The air hung heavy and low the following morning as Etta left the house for her morning run. The blue sky which promised a hot afternoon was filtered through a heavy, low haze of moisture that was common in July in Iowa. The grass, the flowers and the small little hairs on corn leaves all were laden with dew that hadn’t yet burned off in the morning sunshine, but that sun was definitely overhead. You could feel it in the air as a powerful force, the force that everyone in these parts relied upon for their future. After all, Etta heard it once if she’d heard it a thousand times: Corn is a tropical plant.
She laughed a little inside as the sound of her shoes hitting the asphalt white line resounded in her ears. Yesterday when she’d hung out at the bakery she’d overheard Art Schoenfelder saying the exact same phrase to his coffee companions. It was an oldie but a goodie. Perhaps she should switch up some of her methods in her writing. Perhaps if she told the boys adventure as small short stories, one from each boys’ perspective, she could fill each story with these dumb, small town witticisms. Hmmm …. Well, isn’t that strange? Here I am thinking about writing again.
As she turned the corner coming from the back road past the cemetery towards the grain elevator, the heat suddenly felt overwhelming. It was still overcast, but this was definitely going to be a scorcher of a day. She’d obviously forgotten just how forbidding summer in Iowa could be. She slowed to a stroll as she approached the main office next to the grain elevator. There was a small bench just outside of the office door. She knew that this was where folks waited in line for their weigh-in and pay-off before dumping their load at harvest time. Today, on this hot summer day, there wasn’t a soul around. Yet, two months from now this would become the busiest spot in the world. There’d be a lineup from this office down the street and out onto the highway for days running. Heck it might last for a month, depending on how fast they could process the grain.
There was a wide empty area just to the east of the office that she knew they would hold open as “overflow” from the huge, gigantic grain elevators behind the building. It seemed almost every year there was an “overflow” pile of corn, held in with plastic retaining walls. The only difference from year to year seemed to be how high the overflow pile would become. This was America’s heartland: a place of plenty, where God had graced the hands that worked the land and had given the soil the abundance to become what Art had said to his friend yesterday, “The most fertile damned land in the world. The Chinese just wish they could get their hands on it.”
She took a long swig of her water. God but that man had ego. But who could argue with him? He was rich, wasn’t he? His land had made him one of the richest men in the county, so he obviously knew what he was talking about. She lingered for another moment as she sat at the elevator. She was tempted to just go home from there as the day was surely only going to get hotter and hotter. Perhaps if she got breakfast going before it got too hot, the kitchen wouldn’t get so warm. But she had planned on talking to Connie at the convenience store. She’d be looking for her. It was another 20 minutes before Connie was due for her morning break. She’d get going, grab her juice and sit and wait for her down by the river.
As she came within sight of the convenience store, she noticed a car with Minnesota plates parked on the south side of the building in the employee parking space. Maybe she should say something to Connie. That was kind of odd. Then again, maybe there was somebody either sleeping in their car on a long trip, which wasn’t so uncommon, she supposed, out here on a main highway through the state, or maybe somebody didn’t realize that Riverside Park was a day-use only spot and she’d find a tent back there when she went to sit to talk with Connie. People did that kind of thing all the time. After all, who could resist such a nice spot along the river to camp? Not that she’d drink the water out of that river. Yeah, maybe eat the fish, but definitely not drink the water.
She walked into the convenience store, grabbed a bottle of apple juice, seriously considered one of the crullers in the doughnut area and wisely walked away while she still had her will-power. God this place was full of sinfulness. Hmm, if she were a preacher, maybe she’d write a sermon on that. Hey, that’s not a bad idea! Maybe a book of sermons. She could make that hilarious. Sermons from Middle America. That’s not a bad idea. She should definitely write that down so she didn’t lose that thought.
“Morning, Etta,” May said to her as she brought her juice up to the counter to check out. “Connie working today?” Etta scanned the areas behind the counter where they usually made pizzas and saw nobody else was around.
“Oh, yeah, she’s in back making up more juice for slushies. Sellin’ like hotcakes. She’ll be on break in about ten and meet you around back, I’m sure,” May said in a very laid-back manner.
“Oh, hey, May. There’s an out-of-state car parked in the employee parking. Noticed it on my way in. Thought I’d let you know,” Etta mentioned nonchalanty.
“Oh, really? Well, I’ll give it a look in a half-hour or so when the morning rush lets up a bit. If it’s still there, I’ll call in Bill Meyers to stop by on his travels. He makes his way ‘round here about ten most days. You know Bill, don’t ya? County Deputy. Single guy, nice looking fellar.” May winked at her, knowingly.
