Away. Part 3

"This wouldn't even be happening if you didn't let me down again, all I want to do is to talk to you for five minutes before I go to sleep, is that too much to ask?"

"Sorry to be such a disappointment to you."

"I didn't say that."

"You were thinking it."

"How do you know what I was thinking?" I say, and my voice gets louder.

"Because I know you. And sorry Rosie, but I can't be there 24/7 to jump whenever you want me to. I have to have time for myself."

"It's always about you, Noah," I say, rolling my eyes. "I go to work and school and still find time to see you, but it's not like you appreciate it."

"Rosie, I work. Ten hour days most of the week. My job is hard. I need some time to myself," he tells me.

"I'm alone all of the time unless I'm with you, and you want more time for yourself? Whatever, Noah."

"We've got to find time to live our lives. Look, our relationship's important, but we've got to figure out other things first."

"I am living my life! I'm way ahead of where you are! I've got college credit. What have you done for the past year?"

"I haven't done nothing, if that's what you're saying," he says, and his words get even more rapid.

"Right, you're working on your grand plan," I say. "Whenever you manage to figure that out in the next ten years call me up, will you?"

"I'm so sick of you pressuring me into this. I know what I'm doing! How about you worry about what you're doing before you nag me about it?" He hesitates. "Rosie, I'd do anything for you. You know that. But this emotional stuff, the ups and downs with you...this pushes me over the edge. I don't know if I can keep up with it anymore."

The phone goes dead quiet. There's a minute of nothingness before Noah breaks the silence. "Rosie, I'm sorry," he says. "I love you."

My voice chokes up. Tears sprouting out my eyes, I manage to croak out, "I'm gonna go." I hang up on him.

The second I'm off the phone he calls me again. And again. He calls five more times in a row, but I don't pick up. I don't want to argue anymore. A pit of guilt is settling in my stomach as I recall the words from our argument. I think about it, and realize that I've been feeling horrible ever since Marcus showed up at the cookout.

Noah's right. Yesterday is affecting me more than I want to admit. The worst part about the whole conversation is that I didn't get to say anything I wanted to. How I was tired from dealing with everything at work, and upset that my parents could never be here. That I loved him, and I wanted him to have a good time at Michael's, and that I couldn't wait to talk to him the next morning. But it came out all wrong, and there was no excuse for it.

Noah deserves so much better than me. Someone who was going to treat him right, not take out her issues on him just because she was upset. Maybe he should find another girl...

Well, at least for the time being, I was his girl, and I needed to make this up to him. I couldn't call him again...maybe in an hour or so, after both of us had cooled off. But a simple apology wouldn't do this time, not for me. I wanted to really let him know I was sorry. There were plenty of things that I could do, but none of them seemed good enough. I had no clue on how to fix it this time except keep promising him I would change, that this wouldn't happen again. But would there be a next time after this? Or had I lost my chance?

I don't know. All I do know is that it's been a horrible day and all I want to do is sleep. I walk through the den door but as I do so, I think I hear a creak in the kitchen.

They're home? It seems sort of early, but maybe they had called the date off early, to come see me. "Hey Mom," I shout. "How was work? Was it busy today?"

No answer. Turning around, I call out, "Did you hear me? I asked how was work?"

Still no answer. The footsteps don't head for the upstairs bedrooms, but for the living room where I am. Those footsteps in the hallway are too loud for Mom to make, and they're definitely not Peter's. The only other person who has a key to my house is Noah, and I didn't hear the k.n.o.b click. Then I realize...

I forgot to lock the door.

Panic sets in. I run for the porch door, the one off of the living room, but before I can grab the handle a large, filthy hand caps over my mouth while another one grabs my wrist. I scream, trying to bite the hand of my attacker, but it does no good. He tastes of sweat and grime.

"Help!" I cry, but the sound is m.u.f.fled. I wrench away from him but he jerks my arm behind my back roughly, wounding me. In pain I stomp on his feet but his steel-toed, mud caked boots prevent me from hurting him. As he draws me to his chest I gasp. This man is huge, wide, four times my size.

"Quiet Rosemary," he says, and my eyes widen. I know that voice. "Don't struggle. I'm getting you out of here."

"NO!" I kick him furiously in the shins but besides a grunt of pain, he doesn't respond. He drags me through the living room, effortlessly carting me out the kitchen and onto the porch.

"Stop struggling, please, you're only making it worse," he begs. In the moonlight I catch a glimpse of his face. Skin wrinkled, aging. Yellow and chipped teeth, falling out from years of ill care. My eyes. My hair. A beard, grizzly and rough. Clothes that are stained and that smell as if he hasn't changed in weeks.

"You'll thank me later," he says, still dragging me. "You'll have it better with me. You'll thank me later."

