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He didn’t actually have her home address. So I braced for him to pull into a dark parking lot or alley or park. Anywhere without street lights.
I steeled myself to stay with her. I promised myself, like always, that at the very least I wouldn’t leave her alone.
This time was different.
As Meghan’s head lolled back in the passenger seat of the Sorento and she curled against the plasticky seat cover, he just kept driving through the dark streets.
When he turned onto the highway, headed south, I was mildly puzzled, but as far as I was concerned, it didn’t matter where he was taking her. The only thing that mattered was that I kept looking for a way to stop him.
When he signaled to exit in Toole, I stared at him in surprise.
He couldn’t be taking her home. Surely April and the girls were there, preparing for bedtime.
My puzzlement dissolved back into dread when he turned toward Cedar Fort.
I managed to make one of his headlights go out as we drove through the small town.
As the beam of light disappeared, he swore softly and cut his eyes to Meghan in the passenger seat.
She didn’t stir.
Try as I might, I couldn’t make the other headlight budge.
I watched through the windows for any sign of a patrol car. My mom had been pulled over once for a broken headlight. It was a long shot, but there was nothing else I could do.
I tried to wake Meghan up. I snatched at every thread of fear and disgust and anger I could find, directing them at the car’s engine. I screamed in his ear.
I had no idea what I was doing. There was no instruction manual. No one to ask for advice. So I imagined myself as the Dark Phoenix, invisible sparks coming from whatever electricity and consciousness still held me together until I was numb.
No matter what I tried, the car kept running. The lone headlight remained. And no blue-and-red lights appeared behind us.
We kept driving farther into the darkness as the towns disappeared and signs for the Oquirrh Mountain pass appeared.
The paved road turned into a dirt road as we climbed. Meghan mumbled something about her phone once as the car hit a deep rut, and he glanced at her then turned his eyes back to the dark road.
When he finally stopped the car along a fork in the road that was barely more than a trail meant for vehicles far more capable than the Kia, I should have known what would happen.
After all, he had killed me.
But that was different, I told myself. He was furious with me. I had rejected him. I had dumped him. He liked this girl, in his own disgusting, duplicitous way.
He turned off the headlights then opened the driver’s side door and listened. For the sound of a car’s engine, maybe. But aside from the crickets, it was utterly quiet.
Then he walked around to the passenger side and unbuckled Meghan’s seatbelt.
He said her name once. Then again, louder. This time, she blinked at him, her eyes bleary and glassy. “Jimmy?”
Before she could say anything else, he was dragging her out of the car.
Down the trail. Away from the car. She didn’t put up a fight. She mostly tried to keep up, lifting her head to look at him, her face a mask of confusion and glazed terror.
I followed at a distance.
Because I wouldn’t leave her.
But there was nothing else I could do.
She screamed just once, as his hand moved to her throat and snatched at the scarf she was wearing.
