#133

She tried to sit up, but it felt so disorienting that she had to lie down again. Still very little pain at the moment; must be whatever drugs they'd given her.

"Asu? May I use your phone, please? Do you have a telephone?"

He turned and stepped toward her, smiling. "You need to rest..."

"No, no, I need to call my boss. I'm here on business. I need to call my boyfriend and let him know I'm ok. What day is it?"

"It's Wednesday night."

She could hardly believe so much time had gone by since her plane landed, and yet she was comforted that it wasn't any later. "Oh, they must be really worried by now. May I please use your telephone?"

Asu's face became pouty, a look she'd seen on her young nephew many times. Then it became authoritative. He spoke with careful diction, as if to a toddler. "You do not need to call anyone because you are staying here to recover from your injuries."

"But I need to let them know..."

"No. I rescued you. You are staying here." He angrily left the room and closed the door, leaving her alone with his father. The old man seemed completely unaware of what had just transpired. A shudder came over Michelle as she realized that she had gone from isolation and exposure to confinement. She didn't know much about Arab men and wondered if this was normal for their culture or if Asu's apparent possessiveness was a quirk of personality, or something more sinister. Either way, outside contact was now critical.

#132

The next time Michelle awoke was after sunset. Lamps lit the room softly, and the smell of Middle Eastern food permeated it. Now a second man was in the room--must be his father--along with the young man. He was dressed more traditionally. They were standing with their backs to her, apparently working on something at a table opposite her bed. She wasn't sure how much strength she had. Might as well let them know she was awake.

"Hi," she said without moving. They jerked around.

"Ah, there you are. This is my father. Oh, I am Asu. You may call him Dr. Tlass. He does not speak English. How are you feeling?"

"I'm not sure. How bad am I hurt?"

"He says you are very, very lucky. No broken bones, no open wounds. A little internal bleeding and many bruises. You are going to be very sore for a long time. He is keeping the pain away, but you need much rest to heal."

"I need to call people back home."

Asu spoke to his father. They both smiled. The older man may have even chuckled, she thought. Had Asu understood what she said? Did they even have the ability to call people in the U.S. here? She had no idea. This didn't look like the kind of place that was wired for internet, either, but one never knew these days.

#131

"So, Rachel," Brian said, "where are you and Ricardo goin' next?"

"Las Cruces, New Mexico. We're gonna see how much fun a person can have in the desert in February."

"Huh. Could be interesting," Aggie said.

"Yeah, I'm lookin' forward to it. Ricardo was talkin' about meetin' up with some border patrol guys if we get a chance."

Just then Dave appeared in the doorway and interrupted. "Brian, can I see you in my office, please?" And then disappeared.

Andy awoke from his stupor and turned to look at Brian. Everyone in the room was silent with wide eyes. What could this be about? Brian had put his all into finalizing issue ninety-six in Dave's absence. Had he forgotten something? Was Dave unhappy? Was Brian in trouble?

"Um, ok, I'll see you guys later," Brian said, getting up from his chair.

Brady, as usual, tried to lighten the moment. "Can I have your last doughnut?"

#130

Female voices approached, and then Emily, Aggie and Rachel walked in. Emily wanted to cry and hug Andy when she saw him, but though they'd been friends a couple of years, it didn't feel right. She said, "Hey, guys," stood beside him, cut open a bagel though she didn't want the calories. She wanted him to know he was loved somehow. "Hey," she repeated just for him. He responded in kind, giving her the smallest smile.

Brian was saying something about Star Wars to the others, though it seemed he was just trying to occupy the uncomfortable space with frivolous words. Emily also felt an oddness, something vaguely different, with Aggie and Brady. Were they avoiding eye contact with each other? No, but the eye contact they did make seemed forced, as if they didn't want anyone to notice that they'd rather not make eye contact. Emily had developed a type of clairvoyance when it came to male-female relations.

"Brady, how's your arm?" she asked, digging for clues.

"Totally fine now. The bullet really just grazed me. I'm good as new."

"That's awesome. You're a lucky guy."

"Yeah, it coulda been a lot worse."

"We saw a guy get shot, in the leg," Aggie said.

"You told us, last night," said Brian.

"Oh yeah. I think I need more sleep. Or at least more coffee."

