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  “We should be getting back.”

  “Just five more minutes,” I begged. “If I were a botanist, maybe I could figure out where I was according to the type of trees. But I don’t want to know. I’m glad I can’t identify them.”

  “So am I.”

  “I feel like Pirate Jenny, with this black floppy hat. Do you know that play? The Threepenny Opera?”

  “Yes.”

  “We put it on last year at my high school. Guess who I was. You’ll never guess. Mack the Knife! It feels like a hundred years ago. When we encounter / A different sort of person / Our dispositions worsen,” I sang. “We squish them up and feed them / To lions. Don’t worry, I didn’t sing alone, there was a chorus and we sang together.”

  “Your boyfriend mentioned that play.”

  “My boyfriend? I don’t have a boyfriend!”

  “Chad, I think his name is.”

  “Chad! We only had two dates, and they were a disaster. Is he going around telling people he’s my boyfriend?”

  “I think there was some dispute … I didn’t follow it.”

  “I can’t believe that creep is saying he’s my boyfriend. I’ve lost control not only of my life but of my entire past. And it’s all your fault. I nearly lost my mind because of you. You’re lucky I didn’t try to kill myself.”

  “You’re a very strong person.”

  “You need strong nerves in gymnastics. But I went round the bend while you were gone. Oh my God!” I cried out.

  “What is it?”

  “Oh God, my face! I totally forgot!” I touched my face and felt the streaks of lipstick on my cheeks. I threw my monkey at my hostage-taker and ran back to the warehouse. He followed me inside and this time he locked the door.

  I knew when I came out of the bathroom that my face was red, and not only from being scrubbed.

  “There’s nothing unusual about face painting,” he said.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I muttered.

  I looked through the food he’d brought and helped myself to bits of everything: triangles made of baked dough and stuffed with cottage cheese, a spiced rice dish, salad, couscous, baklava. He sat at the table and watched me. He looked completely exhausted.

  “Why don’t you lie down?” I suggested. “I promise I won’t stab you in your sleep.”

  He hesitated, but his fatigue won out. “Maybe just for a few minutes,” he said.

  He stretched out on the bed, placed his hands on his chest, and closed his eyes. I put a CD in the player—I’d labeled all the disks by now—and “Heart Skipped a Beat” filled the room.

  I went over to him, sat cross-legged by his side, and gazed at his face. He opened his eyes and they interlocked with mine. He seemed to be looking at me with less reserve than usual.

  I began to run my fingers gently along his arm. He pushed my hand away, but instead of letting go he held on to it. He didn’t just clasp my hand in his, thumb over knuckles; he interlaced his fingers with mine. The gesture made me deliriously happy. I felt as if his entire body had encased me; I felt loved and protected.

  I leaned down and brushed my lips against his. To my amazement he slid his tongue into my mouth. But the kiss only lasted a second or two. He threw himself back abruptly, sat up, and even more surprisingly, covered his face with both his hands. He’d never shown me that side of him—a side that was not in complete control of the situation.

  I sat up too and stared at him. He finally uncovered his face but he wouldn’t look at me. “I have to go,” he said.

  “No, no!” I cried out. “I can’t be alone again, not yet. I’m too scared—I’ll go crazy if I you leave. We don’t even have to speak …” My voice trailed off.

  “I need you to promise to respect the line between us.”

  What line? I thought. I had a sudden image of the chalk border my friend Belinda and her sister drew on the floor of their bedroom, to mark their sides of the room, and it made me smile.

  “I promise,” I said.

  I removed my jeans and slid in between my hostage-taker and the wall. I relaxed for the first time since I’d been left alone; I felt my body unwinding muscle by muscle. I was more tired than I’d realized, and before long I was asleep.

  I woke up an hour later. My hostage-taker was still asleep, but he’d turned over on his side, and his arm was draped around my waist. His body felt warm and lovely against my back.

