CHAPTER 3 - TOURIST TRAPPED

SUMMARY:

When Ivy woke up that morning, she really didn't expect her day to include a cutthroat game of hide-and-seek at Navy Pier and a refreshing dip in Lake Michigan. Getting kidnapped was a bit of a surprise too.

Everything ached, my head was spinning, my toes were frozen, and my heart was pounding. A stitch was starting to form in my side, too—I'd sprinted the distance from Ari's nightmare van across Polk Brothers Park, through the crowded main entrance, and up the stairs into the Crystal Gardens at a stumbling top speed, and apparently without breathing. Only there, gasping and whirling in that whimsical indoor garden, did I pause to check if I'd been followed before I slumped into an easily overlooked nook—a tiny alcove created by the cylindrical design of the cement palm tree planters.

That small nook had been one of my favorite spots to rest and decompress for years. I'd snuck in after the closing security sweeps and slept there many-a-time. Crystal Gardens had always had a soothing effect on me, too, especially in contrast with the majority of Navy Pier. I associated the gardens with rejuvenation and the life and compassion that I think you can sometimes feel emanating from well-loved trees. Today, however, the cement felt cold. I felt displaced, like I wasn't safe among the trees anymore. The warmth and happiness I usually sought in the single acre oasis were missing, and as the stitch in my side started to fade and my breathing returned to normal, I realized just how angry that made me.

The pounding of my heart had slowed a bit after my mad dash for freedom but it ratcheted right back up, transitioning smoothly from being fueled by fear and physically strenuous activity to being fueled by resentment and hate.

Batchelder, I thought, raging within. That was Ari's last name, apparently, according to the bothersome snippets of conversation I'd overheard. Why does that sound familiar? Something about the name made my stomach flip and contort. Had I met Ari before and just repressed that memory too? Did I know a different Batchelder?

I glanced down at my wrists compulsively and couldn't resist rubbing them with a scowl. There were red indentations encircling each one—they'd cinched those handcuffs pretty tight. Even if I'd broken or dislocated my thumbs, it would've been impossible to slip my hands out. Besides, that wouldn't have done my ankles any good.

Truth be told, I owed my escape to Lady Luck. It seemed that Ari and his apparent partner had slipped me into a gigantic men's winter coat to keep me comfortable in the back of their van—a funny notion, in light of the fact that they'd also shackled me to the floor. Luckily though, they'd left the coat unzipped. I'd woken up sideways on the paddywagon floor, head bouncing roughly on cold metal and shoulders aching from the awkward angle they were forced to keep, but the pull-tab was just within reach and perfectly malleable. The interruption from the baffled cop had given me the distraction I'd needed to pick all the locks and make a break for it… And now I was here, hoping my luck would last just a little bit longer.

Sighing, I looked down to examine the coat. It was slashed open across the chest—were those claw marks?—and tufts of white, synthetic polyester were sticking out. Honestly, I'm just glad it's not filled with down. It was gigantic, and that, combined with the new lack of functional zipper, left it looking more like a raggedy camping tent than a suitable outer layer. Although I would definitely stand out in Navy Pier, I was more concerned with how easy it would be for Ari to spot me if I continued to walk about looking like a mangled teddy bear. I would have ditched the coat right then and there, but only had the camisole on beneath—my battered, achy wings would be visible if I didn't find a replacement layer to cover up. Looked like I'd be stealing a few more things that day.

Thinking logically put out the fires of my rage, which turned out to be a bad thing. Rage had been keeping me warm, and despite the presence of the janky coat, I started to shiver and my body started to stiffen.

Steal something cozy, I noted, twisting painfully and peering around. No one nearby looked suspicious, and miraculously no one had noticed me yet. Ari was nowhere to be seen—I knew it was impossible, but I was holding out a little hope that he'd just driven away without noticing my escape. The idea of him arriving at his intended destination only to discover an empty van cheered me up, at least. I smiled deviously, pulling myself to my feet and ignoring the way my vision swam from the sudden motion. It'll pass. You're just dizzy because you haven't eaten. Get clothes, then get food. Joints creaking, I made my back down into the bowels of the pier, hunting for an overcrowded or under-staffed souvenir shop.

Unsurprisingly, it wasn't hard to find one.

The holidays were just around the corner and Navy Pier pulled in a lot of shoppers, diners, and families seeking affordable fun, so nearly every inch of public space was overcrowded, and just about every shop was under-staffed.

My luck held out though, and things got even easier—a tired-looking middle-aged woman was standing just inside one of the top-rated souvenir shops, inspecting a spinning kiosk of magnets, keychains, and bottle openers with a level of scrutiny comparable to that of a professional gemologist. Beside her left foot sat three huge, full-to-the-brim bags from three separate pier shops. One of the shops specialized in T-shirts and apparel, and I could see a grey sleeve peeking out the top of its designated bag.

Mentally thanking whoever decided to make Christmas a capitalist holiday, I leaned in next to the woman, bending low and close over her bags to inspect the magnets beside her and letting the lapels of the coat swing out like curtains over a stage. I extended my right hand slowly towards a random magnet and watched her head swivel to follow the motion of my arm. Her eyebrows lifted—was I reaching for the item she wanted? While she watched my right hand like a hawk, I stuck my left hand down, beneath me, and into the tall T-shirt bag. My fingers found soft purchase, and I lifted out the long-sleeved thing smoothly, tucking it behind a floppy lapel of my disaster coat. Just before my right-hand fingers tapped a magnet, I pulled back and turned to the left, slipping away from the woman. She seemed none the wiser though her body language suggested relief—I hadn't taken her potential future purchase.

Glancing around cautiously to make sure no one had witnessed my sleight of hand, I slunk back into the main hall. And that was that. Once far enough away from that shop, I looked at my newly acquired item and found it to be a very standard, grey hoodie emblazoned with a stylized version of the Chicago flag across the chest. Perfectly average. Plus, it was an extra-large—ideal for hiding bulky folded wings. Satisfied, I made my way across the hall and up a bit, aiming for the nearby washroom. I needed a moment to change and clean myself up. I looked around surreptitiously once more, still feeling hopeful that Ari hadn't noticed my disappearance. Even if he had, he was smart enough not to pursue me into a women's restroom, right? Frowning as I remembered the repercussions of my last assumption of his probable behavior, I paused. Only then did I realize that the people who passed near me were sneaking looks at my face before tearing their gaze away in embarrassment. A little boy finally just stopped walking entirely and stared, head cocked and wearing a confused frown.

