Читать книгу Triple Trouble: A Cassidy Callahan Novel - Kelly Rysten - Страница 7

Chapter 1

When I was a kid my propensity for trouble didn’t bother me as much. In fact, I felt honored when my father’s workers called me Trouble. I thought I was tough, and the name made me feel tough. It made me feel like I ought to look for more adventures. And that usually got me into trouble so it was kind of a self-fulfilling name. My real name is Cassidy Callahan. Most people think of me as Skipper meets GI Joe. I’m a petite blonde, and I’ve always looked like a kid, but in my mind I’m a dynamo.

As I grew up, my life changed but my attitude didn’t. I was a decent, if distracted, student. I graduated from high school. Then, after a boring summer where I imagined myself stuck on my parents’ ranch forever, I decided there was a whole wide world out there just waiting to be explored. After a big to-do where I butted heads with my parents, I joined the Marine Corps and took off to prove just how tough I really was. Having grown up on a ranch, in a place that was physically demanding, I thought I was prepared. I’d wrestled skittish horses and helped round up cattle, backpacked, hiked and tracked, and was physically fit. The Marines, however, had a very different idea of what fit was. I met all their tortures with firm determination and was proud when my determination paid off and I was a soldier. Men laughed when they saw me in full gear. At times, I looked like a walking uniform. Put me in fatigues, boots, helmet, backpack, give me a weapon and sunglasses and I disappeared. Put me through a morning of calisthenics, send me on a long hike in the desert heat and I could drop several pounds in a day.

Four years as a Marine had kept trouble at bay. I’d married an Air Force test pilot named Jack and settled down a bit. I was almost a normal housewife except for sudden longings for the great outdoors. The nearby mountains called to me until I gave in and took off into the woods. Give me a daypack with snacks and a bottle of water and I was good to go. Jack went too, occasionally, but I often found myself alone up in the hills. I was free there, I could feel the ground beneath my feet and would awaken to the sound of birds. We were happy like that, him in the sky, me on the ground. He wasn’t going to stifle my free spirit and I wasn’t going to hold him down. We had reached a silent and contented agreement when out of the blue my worst nightmare occurred and I found myself a widow at twenty-four. As a test pilot, Jack’s life was cut short. Trouble fell from the sky and shook my world. It nearly knocked me flat but I was gaining it back a little each day.

Then one day I was running errands and had to stop by the grocery store. How in the world can someone get into trouble going grocery shopping? I patiently went up and down all the aisles finding the things I needed and went back through all the aisles for the things the first trip reminded me about. I’d smiled when I checked out and hit all the buttons right on the debit machine. I’d packed up my Jeep Wrangler with a few days’ worth of groceries, hopped in, headed for home and gotten carjacked! Leave it to me to be the only one at the grocery store to get carjacked.

“I said drive, bitch! Hit the gas!” the man yelled and stomped down on my foot. My Jeep shot across two lanes of traffic, barely missing being broadsided by a white step van and a Brady Bunch station wagon. Tires screeched and the step van rocked and weaved as the two drivers slammed on their brakes. I frantically turned the wheel to avoid the median and that put me going west on Main. I felt his foot come off mine, but I kept the pedal down as much as I could. This guy was obviously in a hurry. I took a deep breath. My mental faculties were catching up with the situation. I had a desperate man in my car. He wanted to go somewhere fast. That left a lot of likely possibilities. I didn’t like the sound of most of them. This obviously wasn’t a joy ride and he wasn’t going to be the perfect date. Nope, this guy meant business.

The speed limits are fast in my city but we exceeded every one of them. I prayed for a cop to catch me.

“Where are we going?” I croaked.

“Just keep driving,” he barked back, “I need to figure this out.”

“Okay,” I said. “I could use some thinking time too.”

“Don’t you think, just drive. Get me far away from here.”

Thinking and driving go hand in hand for me so I just kept on driving straight as fast as I could. I ran red lights when I could and stopped when I couldn’t but the gun was always there menacing, pushing me to do stupid things. My first inclination was to drive to the sheriff’s station but that was almost directly behind me. I kept it as an option but I couldn’t count on it.

Joshua Hills is not a large city, but neither is it a small burg. It’s 150,000 plus population was sending tendrils of housing tracts out across the desert floor. It didn’t take long for me to hit the outskirts of town. Old houses gave way to new houses and new houses would soon give way to houses under construction.