  Our bodies are a perfect fit, I thought drowsily. I knew he must have moved toward me in his sleep. Probably he was dreaming that we were ordinary people in ordinary circumstances and that it was okay to drape his arm around my waist.

  Or maybe it wasn’t even me in the dream. Maybe it was some girlfriend of his. Why not, after all? I lay very still, not daring to move. Eventually I drifted off again. When I woke, he was gone.

  Angie Shaw trying not to lose my cool but really getting tired of all these scenarios people are coming up with for Chloe. We don’t know how she’s being treated, what’s the point of imagining sick stuff? I mean, there’s enough to worry about as it is without all that negativity. Yes she’s a virgin. So what? If anything’s happening to her it doesn’t make a difference if she is or isn’t. And the group might be psychos but they might not be. No one knows who they are. Even if they’re a cult, not all cults are like Manson. Some cults they just sit around and meditate. We just DON’T KNOW. So please everyone stop speculating.

  16 minutes ago Comment Like Wall-to-wall

  Kimmy Xuan yeah, my favorite is that she’s sleeping in a coffin. So random. I personally don’t think the hostage takers are off the wall because look at their demands. They’ve studied all the cases, they know the laws, the name is probably to throw people off track. So I agree, we can’t know anything and people have to stop acting as if Chloe is a character in a movie or something. I just wish there was more we could do.

  11 minutes ago Comment Like Wall-to-wall

  Angie Shaw Thanks, Kimmy. I was thinking one thing we can do is maybe volunteer at Happy Sprites. Chloe’s mom must be up to her ears trying to keep things going smoothly there and doing all the work for Chloe at the same time. So if anyone has some time to hang out at the reception desk and keep an eye on things, I’m sure she’d be eternally grateful.

  9 minutes ago Comment Like Wall-to-wall

  CHAPTER 15

  Luckily, I wasn’t on my own for long. I didn’t feel up to an entire day by myself; I was sure the irrational terror I’d experienced was still lurking in the shadows, ready to creep back into my thoughts. But my hostage-taker returned just before noon.

  I was lying on the bed, listening to Coldplay and daydreaming about my hostage-taker, about our kiss. I kept wondering whether he had a girlfriend. I felt I had to know. I had to know or I’d die.

  When I heard the key in the lock I jumped up and ran to the door. I was both excited and nervous; I suddenly felt a little shy.

  “Do you want tea?” he asked, as if nothing had happened between us, as if he hadn’t kissed me, really kissed me, for a few seconds, and then held me as we slept.

  He opened the fridge door and put away the containers he’d brought. He always lined things up neatly in the fridge; I’d never known anyone who did that with food.

  “Do you have a girlfriend?” I blurted out.

  He didn’t answer. I was still wearing the T-shirt I wore for sleep—his T-shirt. I went to the bathroom and pulled on my jeans and purple sleeveless top. I was getting really and truly bored with wearing the same thing day in, day out. Using my all-purpose compact mirror, I put on lip gloss and my mauve eye shadow.

  “How do I look?” I asked him, when I emerged from the saloon doors. vzyl

  “You look well rested.”

  “Are you … religious?”

  He stared at me, but I couldn’t decipher the look in his eyes. Finally he said, “No.”

  “So … like … it isn’t against your religion or anything to date?”

  Again he seemed to be l
ooking at me in a complicated way. I went over to his chair, sat down on his lap, and started kissing him lightly on the lips. I couldn’t stop myself; he had the most irresistible mouth I’d ever seen. Appropriately, “Speed of Sound” was playing. I too was wondering—how long would it take before he let me in?

  He kissed me back for a second, his lips responding instinctively to mine. I wanted us to merge into one; my whole being was drawn to him as if magnetically.

  I don’t know whether we would have gone on kissing for more than a few seconds had I not touched him. My hands were on the arms of the chair; instinctively I moved them to his shoulders. My need to touch him was overwhelming; it was a physical craving like thirst or hunger. I was holding back, in fact, because I wanted to run my fingers through his hair, press him to me as hard as I could.

