“Please. Please don’t hurt me. I just want to have my
baby....”
“Oh, you will.” The stranger’s lips curve upward to reveal
chalk-white, even teeth. “You’ll have your baby.”
Far from reassuring Heather, the words—and the smile—
strike her as sinister, sending a new wave of dread
shuddering through her.
She struggles to keep full-blown panic at bay, her
pregnancy- swollen body tethered to the four posts of the
bed. She can’t possibly escape. Even if she were left
alone long enough to work the ropes free, even if she were
in prime condition to run, she wouldn’t get far. She has
no idea what lies beyond the door of this room. She was
brought here blindfolded, at gunpoint. The blindfold is
off and the weapon now concealed, but she senses its
deadly presence nearby. She can’t take a chance.
And so, physically helpless, she can only search wildly
for a mental way out, for some logical explanation to
grasp.
The only rationale Heather’s fear-muddled brain can
conjure is that she isn’t really here; this simply cannot
be happening. She must be home in bed. This has to be
another one of those crazy nightmares she’s been having
these last few weeks, between bouts of heartburn and
frequent nocturnal trips to the bathroom.
Squeezing her eyes closed, she promises herself that when
she counts to ten and opens them, she’ll see familiar pink-
and-white-striped wallpaper, her Beanie Baby collection,
the bulletin board above her bed, still decorated with
pictures from the prom with Ryan and from cheerleading
camp last summer.
One...two...three... Mom made her go to camp. The year
before, Heather had begged to go and Mom said they
couldn’t afford it. This year, her mother somehow scraped
the money together despite Heather’s protests. She wanted
to stay home to be near Ryan, who was lifeguarding at a
borough pool.
Of course, Ryan was the very reason Mom wanted her to get
away from Staten Island for the summer. She thought they
were spending too much time together. She was worried that
what had happened to her would happen to Heather. No
amount of begging would change Mom’s mind about camp.
“You’re going, Heather. Period.”
...four...five...six...seven...
Period. Ha. She didn’t even realize she had missed hers
until she got home from camp. Overnight, she had become a
walking stereotype—the Roman Catholic schoolgirl who lost
her virginity on prom night and found herself pregnant.
She had become her mother’s worst nightmare.
No, she had become her mother.
...eight...nine...ten!
There is no pink-and-white-striped wallpaper.
No Beanie Baby collection.
No bulletin board.
Renewed despair launches in Heather’s gut as she gazes
frantically around the nondescript box of a room. Painted
white walls. Dresser, chair, four-poster wooden bed. One
window with the blinds drawn and plain beige curtains
hanging from a metal rod.
Where the hell am I?
A wave of longing sweeps through her; longing for the
frilly white priscillas Mom bought on clearance at Kmart
last year. At the time, Heather complained that they were
too babyish for a fifteen-year-old. Now she’d give
anything to see them again. To see Mom again.
“Please...” she whimpers, succumbing to the realization
that this is no nightmare.
This is real.
As her captor looms over the bed, she’s certain that her
life—and her baby’s life—is in danger.
“What’s the matter? You’re afraid, aren’t you? Poor
thing.”
The eyes that gaze down at her are oddly vacant, betraying
no hint of human empathy. Gone is the cheerful voice that
asked if she needed a hand loading her packages into the
car, having given way to an eerily detached monotone.
“It’s almost over. Don’t worry.”
What’s almost over? Oh, God. Please help me.
Heather has been transformed into yet another stereotype:
the pretty teenaged girl who’s disappeared from a shopping
mall.
Once again, she has become her mother’s worst nightmare.
“You should calm yourself down. All that shaking isn’t
good for the baby, you know.”
Oh, please. Please.
I want my mommy.
I want to go home.
“Are you hungry? What am I thinking? Of course you’re
hungry. You’re eating for two, and it’s almost six. Time
for dinner.”
Only six o’clock?
Hours seem to have passed since she waddled out of the
mall and across the icy parking lot through freezing rain.
Heather automatically attempts to lift her left wrist to
check her watch, but it’s held fast by the twine that
binds her hand to the bedpost.
She whimpers in frustration, closing her eyes. A series of
images rush at her.
The shocked expression in Ryan’s beautiful blue-green eyes
when she told him the EPT was positive.
Bitter disappointment, etched with resignation, on her
mother’s face.
A shapeless blob on an ultrasound screen, one she wished
would miraculously disappear so that Ryan would reappear
in her life.
But that was eight months ago.
That was before she ever heard her baby’s rapid heartbeat;
before she felt the little flutters of life stirring
beneath her swelling belly; before the flutters gave way
to kicks and punches and sometimes, the staccato taps the
doctor told her are the baby’s hiccups. Somehow, the
hiccups made the whole thing seem real.
The pregnancy she once cursed has transformed into a
blessing; she now longs with anticipation for the date she
once dreaded. And it’s almost here.
Less than forty-eight hours until her due date.
She’s been so exhausted, and the weather was so crummy.
Why didn’t she just stay home? Why did she feel compelled
to make one last trip to Baby Gap and Gymboree?
Because she hated that her baby’s layette was so skimpy.
Because she convinced herself that the baby would need a
few more Onesies, a few more little knit caps and tiny
socks...
And maybe, because some part of her longed for one last
trip to the mall; longed for that link to the carefree
teenaged days she’d left behind as her stomach ballooned
and Ryan and her girlfriends abandoned her.
“Hey!” A painful jab in her arm startles Heather back to
the horrific present. Her eyes snap open to face her
tormentor once again. “You didn’t answer my question. Are
you hungry?”
Oh, God. Please. Please don’t let this sick lunatic hurt
me. Please.
“I want to go home.”
A surprisingly gentle hand strokes her head. “Hush.
Everything will be all right.”
Hush...
Hush, little baby, don’t say a word...
The melody of the folk lullaby she’s been humming for
months, whenever she’s alone, drifts into Heather’s head.
“Please. Please let me go home.”
Please. I want to rock my baby and sing lullabies. Please.
“Sorry, that’s not possible.” Her captor’s smile has been
replaced by an all-business demeanor that strikes Heather
as even more chilling. It’s as though there is a specific
agenda, a purpose to her being here.
“What do you want to eat? Do you have any cravings?
Pickles and ice cream, maybe?”
The laughter that follows is maniacal, subsiding just as
rapidly as it began.
“Now, what can I make for you to eat?”
Maybe this is just a harmless crazy person, Heather tells
herself. Maybe the best thing to do is go along until
somebody shows up here to save her.
Wherever here is.
She has no idea which way they traveled after she was
shoved into the back of a van that was parked close to her
mother’s car in the mall parking lot.
The van was so damned close. Why didn’t she notice that?
Why didn’t she carry her own damned packages?
Why didn’t she listen to Mom when she said never to talk
to strangers?
“I’m waiting,” the stranger says now, in almost a singsong
voice. “Tell me what you want to eat.”