Free Lost Girls by George D Shuman

blur of tears she saw her purse lying near the curtain. Why wouldn’t they have looked in it? It was just lying there, a brand-new leather Coach with four new hundred-dollar bills her father had given her when they left Miami. If the kidnappers wanted money, why didn’t they take what was in her purse?
    She lifted her head and looked behind her. Spanning the width of the back door was a steel rod thick with beach towels and flimsy sarongs on wire hangers. Next to her on the floor were open boxes and random pieces of clothing lying about. Were they really street vendors or was the van only a ruse? Only meant for one thing? Bait to lure someone like her into an alley?
    She heard the sounds of blaring horns, clashing music, shouting people, the high-pitched whine of a motor scooter zipping by. Then the van sped away from it all; a ramp, a freeway, something was taking them away from the city, until at last there was nothing to hear but the dreary hum of tires.
    She knew what would happen when her mother found out she wasn’t on the ship. She would have a freaking meltdown. She would insist that the ship be searched. When they didn’t find her her mom would insist the whole island be searched. She was never going to accept excuses from the police. She would call Uncle Adel. He was a United States attorney for the northern district of Illinois. Jill’s father was a millionaire ten times over, but his brother Adel had clout in Washington. Adel, Jill’s father was always saying, could fix anything.
    Sooner or later she’d be told to make a call, either to the ship’s mobile operators to reach her parents or to relatives back in the States. That’s what kidnappers did.
    She wished they hadn’t taped her mouth shut. She could have told them her cell phone was in her purse. Her father had bought SIM cards so that the girls’ cell phones would work in the islands. He wanted them to be able to reach each other if ever they were separated.
    Minutes later she heard a muffled noise, a familiar melody coming from the direction of her purse. Her ring tone, her cell phone!
    Marie was moving out of the passenger seat and pushing aside the curtain to reach for the purse on the floor.
    It could only be her sister or her parents, Jill knew. If it were Theresa she would be pissed. Wondering where the hell she was at. She hoped her sister would take the call seriously when Marie answered. She hoped she wouldn’t say anything stupid or hang up thinking she was playing a joke.
    Marie snatched the purse and unsnapped it on her way back to her seat in the cab. Jill strained to hear what she would say.
    The phone continued to ring, third ring, fourth ring…
    This was it, she thought.
    Fifth ring…
    They wouldn’t have to go through the police now. Everything would be over and done with before anyone knew she was missing.
    Sixth ring…
    For God’s sake answer it! Answer the freaking phone!
    Then she felt a rush of air, a window was being lowered. A moment later the window closed and there was silence.
    Jill felt at first like she was falling, like she had lost grip on a line tethering her to the world. For a moment she was confused about where she was, somewhere cold, somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be. A bead of sweat ran off her scalp, tickling the back of an ear. She shivered, teeth beginning to chatter. She felt her chest rise and fall as she began to breathe more rapidly.
    It was so wrong, so senseless, and yet so telling. If they didn’t care about the money in her purse or reaching out to her family, then she had real reason to worry.
    For the first time Jill began to think the unthinkable.
    Minutes turned to an hour; the van eventually slowed to a stop. The driver was speaking to someone outside the vehicle. She heard the crinkle of documents, official but casual conversation. It was a border crossing.
    There was only one border in all of Hispaniola, Jill was certain, the border between the Dominican Republic and Haiti. Jill