Girl, Stolen (21 page)

“I think south, but I’m not sure.” Cheyenne thought of something. “Can you ask them to turn on their sirens one at a time?”

“Yes, but what—” and then understanding broke. “Yes! Hang on, I’ll ask them to go one at a time. And you tell me which one you hear.”

“Car one,” the dispatcher said. Silence.

“Nothing,” Cheyenne said. She was afraid she wouldn’t be able to hear, so she lifted her foot from the accelerator.

With one hand, Cheyenne reached over and ran her fingers over the pane. It felt like a web of pebbles. The rock smashed down again just as she was touching the glass. And suddenly there was cold air pouring into the car. The hole was only as big as a dime, but she knew that wouldn’t last.

“Car two.”

“Still nothing.” Cheyenne had never felt more alone in her life.

“Car three.”

And finally she heard its wail.

“That’s it! And it sounds closer than it did before.”

“Got it!” the dispatcher said triumphantly. “We’re coming!”

Then a hand punched through the window and circled her throat, squeezing Cheyenne back against the headrest. The phone fell to the floor of the car. Where was the gun? She didn’t remember, and when she swept her hand over the seat, she couldn’t find it. Roy’s hand tightened. She couldn’t scream – she couldn’t even breathe – but she could hear the wail of the siren getting louder.

Scrabbling desperately, Cheyenne found the piece of glass in her pocket. She grabbed it – ignoring how it sliced her thumb – and dragged it across the back of his hand. Roy cursed, then let go of her throat and pried the piece of glass away from her. It was slick with blood, his and hers, and she couldn’t hold on.

Then Roy’s hand was back, like a steel band around her throat. She was going to die, just seconds before being rescued. No! No! She couldn’t die. Not now. Maybe if she started driving again, he would have to let go. One hand found the wheel as her foot pressed the accelerator.

Then there was a thump and a scream, and Roy’s hand was gone. And she felt the rear tire go over something.

Cheyenne heard a car screeching to a stop behind her. The siren cut out. Two doors were flung open.

A man’s voice called out. “Stop! Police! Stay on the ground!”

Footsteps ran toward her. “Cheyenne, it’s the police,” a second man said. “You’re safe now.”

Cheyenne didn’t move for a long moment. Then she said, “Let me feel your badge.” Her foot was on the brake, but she could pivot it to the accelerator at any time.

“What?”

“Didn’t they tell you I’m blind? Let me feel your badge. The man who just tried to kill me told me that he was a cop.” Cheyenne held out her left hand next to the hole – but she kept her right hand on the steering wheel.

She heard him fumble and then he pressed the badge into her hand. Cheyenne ran her thumb across the raised letters. With a trembling hand, she turned off the engine.

“What took you so long?” she whispered.

T
wo weeks later, the phone rang just as Cheyenne finished pouring hot water into her cocoa. She answered it.

“Hello?”

There was a silence at the end of the line. Then a voice said hesitantly, “Cheyenne?”

Suddenly, she was wide awake, even though she had only gotten four hours’ sleep the night before. She was still having trouble sleeping.

“Who is it, Cheyenne?” Danielle called from the living room. Danielle and Cheyenne’s dad were watching a football game.

“Just a second,” Cheyenne said into the phone and then called out, “It’s just a friend.”

Leaving the cocoa on the counter, she walked down the hall to her room, and closed the door.

“What do you want?” She leaned her forehead against the cool wood of the door.

Griffin’s voice was very soft. “I was calling to wish you a happy new year.”

“How did you get my number?” Cheyenne realized she was trembling. Sensing her emotions, Phantom got up from his bed on the floor and rubbed against her thigh. She steadied herself by resting her hand on the back of his neck.

“You gave it to my dad, remember? Twice.”

“Didn’t you think I might be trying to forget?”

“I’m sorry.” Griffin’s voice suddenly sounded younger and much less certain. “I’ll let you go.”

Cheyenne didn’t mean to say them, but the words burst out of her. “No – wait.” She took a deep breath. “Are you calling from Chicago?”

“So you heard about that? Yeah, they put me with my mom’s sister and her family. They say I met Aunt Debby when I was three, but I don’t remember it. Nobody liked Roy much, so I guess my mom stayed away after that.”

At the thought of Roy, Cheyenne felt her lip curl. “I guess they were right.”

“Yeah.” Griffin sighed. “I spent all those years thinking Mom must be mad at me. I still can’t believe she’s dead.”

Cheyenne had heard about the deaths: Griffin’s mom’s seven years ago and then Jimbo’s in the woods.

“Have you talked to your dad?”

