He blasts the heat.
“We need a place to hide and come up with a plan,” I say.
“North, then. I know a place.”
I peer over at him. Ian is wearing the kind of gloves where his fingertips come out the ends, like Fagan, and all of his fingernails are bitten down to the quick. His little, wispy mustache is practically the same color as his skin. His coat, a poofy, white number, was probably picked out by his grandmother, but he tracked me here somehow, and I’m not going to underestimate him.
“How’d you find me?” I ask.
“I tailed your car to the diner that first night, but then I lost you,” he says. He taps a finger on the wheel. “It took me a few days to remember the black woman who walked out just as I was going in. I asked the waitress who that might be. She didn’t know, but I kept watching the diner, and sure enough, a couple nights ago, the same woman came back. I followed her home and watched her house. Then I saw you come out with a bag of garbage yesterday. It was fate.”
“You mean stalking.”
“Stalking’s when you follow the person and won’t leave them alone,” he says. “Waiting is different. It’s a form of tribute, like a vigil, and fate rewards it.”
O-kay, I think.
He takes a big, deep breath and keeps his gaze toward the road. “I’ve had time to think about us,” he says. “It isn’t always easy, but people need to talk to each other honestly when they’re in a relationship.”
“That’s true,” I say cautiously.
“It takes sacrifice and patience,” he says. “People make mistakes, but they can be forgiven if they come clean and they’re humble enough to ask for forgiveness.”
I feel a tingle of foreboding. “Who needs to be forgiven?” I ask.
“You left me.”
I glance at his profile to see that he’s serious, and I get it. This is a pivotal moment, but if I’m apologetic, then he establishes control. I can’t have that. “Not the way I see it,” I say. “You let me wake up. You deliberately messed with my meds, and then you went outside on purpose when nobody else was watching so I’d have a chance to escape.”
“That’s not right,” he says.
“You even told me the other guy was leaving his keys in his car.”
“I didn’t know you were listening. I didn’t know you were outside.”
“But you should have known,” I say. “It was your job to watch me, and instead you let me go. That means it’s your responsibility that I’m free. And that, Ian, is why I’m grateful to you. I’m not going to turn around and apologize when what I’m feeling is grateful.”
He keeps his gaze aimed on the road. “You’re grateful,” he says.
“Since we’re speaking honestly, yes, I am.”
He taps the wheel again. “Then that’s all right.” His lips quirk in a tiny smile.
I am not deceived. Ian is dangerous. He dreamed up our relationship, and he used me as his fantasy girlfriend when I was helpless. Just like before, it’s essential for me to play him exactly right, but I have the advantage now because he cares for me, and all I do is despise him.
“What’s this,” I ask, fingering the statuette that hangs from the mirror. It feels like an air freshener, but it doesn’t stand a chance against the cigarette stench.
“That’s Gandhi,” he says. “For peace.”
“Like your rifle?”
“That’s for peace, too.”
Sure it is. The Jeep is toasty warm now, so I reach to turn the heat down, and the rushing noise drops to a hum. I check the gas level, which is full. We could go many hours before we need to stop, and it’s possible he has a spare battery with him. I check the back again and notice a couple of boxes on the floor before the pet carrier. One of them, I swear, says Fister on it, like for Burnham’s family’s company.
“What are those boxes?” I ask.
“Some drugs, just in case I find an injured animal on the road. They’ll work for you, too, if you get a headache or you can’t get to sleep.”
My heart stops completely, and then I instinctively touch my hand to my shirt. I can feel the lump of my port under my skin.
“Are they the sleep meds from Onar?” I ask.
“Yes, but I didn’t steal them. They were expired. I was supposed to throw them out, but they still work just fine.”
He has the means to drug me to sleep, right here in the Jeep. I swallow hard.
“Pull over,” I say.
“How come?”
“Just pull over!” I say. “We’re throwing out those boxes.”
“We are not,” he says. “They’re worth a ton of money, and you don’t know what could happen to you. You could need those meds.”
“Pull over! I mean it! I want them out!”
“Would you just listen?”
I roll down my window. I take off my seat belt and flip around to reach behind the seat. He brakes and swerves the Jeep until we bump to the edge of the snowy road and come to a stop. I grab the nearest box. He makes no move to interfere as I pull back the lid. A dozen little vials are inside. A handful of syringes are, too, and a half dozen IV drips. I hold up one of the vials, ready to throw it out. These are what have ruled my life. This is the poison that has controlled me. Cold wind swirls in my window.
“I understand that you’re sensitive about the meds,” Ian says calmly. “But you can trust me. I’ll only use them on you if you ask.”
“I hate these drugs,” I say.
“I know. I’m sure. But they’re harmless now. Trust me.”
I glance up to find him watching me with patient, rodent eyes. I’m desperate to throw out the drugs, but with the weight of the vial in my hand, I realize it’s a weapon, too. It’s power. I can use it to let him think I trust him, but that will also mean keeping the drugs in the car.
Ahead of us, our high beams cast whiteness over the dark, snowy road. Dawn is coming, but for now, we’re far from anywhere. If I get out to walk, I’ll probably freeze to death before I reach shelter. By contrast, Ian and the drugs are known evils.
I take a deep breath, still holding the vial. “Why do you have a pet cage back there?”
“I keep it with me as a memento of my old cat, Peanut,” Ian says. “And sometimes I use it for the hurt animals I find on the road. I’ve got some gloves back there, too.”
He is completely serious.
I resist a snide desire to laugh. “Peanut,” I say.
“Peanut the cat. Eleven years I had her.”
I take a deep breath to calm myself. Then I think of him loving his cat, like it was practice for me. “Promise me you won’t use these drugs on me,” I say.
“I promise,” he says.