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Wayne looked into the rearview mirror again. Mostly to check whether there were any police following them. He was crafty but also paranoid. “Do you know where we’re going?”
“No.” She thought he might be taking her back to the original scene of his failed attempt at molesting her, and who knew what else.
“I don’t think there’ll be any park rangers around, do you?”
Melanie didn’t answer. She knew he was probably right but prayed he was wrong.
“I heard they do most of their patrolling between eleven p.m. and three a.m. To scare out the vagrants.”
She strained her arm to get hold of the cord. She was inches away. She wiggled again.
“Getting excited?” he said viciously. “I know I am.”
Melanie sighed but said nothing. She had to focus on unhitching herself without his finding out. She could feel the plastic badge. Directly above it, there were two bobby pins attached to the cord. She closed her eyes and remembered a technique she’d been taught called remote viewing: the ability to view things that couldn’t be seen from one’s current location; the ability to “see” something from a different vantage point. Some took it much further with the idea of astral projection, an out-of-body experience, but that was a metaphysical concept many considered “fringe.” No time to contemplate that idea. At the moment, she had to get out of those handcuffs.
She began to imagine herself as a passenger in the back seat. What would she be able to see? She visualized herself curled in a ball on the floor of the car. Locked wrists, a cord with a laminated badge near the small of her back. Two bobby pins attached to the cord. She walked her fingers up slowly, inching closer to the target. Using a fingernail, she carefully pulled one of the pins from the cord. Then she realized she might make suspicious noises while working on the handcuffs. “Hey, Wayne?”
“She speaks!” he roared.
“Yes.” She replied loudly enough so he wouldn’t have to lean back. “Do you think you might be in the mood for some music?” That was risky. It could infuriate him. He’d think she was being bossy. Taking control. But she’d used the word you twice, placing emphasis on him.
“Your wish is my command.”
If only, she thought. She could think of many wishes right about now.
He cranked up the dial and blasted explosive-sounding music though the car, hammering his fists on the steering wheel to the beat of the deafening sound. He actually started to growl along with whoever the singer was, if you could call it singing. It sounded more like the devil screaming words of annihilation. The only solace was that it was loud, and Melanie could maneuver without disturbing Wayne as she jiggled the cuffs.
He screamed over the noise. “How do you like this?”
She screamed back. “I’ve never heard this before. Who’s the artist?” She hoped to distract him with conversation.
“You never heard of Rage Against the Machine? Heavy metal, punk, and rap. They melded the genres together.” Wayne was clearly a fan.
Keep him talking, she thought. “Oh, yes. I’ve heard of them. What’s the lead vocalist’s name again?” she shouted above the noise.
“Zack de la Rocha. Then there’s Tom Morello on guitar, and Brad Wilk on drums. Greatest alternative band ever.” There was true admiration in his voice.
Melanie thought the music was horrible, but she pretended she was interested. “What was their big hit?”
“Oh, come on, MelDrake. It was ‘Killing in the Name’.”
Perfect, she mused.
“Can you believe they were nominated for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame four times and their bids failed? Talk about politics!”
“Isn’t that the way with most things?” She sounded genuine. Melanie bent the bobby pin and carefully slid it into the handcuff keyhole. It was physically awkward, but she was determined to become a contortionist if it was going to save her life. And that of others.
She closed her eyes and imagined the bobby pin dislodging the mechanism. She was grateful it was handcuffs and not zip ties. Unless you had a blade, they were impossible to escape from. She felt the click and then the release. She twisted one wrist slowly, the way Uncle Leo taught her. If she moved too quickly, the lock could jam with the pin still in it. The music continued to reverberate off the interior of the car.
With the decibel level cranked as high as he had it, he couldn’t hear her motions at all. Now she had to figure out what to do next. She could reach over and put him in a choke hold with the cuffs, but he was driving too fast, and when he lost control, both of them could be killed. No. She would have to wait until he stopped the car. She knew there would be a few traffic lights once they exited the interstate. Timing was everything. Whatever she decided, she knew she had to be fast. Lightning fast.
* * *
The car came to a slow roll. She interlaced her fingers and positioned her arms as if they were a baseball bat and took a major swing at his temple, putting all her weight behind it. He cried out, but before he could react, Melanie grabbed a cuff in each hand, slipped them over his head, and pulled them back against his throat. He sagged forward, and his foot came off the brake, as the car careened through the intersection. She leaned halfway over the seat and yanked on the steering wheel, forcing the car to jump the curb and crash into a mailbox. Melanie was propelled forward, taking a glancing blow to the side of her head from the steering wheel. Both of them were now in the front seat. Wayne was coming around, but he was still strapped into his seat belt. Then his eyes flew open, and they were filled with rage. He grabbed her hair and slammed her head against the dashboard. She elbowed him in the chest and then the ultimate target, his groin. He was alternating between screams and gasps. He grabbed her by her hair again. She swiveled and punched him in the throat. She continued to pummel him in the face, neck, stomach, and again in the groin for good measure. He would be singing coloratura by the time the police arrived. She pounded her knuckles raw, repeatedly smashing him in the face, drawing blood from his nose and mouth. He was gagging as people began to gather around the car.
“Someone call 911!” she yelled.
* * *
