Steven Womack - By Blood Written

“Look, you don’t have to-”

“C’mon, next week we’ll all be back in the grind, so let’s just have one last blowout. I’ll even pick up the tab.”

Michael drove on down Rosecrans Street as he continued talking. They were hitting the lights just right. They crossed Nimitz Boulevard and then the smaller side streets off to the right-Keats, Jarvis, one she couldn’t catch, then Garrison, Fenelon, Emerson-seemed to buzz by.

“I’m not going back to the grind,” Carol said almost offhandedly. “I’m taking a week off. Won’t be back in the city until a week from Monday.”

Michael turned to her and smiled. “So much the better,”

he said. “How nice for you. I’m jealous.”

“So where is this restaurant,” Carol asked, her resolve for room service weakening.

“Not far,” Michael answered. “On the point.”

“The point?”

“Yeah, down toward Point Loma.”

“What are you talking about?” Carol asked. “There’s nothing down there.”

“Oh yeah, Jack told me all about it. Trust me. It’s going to be wonderful.”

Carol suddenly felt exhausted, as if the whole of the last two months had caught up with her all at once. She was hungry as well, she realized, and thought that maybe that was where her headache was coming from.

“All right,” she said. “We’ll get dinner. But let’s make it an early evening. You’ve got a seven A.M. flight out tomorrow.”

“You know, it’s funny,” Michael said. “But I don’t really need that much sleep. Too much to do, I guess. What’s the joke? I’ll sleep when I’m dead. “

“I can’t wait that long,” Carol said. “I’m exhausted.”

“Okay,” Michael said. “We’ll make it an early evening.”

Rosecrans Street turned south, into a less densely populated area. There was little traffic now, and the houses were farther apart. Another mile or so on and there were no more traffic lights, then no more streetlights. The terrain was hillier now, or perhaps the rolling was exaggerated by the darkness. The lights of San Diego were off to their left, across North San Diego Bay, and the city seemed much farther away. Carol felt her stomach heave slightly as the car went up and down, which only added to her discomfort from her headache.

“I’m kind of hungry,” she said. “Maybe a little nauseous from blood sugar. Will we get there soon?”

“Very soon,” Michael said, his eyes never leaving the road. “Very soon.”

A couple of minutes later, a sign loomed on their left and Carol caught just enough to read it-BALLAST POINT-as they went by.

“This place must not get very much business,” she said.

“To be so far out.”

To be so far out … Suddenly, something caught in Carol Gee’s throat.

“Where are we?” she demanded.

“It’s not far,” Michael said. A sign up ahead read CABRILLO

NATIONAL MONUMENT-.5 MILES.

“What’s the name of this place?” Carol said, fighting to keep her voice calm.

Michael stepped harder on the gas. The car accelerated.

Carol looked down at the speedometer; they were doing sixty on this narrow, curving road.

“Slow down,” Carol said.

“I hate it when people tell me how to drive.”

“Damn it, where are you taking me?”

“We’re going to celebrate,” Michael said. “It’s the end of our tour.”

“Stop the car,” Carol said, as they drifted to the right.

She could barely see the road in the beam cast by the head-lights.

“Stop the car, I want out,” she said again. “Now.”

“C’mon, Carol,” Michael said. “Whaddaya want out here for? What, you’re going to call a cab out here? Just sit still.

We’ll be there soon.”

Think, damn it! Carol felt her forehead flush and her breath coming in shorter bursts, as if she were gulping for air. Think!

Not once in twenty-eight years had her superb mind failed her. There had to be a way out of this. If she jerked the door open and jumped, she’d be killed by the fall. If she tried to wrestle the wheel away from him …

No, he’s too big. It’ll never work. The crash’ll kill both of us.

“What are you going to do? ” Carol said, her voice breaking.

“Carol,” Michael said. “You’re beginning to bore me.”

Carol gripped the armrest on the door with her right hand, feeling the leather beneath her hand, kneading it back and forth, the sweat from her palm rubbing into the material.

He’s got to stop sooner or later. I’ll jerk the door open, run like crazy. I’m fast. I’m younger than he is.

The car went past a sign so fast it was just a blur. “Welcome to the Cabrillo National Forest,” Michael said. “Isn’t it pretty?”

She looked outside, through the glass clouded with reflected light from the instrument panel. All she saw was black.

Fatigue and hunger settled in on her like weight, a weight that forced her outside herself, and she saw herself sitting frozen on the seat next to him, her eyes large and blank.

Carol Gee had minored in psychology at Yale; she knew the phenomenon of disassociation, had studied it in a class called Abnormal Criminal Psychology. As if there was such a thing as normal …

Fight this! a voice inside her head screamed.

Damn it! Fight!

The car slowed as it made a long, lazy turn to the right.

Carol looked up through the windshield and saw that they were at an intersection. Michael turned the car left, to the south, toward the ocean.

Carol reached down and pressed the unlock button on the armrest, while with her left hand she pressed the release button on her seat belt. At the instant the door-lock stem shot up from the door, she grabbed the handle and yanked as hard as she could.

“Bitch!” Michael yelled, grabbing her by the hair as the door flew open. Carol screamed, grabbed at his hands behind her, flailing helplessly, her legs partway out the door.

Michael slammed on the brake, and the car slid to a stop.

Carol slammed into the dashboard, her knees exploding in bursts of sharp, focused pain. He yanked her hair again, hard, hard enough to get another yelp out of her.

“No, please!” Carol yelled as she felt herself being pulled back into the car. She fought, scraped, jumped, flailed as she felt him pulling her closer. Then he had her with both hands, cradling her head, pulling her face down onto his lap. She tried to think, but panic swept over her. Her arms fluttered like the wings of a bird caught in a trap, with about as much effect.

She thought of the tiny canister of pepper spray she carried hooked to her key chain, the one she’d left at home because they were going through so many airport security checkpoints.

Then she felt his right arm around her neck, the crook of his elbow right at the hollow of her throat. And pressure.

Tightening pressure …

Her eyes bulged as she realized for the first time what was happening. She tried to kick, but in the tight confines of the front seat of the Buick, there was nothing to kick, nothing that would help her. She opened her mouth to scream; nothing came out. She felt his forearm against her throat, his right hand locked in the crook of his left arm, his left arm bent around the back of her head. She felt his palm on the top of her head, pushing down into his curled right arm. She opened her mouth, tried to push her face into his crotch where she could bite him, but he held her too tightly to move.

Her eyes watered, the pressure behind them causing them to bulge.

And then …

From the corners of her field of vision, tiny sparkles. Red ones and gold ones and blue ones, like glitter. Sparkling and dancing.

Her chest was about to explode.