“You could let us off anywhere along here,” I suggest, trying to sound casual despite the fact that my voice is probably about half an octave higher than normal. Three-fourths an octave at most.
The store manager doesn’t answer. He just rubs his temple as though he’s got a big headache. It’s probably stress related even though he’s not the one who’s been kidnapped.
My mind drifts back to the backpack that he has sitting in his lap. Given the circumstances, it seems a petty thing to dwell on, but I can’t make myself stop. How did these guys end up with it? I didn’t get a good look at the man who shoved me down the stairs, but I had the distinct impression that he was more…unkempt than either of these two men. Was that just my mind playing tricks on me? Still, it seems unlikely that the store manager was at the hospital. His brother might have been, but I really think the guy who hit me was bigger. So what? Was there a third guy in on this thing somehow? It just doesn’t seem like robbing the convenience store should be such a big operation though. Why would they need to steal a bag to pull it off anyway? Maybe the guy who took it just tossed it in the garbage or something.
I picture the grungy guy rifling through the backpack as he staggers down the street, leaving a trail of my stuff as he goes. He flips through my wallet before shrugging and tossing it over his shoulder. As he’s passing the convenience store, he reaches into the bag once again and pulls out my scrubs shirt. His eyes light up and a stream of light beams down on him from the heavens as he pulls the matching pants and my stethoscope as well, letting the bag tumble from his grasp as he turns and scurries back to the hospital, donning the outfit as he goes. I can see him walking the halls, laughing with the janitor, chatting up the nurses, pretending to diagnose patients… Oh, God! Now he’s sitting in the lounge on the sofa next to Dr. Cox as they watch stories together! This is so unfair!
I cringe as he gathers the material of the shirt into his hand and pulls it up to take a big sniff--
Okay, I definitely need to focus on something else.
“At least let Nurse Espinosa go,” I try to bargain. “I can drive you wherever you want to go.” I see Carla giving me a warning look in the rearview mirror. She shakes her head ever-so-slightly, though I can tell that she’s conflicted. I’m not; Turk would never forgive me if I let anything happen to her. I’m not sure I would forgive me, either.
“Why isn’t he waking up yet?” Our captor asks, ignoring my offer.
I glance at his brother and feel a little bit guilty as I see the thin trail of blood that has dribbled from his hairline down to his chin. I must have clocked--rather phoned--him pretty hard. Despite the fact that it seems like it’s been hours, I know we’ve only been driving for about two minutes, which means that he’s only been unconscious for about three or four. Still, that’s a long time to be out.
“He’ll be fine,” I assure the store manager, hoping that I’m not lying. Because the robber lost consciousness for longer than a minute he does have at least a grade 3 concussion, which means there’s a lot greater possibility of there being a more traumatic brain injury. I’m slightly relieved to note that he’s starting to move a little bit and making small groaning sounds, though. I’d probably be ecstatic that one of my two abductors be incapacitated except that I have a really bad feeling that Carla and I won’t be set free until the robber is in at least decent shape. My stomach churns as an uncomfortable thought tries to fight its way to the surface of my consciousness. I refuse to acknowledge it; I have to keep positive about this. We’ll get home tonight, I know we will.
“He better be,” the manager grumbles, looking back over his shoulder at his brother.
For a brief moment I entertain the idea of lunging at him and taking the gun while he’s distracted. I’m wiry enough that it probably wouldn’t be too hard to get between the seats. But would I be quick enough? What if I got wedged in or if he shot Carla before I could actually get to the gun? It’s a risk I can’t take, so I stay obediently in my seat.
I turn my attention to the brother as he struggles toward consciousness. His eyelids begin to flutter and he starts to sit up a little bit. “You should stay still,” I tell him softly, the doctor in me taking over as I gently press his shoulder back down against the seat. Sitting up too fast will most likely result in a Code Green.
