"Hoo, boy," I said. "You got the wrong girl!"

"I'm SO sure," he said sarcastically.

There were two men: one driving the van and the other, the one who'd grabbed me. He took my phone, turned it off, and dropped it into my purse, which he tossed aside.

As soon as he did that, something clicked inside me. I had to move. I had to get away.

He was still behind me, and I was almost on my back, so I brought up my left leg as hard as I could and kicked him in the face with my shin. It hurt a lot, but from the way he cursed, I was pretty sure it hurt him more than it hurt me. I looked around me for something heavy to throw, but the only thing I found was a roll of duct tape, so I grabbed it and threw it as hard as I could at the back of the driver's head.

"Ow!" he shouted, and the van swerved. The tires squealed and we pitched to the right for a few moments, until the driver got the van back under control. He called to his accomplice, "Tie her up! Keep her quiet back there!"

Quiet? I hadn't thought of that. I opened my mouth and let out the loudest, highest scream I had. I jumped to my feet and turned to face my abductor, who (surprisingly) had his hands over his ears. I balled up my fists and started pounding on his head with all my might, and kicked him as much as I could without falling down. It was hard to do any of this in the back of a moving vehicle, but I began to feel that I was getting the better of him, and my hopes were high of getting away.

That is, until the driver slammed on the brakes.

I fell forward, hurting my hip, and narrowly missed banging my head on the wheel well. I heard the driver scrabbling as he fished for the roll of tape I'd thrown. One he had it in hand, he jumped into the back. I bit and fought and shrieked and cursed and struggled and squirmed, but in the end the two of them were too strong for me. Soon I was trussed up and had a piece of duct tape over my mouth.

That done, the driver got back behind the wheel and resumed driving.

A few minutes later, we pulled into a garage-like building and stopped. When they opened the side door, I saw that we were right up against another van, whose side door was already open. I was clumsily lifted into it by the man who'd grabbed me, while the driver gave a careful look around the first van. He picked up my purse, some cigarette butts and some other trash, which he tossed into the new van. Then he slid the door shut, climbed behind the wheel, and we were off again.

Now that we'd changed vehicles and I was settled, the driver took it easy. He drove slowly, without any haste or hurry. No doubt, he wanted to avoid attracting attention. I couldn't hear any people outside, pedestrians or other cars, so there was little point in kicking up some noise.

The man in back with me lit a cigarette. It was noxious, stinky, and stale smelling, but while he and the driver relaxed, I tried to consider my options.

This van was even dirtier and older than the other one, and there was a old, filthy, oil-stained curtain behind the front seats. There was no chance that anyone could see me from the outside. And no one would be looking for me in this van: the police would be looking for the white one... which was probably stolen in the first place. So, unless the driver did something stupid to make the police stop us, I couldn't expect any help from outside.

As far as getting myself free, I doubted that I could get out of the tape. At least, not any time soon. If they left me alone, I'd try... probably I could find something, some sharp edge that could rip the tape, at least a little, and get a tear started. In the meantime, while they were with me, it was better to be quiet, to let them think I'd given up... that I was docile... maybe they'd think it was safe to take the tape off.

So... where were they taking me? I couldn't see through the back windows. They were a translucent milky-white. I had no clue as to where we were. I didn't know the area anyway. I couldn't hear anything but traffic sounds, the noise of the van engine, and the bumps we drove over.

I'd gotten several good looks at both men, and mentally tried to compose a description. The one in back with me was bald, and the other had medium brown hair... they could be brothers... the driver would have to be the older brother. They were average height, average weight, average build... what a crappy description! I'd have to work on that.

It struck me how calm I felt. Maybe this was why so many strange things happened to me... my first reaction was never fear or panic... Susan was like this in ordinary life, but I guess I'm cool in a crisis... and this qualified as a crisis.

Soon the traffic sounds died away, and I figured it might be safe to try to talk with the bald guy. I needed to find out what was going on. Why had they taken me? It didn't make sense, especially when you considered how they'd switched vans. This was an organized effort; it wasn't a casual, opportunistic thing.