“No, I don’t know him. I’m not usually around that time of day. Not in the market really.” She flashed May a wide grin.
“Yeah, I heard you got a letter.” She returned Etta’s grin. “I’ll let Connie know you’re out back.”
Etta stopped for a minute, grabbed one of the pens on the counter and wrote herself a note on the back of her receipt, to remind her of her idea about sermons for later. “NTS: Iowa preacher sermon notes – The Prodigal Pig, The Sinfulness of a Doughnut, etc. – Funny Themes”. She tucked the receipt in her pocket. She’d flush out ideas more thoroughly when she got home and put it into one of her notebooks. When May gave her a funny look, she turned on her way out the door, “Good idea for a story, that’s all,” and waved on her way out the door.
She twisted off the cap of her juice bottle, lifted it to her lips and took a refreshing drink. She was turning the corner around the back of the building when someone jumped out from behind the building, with strong arms wrapping around her forearms, making her drop her bottle of juice. A hand came up to her mouth, with a nastysmelling rag which covered her nose and mouth. She struggled against the strong arms, but within moments, she felt her world growing dark and her body went limp.
* * *
There was a look of worry and concern on Gen’s face as she held open the screen door to let Bill Meyers in through her kitchen doorway. “Come on in, Bill. My house is your house. You know that.”
“Good to see you up and about, Gen. Wish I was here about a haircut, though.” He took off his large, brimmed deputy hat as he walked into the kitchen.
“Yes, me too. Coffee? Would you like to go sit down?” Gen held out a giant mug of fresh-brewed coffee to him as they walked through her kitchen into the dining-room that had served as her make-shift bedroom.
He took the mug from her and sat down on the guest chair across from her bed. “Sure. Thanks for the coffee, Gen. So your granddaughter always comes back home by this time of day then?”
Gen sat down gently on the side of her, now-made, bed. “Yes, she’s been staying here, Bill, helping me get better. She made up this room as a bedroom for me. She’s still insisting on making meals for me even though I can do for myself now, I think. I’ve been working my way in therapy towards going back to my bedroom upstairs. Connie called around 7:15 and again at 8 to see if she’d maybe come home by chance, but she’s still not back from her morning run and here it is going on 9 o’clock, Bill.” Gen was wringing her hands against each other. “That’s just not like her. She’s almost always home by 7:30 or 8 at the latest. Even when she stops to chat with Connie, she’s never home later than 8 or 8:30. This is odd for her.”
“Okay. I got that.” He sat his mug down on the end-table next to his chair. “Connie and May both thought she’d be out back in the park waiting for Connie to take a cigarette break with her, too, but she wasn’t there when Connie went looking. There was an empty juice bottle that had been spilled on the ground, same as what she’d just purchased.”
“Oh, Bill. Something must be wrong. Etta would never do that. If she says she’s going to be somewhere, well ….That’s where she’d be.”
“Real dependable, huh?” He took out a small notebook from his back pocket and started jotting down some notes.
“Very much so. She’d never just go running off without saying something to someone.”
“You sure she isn’t off buying you a birthday gift or something?”
“No, I’m sure she’s not. She never takes money when she goes on her runs. Just her water bottle. She doesn’t even listen to music. She says that’s just not safe. You gotta keep your eyes open and be alert.” Bill held Gen’s eyes with his as she spoke. They were slowly filling with unshed tears.
“So does she have a guy she’s been seeing or something? Maybe she’s off making kissy-face somewhere?” He was trying every trick in his book to make Gen feel more comfortable.
“Oh, Bill. You don’t know Etta. No, she isn’t seeing anybody here in Iowa. She’s got a fella, but he’s off in Michigan. She’s been pining for him.”
“Well, dang, Gen. If I’d’a known, I’d’ve kept her company,” he said, with a wink for the grandmother. “You know, take her mind off that other fella.”
“You scoundrel! I don’t think she’s in the looking business right now, Bill. She’s pretty much made up her mind on this one.”
“Is that so? Hmmm, well, is it possible – I’m not saying she’s gone and done it or anything – but maybe is it possible she’s gone off on a tear to Michigan to see him? Or maybe he’s gone on a tear and picked her up to elope?”
“No, she wouldn’t just go do that. And she left her car in the drive, didn’t take any clothes. She wouldn’t just take off with no money, no car, no nothing. She isn’t scatter-brained. She knows she can’t run to Michigan.”