I didn’t want to continue in this direction. I could see the agricultural belt on the west side of town and beyond that was foothills and desert. I was nervous about getting off in the boondocks with this guy. I didn’t know what he intended to do but I might need people handy. I steeled a glance. The gun was still there.

“You married?” he intruded on my thoughts.

“N-n-no,” I replied, “widowed.”

“You’re kind of young to be widowed.”

“Not if my husband was a test pilot.”

“Got kids?”

“Not the maternal type.” And there wasn’t time, I thought.

“Where d’ you live?”

“Directly behind us. Past where we came from,” I said. And past the sheriff’s station too.

“I need a hideout for a few days so you’re gonna have company. You try anything and you’ll be sorry. You cooperate and it’ll buy you time.”

“You want to go to m-my house?”

“That’s what I said.”

Traffic was thinning and we had reached the construction that marks the city’s slow, outward expansion. I hung a U-turn and headed back the way we came, thinking ahead, analyzing the route for possible ways to escape. As we neared the middle of town he became antsy again, not wanting to get too close to something. He fidgeted and looked around nervously. The barrel of the gun swung towards my face but he was just motioning with his hand. “Turn off this street and go down to the next light,” he said, real antsy, real paranoid.

I turned left at the next light, took Hampton down to Thompson and turned right. I was disappointed because that took us off the route to the sheriff’s station. I tried turning right on Division to approach the station from behind, but I got a whack on the side of my head with the butt of his gun. “Keep going straight and don’t try anything,” he growled. I wondered if he knew the city, knew what I’d tried to do. I had to assume he did. I continued down Thompson nervously.

“How are we supposed to get to my house if you won’t let me drive?”

“You just keep driving. I’ll let you know when to do what.”

As we neared the street where he’d earlier jumped into my Jeep, the carjacker took a long look up the street. Red and blue lights flashed at the corner of Santiago and Main.

“Fuck and damn!” he said, “Keep going.”

My brain was working overtime trying to come up with some way to get out of this before we reached my house. The next traffic signal was red and there were very few cars around. My training told me a moving target is always harder to hit than a still one. I was thinking of making a run for it. I reached for the door handle, yanked it hard and was halfway out of the Jeep when the butt of the gun came crashing down on my head. Pain exploded behind my right temple and I felt myself being hauled back into the Jeep. The carjacker slid over to the driver’s seat and took off with a squeal of tires. Two more blows from the gun butt followed, presumably to teach me a lesson. I felt the Jeep bump along erratically. Sharp turns, quick bursts of gas, jerky shifting. It had been a while since he’d driven a standard.

After my failed escape, I found myself on the floorboards of the Jeep with my head against the passenger seat. Aside from the bruise on my head, I felt I was in a much better position now that I didn’t have to drive and plan at the same time.

“Where the hell is your place?” he demanded, “I gotta get you tied up so’s you can’t try anything else.”

I peeked over the edge of the window.

“Stay on Thompson till you get to Desert. Turn left. It’s a bunch of cul de sacs. I’m on the third one.”

I righted myself in the passenger seat and studied the neighborhood as we drove in. It was midday. Quiet. I lived in a small house in a well-kept older neighborhood. One window faced the street.

I pointed at my small desert sand stucco house with blue trim and he pulled into the driveway signaling that I should open the garage. I pushed the button and the door went up to reveal a wall of boxes. Somehow we had moved in and were comfortably settled with only half our possessions unpacked. I’ve heard this isn’t unusual. Mr. Carjacker wasn’t happy about the garage situation. He closed the garage, then backed the Jeep so it was visible from the living room window.

“Now, I want you to go in the house, nice and easy. I don’t want to have to shoot you in the yard. That would cause a scene and I need things to stay nice and quiet.”

“No,” I said, “I am not letting you in that house.”

A grim expression crossed his face. His eyes narrowed. “Okay, well, then I guess I’ll have to choose another house. How about that house on the end?

Looks like there’s more hostages down there. ‘Course, I only need one. And I’d have to take you with me. Can’t leave you alone to go calling the cops.”

I looked down the street. Mrs. Gonzales was outside with two of her kids cleaning up the yard. I’d let him kill me before I’d sick him on another person. Okay, so I’d go in the house. I could hear barking coming from the living room. It was my dog, Shadow. He wouldn’t be any help in my current predicament. He was too friendly. I hoped he wouldn’t end up with a bullet through his brain.

