We had to leave, to come out of hiding, go to the police … and that's what I told him as we embraced, the words slightly muffled as I spoke into his neck. The phone was still in my hand. I pulled back and began to dial my father's number. Boon grabbed my hand, trying to pull the phone away. I backed up further, looking at him and shaking my head.
"I have to," I said, my voice breaking. "I have to."
There was silence again as we looked at each other, each fighting our own demons. Finally, Boon sighed and closed his eyes.
"Can you call someone else first? Just … not your father. Not him first," Boon said, sounding defeated. I nodded. I could call Alicia or Becky first; if anything, they would at least have some idea of what was going on. I quickly dialed Becky's number, needing her good sense and clear thinking.
The phone rang three times before she picked up, saying "hello" curiously. She wouldn't have known the number that came up on caller ID. I turned away from Boon as I spoke.
"Becky, it's Samantha," I said, whispering for no reason.
"Sammy! Oh holy fuck, holy fuck, Alicia, it's Sammy!" Becky said the last part away from the phone, and I realized they were together. I could also tell, by the tone of her voice, that they did, in fact, know what was going on. "Sammy, where are you? Are you safe? Are you with … them?"
There was the sound of a struggle on the other end of the line, and before I could respond I heard Alicia's voice coming through.
"If this is a hostage thing and they're making you talk, say ‘everything is swell'," she said. I rolled my eyes and smiled, despite myself. One too many horror movies, Alicia, I thought. As though, if I were kidnapped, my kidnappers wouldn't be listening to every word on the other end of the line, and wouldn't think it strange if I used the term "swell".
"I'm not kidnapped, Alicia, I'm with Boon. We saw his gang pull up outside the house and booked it. Guys … we're in trouble. We … we stole a car … and … .what's happening? Are Mom and Dad okay? Please say they're okay," I said, eyes shut tight, praying for a quick response.
My prayer went unanswered. The longer the silence on the other end of the line, the more my heart fell.
"Sammy, it's bad," Becky said, apparently having taken the phone back from Alicia. "You need to come home, now. Your dad … your dad's okay, he's okay, Sammy, but you need to come home. He's in the hospital. You need to go see him. He's okay, though, he'll be fine."
"What about Mom? What about my mom? Becky, is Mom okay?" My voice broke as I spoke; my father in the hospital? Because of me. Because of me and Boon. He'd probably been shot trying to save me while I was on the highway getting myself to safety … it was all my fault … tears began to spill down my cheeks.
"You just … you need to come home," Becky said, her voice like she was trying to hold back tears herself.
"Becky, you tell me right fucking now what's wrong. Where is my mom? Did they … oh God, Becky, did they … fuck, Becky, please," I knew my voice was growing louder and higher with each word as panic struck me. Why wouldn't she tell me? Why wouldn't she just tell me that Mom was okay?
There was more scuffling sounds, and Alicia's voice came through.
"Sammy, your mom is with them. She's with the club. They took her. She's alive, we think, but they're holding her hostage," Alicia said, serious for once. I dropped the phone and fell to my knees, a wail escaping my throat.
"Samantha! Sammy, come home! Don't … ." I could hear, faintly, Alicia's voice coming from the phone. It didn't mean anything to me. Neither did Boon's hands on my shoulders. Neither did the wood that dug into my bare knees. Neither did the raw pain in my throat. Nothing got in, and the only thing that got out was screaming.
My beautiful, happy, kind, generous mother … with them. What were they doing to her, right then? Were they hurting her? Jesus Christ, were they raping her? They could kill her any minute …
"Samantha, you need to get up," Boon's voice cut through my breakdown like a saber. He grabbed me by my armpits, pulling me off the ground like a ragdoll. I heaved with sobs, watching him lean down and pick the phone up off the ground. He tried to hand it to me but I only flailed my arms and cried harder. Instead, he brought the phone to his own ear.
"Which of you is this?" he asked, then listened for a moment.
"Did they shoot him?" … . "And they don't know where they're keeping her?" … "No, I don't know … I can't take her … because I can't!" … "I know, I know" … . "Well then one of you come and get her! And don't tell anyone I'm here, please!" … "Yeah, I know, I want myself to fuck off, too, but that's not the important thing right now" … . "I don't know, she said something about clams or crabs or...." … "Yes, yes, the Clamhouse, yeah, that sounds right" … . "Well, okay, fine, then just be quick, please" … . "I KNOW, I KNOW I'm a shithead, okay? Just get here!"
Hearing only one end of the conversation was one impediment to knowing what was actually going on; the other impediment was that I was an absolute wreck. I couldn't think straight to save my life. I just kept seeing my mother tied up, scared, bloody … and worse. Boon flipped the phone shut and rushed to my side, holding me once more. This time, though, it wasn't enough to calm me down. I pushed him away, tears and snot running down my face, hair a mess, dress dirty: I looked exactly how I felt.
"Your friends are coming to get you, Samantha. I'm so sorry. I should never have brought you here. I just needed to know you were safe … "
"Safe? Safe? SAFE? Who cares if I'm safe?! They have my mother, Boon! They have her and they're … they're … they're going to do awful things to her! And I'm fucking safe, so what? So what, Boon? This is all my fault, all my fault!"
"None of this is your fault. It's me, I did all this. You're going to go home now, and the cops will find your mother, and she'll get home safe. I know these guys, Samantha, they wouldn't hurt a woman like that," Boon said, trying to catch me as I paced from corner to corner, arms flailing wildly, meaninglessly.
"Oh, right, yeah, they'll treat her like a QUEEN, huh? You just told me they killed some poor old man, and now they have MY MOTHER, Boon! All because … because … goddammit, I should never have … goddammit! Mommy … " I finally collapsed again, on the mattress, tears flowing like a waterfall down my face. I was exhausted and angry and so upset I thought I might actually break my teeth off from grinding them so hard. Boon came to me, settling down next to me, hand on my side. I barely felt it. Anything that had existed between us seemed to have disappeared. All I wanted then was my mother.
"They'll come and bring you to see your father, Samantha, and before you know it your mom will be home safe and sound," he whispered.
"You don't know that. You don't know anything. You're just … you're just … I've screwed up. I've screwed up so bad, Boon. God, if anything happens to her I'll just … I'll just … ."
I let him hold me, then, thought it gave me no comfort. I stared down at the dirty mattress, listening for the sound of a car pulling up. After a few minutes, Boon spoke again.
"Listen, I'm going to tell you some things. I know how they do things. Please, try to listen and remember. If they took your mom, they must have planned to take someone. You don't just kidnap people without a plan. They'll have dumped their bikes somewhere after, likely in the forest or on a deserted road. It won't do the cops any good looking for the bikes; even if they find them, the club will be long gone. So tell them not to waste their time.
Someone will have been waiting with vans to take them somewhere else – either a safe house or a hotel. They'd have booked rooms in advance, under a different name, probably at a few hotels. It'd be too easy for the cops to call around and find out if anyone got rooms for 15 dudes. My dad uses pseudonyms; never the same one twice. And we always pay cash."
Suddenly, I realized that I had no idea what Boon was planning to do. I wanted him to come with me, to come and help me, talk to his father, do something to show that he was still invested. But the way he was talking just then sounded like he wasn't planning on doing any of that.
"Are you going to stay here?" I asked, unable to look him in the eye, not taking my gaze from the mattress.