Damnit, now what? Suddenly feeling like a pariah—not a great feeling in general, but especially not when you're actively trying to be invisible—I slunk backward into the bathroom. By some miracle, it wasn't packed. Most of the stalls were full, but no one was at the sink, so I took the opportunity to inspect my face in the mirror and immediately saw what was drawing so much unwanted attention. Oh. That. A substantial amount of dried blood was caked across my face, centered around my nose and lower lip. That wasn't so weird. It's probably weirder to people who don't often get their face stomped on by thousand-dollar red bottoms, I thought, scowling. Gazing at my bedraggled and bloody-faced reflection, I was forced to acknowledge the fears and pain I'd been suppressing once more. I'd managed to escape the clutches of my creators' goons, but my hope that Ari wouldn't notice me missing was naïve. This reprieve couldn't last. They knew what I looked like, how I lived, where to find me. They knew where I'd come from, had probably figured out everything that I'd done. Even if I managed to slip into the crowds of the pier, disguised as just another tourist, my luck would run out.

Choking back the panic that was brewing inside me with some slow, steady breathing, I leaned down over the sink and splashed cold water onto my face. Flaky bits of brownish-red dried blood liquified and tinted the water flowing down the drain. After a minute or so of deliberate but gentle washing, I lifted my head again. My face was much cleaner and blood free, but the glow-up ended there. I looked like a walking disaster. The skin that the mask of blood had hidden was beginning to bruise—will the bruises be shaped like a footprint? Sleep had challenged me for days, so those contusions blended seamlessly into the aubergine circles under my eyes. My hair screamed "feral." I was so hungry that my body had passed through sending me hunger signals and into consuming its reserves. I could see the associated weakness of forced fasting—along with the resulting aches of my minor combat injuries, of course—reflected in my limp and saggy posture. On top of all of that, I just looked dirty. For the sake of my mall robbery cover and my dignity, I'd managed a shower that morning, but apparently, I picked up some fresh filth during my time spent rolling around on the ground with Ari. A chill that was settling into my body and my pale skin tone did me no favors either. At least my freckles were intact.

If… When you get out of this, you need a spa day, I concluded, falsely optimistic—amazing how just a little bit of denial, anger, and having escaped Ari had made me hopeful again. Then, the handicap stall in the far corner opened, and I slipped in as soon as the previous user popped out. The larger stall was ideal—I needed room to examine my wings and assess the damage Ari had done to them. Although the mangled wing still felt somewhat numb, they both felt uncomfortable and awkward in a way that made me think I at least needed to ruffle and refold them more smoothly. Probably falling backward onto them from the "L" hadn't helped—they just seemed stiff and stuck in place.

After sparing a moment to use the toilet, I slipped out of the gigantic winter coat, ignoring the cold chills, swimming vision, and painful aches rippling through my body with every movement, and craned my head over my shoulder to look at my wings.

They felt stiff and stuck in place for a real reason.

A flash of fresh hatred and anger rippled through me in perfect tandem with a flash of nausea and dread. Ari and his goon had duct-taped my wings together. They hadn't even bothered to fold them correctly or fix the funky one first.

I was torn between wanting to scream and demolish the washroom wall with my fists, curl up in a ball in the corner and sob my guts out, go on a murderous rampage and hunt Ari down, and dive for the toilet to vomit. As if kinking my wing, which probably implied a break in the bones, hadn't been enough—duct tape! Only more measured breaths helped me fight back the tears of anger and hurt. At least my body started to warm up again with fury. Pacing hazily in the stall, I decided not to act on any of my whims. Doing anything that might satisfy me at that moment could also expose me—I needed to get out. I could rage later. Right now, I needed to be functional and stick to my plan: get clothes, get food, get out of town.

The hoodie wouldn't lay right if I didn't fold my wings properly, so I reached behind my back clumsily and found the end of the duct tape wrap. Then I yanked, and the painful sting of ripping feathers brought tears to my eyes and a shriek to my throat. It was like getting a Brazilian wax, but with the pain multiplied by a million. After pausing briefly to stuff the sleeve of the gross winter coat into my mouth as a gag, I continued to rip the tape off in short tugs. Rip. Whimper. Rip. Whine.

Suck it up, I commanded. It's not that bad. It was that bad. Think happy thoughts. I started to daydream just a little bit about dunking Ari's wings in tar.

It took far too long to remove it, and my arms got tired from bending back behind me like that, but finally, finally, the tape came free. I stared down at it where it lay limply in my hands—a silvery-grey length of three or four feet, covered in my beautiful primary coverts and the moisture that had leaked from my eyes.

A good old-fashioned tarring wasn't punishment enough.

Blinking back tears, I wadded up the feather-covered duct tape and stuffed it into the sanitary disposal box on the wall, sparing a thought for the confused custodian who would ultimately find it. Even though moving my funky wing was probably a mistake, they both just felt so tight—I opened them a fraction with extreme caution and shook them out quietly. It seemed to help, and tension faded from my back. Refolding the wings correctly also alleviated some of the discomfort, though the damaged wing still stuck out a bit more than normal. Fixing it was a bigger problem and one I would face later and in a safer, secluded location.

Wings now folded, I pulled on the Chicago flag hoodie. It was an appropriately gigantic extra large, and the lining was that kind of synthetic fleece that makes you want to nap for a decade as soon as it brushes against you. It felt so pleasant on my bare skin that I could nearly overlook how soggy my socks still were within my boots. I gave myself a sort of hug, reveling in the warmth, and then reached up to adjust the little hoodie ties at the throat. However, my fingers found something hard and I recoiled. The damn stolen necklace was still hanging there. Why had Ari put it on me anyway? The way he'd done so had been incredibly creepy and suggestive. Maybe that was the extent of it—he'd wanted to freak me out. Or was it a twisted consolation prize? I rolled my eyes, angrily reaching for the clasp at the nape of my neck and preparing to flush the expensive piece down the toilet.

Abruptly remembering that I'd need money to get out of the city, I paused and ultimately left the necklace on where it was. It was probably safest there and less suspicious if I wore it anyway. If… No, when I got out of Navy Pier, I would head straight to my most reliable pawnshop and make some fast money off the item.

Leaving the large winter coat behind, I slipped out of the stall and made my way back to the sinks and mirrors. My reflection looked a little bit better, maybe not as defeated, but I was still barely passable as a regular tourist. Sighing in displeasure, I reached up to try and comb my hair out with my fingers but froze as a nearby woman spoke. "Would you like to use my brush?" she said in a friendly fashion. I turned to look at her—above average height, warm brown hair, brown eyes, tan skin, probably in her early 30s, dressed for a nice day exploring the city—and saw that she was holding up a little purse-sized brush and smiling.

