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Fischer was the 11
th
world chess champion and many people (including Avril) thought he was the best to ever play the game. She’d studied every one of his pro games, and she knew everything there was to know about the championship series when he beat Boris Spassky in 1972, by 12½ to 8½ points.

During the match, Fisher had his own challenges, and Avril wondered what he would do if he were chained in the dark place instead of her.

He’d lost the opening game and complained about the crowd of reporters and photographers that had distracted him. He forfeited the second game in protest, and most observers thought he had just handed the crown over to Spassky.

How could she learn from his reaction?

She thought a long time, wondering if she could play dead believably or tell daddy that she’d changed and would be a normal girl like he wanted, rather than a freak.

The wounds where her fingers were removed started to hurt more and more, and tears started to fall from her eyes. She’d thought she’d used up all her tears, but apparently she still had a few.

After another forever waiting, the room went dark and she fell back into a dreamless sleep.

Cindy felt awful. It’d been nine days since the Manipulator had stolen Avril from her, and they had been the worst nine days of her life.

This was the first time she’d left her home in that time, always afraid to miss a critical e-mail or other type of message from the kidnapper.

Tony had been around some of the time, but he seemed to always find a reason to go out.

“It’s just how I deal with this,” he’d said. Although she didn’t understand that in the slightest, she was always actually grateful when he left her alone.
One less monster to worry about.

Today, though, she knew she’d hit bottom. She was down to her last chance, and she knew that once the morning was over, the possibility of ever seeing her beautiful daughter alive again would be close to nil.

It had hit her a little after 3:00 a.m., two nights ago. Over and over, she’d replayed in her mind’s eye the scenes she’d watched over the streaming video on the Manipulator’s website. Her mother’s memory saw every scene replayed with complete clarity, and that night she realized that at one point Avril had stared at the Manipulator with a strange look in her eyes. As Cindy froze that image in her mind, it suddenly hit her: Avril was looking at the man’s face. He hadn’t covered it with a mask. Avril was seeing exactly what he looked like, even though he always kept his back to the camera.

That meant she could never be released.

She parked her car and walked steadfastly to the office complex ahead of her. There was a side door that she entered. Above it, a sign said:

* * *

WLRY Radio

The Best Little Station In Seattle.

* * *

This was the employee entrance, and she used her passkey to enter a stairwell that led her to the second floor where she ducked into the bathroom.

Her image in the mirror looked like she was dressed up for Halloween as some kind of zombie rock star. Her hair was normally shiny and bright, but she hadn’t showered or brushed her hair the entire time Avril had been gone. The strands were a nest of tangles and she probably stank too, but she didn’t much give a damn.

 I need to convince Ryan to help me, not call the cops.

She splashed a few handfuls of water on her face and tied her hair back into a makeshift pony. When she smiled she didn’t look quite so much like a walking corpse. She stared at herself, wondering where the woman she used to be had gone.

The Manipulator was going to kill Avril. There was little doubt . . . especially since she couldn’t raise the half million dollars he’d asked for.

Her only choice was to roll the dice. There was still one way to raise the money and even though it would break the kidnapper’s number one rule, it was all she had left.

Cin took a deep breath, forced a smile, and walked down the hall to the studio. It was five minutes before 1:00 p.m., the start time of her radio show, the show she’d all but abandoned.

* * *

As she entered the studio, she felt weak. She couldn’t remember when she’d last eaten, and the additional stress of coming here was weighing heavily on her.

“Holy shit!”

Ryan Hustings stared at her with his mouth hung open.

“Good to see you too, Ryan.”

He only hesitated a second before a mask of anger crawled down his face. “Where the hell have you been? You just disappear with no fucking notice? What the hell, Cin?”

“I can explain. It’s been . . .”

She refused to cry anymore. Sometimes it felt like that was all she could do, but the millions of tears she’d shed hadn’t helped.

“You look sick.”

Ryan moved closer, and that simple movement caused Cin to get skittish. “Stay away! I just need your help. Don’t touch me!”

Ryan glanced at the booth and Cin followed his look. Sitting behind the broadcast desk was Jerome Tyson, a second-stringer who covered the midnight to four a.m. show on weekends.

“Jerome covering for me?”

“Yes. Hard to get somebody on short notice, you know.” She heard the bitterness in his voice.

“Ryan, I’m sorry. I know I let you down, but you have to trust me now. You know I’ve never missed so much as a single day before. You know that. You know I’d never let you down if I had a choice.”

She took one step toward him and opened her eyes wide. “Please, help me.”

The anger in his face seemed to fade, and she knew their friendly history was reasserting itself.

“What do you want?”

“Put me on the air. With you.”

“What are you talking about? You’re in no condition to host a show.”

“I’ve got the story of a lifetime for you. You’ve always wanted to get a real scoop, right? This is what you’ve been waiting for.”

Ryan didn’t answer immediately. Cin looked at her watch.

“It’s show time, Ryan. Trust me.”

He blinked and nodded, then led Cin to the booth, asking Jerome Tyson to head out to the production area but not to leave. He might be needed back in the booth any time.

* * *

Three minutes later, they were live. Ryan worked the controls from inside the booth instead of his normal working area outside. Cindy knew he’d only been on air with her a handful of times, usually when they wanted to have a bit of banter about what plans they had for Christmas holidays or something similar.

She tried to relax and focus. This was all about Avril, the last real chance.

Ryan was talking, welcoming the listening audience. Although his voice didn’t quite crack, Cindy could hear the nervousness sneaking through. A glass of ice water sat on the console (presumably brought by Jerome). She picked it up and took a long drink and licked her lips.

