Suddenly, the stranger grabbed his jacket and wrestled into it.

“It’s time to go.”

“Where?” Timmy tried to control his excitement. Was it really possible that the stranger might take him home? Maybe he’d realized his mistake. Timmy crawled out of bed, keeping the chain behind his feet.

“Take off all your clothes, except your underpants.”

Timmy’s excitement shattered. “What?” he asked over the lump gathering in his throat. “It’s awfully cold out.”

“Don’t ask questions.”

“But I don’t understand what-”

“Just do it, you little son of a bitch.”

The unexpected anger felt like a slap in the face. Even Timmy’s eyes stung, his vision suddenly blurred by the tears gathering. He shouldn’t cry. He wasn’t a baby anymore. But he was scared. So scared his fingers shook as he untied his shoes. He noticed the cracked sole on his tennis shoe as he kicked it off. It had leaked in snow when they were sledding, getting his feet cold and wet, but he couldn’t imagine how cold it would be without shoes.

“I don’t understand,” he mumbled again. The lump obstructed his breathing now as well as his voice.

“You don’t need to understand. Hurry up.” The stranger paced, the huge rubber boots caked with snow and mud, a thump-squash sound with each step.

“I don’t mind staying here,” Timmy attempted again.

“Shut the fuck up, you little bastard, and hurry up.”

Tears ran down Timmy’s cheeks, and he didn’t bother to wipe at them. His fingers were shaking something terrible as he undid his belt, remembered the chain on his ankle, then worked on his shirt buttons, instead. The stranger would need to unchain him. Would he notice the bent links? Would he get even more angry? Already Timmy felt a cold draft swirling around him. His stomach hurt. He wanted to throw up. Even his knees were shaking, and his vision blurred from the tears.

Suddenly, the stranger’s pacing stopped. He stood perfectly still in the middle of the room, cocking his head to one side. At first Timmy thought the stranger was staring at him, but instead, he was listening. Timmy strained to hear over his thumping heart. He sniffed back tears and dragged a sleeve across his face. Then he heard it-a car engine in the distance, getting closer and slowing down.

“Fuck!” the stranger spat, grabbing the lantern and heading for the door.

“No, please don’t take the light.”

“Shut the fuck up, you little crybaby.”

He wheeled back around, smashing the back of his hand across Timmy’s face. Timmy scrambled into the bed, escaping into the corner. He hugged the pillow, but jerked away at the sight of the red blotch.

“You better be ready when I get back,” the stranger hissed. “And stop bleeding all over the place.”

The stranger ran out the door, slamming it and the locks back into place, leaving Timmy in a hole of solid black. He hurried out in such a rush that he didn’t even notice Timmy’s chain, broken and dangling over the edge of the bed.

Christine didn’t need to ask what Eddie was planning. She recognized the winding dirt road that climbed then plunged. It snaked through the towering maples and walnut trees that lined the riverbank. It was where all the kids went to make out, just off Old Church Road. It looked out over the river. It was deserted and quiet and black. This was where Jason Ashford and Amy Stykes were probably headed the night they were sidetracked. The night they stumbled over Danny Alverez’s body.

Was it possible that Eddie knew where Timmy was? Christine remembered that a church janitor had been brought in for questioning. Could Eddie have overheard something? Yet, if Nick knew something, anything, wouldn’t he have told her? No, of course not. He’d want to keep her out of the way, give her some menial task like photocopying pictures of her son.

Eddie disgusted her, but more importantly, he frightened her. He was reckless, a bit over the edge. She imagined him to be one of those cops who pulled you over for driving thirty-six in a thirty-five-mile-an-hour zone just because he could. But if he knew where Timmy was… Oh, God, if she could just have Timmy back, safe and sound. What price would she be willing to pay? What price would any mother-Laura Alverez, Michelle Tanner-what price would they pay to have their sons back? Christine had been willing to sell her soul for a lousy paycheck. What was she willing to do to save her son?

Nevertheless, when the car pulled off the road and slid into the clearing overlooking the river, the panic crawled through her, sending a shiver down her back. Her empty stomach churned. She felt light-headed again. No, she couldn’t pass out. Something told her that if an unwilling woman couldn’t stop Eddie, neither could an unconscious one.

Eddie cut the engine and extinguished the headlights. The dark engulfed them as though they hovered in it, looking down on black ruffled treetops, the glittering river below. Only the sliver of moon added a pathetic reassurance that the darkness couldn’t swallow everything.

“Well, here we are,” Eddie said, turning toward her expectantly, but staying behind the wheel.

Her foot found the beer bottle, and she kept it from sliding under the seat. Without the car’s inside panel lights, it was too dark to see his face. She heard a wrapper crackle, followed by a slap. Then a match sizzled, the smell of sulfur attacking her nostrils as he lit a cigarette.

“Mind if I have one of those?”

In the light of his cigarette, she saw the twisted smile. He handed her one, lit another match and waited for her. The match burned down close to his fingers. By the time he lit hers, he ended up scorching his fingertips.

“Damn,” he muttered and shook his hand. “I hate matches. Lost my lighter someplace.”

“I didn’t know you smoked.” She inhaled, waiting, hoping the nicotine could calm her.

“I’m trying to quit.”

“Me, too.” She smiled at him. See, they did have something in common. She could do this, couldn’t she? By now her eyes had adjusted to the dark, and she could see him. She wondered if it would have been easier if she hadn’t been able to see him. He looked so cool and calm, his arm stretched out over the cracked seat. She needed to stay cool and calm, too. Maybe she could, at least, keep the situation from getting violent. “Do you really know where Timmy is?”

“Maybe,” he answered in a puff of smoke. “What are you willing to do to find out?” He moved his arm across the seat until his stubby fingers brushed her hair, then wandered across her cheek, swooping down to her neck.

“How do I know this isn’t just some trick?”

“You don’t.”

His fingers slid under her coat collar, unbuttoning and pulling the coat open until he could see her blouse and skirt. Her skin crawled under his touch. It was difficult not to grimace. Even the nicotine couldn’t help.

“That’s not really fair, Eddie. There has to be something in it for me.”

He pretended to look hurt. “I would hope your incredible orgasm would be enough.”

His fingertips brushed across her breasts. It was all she could do to stop from slamming her body against the side of the car, bolting from his reach. Instead, she sat perfectly still. Don’t think, she told herself. Shut off. But she wanted to scream when his hand fondled her breast, squeezing her nipple, watching and smiling at it growing hard and erect under his touch.

He put out his cigarette and scooted closer so that his other hand could assault her thigh. The stubby fingers slithered up, and she watched as they disappeared under her skirt. She refused to part her thighs for him, and this time he laughed, his breath sour in her face.

“Come on, Christine, relax.”

“I’m just nervous.” Her voice quivered, and he seemed pleased. “Do you have protection?”