Altruism generally made me suspicious and usually for good reason… But her eyes seemed genuine, and despite wracking my brain, I couldn't come up with any reason for someone who intended to kill me to also be kind enough to help me groom.

"Uh, sure…thanks," I accepted, plastering on a jovial smile. "I really appreciate it. My hair pretty much looks like a bird nested in it." Hah. Irony. She chuckled as I worked the little brush through my hair, gently undoing tangles and knots from the ends to the roots.

"It's not that bad," she reassured, turning to face her reflection in order to more coherently apply lipstick. Her accent was interesting. Somewhat Southern, maybe? She was most likely a tourist, or at least not a homegrown Chicagoan—no distinctive vowel shift and a significant twang. "You should've seen mine last night. I went out with some friends for a bachelorette party, but by the time we got back to our hotel I'm pretty sure I looked like I'd just gone skydiving." She half-laughed at her own joke and so did I, though mostly because I did just go "skydiving," and that had contributed to my disastrous hair.

"At least that's probably a sign of a good party?" I joked back, reflexively trying to carry the conversation.

"It was a pretty good party, yes." She grinned, finishing up her lipstick and then turning to face me casually. "Have you noticed that almost all the hot guys in this city are crazy tall? Or did I imagine that?"

It was such a weird question and a funny thing to notice, but as I considered, mind briefly jumping to Ari before returning to the normal men I encountered, I couldn't help but agree. "Hadn't actually noticed that before, but you're totally right."

"Right? Felt like I was talking to the skyscrapers all night. Your hair is a really nice color, by the way. Is that natural?"

Although I was a little thrown by that question, I tried to respond smoothly. "Oh, yeah, completely natural…and naturally a mess." She chuckled again as I finished combing. My smoothed hair made a drastic improvement to my appearance—I finally looked human, at least, and less like the burning bush. Passing her brush back, I smiled at the woman. "Thank you again. It was so nice of you to offer." Maybe it was a stress response or some crazy hormones, but I suddenly felt choked up. A random human had been nice to me for absolutely no reason, with nothing to gain. That was so rare.

"Of course!" she replied brightly, unaware of her impact. "Truth be told, you look like you're having a rough day. It was the least I could do." Ah. Perceptive.

Smiling ruefully and shrugging off her kindness, I muttered, "Boy troubles," like that covered it. At that point, the conversation was becoming aimless, and yet I was quite willing to drag it on. Was I trying to delay the inevitable: that I'd have to leave the restroom and face potential danger again? Well, yes. But it was just so pleasant to talk to someone who treated me like I was worth more than the money I could save her.

"Well, I'm sure he doesn't deserve you," she teased. You better believe it, Sis. "Don't let him bring you down." Was it possible to simply shrug off the massive bummer of being hunted down and most likely murdered? She made me want to think so, at least. I guess my face betrayed my doubt for her positivity because she continued in a dramatic tone. "Seriously, it's a waste of time and energy. You're too young to be unhappy. You have so much life ahead of you, and you should make the most of it!" I had to stifle a laugh at how unlikely her assumptions of my lifespan were. This was beginning to feel like a drunk-girl-bathroom-moment, except I was painfully sober, as was this friendly tourist. Still, my squelched laugh must've changed my expression just enough to convince her that her message had been received.

Unsure of how to respond, I murmured, "You're absolutely right. Thank you."

"You are very welcome," she replied, sounding satisfied. Then, grinning again, she reached into her bag. My muscles tensed as I watched her hands—was she reaching for a weapon? "Hey, okay, I know this is weird, but I got sucked into a pyramid scheme recently and now I have all this makeup that I don't want." She rolled her eyes, and I started to calm down when she pulled out a little golden tube of something. "Giving it away is making me feel great about myself, though, so please take some. This lipstick would go really well with your complexion and hair color. It's called 'poppy prerogative.'" As absurd as the situation was, I genuinely laughed. She was surprisingly self-aware, and she spoke to me with the facetious comfort that I imagined she shared with her real friends.

Though handouts—as a basic form of altruism—also typically made me suspicious, makeup of any sort would further my ability to blend into the crowds. So, uncertainly, I accepted the little tube she was offering.

"Thank you again! This sounds like a fun color."

"Oh, it is. Until you've received about thirty sticks of it in the mail." She shook her head, seemingly scolding herself. "Anyway, I've got to catch up with my friends. Enjoy! And remember, life is too short! Don't waste your time on a man who doesn't make you happy! Have a good day!" With an awkward little wave, she left, and I sucked in a breath, accepting that that odd but cordial conversation might have been one of my last extended ones with a human being. Turning back to face my exhausted looking reflection again, I exhaled.

As it turned out, "poppy prerogative" was a pretty cute color, and the way it highlighted the curves of my mouth made me look kind of, sort of like a real adult. It at least made me look different, which was all that currently mattered. However, I realized that the bright pigment on my lips made my face look more lackluster and beat in contrast, so I smudged a little lipstick on my fingertips and then rubbed it into my cheeks like a blush. That did the trick—I had less of a "walking dead" vibe, at least.

Disguise satisfactorily complete, and with loathing still lapping at my heart, I took another deep breath and prepared to face reality in the hallway of the pier. Now that the bathroom had closed behind me, I realized just how peaceful it'd been in comparison to the sheer volume—of noise, people, and so on—that hit me in the hall. No one was staring at me now, thankfully, but I still slunk along the wall and avoided eye contact as I tried to clear my head and get my bearings. Every time I stepped too quickly, though, my eyes crossed a little—I was either absolutely starving or had a concussion. Maybe both. Both would pass, especially if I could find food, so I decided to angle towards the food court. However, as I left the wall and wedged myself into the flow of pedestrian traffic, my tired eyes scanned the crowd, and reality faced me.

Ari was standing not thirty feet ahead, leaning casually against the opposite wall. His head was cocked to the side, his hair was (quite literally) windswept, his mouth was pulled up in the corners to form a smirk, and his amber eyes were locked on mine. Heart suddenly slamming around inside my ribcage, I froze.

Foot traffic flowed around me—between us—as my panic grew. Denial and wishful thinking had made a fool of me again. I thought I'd lost him, thought I stood a chance at vanishing. Whether or not I'd briefly ditched him, he'd found me again in a blink, through the closed doors of a restroom no less, and he was clearly not misled by my new outfit in the slightest.

