Eleven Hours by Paullina Simons Read Free Book Online Page A

wasn’t acknowledging the muffled ringing. She panicked, then became exhilarated.
    The phone was buried deep inside her big black carryall on the floor between her and the door. Very, very slowly she reached to her right and in one motion stuck her hand in the bag without moving the rest of her body forward. The phone had rung four times. Keeping her eyes on the road, Didi hunted for the phone inside the bag. Please let me find the damn thing. Her other bag was so small, the phone always lay right on top—on top of her wallet or makeup bag or mail. The cramped bag had been so inconvenient—hence the new one—but now she would give away one of her cats to be able to reach the phone. Six rings. Maybe the man’s hearing was bad, because Didi thought the phone sounded like a church’s noontime bells. Finally, she felt the phone’s smooth leather-covered exterior. Instead of taking the phone out, she flipped it open inside the bag. It stopped ringing. She waited. The man continued to drive, saying nothing. She was silent for a few seconds. And then Didi said, “Rich?”
    The man came out of his torpor and turned to her.
    â€œRich?” she said again.
    â€œWho are you talking to? I’m not Rich,” the man said, looking suspicious and on guard.
    â€œWell, what is your name?” she said. “You never told me.” She was hoping Rich could hear her through the muffling effect of the bag.
    â€œWhy are you talking so loud?” he said. “I’m not deaf, you know.” A pause. “And what was that ringing?” He slammed the radio power off. Didi’s heart stopped. She couldn’t answer.
    â€œThat ringing? What was that?” He looked over at her. Her hand was in the bag.
    â€œWas that a phone?” he screamed. Falling sideways over Didi, he grabbed the bag away from her. The car careened to the right.
    Didi heard honking in the distance. She tried to grab the bag, crying weakly, “No, no.” And then louder, “Rich! Help me! Help me!”
    The man hit her with the bag. He struck her again and again, making guttural sounds and barely keeping the car on the road. Passing cars honked.
    Trying to shield herself from the blows, Didi turned away from him toward the door and saw a car in the right lane beside her. The driver, an old woman, was looking over at Didi with great concern. Didi put her hands together as if in a prayer and mouthed help me, help me.
    Then the man, having thrown down the bag, yanked her head away from the window and down onto his lap. Didi fell over, hitting her nose on the steering wheel. She saw him floor the gas. Maybe the cops would stop him, Didi thought. Maybe Rich was still on the phone. Encouraged by his phone call, she forgot all caution. She screamed as loudly as she could, “Rich, help me, help me!”
    And then the man brought his fist down on her ear.

3:31 P.M.
    The phone rang six times and then stopped. Rich listened intently and heard nothing, but as he put the receiver back on the hook, he thought he heard a very faint “Rich?”
    By the time Rich thought he heard Didi’s voice, it was too late. He had already begun hanging up; momentum carried the receiver the rest of the way. The receiver clicked on the hook. “Oh, shit,” he said. Had he really heard her voice calling him? He picked the phone up again and got a dial tone. The first time he redialed the number he did it so fast he dialed only six digits. The second time the line was busy.
    Busy again, a minute later.
    And a minute later.
    And another minute.
    He waited five minutes and then called his office, thinking she must have tried to call him back. He hated crossed calls making both numbers busy.
    There was nothing.
    He called the cell phone again, and the useless message came on: “The AT&T customer you have dialed is not available or has traveled outside the coverage area. Please try your call again