The Chain(2)

“It’ll be OK. No one will have reported this car stolen yet. It’s been on that side street in Boston for weeks.”

“The car’s not the problem, she’s the problem. Pass me the gun.”

“What are you going to do?”

“What can we do?”

“We can talk our way out of it,” the man insists.

“With a blindfolded kidnapped girl in the back seat?”

“She won’t say anything. Will you, Kylie?”

“No. I promise,” Kylie whimpers.

“Tell her to be quiet. Take that thing off her face and tell her to lower her head and look down,” the woman says.

“Keep your eyes shut tight. Don’t make a sound,” the man says, taking the blindfold off and pushing Kylie’s head down.

The woman pulls the car over and the police vehicle presumably pulls in behind her. The woman is evidently watching the policeman in the rearview mirror. “He’s writing the license plate down in his logbook. Probably called it in on the radio too,” she says.

“It’s OK. You’ll talk to him. It’ll be fine.”

“All these state police prowlers have dashcams, don’t they?”

“I don’t know.”

“They’ll be looking for this car. For three people. We’ll have to hide the car in the barn. Maybe for years.”

“Don’t overreact. He’s only going to write you a speeding ticket.”

Kylie hears the crunch of the state trooper’s boots as he steps out of his vehicle and walks toward them.

She hears the woman roll down the driver’s-side window. “Oh God,” the woman whispers as he approaches.

The state trooper’s boots stop crunching by the open window.

“Is there a problem, Officer?” the woman asks.

“Ma’am, do you know how fast you were going?” the state trooper asks.

“No,” the woman says.

“I clocked you at fifty-two. This is a restricted twenty-five school zone. I guess you didn’t see the signs.”

“No. I didn’t know there was a school around here.”

“It’s heavily signposted, ma’am.”

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t see them.”

“I’ll have to see your…” the trooper begins and pauses. Kylie knows he’s looking at her. She’s shivering all over.

“Sir, is that your daughter in the seat next to you?” the trooper asks.

“Yes,” the man says.

“Miss, can you show me your face, please?”

Kylie lifts her head but keeps her eyes tightly shut. She’s still trembling. The state trooper has seen that something is amiss. A half second goes by while the cop, Kylie, the woman, and the man all decide what to do next.

The woman groans and then there is the sound of a single gunshot.





2

Thursday, 8:35 a.m.



It’s supposed to be a routine visit to the oncologist. A six-month checkup to make sure that all is OK and that her breast cancer is still in remission. Rachel has told Kylie not to worry because she feels great and everything is almost certainly fine.

Secretly, of course, she knows that things might not be fine. Her appointment had originally been scheduled for the Tuesday before Thanksgiving but she’d gotten some blood work done at the lab last week, and when Dr. Reed saw the results, she’d asked Rachel to come in this morning. First thing. Dr. Reed is a dour, even-keeled, unflustered woman originally from Nova Scotia, and she is not one for panicky overreaction.

Rachel tries not to think about it as she drives south on I-95.

What’s the point of worrying? She doesn’t know anything. Maybe Dr. Reed is going home for Thanksgiving and is scheduling all her appointments early.

Rachel doesn’t feel sick. In fact, she hasn’t felt this good in a couple of years. For a while there she had thought she was bad luck’s favorite child. But all that has changed. The divorce is behind her. She’s writing her philosophy lectures for the new job starting in January. Her post-chemo hair has mostly grown back, her strength has returned, and she’s putting on weight. The psychic toll of the past year has been paid. She’s back to the organized, in-control woman who worked two jobs to put Marty through law school and get them the house on Plum Island.

She’s only thirty-five. She has her whole life ahead of her.

Knock wood, she thinks and pats a green bit of the dashboard she hopes is wood but suspects is plastic. In the arcane clutter of the Volvo 240’s cargo area there’s an old oak walking stick but there’s no point risking life and limb reaching back for that.

The phone says it’s 8:36 now. Kylie will be getting off the bus and strolling across the playground with Stuart. She texts Kylie the dumb joke she’s been saving up all morning: How do you think the unthinkable?

When Kylie doesn’t respond after a minute, Rachel sends her the answer: With an itheberg.

Still no response.

Do you get it? Try it with a lisp, Rachel texts.

Kylie is deliberately ignoring her. But, Rachel thinks with a grin, I’ll bet Stuart’s laughing. He always laughs at her dumb jokes.

It’s 8:38 now and traffic is backing up.

She doesn’t want to be late. She’s never late. Maybe if she gets off the interstate and takes Route 1?