The Pace (30 page)

“Tell me something else about us,” I asked, trying to lighten the mood.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Something else about me—something about my past.”

He paused for a minute. “Well, I could tell you about the time I bailed you out of jail.”

“What? Shut up!”

He laughed. “I’m serious.”

“You are not.”

“Sophie, would I lie to you?”

I could tell he was smiling through the phone. I rolled my eyes, but I knew he wouldn’t lie. “Go ahead. Spill it, what did I do?” I switched hands with the phone and propped my elbow up on my window ledge so I could drive more comfortably. Plus, I wanted to make sure I could listen to this closely. He continued, unusually amused.

“Well, right after I met you in 1963, you invited me to a Free Speech Movement Rally. I hadn’t ever protested before, since I usually tried to lay low, but I wanted to be wherever you were, so I agreed. I picked you up, and you had a bandana tied around your head. It was very cute.”

I couldn’t help but smile as I pictured it. I could only imagine. I was starting to see why reincarnated souls didn’t remember everything. They would be tortured by having to relive the completely embarrassing moments.

“Keep going,” I prodded.

He chuckled softly. “You also had on a tie-dyed T-shirt.”

“Okay, I’ve heard enough.”

He laughed. “I’m just kidding. But you did have on a pink T-shirt that read, ‘Free Speech!’ in big, bold, black letters.”

I rolled my eyes. “Well that’s better, I suppose.”

“Anyway, we went to this rally, and I have to say, you brought out the protester in me. It was no surprise how passionate you were about other people’s rights. Your care for others is infectious. Being there with you made me want to hold up a sign.”

“So, how did I manage to get arrested and you didn’t?”

“Well, we protested for about an hour, and then you had to go to the bathroom. You went and never came back.”

“What, did I fall in?”

“No, Sophie.” He laughed. “But you did get mixed up with a crowd of girls who started throwing tomatoes at police officers. The officers didn’t appreciate it, so they took you in.”

“So, I didn’t even get arrested on my own?”

“Nope.”

I grunted. “So what happened?” I could tell he was grinning.

“Once I heard the commotion, I went over there in time to see you being handcuffed and guided into the back of a paddy wagon. So, I bailed you out. End of story.”

“How embarrassing.”

“It was cute.”

“I bet.”

“It was. Tomatoes in your hair and all.”

“Oh my gosh.”

“What? I like tomatoes,” he said, laughing.

I shifted in my seat. “You’d better be glad I can’t remember you. I bet you had long hair and bell-bottom jeans.”

He was silent for a second.

“Hah! You did!” I said triumphantly.

“No. Not long hair, but maybe the jeans,” he admitted.

I laughed out loud. At least I wasn’t the only victim of the 60s. I smiled until I realized my cheeks were getting achy and even then, I couldn’t stop.

A
bout forty-five minutes into my hour-long drive home, I was so wrapped up in my conversation with Wes that I didn’t realize I had been speeding. “Oh no,” I said out loud, as I saw the flashing lights on my tail. I didn’t even know what the speed limit was, but I didn’t feel like I had been going
that
fast. “Dang it,” I said, disappointed at my lack of awareness.

“What is it?” Wes asked.

“I’m getting pulled over. What do I do?”

He steadied my focus. “Is there a shoulder on the road for you to pull off onto?”

“No. Let me call you back.” Crashing on top of it all was the last thing I needed.

“No,” he interjected. “I’ll wait.”

I was having trouble multitasking with the blue light flashing in my rearview, but I managed to pull over at the next straightaway.

“I pulled over. What now?” I asked.

His voice was experienced and very specific. “You need to get your license out. He’s going to ask you for your car registration and driver’s license.”

“Okay, I think I have those.” I leaned over to open the glove compartment to find the registration and a bunch of papers fell out onto the floor. I could see the shadow approaching with a flashlight, and I couldn’t fumble through my purse, the glove compartment mess, and talk to Wes at the same time.

“Hang on, Wes, I have to set the phone down.” Without waiting for his reply, I set it down on the passenger seat and leaned over to find my registration card. I saw the insurance card still sitting in the glove box. I sat back up, and even though I had been expecting the officer’s arrival, his tap on my window startled me. I jumped and then blinked away the blinding glare of his flashlight. I put my window down, so he could talk to me. He wasted no time scolding me.