But he wasn't making any moves now—he was just waiting. Watching me and waiting. Waiting for what? I wondered, taking a slow step backward to test him. He didn't budge to follow, just winked. Only luck and chance clued me in—a teenage boy, hand lost in his girlfriend's, walked directly into me from behind, jostling me to the side without the slightest acknowledgment. I spun, eyes ripped away from Ari and landing instead on another man, also sporting a suit, who was moving quickly towards me from the other side of the hall. He'd come from right beside the washroom and jerked to an abrupt halt when he realized that I'd spotted him.

Though I hadn't yet seen him, this had to be Ari's partner from the van. He was comparably attractive though somehow more generic, and he had the same air of entitled disregard for the public. Plus, one of his hands was wedged into his suit jacket pocket in a very suspicious and worrisome way.

So, they'd not only found me but had managed to box me in. My eyes darted between the two of them in terror—Ari was off the wall and standing upright now, smirk wiped away, eyes narrowed, and body tense. The other man waited for some unknown cue. For a few seconds that stretched on like hours, we were all still, all eyeing each other. Those seconds were all I needed to throw together a ramshackle plan to escape—it was a plan that relied entirely on my knowledge of Navy Pier's layout, but I was confident that I stood a chance if I could just lose them once more. Plus, in this crowd, I had a slight advantage that I suspected they did not—I was small, allowing for easy movement, and no one cared about me.

As if trying to prove me right in the realm of advantages, Ari made the first move. Gaze still fixated on me, he lunged carelessly into the crowd and immediately got stuck in a gaggle of young women, including my friend from the washroom. So, he must've just walked into the bachelorette party. At any other time, it might've been hilarious to watch. Ari's face shifted through what I interpreted as cold focus into outrage into amusement into discomfort into annoyance at lightning speed as the women scoffed at being bumped into so aggressively, then realized the undeniable appeal of their interrupter, then instinctively swarmed and unintentionally trapped him. He was pushing them aside with all the finesse of a dog fending off fleas, but he'd looked away from me.

Ari's partner was faring a bit better—although he still had to fight to cut through the shopping flow, he was only a few paces away. My escape route was so close, but if he could watch me leave it wouldn't matter that I'd vanished. I needed a distraction and I searched desperately, trying to come up with any ideas that might slow him down. Finally, rashly, I settled on an embarrassing tactic that I'd never in my life expected to use but had learned from a 90s comedy. Would it work in real life? We'd find out. The partner was feet away, one hand outstretched and one still inside his jacket, when I lifted my arm and swung down hard, flat palm connecting with a passing stranger's ass. The echoing clap made me wince, and my adversary pulled up short, his well-defined jaw dropping. The nondescript man I'd spanked jolted forward before whirling around to see his violator. His eyes fell on me and I pointed at the other goon, who threw his hands up and shook his head. That was all it took. As the two men dove into an awkward confrontation, I glanced once more at Ari—who was almost free of his surprise admirers but still looking away—and fled, slinking through the crowd sans-difficulty and zipping up one of the frequently overlooked side staircases.

Going up as quickly as I did made me dizzy, but I had to put some distance between us. Once upstairs, I cut across Crystal Gardens again and hooked towards the Children's Museum, ducking into the second-floor entrance and heading for the staircase. I had intended to simply pass through the museum and circle back to where I'd just been, throwing Ari for a loop. Instead, however, my vision swam again and an odd wave of nausea washed over me.

You need to hide and rest for a minute, I thought hazily, crossing into one of the kids' climb zones. An adult like myself lurking without a child in the children's museum would be suspicious. Find somewhere good to hide! I'd explored the museum at night enough to have an idea, so I sloppily made my way to the schooner. By some miracle, the exhibit was nearly empty; it was a weekday, and most schools were still in session. Maybe that was enough. Either way, only a handful of kids were zooming around, and only a few miscellaneous parents and guardians lingered, all chatting happily with each other. For a second, it felt just like a dog park.

While no one was looking directly at me, I made my way to the staircase, scaled it slowly, hooked a left, ducked into the narrow rope tube, and climbed up to the right side crow's nest. Once inside, I leaned sideways against the wall of the nest and slid to the ground, certain that no one had watched me sneak in and that no children were nearby. My vision didn't seem to swim quite as much when I was still, but a growing sense of dizziness was not dispelled by my inactivity. In fact, the longer I sat, the more aware I became of ringing in my ears and a growing headache behind my eyes.

So, for the second time that day, I was forced to acknowledge that being hungry was not the root of all my problems. Earlier, I'd attributed the grumbling of my stomach to hunger and denied my instincts about the fishy circumstances of the mall robbery. Now I'd tried to deny the extent of damage that Ari had dealt. I was definitely concussed.

If I could just take a little nap… I thought, head rolling against the wooden plank wall of the crow's nest. My healing factor was usually pretty good, it seemed. Almost all of my injuries would probably mend quickly if I could just get some deep, restorative sleep. It'd been so long since I'd had a night like that. Maybe Ari and his friend won't find me that quickly. Maybe I have time for a nap. Honestly though, would they even think to check the children's museum? I knew I was rationalizing my desire to pass out, but logic would suggest to my pursuers that I would take the opportunity of their distraction to flee Navy Pier altogether. If I were smart, I would've already hailed a cab and hit the road… Wait, why didn't I do that?

Loud, rhythmic thumping startled my eyes open, and only then did I realize that they had been closed. A little girl, probably around the age of eight and sporting a very glittery tutu and a gaudy pirate's hat, climbed into the crow's nest and came to an awkward halt when she spotted me. Smiling reassuringly (I hoped) and giving her a thumbs up, I mentally prayed she'd keep moving. Instead, of course, she spoke: "What are you doing?"

"Playing hide-and-seek," I responded, putting a finger up to my lips to imply secrecy.

"Oh," she replied, giving me a thumbs up in return. Then she ducked out the other side of the nest towards the next section of the climbing structure. Alrighty, then. That was easy. I sighed in relief and let my head dip to the side again, trying to ignore what seemed like a gong echoing in my mind. I felt worse now than I had after first escaping Ari's van—were the symptoms of my probable concussion manifesting more aggressively in response to my growing anxiety? Or just from the continued strenuous activity? Either way, it didn't matter if I couldn't get far, far away from Ari and his partner.

The thumping sound returned then, and I sucked in a panicked breath. To my intense relief, however, it was just the little girl again, passing back through my nest. "Are you hiding from a boy?" she asked in a teasing tone.

