Box

57

I think about makin’ a run for it, but there’s no way I can get to the back door and unlock it before he can catch me. Instead, I grab a glass bookend from the book shelf.

“Good luck with that,” he says.

He’s quick and agile for bein’ forty, but I’ve got plenty of experience dealin’ with my own drunken addict, who enjoyed comin’ at me when I denied him sex. I’ve got a clear shot, but that’s the sucker move.

The one he’s expectin’.

So I wind up, and fake a throw, knowin’ he’ll instinctively duck and cover up, just like Darrell.

He does.

When he looks back up, I hurl it into his forehead, and he goes down. I jump over his body, open the front door, and see somethin’ that surprises me.

Cletus Renfro’s car.

He must’ve taken it from the impoundment lot. Didn’t want anyone to see his sheriff’s car parked in my driveway.

I could easily outrun him, but not the car. I make the quick decision to get inside the car and hope the keys are in the ignition. I hear a noise behind me and turn to see Sheriff Boyle comin’ out the door. He’s hurt bad, and blood is literally squirtin’ from the angry cut in his head. I run to the car, jump in the driver’s seat, and lock the door. Unfortunately, all the windows are rolled down, and there’s no time to roll them up. I look on the column to see if the keys are there, but they’re not. I feel around on the floor board, but again, no keys.

I raise up, grab the packets from my back pocket, and wait for him to come into view on the driver’s side. I can’t throw both packets with accuracy, so I place one on the floorboard and scoot across the seat to give myself some room. When he stands at the driver’s side he’ll try to open the door, realize it’s locked, and his focus will be on reachin’ in and unlockin’ the door. I’ll hit him in the chest and scramble out the passenger door while shuttin’ my eyes and holdin’ my breath. Maybe I’ll get lucky.

So that’s the plan.

But it doesn’t work.

When Sheriff Boyd gets to the door, he sees me windin’ up, and when I hurl the packet, he somehow manages to duck out of the way.

It’s dark, and I don’t see the packet after it whizzes past him, but I know it’s gonna land too far away to have any effect on him.

Now I’m tryin’ to reach the packet I placed on the floor, but the Sheriff is all over me, grabbin’ my legs, pullin’ me toward him. He climbs half into the car to get to me, and lands a punch on my sore cheek that makes me so groggy and weak I can’t do nothin’ but be slid out the car.

I’m lyin’ on the ground, and the only light I see is comin’ from inside the car, where I see my second packet of powder has been crushed. Sheriff Boyd must have stepped on it while pullin’ me out.

So I’m nine-tenths knocked out, I’ve got no weapons left, and I hear him openin’ the trunk. I try to scream, but the sound that comes out of my throat is more like a scared, whimpering hiss.

Sheriff Boyd picks me up like a sack of flour, puts me over his shoulder, and dumps me into the trunk.

“Wh-what are you doin’?” I manage to say.

“I’m going to take you to my fishing camp,” he says. “You’ve never been there, but it’s real nice. You want the itinerary? I’m going to fuck you all night long. And when you’re completely fucked out, I’m going to take you for a boat ride and sink you three hundred feet into the bottom of Kentucky Lake. By this time tomorrow, your pretty head will likely be in a catfish’s belly, and your feminine parts will be working their way through the digestive tract of a giant paddlefish.”

I get out a nice scream before he slams the trunk door shut, but I doubt it was loud enough for the neighbors to hear.

He starts the car and all I can think about is how lucky I am.

I take a minute to thank the good Lord for providin’ such a hot night for my abduction, and for puttin’ me in the trunk of a car with a broken air conditioner.

As he starts the car, I remove my blouse and tie it around my face.

Then brace myself for the comin’ impact.

I feel the car backin’ up, movin’ slowly down the driveway. Feel it turn, stop, then lurch forward as Sheriff Boyd puts it in gear. Feel the right turn that leads to the open road. Feel the speed pick up. Hear the sheriff scream as the wind comin’ through the open windows stirs up the blindin’ powder on the floorboard. Feel the car losin’ control. Feel it swerve off the road and pitch forward, as if we’re goin’ downhill. Feel it crash into somethin’ sturdy.