His eyes open fully and he peers up at me in confusion. I’m not sure if it’s a ‘what happened’ questioning look or if it’s concussion-induced, so I decide to answer the first one. “You hit your head,” I explain, choosing not to reveal that I’m the one who hit him in the head. I fear he’ll remember that soon enough. First thing, I need to check his vision. I hold up two fingers. “How many fingers do you see?”
After a brief moment, he answers correctly. The small hesitation could be a sign of disorientation, or it could be that his vision is blurry. If we were in the clinic, I’d probably follow up, but I decide to just stick to the basic exam and we’ll come back to vision later. “Good. Okay, now I’m going to ask you a few simple questions. Is that okay?”
He nods slightly, though I swear I can feel his brother staring at me. A glance up confirms my suspicion. I swallow nervously as I think I can actually feel his hatred of me pouring off him in waves. “I just need to check for signs of--" I bite back the words ‘brain damage’, and quickly amend to, “concussion.” I quickly turn my focus back to my patient, doing my best to ignore the death glare from the front seat. “Do you know where you are?”
His eyes dart around slightly. “My car.”
Good. I don’t even want to ask the next one, but I know I’m going to have to. “Do you remember what happened?” I’m not sure whether to be relieved or not when he shakes his head slightly. It’s not uncommon for patients with concussions to experience post-traumatic amnesia and not remember the event or things that lead up to it. Often it clears up within a matter of minutes, but since he answered negatively, it does require me to make sure that it’s not more serious than that. “Can you tell me your full name?”
“Michael James Ray,” he answers. In the moment of silence that follows, I realize I’ve just made a huge mistake. I look up at the rearview mirror with wide apologetic eyes and can see the shocked fear plastered across Carla’s face. I don’t have a chance to say anything to her though, before I find myself staring down the barrel of the gun.
Again.
“I’m sorry,” I apologize, my voice no louder than a whisper. My hands shake as I raise them defensively. As if they could stop a bullet. “I didn’t mean…”
“Kev?” Michael asks, clearly confused.
“You idiot!” the store manager--Kevin I presume--berates him.
“I’m sorry,” I can’t help myself from apologizing again. I try to assure myself that knowing their names changes nothing. It wasn’t as though we weren’t going to be able to figure out who they were. We knew where the store manager worked, and we knew that the robber was his brother, so it wouldn’t have taken police more than a couple minutes tops to come up with their identities. Still, now there’s absolutely no denying that we know. Which means that they can’t let us go.
“We won’t say anything,” Carla begins trying to soothe the situation. “We won’t go to the police. They don’t even have to know we were there.”
“You drive there?” the manager snaps at her. Her expression betrays her guilt. “They’re gonna know you were there. Christ…there’s no way I can go back there, now.” Unless they kill the witnesses, I hear the words he doesn’t speak.
“We’ll just say you were taken hostage, too,” I suggest, knowing that it’s a lame idea but grasping at straws. “Just drop us off and we’ll say that--" I’m startled as Michael suddenly bolts upright. I instinctively shrink back.
“Kev?! What’d…?” He gapes at me as realization begins to dawn. “This was supposed to be a simple little job. You promised me…” He nervously runs his fingers through his hair, looking almost as freaked out as I feel. “I just take the money and go. You get the insurance. Nobody gets hurt.”
“Tell that to the doc.”
Michael looks at me and his expression darkens, his eyes narrowing to slits. My heart leaps into my throat as both of our captors focus their attention on me. “You hit me,” Michael accuses aloud. I can’t deny it, so I say nothing. My silence only seems to make him angrier. I flinch as he lets out a string of obscenities. He reaches into the front to take the gun from Kevin and then, once again, it’s pointed at my head. “This is your fault!” he yells at me and I press myself against the car door, fleetingly wondering if I should just open it and make a leap for it. If I can protect my head, odds are I won’t die, but I’d probably break a few bones and end up with a serious case of road rash. It be worth it except that I’d also leave Carla alone with two men who are quite likely to kill her. I can’t do it even though they’re probably going to kill us both sooner or later, anyway. Judging from his murderous look, I’d venture it’s going to be sooner rather than later. I close my eyes as he leans toward me, pressing the gun to my forehead.
