Lisa Gardner - Touch & Go

I washed Ashlyn’s underwear the best I could in the sink, noticing some tissue, trying not to think about it.

Our captors had not considered new undergarments, so I redressed Ashlyn in her still-damp panties, now lined with feminine hygiene pads set out by Radar. He’d muttered under his breath that they made handy field dressings, hence his stash. Clean towels above. Blood-soaked towels below. Again, best not to think of it.

I forced myself to sit, stroking Ashlyn’s arm. Her eyelids had stopped fluttering. She appeared to be drifting into sleep. The body doing its best to heal, as Radar had predicted.

Radar finally returned. In hindsight, I realized he’d probably been gone a good thirty to forty minutes. Ironically, the longest time Ashlyn or I had been left unsupervised, let alone unshackled. Just hours ago, we would’ve run for it. But now…

Z seemed to know so much about us. Including how completely we would implode. Had he counted on it to make us easy marks? Known that eventually we would hinder ourselves? Ashlyn and I didn’t even require management anymore. We’d hamstrung ourselves with our own secrets. How accommodating of us.

“Methadone,” Radar murmured. One word. He spoke with his back to the camera. I thought about it, and then I understood. I bent over my daughter, my lank hair obscuring my own lips, so I appeared to be comforting Ashlyn. They could see us but not hear us meaning that appearances were everything.

“Those are the pills you gave me? I’ve heard of it.”

“It’s a synthetic opioid. Helps with withdrawal from other narcotics, such as Vicodin.” He turned toward a metal supply case, opening drawers as if searching for something. “But it’s also addictive. Eventually, you’ll have to wean off it.”

He was trying to advise me. For life after this. Assuming the ransom was a success. “How many pills should I take?”

“I’ve been giving you ten-milligram Diskets. First dose was four tablets. You seemed to struggle again this morning, so I gave you two more. It’s not an exact science. A real clinic would spend the first few days of detox figuring out the appropriate dosage for your situation. I’m just winging it.”

“I don’t feel…they’re not the same as Vicodin.”

“No high,” he said bluntly, still rearranging drawers. “Methadone manages the worst of the withdrawal symptoms, as you’re still on a narcotic. And the pills last longer. You should be able to take one dose a day in order to mitigate the depression, nausea, headaches. But like I said, you’re swapping one problem for another. Good-bye, Vicodin addiction; hello, methadone addiction. You’ll need to see a real doctor in order to manage the rest of your withdrawal. Assuming you want to.”

“You seem to know a lot about painkiller addiction,” I said at last.

He shrugged. “Drug abuse du jour.”

“You’re a good doctor, Radar. I appreciate your help. For me, and my daughter.”

He didn’t say anything, appeared uncomfortable.

I couldn’t help myself: “Why do you do this? Work with Z and Mick? You seem to have real skills, real talent. You could get a job, in a hospital—”

“Don’t.”

Single word, filled with more menace than I had anticipated. I drew up short, hesitant, then resumed holding my daughter’s hand.

The atmosphere in the tiny room now felt tense. Strange, really. Radar was a captor and we were captives. How else should it feel?

Except, of the three commandos, I trusted Radar the most. He was the caretaker, smuggling me methadone that clearly Z knew nothing about. And he was good with Ashlyn. Competent, even compassionate in his administrations.

Then again, what had Z said about him? Radar would sell out his own mother if the price was right.

Yet this young man, kid really, knew things about Ashlyn and me that Justin didn’t even know. And not only had Radar kept my secret, he seemed to be trying to help me. To prepare me for life beyond these prison walls.

I tried to picture my old life, or maybe the new life that would begin sometime after 3:00 P.M. tomorrow. Wearing my own clothes. Sleeping in a room with the lights off. Returning to my family and friends, one of whom had most likely set us up, meaning none of whom I’d be able to trust.

And suddenly, unexpectedly, my eyes filled with tears. I ducked my head, not wanting Radar, let alone Mick in the control room, to see me cry. Oh my God, where were we going from here? We didn’t need Z and his prison cells and orange jumpsuits to break us. We’d done it to ourselves, ensconced in our luxurious Boston town house, going through the everyday motions of our extremely privileged lives. Once a real family, now three mere clichés. The pill-popping wife, the unfaithful husband, the pregnant teenage daughter.

Justin seemed fixated on our rescue as some sort of magical switch. Our kidnappers would deliver us in return for the insurance money, and that would be that. We’d click our heels three times, whisper there’s no place like home and instantly wake up in our own beds. Justin would go back to work. Ashlyn would go back to school, and I’d…

I’d visit a methadone clinic and get my addiction under control? Or say fuck it, and rush back to my lovely orange bottle of pills first chance I got?

I didn’t know. I honestly didn’t know, and for a moment, the thought of going home, of returning to our real lives with all the unsolved problems…it terrified me.

At least in here, we knew who the enemy was. Whereas, once we were home…

Beside me, Ashlyn suddenly jerked awake. Her hazel eyes flew open, panic written all over her face. “Mom!”

“It’s okay. I’m here. Shhh…”

“Oh, Mom…” I could tell the second she finished coming round, as her hands dropped down automatically, cupping her tender stomach. She gazed at me a long time, her expression still young, but already older than I wanted it to be.

“I know, honey,” I murmured. “I know.”

“Don’t tell Dad,” she whispered, the words nearly automatic.

I had to smile, but it was a sad expression on my lips. “He’ll always love you, sweetie.”

“No, he won’t. He has standards,” she said, and her tone was clearly bitter.

I didn’t know what to say about that, so I resumed my bedside vigil. A daughter who had kept her mother’s secret. And now a mother charged with keeping her daughter’s secret.

“I’ll…um…grab a new jumpsuit,” Radar muttered, clearly uncomfortable. He exited, leaving us once more unsupervised and unshackled.

Merely trapped in our own self-induced misery.

I brushed the tears from my daughter’s cheek and we waited, together, for the worst of our pain to ease.

WE COULDN’T HIDE IN MEDICAL FOREVER. Z must have demanded an update. Upon hearing that Ashlyn was stable enough, it was back to the family cell for us. Radar walked on one side of Ashlyn, I took the other. She moved gingerly but didn’t require much support. To be fifteen again, so young and fixable.

Her footsteps slowed as we entered the cavernous dayroom.

I didn’t blame her. Justin had never been one to run from a fight. Sure enough, the cell door barely clanking shut behind us:

“I want to know his name.” Justin rose to standing in the middle of the tiny space, arms crossed over his chest, voice stern and cold. Not asking, but demanding.

Ashlyn pulling her arm away from me, bringing up her chin. “Maybe his last name is Chapman. As in your girlfriend’s younger brother. He’d be about my age, right?”

My eyes widening, just as my husband paled.

Justin whirled on me. “How dare you tell her—”

“I didn’t.”

“I did!” Ashlyn, in full glory now, arms flung out, thin body nearly levitating with hostility. “I checked your phone, Dad. I read your e-mails. Quite a little exchange you had with a girl young enough to be my sister. Wonder what her father would think. Maybe she’s not supposed to sleep around, either. Maybe, she was also supposed to wait for a boy who would honor her and love her and respect her. You know, all that crap you used to feed me, before running out the door to cheat on your family. Hypocrite! Fucking liar!”