Cheyenne by Lisa L Wiedmeier Page B

sandstone-colored pick-up truck parked at the far end of the parking lot. The windows were darkly tinted, but it was the height of the vehicle that caused me to stare. It was eerily familiar. In fact, it looked almost exactly like my dad’s truck. I tried to rationalize my déjà vu away: this really shouldn’t be too odd; it’s a mountain town. They need cars with four-wheel drive to get around during the winter months. I was really becoming paranoid!
    I climbed in my Jeep with keys still in hand. It was warm outside, and I didn’t want to close the door yet—I needed the fresh air. As I sat, I began to feel the trauma of the day overwhelm me. During my drive here, I had been stressing about what the riddle meant. Why did my parents hide the picture? I also couldn’t keep my mind off the safety deposit box, and why it was kept a secret. What did it contain that my parents’ thought only I should know?
    I was getting another one of my migraines. The majority of the time they came on slowly and I was able to manage them. Before my parents died, they were concerned, but we never visited a doctor. After my parent’s death, my headaches had seemed to evolve into something worse; black spots were now blurring my vision when they came.
    I closed my eyes as the throbbing in my skull began to deepen. How was I going to drive like this? I hadn’t even gotten a motel room yet; I’d just have to find the closest one and hope it was clean.
    I let my head lightly rest on the seat. I was hoping if I just sat and waited it out for a little while, it would subside enough to drive. The keys dropped into my lap, and I placed my fingers on the side of my temples, massaging them gently. I attempted to lift my head slightly and open my eyes, but I winced as I felt enormous pressure on my skull. I felt like it could explode at any moment. What was happening to me? I’d never had one this bad before.
    The distant hum of cars on the road echoed as I sat in the parking lot. Suddenly a warm touch on my left forearm caused me to yelp. I tried to pull free, but the hand didn’t move.
    “ Are you okay?” It was the man I had run into at the cathedral. He must have followed me.
    “ You don’t look so good; you must have run into me harder than I thought…” he trailed off. “Do you need some help?”
    I couldn’t open my heavy lids; the immense pain in my head was overwhelming. I could barely spit out the words. “No…I’m fine.” I tried to pull my arm back again.
    I knew I wouldn’t be fine. I was totally incapable of doing anything at that moment except sitting there. I couldn’t even move. I knew I was getting to the point where I might pass out from the throbbing in my temples. Why was this stranger so interested in helping me?
    “ Please let go of me.” For the third time, I struggled to pull my arm back and forced myself upright.
    “ I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
    It happened so fast I couldn’t react. I felt his grip tighten, so strong it surely left imprints on my wrist. Weakly I tried to fight back, but it was no use. Even if I was at full strength, I’d have been no match for him.
    His hands slid around my back and grabbed my waist. Then I was tugged into the air, away from the driver’s seat, and lifted into his chest. He moved me to the rear seat of the Wrangler. The sensation of movement made me nauseous, and I moaned softly, praying I wouldn’t be sick. I struggled to flip open my eyes only to see blurry black spots; I closed them again.
    I fought to release myself from the stranger’s grasp, but he only held on tighter. I struggled to use my legs to thrash around, but he must have seen it coming because he quickly moved and locked them down. I attempted to open my mouth in protest when his hand reached for my face.
    “ It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you,” he said sympathetically. You have to calm down and quit struggling. I don’t want to hurt you.”
    “ You’re scaring her,”