“Slow down!” I yell as a he runs a red light and cars honk their horns at us. I take a deep breath in and fasten my seatbelt with shaking hands. “I’m here. Let them go, Abel. I’m here. You said you’d let them go!”

“Shut up.”

“You said it! He’s a child, Abel.”

Abel glances at me and there is something in his expression that gives me a sliver of hope. But he keeps driving, the gun in one hand, his foot a lead weight on the gas pedal. We drive like this until we’re out of town and after about twenty minutes he finally slows and pulls off at a run-down looking gas station. He brings the car to a screeching halt and makes sure we can all see the gun as he half-turns to Hazel.

“Get out.”

Hazel looks from him to me. “Abel…” Her lip is trembling. “You can’t hurt her.”

“Get the fuck out!”

“Go! Hazel go!” I plead.

“Mommy!”

Tears stream down Hazel’s face.

“You know what? Suit yourself. I’ll take you all with me!”

“No!” I scream as Michael howls.

Hazel moves, pushing the door open and getting out, never once letting go of Michael as she hauls him out and closes the door. Abel’s foot is on the gas pedal in an instant and Hazel jumps back as he takes off at an insane speed back onto the road.

“What are you doing? What do you want?”

My brother looks deranged. I don’t know when he last showered or shaved. He is desperate and that scares me the most.

“Please, Abel. I can help you. Just slow down. Please.”

He looks out the front window, face serious, but he does slow a little. “You’re growing.”

I touch my hand to my stomach but don’t reply. I don’t know what to say. We drive like this for ten more minutes before he pulls into the parking lot of a motel along a noisy stretch of road. It looks as run-down as the gas station.

“We’re making a pit stop.” He parks in front of one of the last doors and turns to me. “Don’t do anything stupid, got it?”

I nod.

He climbs out then comes to my side and opens the door.

“Get out.”

I do. “Have you been here all this time?”

He shakes his head. “Just got to this shithole recently. My friends seem to have abandoned me.”

“Your friends?”

He takes out a key and unlocks the door. I step inside the dingy, stuffy room and he closes it again.

“So, Dad’s dead.”

I nod.

“It’s real?”

He must see my confusion at his question.

“I wouldn’t put it past your husband to fake our father’s death to lure me out. Would you?”