Her abductor reached behind the seat and picked up her purse. He took out her wallet and looked at her drivers license. “Well, Donna, drive to Interstate 71 north.”

He took the ten dollars out of her wallet. She had the impression he was making a big show of taking it, conspicuously folding the bills and slipping them into his shirt pocket. Then he took a cigarette out of her pack and pushed it toward her lips. “I bet you want a smoke,” he said, and lit it with her car lighter. She noticed his hands had some kind of stain all over them and under the fingernails, not dirt or grime or oil, but something. Ostentatiously, he wiped his fingerprints off the lighter. That terrified Donna—it meant he was probably a professional with a police record. He noticed her startled reaction.

“I’m a member of a group,” he said. “Some of us are involved in political activites.”

Her first impression was that he was alluding to the Weathermen, thought he hadn’t actually mentioned that name. She assumed, since he was making her take 1-71 north, that he was headed for Cleveland to make his escape. He was, she decided, an urban guerrilla.

She was surprised when he told her to get off 1-71 at the Delaware County area and made her drive on a back road. She saw him relax, as if he knew the area, and when they were out of sight of all cars, he told her to park.

When Donna West saw how deserted the area was, she realized this abduction had nothing to do with anything political. She was going to be raped or shot or both. He leaned back in the seat, and she knew something really bad was going to happen.

“I want to sit here a minute and get my head together, ” he said.

Donna sat with her hands on the wheel, staring straight ahead, thinking of Sidney and of her life, wondering what was going to happen. The tears started down her cheeks.

“What’s the matter?” he said. “You afraid I’m going to rape you?”

Those words and his sarcastic tone cut through her, and she looked at him. “Yeah,” she said. “I am.”

“Well, you’re so fucking stupid,” he said. “Here you are worried about your ass when you ought to be worried about your life.”

That was a sobering, shocking thing to hear, and Donna stopped crying immediately. “By God,” she said, “you’re absolutely right. I am worried about my life.”

She could barely see his eyes through the sunglasses as his voice softened: “Take your hair out of the ponytail.”

She sat gripping the wheel.

“I said take your hair down.”

She reached up and pulled a barrette out. Then he undid the braid, caressing her hair, saying how pretty it was.

Then he changed again, becoming loud and mouthy. “You are so fucking stupid,” he said. “Jeeze, look how ya got yourself in a situation like this.”