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Still I say nothing, only clench the faux-leather steering wheel in a death grip and drive. Instinctively I know I have to get control of this situation somehow. They always say not to go with the kidnapper. You never go along with the kidnapper, no matter what.
I can feel the pistol in my waistband, pressing uncomfortably against my hip.
He leans forward so he’s right behind me. I can almost smell the mint on his breath. “Can I just say I find this side of you a turn-on?” he says, in his gentle baritone.
After what they did to me in Room 213, this is more than I can take. My eyes immediately tear up as I drive. “Shh,” he consoles me, stroking my hair. “Here, pull into that McDonalds. I want to show you something.”
In the same gentle, coercive voice, he urges me to the dim edges of the parking lot, beside the dumpster. Trash spills over onto the pavement, teeming with flies. Christian asks for the keys from the ignition and I hand them over without resistance. My heart is pounding as I wait for the right moment. I still don’t know if he’s armed.
He gets out of the back, comes around and opens the passenger door. He has to ease his legs in around my backpack on the passenger side floor, and this slows him down—my only chance.
Even as he climbs in next to me, I wrench the handgun from behind me and point it straight in his face.
Across the barrel of the gun he looks at me almost shyly, wearing a small smile. His long hair parts neatly down the center. His hand is hidden in one of the pockets of his black leather jacket.
“Don’t move, motherfucker,” I growl. My back is pressed to the door and the gun is only inches from his face.
He sighs slowly. “Good seeing you again, too. You look like hell. What did they do to you?”
He starts to reach toward me, as if to touch my face. I press the tip of the gun to his forehead to shove him back. “Put your hands up, slowly,” I say. He doesn’t move. “Get your hand out of your pocket! Now!”
His smile is almost sad. “You think I want to hurt you? I don’t want any of this. All I want is to love you.”
“I’ll shoot you, Christian,” I whisper.
“I believe you would,” he whispers back. “But you know what’s funny? I feel closer to you now than ever before. After watching you, seeing how you coped. You’re such a good mother. And you’re just like me! Driven by a primal urge, some evolutionary compulsion. Even willing to kill to get what you want.”
This is like a knife to my belly. Willing to kill? What does he mean by that? I start to sweat in worry for my son. “It was an accident,” I say, shakily. “I didn’t mean to kill them.”
“Shh, it’s okay. I like that you did it. It shows what a good mother you are. You’ll stop at nothing to find Troy. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes. That’s right.” The gun trembles in my hand.
“Then do it,” he says.
I stare at him, not comprehending. His smile never wavers. He turns slightly, raises his free hand very slowly, and points a finger at his own forehead. I let him do this, too surprised to react.
“Do it,” he says again, in his eerily calm voice. “Shoot me.” His smile widens almost imperceptibly. “And never see your son again.”
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SO DAMN BEAUTIFUL: THE LONELY ONE
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About A.E. Hodge
At the nightclub of awesome reads, wizard of weird A. E. Hodge is spinning a pulse-pounding mix of horror, dark fantasy, and thrillers! A fugitive from small-town America, Hodge found refuge in a steady diet of fiction, from RPGs and anime to Stephen King novels and Tarantino flicks. Now he weaves his love for all things twisted, disturbing, and darkly beautiful into his own stories. Often featuring intricate plots, brutal violence, morally gray characters, surreal circumstances, grim settings, and thought-provoking themes, Hodge's work explores fear—and triumph over fear—in all its forms, from the mundane to the magical to the downright morose.
A.E. Hodge is the author of "Spoiled Lunch and Other Creepy Tales" and the "So Damn Beautiful" horror-thriller series. He lives outside Baltimore, MD with his girlfriend and their dog, a Papillon named Sierra (the brains behind the operation).
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental
Copyright © 2015 by A.E. Hodge
Cover design by M.F. Mueller
Edited by J.P. Peters
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