Alone The Girl in the Box - By Robert J. Crane Page 0,3

to having on gloves all the time. That’s rule four – always fully dressed, always long sleeves and pants, and always have your gloves on. I’ve asked why and Mom has declined to explain, answering with a simple, terse, “Because I said so.”

I guess it was in case I ever had to run.

My eyes scanned the landscape of the suburban street in front of me. Even though the sky was covered in clouds, it was bright. The smell of the air crept up my nose along with the cold, and it felt like the inside of my nostrils froze. It was beyond crisp, and it almost hurt when I inhaled it. The frigidness bit at me even through my turtleneck sweater, and I found myself wishing for a coat. The wind blew down the road in front of me – rows of ordinary houses, idyllic and snow covered, trees in the front yards, draped in a blanket of winter white.

I slipped on the front walk and felt my heart kick me in the chest in a sensation of gut-punching fear. My hand caught me and I bounced back to my feet. So that’s ice? I thought. Until now I had only seen it on TV and in the freezer. There was a black sedan in the driveway that looked like something I’d seen on a Buick commercial.

My hand brushed against it as I ran down the driveway and stopped at the end. I heard the sound of more gunshots and ducked behind the car. Clinking noises came from behind me as the shots bounced off their vehicle. Now what?

As if to answer my question a red SUV skidded to a stop in front of me. A small line of muddy snow splattered past me as the passenger door opened. Inside was a guy. Dark brown hair hung around his shoulders and his skin was tanned; I was not too flustered or in too much of a hurry to realize that he was not bad looking. His eyes broke the distance between us as he stared me down. His black coat ruffled from the open door and I heard his voice, raised to a pitch, and he spoke – something that should have sounded like a command, but was so gentle it came off as an invitation.

“Get in.”

Two

I looked back and saw Oldie coming around the edge of the car. He had the gun up and pointed, and was almost to me. My only thought was – Damn, he’s slow. I blasted him with a roundhouse kick, minding my footing, and made solid contact, kicking his arm aside. I stepped in and delivered an elbow to his midsection, bringing my hand around with a perfect twist to pull the gun from his grasp. With a last effort I brought my knee up to his gut and then dropped him with an elbow to the back of the head.

He landed on all fours and grabbed at my foot, so I whipped him in the top of the head with his own gun, sending him facedown into the slush on the driveway. I turned back to the handsome man in the SUV and pointed the gun at him.

“Still want me to get in? Now it’s on my terms.”

His hands rose in surrender and a slight smile twisted the corner of his mouth. “Yes.”

I got in and shut the door. “Where to?” I kept the gun pointed at him.

Brown eyes stared back at me, the color of the dark cherrywood our kitchen table was made of. “Where would you like to go?”

“Away.”

His lips turned into a full-blown smile. He stomped on the pedal and we started moving. I’d seen a car move on TV, but it was nothing like the real thing. I felt the acceleration push me back into the comfortable seat. The whole car smelled good, with an aroma I couldn’t define but that reminded me very vaguely of the times Mother would bring home flowers on special occasions.

My eyes stayed on him, even as we turned a corner. I darted a look out the window and then back to him. He kept that same faint smile but he watched the road. Houses passed us on either side in a blur of colors overwhelmed by the white of the snow. We shot through an intersection and the traffic light made me stare. I turned back to him. “What’s your name?”

He looked over at me for a flicker before turning back to the