The Husband

not to subtract anything from it.
    She can put her life in Mitch's strong hands and fall at once into a dreamless sleep. In a sense, that is what marriage is about—a good marriage—a total trusting with your heart, your mind, your life.
    But with her fate in Anson's hands, as well, she might not sleep at all, and if she sleeps, there will be nightmares.
    She worries, worries, worries the nail until her fingers ache. Then she uses two different fingers.
    As the dark silent minutes pass, she tries not to brood about how a day that began with such joy could spiral into these desperate circumstances. After Mitch had gone to work and before the masked men had burst into her kitchen, she had used the kit that she'd bought the previous day but that she'd been too nervous to consult until this morning. Her period is nine days overdue, and according to the pregnancy test, she is going to have a baby.
    For a year, she and Mitch have been hoping for this. Now here it is, on this of all days.
    The kidnappers are unaware that two lives are at their mercy, and Mitch is unaware that not only his wife but also his child depend upon his cunning and his courage, but Holly knows. This knowledge is at once a joy and an anguish.
    She envisions a child of three—sometimes a girl, sometimes a boy—at play in their backyard, and laughing. She envisions it more vividly than she has envisioned anything before, in the hope that she can make it come to pass.
    She tells herself that she will be strong, that she will not cry. She does not sob or otherwise disturb the stillness, but sometimes tears come.
    To shut off that hot flow, she works more aggressively at the nail, the stubborn damn nail, in the blinding dark.
    After a long period of silence, she hears a solid thud with a hollow metallic quality: ca-chunk.
    Alert, wary, she waits, but the thud does not repeat. No other noise follows it.
    The sound is tantalizingly familiar. A mundane noise—and yet her instinct tells her that her fate hangs on that ca-chunk.
    She is able to replay the sound in her memory, but she is not at first able to connect it to a cause.
    After a while, Holly begins to suspect that the sound was imagined rather than real. More accurately, that it occurred in her head, not beyond the walls of this room. This is a peculiar notion, but it persists.
    Then she recognizes the source, something she has heard perhaps hundreds of times, and although it has no ominous associations for her, she is chilled. The ca-chunk is the sound of a lid slamming shut on a car trunk.
    Just the lid slamming shut on a car trunk, whether imagined or actually heard, should not cause crystals of creeping frost to form in the hollows of her bones. She sits very erect, the nail forgotten for the moment, breathing not at all, then shallowly, quietly.

Part 2
Would You Die for Love?
Would You Kill?

Chapter 29

     
    In the late 1940s, if you owned a car like a Chrysler Windsor, you knew the engine was big because it made a big sound. It had the throb of a bull's heart, low fierce snort and heavy stamp of hooves.
    The war was over, you were a survivor, large swaths of Europe lay in ruin, but the homeland was untouched, and you wanted to feel alive. You didn't want a sound-proofed engine compartment. You didn't want noise-control technology. You wanted power, balanced weight, and speed.
    The car's dark trunk reverberated with engine knock and rumble transferred along the drive shaft, through the body and the frame. The thrum and stutter of road noise rose and fell in direct relation to the tempo of the turning wheels.
    Mitch smelled faint traces of exhaust gases, perhaps from a leak in the muffler, but he was in no danger of being overcome by carbon monoxide. Stronger were the rubbery scent of the mat on which he lay and the acidity of his own fear sweat.
    Although as dark as the chamber in his parents' house, this mobile learning room otherwise failed to impose sensory deprivation. Yet one of the greatest lessons of his life was being driven home to him mile by mile.
    His father says there is no tao, no natural law we are born to understand. In his materialist view, we should conduct ourselves not according to any code, only according to self-interest.
    Rationality is always in a man's self-interest, Daniel says. Therefore, any act that is rational is right and good and
    admirable.
    Evil does not exist in Daniel's philosophy. Stealing, rape, murder of the innocent—these and other crimes are