the unsuspecting nature of the citizens.
On that warm, July afternoon, Lindsay stepped outside, violin case in hand, and walked to the corner. She turned right and stayed on the sidewalk between the street and the two-hundred-year-old brick wall. The building opposite her side of the street was the same, a two-story, windowless wall where shopkeepers once lived above their stores. Beyond the shadowy stretch, commercial zoning turned to residential, and she could see her next-door neighbor’s backyard. The white van parked by the curb did not look out of place, no different than dozens of other delivery vehicles in and out of the alley.
The violin case swung at her side, and she skipped merrily along. But as she approached the passenger side, a man in a wheelchair fumbled with the sliding door.
“Hi,” Ricky said. He wore jeans, a North Face T-shirt, and a ball cap with the local college logo.
“Hi,” she politely responded and continued down the sidewalk.
The street angled slightly uphill toward the neighborhood. After ten more paces, she would cross the entrance to the alley and officially enter her little village of old, refurbished houses.
Ricky fumbled with the latch and made a clumsy show. “Excuse me,” he called to her. “Would you help me out? I can’t get the door open.”
Lindsay stared, unsuspectingly for the moment, and sized up the situation.
“I’m sorry to bother you, sweetheart,” he went on. “But when I try to open it …” He reached with his hand and let the wheelchair roll backward. “My chair won’t stay still. Whoa!” He smiled and acted helpless. “If you could just pull the handle, I have a lift that helps me in.” He flashed his pearly whites and played on his handicap to draw out her tenderness.
Her parents taught her to be wary of strangers and especially to never get into vehicles with them. They also taught her to be kind and courteous and to assist the less fortunate. She didn’t think anyone in a wheelchair would hurt her.
“Yes, sir.” She came closer. There was so much life in her movement, so much innocent joy. Good manners kept her from staring, and she reached for the handle.
“Thank you so much! You’re an angel.” False gratitude emanated from every pore of his being. His eyes averted to one end of the street and then the other. So far, he had not broken any laws, even if someone were watching. But all was clear, and he tensed, a compressed spring energized for release. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”
She swept the handle up and had no more said “There you go” when Ricky peeled the door open with one hand, wrapped his other hand over her mouth, jumped into the back, and slid it shut. The action happened so fast that she never had time to scream. He placed a moist handkerchief over her face as she kicked, swung, and squirmed to get away. The chemical took effect within seconds.
He put her on the bed, bent through the little door into the cab, and glanced at the mirrors. The street remained empty. You’re mine now .
Chapter Twenty-Three
D eep into the country, no stops planned until they were faraway, the van rolled on. In the seconds, minutes, and hours after a kidnapping, distance was Ricky’s best friend. But travel was the toughest part. Once he touched a child, placed his hands on her flesh and she was in his possession, the wait was near unbearable. Only self-preservation pushed him on.
Lindsay was in the back, knocked out from a second dose of chloroform. She would have a splitting headache when she woke, but he didn’t care about that. Her comfort was not a concern.
She reminded him of his childhood neighbor, the younger of the two sisters he used to peep on. Their appearances were undeniably similar, and he recalled the original feel of obsession awoken within him all those years ago. The girl’s young, female form dominated his thoughts. He wanted to be with her, around her, to touch her.
* * *
On a few
On that warm, July afternoon, Lindsay stepped outside, violin case in hand, and walked to the corner. She turned right and stayed on the sidewalk between the street and the two-hundred-year-old brick wall. The building opposite her side of the street was the same, a two-story, windowless wall where shopkeepers once lived above their stores. Beyond the shadowy stretch, commercial zoning turned to residential, and she could see her next-door neighbor’s backyard. The white van parked by the curb did not look out of place, no different than dozens of other delivery vehicles in and out of the alley.
The violin case swung at her side, and she skipped merrily along. But as she approached the passenger side, a man in a wheelchair fumbled with the sliding door.
“Hi,” Ricky said. He wore jeans, a North Face T-shirt, and a ball cap with the local college logo.
“Hi,” she politely responded and continued down the sidewalk.
The street angled slightly uphill toward the neighborhood. After ten more paces, she would cross the entrance to the alley and officially enter her little village of old, refurbished houses.
Ricky fumbled with the latch and made a clumsy show. “Excuse me,” he called to her. “Would you help me out? I can’t get the door open.”
Lindsay stared, unsuspectingly for the moment, and sized up the situation.
“I’m sorry to bother you, sweetheart,” he went on. “But when I try to open it …” He reached with his hand and let the wheelchair roll backward. “My chair won’t stay still. Whoa!” He smiled and acted helpless. “If you could just pull the handle, I have a lift that helps me in.” He flashed his pearly whites and played on his handicap to draw out her tenderness.
Her parents taught her to be wary of strangers and especially to never get into vehicles with them. They also taught her to be kind and courteous and to assist the less fortunate. She didn’t think anyone in a wheelchair would hurt her.
“Yes, sir.” She came closer. There was so much life in her movement, so much innocent joy. Good manners kept her from staring, and she reached for the handle.
“Thank you so much! You’re an angel.” False gratitude emanated from every pore of his being. His eyes averted to one end of the street and then the other. So far, he had not broken any laws, even if someone were watching. But all was clear, and he tensed, a compressed spring energized for release. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”
She swept the handle up and had no more said “There you go” when Ricky peeled the door open with one hand, wrapped his other hand over her mouth, jumped into the back, and slid it shut. The action happened so fast that she never had time to scream. He placed a moist handkerchief over her face as she kicked, swung, and squirmed to get away. The chemical took effect within seconds.
He put her on the bed, bent through the little door into the cab, and glanced at the mirrors. The street remained empty. You’re mine now .
Chapter Twenty-Three
D eep into the country, no stops planned until they were faraway, the van rolled on. In the seconds, minutes, and hours after a kidnapping, distance was Ricky’s best friend. But travel was the toughest part. Once he touched a child, placed his hands on her flesh and she was in his possession, the wait was near unbearable. Only self-preservation pushed him on.
Lindsay was in the back, knocked out from a second dose of chloroform. She would have a splitting headache when she woke, but he didn’t care about that. Her comfort was not a concern.
She reminded him of his childhood neighbor, the younger of the two sisters he used to peep on. Their appearances were undeniably similar, and he recalled the original feel of obsession awoken within him all those years ago. The girl’s young, female form dominated his thoughts. He wanted to be with her, around her, to touch her.
* * *
On a few
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