Page 129 of Hellbent

He stepped into the kitchen. The glass plate was still spinning inside the microwave. He stopped the timer, grabbed the red notebook from inside, and shoved it into his waistband.

He went back to David Smith, slung him over his shoulder, and walked out the front door into broad daylight.

Joey had the minivan on the move already, easing to the front curb, the side door rolled back. Evan set the boy down gently inside, climbed in, and they drove off.

55

Vanished in Plain Sight

They were halfway across Richmond when the kid woke up.

Puffy lids parted, revealing glazed eyes. David Smith lifted his head groggily, groaned, and lowered it back to the bench seat of the minivan.

Joey peered down from the passenger seat, concerned. “He’s up. Pull over.”

Evan parked across from a high school that stretched to encompass the entire block. He killed the engine and checked out the surroundings. On the near side of the street, magnolias fanned up from a verdant park, their crooked branches bare and haunting. A man-made river drifted beneath the low-swooping boughs, white water rushing across river stones to feed an elaborate fountain at the center. There were speed walkers and young couples and dogs chasing Frisbees—a good amount of activity to get lost in.

Evan leaned around the driver’s seat to peer back at the boy.

“You’re okay, David,” he said. “You’re safe now.”

The boy blinked heavily. “That’s not my name.”

“We know it is. We know you were trained by Tim Draker, that you had to go on the run, that Jack Johns hid you in that mental-health center until you were kidnapped yesterday.”

“Is this another mind game?” the boy asked.

“What?”

“You know, like SERE stuff. You take me, mess with my head, see what I’ll give up.”

Evan said, “Not even close.”

A bell warbled, and kids started streaming from the school, pouring down the front steps, zombie-mobbing the minivan on their way to the park. The added movement was good, even easier to blend into.

Joey pointed to the sutured slice on the back of David’s left forearm. “What happened there?”

The boy regarded the cut and his arm as if he’d never seen them before. “I don’t … I don’t remember.”

He tried to sit up, wobbled, finally made it. His face was pale, his lips bloodless. He shook his head. “I don’t feel so good.”

“Let’s get him some fresh air,” Evan said, already stepping out into the sea of high-schoolers.

He slid back the side door, and Joey helped David out.

“Off the street,” he said, and she nodded.

They joined the current of kids flowing through the magnolias and across the park. Kids clustered to take phone pics and compare the results. Braying laughter, deafening chatter, a cacophony of ringtones. Evan led Joey and David, cutting between cliques. They stopped at the fountain. Students rimmed the encircling concrete. The air smelled of chlorine, hair spray, the skunky tinge of pot. A family of black ducks paddled across the still water at the fountain’s edge. Buried treasure glimmered beneath, copper wishes waiting to be fulfilled.

No one took note of the three of them; they’d vanished in plain sight.

Color crept back into David’s cheeks, his lips pinking up. He sat on the rim of the fountain, poked at the sutures.

“Looks like you were drugged,” Joey said.

His head bobbled unevenly. “But why? I woulda done whatever.”

To one side a crew of girls crowded around a ringleader with gel nails and green-and-white Stan Smiths. “Loren’s totally gonna uninvite her from her sweet sixteen, because—get this—she posted a pic of herself with Dylan in his backseat. They were just sitting there, but still. Hashtag: trashy.”