Page 7 of Sully

Mask and gloves meant he didn’t want to be seen. If I saw his face, that was the scary part. Because he didn’t care if I could identify him. Because he was probably going to kill me.

A disguise, I forced myself to think, was a positive thing.

I was sitting on a chair but was shocked to remember that I’d been able to lift my hands.

I wasn’t cuffed or chained or anything.

But he said I didn’t want to move around.

Why wouldn’t…

But then I looked down.

“Oh, God,” I gasped.

Gone was my big, chunky, handmade cardigan.

In its place was a vest of some sort.

But not just any vest.

Oh, no.

A vest covered in… explosives?

Right?

That’s what it had to be. There were little blocks all connected with yellow wires.

I’d seen enough movies to know an explosive vest when I saw one.

When I waswearingone.

“No. No no no no no,” I whimpered, my hands automatically going toward the bottom of the vest, wanting to rip it off, to toss it away, to run for my life.

“That’s not very smart,” the voice called. “I’d really hate to blow you up before you deliver my message.”

“What… message?” I asked, feeling like someone was closing their hands around my throat, squeezing.

“Spoilers,” he said, dragging thesout.

“What do you want with me? I’m… nobody,” I said, sniffling hard, trying to rationalize with the tears flooding my eyes.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Bonnie Lou Clewski,” the man said, making my stomach slosh around.

How did he know who I was?

“What do you want?”

“For you to deliver a message,” he said, moving closer.

Close enough for me to see that there was something in his gloved hand. Something he was pressing his finger firmly against.

Was that a trigger?

It had to be.

The kind where, if his finger moved, the bomb went off.

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