Bill Meyers got up and slowly sauntered over to the doorway. “Well, Gen, I can’t really call this a missing persons case until she’s been gone 48 hours.”
“Wait!” Gen said in a panic, getting up from her bed. “That’s not all. She got in a peck of trouble last spring at Minnesota University. Some young man raped her.”
Bill came to Gen’s side and helped the older woman sit back down on her bed. “Don’t go getting all riled up, Gen. What’s this about rape?”
“He raped her. I don’t remember the fella’s name. He’s some hockey player she’d been seeing. What do they call it? Date rape. Is that it?” He nodded in the affirmative. “You see, he drugged her. She didn’t even know she’d been raped until after. She was getting sick and all. Oh, I didn’t want to tell you, Bill. It’s her secret, but what if that nasty …. Well, what if he’s taken her? You can’t just ignore this, Bill. I know she hasn’t been gone long enough under normal circumstances….”
“Yeah, well, this doesn’t sound like normal circumstances, though, Gen. This is a whole different ball of wax. So do they know about this at Minnesota U? Would security there know all about this, Gen?” He was now patiently squatting at Gen’s feet, holding her hands in her lap.
“Yes, there was all kinds of news and what-not about it. That’s why she went off to do her graduate studies at Northern Michigan in Marquette.”
“Oh really? Well, that’s a whole different kettle of fish.” He rose to his full height and again, maybe some more notes in his little notebook. “She was scared enough to run from this guy?”
“Oh, I don’t know if she was running from him so much. She just got skittish and wanted to get away from it all, you know.”
He bent over and patted Gen’s hand again. “Listen to me, Gen. I’ll take a look into this right away, okay? Make some calls to the Minneapolis cops and see what I can find out about this guy. If there’s anything fishy, I’ll find out what’s going on.” He rose up, put his hat on his head and walked to the doorway. “I can’t officially make this into a missing persons case, but I can do my old friend, Gen, a favor. You and Connie are clearly worried about her so I’ll do some checking around and let you know what I can find out. There was a Minnesota car parked out to the side of the Kum’N Go too, so I’ll check into that too.”
He and Gen walked through the kitchen as he opened the screen door and stepped down on her first step. “This might take me a bit, Gen, so don’t you worry too much. We’ll find her. I’ll keep you informed of what I find out.” He walked back down the sidewalk to his squad car and got in.
* * *
Etta awoke to an overwhelming feeling of being hot. Not just hot, but sickeningly hot. Her whole body was drenched in sweat. The hair that hadn’t made it into her ponytail was stuck against her skin. She opened her eyes to intense darkness then realized she was in the trunk of a car and the car was moving. She could hear the sound of the pavement and the occasional lurching of the car over a bump at regular intervals. She felt like she couldn’t breathe. Someone had stuffed a handkerchief in her mouth. She had to breathe. She worked her tongue in a way that let her spit the cloth out of her mouth, then nearly choked as her mouth felt so dry. She coughed several times until some moisture came to her mouth again. She could feel a dull ache in her fingertips, as her arms were restrained behind her back, too tightly. She was losing the feeling in her hands. Yes, they were in handcuffs. She could feel the metal chafe against her wrists. Her feet were bare and her ankles were bound together with duct tape.
Oh, God. What the hell was happening? It was just like those TV shows she and Tommy had watched on that first night around Christmas-time. Oh God. That first night that they’d been together. A million thoughts raced through her mind with lightning speed. What if she never saw him again? She’d never get another chance to tell him she loved him, that she wanted a life with him. What would they do to her? Surely they couldn’t kidnap her like this and let her live. Oh, God. What could she do? For right now she knew only one thing. She needed to breathe. She desperately needed to breathe and it was suffocatingly hot. And that wasn’t going to get any easier if she panicked. It was so hot and stuffy in this trunk. She needed to calm down.
What was it Tom had said then? If you don’t panic you have a better chance. Something like that. The difference for these people who had survived was that they didn’t panic. They thought rationally and thoughtfully and did things logically. Okay. Slow down your breathing and do that. Think about it logically. What would Tom do in this situation? Oh shit, what would she do in this situation? She wasn’t anywhere near as strong as Tom. She’d have to do smart things, things that would give the authorities a chance to find her. Use the training. Use what you know. Pull everything from your mind that you ever learned about emergencies and self-defense.