“You didn’t tell me you had a dog.”

Like I was supposed to give him my life’s history.

“You didn’t ask and he won’t hurt you. If you’re looking for valuables he’ll probably show you where they are. And he’s obedience trained so he won’t be a problem. Just give him a minute to get used to you.”

“Yeah, right. Dogs hate me.”

Smart dogs.

I gathered up the groceries in two heavy armloads and we walked up the sidewalk to the front door, the gun pointed at me discreetly. I noticed the rose bushes were getting ready to bloom and the grass needed cutting. I wasn’t much of a gardener. The roses were there when we moved in, and somebody else had given them a good start. I awkwardly unlocked the front door and pushed my way in. Shadow immediately jumped on our unwelcome guest to say ‘hi’ then he backed off avoiding contact. Smart dog.

“He’ll be fine in a minute, just pet him and let him smell you.”

After I put the groceries down I went to see how things were progressing in the dog department. Shadow was in sheepdog mode, positioning himself so he could see everybody.

“Sit,” I said in a commanding tone. Shadow sat, gazing at me for further direction. “Stay.” The gaze intensified waiting for the release word. “Is it okay if I put the groceries away? I’d like to get the stuff in the refrigerator at least.”

“Just don’t get out of my sight.”

I looked down at Shadow. The gaze was still anticipating. “Good Boy!” I said and he bounded after me.

I put the milk in the fridge and then put the deli meats and cheese in the drawer. The vegetables and fruit went in the vegetable bins, the meat in the freezer. I saved out a package of chicken, putting it in the fridge, just in case I was still alive to cook dinner. I took it for granted he wouldn’t call out for pizza.

I continued until all the groceries were put away. I couldn’t keep still. I was too nervous and I felt like I had to keep busy, demonstrate that I wasn’t going to turn on him, let him think he could trust me, buy some time. Predictable motion promotes trust, was my theory. He walked down the hall, taking inventory of the rooms and any problems they might cause. He unplugged the phones, locked the three bedroom doors and closed them, checked the back door to make sure it was locked and the curtains were drawn, took my cell phone and pocketed it. I was glad he didn’t check my bedroom closet. There were two rifles, two handguns and plenty of ammo in there. Now they were safely locked up. I was half glad and half disappointed. That might have come in handy to make my escape, but intuition told me to play along with him for now.

“So,” I said, “what’s the plan?”

“I need a place to stay for a few days that’s nice and quiet. Soon as I get ahold of a friend of mine, he’s going to pick me up and we’ll be outa here.”

“So, what’s the plan for me?”

“You do what I say, nobody gets hurt. You foul things up, you’re gonna get hurt. You foul things up bad, I’ll kill you. I don’t want to kill you. I need you for insurance. Plus shooting makes a lot of noise and usually draws the cops. I don’t want that.”

“And when you leave?”

“Depends on the circumstances, no promises.”

Okay, I could deal with that. In fact, it was better than I expected.

Things quieted down after that. Shadow seemed to accept his new visitor. After a while Shadow’s afternoon routine brought him pacing in front of me. Shadow is a Shetland sheepdog, commonly known as a sheltie. They are smart but they tend to recognize patterns and once things become routine they lock into that pattern. It was mid afternoon and to Shadow that meant lunchtime. I could ignore him for a while but Shadow knew what time it was and he was going to keep reminding me.

“Shadow says it’s lunch time,” I said. “Is it okay if I feed him? All I gotta do is put a cup of food in his bowl and he’ll leave us alone.”

“Okay,” he replied warily, “but I’m gonna follow you.”

I went to get Shadow’s bowl, took it to the dog food bin and measured out the right amount, poured it in the bowl and took it back to his spot. Sure enough, carjacker dude followed every step of the way. Shadow knew the routine. He sat waiting for me to put down the bowl. When he was a pup he bowled me over trying to get to his food, so we established this routine. I get the food, he sits and waits for the okay. I set the bowl down.

“Okay”, I said brightly, “You can get it!” The magic word was spoken so he was free to eat. He dove in enthusiastically.