“Do you know how fast you were going, miss?”

“Uh, no officer, I don’t. I’m sorry.”

He leaned in, toward my window, and flashed the light closer to my eyes. I squinted until I had to look away. He took a few steps back.

“I’m going to need you to step out of the car.” The voice was deep and authoritative, but his demand was not what I’d expected.

“What?” I asked, for clarification.

“You need to step out of the vehicle.”

I’d seen enough television to know this didn’t happen for speeding, and I hadn’t been doing anything else. “What for?” I asked, trying to block the light from my eyes.

The officer let out a sigh of impatience, but I refused to move until I was sure I’d heard him correctly. After a few seconds of not answering me, the officer very slowly and calmly, uttered, “Lenny, Lenny, Lenny. You are still
so
defiant.”

I leaned my head to the side in an effort to see around the light. I tried to get a visual of the shadow, and that’s when I saw a white cloth zeroing in on me. My face was aggressively overtaken as the fabric was shoved over my mouth and nose. I was forced to inhale a sweet, burning scent. I naturally flinched away, but the hand holding the cloth pushed harder. Once I realized this was no ordinary pullover, I made the decision to scream, but my vocal cords were numb. I started to panic and instinctively went to put my Jeep in drive, but my wrist was restrained by the grip of the stranger’s much stronger hand.

Tightness permeated through my lungs. Within seconds, my eyelids started to close. I struggled as best as I could to push away my attacker. I reached for the eyes and scratched at his arms, but nothing worked. I only got weaker and weaker with each passing second.

As I slipped into an involuntary slumber, I could tell I was being pulled out of my car. My heels were scraping the ground, and I tried to kick my legs, but they were too heavy to follow my command. Instead, I could feel the grinding of gravel under my heels as I was being dragged. I tried to scream, but nothing came out. The cloth was still smothering my face. My eyes were closed, so I couldn’t see, but I was coherent enough to feel myself being lifted and roughly shoved into the back of a trunk. Complete blackness came over me.

By the time I woke up, I was in a windowless room. I couldn’t tell if it was day or night, but the air was close. I felt claustrophobic. My first pain was a major crick in my neck. I tried to rub it with my hand, but I couldn’t, because my wrists were bolted to the arms of my chair. That’s when the horror struck.

I realized I wasn’t hearing the sound of Wes’ voice anymore. I wasn’t laughing. I wasn’t about to see him. I had been
kidnapped
. What the heck happened? The last thing I could remember was being pulled over and then being suffocated with a rag. Where was I? I didn’t know. My heart began to race.

I instantly regretted not letting Wes take the trip with me. My overconfidence in my safety had put me in the most feared position any young girl could think of. Yet, somehow, at that moment, I couldn’t bring myself to fear for my own well-being. Instead, I felt anguish for the frenzy I was sure Wes was going through at that very moment.

I had just convinced him to relax and to be optimistic, that I wasn’t going to die on him, and there I was in a strange room waiting for a stranger to return, with a sentence I was sure would be death.

I cringed as I heard a door to my right open. A dimmed light spread across the floor. The stretch of light was overtaken by a dark silhouette heading my direction. I instantly looked away and without a doubt, that was the exact moment when I began to fear for my life. The figure approached me slowly. “I see you’re awake now, Lenny,” he observed.

I kept my head down, too terrified to see the face of my captor.

With a tone of arrogance, the voice responded to my silence. “What’s the matter? Don’t you have something to say?”

I shook my head and kept my eyes closed, trying to block out thoughts of what was going to happen to me. My captor knelt down in front of me. He moved the hair away from my eyes, but I still kept them closed. He chuckled in amusement.

“Maybe you don’t answer to Lenny. Hmm…maybe you prefer something else?”

I closed my eyes tight and pressed my chin to my chest trying to block out the stench of the nicotine coming off of his breath. My stomach felt sick. What was going on? Who was this guy? I decided I didn’t want to know. I kept trying to drown him out.