  But as soon as my hands settled on his shoulders, he rose from the chair and pushed me away.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I just want to feel close to someone. The last time someone touched me was to hurt me. It made me feel like I was nothing. That I wasn’t a person. I just want to replace that memory, I want to erase it.”

  “This is not the way to erase anything,” he said. He sat back down, but he pulled his chair away from the table, as if for safety. His body was wary, alert. “I don’t want to see you emotionally unbalanced.”

  “What can be more unbalancing than loving someone who doesn’t love you back!”

  “I’m not someone you would ever have chosen in ordinary circumstances.”

  “That’s not true,” I protested. “If I’d met you, I would have chosen you. It’s your personality I love. It’s you.”

  And you liked when I kissed you, I thought. I was sure of it. Both times he’d kissed me back for a few seconds. His body was going in one direction, his mind in another.

  “You’re bored,” he insisted, “with nothing to occupy you and no one else in your life right now.”

  “You couldn’t be more wrong,” I replied.

  “I’d like to change the direction of this conversation.”

  “Okay, okay, we won’t talk about it.” I opened the fridge door and took out one of the containers he’d stacked on the shelves.

  “Oh goody, rice pudding. Where did you learn how to cook? You’re so good at it.”

  “I brought a chessboard,” he told me. “It said in the paper you used to play with your grandfather.”

  “God, that was years and years ago! I don’t even know if I remember the basics. Anyhow, I was a horrible player.”

  “I could remind you.”

  He set up the board and I watched his slender fingers arrange the pieces as he went over the rules.

  “It’s coming back,” I said. “You’ll have to remove your queen, otherwise you’ll win in two moves. That’s what my granddad did. You’ll win in two moves anyway, but you’ll have a bigger sense of accomplishment if you do it without your queen.”

  We began to play, but we were both unfocused and kept blundering.

  “I guess you have a lot on your mind,” I said, wishing I knew everything about him. In the beginning I’d wanted to know what he was like so I’d know whether I was safe. Now I wanted to know more so we’d be closer.

  “You could say that.”

  I almost apologized, but I caught myself and laughed. “I almost apologized to you! But it’s your fault. You’ve really got yourself into a mess now. How could you do something so incredibly stupid?”

  “Check,” he said.

  I couldn’t be bothered saving my king. I got up and put on one of the compilation CDs. “Young Folk” came on and I began to dance. My hostage-taker watched me in his usual indecipherable way.

  “You never smile,” I teased as I danced. “Or maybe you just don’t smile here. Maybe you smile when you’re with your friends. Come, dance with me.” I tried to pull him up.

  He sighed. It was the first time I’d heard him sigh. He got up, took his things, and left the warehouse without looking at me. I heard the key turn on the outside. It occurred to me that he never said hello or goodbye. He never smiled and he never said hello or goodbye.

  CHAPTER 16

  I dreamed I was trying to hug my hostage-taker, but when I touched him I realized it wasn’t him, it was a hologram he’d left for me in the warehouse so I wouldn’t feel alone. My monkey, on the other hand, was alive—he was jumping around and trying to mime something, but I couldn’t tell what it was he was trying to tell me. I felt frustrated and confused in the dream, and I was relieved when I woke up, though my reality wasn’t much better.

  I was very restless. I tried to exercise: I had by now revived my walkovers, cartwheels, handstands, and even some back handsprings. My hostage-taker had brought me a mat, but it was old and scruffy and smelled of stale peanuts. I wondered where he’d found it.

  I showered out of boredom and then wrote in my notebook. Recording our conversation reminded me of Chad. What else had he told the press? I hoped Angie would set the record straight.

