Wanted
Authors: Amanda Lance
Table of Contents
Wanted
Copyright © 2013 by Amanda Lance. All rights reserved.
Limitless Publishing, LLC
Kailua, HI 96734
http://www.limitlesspublishing.com
First Kindle Edition: April 2013
Editor:
Toni Rakestraw
Cover Design:
Eden Crane Designs
Formatting:
Streetlight Graphics
This eBook is licensed for the personal enjoyment of the original purchaser only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
To all of my imaginary friends.
“So farewell hope, and with hope farewell fear, Farewell remorse; all good to me is lost. Evil, be thou my good.”
Paradise Lost, Book IV, Lines 108-110
Chapter 1
D
id you know 30,000 people are kidnapped around the world every year?
Ironically, part of the reason I was kidnapped had to do with the search for quality family time. In truth, there was no need for us to drop Robbie off at the army base. We all knew he could have accepted an offer from one of his buddies to catch a ride with them. He could have even taken a bus if he wanted. I think Dad must have thought the short road trip was an opportunity to savor some of those sitcom family-style moments together. Although he wouldn’t admit it, I suspected he was afraid it was the last time we would all be together. Granted, none of us thought I would be the one in mortal peril.
As we drove to Fort Drum, Robbie and I took the immense opportunity to tease Dad about his growing sentiments. “I bet you weren’t this emotional when you fought in Desert Storm, Old Man,” Robbie taunted.
“Now, now Robbie.” I had put the marker in my book and kicked the back of his seat. “That’s disrespectful. You know Dad prefers to be called Sir Gray Hair. Or,” I corrected myself, “He-with-the-Fuzzy-Inner-Ears.”
Robbie laughed his Robbie laugh. “Mr. Receding Hairline.”
Dad laughed. “You kids are just lucky I can hold my temper.”
When Robbie embraced him that last time at the entrance gate, Robbie repeated his “if you were me” argument once more. Through the entire sham of their debate, I watched the sun lowering as cadets brought in the various flags for the evening—the gold and pink commanding a stronghold over the sky and everything beneath it. Perhaps I should have been playing referee as Mom would have done and as I had been doing since her absence, but at this juncture, their arguments served less purpose than usual. Still, I thought maybe it was better for them to say it all out loud than have it be left unsaid.
“I’m going to live my life the way I want to,” Robbie said.
“You were lucky to make it through there once, it might not happen again.”
“You can’t expect me to just leave my friends out there while I stay here—”
“I expect you to stay safe.”
Once they wore themselves out, we all engaged in the family tradition of substituting the seriousness of the situation with humor.
“If you were me, you’d be doing the same thing, Old Man.”
“If I were you, I would have joined the Corps … sissy.”
As Robbie and I said our farewells, he gave me one of those awkward sibling hugs that we usually only saved for holidays or tragedy.
“Take care of yourself, Addie.”
“I always do.”
He sighed. “Sometimes that might mean not taking care of everybody else.”
I just laughed at him. “You can lecture me when you get home … sissy.”
Dad and I got back in the car and I immediately began fiddling with the radio to avoid that narrow silence that settled between us. Even after we pulled back onto the freeway, it continued for miles, long into the evening hours until the local radio stations fizzled out and I had to change them to other, unfamiliar ones.
Without music to distract me, my mind began trailing back to when Mom first got sick. Despite the politics, I was proud of Robbie for joining the army. It was something he had mentioned long before Mom’s cancer and remained eager about despite our parents’ protests.
Mom’s illness was a prime opportunity for exit.
“You can’t just leave when things get bad,” I said to Robbie.
“I can’t stay here, Addie. Not like this.”
In time, I could see his point. On some level, I even envied his ability to get away so easily. Mom needed more care than she would admit, and once she was gone, Dad needed more time and attention than a kid. Treatment could offer Mom more time, yet it wouldn’t be with the Mom we knew.
When offered her options, Mom had laughed what remained of her laugh. “Thanks, but another couple months of this? I think I’d rather eat my husband’s cooking. Or my son’s, for that matter …”
It was only a few weeks later that she was on her deathbed, telling me she loved me, and teasing me because my socks didn’t match.
But now I slipped my feet out of my sandals and tried to stretch, tried to daydream, tried not to worry about my big brother.
“Get your feet off the dash, Addie. I don’t want them to scuff the glove box.”