“I’m sorry,” I find myself whispering again, my voice quivering uncontrollably. My blood feels like it's turning to ice in my veins and I think I’m starting to shake again. I want to plead for our lives, but I can’t seem to make my mouth move anymore. This is it.
I’m thrown off balance as the car swerves. I feel the gun moving away from my head and look up wildly, trying to figure out what’s going on. I hear the sound of flesh on flesh and it takes a moment for it to register that I’ve just seen Kevin hitting Carla. Rage flows through me, but I’m helpless to do anything about it as he strikes her again. She cries out and her hands fly up to protect her face, leaving the car to veer out of control.
Kevin grabs the wheel and quickly rights the car. “Get your hands back on the wheel!” It takes her a few moments, but Carla obeys. “Try anything like that again and I swear we’ll kill you.” As if they weren’t going to? “Christ, I can’t think!”
“What’re we going to do?” Michael mutters more to himself than to any of the rest of us.
I see Carla peering at me in the mirror and realize that she must have purposely tried to crash in a last ditch (no pun) effort to save me. While it’s granted me a brief reprieve, it’s clearly made our captors even more panicky and unstable.
“Pull over there,” Kevin directs her, frantically. Carla obeys and pulls into the parking lot he’s motioning to. “Around the side,” he orders. She follows his directions, slowing to a stop at the side of the building. Michael throws open his car door, grabs me by the scruff of my neck and pulls me out with him, pushing me to the ground and standing over me. I don’t have to look to know that once again my life is moments away from ending.
“Shit, I can’t do it!” I hear Michael admitting. I should feel relieved, but I don’t. I can’t make myself move, either, too afraid that if I do, he’ll change his mind.
“We can’t do it here, anyway,” Kevin tells him. “Too many people around. If they hear it, they might see us take off.” I roll just enough that I can see his shoes, with Carla’s right next to them. “Damn it. I need time to think…”
I don’t have any forewarning whatsoever before a foot drives full force into my side, knocking the wind out of me. “This is your fault!” Michael kicks me again, harder. And again.
“Stop!” I hear Carla begging as I try to curl myself into a smaller target, trying to protect my head and my vulnerables as best I can. The blows continue for only a few more moments before Michael is pulled away.
“Not here!” Kevin hisses. “Get him up. I know where we’re going.”
I feel hands grasp my hips and I’m lifted from the ground. Moments later I find myself being shoved into the trunk of the car. No! I try to get up, but before I can Carla is shoved in on top of me and the lid is slammed shut, trapping us both. I want to scream, but still haven’t been able to catch my breath.
I can hear Carla’s breath hitching and feel a light wetness on my neck. I feel a lump in my throat, but manage to stave off my own tears. Instead I focus on comforting her; if she’s calm, it’ll calm me, too. I shift our bodies, so I can wrap my arms around her and rest my chin against the top of her head. As if in reply, I feel her returning the embrace and she rests her head against my chest as if she’s listening to my heartbeat. We’re pressed so close, I’m not sure which of us is the one who is shaking. Maybe we both are. God, Carla, I’m so sorry...I swear I’m going to get you out of this!
“You okay?” Carla is the first to break the silence.
I’m going to have a few nasty bruises, but I’m pretty certain that nothing is broken. “Yeah…you?”
She doesn’t answer, and for the next few minutes, neither of us speaks. My mind races, but coherent thought seems next to impossible as my head begins to throb again. I try at first to keep track of the directions the car is going, but after no more than a couple turns I know it’s an exercise in futility. I just can’t concentrate. I want to believe that it matters, but my gut tells me that it really doesn’t. I don’t want to admit it, even to myself, but I really don’t think we’re going to get home.
But I’m going to give Carla as much of a chance to get home to Izzy and Turk as I possibly can.
