to the ground, and she landed on the itchy interior carpet with a heave when her ribs crashed against the center hump.
When she tried to scream—a pathetic, muted cry—he threw something soft but heavy over her and said, “We’re going to play a game, okay? It’s called you scream and I kill you. There’s only one rule: you scream, kick, or make any sound, and I kill you. Maybe I’ll take the tape off your eyes so you can watch it. Maybe I won’t so you have no idea when it’s coming. Wanna play? Of course you do.”
Helpless, terrified, and unable to move, Brynna stayed pressed against the floor, her forehead resting on the carpet as the tears started to fall. She heard Fallbrook slam a car door then open another; once he slammed that too, she heard him start the car and gun the engine.
A song she used to like—something she and Teddy had even danced to last night—filled the car and Fallbrook hummed along. Brynna tried to remember anything she’d learned from the litany of public safety assemblies the schools had made her attend, but the only thing that stuck with her, the only thing she could remember was a female officer telling the students, “If he gets you in his car, you’re as good as dead.”
After a few short minutes, Fallbrook slowed the car and Brynna lifted her head, trying to listen to everything. She heard his window roll down and the muted voices of the funeral procession floating through the car window. She could make out Mrs. Shaw thanking someone for coming.
Brynna’s heart went crashing against her chest.
“We’ll be right over,” Brynna heard in the distance. “We’re just waiting for Brynna.”
Her whole body seized. It was her father’s voice.
“Shhhh,” Christopher said from the front seat. “Remember our game.”
Sweat and rage poured through Brynna and she struggled, trying to scream. If he was going to kill her, he could do it right now. But Christopher simply rolled up the window, stepped on the gas, and went right along humming to the radio.
They could have driven for minutes or possibly hours—time ceased to exist in the blackness where Brynna lay pinned—when Christopher turned down the radio.
“You know,” he said, “I am being so rude. You asked me a question and I didn’t even answer it. What was the question again now? Oh, right, don’t trouble yourself; I remember. You asked me why I was doing this.”
Brynna winced, tasting salt tears and metallic blood on her lips.
“Well, obviously you’ve figured some of it out by now, haven’t you, Brynna? I mean, I know you’re relatively smart. You were doing pretty well in my English class. Too bad you won’t have a chance to bring that grade up. It did take you a long time to catch on, and I left you so many signs. Well, Erica did. If she can’t speak, I figured I should speak for her.”
Brynna gritted her teeth, trying to pull her palms apart, trying to will the plastic tie to loosen.
Christopher clucked his tongue. “Nice room, by the way. You might want to remind your pops to lock the doors the next time he goes on a bender.”
Heat exploded in Brynna’s cheeks, and she found herself feeling strangely ashamed, as if impressing a psychopath was something she should do. Then she thought of Mr. Fallbrook—Christopher, whoever he was—walking around her house when she wasn’t around. Sweat broke out on her brow. Or had he been there when they were asleep? Had he been in the house while her mother worked upstairs, painting, oblivious to the world outside?
Fallbrook went on, and Brynna wished she couldn’t hear him. “My name is Christopher. Shaw, not Fallbrook. Fallbrook was my stepfather.” Christopher’s voice tightened into a low growl. “Talk about an evil son of a bitch. Bastard paid me no mind unless he was beating the snot out of me.” His voiced lightened again, the quick change eerie. “Don’t worry; he paid for it. I made sure of that. See, that’s kind of what I do. I make sure that the people who are responsible for things—bad things—don’t get away with it. The world would be a very fucked up place if we let people get away with murder, wouldn’t it be, Brynna? Don’t answer that; I know you’re listening. So why did I do this…”
Brynna pressed against the floor as the car shifted. She felt the motor slow down, and her fear became a striking terror.
If he slows down, he’s going to stop. If he stops, he’s going to kill me.
Brynna worked against the restraints on her hands and ankles, not caring as the thin plastic tore into her skin.
“Remember when I put up that one daily topic? It was, Write about a time you were really scared. Do you remember that, Brynna? I remember. I remember what you wrote. You wrote, ‘I don’t remember ever really being afraid.’ And I got your paper and I thought, hmm, that’s funny. Because I would have been scared in the ocean at night. I would have been scared if someone I loved went into the water and was left there to die. Don’t you think that’d be scary? I know it was scary for Erica. I know, because I saw it.”