Chapter Four SCARLETT

Chapter Four

S CARLETT

Then

Friday, June 6, 2014

9:00 p.m.

I didn’t think of myself as an artist. I liked to draw. I’d even mustered enough courage to sketch the contractor working across the street. He had a Paul Walker kind of vibe (if Paul weren’t dead), and when he smiled, I sizzled.

When he’d crossed the street on Tuesday and asked me my name, I’d felt special. Seen. He told me his name was Tanner Reed.

Tanner. Tanner. Tanner.

We kind of flirted even though he was older. He asked about my art, and I showed him my sketch pad. He looked impressed and said I should try to sell it. I mentioned trying to sell at the concert at the Naro theater. The venue was a mile from my house, and the show, an ’80s band, was sold out. He told me to give it a whirl.

I was stoked this evening as I packed up my few drawings and took the bus to the corner of Colley and Shirley Avenues. I set up, which basically meant laying out a beach towel and placing my five drawings on the ruby terry cloth. The paper was flimsy and easily caught whispers of wind, so I placed rocks on the corner of each. However, random breezes teased the edges all night.

I felt lucky. The music drifting from the ’80s concert was decent. A lot of old people came and went, but they were laughing and smiling. Even under the city lights, the stars were so vivid. Maybe Tanner would show.

As the evening passed, people walked by; a few glanced in my direction, but most looked at me as if they were afraid that I’d catch their gazes and chase them down. As time passed, doubt took root and grew quickly.

I glanced down at the self-portrait and drawings of the bay and homes in the area, and I realized this was a dumb idea. The air was hot, even at nine o’clock at night, and my feet ached.

“What do you have there?”

The young woman’s attention drew my gaze up. She wasn’t much older than me, and she wasn’t someone I’d have noticed right off. Curly shoulder-length brown hair drew my attention to wide-set eyes and full lips. She wore cutoff jeans, a cropped T-shirt, and flip-flops. A belly button ring peeked out from her midriff.

I smiled, grateful to be seen. “I’m selling my art. Nothing fancy.”

She leaned in and inspected each piece. “That’s you in this picture, isn’t it?”

“It is.” I sketched a lot of self-portraits. I was an easy subject to find, and each time I drew a different version of me, I saw something different. I’d scribbled Girl Ready to Escape across the bottom. “I was practicing portraits.”

She looked at me and then back at the picture. “It’s really good.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m Della.”

“I’m Scarlett.”

Her hand trembled very slightly when she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s so nice out here. Better than inside the concert hall. Hot as hell inside, and the band has blown a fuse twice.”

“What do you like about eighties music?”

“Not as much as I thought.” Laughing, she picked up the drawing of me. “You’ve always been an artist?”

Artist was too pretentious. Think you’re something, don’t you? Mom often said. “I’ve always drawn. This is the first time I’ve tried to sell anything.”

Della held up a sailboat on the bay. “Can I buy one?”

“Sure.”

“How much?”

I’d never thought about how much to charge because I never thought I’d really sell anything. “Ten dollars.”

Della fished a twenty-dollar bill out of her pocket. “Do you have change?”

“No, sorry.”

“Come with me to my van. I have my wallet under the seat.”

I glanced at my flapping sheets of art and then carefully collected them. I knew enough that if I left them behind, they’d get swiped.

When we rounded the corner onto the shadowed side street, I saw the open van door but didn’t think twice about it. I didn’t see it as a gateway or a portal to the underworld. It was just a door, opened to an empty space.

When I reached the door, I glanced past Della to the interior. It was a metal box with blacked-out windows, no seats or carpet. The interior smelled of urine, blood, and sweat-soaked bodies. I recoiled. In that split second, my instincts screamed, This is wrong!

Della’s smile didn’t falter as she climbed in the van’s cab. “Come on. My wallet is right here.”

Common sense flickered to red alert. Who leaves a van door open with a wallet inside in the city? A part of me needed to believe her. Della was nice, and she wanted to buy my art. I didn’t scream or run. I followed willingly.

As I hesitated, strong hands shoved me into the van. I stumbled forward, and Della threw her body on mine. A needle pricked my arm. A scream gurgled in my throat and then faded as invading drugs captured and silenced my voice. My vision blurred. The van door slammed closed.

As handcuffs clinked around my wrists, I looked up into dark eyes looming inches from my face. Confusion mingled with terror. I recognized the man, and at first, I was oddly relieved. He’d waved to me yesterday and smiled. Tanner. I’d been charmed. He was so nice. And hot.

I believed for a split second that I’d been saved. Close call. As my vision deteriorated, I still believed hell would have to wait.

But the eyes that once stared at me with so much warmth had cooled with the cruel amusement of a hunter trapping prey.

“Why?” I asked.

Tanner was already climbing behind the wheel as Della sat beside me.

She stroked my hair. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

A scream lodged in my throat, but when it escaped, it sounded like a sad moan. “Noooo.”

As Tanner angled the van and shifted gears into higher speeds, Della nestled closer. “Shh. It’ll be fine. You’re not going to die.”

The vehicle rumbled down the potholed side street. The drugs mingled with the hum of the engine, paralyzing me in a twilight. Awake, but unable to move or speak.

My head spun, my hands grew numb, and the metal van floor rubbed my bony spine. My pants grew damp, and color rose in my face when I realized I’d peed. I was humiliated.

The van kept driving for what felt like hours. Where were we going? Was he driving in circles? The constant rocking of the van made my stomach so uneasy. Bile rose in my throat. When the van finally stopped, I had no idea how long we’d been traveling. The side door opened. Fresh air rushed the cab. Stars glistened through trees.

Della hopped out as Tanner came around the side of the van. Her expectant smile faltered as she met his gaze.

He hauled me out of the van and hefted me on his shoulder. As I looked up, I saw Della slam the van door. Boots climbed three old wooden steps. Through the haze I saw an old gray farmhouse. We were in the country. How far were we from Norfolk? At least thirty or forty miles.

Tanner kissed Della on her cheek. “Good girl. You’ve earned a burger.”

“You’re going to let her go, right?”

“Sure, baby. Sure.”

Later, when the drugs faded, and the trapped cries escaped, Tanner didn’t let me go. And I screamed until my throat was raw.