Paullina Simons: Eleven Hours

My girls. Didi gasped and dropped the bags.

‘Could you pick those up, please, ma’am?’ he asked.

‘I can’t,’ Didi panted. ‘They’re too heavy for me.’ She wanted to leave a trace of herself behind.

‘Pick them up, please,’ he said.

Shaking her head, Didi said, ‘I can’t. Let’s just leave them.’

Bending his head to look at her sideways, he said, ‘Now, you know that we can’t leave your bags in the middle of the parking lot.’

‘Forget it,’ she said, pretending not to understand him. She was trying to fight the fear that was pulling her down to the ground again. What could he do in the middle of a sunny parking lot, a hundred feet away from Central Expressway, in broad daylight?

She didn’t think he’d do much, and that gave her a little bit of courage. She thought, he seems pretty calm. He is being reasonable, therefore he can’t be crazy.

Bravely, Didi repeated, ‘Forget it. I don’t want them. Really. If you can’t carry them, just leave them.’

‘Oh, shit,’ he mumbled under his breath. He grabbed all the bags off the ground with his left hand, keeping his right hand on her. ‘I’ll take your bags. Happy now? Come on, let’s try to walk a little faster.’

The man hurried, but she dragged her feet. ‘It’s only a little further. Then you can sit down,’ he said kindly.

But Didi wouldn’t hurry. She wanted to walk, to crawl, slower and slower, until she stopped and sat down, and had a drink and maybe some food, and stopped hyperventilating, and had her baby and woke up from a bad dream.

She promised herself she would never go to NorthPark again. Or any mall again without her husband, without a friend, or without a gun. A whole lot of good a gun would have done her here. Excuse me for a second while I ransack through my handbag so I can shoot you.

How long had it been? How was it possible that in the minutes since he had approached her, Didi had not seen anyone in the parking lot? Where was everybody?

She nearly yelped with joy and hope when she saw two women in the next row getting out of a car.

Didi didn’t know if any sound would come out when she opened her mouth, but the terror that had made her weaker a minute ago when she saw no way out made her stronger now when she saw a chance for escape.

‘Help! Help me!’ she screamed, moving away from the man. He was fast. He dug his fingers into her arm.

Didi flung her free arm and hit him across the face. ‘Help!’ she screamed. ‘He’s –’

The women turned and looked at them.

And then he let go of her arm for a split second, just long enough to grab her around the neck, pull her to him, and kiss her hard on the mouth.

He pressed his lips to hers, blowing air into her throat and sticking his tongue into her mouth. All the while he never stopped walking. She tried to pull away from his face, but he was too strong. He held her painfully tight around the neck. If he were her lover, she could have said, stop, you’re hurting me.

But he wasn’t her lover.

She saw the women smile to each other, nod, and keep on walking.

He removed himself from her mouth, and when he did, she screamed once more. He pulled her to him again and pressed his lips on hers, but this time he bit her lip and clamped it between his teeth. ‘Stop it,’ he said to her through his teeth. ‘Keep walking.’

Whimpering into his mouth, she ran in little steps alongside him.

Then he pulled away from her, and Didi whirled around to look for the two women. It was no use, because they were already inside the mall. The man stopped walking when they reached a beat-up beige station wagon. Clasping his right hand over her mouth, he dropped her bags and fumbled for the keys in his pocket. He opened the passenger door and sat her down in his car.

Didi screamed, for she had nothing to lose. Whatever his intentions were, Didi was certain they did not involve his giving her a lift to the Laredo Grill. Her day went gray, and she began to scream again, but no one could hear her.

He got in and started the car. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘you should really stop that.’

They were racing through the NorthPark parking lot. The old car stank. Didi wondered for a moment if the stench came from her. Had she lost control of her bowels?

But no. It was an old, bad odor. The car smelled of sour, rotted food. She looked over at him.

He held the wheel tightly with both hands.

She wanted to say something to him. But what? What? To save herself, she would have said anything.

‘What’s your name?’ she asked in her friendliest voice. Is that the best I can come up with? she thought. What’s your name? What am I, a teenager at the school lockers?

He didn’t answer her.

Please show me the way, dear God, please show me the way out, for my kids, please hear my prayer.

I guess it’s really happening, she thought, starting to rock back and forth, it’s happening. This man, he – I – I’ve been abducted. I’ve been snatched, stolen. He acts polite and tries to smile, but he’s kidnapped me. How’s Rich ever going to find me? And what could he want? Money? Of course, that must be it. He wants money. That’s what all kidnappers want. He doesn’t care about me. He saw me shopping at NorthPark and probably thought I was loaded.

What would it do to tell him the truth? she thought. And what happens to me when he finds out the truth?

Clasping her hands together, Didi tried to think of something comforting, but all that flashed through her was, Am I going to die? Right here, in this man’s car, this stinking car, die with a stranger? Is this how my life is going to end –

My baby.

Why was she thinking about death, about stinky cars? She couldn’t die, because if she did, her baby would too, and her baby could not die.

That was impossible.

The baby is counting on me not to let him die. That’s my job as his mother – to keep him and save him from harm. What kind of mother would I be if I died on him? A bad kind, that’s what kind. Gently, she stroked her belly.

Didi shuddered when she remembered the fight she had had with Richie yesterday. Poor Rich – he’ll be thinking I didn’t show up because I’m still mad at him. That stupid fight. It was just about this very thing – about harm coming to me and the baby. Rich got so mad he yelled at me that nothing was going to happen to the baby. He was angry at me for bringing bad thoughts into our house.

Didi herself had felt silly for fearing the worst.

Yesterday the worst had been some nebulous grief. She feared the baby might have two hearts, two brains, or not enough heart, not enough brain.

Today – well, she couldn’t confront it.

Didi’s hands were unsteady. Rubbing her belly gently, she looked out the side window.

She thought, is God punishing me? I haven’t been penitent. I don’t say my prayers and there are some Sundays I don’t go to church and there are some I go and don’t want to. Who said Christianity was easy? It’s not like drinking water, accepting God into your heart. I’ve been remiss. And so have my children, and so has my husband. We watch TV, we make love, we don’t pray. We fight, we curse. I’ve been feeling cocky and now God is about to show me who’s boss.

They went through a stop sign. Keep that up, Didi thought, and a nice police officer will soon be stopping you himself. At the next stop sign the man slowed down and pretended to stop. Didi looked at the door handle. The car must have slowed to twenty, maybe ten miles an hour. All she had to do was open the door and fall out. She lifted her trembling hand off her lap and reached for the handle.

And stopped.

The baby. When Didi fell out, would she fall on her belly? Would the shock of hitting the ground burst her water, would it snap the umbilical cord? Would it break her baby’s neck or crush its soft head?