no matter what else happened, how things turned out, Gilly would not have to heave her weary body out of bed and force herself to get through one more day. If she was really unfortunate, and a glance at the twitching young man beside her told her she might be, she might never have to get out of bed again.
The thought didn’t scare her as much as it should have.
He shifted. “I need to get to Route 80.”
“I’m not sure…”
“I’ll tell you.”
In a brief flash of light from the streetlamp, she saw his forehead had furrowed with concentration. Gilly looked to the road ahead, at the lights of oncoming cars and the lit exit signs. The man ordered her to take the exit for the interstate, and she did. Then he slumped in his seat, head against the window, and the sound of his tortured breathing filled her ears like the sound of the ocean, constant and steady.
In the silence, uninterrupted by cries and demands, Gilly let her mind fall blank again as she drove on. Her rage and terror had passed, replaced by something quiet and sly.
Relief.
2
Thud, thud. Thud, thud. Thud, thud. The truck’s wheels passed over asphalt cracks with a sound like a beating heart. For an hour or so her abductor had told her which roads to take, what highways to follow. Some were small, obscure back-country lanes, some major four-lane roads, all of them dark and fairly clear of traffic. She didn’t know if he meant to dodge pursuit, was lost, or had a plan. He’d listened to the radio for a while, switching stations, pausing at a commercial for the built-in navigation service that came with all the newer model cars.
He’d run his fingertips over the dash. “You got that?”
“No. It was only an option when we bought the truck, and we didn’t take the option.”
On the radio, the soft-voiced operator assured the sniveling woman that she was going to be just fine. The commercial narrator reminded everyone what a lifesaver the service was. The man had seemed pleased and switched the station, finally settling on the weather. They were predicting snow. His eyes had closed several miles back. His breathing had slowed, joined with the heartbeat of their passage, to soothe and lull her further into blankness.
Into quiet.
When Gilly was growing up, her best friend’s house had been full of constant noise. Danica had four brothers and a sister, plus a dog, a cat, a bird and several tanks full of fish. Her parents yelled a lot, mostly to be heard over the rest of the roar. Gilly loved spending time at Danica’s house, but she’d often come home from a visit with her head whirling, slipping into her solitary bedroom and putting her head under the pillow to muffle even the silence that almost always greeted her.
It wasn’t until she’d had kids of her own that Gilly realized noise was normal. Most families lived with it. Shouts, laughter, calling to each other from room to room. The burble of the radio, television. These were the sounds of normal families. She’d come to appreciate the noise of normality, but could never quite relish it the way she now savored the silence in the car. It had been a long, long time since she’d been in silence like this, been granted the choice to stay silent, herself.
Gilly drank the quiet like it was wine, and felt nearly as drunk from it. No whining, no complaining. Nobody asking to stop to pee or to change the radio station. Nobody ignoring directions. Nobody grumbling she was going too slow or too fast. Nothing but an occasional sigh from the man in the driver’s seat beside her, or the clink of metal to remind her he still had the knife ready at his side.
The man beside her came awake with a snort and flailing arms. The knife hissed through the air scant inches from her hand and arm, then knocked against the center console, rattling it. Gilly swerved across the center line and back, heart pounding. The man sat up and scrubbed at his face with the hand not wielding the weapon.
“Fuck!”
Gilly shifted in her seat and repositioned her hands on the wheel. She didn’t say anything. Her abductor muttered and tapped the hilt of the blade in his hands, then apparently decided to pretend he hadn’t been sleeping at all. Maybe he thought she hadn’t noticed.
“Where are we?” he blurted as if he didn’t realize she ought to be the one with the questions.
Gilly told him by tilting her head toward the road sign they’d just passed. They’d been on the road for two hours. Her thoughts drifted briefly to Arwen and Gandy. Had Seth picked them up yet? Were they home, safe in bed? It was past their bedtime, and Arwen was impossible in the mornings if she didn’t have enough sleep….
“I asked you a question!”
The rap of the knife’s blade against her shoulder made the car jerk beneath her startled hands. Gilly yelped, though he’d only tapped her with the flat of it. She steadied the massive truck, visions of rolling the huge vehicle punching any other thoughts from her head.
“Pay attention!”
“Sorry,” she said, but she didn’t sound it. She tried again. “Sorry.”
She told him out loud, though by now they’d passed another sign. She watched him scowl at the white letters on the green background, and wondered if he couldn’t read. He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and held it up, turning on the map light to look at it.
“We need Route 80.” He shook the paper at her. “You didn’t go the wrong way, did you?”
The unfairness of the accusation stung her into response. “You’re the one telling me which way to go!”
She regretted her outburst when he bared his teeth, blood grimed in the cracks, and lifted the knife.
“I have a knife.” His voice was hoarse.
“I know you do.”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m some kind of fucking idiot.”
If he was going to cut her, he wouldn’t do it while she was driving. He’d make her pull over first. Wouldn’t he?
“Sorry.”
“Okay.” He seemed to think they’d reached some sort of mutual agreement. Gilly didn’t know what it might be, but she wasn’t going to argue.
“We haven’t passed Route 80 yet.”
He held up the soiled scrap of paper again. “That’s where we need to go.”
“We haven’t even made it to State College,” Gilly said, not pointing out they’d have been long past there if he hadn’t made her take such a crazy, circuitous route.
Gilly waited to hear what he’d say next. He didn’t speak. The tires thudded. She felt him staring.
“We’re going to need gas,” she said at last, since even though she loved the quiet, craved it, it frightened her. “Depending on how far we’re going.”
He leaned close to her to look at the gas gauge. She expected a whiff of sweat, of dirt. An angry or scary odor, something bad.
He smelled like