Five seconds later he was back, but the routine had been followed so I was off the hook. Normally, Shadow was a working dog out of a job. A sheep dog with no sheep, he took his position in the house seriously. I was his lone sheep and it was his job to keep track of me. Now with another person here, there were two sheep. Two boring sheep. He looked at me like the job was getting too cushy. Normally I helped fill his day with doggie chores. We played fetch and did obedience exercises in the backyard. Since sitting and staying and heeling weren’t much in the way of work, we started adding agility equipment to the backyard. The agility course was calling to him, all those fun obstacles for a sheep dog to play on. It wasn’t complete. I had several more obstacles I needed to build, but to him it was like doggy Disneyland. I could see it was calling to him. Sorry, boy.

We sat in my living room, the gun always pointing at me. He seemed calmer. I was getting bored and antsier by the minute. It felt like I was sitting on a time bomb.

“Look,” I said, “I don’t know about you, but just sitting around is driving me nuts. Can’t we cook dinner or let the dog out or do anything besides sit here? How long has it been since you ate?”

“Eating is overrated compared to staying alive. Let me worry about the staying alive part and then we’ll think about the eating part.”

He took out my cell phone and programmed a number into my speed dial. He hit the number and quickly hung up. I got up and paced, anything besides sitting. The more I sat, the tighter I felt. Action. I needed action. Even risky action. Okay, not too risky. Think, I told myself, as long as you are stuck, you can think. How can we get out of this fix?

Just then the doorbell rang. We both looked up. What to do?

“Don’t answer it.”

“I better. If it’s my neighbor she has a key. If she is here to borrow something she knows she can come in and get it. We borrow stuff from each other all the time.” Okay, so it wasn’t true, but I needed to be able to answer my door in case help showed up.

“Get rid of her. Don’t let her in. If you want her to live you’ll get rid of her.”

The bell rang again. I opened the door just wide enough to see out. It was a kid.

“Hi, Mrs. Callahan, I’m selling candy for my school and I was wondering if you’d like to order some chocolate or cookies. We have other stuff if you’re on a diet.” He thrust the catalog at me and the gun jabbed me in the side.

“I can’t right now,” I said, “I’m right in the middle of something. When is it due?”

“Next Thursday,” he said.

“Can you come back next week? I’ll buy something from you then.”

“Okay, I’ll try.”

I closed the door with a relieved whoosh and almost sank to the floor.

“What makes you think you’ll be here next week? Maybe I’ll take you with me when I go. Maybe you’ll mess up and make me use this gun. Maybe we’ll still be sitting here next week picking off candy salesmen with my .45. You can’t count on next week.”

I hadn’t even turned around to reply when there was a knock on the door. Scared to answer, I turned around. The knocking turned to banging and I knew it was the kid next door. He wanted to go get his basketball from my backyard.

“This’ll only take a second,” I said with a glare.

I opened the door. It was Aaron, like always.

“Lose your ball again?” I asked, masking the fear in my stomach with a cheery voice. “I’ll throw it over the fence in a minute.”

Aaron ran home and I turned to my unwanted guest.

“I know you want things kept quiet, but in this neighborhood the best way to do that is to keep things normal. All I need to do is retrieve the ball and toss it next door.”

We went out into my backyard, found the ball and tossed it over the fence. Aaron yelled, “Thanks!” and resumed dribbling.

“What’s all this junk back here?” the carjacker asked.

“It’s not exactly junk. This is an agility course. When Shadow gets bored he wants to come out here and run the course. See, this piece is a hurdle. This piece is called the Weave Poles because the dog weaves in and out of the poles in a straight line until he reaches the end. Here’s a tunnel. This is an A-frame.” The A-frame gave me an idea, but it wasn’t time to test it. The A-frame was only a few feet from my back fence and would give me easy access out of here if I had to make a run for it. “Do you want to see how it works?”

“Sure, why not, just remember I got the gun.”

“Shadow isn’t used to having people here but we’ll see how it goes. Shadow! Heel.” I commanded. Shadow trotted up and stood at my left side. I walked over to the hurdle. I wasn’t sure he would listen to me with distractions, so I put him in a sit-stay several feet from the hurdle and walked to the other side of the hurdle.

“Jump!” I called. Shadow looked around, unsure. “Jump!” I tried again. He stood, ran a few steps and jumped over the hurdle. “Heel.” I said and walked to the next obstacle. Since this one was easier to do from a walk, I headed right into it “Weave,” I said, “weave, weave.” Shadow weaved in and out of the poles. “Good boy! Good weave!” We went on to the next one, the tunnel, “go through!” Shadow shot through the tunnel. He really liked the tunnel. He liked to go through the course at a run but I thought if I did anything sudden I’d get in trouble. Shadow was holding back and he wasn’t too happy, just obeying.