Connie had known she was going to meet her behind the store. And hadn’t May said something about a cop? Oh, yeah, the deputy was due into the store at ten. She would, at the very least, say something to the cop about Etta not showing up when he came in at ten. And thank God she’d said something about that car. She was sure now. That’s what that car had been parked to the side of the store. That Minnesota car. Oh, shit. It was him. It was Owen. Christ, what if she was up against Owen? She’d fight. Dammit, she’d fight him with every breath in her body.
She was panicking again. Slow down the breathing. It was so ungodly hot in here. She had to get out of this trunk before she passed out. She’d cook to death in this trunk. You have to take this in steps and step one is to get out of the trunk. You’ll die in this trunk. So what would make whoever it was who took her get her out of the trunk? Noise. Make noise. Make yourself a nuisance. Okay. She could do that. She started to writhe on the floor. Bucking her body against the back seats of the car. She found her shoes laying just behind her feet. She started bucking against them, shoving her shoes up against the tail lights of the car. Oh, hey. Maybe she could bust the lights. That might make the car more noticeable. Hell, it was a Minnesota car in Iowa. It was already noticeable.
She felt the car start to slow, then heard the unmistakable sound of gravel beneath the wheels, then the sound of grasses, probably weeds, rubbing up against the sides of the car. Oh no. He’d gone into a wooded area. Think quickly. What would she do when she got out? She couldn’t let them kill her and leave her in the woods along the side of a road. Be smart. Keeping them talking. Talk them into keeping you alive.
She heard footsteps come up along the side of the car, then the rattle of keys as the trunk was opened. It was suddenly very, very bright and there was a silhouette of a man above her. But it wasn’t Owen’s shape. This man wasn’t nearly as tall, somewhat scrawny of build. As her eyes adjusted to the daylight, he spoke. “Good, you’re awake. I thought I gave you too much.” He reached into the trunk, pulled out her feet first, then reached down behind Etta’s head and lifted her by the shoulders out of the trunk and sat her, butt-first, on the fender of the car. He was scrawny with greasy blond hair and a face that had gone at least two or three days without a shave. He had a pungent smell of cheap soap, perhaps cheap shampoo. And he looked familiar. She’d seen him before. Oh, yes. The guy from the gift shop, with the jacket. Jacket-man. She knew that was weird. Who wears a jacket in July in Iowa?
He had parked the car in the yard of an old, deserted farmstead where there was nothing left standing but the machine shed from older times. The foundation of an old house was nothing but an outline in very high weeds, but the old gravel driveway was still visible and drivable. There were no other farmsteads for miles around and nothing but cornfield and road for as far as the eye could see. He held up a water bottle to her lips. “Here. Lean your head back.”
She drank heartily from the water bottle as he held it to her lips. She coughed several times, spilling some water down onto her breasts, wetting her tank top, then looked him in the eye. She didn’t know just how to think about it, but she saw something in his eyes. What was it? Regret? Sincerity? What kind of thoughts ran through the mind of a kidnapper? One very clear thought ran through her mind, however: Talk him into keeping you alive. She’d only do that, she thought, by being nice. Being nasty would get her nowhere. “Thank you.”
He twisted the cap back on the water bottle, then stood with his thumbs in his jeans pockets for a moment. “You’re welcome. Are you okay?” He looked at her from head to toe, then walked to the back door of the car, pulled out a cloth, then came back to the trunk area again. When she came near him with the cloth, Etta winced a bit as he started wiping at the sweat that was streaked across her body. “It’s okay. I’m just going to clean you up a bit.” He dabbed a bit of water on the cloth as he cleaned the sweat off her face, then her shoulders.
“Why?”
“Well, you look like shit. I know it was hot in there. I didn’t want to do that but I couldn’t let anybody see you either.” He bent over and was wiping sweat and dirt off of her bare thighs and calves and some dirt that had rubbed on her in her flailing in the trunk.
“What do you want?”
“Nothing. I’m just doing a job. And dammit, you’re going to be healthy the whole time I have you. I’d rather have you inside the car, in the air conditioning. You have to look normal for that though.” The tone of his voice was like he was going out to get the mail or something. Just an ordinary day.
“Good. I’m glad to hear that.”
“I’m just to deliver you to a particular spot, then I’m out of this. I don’t want to hurt you and I never would, okay?” He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, then pulled her ponytail tight again.
“Okay.” Again, Etta’s mind raced. Yes, that look on his face was regret. Regret and compassion. This was not a nasty man at all and he was reluctant. He was being gentle with her. He didn’t want to be doing this. This was somebody Owen had hired to pick her up, clearly. “Listen, you don’t have to do this, you know.”