“Carla?” I whisper. I feel her head tilting toward mine, her lips ever so softly grazing against my throat, and then the sensation of her breath against my chin. For an insane moment the sensation makes me lightly intoxicated and I nearly kiss her before realizing that my fear and our close proximity is totally triggering my body’s primal instincts. Embarrassed, I flush guiltily, relieved that she can’t tell where my head is. And that it will never ever get back to Turk.
I imagine myself standing on the stairs of city hall being presented a medal for my bravery. “Thank you for saving my life!” Carla swoons as she gives me a great big hug.
Turk stands before us, a wide grin across his face. “I owe you, Vanilla Bear!” he says as he holds up the medal and motions for me to duck my head a little so he can put it on me.
“It was nothing!” I insist, bashfully trying to wave off the medal. Turk gives me a look that lets me know he’s not giving up until I take it. I ‘reluctantly’ bow my head and wait for him to put in on. “By the way, I’m so relieved you’re not upset that I totally macked on your wife. Crazy impending death reactions--"
“Gyaaaaaaaah!” Turk screams as suddenly he whips out a samurai sword and brings it crashing down on my neck. My head rolls down a couple steps and stares up at my body and the Turks.
Carla is cringing and looking down at my head with an apologetic look. “I kind of left that part out,” she tells me. “It was nothing, baby,” she assures Turk, who returns the sword to the sheath on his back and looks down at me repentantly.
“Sorry, dude.”
“That’s okay. Now I can finally realize my life-long dream of becoming--"
“Floating head doctor!” we both finish together. My body’s arms rise and wave in a victory flail. All’s well that ends well.
Still, it’s probably better that I don’t give into the impulse. Instead I focus on my resolve to get her home safely.
“When they let us out, promise me that you’ll run.” She sucks in her breath, but before she can protest I continue. “I’m going to distract them. Don’t…whatever happens, just run.”
“Bambi, no. Turk’d never forgive me if I let something happen to you.” I can’t help but laugh just a tiny bit. “What?” She sounds slightly offended.
“Sorry. I just…he’d never forgive me if I let something happen to you.”
She lets out a small chuckle, too, before she tucks her head back under my chin and tightens her embrace a little bit. “Then I guess we’re just going to have to make sure that nothing happens to either of us, Bambi,” she murmurs, her soft slightly raspy voice actually giving me slight chills. Crazy impending death reactions. I smile and gently kiss the top of her head, feeling much better than I should. In fact, I feel oddly euphoric considering how uncomfortably hot it’s getting…wait. Euphoric? I blink and my mind begins racing again. I shouldn’t be feeling euphoric by any stretch of the imagination.
Unless.
Oh, God. We’re in the trunk of a moving car. Add in the consideration that it’s an older car. Symptoms. Headache--I had it before, so not sure I should count it, but I do anyway. Nausea, yes, have that, too. Trouble concentrating. All of that was present before, and has other explanations. But euphoria? That was definitely new and definitely unwarranted. It also helps explain my sudden goofy…’feelings’ for Carla. All these things added up to carbon monoxide poisoning as a distinct possibility.
We need fresh air. Fast. If I’m already feeling the effects, it’s only a matter of a few minutes tops before we both pass out. And then we’re as good as dead. I frantically reach past Carla and begin pushing on the trunk’s lid.
“Bambi?” I know it can’t possibly be that easy, but I strain to push as hard as I can anyway. It’s no use. Maybe there’s a lever of some sort? My fingers fumble against the metal, but find no purchase. Oh, god. “JD, what are you doing?”
“Carbon Monoxide,” I blurt out. “We’re being poisoned!”
Carla struggles to roll off of me. At first I think she’s going to help me pound on the trunk lid, but instead she starts pulling at the carpeting that lines the bottom of the trunk. What is she doing? “I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before…” she whispers. A few moments later she’s pulled up the carpeting a bit and is seemingly punching the side of the car. I can’t imagine why she would have thought about doing that before, either. Or why she’s thinking of it now.
