“Don’t be ridiculous, Kinsey.” Mr. Blythe glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “By the way, please don’t try to scream again. No one will hear you because it’s so windy outside, and there aren’t many people driving around at this time anyway. All it’s doing is giving me a headache.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I’ll stop if you tell me what the hell we’re doing here, asshole.”
“Kinsey,please. I’ve had a very long day. Can you just be quiet for a few minutes?” he said in an exasperated tone, as if I were a petulant toddler instead of a tied-up captive. “I’d like to finish my show.”
Before I could reply, he pressed something on his phone, and the intro from a popular true crime podcast started playing through the car speakers.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I muttered. “Why do you need to listen to a true crime podcast when you’re literally taking part in a true crime right now?”
Mr. Blythe ignored my remark and leaned back in his seat, focusing his attention on the podcast. It was about a girl who went missing from her backyard in 1992. She still hadn’t been found. The only suspect was a serial killer who’d operated in the area from 1991-1993, but he always denied responsibility for the girl’s disappearance and refused to tell anyone where her body was.
It made me wonder if the same thing was going to happen to me. Would Mr. Blythe make me disappear? Or would he kill me and leave my mutilated body out in the open so the media could prey on the situation with all their sick sensationalism? Just like they did with Cerina, whose face was still splashed over the front pages of every newspaper in the country.
I frowned and chewed on the inside of my cheek, recalling Mr. Blythe’s earlier claim that he wasn’t actually responsible for Cerina’s murder. He seemed quite adamant about it. If he was telling the truth, who really killed Cerina? And what did Mr. Blythe have to do with all of it? He seemed to be covering for the guilty party, but I had no idea why, and he wasn’t exactly being forthcoming.
My mind continued to whirl, spinning through all the possibilities. By the time the podcast episode finished, I was no closer to an answer. Not one single thing in this situation made sense.
Another podcast episode started playing. Something about a missing truck driver in Canada. A sudden lance of pain went through my skull, and my face scrunched up, eyes squeezing shut.
“You okay back there, Kinsey?” Mr. Blythe asked. He must’ve noticed my wince in the rearview mirror.
“My head hurts,” I croaked.
“Sorry about that. I had to get you in the car one way or another.”
“I don’t forgive you,” I said, glaring daggers at him. “By the way, you know Jax will come and find me wherever you take me, right?”
He chuckled. “I know teenage boys alwayssaythey’ll go to the ends of the Earth to help their girlfriends, but do they ever actually do it?” he asked. “The answer is no. They don’t.”
“Jax will,” I said through gritted teeth. I knew I was right. Knew it in my heart.
Mr. Blythe sighed heavily and looked over at the clock on the dashboard. “Where the hell is he?” he grumbled to himself.
I didn’t ask him who ‘he’ was. I knew he wouldn’t tell me.
Lights flashed behind the car a few minutes later. Mr. Blythe sat up straight. “It’s about time,” he muttered.
Footsteps clunked past the side of the car, along with a dark shadow. Then someone rapped on the driver’s side window. Mr. Blythe rolled it down and poked his head out. “Thanks for coming,” he said.
“Sorry I’m so late,” came the reply. The voice was masculine, but I couldn’t see who it belonged to. “Took a while to get my hands on this thing.”
“No problem. We’ve just been sitting here enjoying a podcast. Haven’t we, Kinsey?” Mr. Blythe said, looking back at me with a smile.
I glowered at him. He turned his attention back to the window. “You’re sure the device works?”
“Yes. I tested it myself. It’s easy to use. Just one button.” The man passed a small black object through the window. I had no clue what its function was; only that it was important enough for Mr. Blythe to sit on the edge of the road awaiting its arrival for well over an hour.
“Great. Thanks.” Mr. Blythe set the object down on the center console. “Got the rest of the stuff?”
“Yes. It’s all in this bag.”
Mr. Blythe opened his door, and the man outside deposited a black backpack on his lap. “No one saw you leave with her, did they?” he asked.
“No, we’re all good. There are no security cameras on that side of the school, either,” Mr. Blythe replied, moving the bag over to the front passenger seat. “No one will have any idea what happened to her. All they’ll know is that she’s gone.”
“Good. Do you need any help with this stuff?”
“No, I can sort it out. You go on ahead and meet the others. I’ll be there in ten minutes or so.”