Precious And Fragile Things. Megan Hart

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СКАЧАТЬ color, but everything on him was dark. Hair, eyes, the growing scruff of a beard she could just make out. A quick glance at his feet revealed huge and battered hiking boots.

      “Fuck.” He leaned back into his seat. The knife seemed forgotten at his side, but she wasn’t sure she could trust that impression. One sudden move and she could find herself with four inches of steel inside her.

      Later, when it was all over and she could be totally honest with herself, Gilly would think it was that clean scent of soap and fresh air that let him keep her. That and the silence. People assumed it was the knife, and she never disabused them of that notion, but Gilly knew the truth. He smelled good, and he didn’t talk much. It was wrong…but right then, it was enough.

      They drove a few more miles in the silence before he sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes. “How much longer before we have to stop?”

      She looked at the gauge. “We have less than a quarter of a tank.”

      Her captor made a muffled sound of disgust. “Next gas station, stop.”

      They weren’t on a particularly populous stretch of road, but it wouldn’t be long before they found a station. He leaned forward again to punch the button on the radio and found only static. He punched the button to play the CD. The familiar words of a lullaby, albeit one unconventional and untraditional, blared from the speakers.

      “What the hell is this?” He turned down the volume.

      Her smile felt out of place but she couldn’t stop it. “Bat Boy: The Musical.”

      He listened for a moment longer to the words, a mother’s gentle promise to nurture the unloved and unwelcome bat-child found in a cave and brought to her home. The song was one Gilly liked to sing along with, but she didn’t now. When it was over and the next song from the campy rock musical had taken over, he stabbed the button on the stereo to turn it off.

      “That’s weird,” he said bluntly. “You listen to that with your kids in the car?”

      She thought of Arwen, who hadn’t seen the show but loved to sing along with the songs too. “Yes.”

      He shook his head. “Damn. What’s it about?”

      His voice had a smoker’s rasp. He talked slowly, as if choosing each word was a mental strain, but he didn’t slur his words or use bad grammar. His voice matched the rest of him, unkempt and battered.

      “It’s about Bat Boy.” Gilly’s eyes scanned the road signs, looking for one that showed an exit or gas station ahead. “It’s…it’s just fun.”

      “Who the hell is Bat Boy?”

      She hesitated, knowing already how the answer would sound. “He’s half human, half bat. They found him in a cave down in Virginia.”

      “You’re shitting me.” Even his curses were clipped and precise, as though he was speaking written dialogue instead of his own thoughts.

      “It’s a story,” she said. “From the Weekly World News. I don’t think it’s real.”

      He laughed. “No shit.”

      “There’s a gas station ahead. Do you want me to pull over?”

      She tensed, waiting for his answer. He shrugged, leaned forward to check the gas gauge again. “Yeah.”

      She signaled and slowed to exit. Her heartbeat accelerated and her palms grew moist. Anxiety gripped her, and a sense of loss she refused to acknowledge because she didn’t want to think what it meant.

      Apparently he remembered the knife, for now he pulled it up and waved it at her again. “Don’t forget I have this.”

      As if she could. “No.”

      Ahead of them was the parking lot, busy even at this time of night. Bright lights made Gilly squint. She pulled the truck up to the pumps and turned off the engine. She waited for instructions, though normally being told what to do chafed at her. Now she felt as though she could do nothing else but wait to be told what to do. How to do it.

      He leaned close enough to kiss her. His breath smelled like Big Red gum. “Give me the keys.”

      Gilly pulled them from the ignition and passed them into his palm. His fingers closed over hers, squeezing. She winced.

      “If you so much as flick the headlights, I will gut you like a deer. You got that?”

      She nodded.

      “I’ll pump.” He waited, looking at her. She saw a flicker of apprehension flash across his face, so fast she wasn’t sure she saw it at all. He held up the knife, but low so anyone looking at them wouldn’t see it through the windows. “Don’t get out of the car. Don’t do anything. Remember what I said.”

      She expected him to ask for money. “I don’t have my purse.”

      He made that sound of disgust again, and now he sounded contemptuous, too. “I don’t need your money.”

      He folded the knife and put it into a leather sheath on his belt, slipped the keys into his pocket, then opened his door and went around to the pump, using the keyless remote to lock the door. He fumbled with the buttons and the handle, finally getting the gas to start. Then he went inside.

      Gilly sat and watched him. After a moment, stunned, she realized this was the second time he’d let his attention slide from her. She sat a moment longer, seeing him choose items from the cooler, the racks of snacks and the magazine section.

      From this distance she had her first good look at him. He was tall, at least six-two or -three, if she judged correctly. She’d seen his hair was dark, but in the fluorescent lights of the minimart it proved to be a deep chestnut that fell in shaggy sheaves to just below his shoulders. He didn’t smile at the clerk and didn’t appear to be making small talk, either, as he put his substantial pile of goods on the counter. He motioned to the clerk for several cartons of cigarettes, Marlboro Reds. He was spending a lot of money.

      He didn’t hurry. He didn’t look nervous or wary. She could see the knife in its leather sheath from here, peeking from beneath the hem of his dark gray sweatshirt, but this was rural Pennsylvania. Deer-hunting country. Nobody would look at it twice, unless it was to admire it.

      Outside, the gas pump clicked off. Gilly shifted in her seat. Inside the market, her abductor pulled an envelope from his sweatshirt pocket and rifled through the contents. He offered a few bills to the clerk, who took the money and started bagging the purchases.

      This was it. She could run. He wouldn’t chase her. If he did, he couldn’t catch her.

      She could scream. People would hear. Someone would come. Someone would help her.

      She breathed again, not screaming. The white-faced and thin-lipped woman in the rearview mirror could not be her. The smile she forced looked more like the baring of teeth, a feral grin more frightening than friendly.

      Time had slowed and stopped, frozen. She’d felt this once when she’d hit a deer springing out from the woods near her house. One moment the road had been clear, the next her window filled with tawny fur, a body crushing into the front end of the truck and sliding across the СКАЧАТЬ