I kick, bite, punch and struggle with him all the way out to his car but it does no good. He throws me up against the back of his vehicle, stunning me, and restrains my hands behind my back with handcuffs. He ties up my legs and throws me over his shoulder. Through all of this, only one though runs through my mind, over and over.

Jack McGowan has kidnapped his only daughter.

Chapter Three.

The phone rings for about the millionth time and no answer. Rosemary could be stubborn like no other when she felt like it. Shaking my head I turn to Michael, who hasn't stopped playing his video game.

"She's not picking up," I say. "I had better go over there."

"I don't know why," Michael says, not taking his eyes off the screen. "It's a guys night, remember? No chicks. No drama. She'll be fine in the morning like always."

"I just want to make sure she's okay. I don't like her being alone in that house, not when she's upset like this. She's two minutes down the road," I tell him.

"I could hear her through the phone, you know," Michael says. "If I were you I wouldn't even go over there until she apologizes. You did nothing to her."

"She shouldn't have taken it out on me, yeah, but I lost my temper with her too," I tell him. "I shouldn't have said those things. I'll be back as soon as I fix this, okay? It won't take long."

"You're so whipped," Michael sighs, and he returns to his game. I leave his bas.e.m.e.nt and climb the hill to my motorcycle, firing it up and whirling around to take off like a bat outta you-know-where.

It takes less than two minutes (a new record for me) to get to Rosemary's driveway. I slow down as I hit the gravel, not wanting to wake her up if she's asleep. I'll come back in the morning if she is.

There's two cars parked in her driveway, and one of them I don't recognize. I pick up a little bit of speed, trying to peer at the vehicle in the darkness. It's an old, beat up mini version of an SUV, probably a Toyota. You see tons of those around here. Maybe one of her friends came to visit? But who would come by after midnight?

Then, moments away from her house, I see a large man carrying her away from the house and towards the SUV. She's struggling, but the man carrying her is much stronger. "ROSEMARY!" I cry, and I kick the motorcycle into high gear.

She hears me coming and glances up from the shoulder of the man. "NOAH!" she shouts back. She starts fighting the man furiously but he takes her and with ease throws her in the middle seat of the car. He runs around to the front and then fires up his engine, spinning his tires and hurtling right towards me. His windows are open and I hear Rosemary scream as the right tip of his front end collides with my bike.

I go flying. The bike spins out from under me into the fields and I am thrown over the car and to the ground below, rolling over and over as I bounce up and down against the hard gravel. I come to a rest on the gra.s.s and the world spins, slowly fading out as I watch out of the corner of my eye the SUV speed down the road and far away.

Rosemary.

My head is swimming when I wake up. The smell of exhaust is still in the air. I can't have been out long. I try to get up, but every inch of me is burning.

Lights flash before my eyes and I'm wondering if this is the end. But no...the lights I see are headlights, and they skid to a stop when they illuminate me, lying on the ground and barely able to move.

"Noah!" The shrill sound of Donna's yell rings through the air as she springs out of her car and runs towards me, kneeling on the ground. "Noah, what happened? Are you hurt? Were you going too fast on that bike again?"

"Donna," I groan, and I go to push myself up. I can't do it on my own. She grabs my shoulders and helps me up into a sitting position, where I gasp with pain. I'm bruised all over.

"Noah, what's going on? Where's Rosemary?" Donna's eyes flash against the headlights, frightened and confused.

"Somebody took her," I tell her. "I don't know who it was or why, but they took her. I tried to stop him, but he ran me over. Is Peter with you? We need his help!"

"He got called in. What do you mean somebody took her? Noah, you need to go to the hospital!"

"I don't want to go to the hospital!" Feeling like every bit of my body's being tortured I get to my feet. "We have to call the police!"

When she sees me standing and realizes that I'm in my right mind, her face goes pale white. She runs towards the house screaming her daughter's name, but it's no good. She won't be there. I hobble after her as fast as I can, not caring if it hurts, not caring if I'm doing myself some serious damage. Once I drag myself in the kitchen I pick up the phone and dial 911.

The phone takes forever to ring. "911, what is your emergency?" the operator asks.

"My girlfriend just got kidnapped," I say quickly. "I need the police to be on the lookout for a small white SUV, I don't know the license plate number but-"

"Sir, slow down. I can't understand you. Where is your location?"

"It doesn't matter! She's not here, she's somewhere on the roads, he might have hit the highway by now! They have to start looking!" I scream.

"Calm down sir. I'm sending the police right now. They'll be able to help you. Just stay on the line."

I do so, the wait killing me. I want nothing more than to go after the creep who took my Rosie and to find him, tear him apart and then bring her back safe and sound, back in my arms again. There's nothing more I've ever wanted, not ever.

But I can't right now. Donna's tearing throughout the house, losing it, and my bike's trashed. I don't even know if I'm in any condition to drive, not that it matters to me. I'd find a way to start looking for her no matter how badly I was hurt.

