A noise startled him. He wasn’t sure if he’d even managed to fall asleep, but something had prodded him awake, bringing back the chill, the stinging pain in his back. What was it? What was that noise?

He heard it again. A faraway rumble.

A car engine.

A road was nearby.

Roads sometimes had streetlights. They had cars—and people. A road would mean help.

When he got up he found himself teetering, almost falling. His right foot hardly worked anymore; spots danced in front of his eyes. He leaned on the tree, letting out a soft breath. Or a whimper.

Then he took a step, and another, following the memory of that sound. Searching for the road.

There.

Almost invisible in the myriad of shadows, a black patch of ground, clearly man made. It curved, disappearing into the trees. Nathan narrowed his eyes, not sure if he was really seeing it. But he was.

His feet took him to the road, and as they touched its hard surface, relief flooded his body. The road was flat and smooth—no thorns were scratching his legs; no hidden tree trunks or holes threatened to trip him. All he had to do was put one foot in front of the other until this road took him somewhere.

One foot in front of the other. Over and over again.

His eyes were half shut as he did so, trudging down the road. His body was getting heavier, dragging him down. One foot in front of the other. The right shoe always making a wet sound as it hit the asphalt. He could hardly see the road. Could hardly see anything.

Could hardly see the pair of white lights as they hurtled toward him.

At the last second he gasped and tumbled out of the way. The car seemed to veer slightly, a rush of wind against his face as it passed inches away from him. He stumbled to his feet, jumped up and down, waving his arms, screaming as it got away, the red taillights turning into dots in the night.

He burst into tears. He couldn’t take it anymore. He wanted his mom.

And then, amazingly, the car stopped. Turned around, drove back. It slowed down as it got closer, and he had the presence of mind to move to the side of the road.

A sudden fear hit Nathan. What if the driver was him? He stood frozen on the road as the headlights came closer and closer.

CHAPTER 29

Abby read the article on her laptop’s screen, almost oblivious to the scenery outside the passenger window. Carver drove, one hand on the steering wheel, the other casually resting on the driver’s side windowsill.

“I don’t know how you can read in a car,” he said. “If I tried to do that, I’d throw up my breakfast after two minutes.”

“I don’t get motion sickness,” Abby said distractedly, scrolling down the article. It was the third one she’d read since they’d passed a four-car accident on the Grand Central Parkway and continued east on the Long Island Expressway, heading toward the Tillman farm. All three articles covered the Instagram story that Gabrielle had posted the night before. This one was on the New York Post website. And from there it would presumably get to CNN, Fox News, and the rest of them. Nathan’s kidnapping had become national news.

Or more to the point, Gabrielle’s Instagram story had become national news.

“So what does that one say?” Carver asked.

Abby sighed. “Pretty much the same as the rest. ‘Instagram influencer Gabrielle Fletcher shocked her followers last night when she announced her brother had been kidnapped.’ Then comes a brief recap of the story with a link. A picture of Nathan. A two-line commentary from the NYPD. And of course, the inevitable mention of the fundraiser.”

The emergency crowdsourced fundraising of the ransom had begun faster than Abby had predicted. Only two hours after Gabrielle had gone public, one of Gabrielle’s followers, TanyaThePixie, had posted a dramatic Instagram post of herself holding a large sign that said SAVE NATHAN in purple bubble letters. She’d added a link to the fundraiser she’d started. Gabrielle had almost instantly reposted it on her own account, adding a tearstained Instagram story of her own in which she thanked her fans for the incredible initiative. Now, less than twelve hours later, $112,000 had been collected, and every time Abby checked the number, it leaped up. It was still far from the $5 million goal, but after this morning’s exposure, Abby had no doubt the rate of donations would increase tenfold.

She had three tabs on her browser. One was open on Gabrielle’s Instagram page, where she monitored the comments and likes pouring onto Gabrielle’s post, as well as the hashtag bringNathanHome that was becoming increasingly popular. The second showed the fundraiser sum, which had already risen by $7,000 since she’d sat down in Carver’s car. And the third she used to read the articles. She didn’t really care much about the articles themselves. But the kidnapper read them; of that she was almost certain. And she wanted to see his perspective on the events.

A message from Isaac popped up on-screen. She’d written him the night before, asking if he’d known that Eden had joined the Tillman cult. He’d only answered now.

She tapped the chat and read his message. I knew she found a community, and that she met her husband there, but she never gave me details. We lost touch for a few years back then, but I never knew she’d joined a cult!

He added a horrified emoji.

Okay, thanks, she wrote back.

Are you checking it out?

Yeah, we need to talk to her ex-husband. He might still be there. On our way there now Be careful