Free Black Otter Bay by Vincent Wyckoff Page A

head rising up in the backseat window. He looked so tiny and vulnerable, especially compared to the big man at the steering wheel. Another figure sat on the far side of Ben, but she couldn’t make out anything of his appearance.
    Ben’s eyes, wide and round and scared, focused on Abby. From the phone she heard the man’s voice. “Abigail.”
    When Ben slowly dropped out of sight again, Abby’s heart rose up in her throat. But when she saw the figure next to Ben struggling to push him down in the seat, she lost her composure completely.
    â€œAbigail.”
    The storm door flew open, the telephone crashed on the steps, and Abby exploded out of the front door. She ran at the car as hard as she could, heard muffled yelling from the driver, noticed frantic scrambling around inside, but before she even reached the edge of the yard, the car shot off down the street. She chased it a little way, until it turned the corner and headed south out of town on Highway 61.
    Abby’s adrenaline surge quickly dissipated. Walking back to the house, she used her lingering anger to scold herself.
Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!
Now Ben was gone for good. She’d blown what little chance she’d had to bring him home.
    The only other house on the street was the Soderstrom place. No lights were on there, no one to witness her chasing an out-of-town car down the street. Marcy’s parents were stillin Arizona, and Marcy was probably down at the bar shooting a game of pool before going to bed. She’d have to be up early tomorrow to open the café.
    Upon returning to the front door, Abby spied the discarded telephone lying in the grass. It began ringing, even with the back cover knocked off and the battery hanging out on its wire. “Hello?” she said, cupping the insides in her free hand.
    â€œThat was not the sort of behavior I expected out of you,” the man said.
    â€œBring my brother home. He didn’t do anything to you.”
    â€œThat’s just what we need to talk about, Abigail. If you can control yourself, I promise that no harm will come to him.”
    Abby went in the house, shut the door, took a seat in her father’s chair, and watched the street out front. “What do you want?” she asked.
    â€œIt’s really very simple, Abigail. You keep your mouth shut. You don’t say anything to anyone about what you saw today. Can you do that?”
    Abby didn’t reply. All her strength was gone. She slouched in the chair, exhausted and discouraged. The telephone battery dangled against her shoulder.
    The man said, “If you keep your end of the deal, Ben will come home in a few weeks.”
    Still no response from Abby.
    â€œDo we have us a deal, Abigail?”
    Abby finally found her voice. “When will he come home?”
    â€œProbably six weeks or so. Fourth of July at the latest. Won’t that be cause for a big celebration?”
    â€œWhy six weeks?”
    â€œDo we have an agreement?”
    â€œI don’t know anything, anyway,” she said.
    â€œSo there’s no reason to discuss what you don’t know. Not one word to anyone. Even this phone call. If anyone asks, it was a wrong number. Deal?”
    Abby found it hard to think. The day had been too long. All she wanted was to crawl into bed, wake up tomorrow, and discover that this was all a bad dream.
    â€œAbigail?”
    â€œOkay. It’s a deal.” Silence on the line again. “Just don’t hurt my little brother,” she added, before realizing the line had been disconnected.
    â€¢ • • • •
    W hen her father came home half an hour later, Abby still sat in the chair. She looked at him, a solemn expression forcing the corners of his mouth to turn down. Matt switched on the entryway light and went to his daughter. “Why are you sitting here in the dark, Abby?”
    She sat forward in the recliner. “Dad?”
    â€œListen, sweetheart,”