“And here she is,” Ryan said. He looked at her with both relief and fear written all over his face. Relief that he wasn’t the one talking anymore and fear of the unknown story that Cindy had to tell.

“Hello,” she said. She spoke barely above a whisper, but her professional history kicked in and she began to project clearer with every word.

“You have been loyal listeners of mine for almost ten years. Most of you, though, don’t even know my real name. That was my choice, of course. I wanted to separate my personal life from my radio life.”

She took another drink of water.

“I’ve interviewed thousands of people, asking them the questions I hope you wanted the answers to. I’ve played the songs I’ve loved, hoping you love them too. And of course I’ve talked to many of you on the phone when you’ve called.

“Today I have a different story. Today I’m going to tell you about me.

“My real name is Cindy McKay. I am 35 years old. I’m married and I have a beautiful ten-year-old daughter, who is my whole world. Her name is Avril, and she’s the smartest little thing you’ve ever seen. She is some kind of chess genius, she loves her stuffed bunny rabbit, she gets good marks in school, she laughs at her mother’s lame jokes, and she gives me a hug every night before bed.”

She could feel her voice starting to choke so she paused to catch her breath. She was trying not to spend too much time dwelling on Avril, but she couldn’t help it. The girl was on her mind every minute of every day.

Ryan just stared at Cindy, and she had every intention of totally ignoring him.

“Avril was kidnapped nine days ago.”

“Ohmygod, Cin . . .”

Cindy pressed her hands to her cheeks, as if she was trying to stop her head from exploding. She wanted to keep on ignoring Ryan and concentrate on her story, but she couldn’t help but glance up and see the shock on his face.

“This morning, a Fed Ex delivery man brought me a package. It was . . . proof that time is almost out. I couldn’t come up with the ransom demand.

“The man who stole my daughter calls himself the Manipulator.”

She stopped talking. Her lips were quivering and nothing more would come out. She felt confused. There were a dozen sentences all swarming around in her mind like drunken bees all running into one another. She rubbed her eyes and waved a hand at Ryan.

He took control.

“Cin, I had no idea any of this was going on. Tell us what we can do to help.”

He stood and moved to her side of the desk and gave her a hug. The listeners driving out there on I-5 or wherever they were travelling would have only heard some light sobbing and perhaps some incomprehensible mumblings for several minutes.

Once she calmed down, Cindy spoke once again into the microphone.

“I need help. I’m so far over my head, I don’t know what to do. I need to try to pay the ransom and hope that for some reason he lets her live. I need five hundred thousand dollars that I don’t have.”

Ryan stared at her, but he didn’t say anything. She thought he wasn’t sure if he should encourage listeners to send money or not. She shrugged. She didn’t know, either. Surely there was some moral problem in begging listeners for money, but she had no choice.

“Please, please help me. I live at 3903 Cherry Hill Lane. You can send cheques there.”

Ryan added, “I’ll set up a Paypal account and post it on our website.”

Cindy looked at him and couldn’t hold the tears back anymore. She cried and cried and at some point, she felt he was back holding her and then he helped her out of the broadcast booth.

Jerome was outside, mouth gaping. She saw Ryan nod his head to him, telling him to get on the air.

Somehow, Cindy drove home, even though she was beyond tired and incredibly stressed and distracted. And later that day, she finally fell asleep, dreamless and without moving a muscle for six hours. It was by far the longest she’d slept since her living nightmare had started.

Tony McKay didn’t hear his wife’s plea on the radio. Neither did he hear the news that night when an incredulous broadcaster talked about the horrible tragedy that well-known radio personality, Cin, had undergone. He stayed most of the night with Deb, only going back to their home after 1:00 a.m., so he missed the first visit by the police. Cindy was asleep, so she couldn’t tell him anything even if she felt so inclined.

He slept later than normal, not blinking his eyes open until after 7:30. His first thought was of the night before with Deb, and he felt himself smiling. It was only after he relived the memory that he noticed Cindy wasn’t in the bed with him.

Fine by me
, he thought.

He went for a fast shower and got dressed, deciding to skip breakfast and head out for a quick peek at Avril. He didn’t know exactly where Cindy was and didn’t care. Tony was now focused on checking to see if his daughter was still alive and available for broadcasting.

On the way, he clicked on the radio, and it was the 8:00 news that told him the story.

“Radio broadcaster Cin, now revealed to be Cindy McKay, made a startling revelation yesterday, saying that her ten-year-old daughter has been kidnapped and is being held for a half million dollar ransom.”

“What the fuck . . . ?”

Tony pulled the car over to the side of the road.

“Unbelievable. What the fuck have you done, you stupid bitch?”

There weren’t many more details provided before the broadcaster switched to a story about the previous month’s inflation figures.

He clicked off the radio and pulled his Samsung phone out, pressing his way over to Google News. There was story after story about the kidnapping. He scanned a couple of them and shook his head.

The car was still running. He clicked the ignition off, needing time to think.

What I really need is a beer
, he thought. But he had no alcohol in the car.

What are my options?

He closed his eyes and tried to think, but there didn’t seem to be any good choices ahead of him. One thing was clear: the police were going to suffocate the house, and as with any kidnapping, the people closest to the victim would be the prime suspects. He would be their number one choice, even if they pretended otherwise.

This might be the last time I can get out without being followed.

“Jesus, Cindy.”

He started the car and took the time to look around. There was nobody stopped behind him, but he waited a few minutes just to be sure nothing else seemed suspicious before pulling back out onto the road.

He drove carefully, sticking to the speed limit, and wound his way to the abandoned farmhouse. The last several miles were a dirt road and he could tell for sure there was nobody about to ambush him.