  We’d met at one of Angie’s pool parties. He asked me on a date and I agreed—mostly because I couldn’t think of an excuse on the spot. The date wasn’t memorable until he tried to kiss me in the car. The gesture felt imposed and insincere, as if he was trying to prove something. He was offended when I moved away. “So what they say about you is right,” he snapped. “They call you the Ice Queen behind your back.”

  The next day he texted an apology. He confessed he’d invented the Ice Queen accusation to save his wounded pride, and he begged for a second chance.

  Our second date was not much better. We went to an exhibit about natural disasters that he wanted to see. Then we sat at the fountain and had ice cream. He kept saying, “It’s a dog eat dog world.” So annoying! Dogs don’t in fact eat other dogs, if you want to be literal about it, and that’s what I finally told him. Things went downhill from there. He didn’t call me again, and luckily I didn’t run into him.

  Now, on the basis of two meaningless dates, he was telling everyone that we were going out. Was he trying to get attention or revenge?

  Chad was my only official date. Usually I just hung out with people at parties or wherever. In the past year I’d come across a few guys I liked, but nothing came of it. Mom said I was afraid of forming attachments because of Dad’s sudden death. She also said that when I met the right man I’d get over my fear of being deserted.

  Well, the right man had finally come along, through an incredible twist of fate. Unfortunately, he was a criminal who was now wanted internationally.

  I spent the day reading a book called Dreams of Self. It was about how we’re programmed to act the way we do by millions of years of adaptation. We think our emotions and thoughts make us who we are, but according to the author, it’s all about survival mechanisms.

  Nothing could be that simple. If it were, we’d all be exactly the same. Instead, we were so different that it was hard to find anyone who was on your wavelength. We might be programmed in a general sort of way, but the details had to have more complicated reasons.

  I wondered whether my hostage-taker felt the way I had felt when Chad tried to kiss me—that I was just trying to prove something. Maybe he wasn’t attracted to me. But he did kiss me back for a second.

  I trusted him now. That’s what it came down to. I tried to remember when I’d started trusting him. Maybe it was when he lay down on my bed and fell asleep. Seeing him lying there, vulnerable and unprotected, made me certain that he was telling me the truth. And my certainty made me happy.

  Happiness is not only an outcome of love, I realized. It’s a sign of love. It’s the way you know that you love someone—you can tell by the way that person makes you feel. It’s as simple as that.

  So it wasn’t only him I trusted—it was my instincts. If I felt that way about him, it meant he was trustworthy.

  Everything he had done and said was consistent. He wanted to release a prisoner he felt was innocent. He’d chosen a crazy, illegal
way to do it, but he wasn’t violent. He was furious that the other guy had hurt me, and he had probably cut off all contact with him.

  Did he work in a hospital? Maybe he was even a doctor—he wasn’t too young to be an intern. But he didn’t act like a doctor, somehow. More likely he’d trained as a paramedic or something like that.

  The day crawled by in slow motion. When I finally heard the key in the lock, my heart began to pound with excitement.

  “I thought about you all day,” I said as soon as he walked in. “I couldn’t wait for you to come.”

  “Shall we sit in the sun for a short while?” he asked.

  “Indeed, shall we?” I replied in my fake British accent.

  We brought out the chairs and sat in the sun, side by side, as if we were two ordinary people.

  “Are you sure it’s safe to sit out here?” I asked. The thought of storm troopers crashing into the warehouse with machine-guns horrified me.

  “Yes, it’s safe.”

  “What about the … other man? How can you trust him not to do anything stupid?”

  He didn’t answer, but he turned his head to look at me. I couldn’t interpret his look.

  “If it’s so safe, why am I wearing a hat?”

  “In case someone sees us from the woods. It’s unlikely, though.”

  “I’m torn,” I said. “I don’t want to take a risk, even a tiny one, but I love it out here. I’m connecting to nature in a new way. My mom would be pleased. She’s into all that stuff about being one with the world. What religion were you brought up with?”

  I didn’t expect an answer, but he surprised me. “My parents were secular, but the community was mostly Catholic.”