“Where are we going?” she asked, then shook her head at herself.
Of course, he couldn’t answer while he was driving. He wouldn’t even look at her, giving her absolutely no reassurance.
“Are you… are you… going to kill me?” she had some trouble forcing the words past a throat constricting with panic.
She gripped the door latch so tightly she thought it might leave a permanent mark in her hand. Not that it would matter if he was about to kill her shortly. Surreptitiously she tried the door, but it was child locked. She couldn’t get out unless he let her out.
She tried to take long even breaths, rather than shallow gasps. She thought back to the single class she’d taken on hostage situations. She’d travelled to war zones, often in places where terrorism was a real threat. It had seemed smart at the time to take a class on hostage negotiation in case she ever found herself in a situation that would demand that kind of skill. Between her panic and the fact that she’d taken the class about five years ago, she couldn’t recall all the steps, but a few filtered through the terror.
Talk to the person holding you, humanize yourself in their eyes.
“I’m thirty-four.” She looked directly at him as she spoke. Again, not so much as a twitch gave away that he was listening, but she was going to try anyway. “I’m a neurosurgeon in Montréal, Canada, but sometimes I work with Doctors Without Borders. We travel to other countries to help bolster the health-care system during times of crisis. I have a cat named Fitzwilliam Darcy, but we call him Fitzy. He lives with my mom when I’m not at home. He’s a really good boy, he always eats all of his food, and he uses his litter box. Sometimes he gets out and causes havoc in the neighborhood. He’s a big guy and he likes to hunt so he’s brought home some pretty big birds.”
Shaun was babbling, but she didn’t know what else to do. She tried to clear her thoughts and start over. Jozef wouldn’t care about her twenty-pound beast of an orange tabby. She had to somehow convince him that she was more valuable alive than dead. She needed to give him something of value, something he could relate to.
“I’m the only person my mom has left. My dad passed away a few years ago of pancreatic cancer. There was nothing we could do but watch him deteriorate.” She closed her eyes and summoned a picture of her father in her mind. He was a big man, much bigger than either Shaun or her mother. He wore glasses, almost always had a serious expression that covered a playful nature. He taught neuroscience at the University. His funeral had been massive with mourners from all the different communities he’d been part of including faculty and students from the university, colleagues from the hospital, and volunteers from various charitable organizations. He was so well loved. She needed that unconditional love and support right now, to get through whatever was coming her way. “My mom was devastated when he died, it took a lot to get her on her feet again. She needs me. She hates that I travel into war zones, she’s terrified something will happen to me. Without me, she won’t have anyone.”
Despair pierced her as she realized not a single word was getting through. He continued to drive, though he was slowing down. If she was going to convince him, she had to do it now, before they got to their destination. She frantically searched for something, anything, that could sway him. Then she landed on it, their rare form of communication.
“You knew that I knew sign language, didn’t you?”
His eyes slid to her for a second, then flicked forward.
“I’ve been trying to figure out how you knew to target me,” she continued. “You knew that I could understand FSL; that’s why you picked me, isn’t it? But how did you know?” When he didn’t answer, she continued, “You saw me with that kid, didn’t you?”
Shaun had stumbled over a child, around ten years old, begging for food vouchers outside of a shop. She’d kneeled on the ground next to him and tried to talk to him, but he’d shaken his head and pointed at his ears. Sadly, it wasn’t uncommon for either temporary or permanent hearing loss to occur from the concussive force of a bomb.
Shaun had used sign language with the boy. He’d tried to follow her hand movements, and she realized that he was just learning sign language. She convinced him to come with her to the hospital for a quick check up and to learn more sign language.
He’d run home to ask permission from his mom and had been coming to the hospital every day since. That had been about a week ago. She supposed Jozef could have seen her using it in the hospital, with her little protege following her around, but she doubted it. Someone as terrifying and imposing as Jozef would stand out.
Jozef looked at her and gave a brief nod. He refocused on his driving, turning the wheel and pulling the vehicle off the road. She felt dizzy with panic and lack of air. She continued to grip the door handle.
“You knew that I knew how to understand you before you realized you needed me. That man was injured sometime today.” Her words came out in a jumble, but she hoped he understood. “Did you follow me back to the hospital that day? Were you curious about me? Because the only people who can understand you are probably in your inner circle.” She was guessing, but maybe if she got close enough to the truth, she could connect with him.
He stopped the van and turned the ignition off. They were in a section of trees, not too thick, but remote enough to hide a dead body. Her body. No one would find her out here. Not for a long, long time. Shaun’s mother would never know. Her daughter would disappear without a word. Dead in a warzone, but not because of the war.
Jozef turned to look at her, his forehead creased into a troubled frown.
Shaun stared back at him, and then did the only thing she could think of to get through to him. She signed, please don’t kill me. I don’t want to die.
He gave no indication that he either saw or understood. His face smoothed back into indifference and he reached for his door. As soon as it opened, her door unlocked too. Shaun gripped the latch and yanked, then shoved the door open. She hadn’t been wearing a seatbelt, so she was able to fling herself unhindered from the vehicle and start running.
Shaun was not a runner, but she kept herself in decent physical shape. Long hours on her feet at the hospital required that she take good care of herself. Eat good foods, exercise whenever she could spare a few minutes. She thought she might have a decent chance of evading her captor. He was tall and bulky with muscle. How fast could a thug really run? He probably spent most of his time committing crimes instead of jogging.
He was on top of her in under a minute.
She could hear him crashing through the brush behind her. Before she had a chance to look over her shoulder, he grabbed her around the waist and shoved her to the ground.
Shaun hit hard, the side of her face striking a branch as she landed. She felt searing pain through her cheek as the branch scraped her. She rolled onto her back and stared up at him. Jozef towered over her, his legs on either side of hers. They stared at each other for a long time, tension laden emotion flowing between them, like lightning strikes.
She felt him, felt his gaze, his gut-wrenching intention. His determination to do what he had to. His despair, his hatred, his desire. He had to kill her, but it was tearing him up inside. Not like when he'd killed Danilo and the man in the basement: stone cold, emotionless. She suspected this was the real Jozef, deep inside, his heart on his sleeve. He didn’t want to kill Shaun.