Take Me With You(90)

He grabs his pad and writes something. His expression goes solemn as he shows it to me.

You need to understand. If we are discovered, I'm not going to prison.

“What do you mean?” I ask, the calm he coaxed washed away with the white waters of fear.

He grabs his pen, but then stops and looks me in the eyes again. He puts his fingers to his temple in the shape of a gun and pulls the trigger.

“No,” I shake my head sternly. “I won't let you do that.”

It would be better for both of us that way.

“They won't okay? We are gonna get out of here,” I vow.

He nods solemnly and I crawl to the floor of the truck, where he's placed some blankets and a pillow for my comfort.

We drive around for a while, my view from the floor rarely changing. Sometimes I see nothing but the passing tree or a tall sign. Other times, nothing but sky and clouds. I figure I see the least when we are on the freeway. Sam keeps the radio on the stations he knows I'll like, and occasionally, he'll peek back to check on me and I give him a thumbs up. After a while, the anxiety subsides, and the steady rhythm of the car lulls me into a nap.

It's only when that steady drone is broken up by intermittent bumps and jolts am I stirred.

“How long have a I been asleep?” I ask, hoping to trick Sam into speech.

He doesn't answer.

“Can I sit up now?” I ask.

No answer.

I study the window, unable to see much from my angle except that we are surrounded by trees so tall I can't even see where they end. Their trunks are wide and a rusty brown. Sequoias. Though they nearly block the sky from view, I can see from the hazy rays of sienna peering through the trees, that the sun is setting.

The truck stops abruptly.

“Sam?” I ask, sitting up instinctively. He ignores me, slamming the door behind him as he steps out, and rummages through the back of the truck. That's when I get a better look around. We seem to be on a dirt road somewhere in the middle of a desolate forest.

“What's going on?” I ask, an unsettling feeling balling the pit of my stomach.

He walks over to the car and opens the door behind me. A pillowcase drapes over my head before I even have a chance to face him.

“What are you doing?” I ask as I attempt to squirm away from him.

He drags me out of the car onto the mud, throwing me on my stomach. He sits on top of me, pinning me down as I struggle underneath him. But I can't stop him from tying my hands behind me. He is a monster. This I always knew. But he wouldn't stoop so low. He wouldn't lie to me, make me think we could finally be free and then take it all away like this.

“Please, Sam…” I beg, the caustic tears of betrayal burning my cheeks.

I was so sure Sam wouldn't kill me. He needs me. I am the only person who knows him. I am his humanity.

But all I can see is black, and I wonder if I am already dead.





Once I have Vesper bound, I use my hunting knife to slice through her dress. A twinge of sentimentality flashes as I recall the way I ripped her nightgown the night I took her. But it's different now. My gut twists and turns in agony. I'm sick with regret as I strip her naked.

I gave her so much of the truth. I figured I owed her that much. She wanted my story for so long, and I could finally let her have it. I knew she wouldn't tell, because she wouldn't be alive for much longer. But in the tapestry of all that truth, I weaved little lies. Lies that tasted bitter against my tongue.

That my brother said we could both leave.

That the only reason I needed her to lie down in the truck was that I didn't want her to be seen, and not that I also didn't want her to see where we were headed.

That I told her I would kill myself so that she wouldn't be tempted to make a last minute run for it.

Finally, that I told her, not with words, but with my eyes, that she would be fine. That I would take care of her.

I tell lies all the time. I am a fucking lie. But she told me she had been thinking about running away with me. That she chose me. And I had to tell her that I could make that happen. That I could find her a new freedom, knowing the only freedom she would know is death at my hands—it's never pained me so much to deceive.

I am no different from my mother, promising to take Vesp away from the danger, when I am the danger.

“Sam, I thought you cared. I thought you wanted me. I thought we were going to be together,” she sobs. For once, I'm glad I can't speak to her. I slice into a trash bag and slide it over her head. I don't want anyone to find her naked, but I don't want her wearing the clothes I made. Maybe they could find a way to trace them back to me, even if my brother tries to divert the task force.

She tries to run, but loses her balance and falls onto her face. It makes me sick to see the pathetic state she's in. To have fooled her so viciously. The one person who made me feel a little less like a monster.

I walk towards her calmly as she kicks her legs against the ground, desperately trying to slither sway from me, blinded and bound.

I pull her up to her knees, but she's limp, holding the posture of someone who has surrendered. Who has fought and fought and doesn't have another battle left in her.

She whimpers, but it's more like a hum under the mask—quiet, melodic.

I pull the gun out of my waistband and I press it to the back of her head.