My heart skipped a beat. "Maybe. Why?"

"Because I think he's about to find you!" Then, wearing a gleefully naïve grin, she pointed back in the direction she'd come from. Trying to remember to breathe, I leaned forward and twisted ever so slightly to see past the girl and over towards the second, lower crow's nest. He hadn't reached that nest yet, but sure enough, there was Ari, methodically making his way across the suspension bridges on the other side of the room in long strides, working his way up and over. He looked incredibly out of place on the structure—like a giant in a land of tinkertoys—but somehow still completely at home and confident in his trajectory.

He knew where I was.

Rolling away from the nest exit silently and ignoring the giggles of the little girl, who seemed to think I was just on a hilarious date, I started to scoot backward toward the rope tube, hoping to sneak away. One foot already extended behind me, I reached out for purchase on the frame of the tube. What I thought was a sturdy foothold, unfortunately, turned out to be a hand, which closed tightly around my soggy toes and yanked me backward. With a screech of shock, my body slid across the floor of the crow's nest and I slammed hard onto my elbows, head spinning. Thankfully, instinct kicked in—pun totally intended—and my other foot flailed and connected wildly with what must've been Ari's partner's head. A grunt sounded from below and behind me, and my foot came free. Nails clawing into the boards of the crow's nest, I scrambled to my feet and looked back in Ari's direction. He had reached the other nest and was peering up at me from the bottom of the rope tube slide between us, wearing a wicked grin. His partner's hand reached up and over the edge of the base of the nest a few feet away. They'd boxed me in again.

Shit, shit, shit, I thought, quickly eyeing the little pirate; she seemed miraculously unfazed by this whole thing, and I decided not to worry about her. There were more pressing concerns. Ari had begun to climb up the rope slide, his broad shoulders hunched so he could fit. His partner's forehead crested over the edge of the boards, followed by his eyes. I groaned. Quarters were too close for a fight, and I wouldn't win it anyway. Plus, the girl might get caught in the middle of a battle and could end up getting hurt. I could try and dive headfirst down the slide and just hope for the best against Ari. Maybe he'd get stuck. I could kick his partner in the face and jump him in the tube, but we'd both get stuck in there for sure.

That left only one escape route. 'She's strong. Much stronger than she thinks she is,' Ari had said in the van. Perhaps it was time to put that strength into action. I reached out in front of me and grabbed hold of the rope safety netting that circled the upper edge of the crow's nest. It made my whole body ache, but I ripped those ropes apart like an old rag. The shredding sound was jarring and my hands got rope burn instantly, but as soon as I'd torn a hole large enough, I pulled myself up and slipped through it.

The drop back down to the first floor was easily thirty feet, and my landing was pathetic. Dizziness and diminished coordination threw off what would have already been a challenge—I touched down on my toes but pitched forward, remarkably managing to roll instead of falling flat on my face. Somersaulting didn't prove to be fantastic either—the revolution ended with me crashing hard onto my back, my wings squishing closed further beneath my hoodie. Moaning and peering through blurry eyes, I caught sight of Ari up above. He was quickly scrabbling backward out of the rope slide, distant face undeniably frustrated. His accomplice was nearing the top of the stairs.

Still moaning, I stumbled to my feet and ran, pushing past the gaggle of worried parents who had noticed my fall and were now rushing to my aid. They all came up short, baffled as I zipped by. My sprint out of the children's museum was not graceful—my balance seemed to be fading fast and I quite literally bounced off of multiple walls, but I made it out and managed to rush down the main hall, through the crowds, and back into the shopping center of the pier.

At this point, the only course of action that made sense was to dip out of Navy Pier and head into the city, so, of course, I didn't do that. Truth be told, I genuinely didn't think I could make it back through Polk Brothers Park quickly enough to be safe—it was such an exposed space, and my body was feeling progressively weaker and slower. I knew that how I ripped the safety netting would have probably appeared fairly effortless to a bystander, but that desperate action had sapped a surprising amount of my energy, and the fall to the ground hadn't helped. So, if fighting and/or outrunning my hunters had seemed like a challenge before, it felt nearly impossible now. If I wanted to survive, I needed to hide—hide somewhere better than before, try to get a little rest. Sleep would be ideal, but even just sitting for a few minutes to let my head stop spinning would be helpful. If I could find food, I'd fare even better.

Thinking about food reignited the frustration I felt at the outcome of this day. Only a couple of hours earlier, I had been planning to celebrate that day's successful theft with a Chinese buffet for dinner. For half a second, I wondered if Ari would take me out for Chinese as a last supper if I just gave up and turned myself in. Didn't seem very likely, so I resolved to keep fighting for my life and my future meals.

As I got closer to the food courts, the crowds grew denser. I started to bounce off of people and was finally forced to slow down. My neck was covered in goosebumps, though, so I kept turning around to look over my shoulder, eyes searching for Ari in the crowd. If he was on my trail, he wasn't close by, so I let myself match the speed of the market hall visitors and tried to hobble as little as possible. My head spun, but the smells of fast food filled my nose and I groaned, startling a stranger nearby.

With the intention of both hiding and finding food, I slipped into one of the more upscale restaurants and made a beeline straight for the kitchen door. Of course, I didn't look like I belonged on the waitstaff, but you'd be surprised how many people just accept your weird behavior if you act confident enough. I was quite confident that I needed to be in the kitchen.

It only worked because no one was lingering near the door to stop me. No one was lingering just inside, either. Two cooks were working over a big skillet further in, and they both had their backs to the room. They had set out a few plates for their servers to pick up, and my eyes fell heavily on a massive meat-filled sandwich of some sort. I think I drooled. I snatched up the plate without a sound and at a speed faster than I'd probably moved in hours, and carried it further into the kitchen, towards the dry storage room that was adjacent to the service doors. In the storage room, I wedged myself and my sandwich into a small pocket of space created by some shelves and boxes of alcohol. It wasn't a smart spot—I could be cornered in this room quite easily—but it would do.

That sandwich was the most satisfying one I'd ever eaten. It had at least three different types of meat and a perfect amount of cheese. The bread was soft and flavorful, and something else in the sandwich was just spicy enough to make me sniffle with sinus-clearing delight. The only downside was that chewing moved the muscles in my face in a way that revealed somewhat more pain from Ari's Louboutin kick, but it was worth it.

Eating when you're starving, cold, achy, and trying to hide from an executioner just hits different. The only thing that could have improved the meal would be an accompanying cup of coffee.