A moment later, all is revealed as suddenly she pulls something away from the wall and then there’s sunlight shining into our tiny prison. I roll onto my side and snug up against her again as we breathe in the fresh air that flows into the small opening she’s made. My brow furrows as she suddenly reaches forward again, pushing her hand through the small opening. “Saw it on Oprah once,” she answers my question before I can ask. Except that I can’t make sense of her answer, either.
Today on Oprah, punching holes in cars--it's the latest craze!
“Um…”
“People who survived…” she stops for a moment before continuing, I suspect skipping over some words she doesn’t want to say. “If you’re ever trapped in the trunk of a car, you can sometimes pull out the turn signal lights. This woman was rescued because someone following the car saw her waving.”
If this works, I swear I’ll write Oprah the biggest fan letter she’s ever seen. Except for my luck her security will probably single it out and think that I’m some sort of crazy stalker. Maybe I’ll just send her a postcard.
Unfortunately, her idea doesn’t seem to be working. Several minutes pass but I don’t hear any sirens, or even any honking. When she tires, we shift positions and I take a turn and we alternate waving until what seems like hours later we feel the car slowing to a stop. Carla pulls her hand in and props the light back up, shrouding us once again in total darkness. I feel her pressing back against me and I put my arm protectively around her.
The silence as we await our fate is insanely unnerving. After a few moments, Carla takes hold of my hand, her fingers entwining with mine. I close my eyes and rest my chin against the top of her head. I silently promise again that somehow I will get her home tonight, no matter what it costs me.
We both tense as we hear someone approaching the trunk. I hold my breath as it pops open. Carla cries out as Michael grabs her and roughly jerks her from my arms. I start to try and get up as well only to have Kevin haul me out before I can get my bearings. I stumble as he pushes me in front of him. My legs are weakened and sore from being cramped in the trunk that it’s hard to stay upright. I’m not sure if it’s because she noticed me having trouble, or if it’s because she just wants the comfort of physical contact, but Carla quickly moves to my side and steadies me.
“Gotta get a little ways away from the road,” Kevin directs us and we’re forced to walk a little ways into the wooded area where he’s stopped the car. The deeper we go into the woods, the faster my heart races. Even after I’m steady on my feet, I hold fast to Carla, feeling as though she’s my last lifeline. I want to turn around and make a grab for the gun, but I’m too afraid that if I don’t time it just right, I’ll blow our last chance of survival. I have to try and have faith that the moment will present itself.
“Okay, hold up,” Kevin directs us. We stop and I look over my shoulder at them. Maybe they’ll find it harder to shoot if they have to look at our faces.
To my astonishment, I see that Michael is actually crying. “This is your fault,” he accuses me yet again. Yeah, I get it. I should have just stayed in the bathroom back at the convenience store. Maybe then they would have just waited out the police officer that’d been outside. Michael would have gotten away, and would have had no need to take Carla hostage. Kevin wouldn’t have to kill us so that he could return to his normal life. Carla would probably be home with her daughter by now instead of standing here beside me, silent tears on rolling down her cheeks.
“Get on your knees,” Kevin orders, though I swear I can hear a small tremor. He’s having second thoughts. Maybe there’s hope for us yet.
“You don’t have to do this,” Carla tries to reason with him. “Just let us go. You’ll be long gone before we get help. Please. I just want to go home to my daughter!”
“Get on your knees!” he barks and reluctantly Carla and I both drop.
I reach out for Carla’s hand. When she looks at me, I can see the utter helplessness she’s feeling. I’m not going to let this happen. I give her hand a squeeze and in that instant I see a spark of defiance light in her eyes. I swallow hard as I feel the gun press against the side of my neck. I can feel it shaking and realize that it’s because Kevin himself is as well. There isn’t going to be a moment that presents itself, I realize. I’m going to have to make one, and it’s going to have to be now.
