give a shit about any of that. I’m only thinking about the right thing to do. I don’t know the perfect answer. And neither do you. All I know is that we have to do something.”
As quickly as it ignited, her fire extinguished. I got it. We both had unquenchable cauldrons full of hot, boiling anger bubbling up inside of us, with no one to douse—except the kidnappers. But they weren’t around. We’d each had mini-explosions over the past few days, usually directed at each other. When it happened, the best the other could do was ride it out, and then move on. Until now we were unaccustomed to fighting with each other like this, using rage and resentment as weapons. We were on the unfamiliar frontlines of a war we didn’t start or even understand. But we knew that, unless we had each other’s back, we’d never make it out alive.
“What about Katie?” Jenn suddenly said.
“What about Katie?” I asked. She and Jenn had gotten close over the past six months. I didn’t really know the woman, but I encouraged the friendship. Jenn was so busy being the perfect mom and lawyer, she forgot about just being Jenn. She was in desperate need of the kind of relationship that involved two women spending time together doing stuff that girlfriends do, spouses not included.
“She’s a reporter…or a journalist or something like that,” Jenn said. “Out of everyone we know, she’ll know what to do. She’ll know how to handle the media.”
I nodded. Relieved. A problem that actually had a solution. “Sounds good.”
Suddenly energized, Jenn hopped out of bed. “I’ll call her right now.”
“Now?”
“She’s up. She’s always telling me how she does her best work late at night.”
Having arrived at our destination, the back door of the van creaked open. Through a small sliver in the strip of fabric that covered my eyes, I could see it was night. Certain things are best done under the cover of darkness.
Chapter 13
I am alive.
In what circumstances does someone use those three words? I can think of only three. One: in times of personal triumph—successfully scaling Mount Everest; landing a dream job. Two: exclaiming physical exaltation—having sex with a beautiful woman; completing your first full marathon. Three: in moments of survival—when you’ve escaped, barely, the threat of certain death. Regardless of the circumstance—even if you’re struggling for air atop a mountain, admitting to yourself that the woman you just slept with is not your wife, or realizing just how precarious your existence really is—whenever you can say those three words—I AM ALIVE—it feels damn good.
With my blindfold now repositioned so that I couldn’t see a thing, two hands dragged me from the back of the van. Being outside had never felt so good. Fresh air. Gentle breeze. Pleasant, earthy smells.
I’d become a bit of a sleuth during my incarceration, specializing in using senses that I normally took for granted to provide me with clues. Changes in the sound the tires made suggested we’d eventually left paved road for gravel and maybe even dirt. Popping in my ears told me our elevation had changed. Given the time it took to reach our destination, my best guess was that we’d ascended into the Atlas Mountains—probably Toubkal, the country’s highest peak, in southwestern Morocco, only two hours from Marrakech.
I was alive, but I didn’t expect that status to last long. Soon, I suspected, I would be hurtling down the side of that same mountain. The plot, unpleasant as it was for me, made sense. The chance of my bloodied and broken body ever being found in such a desolate area was probably pretty low.
As the men silently led me to my fate, I sucked in fresh drafts of air, deeply, exuberantly, as if they were my last, for surely they were. I began to think of Mikki, and Jenn, and various family and friends. Just as quickly, I pushed them out of my mind. The images simply hurt too much.
The
As quickly as it ignited, her fire extinguished. I got it. We both had unquenchable cauldrons full of hot, boiling anger bubbling up inside of us, with no one to douse—except the kidnappers. But they weren’t around. We’d each had mini-explosions over the past few days, usually directed at each other. When it happened, the best the other could do was ride it out, and then move on. Until now we were unaccustomed to fighting with each other like this, using rage and resentment as weapons. We were on the unfamiliar frontlines of a war we didn’t start or even understand. But we knew that, unless we had each other’s back, we’d never make it out alive.
“What about Katie?” Jenn suddenly said.
“What about Katie?” I asked. She and Jenn had gotten close over the past six months. I didn’t really know the woman, but I encouraged the friendship. Jenn was so busy being the perfect mom and lawyer, she forgot about just being Jenn. She was in desperate need of the kind of relationship that involved two women spending time together doing stuff that girlfriends do, spouses not included.
“She’s a reporter…or a journalist or something like that,” Jenn said. “Out of everyone we know, she’ll know what to do. She’ll know how to handle the media.”
I nodded. Relieved. A problem that actually had a solution. “Sounds good.”
Suddenly energized, Jenn hopped out of bed. “I’ll call her right now.”
“Now?”
“She’s up. She’s always telling me how she does her best work late at night.”
Having arrived at our destination, the back door of the van creaked open. Through a small sliver in the strip of fabric that covered my eyes, I could see it was night. Certain things are best done under the cover of darkness.
Chapter 13
I am alive.
In what circumstances does someone use those three words? I can think of only three. One: in times of personal triumph—successfully scaling Mount Everest; landing a dream job. Two: exclaiming physical exaltation—having sex with a beautiful woman; completing your first full marathon. Three: in moments of survival—when you’ve escaped, barely, the threat of certain death. Regardless of the circumstance—even if you’re struggling for air atop a mountain, admitting to yourself that the woman you just slept with is not your wife, or realizing just how precarious your existence really is—whenever you can say those three words—I AM ALIVE—it feels damn good.
With my blindfold now repositioned so that I couldn’t see a thing, two hands dragged me from the back of the van. Being outside had never felt so good. Fresh air. Gentle breeze. Pleasant, earthy smells.
I’d become a bit of a sleuth during my incarceration, specializing in using senses that I normally took for granted to provide me with clues. Changes in the sound the tires made suggested we’d eventually left paved road for gravel and maybe even dirt. Popping in my ears told me our elevation had changed. Given the time it took to reach our destination, my best guess was that we’d ascended into the Atlas Mountains—probably Toubkal, the country’s highest peak, in southwestern Morocco, only two hours from Marrakech.
I was alive, but I didn’t expect that status to last long. Soon, I suspected, I would be hurtling down the side of that same mountain. The plot, unpleasant as it was for me, made sense. The chance of my bloodied and broken body ever being found in such a desolate area was probably pretty low.
As the men silently led me to my fate, I sucked in fresh drafts of air, deeply, exuberantly, as if they were my last, for surely they were. I began to think of Mikki, and Jenn, and various family and friends. Just as quickly, I pushed them out of my mind. The images simply hurt too much.
The
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