“Still no response? That’s okay. I’m sure you’ll have something to say soon.”

He started walking around my chair, being sure to stay close enough so that some part of his body was rubbing past me at all times. I don’t think I exhaled the entire time he circled.

“You see, you think you have fooled everyone, but I’m on to you.” He circled the chair one more time. “You think that you can do whatever you want in this world and not have to suffer the consequences.” He stopped in front of my chair. “And the worst part about it is that you don’t think anyone else has a right to your little ‘discovery.’ That’s not very nice, Lenny.”

He reached under my chin with his rough hand. I pulled away.

“Oh, come on, Lenny. Don’t you want to make amends?”

I started trying to block out every horrible thought that was running through my mind. I tried to pretend he would go away if I ignored him long enough. He bent down to my level.

“Come on, Lenny. You’re not making this very fun for me. I would appreciate it if you said something. You know? Like leave me alone, don’t hurt me, or at the very least, who are you?”

I blocked it out. I tried to think about driving in my car again, like this never happened. I could tell he was losing patience. Shockingly, he took one deep breath and on the exhale, he yelled in my face, “How about, ‘Who are you?’” I was literally shaking by then, and I was doing everything I could to hold back uncontrollable sobs. Taking it even one step louder he shouted, “Ask it!”

I flinched, and with a hoarse and weak voice I asked, “Who are you?”

He stood up, excited. “That’s better!” He started walking around my chair again. After he circled a few times, he said, “I’m insulted that you do not remember me. Let me see if I can help you.” He walked over and turned on the light. My eyes were still closed, but it was enough of a difference in lighting for me to notice.

“Oh now now, Lenny, don’t be shy. Open your eyes. This is the important part.” I was still too terrified to oblige, so he hustled back over to my chair and yanked my head back so I was looking up. “Now open your eyes!” he commanded.

I wanted to cry, and at that point, I knew he was going to get even more violent if I didn’t cooperate. I blinked my eyes open, giving them proper time to adjust to the light, and that’s when my heart skipped a beat. There were several pictures of Wes and me on the wall. I saw myself eating a funnel cake with Wes at the carnival; I saw a picture of us eating at the sandwich shop; and I saw several zoomed-in shots of us separately. It was an odd, creepy obsession.

“Do you like them?” he asked. I shifted my eyes toward him in hopes of recognizing the face. I was instantly sure I hadn’t run into him before. He was older, I would’ve put him in his 60s, but he was muscular and very intimidating. He had a wide neck and a large, square jaw that was covered in sandy-gray stubble. His hair was a darker, greasy-gray color. I turned away quickly. “Oh, don’t do that, Lenny; you haven’t answered the question yet. Who am I?”

I closed my eyes again, trying to drown out the sicko. He got angry again. “Who am I?” he shouted in my ear.

“I don’t know!” I shouted back.

“Ah, feisty as ever,” he said, seeming pleased. He started walking around me again, and when he reached the front of my chair, he bent down again. “Take one good look and try to guess.”

I inhaled, taking a slow, deep breath, and opened my eyes. I took another glimpse at his face for as long as I could tolerate, which was about two milliseconds, and then closed them again. “I don’t know,” I croaked.

He stood up, but remained standing right in front of me. “Understandable,” he said. “But let me see if I can refresh your memory.” He took a step closer and grabbed the index and middle fingers on my right hand. With a stomach-turning twist, he snapped my fingers back at the joints. I let out an ear-piercing shriek. The pain shot through my arm. Instinctively, I tried to grab them with my other hand, but my arm was still bolted to the other armrest.

“Does that refresh your memory?” he asked. I was cringing in pain as I felt the throbbing in my deformed fingers. “No? Well, how about this then?” He grabbed the last two fingers on the same hand and bent them back with even more force than the first. I screamed again and started crying in pain, fear, and anger.

“Why are you doing this to me?” I cried out.

He leaned right in my face and said, with an eerily deep voice, “Because your boyfriend owes me a broken hand, Lenny.”

I
 opened my eyes, trying to put together the accusation. With the stare of his fiery, ruthless, egotistical eyes, I made the connection. “Andy,” I whispered.