a paralegal, and she’d just helped her boss finish up the Bensinger complaint. They’d toiled over the case all week, right up until 9:15 tonight. Her boss would file it in the morning, and said she could take the day off, thank God.
Now that she was outside, Lauren realized what a gorgeous day she’d missed, buried in her cubicle. It was one of those warm, balmy late-June nights. She hadn’t had dinner yet, so she’d swung by Guji’s Deli Stop on her way home. The four-aisle store was in a minimall, along with a hair salon, a Radio Shack, some teriyaki joint, and a real estate office, all of which were closed at this hour. Guji’s was the only lit storefront. They closed at ten. There weren’t many customers, and the parking lot was practically empty. Lauren picked up a frozen pizza, some wine, and—what the hell, she deserved it—a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. She was coming out of the store when she noticed something a bit strange.
“Damn it!” the man yelled. “I’m sorry, honey. Daddy didn’t mean to swear.”
His minivan was parked over by the Dumpsters, near the bushes bordering one side of the lot. A big tree blocked out the streetlight, so Lauren hadn’t noticed him and a child moving in and out of the shadows until now. The minivan’s inside light was on, and the back door was open.
“No, no, no,” the man was saying. “Don’t try to lift that, honey. It’s too heavy. Maybe someone in the store can help us.”
Lauren opened her passenger door, and set the grocery bag on the seat. She glanced toward the minivan again. She could see the man now. He was on crutches. He and his little girl were trying to load groceries into the vehicle. One of the bags was tipped over, and two more stood upright. The man turned in her direction. “Excuse me!” he called softly. “Do you have a minute? I hate to bother you…”
Lauren didn’t move for a moment. Something wasn’t right, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Still, her heart broke as she watched the little girl struggling with one of the bags. She was about ten years old, and very pretty.
Lauren stepped toward them. “Do you folks need some help?”
“Oh, yes, thank you,” the man said. “You’re very kind.”
“It’s okay!” the little girl said—loudly. “I got it!” She loaded one bag into the backseat, and then quickly grabbed another. “It’s not heavy at all! Thank you anyway!”
This close, she could see the man on crutches shoot a look at the young girl. He had such a hateful, murderous stare, it made Lauren stop in her tracks. Nothing in his malignant glare matched that soft, gentle voice coming out of the shadows just moments before.
But the child ignored him and loaded up the second grocery bag. She glanced at Lauren. “Thank you anyway!” she repeated. “You can go back to your car! Good-bye!”
The man turned to Lauren and tried to laugh, but she could tell it almost hurt him to smile. “Well, thanks for stopping,” he said with an awkward wave. “It looks like my daughter has the situation under control. Good night.”
Lauren just nodded, then retreated toward her car.
On the way home, she wondered why they’d parked on the other side of the lot from Guji’s Deli when there were plenty of spaces right in front of the store. Why walk all that way when he didn’t have to? And the man was on crutches, too, though she didn’t remember seeing a cast on his leg.
If Lauren Tully had turned her car around and driven back to Guji’s Deli ten minutes later, she would have found that man on crutches and his little girl in the exact same spot. She would have seen the three grocery bags once again waiting to be loaded into the minivan.
If she had turned her car around, Lauren might have been able to warn 21-year-old Wendy Keefe that it was all a ploy.
The blond liberal arts major at Willamette University had ridden her bicycle to Guji’s for a pack of cigarettes. Never mind that her boyfriend made fun of her for being both a smoker and a bicycle enthusiast. She was emerging from the store with her bike helmet under her arm when she spotted the minivan, along with the man on crutches and his daughter. The little girl was crying. Wendy hadn’t been there ten minutes earlier, when the man had slapped the child across her face. And he’d slapped her hard. It was too dark for Wendy to see the red welt on the young girl’s cheek.
“Excuse me!” the man called. He had a very gentle tone in his voice. “We’re in kind of a bind here. I’m afraid we over-shopped. These bags are too heavy for my daughter….”
Tucking the Salems in the pocket of her windbreaker, Wendy approached the minivan. The little girl had been struggling with one of three bags. But now she stopped to stare at Wendy. The child kept shaking her head over and over. Tears slid down her cheeks. She seemed to be mouthing something to her.
“Yes, it looks like you could use an extra hand,” Wendy said.
Propped up on his crutches, the father smiled. “I really appreciate this. If you could just slide those bags into the backseat, we can take it from there.”
“No problem.” Wendy hoisted one of the bags into the back. The young girl stood by the open door. She whispered something, and Wendy turned to her. “What did you say, honey?”
“Run,” the child whispered.
Bewildered, Wendy stopped to stare at her.
The father cleared his throat. “If you could get in there and slide the bag to the driver’s side. Just climb right in there.”
Wendy hesitated.
“Run,” the young girl repeated under her breath.
For a second, Wendy was paralyzed. She squinted at the child, who began to back away from her. Wendy wasn’t looking at the man.
She didn’t see him coming toward her with one of his crutches in the air.
“Run!” the child screamed at her. “No!”
It was the last thing Wendy heard before the crutch cracked against her skull.
The nine-year-old sat alone in the front passenger seat of the minivan. Her face was swollen and throbbing. He’d parked the vehicle on an old dirt road by some railroad tracks. In all the times she’d sat alone in this minivan, parked in this spot, she’d never seen a train go by. And she’d spent many hours here.
Clouds swept across the dark horizon on this warm June night. She could only see the outlines of the tops of the trees ahead of her. The rest was just blackness. She couldn’t tell where he’d taken the bicycle lady. The screams seemed far away, maybe somewhere beyond the trees.
She’d had to endure his wrath all the way there, while the woman lay unconscious and bleeding in the back. Usually, he knocked them out with one quick, bloodless blow while they were inside the minivan. But she’d screwed everything up with that nice chubby lady, and he’d heard her trying to warn the bike woman. He kept saying it was her fault he had to hit the woman with his crutch. She’d bled on him while he’d loaded her into the back.
He repeatedly reached over from the driver’s side and swatted her on the back of the head. “Think you’re really smart trying to trip me up,” he growled. “That slap earlier was nothing. I haven’t even started with you, yet. Would you look at the blood back there? Shit, I think