After inhaling the sandwich and feeling my stomach fill up, I set the plate down on the shelf beside me and closed my eyes—they needed a few minutes of rest. Even though I was in the dry storage and not a refrigerated part of the kitchen, shivers started to creep over me as the chill returned. The goosebumps spread from my neck to my arms. I rubbed my chest rapidly with my palm to try and warm up, but it hardly did anything and I resigned myself to the fact that I was just damn cold.

At least I could rest. And for about seven whole minutes, I did.

Then, voices carried down the hall from the kitchen. Familiar ones. Ari and his partner were speaking with the two cooks and maybe one of the servers. My heart started pounding again, and I stood up and crept towards the service doors as reticently as possible. The voices were getting louder—someone was yelling now. I pushed on the bar of the door and it made a loud click. The voices cut short, and without further hesitation, I took off.

The next half hour or so felt a little like a scene from a cartoon—if I could have sat back and been the viewer of my own chase scene, it would have looked a lot like a clip from Scooby-Doo. You know, those moments where the heroes zoom past the screen so many times that you lose track of which direction they're coming or going, but you know that the villain is right on their tail? As I hid for the fifth time, I realized that if I could've filmed this whole thing in a time-lapse and overlaid it with some funky ragtime music, it might've been funny.

As it was, I was exhausted. It wasn't funny. Every time I thought I found a safe place to pause, and catch my breath, and steady my dizzy mind, Ari and his partner showed up right behind me. It didn't make sense—especially because I kept checking over my shoulder and I never saw them on my tail, so how did they always know where I was going?

When I fled capture again and half-ran, half-limped towards a sixth hiding spot, I passed a glittering jewelry kiosk and had a mortifying thought—the necklace! I dropped to my knees in my new spot, ignoring the chill I couldn't shake (despite all the damn cardio I was getting), the aches of my body, and the heaviness of my head, and reached up to undo the clasp on the stolen $115,000 necklace. Once off, I ran my fingers over it, searching and breathing fast—sure enough, stuck to the back of one of the diamond and ruby clusters was a small, flat, muted gold square about half the size of my pinkie fingernail.

I used GPS trackers fairly often to trail moving targets in commissions, but I'd never in my life seen one that tiny. Could it be possible? Or was this something else? My stomach twisted with annoyance as I realized that Ari and his partner might not have been working hard to follow me at all—they probably had a screen with them that relayed the location of the necklace. It would be as easy as looking at a map. They didn't even have to run—they just had to wait for me to stop moving.

"Ugh, you're an idiot!" I muttered, cursing myself for blowing off my earlier suspicion as fury bubbled up within me again. If I was right, I'd wasted so much time and energy for absolutely nothing and all because I wasn't willing to flush away a chance to make some money. I hated Ari and his partner and the people who had made me like this. I hated myself. Most of all, I hated this day. But, as I took my thousandth "calming" breath in the last five minutes, I realized that I finally had a slight advantage. If I was right—and I was about to test my theory—about the GPS tracker in the necklace, I suddenly stood a real chance of ditching my stalkers.

My upset faded away and was replaced with a gleeful smile that stretched my face somewhat uncomfortably. Diamond necklace crumpled in my fist, I came out of hiding. Ari and company were nowhere to be seen, and the jewelry kiosk was just a short stroll away, through another crowded chunk of the hallway. When I reached it, I met the eyes of the young vendor who sat in a folding chair and held an iPad, locked and loaded with a Square for card-swiping.

"Are you looking for anything in particular?" he asked politely, hopeful of a sale.

"Nope, just looking," I replied, still smiling. The jewelry here was mostly kitschy, touristy stuff, like little rhinestone dolphins and gold-plated bars with "I Heart Chicago" stamped on them. Stuff I would've gladly stolen for fun but didn't actually need.

"Alright. Let me know if I can help." The man smiled and then looked back at his iPad. Oh, you can help, my friend. I looped around to the far side of the kiosk and checked to make sure the peddler was still engrossed in his entertainment. He was, so I reached out and quickly hung my expensive bauble up on one of the stands, mixed in with some little red lollipops on silver chains—the rubies and platinum of the stolen necklace blended in perfectly.

With a friendly but dismissive nod to the man, I left and dizzily tottered my way down the hall to a little recess in the wall near the entrance to WBEZ. It was shadowy, but it had a clear view of the jewelry kiosk and everything else within a 180-degree radius—it would be impossible for anyone to sneak up on me.

Sighing and patting my cheeks to warm them and stimulate wakefulness, I waited and prayed that the two men had truly been tracking me through the necklace and not some other transmitter stashed on my person.

It wasn't such a long wait, but it felt like one. At last, Ari and his ally came into view. They were walking slowly, deliberately, but pushing through crowds recklessly as they sauntered in my direction. The partner held a thick device about the size of a phone, and his eyes flicked back and forth between the thing and what was ahead. Ari was scanning the crowd, head swiveling and eyes narrowed, so I held my breath and pressed my body as far into the recess as possible while still maintaining a clear line of sight.

Please stop. Please. They're getting close. Please let this work. Please let me be right.

The partner threw his hand up, signaling a stop right as they came even with the jewelry kiosk. I blew out a puff of air in relief as Ari spun to face his accomplice. He snatched the little tracking device from his partner's hands and examined the display. Then he passed it back and wheeled on the young man in the folding chair. I couldn't hear what they said to each other, but after exchanging a few apparently unsatisfactory words, Ari shoved the man backward, sending him sprawling as his chair flipped and his iPad flew. I flinched, surprised that Ari had attacked a bystander. He'd made it pretty clear that he wasn't afraid of being spotted, but violence towards an innocent just seemed excessive. He didn't hold back at all, did he? If he'd been so willing to topple a vendor just for presumably knowing nothing of my whereabouts, had he hurt anyone else while in pursuit?

At that point, Ari's partner had somehow tracked the necklace down to the correct side of the spinning jewelry stand. He was bent over, rooting through lollipops. Ari was pacing—was that stress? Or just anger? The partner finally straightened and handed Ari the diamond bauble—it glittered, even from afar—which at least forced him to stop pacing. Ari's fist clenched around the necklace. He shoved it in his suit jacket pocket before abruptly lifting his right leg and front kicking the stand to the ground with a discordant clatter.

