“Good.”
He closed his little eyes.
DAY EIGHT
Gracie opened her eyes.
She was lying in a warm bed with a blanket pulled up to her chin, and not the scratchy green blanket from the SUV, but a thick soft blanket that felt brand new. The sheets were flannel and smelled clean and fresh. The pillow under her head was firm. The ceiling above her was low, and there was no fan with fancy little lights or sky blue paint with clouds in white faux finish or fancy crown molding like in her bedroom at home. The walls and ceiling were wood, flat wood planks with white mortar in the cracks like between the logs in Ben’s cabin.
The bed was pushed against one wall of the small room. A little window was in the wall above the bed; the sun was shooting a beam of light into the room. A gas heater was glowing blue in the corner. There was no closet, only a hanging rack with some winter clothes. At the foot of the bed was a metal table with a kerosene lamp on it, like the one Dad had bought last summer for the first annual Brice family camping trip. But Mom had gotten a trial and Dad the IPO, so the lamp and the tent and the rest of the camping gear sat piled in the back corner of the garage. Propped up on the table was a new Barbie doll still in the box.
This was really starting to creep her out.
There were two doors; one led into a bathroom. She could see a toilet, but it wasn’t like the marble toilet with matching bidet in her bathroom at home. This one sat low to the ground and had a compartment underneath-a camping toilet.
The other door was closed.
Her closet at home was bigger than this bedroom. But it was a cozy little room, like her room at Ben’s cabin, where she wished she were now, safe and secure with Ben and looking forward to a day in the workshop or hiking the hills or driving into town for dinner. She wished she were safe with Ben. She wanted to cry, but she refused to let the tears come.
Instead, she pushed the blanket back and almost screamed out loud: she was wearing pink flannel pajamas. Like, way pink! What’s with this guy and pink? She vaguely remembered changing into the pajamas but not putting on the thick green wool socks. She knelt up, wiped the moisture off the window, and put her face to the glass; it was cold. Outside, white snow covered the ground and icicles hung on the limbs of the tall trees, but they were not at all like the trees back home. They were Christmas trees. In the distance, among the trees, she noticed a movement… and then a head… and a-wow, a deer tiptoeing through the snow! Bambi! Oh, golly, it’s so cute, maybe later she could feed it and Bambi suddenly shuddered, then its legs gave way and it collapsed. Oh my gosh! Gracie heard an echo, like a loud bang. Bambi just lay there. Then the snow around Bambi turned red; the red spread out and formed a little river cutting through the snow and running downhill. Her eyes followed the red river until a big boot stepped right into it and splashed the red like Sam jumping into a mud puddle. Two men holding long guns walked up to Bambi; a big fat man lifted the deer’s head then dropped it. He was grinning. Gracie fell back onto the bed and dove under the blanket. I’ve got to escape before they shoot me too!
“Patty?” There was a knock on the door. “You awake?”
Junior.
She stuck her head out from under the blanket. “No, but Gracie’s awake.”
“Got hot water for your bath. You decent?”
“As decent as a girl can be in pink PJs.”
The door opened, and Junior entered; he was carrying two big buckets of steaming water and wearing another plaid shirt.
“Did you hit like, a going-out-of-business sale on plaid shirts?” she asked.
“What?”
“Never mind.”
“We don’t got no running water or electricity up here,” he said, disappearing into the bathroom, “but I can still fix you a hot bath every week.”
She heard the water being poured into a bathtub.
“Every week? I take a bath every day.”
Junior appeared in the doorway with a big smile. “Just like my mama. I used to fetch hot water for her every morning. Bathtub, that was hers. And all that girl stuff in there.” He paused a moment like he was remembering a good time. Then he abruptly snapped out of it. “It’s yours now. Breakfast be cooked time you’re done. And I got a big surprise for you.”
“Bigger than being kidnapped?”
“Now, Patty, you gotta let that go. What’s done is done.” He gestured around the room. “You like your room? Got it done right before we come for you. Everything’s new-sheets, blankets-hey, you like that Barbie doll? Ordered that special.”
“I don’t do dolls.”
He motioned to the clothes rack. “Got you some winter clothes, too.”
“How’d you know my size?”
“I know everything about you, Patty.”
“Except my name. It’s Gracie Ann Brice.”
His first stern look of the day. “No. It’s Patty… Patty Walker. Same as my mama.” Then, abruptly, he was smiling again. “Make a list of any other stuff you need. I’ll get it next week when I go into town.”
“I’ve got a surprise for you, too-I started my period. I need tampons.”
Junior blushed like Dad that time she had walked in on him naked. “Uh, okay, I’ll, uh, I’ll get some. How… uh… how many do you need-one, two?”
“Hel- lo! A whole box. And I need them today, like real soon or I’m going to bleed all over the place!”
“Oh, shit, don’t do that! Okay, I’ll, uh, I’ll go into town and get ’em today. Uh, write it down, so I know what to ask for.” He walked out, shaking his head and muttering to himself. “Jesus, why didn’t I think of that?”
Boy, talk about diminished capacity. Of course, she had not started her period. They had learned about periods and tampons and all that stuff in health class, but according to Ms. Boyd, she was probably two years away from her first period. But how would mountain boy know that? With no electricity, he couldn’t watch the Discovery Channel. And she wanted him in town today.
Because Ben might be in town today.
Five hundred sixty miles due south, the black Land Rover was doing seventy on I-15 North.
Ben’s hands were shaking. He squeezed the leather-wrapped steering wheel and summoned the inner strength that had seen him through Big Ug’s fan belt beatings at San Bie. He could not fail Gracie.
It was Friday morning; he had taken over the wheel at 0400. John had crawled into the back seat and fallen asleep. That was over three hours ago, enough time to relive a life that had taken Ben Brice from West Texas to West Point, from Duty, Honor, Country to Quang Tri and the china doll. An hour from now they would arrive in Idaho Falls to talk to Clayton Lee Tucker at his gas station. He was the last person who had seen Gracie alive.
John’s cell phone rang. After three rings, John woke, dug the phone out of his pocket, and answered. “Yeah… Who’s this?… Lou?… Cripes, what time is it?… Oh, yeah, it’s later in New York… What?… Utah, I guess…”
“Idaho,” Ben said.
“Oh, Idaho,” John said, pushing himself up and rubbing his face. “I don’t know, Lou, however long it takes… What?… Price is up how much?… Dude, you’re breaking up, we’re in a freaking black hole out here, man… What?… Three billion?… Lou, I can’t hear you… Lou?… Lou?…” John frowned at the phone, then he disconnected. “Thing gronked out.”