Reluctantly, I let my feet slide down back into my shoes, my legs already missing the stretch the tall console provided.
All around us, the meandering trees and woods seemed to suffocate us, and yet ahead was a clear, outstretched highway that promised freedom if you only stayed the course. I rolled down the window and felt my fingers dance against the wind. Briefly, I considered what it would be like to feel my whole body out there.
“How much longer until we get to the exit?” I asked.
Dad sighed. “Maybe an hour. That accident back there took us off route by forty-two miles. Just be patient, Addie.”
I smiled and flipped my sunglasses back on. Looking at the night through the dark lens was strange but not entirely unpleasant. If nothing else, they blocked out some of the brighter headlights coming from the opposite direction. I turned my attention back to Dad. There were very few things Dad hated more in life than falling off course. It was easy to see he was annoyed at having to drive at night, having refused my offer to take the wheel.
“I’m really just concerned for you, Old Man. I know senior citizens run strict schedules for themselves. If we don’t get home by eleven, you might miss out on a rerun of
Green Acres
.”
Finally, he smiled. “Watch it, Missy.” He tugged on my ponytail playfully. “I’ll give you something to be concerned about.”
I laughed. “You’re just cranky because you haven’t had your Metamucil today.”
Dad laughed at the old joke, but it was a tired, forced laugh, more for my sake than anything else.
In return, I pretended not to notice the artifice in his demeanor. It was like a game of charades that I almost always let him or Robbie win. It was obvious his thoughts were still at Fort Drum with Robbie—but I wasn’t going to call him out on his right to worry.
In my own way, I had attempted to make it up to him a few months earlier by finishing high school. Granted, an uneventful occasion for a homeschooled kid, but it seemed to make him happy for a minute. And while Dad buried himself in work projects, I threw myself into my studies as a college freshman. Usually we met at dinner or somewhere in-between.
“It seems like he just got home,” Dad said suddenly.
It was getting harder for me to stay positive. “Then just think of how fast time will fly until he comes home again.” My smile felt fake and it made me feel like a liar.
Dad laughed again. “What would I do without you, Addie?”
“Phh! Starve to death, run out of clean clothes, never get the car serviced.”
He mockingly bowed to me. “Yes, Daughter, you are exceptionally important.”
I feigned a curtsy. “Why thank you, Father, it is so nice to be appreciated.”
We stayed silent for a long time. This was one of those many moments where I was wishing I knew more about sports or accounting errors or anything else Dad was interested in just to keep a conversation going. When Robbie first left, Dad would frequently spend his spare time pacing the hallways or working on things in the yard, just for the sake of keeping occupied. We were like that in a sense. To avoid thinking we put ourselves to work. But while his arena was his office, mine was the thick stacks of book in the library.
I leaned back and looked at myself over in the side-view mirrors, my hair was a thick, blonde mess— much like Mom’s had been before the chemotherapy. And although my features were symmetrical, I always thought my nose was a little too sharp for my face. My eyes were also as green as Mom’s had been, with that same almond shape I was occasionally complimented about.
Other than that, I was more ordinary than anything else. For whatever genetic reason, I wasn’t long and lean like my parents. Instead, I was petite with a simple frame. If I had cared or put enough effort into it, maybe I could have been a dancer, but the motivation never came to me.
I wrapped my wrists around themselves until I heard the dull pop of the joints. We had only been driving for three hours, but already I could feel the heaviness of the long ride setting into my body.
Intentionally, I put my feet back up on the dash. Dad saw me out of the corner of his eye, but he didn’t say anything. I moaned dramatically and slithered as far down into my seat as my seatbelt would allow. Twisting side to side, I cracked my back until there was no sound left. For a moment, I thought I saw Dad smile, but I wasn’t certain. I put my feet down and sighed loudly.
“Yep, I sure miss those days when I could feel my limbs.”
I sighed again and almost burst out laughing, but contained myself. I started playing with the power seating instead.
“Dad? Dad? Dad?” Skating back and forth on the chair’s axis, I began to chant like a mosquito in his ear. “Hey Dad, maybe we could make a stop? Dad? Hey, Dad? Dad? Dad?” He was pretending not to hear me.
“Dad, my leg’s asleep, I can’t feel spine, I must stretch properly.” I reached out to him like I had seen so many dying heroes do in the westerns he liked. Although he still pretended not to see, he smiled.
“We’re not scheduled for a stop.”