Everyone in the vicinity stopped and stared with expressions that revealed a mix of confusion, amusement, and unease. Of course, now that I wasn't in immediate danger, a security guard appeared and sidled up to the two angry-looking men—would the guard be safe? Should I try to intervene? As I watched, both Ari, who was running his fingers through his hair, and his partner reached for their inner jacket pockets, pulled out identical wallets, and flashed what I could only assume were fake badges. Too much power.

The guard thankfully backed down, though he couldn't help but glance at the demolished kiosk stand and the now outraged vendor. Ari snapped something, jerking a thumb over his shoulder authoritatively, and the guard sidestepped him to confront the young man. This whole thing was unfolding like an absurdly dramatic soap opera, and again, it would've been funny if I could've watched it from the comfort of a cozy couch. As it was, I was wrapt, anxiously waiting to see what would happen next when I should probably have been making an effort to flee. Then again, I had to be sure they couldn't track me any other way.

Ari started pacing in the small amount of space allotted by the freshly uprooted jewelry stand. His partner was running crowd control, ushering the staring passersby along with oddly calm arm motions and a neighborly smile, and the guard escorted the tchotchke peddler away quietly. I sighed, worry for the innocents alleviated, and watched with delight as Ari's morale fell apart. I definitely could and should have left at that point, but it was awfully satisfying to see him squirm, especially when I thought about the type of people he'd disappoint by losing me. He's going to get his ass handed to him.

All of a sudden, Ari came to a sharp standstill, body rigid and hands clenched in fists by his sides. He twisted a little, and the motion—or sudden general lack thereof—caught his ally's attention. Ari turned another step to his left, and that angled him almost directly at me. My breath hitched in my throat as I hazily focused on his face. His eyes were closed, jaw clenched, long lashes caressing his cheeks, and brow furrowed. Then, the funniest thing happened—his nose twitched.

Did he…? Did he just sniff the air? I wondered, amused and intrigued like the fool that I was.

Ari's nose twitched again, and this time I watched his chest inflate. He was sniffing.

My mouth fell open in disbelief—could he really be scent tracking?—right as his eyes snapped open and he zeroed in on my little alcove. Apparently, he really could be. Holy shi—

Ari took one jerky step in my direction, and I rocketed out of the recess and towards an exit onto Dock Street without a backward glance. There wasn't any point in trying to hide anymore, now that I knew Ari could track me by body scent. Although I'd encountered plenty of weird stuff before, that ability was one I'd never witnessed in anything but a properly trained hound. I knew from previous K-9 encounters that I could try to foul the track by dousing myself in some crazy perfume or something, but Ari's willingness to just demolish the kiosk in his frustration—while kind of funny—made me wonder just how much he'd lash out if anything else went wrong. Not to mention, how would he respond if things went right? If he caught me now, as angry as he was—would he execute me right in front of the growing Winter Wonderfest crowd? Would he kill anyone that got in the way?

Suddenly feeling paradoxically more invested in the wellbeing of the people around me than in my own survival, I realized that trying to outrun Ari and not just hide had finally become imperative. It was time to leave Navy Pier and draw him away from such a vulnerable crowd. So, I sprint-stumbled down Dock Street as fast as I could, ignoring the icy December wind that whooshed off the lake and weaving through short, huddled lines of people waiting for winter cruises. Admittedly, apart from how bitterly cold it was—cold enough to freeze the rim of the lake—it was a beautiful day for a cruise. The wind was strong enough to instill gorgeous, white-peaked waves in the black-blue water, and it was still bright out in a tolerably hazy way. Then again, the haziness might've just been related to my head injury.

My head was still pounding, but the fresh air seemed to help. I shot a look over my shoulder to see if I was being followed—I was; the partner was only a few hundred meters behind, and Ari must've been on his tail—and the rapid twist of my head made my vision spin and flip. Truth be told, I could hardly see where I was going now, but that didn't matter as long as I was moving. My joints popped and crunched as I begged them to move faster. I just had to maintain the lead a little longer. I'd get to Lakeshore Drive first, and from there I'd either jump in the nearest available cab or run recklessly through the roads until it became unsafe for Ari to follow. Maybe the police officer from before would still be there, by Ari's van—he'd listen to me, help me. There was no way in hell he'd believed all of the bullshit about legal kidnappings and whatnot. How could anyone fall for that?

I risked another glimpse over my shoulder and saw that the partner was still on my heels, but only marginally closer. Shutting my eyes to reduce the visual sway as I redirected my head forward again, I realized that that was strange. Why hadn't he caught up to me? He didn't seem to be exerting himself at all. His legs, as well as Ari's, were nearly twice the length of mine. Their stride alone gave them an obvious advantage to exert. Plus, I was probably only running at about half my top speed, and floundering so much that drunk-me could have fared better. So why didn't he close the distance between us and catch me? Not that I wanted him to, of course, but it didn't make sense. Why couldn't I see Ari behind him?

Once again dismissing my instinct to overanalyze everything, I decided that it didn't really matter. I was nearing the pier exit. I could see Polk Brothers Park just ahead, its stark skeletons of young, winter-bare trees silhouetted in the light. The sounds of laughter and music from the ice rink were almost loud enough now to carry clearly over the wind. I was so close, moving in the right direction for freedom.

And then I just…wasn't. Forward motion was arrested as something slammed into me from the right and forced every bit of air out of my lungs. I sailed through space sideways, and my vision went momentarily white as my head whipped to the right, towards whatever had hit me. Could a car have driven on the dock? Wind whistled past and then something else slammed into my side comparably hard from the left, cracked as we collided, and gave way.

Then I was sinking. My brain was moving at the speed of maple syrup, but as water formed a downdraft and pulled me under, I figured out that someone or something had just knocked me off of the pier and into the crusty, frozen edge of Lake Michigan. And now I was sinking. Time stood still. An icy chill soaked into me like nothing I'd ever felt before. My bones felt cold and brittle, and my soul, if I had one, became an iceberg. I was paralyzed or in shock or perhaps frozen with dread and an unfortunate sense of finality—I couldn't move my limbs to swim to the surface, no matter how hard I tried. Did I even know which way was up? Then darkness soaked in too, and I recognized with gloomy resignation that I was starting to pass out. I was just so tired. The breakpoint hit me and I inhaled involuntarily, body determined not to give up and desperate for oxygen. The unfortunate thing about drowning is that you're usually somewhat aware that it's happening. You don't lose consciousness until you're really done for. It's torture, and panic shifts into pain. So, I was fully aware of how my lungs seemed to freeze and instantaneously cease to function as I inhaled, and I could feel them flooding, weighing me down. The cold water burned like hot lava. I wanted to cough it out, but that only forced me to inhale more.

