He smiled briefly, but then his face went blank and his fists balled at his sides.
“Just up the steps.” He pointed to the door of the kitchenette and then added for good measure, “Don’t do nothin’ stupid.”
“Me? Stupid? Only at rest stops in the middle of the night.”
Although he was walking behind me, I could see him smile out of the corner of my eye.
When I stepped out of the makeshift bathroom, he was waiting for me across the hall with a lit cigarette and a newspaper. The crude bathroom was only a half-bath with a large space where a tub had probably once been next to a filthy sink and toilet. I did find some soap, which was slightly shocking, considering the proprietors of the house. Simply washing my face and hands refreshed me considerably, but it had also brought back some of my more reliable senses. As I stared at Charlie with the newspaper in hand, it occurred to me that I had an opportunity to extract some information.
“Does it, um, say anything in there, um, you know?”
I crossed my arms over myself and tried to focus on the pattern of fading daises from the drooping wallpaper. I just hoped my obvious inquiry wouldn’t anger him somehow and lead to the retraction of our deal.
Charlie looked up at me with a hint of a smile. Through the smog his cigarette created, I could see the dark glimmering in his eyes again. I hugged myself tighter.
“What? ‘Bout you?” he teased.
I shifted my weight to my other hip and tried to hold his stare. “About anything of interest.”
His smile grew as he handed the newspaper to me very slowly and deliberately—even maintaining his grasp when I had it in my hand.
“Only interesting thing is on the front.” His eyes had this primitive refusal to leave mine, and I no longer had to force myself to keep his stare. On the contrary, I had difficulty looking away from his dark gaze. Now that his anger was gone, the colors in his eyes were shining, and the beauty was downright spellbinding. I wanted to shake my head and tell myself I was being much too literal. Yet he was content to keep me hypnotized, controlled with his stare. Finally, his eyes relinquished their hypnotic grip and he stood back. For this, I was both equally disappointed and relieved—a combination I could not totally absorb.
My fingers had to comb through the entire newspaper because it wasn’t folded properly. I was glad it was current, but felt like I was enduring a scavenger hunt that was designed for someone far more patient than myself.
Finally, my frustration came to an end when I found the front page.
“Teenager Kidnapped from Rest Stop”
New York, NY— Adeline Battes, 17, was kidnapped last night from a rest stop just outside of Syracuse, New York on the return journey from Fort Drum, where her brother Pvt. Robert Bates prepares for his second deployment to Iraq. According to local reports, Michael Battes, Adeline’s father, contacted New York State police when he could not locate his daughter and cellular contact with her failed.
Additional details are coming in, but eyewitness testimony from rest stop employees claim a young woman fitting the description of Ms. Battes was seen leaving a rest stop exit approximately eighty yards from where her destroyed cellular telephone was discovered. Several hours later the body of a truck driver, whose name is not being released at this time, was found in the empty cab of his vehicle. At this time police are unsure if the incidents are related…
I sunk to the floor and pushed the paper as far away from me as possible. Nausea ran through my stomach, and I estimated that if I read anymore, considered reading more, or even smelled the printer’s ink, I would be sick. Kidnappings, murders, and any other crime more deviant than going over the speed limit was something I had only ever read about or seen in movies. But here it was, right in the middle of my own little world. This wasn’t the sort of thing I was meant to touch during my lifetime.
“They’re really playing up the cancer thing.”
I had never expected him to be so still next to me, nor the silence so comfortable.
“What?” My voice didn’t sound like my own. It was tired and worn, flat, like the air had been taken out.
“The other papers keep bringing up how your Ma died