Lying still, and with as calm a face as I could manage, I made muffled sounds at him. I didn't know what to say, so I just made noises, hoping he'd be curious. He looked at me a bit, then a light seemed to go on. He said, "Oh, I get it! You want a smoke!"

My first reaction was yuck! no! but then I figured, if it gets this tape off my mouth, sure! so I nodded my head enthusiastically.

He fished in my purse, which confused me for a moment. "Looks like you're all out," he sighed. "I'll give you one of mine, but you can't make a habit of it. Maybe we can pick your brand up later."

The van was moving more slowly now and bouncing much more. We were probably on a dirt road or a old road, but in any case it was a bad road. My head banged against the bare metal floor.

"Hey, sorry!" the driver called. "Big pothole!"

The bald one knelt down and took hold of the tape on my face. Before he took it off, he cautioned me: "If you scream, no one's going to hear you anyway, but I will slap you as hard as I can. Do you understand? No screaming. It goes right to my nerves."

I nodded, and he ripped the tape off.

Oooch! It hurt! It took all I could do to not scream. I screwed my eyes and mouth shut as tight as I could, and stiffened my entire body. Ow! Jeez! Ow! On TV it never looks like it hurts! Thank God I was wearing lip gloss! Otherwise I'm sure the tape would have ripped chunks off my lips.

When the pain passed, I ran my tongue over my lips to check them. They didn't feel damaged. I worked my jaw around a bit. "Did the tape mark my face?" I asked.

He smiled. "You've got a little of the sticky stuff on you, where the, uh, edges were. That's all." He pointed to his cheek, to show where the tape was on mine.

Then he put a filterless cigarette in my mouth and lit it. Remembering my first experience with Maisie, I was careful to not inhale. I just puffed.

He watched me and laughed. "Kids!" he said. "Pretending to smoke."

"Can you let my hands go?" I asked, and as I did the cigarette slipped down toward the corner of my mouth, dangling dangerously. I was afraid it might fall into my clothes.

He clenched his own cigarette with his lips as he spoke. "No funny stuff," he said, and I nodded. After straightening the cigarette in my mouth, he sat me up, and with a few rips freed my arms. I leaned back against the wheel well and took the cigarette out of my mouth. My legs were still taped together. For a moment, I felt like a mermaid.

"So what is this about?" I asked. "What's the big idea?"

His first reaction was a startled "What?" — as if he had no idea what I was talking about. Then, getting it: "Oh! Oh, yeah, yeah!" He rubbed his hands together. "Your daddy's gonna pay a big bucks to get you back! That's the idea. Big bucks! We're gonna be rich!" He chuckled with joy and rubbed his thumb against his fingers: money.

Daddy? Big bucks? There was no way my father could pay a... My jaw fell as the realization hit me, and it hit me hard.

Oh, my God! They thought I was Maisie!

"Hoo, boy," I said. "You got the wrong girl!"

"I'm SO sure," he said sarcastically.

I took another puff of the cigarette, and with an effort managed to keep from coughing. Cigarettes don't smell good anyway, but these stank in a way that was exotically, particularly foul. "What kind of cigarettes are these?" I asked him.

"Gauloise," he said proudly. "Do you like them?"

"I guess it's an acquired taste," I replied, which struck him as funny.

He laughed with a strange, simple delight, and actually slapped his knee. I guess that was good for me.

I told him, "You know something? You don't seem like a bad guy."

"You're right. I'm not a bad guy. I'm a nice guy."

"No, no, I don't mean that way. I mean 'bad guy' as in 'crook'."

"Oh, I getcha! A bad guy: black hat, sinister, evil. No, no, that's not us! This is just a little job, a good opportunity. Easy money, lots of money, and nobody gets hurt."

I gave him a disbelieving look.

He scoffed and said, "What, you? Nobody's hurt you, have they?"

© 2007 Kaleigh Way