“What about the ramp one?”

“We just started that one. I’ll see if he’ll do it right. If he doesn’t I’ll have to correct him and work with him or he’ll develop bad habits.”

We walked over to the A-frame. It was set at a gentle slope and peaked at about 4 feet. “Up!” I commanded, “Shadow, go UP!” I walked beside the ramp showing him the direction he was to go. He had gone over the A-frame but he wasn’t yet ready to take it flying like some of the other obstacles. If I was doing this on my own, I would have food and a leash and I’d take it at a jog so he had some momentum going, but I didn’t have those things. Shadow walked up the “up” side and peered down the “down” side. Going down was harder than going up. He started the down side and slid a little because of his hesitant attitude. As soon as his paws hit the ground on the far side I praised him.

“Good boy! Good dog!” Shadow jumped around and around barking.

“We usually do the whole thing at a jog. And we have other obstacles that we need to build.”

He gestured to the course and I took that to mean we could go through it once more so I jogged off with Shadow trotting next to me. “Weave, weave.” I said, “Go through. Jump!” Now the A-frame, “Go up, come down, good boy!” Shadow was really stoked now. He was in his groove and it was time to stop. I got an idea. Since all this activity seemed to be okay, I walked over to the A-frame, unhooked the chain and raised it another foot. I might be able to use that additional height later, and I could fit the change into the training without suspicion.

“One more time, Shadow! Weave, weave, go through. Jump! Go up! Come down! Good boy, what a good boy! You did the high one! Good job!” There, the A-frame was ready in case I had a chance to use it. Mission accomplished.

It was getting on towards dinnertime and I hadn’t had lunch yet. Staying alive was more important than lunch but I was debating whether it was more important than dinner. I rose to go to the kitchen and the gun immediately swiveled my way.

“Where do you think you’re going?” A warning voice but his demeanor was calmer. This was a good thing.

“It’s dinnertime. I’m going to cook dinner. You want to eat eventually, don’t you? And do you have a name? I’m Cassidy.”

“Manny,” he said and let me cook. So much for the tying up threat. Maybe his hunger was outweighing his fear.

I’m not much of a cook, but I won’t ever starve to death either. I learned all my cooking from watching Martha, the ranch housekeeper, and Martha cooked for a crowd. I grew up on a ranch with four ranch hands, so dinner involved cooking for at least nine. Big men with big appetites. So there I was, single and cooking for a crowd. I’ve cut back some, but my Texas skillet is still the most used pot in the house. I thought of my options for chicken trying to think of a dish with lots of cutting and preparation time so Manny would get used to me walking around with sharp knives.

I chose my biggest, sharpest knife and cut the chicken into strips and put the pieces in a gallon size Ziploc bag. I added a bottle of Jamaica Mistake and squished the bag up to get all the chicken pieces coated. Then I let the bag sit while I cut up the vegetables.

Manny sat at the dining room table watching every move I made, punching numbers on the cell phone and grunting when the call didn’t go through again. Shadow stared at him since he was sitting in a place where food magically appeared on the floor. If I were alone, he’d be sitting under the cutting board because sometimes food magically appears under that, too.

I went to the refrigerator and got out onions, bell peppers and mushrooms and cut the onions and peppers into strips.

The best way to cook the meat would be to grill it, but that involved another trip to the backyard. Since the barbecue grill was just outside the door I hoped he’d let me use it. The more things he observed me doing in a calm manner, the more he’d be taken off guard when I made my break. I shook the meat bag a few more times and headed for the back door. I was met with a gun to the side of my head and my heart did a little flip flop at how fast it appeared there.

“I’m just lighting the barbecue. You don’t want this cooked on the stove.

It just isn’t the same.”

He lowered the gun and watched me closely as I opened the back door. Shadow shot outside to sniff around. I lit the grill and called Shadow back in the house. A few minutes later, I scraped the grill and added a grate so the chicken strips wouldn’t fall through. I did a final squish of the bag and placed the chicken on the grill. I went inside and sautéed the onions, bell peppers and mushrooms. I flipped over the chicken and then set the table. Nothing fancy. When you live alone, fancy doesn’t seem worth the bother. I microwaved some tortillas so we could eat the chicken soft taco style. I brought in the meat and mixed it up with the veggies. I set the whole mess, still in the Texas skillet on the table. Manny dug in and I got us each a glass of Coke.

