Every Second. Rick Mofina
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tested again, and he was failing.
His home was under attack and he’d done nothing to stop it.
Trained soldier, my ass.
He didn’t even have a gun in the house because Lori didn’t want one. Dan understood. After everything she’d already been through and the price she’d paid, she was justified to feel that way. And back then, in her time of crisis, she’d taken action. His faced burned with shame, knowing she was stronger than he was.
A bark from somewhere outside made him think of his neighbors. They’d know what to do if they were in his shoes.
Miller, a mechanic covered in tattoos—that guy could fix anything, and Dan knew he would’ve fought back against these men. So would Ward, a retired accountant who’d done two tours in Vietnam.
That’s the kind of men they are.
Dan stared at the ceiling.
The seconds ticked by.
And what kind of man am I?
* * *
By sunrise Dan was grasping for hope, telling himself that his chance to act might come later, and he had to be ready for it.
After hours of dark silence, he jumped when the door opened and Vic kicked his bed.
“Time to get ready.”
As Percy unshackled Dan’s feet, Vic stood over him.
“You look like hell. Get up.”
Dan stood, but shakily. His head was still sore from being pistol-whipped.
“You’re going to go through your routine like this was a normal day,” Vic said. “We’re going to free your hands and mouth first. You’re going to shower, shave, get dressed, have breakfast and go to work like any other day, and you’re going to follow our instructions to the letter.”
Vic motioned toward Percy, who held up a cell phone.
“If you try anything, anything at all, Percy will hit Send on a speed dial number and your wife and son are gone. There are no second chances. You got that?”
When Dan nodded, they removed the tape from his wrists and mouth.
As soon as his mouth was free, Dan rushed to speak. “Please—I want to see my wife and son.”
Vic held up another phone, showing a grainy video of Lori and Billy, bound and afraid. Given the quality, Dan couldn’t determine where they were, if it was real time or recorded.
“When was this taken? How do I know they’re still alive?”
“That’s all you get!”
Vic pulled the phone away before they forced Dan into the bathroom, leaving the door open. As they stood guard with their guns, they watched him relieve himself and then climb into the shower. His body was stiff and numb from being tied up all night, and he welcomed the needles of hot water, bringing back some of his adrenaline from earlier. He kept his thoughts on Lori and Billy, praying they were still safe.
Stepping from the shower, he glanced at Percy, who passed him a towel. After drying himself, Dan wiped steam from the mirror and lathered his face. His hand shook as he shaved, nicking his chin with the razor. He stemmed the blood with a dot of toilet paper then put a bandage on his temple where he’d been struck with the gun.
After shoving Dan’s robe at him, the men took him to the kitchen where they watched him gulp two cups of black coffee and forced him to eat a bagel. It would be a long day, and they didn’t need him hungry and light-headed. “We don’t want your stomach growling at the bank.”
In the early morning quiet, Dan heard no sign of Lori and Billy, or the two other invaders from the night before. He wondered if they were still in the house—maybe the basement? Or the garage? As he ate, he found it difficult to absorb the bizarreness of his situation: his family’s lives suddenly at stake; the armed invaders with their freakish masks; the way they watched him and then checked on neighbors at the windows with blinds drawn. As they monitored their phones for messages, Dan noticed Vic checking a duffel bag and the way he kept an eye on the clock over the fridge. If, as they said, they knew everything about his family, then they were aware of their routine. Dan went to work first, and concerns at Lori’s office or Billy’s school about their absences would not surface for a few hours yet.
When Dan finished, Vic and Percy took him back to the bedroom to brush his teeth and dress, bringing the bag with them.
On the bed, Dan laid out his navy gabardine trousers, his navy wool blazer, a silk tie and his powder-blue dress shirt. He’d got as far as pulling on his pants before they stopped him again.
Dan’s heart skipped a beat as he watched Percy reach into the bag for a vest just like the ones they’d strapped to Lori and Billy. They placed it on his chest, the Velcro fasteners crackling as they adjusted it. Dan saw the thin bricks and the wires connecting them to the power source. He could smell the nylon mingling with the scent of vanilla and plastic. They activated the power source and the timing light blinked red. Then they helped Dan tug on his shirt—a snug fit with the vest, but it worked.
Sweat beaded on Dan’s brow and his fingers trembled as he knotted his tie in front of Lori’s full-length mirror.
“Relax, Dan, and pay attention.”
Vic held up Dan’s glasses, black with rectangle frames.
“We did a little work on these, see?”
Looking closely, Dan noticed a small metal button no bigger than the head of a pin fixed to the bridge. On the inside of the arms, they’d attached two more small metal buttons.
“The one in the front is a camera lens. The ones on the sides are microphone-earphone receiver transmitters. They let us see remotely on our laptop what you see, hear what you hear. And they let us talk to each other. Put them on.”
Vic showed Dan the image he was seeing on their laptop.
“So don’t think about being a hero today. We’re watching every move. If you deviate from our instructions, we’ll detonate the vests, all three at once. Do you understand?”
He understood.
They helped him pull on his blazer, adjust his hair, slip on his glasses.
Vic checked the time, then handed Dan his briefcase containing an empty, folded duffel bag.
“Okay, Dan, let’s go to work.”
Roseoak Park, New York
The house is too quiet.
As they walked Dan through the back and into the garage, his fear mounted.
“Are Billy and Lori in the basement?”
“Shut up!” Vic said. “Focus on what you need to do.”
Dan’s eyes went around the garage, taking quick inventory. Suddenly the everyday items took on a new and desperate significance, a reflection of their lives before the attack. Billy’s bicycle, his goal net, his bats and hockey sticks, and up in one corner, his old tricycle.
Stacked on the bench were cardboard boxes of clothes Lori was preparing to donate to the church. Nearby were her clay planters, her gardening tools and her flower-printed gardening gloves. Looped neatly on a hook was the hose and, near it, Dan’s John Deere mower. He did his best thinking and problem-solving when he mowed the lawn.
I’ve got to do something.
Vic nudged him. Dan opened the door to his Ford Taurus and got in alone. As he sat behind the wheel, he glanced at Lori’s Dodge Dart, parked next to him.
“Step it up!” Vic said.
Dan inserted the