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Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Vera turn her head toward me in a final attempt to appeal to my humanity. She’s sobbing still, and I’m certain that she wishes I would just crash the car or let her go before having to endure this any longer. Being in this car with me is far worse than being thrown through the windshield and dying instantly.
I can’t let my remaining shreds of empathy catch up to me. If I allow myself to feel guilt for causing so much stress to Vera, I’ll be fucked.
“Stop looking at me like that,” I say, my words slurring as I pull myself out of my daze. “It’s not going to get you anywhere.”
Her cries break through my focus, and I’m forced to endure her terror alongside her.
I don’t even know where I’m going anymore. I’ve stolen this car, kidnapped a college girl, and ran over her boyfriend.
Is this what Misha would want? Is this how he would want me to avenge him?
The sun sets behind a swath of thin clouds on the horizon, and I’m ready to plunge both of us into darkness as long as I don’t have to be alone.
17
Vera
The adrenaline coursing through my body is just as unforgiving as it was last night at the fair. My stomach is filled with sickening anxiety, and I pray silently that Ruslan will blow the engine, forcing us to stop.
Except this time, I’m not escaping from anything. I’m being kidnapped intentionally, and I have no idea why. Not only am I experiencing extreme duress, but I’m also forced to reason with my kidnapper to save my life. It feels unfair, but I can’t bear another moment of this insanity.
I’d rather be dead than spend one more minute in this damn car – be it with Eric, Ruslan, or anyone else.
Given how increasingly erratic Ruslan’s driving has become, I can only hope that my time will come soon as the night sky darkens our path.
“Ruslan, I really need you to talk to me. Don’t shout, just tell me what’s going on,” I say, fighting to keep my voice stable as I tremble.
“You know what you did. Don’t play me for a fool, Vera,” he continues, rehashing the same insults and intimidation tactics he’d employed before.
“I’m not going to talk to you unless you slow down and stop shouting at me. We can keep driving until you destroy the engine, and then you can kill me on the side of the road and be done with it. But then you’ll be on your own, and Eric’s familywillfind you,” I warn, gripping the sides of the leather seat with my nails.
He doesn’t respond. I’m holding onto the hope that a state trooper will catch him and pull him over, but I’d hate to see how that plays out for either of us. If he refuses to stop, they could run us off the road or riddle the car with bullets and it would be perfectly legal.
Ruslan shoots a vicious look at me. “You’re wasting time by ignoring my questions. Answer me, or this is going to end poorly for everyone.”
“I’m not ignoring your questions. I’m negotiating with you. If you want me to cooperate, slow this fucking car down and listen to me,” I demand.
After another long pause, he finally presses his foot into the brake pedal.
We slow down to about seventy-five miles per hour, and he seems more receptive to hearing me out.
“I don’t know how else I can prove to you that I’m not who you think I am. I have my phone back now, so I can show you pictures and messages to support my innocence. All you have to do is let me show you,” I say, taking my first deep breath since Eric left me alone in the car.
His breathing is shuddering now, either from fury or panic. He’s impossible to read.
“You can still turn us around, Ruslan. This doesn’t have to get worse,” I say. “We can park somewhere and talk about it before we go back if you need to.”
“Misha is dead,” he says flatly, still consumed by a haze of emotion. “He’s been dead since last night, which is when you approached me. You know who did this, and it’s going to take a hell of a lot of proof to clear your name.”
It takes me a moment to remember who Misha is, but then the realization hits me like a ton of bricks – his brother kept missing his calls last night.
Misha is his brother, and he’s dead.
“What happened? Can you explain it to me?” I ask.
I begin to wonder if he’s in denial about his brother dying in the hail of gunfire from the night before. He hadn’t said anything about Misha being at the fair, but it’s the closest thing I have to a logical explanation.
He takes a deep, shaken breath as he attempts to calm himself. He’s really trying not to shout anymore, and he’s slowed the car down, so I’m confident I can get out of this alive if I play my cards right.
