Page 47 of His Hostage

There’s a sound at the door. I see the knob turn. All three of them stand at the edge of the staircase. Rowan walks down one step and motions for me to move.

“Come on,” he says. “We’re going somewhere.”

His voice is calm and steady, which actually makes me more nervous than if was to sound anxious. The mood is serious, while also feeling somber.

I walk upstairs, chains dragging across the floor. He unlatches me, and I feel that sweet relief of slight freedom again.

It feels good. It feels like a breath of fresh air or an ice cold glass of water on a sunny day.

This is too much. I miss the basics.

“Move,” Jeffco says, pushing me.

I see Rowan twitch slightly, as if he might hit him over the head, but he decides not to go with his emotions. At least he’s on my side. I think he’s still on my side, anyway. Maybe not, though. It’s hard to tell these days. They could be taking me out into the desert to kill me, for all I know.

I’m done being scared. I don’t shake as much as I used to. I don’t breathe with ease, but I also don’t cry as much either. Things are just a blank slate for me, covered in a foggy haze. I feel like I’m outside of my body.

They put me in Rowan’s car, and we speed off into the desert. The sun is burning its last embers of the day. Soon, darkness will take hold, and life out here will come crawling out of its caves.

The desert never stops watching. It’s always alive, whether you know it or not.

An hour or so passes, and I start to feel a little uneasy. There’s nothing around us. Even Rowan is oddly quiet. I expect him to make a joke or two, or to say something that might used to piss me off, but he doesn’t. Instead, he’s got his eyes on the road, his hands plastered onto the steering wheel.

“Where are you taking me?” I finally ask.

“Shut your mouth,” Andy says. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

“Rowan,” I whisper. “Where are we going?”

Andy turns around and puts his pistol against my stomach. “I said, shut the hell up.”

I stop talking and place my head against the warm window. We pass mountains and alien-looking desert plants. Insects are drawn to our headlights.

“Just a little longer,” Jeffco says. “Don’t worry. We’re making good time.”

“I’m not worrying about that,” Rowan says. “I’ve got other things on my mind.”

“Like what?” I find myself asking.

I know I should stay quiet, but the tensions seem extremely high right now. I’m not feeling good about any of this. Not one bit of good.

“Shut your god damn mouth, or I’ll blow your brains out all over this car,” Jeffco says, smashing his yellowed teeth together.

Bits of spit fall across my face, and I’m beyond appalled.

The men go back to talking in calmer tones. Jeffco has to settle his breathing down before saying, “We won’t have any trouble. We have their word.”

“I’ve been doing this for as long as I’ve been alive,” Rowan says. “The thing about peoples’ word is that it’s constantly changing. How can we really know the outcome of engaging in something like this?”

Andy sighs loudly and says, “Can you both just stop worrying about it? I’m starting to get uneasy about the whole damn thing.”

“You always are, Andy,” Jeffco says, laughing lightly. “Try and stay calm, will ya?”

“I will when this is all over,” he says. “Look at my fucking leg. It’s going to fall off, I swear to God.”

He lifts up his jeans to the place where he was shot, and everyone in the car winces. “Did you go to the vet like I told you to?” Jeffco asks him.

“You think I got any money for that?” he asks. “I followed some website’s advice. I poured alcohol on it to disinfect it. Vodka. I got the pieces of shrapnel out. I don’t know why it looks so bad.”

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