First Family

CHAPTER 8

SAM QUARRY UNLOCKED the door and peered in, saw her sitting at the table having a bowl of cereal. She snapped her head around, jumped from the chair, and drew back against the wall.

He kept the door open as he walked in. "Willa, there's nothing to be scared of."

"I'm not stupid. There's like everything to be scared of. Most of all you!"

Her cheeks quivered and fearful tears clustered at the corners of both eyes.

Quarry pulled up a chair and sat down. "I guess I'd be scared too. But I'm not going to hurt you. Okay?"

"You can say anything. How do I know you're not lying? You're a criminal. Criminals lie all the time. That's why they're criminals."

Quarry nodded. "So you think I'm a criminal?"

"You are a criminal. You kidnapped me. People go to jail for that."

He nodded again and then glanced at the bowl. "Cereal not too soggy? Sorry, but powdered milk is all we got."

She stayed flattened against the wall. "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what? You mean bringing you here?"

"Under the circumstances, what else could I possibly mean?"

Quarry smiled at her blunt logic. "Heard you were smart."

"Where's my family? I asked the other man but he wouldn't say. He just grunted."

Quarry pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his face, concealing a look of profound disgust as he did so.

"Why are you wearing latex gloves?" she asked, staring at his hands.

"Heard of eczema?"

"Sure."

"That's what I got and don't want to give it to anybody else."

"I asked you about my family," she said earnestly. "Are they okay? Tell me."

"They're doing fine. But then if I'm a criminal, I could be lying."

"I hate you!" she screamed.

"Can't blame you."

"Is this because of my aunt?' she said suddenly.

"Your aunt?" he replied innocently.

"Don't treat me like I'm dumb. Jane Cox is my aunt. My uncle is the president."

"You're right. You're sure right about that."

"So is it about him?"

"I'm not gonna answer that. Sorry."

Willa raised the sleeve on her shirt, showing a Band-Aid near the crook of her elbow. "Then tell me what's this for?"

"I guess you got cut."

"I looked. It's just a little pinprick."

He eyed her bowl and spoon again. "You done with these?"

"Is this about my uncle?" she snapped.

"Let's get something straight right now, Willa. I don't want to hurt you. It's true I broke the law and brought you here, but I'd much prefer to see you walk right out that door and get on back home. But while you're here, it'd be real good if we can just try to get along as best we can. I know it's hard, but that's just the way it's got to be. Better for me." He stared intensely at her. "And better for you."

He scooped up the spoon and bowl, cradling them against his chest, and walked toward the door.

"Will you tell my mom and dad I'm okay?" she said in a softer tone.

He turned around. "I sure will."

This statement made his growing anger harden intractably.

After he left, Willa sat back down on a cot set up in one corner and slowly gazed around the room. She had spoken bravely to the man, but she didn't feel very courageous. She was scared and she wanted to see her family. She curled and uncurled her hands in anxiety. The tears began to slide down her cheeks as she considered one horrible scenario after another. She prayed and spoke out loud to her mom and dad. She told her brother and sister that she loved them very much, even if they did come in her room unannounced and mess with her stuff.

She wiped the tears away and tried to stay focused. She didn't believe the man about the gloves and the eczema or the mark on her arm. She believed it had to do with her aunt and uncle. What other reason could there be? Her family was pretty ordinary otherwise. She began walking around the room, singing softly to herself; it was something she often did when she was worried or scared.

"It'll be okay," she said to herself over and over after she couldn't sing anymore. She lay back down and covered herself with the blanket. But before she turned the light off, she looked over at the door. She rose, crossed the room, and stared at the lock.

It was a sturdy dead bolt, she noted for the first time.

And because of that, fear was suddenly replaced with a tiny spark of hope.