Everything went dark for a terminal second that dragged on like an eternity until something wrapped around my ribcage and constricted, squeezing me tight against a firm frame. A sudden rush of movement followed that, and it made me want to explode. Then my head breached the surface, and I was dimly aware of Ari's face very near to mine. His wiry arm clutched at my waist, and when my head dropped feebly against his shoulder, he cinched his arm tighter, squeezing me until I coughed. Cold lake water rushed back up my throat, burning like cheap whiskey, and I pitched forward and vomited. Ari adjusted his arm under my ribs as more water surged up and out of me, making me gurgle and splutter. My vision swam better than I could at that point as I woozily tried to get my bearings, but—was Ari smiling? Wheezing in a shaky breath that did nothing for my mental fog, I noticed his arm position shift again. He hooked it under my noodle-like right arm and up across my waist and chest like a seatbelt, strong fingers digging into my left shoulder. He started to side-stroke towards the edge of the dock, towing me along like a chew toy and somehow managing to keep my head above water.

Still unable to move coherently, I let Ari do whatever he wanted to at that point. I couldn't feel a lot of my body, especially my extremities, and my brain felt like it was running on backup batteries. Everything felt muted, including my hearing—it was like thick cotton balls were wedged in my ears, but I thought I heard someone speaking nearby. A reverberating thud and dark ripples just below my chin drew my attention. Ari had paused in his swim to crack through a plate of ice with his free elbow. My body bobbed in his other arm as he repeated and balanced the movement. Water splashed my face and it was kind of irritating, but at that point, I couldn't care. I don't know how much time passed—it was getting confusing—but we started to move again. Another indefinite amount of time passed, and I just stared straight ahead, up at the hazy sky and the tips of the distant skyscrapers. This is fine, I decided, disregarding a tightness in my chest.

Ari stopped swimming, and my view changed as his arm slipped back down to my waist, and he floated me out in front of him, arm rotating fluidly around my body and pushing me to meet his other hand. His head bobbed up and down near the surface of the lake in front of me as he trod water, and I watched him curiously as he worked to keep us both afloat. His eyes met mine for a second before he looked up higher and his mouth moved. It sounded like "not that deep, I'll pass her up," but it was underwritten by a low-pitched ringing.

Ari's hands slid down from my waist to my hips, and though I knew I should be thrashing, I just let it go. He glanced above me again, nodded, then sucked in a deep breath before plunging downward. Where was he going? I started to drop too, but Ari's arms straightened, holding me barely above the dark surface. Just before my head dipped beneath the waterline, Ari rocketed up, something hooked under my armpits and pulled me out of his grip, and I was deposited sideways on the metal dock. My cheek pressed against the dull silver and I knew it had to be glacial and hard, but I couldn't feel it. I couldn't even move, but it didn't matter. The ground was comfortable. I wasn't even cold anymore. It'd be a nice place to nap. I had a pleasant view across the water from there, and also had a resultantly baffling view of Ari as he schlepped himself up and over the edge of the dock with all of the slippery wet grace of a sea lion. Why wasn't he a limp lasagna noodle like me? That didn't seem fair.

Sitting up and pushing dripping hair out of his face, Ari heaved a sigh. Then he looked up at his partner, who I surmised was standing over me and had maybe lifted me onto the dock. "Why the hell did you go in with her?" laughed the cotton-muffled voice of the partner.

In front of me, Ari shrugged. "Didn't know if she could swim. Can you swim, Ivy?" He leaned a smidge to look at me, smirking.

I should have been mad and normally would have snarled back some expletives, but I just didn't care. Could I even talk? I opened my mouth to say who-knows-what, but out came another gush of lake water vomit instead. Oops.

Ari's face changed for a second into something that I could almost believe was concern, but then he laughed. "I'm going to assume that was a 'yes.'" He heaved another sigh and rose stiffly, said something to his partner, and bent back down to collect me. Although he scooped me up with surprising delicacy, the motion made things spin and twist and turn around me like a kaleidoscope. When my vision settled, I was staring rigidly ahead, my head tucked in the crook of Ari's neck and my body bent into a bridal carry. That should've felt wrong, but I just wanted to nap. Maybe Ari would nap too. He should be tired by now. But it seemed like he was walking super fast. Or maybe I was just moving very slow.

Part of me wanted to look around and see where we were, but the majority of me couldn't care less. It didn't matter. Besides, I couldn't turn my head—it was like my neck had locked up.

After taking a shallow breath that burned my throat, I croaked, "Where?" I was trying to ask, 'where are we?' but couldn't get it all the way out.

Ari seemed a little startled by my speech and tilted his head to look at me. "'Where…are we going?'" he misinterpreted carelessly. "Oh, cutie, don't you worry. You'll see soon enough." I knew that wasn't the answer I had wanted, but I honestly couldn't remember what my question had been anyway.

Time passed strangely again, but that was okay. I couldn't feel my face where it was pressed against Ari's neck and shoulder, though it seemed a comfortable spot. Like a little face hammock. Sleep started to creep over me but was shooed away when Ari spoke again.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." We had stopped on a sidewalk, and I could hear the drone of car engines nearby. That drone blended with the rumbling hum that came from Ari's chest as he groaned. "We don't have time for this. Can you handle it? Quickly?" he snapped.

Another voice responded in the affirmative, and Ari turned away and moved again. I stared blankly at his soft-looking cheek as he hunched down and climbed into the back of a van. Then he seemed to move away, and I realized that he had laid me on the floor of the vehicle. It felt familiar there. Had I been on that patch of floor before?

Oh, of course. Earlier that day, when Ari had kidnapped me.

Now, he reached past me to grab something—an air pump?—and then vanished from view. I wriggled a little, but my body felt so rheumatic. When Ari didn't return and I still couldn't feel anything or move my muscles, I started to wonder if I had died.

Par for the course, honestly.

Seconds or maybe hours passed in ringing silence. It was a pretty comfortable way to be dead—endless quiet, motionless limbs, senseless skin. A dull thunk sounded nearby as Ari returned and pulled the van doors shut behind him. He was kidnapping me again, but couldn't he see I was already dead?

He settled onto the wall bench above me and leaned over, jeering. "Ready to go home, honey?" I didn't bother to try to speak. He didn't care what I said anyway. At least I could finally nap.

As my eyes drifted closed and unconsciousness started to take hold, I had one last oddly lucid thought—if Ari wanted me dead, why didn't he let me drown?