While every instinct is telling me to try and get away from Kevin and the gun, I know that won’t work, so our only chance is to do the opposite. Without taking any time to think ahead or giving myself an opportunity to consider the consequences, I launch myself backward.
To my astonishment it works and as I knock Kevin to the ground, he loses his grip on the gun and it drops to the ground right beside to Carla. I see her scramble to grab it and my heart leaps when I see it within her grasp.
“Run!” I call to her just as Michael crashes into me, knocking me away from his brother. Then he’s on me in a flurry of kicks and punches. I do my best to defend myself, but I’m not much of a fighter and he subdues me with embarrassing ease. Once he has me effectively pinned, I force myself to relax my body in temporary surrender while I try to catch my breath and hope for him to let his guard down a little. At least that was the plan until I become aware of the sounds of struggle a few feet away. Carla hadn’t run. Or if she had, she hadn’t gotten very far. Kevin grunts with pain and I almost smile as I picture Carla-from-the-Block doling out some justice.
I know I can’t beat Michael using physical strength, but knowing that Carla’s still fighting makes me realize that I can’t stop trying. If I can’t win by physical strength, it’s going to have to be by mental. I know the most vulnerable spots on a human body and fighting dirty doesn’t count when it’s a fight for your life. Most of my body is pinned, so I can’t reach his danglies. I can’t really even get a good swing in to try and get his sternum or throat. Which leaves his eyes. I curl my fingers, not into a fist, but into a claw and strike.
He screams as I gouge his face and for a moment he jerks away. It’s long enough for me to wriggle free. I kick out, aiming for his giblets. He’s ready for it, though, and manages to dodge. And then he’s on me again. I try to throw him off, but once again I find myself pinned, this time with his hands around my throat, squeezing hard enough that I can’t breathe. I claw frantically at his hands, but it’s no use. I can’t breathe!
My vision is starting to cloud and I feel even weaker than usual. My arms feel so heavy it’s tempting to just stop. I fought a good fight--well, I fought a fairly pathetic fight, but I fought it--but it seems my time is up.
No!
I’m not sure where the strength comes from--actually I do! Adrenaline rush! Wheeee!--but I buck as hard as I can, trying to throw my assailant off. It doesn’t entirely work. He’s still choking me, but I manage to roll us both slightly. Enough that my left leg is free. Watch out giblets, here comes Dorian!
As my knee hits its mark, four things happen simultaneously. Michael screams. His hands abandon my throat. His body curls away from me.
And the gun goes off.
My whole body jerks as I gasp for the air my lungs have been deprived of. I fight to get to my hands and knees.
“JD!” Carla screams behind me. I look over my shoulder and am horrified as I see Kevin trying to force the gun out of her hands. One instant it’s pointed toward him, the next it’s aimed at Carla.
I launch to my feet, but there’s no way I’ll make it in time.
The gun goes off again and I see Carla falling as if in slow motion, a patch of red growing on the front of her shirt. No!
I take another step but something is wrong with my leg and I start to fall, knocking into Kevin and we’re both going down. The gun lands just within my reach and I take it. I don’t have time to take aim so I swing it instead at Kevin’s head, striking with full force. He falls limp, but I don’t take the chance and slam it into his head again. My hands shake as I stare mesmerized, at the gun in my hands. I want to drop it. Hell I want to throw it as far away from me as I can, but I don’t. Instead I turn it around so that it settles into its proper position. I can’t bring myself to aim it, though. I can’t believe for the second time today I’ve actually hit someone hard enough to knock them out. I know both were completely justified, but I still feel sick. Maybe that’s just the flu talking, but I don’t think so.
And then I hear Michael coming up behind me.
My body is working on automatic pilot as I twist toward him and fire.
In the moments of silence that follow I know that my world has completely changed.
I think I just killed someone.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Thanks to the two of you who emailed me to let me know you're reading! This is for you guys!
Chapter End Notes:
Hope the two of you are still enjoying! And if anyone else is actually reading, you guys, too!
