One Last Scream. Kevin O'Brien

down to about fifteen miles per hour. “I’m sorry. I’ll find a place to turn around here. I must be more tired than I thought. My reaction time is off.”

      Biting her lip, Kristen wondered why he didn’t just make a U-turn. There was hardly any traffic.

      “Here we go,” he announced, turning right onto a street marked DEAD END. They crawled past a few houses along the narrow road. Kristen counted six driveways he could have used to turn his car around. They inched by the last streetlight, and the darkened road became gravelly. Kristen noticed a house under construction on her right.

      “I think there’s a turnaround coming up,” he said, squinting at the road ahead.

      Kristen swallowed hard, and didn’t say anything. The car was barely moving. Its headlights pierced the unknown darkness ahead of them. “Can’t we—can’t we just back up and turn around?” she asked.

      “I’m beginning to think you’re right,” he said. He shot a look in the rearview mirror. “How are you doing back there, honey? You tired?”

      “Kind of,” the child replied with a whimper.

      “She’s up way past her bedtime,” the man said. “But I needed her tonight. She’s Daddy’s little helper.”

      The car came to a stop. The headlights illuminated the end of the road and a long barricade, painted with black-and-white diagonal stripes. Beyond that, it was just blackness.

      Puzzled, Kristen stared at the man. “Why did you need your daughter tonight?”

      He smiled at her—that same cryptic smirk. “If she weren’t here, you never would have climbed into this car with me.”

      Daddy’s little helper.

      All at once, Kristen realized what he was telling her. She quickly reached into her purse for the pepper spray. She didn’t see his fist coming toward her face.

      She just heard the little girl give out a startled yelp. “Oh!”

      That was the last thing Kristen heard before the man knocked her unconscious.

      “God, please! Somebody help me!”

      An hour had passed and they’d driven thirty-five miles.

      The little girl sat alone in the front passenger seat of the old station wagon. With a tiny flashlight that had a picture of Barbie on it, she looked at her picture book.

      “Please, no! Wait…wait…no…”

      The woman’s shrieks seemed to echo through the forest, where the car was parked along a crude trail. But the child paid little attention. She turned the page of her book, and tapped at the dashboard with her toes. Cold and tired, she wanted to go home. She wondered when her daddy would be finished with his “work.”

      When the screaming stops, that’s usually when he’s almost done.

      She told herself it would be soon.

      Seattle, Washington—fifteen years later

      Someone had a Barenaked Ladies CD blasting. The music drifted out to the backyard—along with all the talking, laughing, and screaming from the party inside the townhouse. The place was a cheesy, slightly run-down rental down the street from the University of Washington’s fraternity row. Amelia wasn’t sure who was giving the party. A bunch of guys lived in the townhouse, sophomores like herself. One of them—a total stranger—had stopped her this morning when she’d been on her way to philosophy class, and he’d invited her. That happened to Amelia all the time. She was constantly getting asked to parties. It had something to do with the way she looked.

      Amelia Faraday was tall, with a beautiful face and a gorgeous, buxom figure. She had shoulder-length, wavy black hair, and blue eyes. She also had a drinking problem, and knew it. So she’d declined many invitations to drink-till-you-drop campus bashes. Her boyfriend, Shane, didn’t like the idea of strange guys inviting Amelia to parties, anyway. Among their friends, they were nicknamed the Perrier Twins, because they always asked for bottled water at get-togethers.

      But tonight, Amelia wanted a beer—several beers, in fact, whatever it took to get drunk.

      A few people had staggered out to the small backyard where Amelia stood with a beer in one hand, and the other clutching together the edges of her bulky cardigan sweater. She gazed up at the stars. It was a beautiful, crisp October Friday night.

      She had a little buzz. This was only her second beer and, already, results. It happened quickly, because she’d been booze-free for the last seven weeks.

      Shane didn’t understand why she needed alcohol tonight. “Before you drink that beer,” he’d whispered to her a few minutes ago in the corner of the jam-packed living room, “maybe you should call your therapist. Explain to her why you need it so badly.”

      In response, Amelia had narrowed her eyes at him, and then she’d chugged half the plastic cup full of Coors. She’d refilled the cup from the keg in the kitchen and wandered outside alone.

      The truth was she hated herself right now. She was lucky to have a boyfriend like Shane. He was cute, with perpetually messy, light brown hair, blue eyes, and a well-maintained five o’clock shadow. He was sweet, and he cared about her. And his advice, patronizing as it seemed, had been practical. She’d tried to call her therapist this afternoon. But Karen had gone for the day.

      So Amelia was left with these awful thoughts, and no one to help her sort them out. That was why she needed to get drunk right now.

      Amelia’s parents and her aunt were spending the weekend at the family cabin by Lake Wenatchee in central Washington. Ever since this afternoon, she’d been overwhelmed with a sudden, inexplicable contempt for them. She imagined driving to the cabin and killing all three of them. She even started formulating a plan, though she had no intention of carrying it out. Her parents had mentioned there was construction this weekend on their usual route, Highway 2. The cabin would be a three-hour drive from Seattle, if she took Interstate 90 and Route 97, and didn’t stop. Her parents and aunt would be asleep when she arrived. She knew how to sneak into the cabin; she’d done it before. She saw herself shooting them at close range. As much as the notion bewildered and horrified her, it also made Amelia’s heart race with excitement.

      If only Karen were around, Amelia could have asked her therapist about this hideous daydream. How could she have these terrible thoughts? Amelia loved her parents, and Aunt Ina was like her older sister, practically her best friend.

      The only way to get these poisonous feelings out of her system was to flush them out with another kind of poison. In this case, it was another cupful of Coors from the keg in the kitchen.

      Amelia was heading back in there when a young woman—a pretty Asian American with a red streak in her long black hair—blocked her path through the doorway. “Hey, do you have a cig? A menthol?” she asked, shouting over the noise. “I can’t find another person at this stupid party who smokes menthols.”

      “No, but there’s a minimart about six blocks from here.” Amelia had to lean close to the girl and practically yell in her ear. “If you want, I can go get some for you. I have my boyfriend’s car, and I’m looking for an excuse to bolt out of here for a while.” She drained the last few drops of Coors from her plastic cup. “Just let me get the car keys from my boyfriend, and then we can go.”

      Weaving through the crowd, Amelia made her way to Shane, who was still standing in the corner of the living room. Apparently, he’d decided that if she could fall off the wagon, so could he. He was passing a joint back and forth with some guy she didn’t know.

      “Are you drunk yet?” he asked, gazing at her with half-closed eyes.

      “No,” she lied, speaking up over the party noise. “In fact, I want to get out of here for a few minutes. Give me the car keys, will you?” With her thumb, she pointed to the other girl, who was behind her. “I’m driving my friend to the minimart for cigarettes. We’ll be right