Melody (Logan 1)

"I had my purse stolen while I was on a bus."

"Boy, if I have heard that story once, I've heard it five hundred times. If you're hungry, nibble on anything you want," he said.

I gazed at the food, trying to decide what, if anything, looked clean enough to eat. I thought maybe a piece of bread and a little peanut butter might be all right.

"Thank you."

I dug deep into the package and came up with a slice of bread. It felt a few days old, but wasn't moldy. I wiped off a butter knife and dug out some peanut butter.

"How far you come?" he asked.

"I rode the bus from Boston, but I started out on Cape Cod."

"No kidding." He turned to look at me. "How old are you?"

"Almost seventeen," I said.

"What are you, a runaway?"

"No." I chewed and swallowed, "In fact, I'm going home," I said. He nodded with a skeptical smile.

"Ain't we all," he muttered, and put on some music. I saw him reach over and take something from the glove compartment. When he lit it, I recognized the sweet aroma. "Want a joint?"

"No thank you."

"Gotta stay cool in this world," he said. "Don't let the stress get to you. That's the secret." Then he began to sing it to the tune of "London Bridge is Falling Down":

"That's the secret of my life, of my life, of my life, that's the secret of my life, my fair lady." He laughed.

I stopped eating and looked more closely at one of the cartons of magazines. The flap of one was open just enough for me to see what was on the magazine cover. It looked like a picture of a naked little boy.

"Are you in the magazine business?" I asked, realizing he had never told me his name.

"You might say I'm a distributor." He laughed. "But if you're only seventeen, you can't look at those." He turned and smiled. "Now you really want to look at them, right? That's the way to get someone to buy into your concept--forbid them to do it. Stupid politicians," he mumbled.

His dark eyes were slick as oil, scary. My heart stopped and then started to thump. A clump of ice formed at the base of my stomach and telegraphed chills up and down my bones, making my hands and feet feel numb. I felt as if I couldn't move and the terror that had begun to take form, like some ugly beast in my brain, grew bigger and bigger with every passing second he stared back at me.

"I've been riding for hours myself," he said. "And I forgot to eat. I'll just pull over here and get something."

He slowed the van and turned off the road onto what felt like a gravel drive. I couldn't see the ground because I was so low down, but I did see some trees.

"Here we are, a safe spot," he said. He shut off the engine.

I couldn't swallow. I couldn't breathe. He got up slowly and turned into the rear of the van.

"How's the bread?" he asked sliding beside me.

"Fine," I managed. "If we're stopping, I'll just go out and get some air," I said.

He laughed.

"What's the matter, my house smells?"

I didn't reply.

"You look older than seventeen. I bet you can pass for nineteen, huh? I bet you've done that, gotten into places where you could drink, see X-rated movies."

I shook my head.