pushed the door back into place. “Okay,” he said. “Are you ready?” Without waiting for her answer, he pulled the handle and opened the car door. He got out, and his feet crunched loudly into dried leaves and dead branches.
“Wait,” Susan said, “I’ll come out your side,” and she slid out behind him. For some inexplicable reason, David could not bring himself to slam the car door. The sound would have cut through the stillness like a gunshot. Instead, he let it ease into place, and then he pressed the switch to turn on the flashlight. The thin beam shot ahead of them,
illuminating the path entrance. “Okay?” he asked. “Okay,” Susan said shakily. And then—“Dave, think how dark—how terribly dark it must be—back where he is! Think how it must be for him lying there, all alone, not knowing if anybody’s going to come-ever!” “Well, we’re here now, so he doesn’t have to lie there much longer,” David said reassuringly. He took her hand. It felt small and cold in his, and he squeezed it hard. There was no reason for a girl like Susan to be here, frightened and remorseful, staggering around the mountain darkness. Why had he drawn her into this crazy plot? he asked himself angrily. Why, indeed, had he been drawn into it himself? It had been a dumb idea right from the beginning. People didn’t go around kidnapping other people just because they didn’t like them. There was nothing amusing about it, nothing to be gained by doing it. If anyone but Mark had suggested it, he would have told him he was nuts. But somehow with Mark things always seemed so sensible. When Mark looked at you with those odd, gray eyes of his, when Mark spoke your name and put his hand on your shoulder-“How long has it been since you did something crazy, just for the hell of it?” Mark had asked him, and it had been as though he had reached straight into him and placed a finger on the open sore at the core of his soul. After that things had happened so fast there had been no time for reconsidering. It had all been there before them, laid out the way it should go. He had been swept up by the plan as completely as though it had been his own. He had thought of calling Susan-or had he? Was it he or someone else who
had suggested that? He had hardly known Susan at that point.
To him she had been no more than a studious, shy little mouse of a girl who had tried to help him catch his papers when the wind had caught them. “Well, let’s go,” he said. “The sooner we get there, the sooner it’s done. He’s going to be one mad dude when we get to him.” The beam of the flashlight led them forward, and a moment later the bushes had closed in behind them. A few paces more and they could hear the waterfall. It grew louder and louder—much louder than it had seemed in the daytime—as though the whole night was made up of rushing water.
As they approached the stream bank, David tightened his grip on Susan’s hand. “There’s no way we’re going to get him out of here without untying him,” he told her. “You do know that, don’t you? If Jeff were here, he could do it. He’d just drag him out with the ropes and blindfold still on him. But I’m not a burly athlete. We’ll have to untie him here and let him walk out.” “I know.” “What I mean is, he’ll see who we are. There’s no way to prevent it. We’re really letting ourselves in for it. He can have us expelled.” “I know,”
Susan said again. “It doesn’t matter. I mean, of course, it matters, but we don’t have any choice, do we?” “I guess not,” David said. The light moved ahead and fell upon him—the man by the stream. He was lying exactly as he had been when they left him, straight and still, the blindfold neatly in place. A cry broke from Susan’s lips, and she dropped David’s hand and hurried forward. “Oh,” she moaned, dropping
to her knees beside the still figure. “Oh, Mr. Griffin, I’m sorry!
I’m so sorry—so
“Wait,” Susan said, “I’ll come out your side,” and she slid out behind him. For some inexplicable reason, David could not bring himself to slam the car door. The sound would have cut through the stillness like a gunshot. Instead, he let it ease into place, and then he pressed the switch to turn on the flashlight. The thin beam shot ahead of them,
illuminating the path entrance. “Okay?” he asked. “Okay,” Susan said shakily. And then—“Dave, think how dark—how terribly dark it must be—back where he is! Think how it must be for him lying there, all alone, not knowing if anybody’s going to come-ever!” “Well, we’re here now, so he doesn’t have to lie there much longer,” David said reassuringly. He took her hand. It felt small and cold in his, and he squeezed it hard. There was no reason for a girl like Susan to be here, frightened and remorseful, staggering around the mountain darkness. Why had he drawn her into this crazy plot? he asked himself angrily. Why, indeed, had he been drawn into it himself? It had been a dumb idea right from the beginning. People didn’t go around kidnapping other people just because they didn’t like them. There was nothing amusing about it, nothing to be gained by doing it. If anyone but Mark had suggested it, he would have told him he was nuts. But somehow with Mark things always seemed so sensible. When Mark looked at you with those odd, gray eyes of his, when Mark spoke your name and put his hand on your shoulder-“How long has it been since you did something crazy, just for the hell of it?” Mark had asked him, and it had been as though he had reached straight into him and placed a finger on the open sore at the core of his soul. After that things had happened so fast there had been no time for reconsidering. It had all been there before them, laid out the way it should go. He had been swept up by the plan as completely as though it had been his own. He had thought of calling Susan-or had he? Was it he or someone else who
had suggested that? He had hardly known Susan at that point.
To him she had been no more than a studious, shy little mouse of a girl who had tried to help him catch his papers when the wind had caught them. “Well, let’s go,” he said. “The sooner we get there, the sooner it’s done. He’s going to be one mad dude when we get to him.” The beam of the flashlight led them forward, and a moment later the bushes had closed in behind them. A few paces more and they could hear the waterfall. It grew louder and louder—much louder than it had seemed in the daytime—as though the whole night was made up of rushing water.
As they approached the stream bank, David tightened his grip on Susan’s hand. “There’s no way we’re going to get him out of here without untying him,” he told her. “You do know that, don’t you? If Jeff were here, he could do it. He’d just drag him out with the ropes and blindfold still on him. But I’m not a burly athlete. We’ll have to untie him here and let him walk out.” “I know.” “What I mean is, he’ll see who we are. There’s no way to prevent it. We’re really letting ourselves in for it. He can have us expelled.” “I know,”
Susan said again. “It doesn’t matter. I mean, of course, it matters, but we don’t have any choice, do we?” “I guess not,” David said. The light moved ahead and fell upon him—the man by the stream. He was lying exactly as he had been when they left him, straight and still, the blindfold neatly in place. A cry broke from Susan’s lips, and she dropped David’s hand and hurried forward. “Oh,” she moaned, dropping
to her knees beside the still figure. “Oh, Mr. Griffin, I’m sorry!
I’m so sorry—so
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