Cheyenne couldn’t stand to think of Roy. It worked only if she thought of him as Griffin’s dad. She had run over his lower legs with her back tires, fracturing both of them. She had also shot him in the side, but the bullet had only grazed him, missing anything vital. Her dad had told Cheyenne that Roy had been charged with kidnapping, assault, and second-degree murder. Pending a mental health evaluation, TJ faced a dozen charges, including murder. Griffin had agreed to cooperate with authorities.

“No,” Griffin said. “I’m not allowed to. In fact, they don’t even know I’m calling you. I’m sure they would freak out if they knew we were talking.”

“Ditto,” Cheyenne said softly.

“I called from a pay phone in case your stepmom or dad answered. So they wouldn’t see my aunt’s name on the caller ID.”

Cheyenne had tried to explain it to them, but it was clear that Danielle and Nick were more comfortable thinking of Griffin as the bad guy who had kidnapped their daughter. They didn’t like to talk about how Cheyenne had done her best to kill Griffin or how he had saved her in the woods.

“Guess who’s in our backyard right now?”

There was a pause, then Griffin said slowly, “You’re not serious.”

“Yeah, Duke. I begged my parents until they hired a dog trainer to find him in the woods and then work with him here. A woman. He still doesn’t seem to like men very much.”

Griffin gave a short laugh. “It’s hard to think of Duke liking anyone.”

After a pause, Cheyenne said, “So how’s it going at your aunt’s house?”

“To be honest, I kind of feel like Duke. They all watch me out of the corner of their eye. They’ve signed me up for this high school for alternative students. It sounds like it will be me and the pregnant girls and the kids with drug problems.” But Griffin didn’t sound bitter. “If I have to do it, I figured I might get some of those recordings you talked about. You know, of books. See if they would help me read.”

“That’s good,” Cheyenne said. It was hard to talk. She had so many emotions, but they were mixed up so that she couldn’t feel any one of them. “A new year, a new you,” she said lightly.

“Hey, if Duke can do it…” Griffin said. “How about you? Do you have any New Year’s resolutions?”

“Just one. Always to take Phantom with me.” Hearing his name, Phantom looked up and butted her thigh. Absently, she scratched him behind the ears.

“Everything would have been completely different if you had had your dog.” It was hard to read what Griffin was feeling. Was he thinking about what he had learned about his dad? Or what he had learned about himself? Cheyenne knew that she would never be the same after what had happened.

“You’re right. Things never would have turned out the way they did,” Cheyenne said slowly. “But maybe that’s okay.”

“Cheyenne, are you about ready for lunch?” her dad called from the living room.

“Look, I’ve got to go,” she said.

“Can I call you again?” Griffin said quickly.

Cheyenne took a deep breath and thought about her answer.

I’d like to thank all the folks at Holt, but most especially my editor, Christy Ottaviano. Judy Watford generously shared her thoughts about being blind and even proofread the book by having her computer read it to her. Former Eugene high school student Leslie Elaine Weilbacher told me about her experiences, including how her guide dog, Cammy, changed her life. Robin Burcell, police investigator and author, pretty much knows everything and is always willing to share it. Portland 9-1-1 supervisor Todd DeWeese helped me with one final twist. And last but certainly not least, Malinda Carlson, Pacific Northwest field manager for Guide Dogs for the Blind, was beyond helpful.

April Henry
is the author of many acclaimed mysteries for adults and young adults. Her novel
Face of Betrayal
, which she co-wrote with Lis Wiehl, was a
New York Times
bestseller. She lives in Oregon.

April says, “
Girl, Stolen
was inspired by a story I saw on the local news. A blind girl had gone out to dinner with her parents. They wanted to do some Christmas shopping, and the girl stayed behind. Just like in
Girl, Stolen
, the mom left the keys in the car and someone stole it. In real life the girl was in the car for only a couple of miles. When she let the driver know she was there, he let her out. I watched her story that night and immediately thought, ‘What if?’

“I read a lot of autobiographies by people who were born blind or went blind, and I interviewed people who were blind, including a girl who was mainstreamed at a high school. I also talked to an eye doctor about head injuries and blindness. And I went to a Guide Dog School for the Blind and spent a day there. Toward the end, they put a blindfold on me and then gave me a dog and a harness and told me to put the latter on the former. That was difficult because I had never seen a harness up close and you have to pull on them to get them to fit snugly. I was worried I might hurt the dog, but I finally got it on. I was very proud of myself – until I tried to pat the dog on the head and realized I had harnessed up the back end!”

Visit April online at
www.aprilhenrymysteries.com