“Oh, hey now. Don’t go getting all smart on me.” He drank the rest of the water himself, then threw the bottle in the tall grass. ”Yes, I do. I don’t do this, I’m a dead man.”
“What?”
“You heard me. And I don’t want to hear you going on about stuff. No yelling, no screaming or I swear, I’ll use the chloroform again.”
“Okay. I won’t. I promise. Just don’t kill me.” She looked him straight in the eyes. “Please don’t kill me.”
“I won’t hurt you. I promise. Okay, so let’s get you in the passenger seat here, okay?” He took a jackknife from his pocket, bent over and cut the duct tape between her ankles. “We’ve got another hour or so to go. We’re only going through small towns, so nowhere to run. I’m trusting you not to jump out and make a run for it. That will only hurt you since you’re barefoot.” He pushed her to walk towards the front of the car, leaned her, face-first, up against the car and unlocked the handcuffs. He held one wrist high up against her shoulder blade, as he brought her other wrist to her front, then turned her and brought both her wrists together, holding them tightly with one hand. He pulled a roll of duct tape from the top of the car, then wrapped both her wrists together in front of her. “There. That should be a little more comfortable. Okay?” She nodded. “Promise me you won’t run.”
“I won’t run.” She looked directly into his eyes as he stood before her. “I promise.”
“Okay. Here’s the deal. I have a gun, but I don’t want to use it. I don’t want to hurt you and I’ve promised I won’t.” He held her tightly by the wrists, with both hands on either side of her wrists. “If you run, I have to chase you down, so just don’t do it. I know I can’t keep up with you, even barefoot, so I won’t have a choice. Understand?”
“I understand.”
“Okay. Good. Now get in the car. We’ll cover your arms with this towel so it’s not so conspicuous if someone should look in the car, but we won’t be stopping along the way. There’s a bathroom where we’re going so you’ll need to hold it until we get there.” He opened the car door and held it open for her, helped her get into the car and draped the damp towel over her restrained wrists. He walked around the front of the car and got into the driver’s side, backed the car out of the driveway and pulled back out onto the highway.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Somewhere private.” He maintained a bland expression on his face.
“Owen hired you, didn’t he?”
“Yup.” Still nothing.
She sat silent for a long time, pondering. One clear-cut question kept going through her mind over and over. Why? It twirled in her mind for a long time. She couldn’t understand it, no matter what she’d pondered. It didn’t make any sense. He’d gotten away with it. The rape, the drugs, all of that. They had refused to prosecute. It didn’t matter that she’d been willing to testify and her doctor. It didn’t make sense. He had no reason to kidnap her. But she had to figure out a way out of this. What was step two? She’d managed the first step. She was alive. She was out of the trunk. This guy wasn’t going to kill her. In fact, if she could talk him into it, she may be able to talk him out of the whole thing, he was so reluctant.
“Why?” she asked her captor.
“What?” He glanced over at her.
“Why kidnap me? Why is he doing this?”
The kidnapper just shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“I’m getting paid.”
“How much?”
“All together,” he looked over in her direction again, “twenty-five grand.”
“The price on my head is twenty-five thousand …. To kidnap me?”
“And other various things, yeah.”
“Great.” She stared out at the open sky and the fields that were streaming past her window. What was she going to do? She could offer this guy more money to forget the whole thing. Maybe that was a way. “What if I offered you more?”
“What?”
“I could get you more. My father would gladly give you fifty if you forget this all and deliver me safely home.”
“No.” Pursing his lips together, he just shook his head.
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to die.”
“Neither do I.” She sat back in her seat with a deep sigh.
“Okay. Enough talk. I feel shitty enough about this. I don’t need your mouth too. Anymore and I stop again and chloroform you. Understand?” He lifted one hand to run his fingers through his sparse and sweaty hair.
Etta reluctantly nodded her head. “Yeah, I understand. I’ll shut up.” She needed to keep her wits about her and think of more strategy. She wasn’t panicking. She couldn’t panic and needed to keep sharp, keep her eyes open. Surely she would recognize some road signs along the way as they drove and she’d maybe get a chance to run for it. It would help to have some idea of where she was anyway. She had to stay alive, keep alert and focused and watch for small things. She needed to know where every little thing was if she was going to get out of this alive. God knew why Owen was doing this, but she knew what she had to do to stay alive. Knowing why wasn’t important. Everything else was.