Pretend We're Friends

Jolene was at the point where there was no more adrenaline. She was still, except for the quiver in her hands and the pounding in her head. Her fingers rubbed her forehead, willing her body to think instead of panic. They had been driving for hours, and stopped at a gas station off a remote exit.

He handed his card to the attendant while holding a gun on her between the seats.

“Bathroom break?”

She shook her head, looking outside, wishing she could get anyone’s attention without him seeing.

“Hungry?”

She shook her head again.

“Too bad, you have to come in with me, that’s the way the cookie crumbles.”

She frowned but didn’t protest when he came to her side of the truck, unbuckled her, grabbing her hand in his. “Hold my hand. Pretend we’re friends, or you might not see tomorrow.” He thought on it, “I could go for some pretzels.”

He pulled her down the aisles, his grip on her hand strong. He bought more than pretzels. Chips, candy bars, a few soft drinks. He held up two different Pringles flavors to her, an eyebrow raised. As if they were just stopping on a road trip. When she didn’t respond, couldn’t, he shrugged, stacking them on the counter. Wherever they were going, this was too much food. What was he planning to do with her?

Another customer, a man maybe in his fifties in a plaid sherpa coat, stood in the candy aisle comparing chocolate bars. If she just reached out her hand, maybe in the commotion—

She touched his arm and the man jerked in surprise before turning toward her.

“I agree honey,” her captor pulled her closer an arm warm and terrifying around her shoulder. “The Twix is the better choice.”

The man laughed, “Figured.”

“Go with your gut,” her captor continued smoothly. “Never doubt your first instincts.”

“I’ll remember that.”

He kept his arm there, as she tried to remember how to breathe. Every part of her wanted to push him off, but she saw the bunching of his coat around the gun in his pocket, his arm heavy on her shoulder. His hand squeezed her to him, a reminder. She didn’t need a reminder.

In line, she tried catching the cashier’s attention, blinking erratically. One last attempt.

“—Oh, you also wanted sunglasses dear,” he popped them off of a display and plunked them on her. “They look really good on you,” he said convincingly. “Matches your hair and everything. Can she wear these out?”

“Sure, that’ll be $23.12 with the glasses.”

People were so goddamn oblivious.

“You sure you don’t need to go?” he asked, using the urinal.

She shivered in the corner of the restroom, where he made her stand, staring at the locked door. The only exit was covered in graffiti she couldn’t read in her state. “I don’t need to go,” she said, small. Arms gripping her torso.

“Would you change your mind if I told you, we still had an hour of driving?” She could hear him zip his pants, flushing, then turning to wash his hands in the sink.

Her eyes met his in the mirror’s reflection. “Would you let me go in privacy if I did?” She was aiming for casual, but her voice was frayed.

He turned and advanced, his feet heavy, “I was being generous.” His voice dark and low, “Go now if you have to, otherwise piss yourself for all I care.” He loudly grabbed a couple paper towels from the dispenser near her head, his eyes cold.

She met his stare for only a moment, before approaching the toilet.

In the car the sky was subtly shifting to dusk. She kept reading the signs that flashed by, exits, towns, restaurants, hoping to memorize where they were going. He stayed on the highway. Her heart thudding painfully when they crossed the state line.

He offered her a Baby Ruth, which she took, because resistance wasn’t keeping things pleasant.

He reached into the back seat, his hand off the wheel briefly.

Was this the time for her to act? Grab the wheel, force them off road?

But it was too brief. He had the neon blue ski mask in hand.

“Lucky you, you get to wear this now.” He handed it to her, “Put it on backwards for the last hour.”

She held it in her hands, her pulse louder in her ears.

Was he planning—?

Her hands wouldn’t move. Mouth dry.

“Are you going to kill me?”

He swallowed, still focused on driving. “Just put it on.”

Her whole body locked up. It felt like a mistake, like she had been fearful for too long.

“No,” she said louder this time, her voice grave, “I deserve to know, if I am going to die.”

He sighed, still looking forward.

“It would be easier to kill you.”

Her blood froze in her body.

He said that so casually, like they were talking about the weather.

Easier to kill her.

Like she was just a minor inconvenience.

But now he was driving, relaxed, as the world faded to darkness around them.

Headlights shining bright every few seconds.

She had heard once that in situations like these, the best tactic was to try and humanize yourself to them.

Make them see that you were a person, not their plaything.

“My name is Jolene. I’m an only child. I work at the convenience store on 23rd.” I swallowed. “They’re going to miss me when I don’t show up for my shift.”

She gripped the mask to her chest, cheap and scratchy in her hand.

He rubbed his face almost exasperated.

“Jolene,” he said neutrally.

She held her breath.

“You and I both know they don’t give a shit about you.”

She stared at him as he flicked on the radio, tuning between a few stations, but mostly static. Sound, just to drown her out, as they continued down the dark road.

Then, “Cover your face. I won’t ask again.”