This is the way I usually ate. I fixed a big batch of something and then ate the leftovers for a week straight. It looked like I wouldn’t have to do that this time. Manny was definitely going to help out in that department.

“I never want to see another hot dog or bologna sandwich for as long as I live,” he said.

“I’m not much of a cook but I don’t think you’ll starve to death here. Only thing is, I only keep a couple days worth of food at any one time here.”

Manny looked like he hadn’t eaten in days. He was really getting into this meal. In fact he hardly noticed me as he ate. I made a mental note of that. I was hoping to get some information out of him, but I thought I was getting more information just watching him than if I talked to him, so I stayed quiet. He never set down the gun, but his focus was on nothing but the plate in front of him. I got up and went to the kitchen and pretended to look around for something. His eyes flicked up but his hands and mouth kept working on the food. I thought of making a run for it right then but something told me to hold off. Still, I was forming a plan for later. I fingered the keys in my pocket.

By the time dinner was over it was dark out. Shadow got his share of dinner, a teaspoon of people food in his bowl. There were two more failed attempts at the phone call, each followed by mutterings and cursing. There had been a plan and that plan wasn’t going smoothly right at the moment. I cleaned up the dishes and Shadow was ready for his evening run. I always went out with him in the evening to cool off and he went out every evening for a last patrol. He started the pacing and staring thing again. I ignored him until he tried it on Manny. After a while Manny got the idea and opened the back door. Shadow stood at the door and stared at me. “Come on sheep!” he seemed to be saying, “You know what you are supposed to be doing.” Well, I did. I knew I was supposed to be getting out of this house alive. I took Shadow out quickly and was waved back in again with the gun. Didn’t he ever put it down?

I sure wished I had a real name to go with the face. I’d like to know who I was dealing with, even if the name didn’t mean much to me. Manny, short for Manuel? Dark skin. Scraggly gray hair. Looked like his hair used to be black. Mexican? He didn’t look particularly Mexican. He just looked tanned. And unkempt. He wore an old undershirt with a torn and worn flannel shirt over it. Baggy faded jeans that were too long for him bunched up over scuffed black shoes. He looked like he’d stolen his clothes from the Goodwill drop off box and then worn them for a week straight.

As night settled in the stress level built up again. I could feel the tension rising. Manny was getting nervous. He poked me with the gun.

“Let’s go,” he said, “I need to find some stuff.”

We went out to the garage and he dug through the workbench until he came up with duct tape and a pocketknife.

“Lace your fingers together.”

He taped my fingers so they couldn’t move, then taped my wrists. We went back in the house and he shoved me to the floor. He brought my hands down to my knees and taped my hands and knees together and then my ankles. I wasn’t going anywhere. He made some more calls on the cell phone, finally getting through to somebody. I heard a one sided conversation.

“Oscar, where the fuck are you? I’ve been trying to get through all day…. So, you did it?… shit… yeah, I got a car and I got a hostage. Cute one, too…. It’s quiet here.” Long pause. “You better get outa there…. We can use my hostage and your car. It’ll be faster if we have to run. You did manage to get the keys… What do you mean you’re pinned down?… Shit! I could make a run for it without you. And you know I will if I have to… Two days. You have two days. I’m not waiting any longer than that and I’m only saying that because I got it good here. I’m all set.”

He hung up and almost threw the phone across the room. Instead he slugged the wall, sending sheetrock crumbling and knocking a picture off the wall. He threw the picture, missing my head by inches. He strode over, kicking me in the side and rolling me over so he could look me in the eyes. “Looks like you’re gonna be stuck with me for a long time. Things aren’t looking too good right now but things could change. Two days. Looks like you’ve got two days.” He cut off a strip of duct tape and put it over my mouth.

As the hours wore on I was glad for my training. I’d slept in worse places than this. Carpet was nice and comfy compared to foxholes and tents in the desert. I’d slept standing, sitting, hanging in trees. Only my thoughts kept me from sleeping now. Two days. I had to escape tomorrow. That’s it. That’s the plan, only half formed in my mind, but I did have options left to me. I didn’t know if I was willing to go down fighting. I wanted this to end peacefully with this guy behind bars, but the likelihood of the police strolling by was slim to nil. My mind was racing through all the possible outcomes until I felt like a rat in a maze, and then the maze became a haze and I dozed.