It doesn't take the police long to arrive. They start asking Donna questions, but when it's clear that she's too upset to get a word out of they turn to me. I tell them the whole story, everything I know, leaving nothing out.

"Would you know anybody who would want to harm your girlfriend?" a policewoman asks, jotting down notes. I swallow, unable to believe this is really happening.

"Her uncle came by yesterday, drunk. Marcus McGowan," I say. "He threatened her, but it wasn't him. This guy was bigger than he was."

The police asked me more questions, and I wondered. Had Marcus set this all up? He seemed like too much of an idiot to plan anything this elaborate, but revenge inspired people to do some pretty crazy things. Would he actually go this far?

"I suggest that you go to the hospital," the cop says when we're done. "You're going to need some X-rays. We'll drag your bike out of the woods."

"Forget my bike, just go after her. And forget the hospital too, I'm coming to look with you," I say.

"You won't be any good to your girlfriend if you're bleeding to death," the cop says. "You have to go. It's not an option."

She's right. If I die, they won't have any idea on what happened. There's an ambulance waiting outside, the EMT trying to calm down the distraught Donna. "Fine," I say. "But I'm not spending the night. I need to find her."

On the way there my mind's racing uncontrollably, trying to think of anyone besides Marcus who would want to do Rosemary harm. I couldn't, so I determined it had to have something to do with him. The cops were already on it, though, and were probably already taking him into custody at this moment. That end was tied up.

Waiting in the hospital was even worse. I sat there on a cold white bed, watching the clock tick by, thinking about how Rosemary must feel right now, how terrified she must be. Whoever had kidnapped her could be doing anything to her right now. She could even be dead.

I start bawling.

As a general fact, I don't cry. I've had a lot of stuff happen to me, but I haven't cried about any of it in ages. This, though, was too much. The girl I loved was missing, and was in the hands of a stranger that was crazy enough to kidnap her. Who knew what other crazy things...

I wiped off my face and forced myself to keep it together. I could cry later, after she was found. Right now, the important thing was to get her home.

And I would get her home if it killed me.

I'm sore, but I have no injures. They let me go free from the hospital the next morning, and from that moment on I hit the road and start looking. I ask everyone in town, bang on every door and look down every side street to see if anyone has seen her. It's always a no. There's nowhere I haven't been that the police haven't already looked, but I try anyway.

I don't eat, or sleep. I'm a walking mess. Michael and the others all try to help, but they don't get anywhere. Marcus is at the police station right now, but since they don't have anything to connect him to the crime, they have to let him go soon.

When the story appears on the news I have hope, but no luck. n.o.body in the surrounding area has seen Rosemary either. At this point, I'm starting to go crazy with worry. I'd be sick as h.e.l.l if I wasn't forcing myself to keep it together.

The evening of the third day, I've made up my mind. I get a quick night's rest and force myself to eat some food, although I start gagging after. I throw some clothes in a bag and fill up my car. That morning, I start to head out the door.

I'm surprised when my father blocks me. "Dad," I say in surprise. "What are you doing?"

His face is long and sunken in, his hair a mess as usual. He's gotten a lot better over the years, but he'll never get completely over my mother pa.s.sing. None of us will. "Noah, I want you to think about what you're doing," he says, putting his hands up.

"I know exactly what I'm doing," I tell him. "I'm going after them."

"I don't want you getting hurt," he says. "The man who took Rosemary is dangerous. He could kill you."

"He could kill Rosie too. I can't sit here and do nothing while he could be hurting her. Dad, get out of the way," I plead.

"Let the police do their work," he says. "They'll find her. You're still not fully recovered from when he hit you."

"The police aren't looking for her very hard."

"They're doing the best they can. Noah, this is a huge risk you're taking. I won't allow it."

"I'm nineteen, Dad. I can do what I want, and I want to find my girlfriend."

"This man is dangerous! You're going to get hurt!" he argues.

"Dad..." I hesitate. "You know what love feels like. If you had gotten a chance like this...wouldn't you have done it?"

His eyes contract. He draws in a deep breath and says, "Fine. Fine Noah...just go."

He then steps away from the door, opening the way to leave from this world of men and into a world where I could be looking for a cold-blooded killer. As I pa.s.s him and grab the doork.n.o.b, however, I hear a sniff from the left.

My younger brother Brennan is staring at me from outside his room. The look he gives me is one of betrayal, anger. He has tears in his eyes. He's only sixteen.

I nod to him. It rips me up to leave him like this, but I'm setting an example for him. Sometimes older siblings have to do things that suck. "I'll be back Brennan," I say. "I promise. I've never broken a promise to you."

He doesn't move. I open the door and step out into the sunlight, out into what is probably going to be a very dangerous trip. I might not come back. But as long as Rosemary does, it doesn't matter. I take one rea.s.suring glance back at my father and brother, and then close the door behind me.