Brady had sort of a puppy-dog look as he looked at her. Something must've happened on that trip, beyond the gunfire and a day in a jail cell. Emily had never seen him like this.

#129

The Wednesday morning after sending off Bold Traveler's newest child into the world, the latest collection of experience, insight and adventure this family of creators had to offer, was always an unofficial rest day. There was something gloomy about putting so much heart into a large piece of work, deciding it was finished enough, and then having it out of your hands, only to start over again and try to top it, month after month. And they wouldn't even see the new issue on the newsstands for more than a week. Everyone but the writers and photographers were expected to be in the office, but no one was expected to accomplish much, particularly Brian and the two Andys, who had put in loads of extra time and suddenly had little to do until they had more content to work with.

Of course, this Wednesday morning was particularly gloomy because of Michelle's disappearance. Brady and Brian were enjoying doughnuts in the kitchen with Black Andy, trying to keep his mind occupied.

"We could see a movie, but there are just no good ones out lately," Brady said. "There's nothin' in the theater I wanna see."

"Well, they did just rerelease The Phantom Menace in three-D," Brian said through a half-chewed bite of doughnut.

"Aw, man..." Brady stopped himself, not wanting to be rude. "Yeah, I guess if you're into that."

"Well, I saw it Saturday night, anyway."

"Surprised you didn't see it Friday night."

"I was goin' to, but then Jason brought his new friend and left her with us, and I wanted to make her feel welcome..."

"Yeah, I bet you did!"

Andy stood at the counter, spreading cream cheese on a bagel. "I don't think I'd be able to pay attention to a movie anyway."

Brian and Brady exchanged glances. They wanted to say or do anything that might help, but this was a new kind of situation for them. At any time it could be announced that Michelle had been found, or that she had been killed, or anything in-between. Or no announcement may ever come.

#128

Michelle awoke to the sounds of traditional Syrian music on a cheap radio. Someone was stroking her hair. She found herself on a bed, in a bedroom, with a young Arab man kneeling beside her. Her lack of reaction to her situation surprised her. She was very comfortable...then she remembered her crawl in the desert, the pain...the pain was gone now. She drew up her left arm slowly and felt her forehead. Everything was odd...she must have been drugged. The man, probably nineteen or twenty years old, with hair long enough to resemble a small Afro, noticed her eyes had opened and smiled. He said something softly in Arabic. She smiled back, against her better judgment.

"Where are we?" she choked. There was sand in her mouth and throat, which she just noticed.

"At my father's house. He is doctor," he said with an accent so thick she would later wish for subtitles.

She attempted to sit up, but her body didn't cooperate. "You rest. My father come back soon. Rest," the young man said.

She wanted to thank him for rescuing her, assuming he had anything to do with her being here, but all that came out was "Thank..." accompanied by a soft smile, and she drifted to healing sleep again.

#127

Peter turned the vehicle toward the southeast, away from the city, to decrease the likelihood that the pursuing police cars would notice them. Now far from the roads, driving on the dense sand, they were traveling about sixty-five miles per hour. Jason peered nervously in the direction of the airport, looking for flashing lights. He soon saw two of the cars leaving the airport at high speed on the road toward the highway. The third must have stayed behind to question the driver. They seemed to be in the clear. He breathed deeply, trying to relax. Peter made a large semicircle around the back of the airport complex and climbed onto a back road that would lead them to the other side.

They passed dozens of commercial aircraft, Arabic writing decorating their hulls and fins, without saying a word. Peter looked deep in thought. A large passenger jet came in for a landing in front of them. Still recovering from the shock of the situation, Jason swallowed hard and finally asked, "So what now?"

Peter seemed barely aware of Jason's presence, simply speaking out loud what he was thinking. "Ditch the car. Get back to town, back to my contact list."

"Wouldn't we be better off working with the police instead of running from them?"

Peter's cell phone rang. "Hello?" There was a long pause as he listened. "Thanks, man. That's a hot lead. Fast, too. 'Preciate it." He rang off and glanced at Jason, then looked at the road. "From what I've been hearin' since yesterday, we're better off without 'em. Lots o' cops turnin' to crime since the riots started. I don't think they'd be much help right now. Better to stay off their radar."

"So what's the hot lead?"

"Rumor of items stolen from an American girl fresh off the plane. Some guys apparently usin' a taxi cab to rob people the last couple o' days."