In Desperation

54

Somewhere North of Phoenix, Arizona

T illy could hear the creeps.

Beyond the metal walls of the trunk, their voices were clear, but they were talking so fast in Spanish she couldn’t understand everything they were saying.

Something about the legend of a dangerous spider, a tarantula.

Now she heard the crunch of wheels on dirt; a car was approaching, coming very close then creaking. It stopped but a motor was running.

A door opened then shut and the car drove away.

A new voice-it sounded younger.

Was this help? Or was this danger?

Fast talking in Spanish that Tilly could not understand before the voices faded and the talkers walked away, leaving her on the brink of tears.

Alone in this hot, dark, stupid coffin.

She wanted to scream at them.

Let me out! Let me go! I want my mom!

But she kept quiet. Noise made them angry.

Her eyes stung.

How long had it been? What day was this? She didn’t know how much longer she could last.

Don’t cry. Don’t give in. Be strong. Be smart.

The creeps fed her by placing bags of hamburgers, French fries, tacos, potato chips, chocolate bars and cans of soda in the trunk. Then they removed her gag and stood over her, watching for anyone approaching until she finished. Then they’d replace the gag. And she had no privacy. For a toilet, they’d take her to rest stops, one of them always entering with her, keeping the stall door open, making her hurry, making sure no one saw. It made her feel like an animal.

But she got used to it.

It was a little better now-now that they’d stopped cramming her into the suitcase. When they’d let her out, her hopes rose with the glowing interior trunk-release handle. Tilly pulled it but it didn’t work because the creeps had cut the cable. They’d put thick blankets and pillows on the trunk’s floor, letting her stretch out. They’d still kept her gagged with a bandanna and bound with duct tape. It was a bit cooler, too, but it was still stinky like rubber tires, exhaust and gasoline.

What’s going to happen? What’re they going to do to me?

A wave of sadness rolled over her.

Tilly missed her mom. She was the best mom in the world.

“Sweetheart, if you see me, I love you. We’re doing everything to bring you home safely…” When Tilly saw her on the TV news, she knew her mom would never give up looking for her.

And Tilly knew her mom would tell her the same thing she’d always told her: “You shouldn’t think about what you don’t have. Instead, you should thank God for what you do have-a mother who loves you and will always love you, no matter what.”

There were a few other things Tilly had learned from her mother.

Never ever give up on the important things, because they don’t come easy.

Tilly’s heart began to beat faster. Her pulse quickened.

Always fight back.

Like the day she showed Lenny Griffin how wrong he was to try to drown her in the pool.

Anger bubbled in the pit of Tilly’s stomach, anger at Lenny Griffin, anger at these creeps who’d taken her. She began kicking and pounding the trunk, rage burning through her as she writhed and struggled with her bindings.

The fury she’d unleashed strained the tape around her wrists. Her sweat and the wear had transformed it to material akin to fabric that now gave her enough play to nearly work her hands out.

Oh! Almost free! Please! Oh, please!

Tilly froze.

Footsteps of people approaching, the trunk’s lock being keyed. Don’t let them see my work on the tape. She held her breath under an explosion of sunlight diffused through the trees.

She shut her eyes tight for a long moment before gradually relaxing them to squint at the silhouettes looking down on her.

There were three people now.

Who was the third person?

Her eyes adjusted to the new face, which belonged to a man who was younger than the creeps.

He stared at Tilly as if she were something more than an eleven-year-old girl who’d been kidnapped.

Much more.