Free Black Otter Bay by Vincent Wyckoff

knew where they lived. Ben was home alone, counting on her to fix this whole mess. She angled off the road into the woods, ducking branches, hurdling puddles and deadfalls, racing for home. Her mind whirled with fears and questions. What would the man do with the information? What could he do? They hadn’t done anything wrong. He was the bad guy. She barely noticed the animal tracks she crossed, didn’t really hear the ravens calling to roost above her, and ran right past a pair of white-tailed does watching her from under a copse of cedars.
    Over the ridgetop she climbed, huffing, breathing deep gulps of fresh air. Lake Superior spread out to the horizon before her. A few rooftops in town became visible far down below. Barely able to check her flying descent, Abby dropped down the face of the ridge, grabbing tree branches along the way, using her knees as shock absorbers, all the way to the familiar landscape behind town and, finally, to the back door of their house.
    â€œBen?” she called. “Ben!”
    Through the kitchen she ran, noticing the sink still full of dishes, and into the front room and the staircase to the bedrooms upstairs. “Ben?” she called, before leaping two and three steps at a time. By now it was apparent that her brother wasn’t home. The rooms had a silent, vacant feel to them. “Where are you, Ben?” she called in desperation, as if by a strength of will she could make him be home.
    Back downstairs. They always left notes for each other near the cordless telephone on the kitchen table. Nothing. Then she ran through the front room again, abruptly stopping in the front entryway. Their backpacks sat side by side on the floor inside the front door. Abby slowly approached, then squatted to inspect them. All her things seemed to be present: notebooks, pencils, books, even the plastic container of worms from the compost pile. Stuck behind her backpack was the telescoping fishing rod.
    From her crouching position she contemplated the sudden appearance of their belongings until the phone rang behind her, causing her to cry out and nearly fall over. Lunging back through the house again, she grabbed the phone on the second ring. “Ben? Ben, is that you?”
    Silence on the line, then a man’s voice, deep and steady. “Hello, Abigail.”
    No one called her Abigail. It wasn’t even her real name. She’d seen her birth certificate; her given name was Abby. Timidly, she asked, “Who’s this?”
    â€œI think you know who it is,” the voice said.
    â€œWhat do you want? Where is my brother?”
    â€œWhoa, Abigail. Slow down. I thought perhaps you’d appreciate an opportunity to thank me for returning your school supplies.”
    Abby was getting mad. “What have you done with Ben?”
    â€œYour little brother is just fine. And if you listen closely to me, he’ll stay that way.”
    â€œHe doesn’t know anything. I’m the one you want.”
    â€œThat’s what I thought, too, Abigail. When I returned your belongings, I intended to have this discussion with you. But Ben said you weren’t home, so I had to improvise. I think this new arrangement will work well, though. Ben’s a nice boy, Abigail.”
    â€œWhere is he? You better bring him home. When my dad finds out—”
    â€œAbigail, please listen to me. Your brother is fine.”
    â€œWhere is he!” she demanded, so mad that she stamped her foot on the kitchen floor.
    Silence on the line again, then the voice. “Take a look out your front window, Abigail. You’ll see that your brother is just fine.”
    Abby jogged back through the house, afraid of what she’d find outside. Pulling the front door open, she looked through the storm door window to see the big luxury car parked across the street. The man sat behind the wheel, cell phone at his ear. Darkened glass made it difficult to see, but she spotted Ben’s