Page 38 of The Circle

The sirens are almost upon us now. But no matter. By the time they get here, we’ll be long gone. One step ahead of judgment.

As is our custom.

CHRISTINE

Goddamnit. I feel stupid. I feel a lot of other things too: Angry, in pain from where I smacked my head against the wall of the van as I was being thrown in, stupefied (which is totally an Alec word, but is the right one) at what the fuck is happening… but mostly just stupid.

I can’t believe I didn’t see this dickhead coming up behind me.

Shit. I let myself get got. And now someone’s going to have to come after me.

I hate that. I mean, I love that I have people who care about me enough to come after me, but I hate that I have to be fuckin’ rescued.

Also, the pain in my head right now makes me kind of nervous. Because it’s reminding me of the headache I had when I woke up in that tiny basement apartment, unremembering of who I was or what had happened to me. Knowing only that there were weapons under the floorboards and I knew how to use them.

This isn’t that, of course. Not even close. But PTSD is real and it’s a motherfucker.

I have to get out of here. I have no idea where I’m being taken, but if there’s one thing that’s true about every single abduction scenario it’s that you need to do whatever you can to avoid being taken to a second location. Because once you’re in the second location… you’re already fucked.

Technically, this van is the second location, but I’m gonna let it slide this time because I don’t want to get bogged down in a semantic argument with myself when what I need is to get the fuck out of here.

It’s pitch black. The kind of black that doesn’t just exclude light but consumes it and turns it into more darkness. There are no windows and where there would normally be access to the cab or some kind of porthole to allow a view of the driver, it has been walled off entirely.

It’s not only disorienting in terms of space, it’s unclear to me how fast we’re moving. If we’re still on the paved roads or if we’ve gone off into the woods or something like that. If I’m able to get the rear door open, what will I see?

My phone is still on me. I grab it, swipe up, turn on the flashlight.

First thing: No one else is in here. No Andra, no Theo, no nobody. Just me and a bunch of stripped-out, bare metal.

Second thing: I still have my gun. That’s cool. Nice to know that the crew we’re currently battling against are sloppier than we are. Super helpful.

But before I go shooting up a tiny, enclosed metal box, I think to see if maybe the back door is somehow just magically unlocked. The slapdash nature of the way this has gone so far gives me hope that…

No handle. Locks from the outside. No way to open it from within that I can see.

I suppose a girl can’t be lucky all the time. (“Luck.” Ha. I actually laugh. I think I may be losing my mind. “Losing.” Ha. I laugh again.)

Okay. Think, Keene.

We hit a bump and it knocks me over against one of the van’s walls. Based on how hard I just got tossed, I have to assume we’re moving with at least some amount of pace. I can’t hear much of what’s going on outside, but we seem to be traveling in a fairly straight line, which suggests there’s not a ton of traffic we’re swerving around to avoid. But that’s all I can surmise.

Shit. I gotta get out of here. Are Danny and Alec okay? People were getting shot in the head before I got tossed inside, and I have no clue if Danny and/or Alec wound up among them.

And so… I do something probably strange. I close my eyes—which is redundant in the dark, but I do it anyway—and try to see if I can feel them. I focus, center my breath as best I’m able, and try to make some kind of… emotional connection or something.

And I do. It works. I can feel Danny. It’s almost the exact opposite of earlier. I can absolutely feel every cell in his body. I don’t know exactly what’s happening out there, but I know Danny is alive right now, and I think… he’s close.

It’s very, very weird—to have a psychic connection with someone—but I choose not to judge it or myself and just feel grateful that I can feel what I can feel. It’s the feeling that keeps me from becoming too concerned about what’s going to happen next. I think it probably always has.

I can feel Alec too. But it’s… different. I don’t know another word to describe it. It’s not less connected or profound, but it’s different.

And not just different from Danny, but different from how it always has been before.

I wonder what—

SCREECH.

And now I’m tossed and thrown like a rag doll as the van makes a hard turn and the terrain over which we’re traveling gets much, much bumpier. Okay. Yeah. We’re definitely off-roading it now. And this vehicle was not built to be an ATV.