“Get into the car,” he snapped. “Get back on the freeway and go north. I want you to cash checks and get me some money.”

Thinking as quickly as she could, wanting desperately to get back to familiar territory, she said, “Look, if it’s money you want, let’s go back to Columbus. You’re not going to get any out-of-town checks cashed on a Saturday.”

She waited for his reaction, telling herself that if he insisted on heading north on 1-71, it would mean they were headed for Cleveland. She decided then and there that she would crash the car and kill both of them. She hated what he had done to her, and she was going to make sure he would have no use for her money.

“All right,” he said. “Take 1-71 south.”

She hoped he wouldn’t see how relieved she was, and she decided to press her luck. “Why don’t we take Route 23? There are lots of banks on 23, and we could get to one before they close at noon.”

Again he accepted her suggestion, and though she still felt her life was in danger, she hoped that if she could keep talking and keep him off balance, she might get through it alive.

“Are you married?” he asked suddenly.

She nodded, realizing it was important for him to think someone was waiting for her, that someone would know she was missing. “My husband’s a doctor.”

“How is he?”

“He’s an intern.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“What do you mean?”

“What’s he like?”

She was about to describe Sidney when she suddenly understood that he wanted to know how adequate her husband was sexually.

“You’re much better than he is,” she said, realizing that if she complimented him, he might be nicer to her. “You know, my husband must have a problem. It takes him forever. It’s great that you were so fast.”

She could see he really got a big kick out of that, and she was more certain than ever that this young man was a schizophrenic, out of touch with reality. If she kept humoring him, perhaps she might get out of this.

He went through her purse again, taking her Master Charge card, her university clinic I.D. and her checkbook. “I have to have two hundred dollars,” he said. “Someone needs the money. Write a check for cash, and go to your bank in Westerville. We’ll go in together, but if you make one funny move, you try to do anything, I’ll be standing right behind you with the gun. I’ll shoot.”

Walking into the bank, Donna was shaking all over. She found it hard to believe that the tellers she passed didn’t catch on—she was grimacing and rolling her eyes frantically, trying to attract attention. But no one noticed a thing. Donna used her Master Charge card to make two withdrawals of fifty dollars each, until the machine receipt indicated she’d reached her limit.

As they drove off, he tore up the bank receipts carefully, then tossed the pieces out the car window. Donna looked through the rear-view mirror and nearly choked—a Westerville police cruiser was right behind them. O my God, she thought, clenching a fist to her temple, we’re going to be picked up for littering!