Page 74 of Single Mom's Undoing

I look around, hoping that someone might see or hear us. But it’s so early in the morning, there are only a few cars in the parking lot. One of them is mine, another has been abandoned for quite a while, judging by the state of its tires, and the third one belongs to my abductors.

“Momma!”

“Keep quiet or I’ll hurt her,” the man snaps.

Instantly, Matty shuts up, his eyes wide with fear as he looks at me.

“It’s okay,” I whisper, hopeful that I’m actually able to muster a reassuring smile and not just imagining it. “It’s…okay…”

I’m thrown in the back seat, my body soft as a boiled noodle, and unable to move, while the woman keeps Matty in her lap in the passenger seat. The man gets behind the wheel after dumping the bags next to my head.

“He’s got his inhaler in there, right?” the woman asks me. “In his bag?”

I manage to nod once.

“Good. He’s gonna need it if he throws a hissy fit.”

“She’s pregnant. You heard her, right?” the man asks his partner as he turns the key in the ignition.

The woman shushes and comforts my crying son. Matty rests his head on her shoulder so he can look at me, so he can always have me in his line of sight.

“Yeah, I heard her,” she mutters.

“You’d better pray that sedative is safe for the baby, or else?—”

“Relax, Wyatt. I know what I’m doing. They’re both to be safely delivered. I wouldn’t have risked using something stronger in case she had an adverse reaction, anyway. She’ll be fine.”

My blood runs hot and cold at the same time as I realize what we’re dealing with. They came for us. They tracked us down. They found us at the motel and waited for the right moment to jump me. This was calculated and deliberate.

“Momma,” Matty calls out.

“Your momma’s fine, Matthew. She’s just going to fall asleep soon. She’ll be taking a nap while we drive,” the man says as he pulls out of the parking lot, nervously looking around to make sure nobody spots us.

They came prepared, and they know our names.

“Momma…”

I wish I could tell my sweet boy that everything is going to be alright. At least I have a sliver of comfort in knowing that they’re aware of his episodes, that they can help him with the inhaler given my current condition. But there is rage brewing quietly inside of me, the kind of homicidal rage that will drive a mother to do horrendous things in order to protect her child.

Right now, however, I can’t move.

Eventually,I black out.

As much as I try to stay awake, the sedative works its way through my body and puts me into a deep sleep. For what feels like forever, I float in utter darkness. No sound. No hint of the world even existing until I draw a deep breath.

My eyes peel open.

Matty’s voice gives me comfort. He’s here with me, though I’m not sure where “here” actually is. “Momma, you’re okay.”

“Yes, I’m okay,” I say, if only to reassure him.

He’s the first to come into my field of vision before I have a chance to look around, to get a sense of where we are. I’m comfortably seated in a wing-back chair, the mustard-yellow velour tickling my fingertips. Matty sits on my lap, huddled against me, his fingers combing through my hair.

“You’re both okay,” a familiar yet unsettling voice cuts through the haze.

Bill Lockwood stands before us clad in a grey suit, holding up a double scotch in a crystal tumbler, the ice cubes jingling with every swirl. He looks comfortable, quite pleased with himself.

Glancing around for the first time, I realize we’re in some sort of salon or living room, with plenty of mustard-colored seating, a massive coffee table with a glass top, cabinets and shelves covering most of the walls, and two giant windows that flood the space with plenty of golden light.