Roadside Crosses (Kathryn Dance 2)

Travis had asked. But the man had only pointed out the bucket to use for a toilet, the food and water. And had warned, "My associates and I are going to be checking on you, Travis. You stay quiet at all times. If you don't . . ." He showed the boy a soldering iron. "Okay?"

Crying, Travis had blurted, "Who are you? What did I do?"

The man plugged the soldering iron into the wall socket.

"No! I'm sorry. I'll be quiet! I promise!"

The man unplugged the iron. And then clomped up the stairs. The basement door had closed. More footsteps and the front door had slammed. A car started. And Travis was left alone.

He remembered the following days as a blur, filled with increasing hallucinations or dreams. To stave off boredom--and madness--he played DimensionQuest in his mind.

Now, Travis gasped, hearing the front door opening upstairs. Thumps of footsteps.

His captor was back.

Travis hugged himself and tried not to cry. Be quiet. You know the rules. Thinking of the Taser. Thinking of the soldering iron.

He stared at the ceiling--his ceiling, his kidnapper's floor--as the man roamed through the house. Five minutes later, the steps moved in a certain pattern. Travis tensed; he knew what that sound meant. He was coming

down here. And, yeah, a few seconds later the lock on the basement door snapped. Footsteps on the squeaky stairs, descending.

Travis now shrank back on the bed as he saw his captor come closer. The man normally would have with him an empty bucket and would take the full one upstairs. But today he carried only a paper bag.

This terrified Travis. What was inside?

The soldering iron?

Something worse?

Standing over him, he studied Travis closely. "How do you feel?"

Like shit, you asshole, what do you think?

But he said, "Okay."

"You're weak?"

"I guess."

"But you've been eating."

A nod. Don't ask him why he's doing this. You want to, but don't. It's like the biggest mosquito bite in the world. You have to scratch it; but don't. He's got the soldering iron.

"You can walk?"

"I guess."

"Good. Because I'm giving you a chance to leave."

"Leave? Yes, please! I want to go home." Tears popped into Travis's eyes.

"But you have to earn your freedom."

"Earn it? I'll do anything. . . . What?"

"Don't answer too quickly," the man said ominously. "You might choose not to."

"No, I'll--"