Page 90 of Tangled Up

“Thanksgiving is coming, then Christmas. I want to be with my babies for the holidays. I want to see their faces when they open their presents. I want them to know I love them.” A tear drops onto her cheek, but she dashes it away. “She won’t let me near them. She says I’m a monster. She’s teaching them to hate me.”

Finally, something I can work with. “Who’s doing this?”

“Their grandmother. I tried to go see them, and she slammed the door in my face. She says I’m a drug addict and a criminal.”

“I didn’t think you had family.” No one came to her trial.

“My ex-boyfriend’s mother. She has my babies, and she won’t let me see them. She’s a mean old bitch, and I hate her. I’ll show her who’s a criminal. I’ve never done drugs in my life, except the ones you make me take.”

“The medicine your doctor prescribes is meant to help you.”

“It makes me feel drunk.”

“Okay… Maybe we can try a different medication or a lower dosage.” I’m doing my best to avoid any triggering language. “It’s like I was telling you before, if you get help, stay on the meds, go to therapy, you have a chance. What you’re doing now takes all of that away. It makes you seem like the bad guy.”

“I’m not the bad guy!” she cries. “Youtold them that, and it’s not true!”

Closing my eyes, I breathe slowly. “Why don’t we talk to your doctor? I’m on your side, Alize. I want to help you find what works for you.”

“You’re going to do more than that.” She stomps over to the dresser and digs around in her suitcase.

When she returns, she slaps a silver handcuff on my left wrist, locking it before I realize what she’s doing.

“Wait…” I try to struggle out of her grip, but she’s moving fast.

She slaps the other side of the handcuffs on my still-bound wrist, then she starts untying the rope. It’s clear she’s planned this.

From the beginning, I’ve insisted Alize is smart, and she’s had weeks to prepare. Now I’ve got to try and get ahead of her, and the only way I hope to do it is to keep her talking.

My arm drops as the ropes fall away, and I rotate my shoulder, trying to get the circulation going. She grabs the short chain in the middle of the cuffs and jerks me to my feet.

“Ow, take it easy.” I gasp as the metal crashes against the bones in my wrists.

“Time to go.” She picks up a white bag with what appears to have clothes and some toiletries in it.

She pulls a sweater out and wraps it around the handcuffs, then she grabs a black, carry-on suitcase.

I look around the near-empty motel as she leads me out the door. “Have you been here the whole time?”

No answer.

My mind trips back to the few times I’ve heard odd noises, the crash of metal I assumed was a cat, the sound in the dunes I dismissed as Oliver. Was it her following me the whole time?

We walk straight from the door to where an ancient, beige Honda Civic is parked in front of the room. “Where did you get this car?”

From what Ronnie said, it can’t be hers.

She unlocks the passenger’s side door and pushes me into the front seat. “Stop asking questions and get in.”

I struggle to get myself situated before she closes the door and jogs around to the driver’s side. Pausing, she tosses the bags into the back then looks around to see if anyone’s watching before climbing behind the wheel. She pulls the seatbelt across her lap and starts the car.

“What about me?”

“What about you?”

I nod towards my seatbelt, but she doesn’t hesitate. “You’re fine.”

She backs out and gets on the road, and sure enough, we’re at the Super 8. Not being buckled in gives me a level of freedom… Chewing my lip, I wonder if I’m brave enough to pull the door handle and jump out of a moving vehicle.

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