Life had taken a decidedly positive turn for Chris Vogel.
He wasn’t free from problems, and he was all too conscious that his were for the most part self-inflicted. But he had two sources of money to help him out of trouble, and now he had a way to ensure that he was safe from legal jeopardy. Almost a literal “get out of jail free” card.
Vogel also had something else going for him, something he never expected and had never before experienced. That was an excitement, an invigoration, that came from turning his life over to fate. At first he thought the feeling was nonsense, a ridiculous but violent diversion from the mess that was his life, and he silently mocked it. But after time he indulged it and lived it, and the truth was he gradually became addicted to it.
After all, the sensation was intoxicating and offered a feeling of freedom unlike any other he had ever imagined. And he was clear minded enough to know that, as counterintuitive as it sounded, the freedom actually came from giving up his freedom.
Never had the feeling been stronger than it was at that moment. It was a more powerful high than he had ever experienced with drugs, and he had certainly done his share in that area. But on this night it was accompanied by almost paralyzing nervousness; he had never done anything like this and never thought that he would.
The high, and the nervousness, left no room for guilt. Maybe that would come later, maybe not. It hadn’t so far, at least not enough to cause him to stop. If it grew and became a significant factor, he would deal with it and move on.
The evening had been a strange one for Vogel, mainly because he had never pictured himself attending a high school reunion. The event itself was boring, as he knew it would be. With the exception of a select few, he had not seen these people in years and didn’t care if he ever saw them again. He’d had no use for them back in the day; nothing had changed in that regard, especially since the disdain had always been mutual.
The truth is that he would never have attended the event if this plan had not been in place. The last thing he wanted to do was revisit any part of high school. But Vogel wasn’t bored; he was anxious. He knew where the night was going to end up, and he could think of nothing else.
Getting Kim Baskin to leave with him, as planned, had proven to be easy. She bought his story fully and completely, and they had left together in his car. She believed him when he promised they would be back soon.
They had driven less than three miles when he pulled into a rest area off the Garden State Parkway. “What are we doing here?” she asked, slight worry creeping into her voice.
He smacked the steering wheel in feigned frustration. “Damn. The car is starting to overheat. I’ve got to get some water. This happened the other day also, but my mechanic said he fixed it. I’ll just be a minute.”
He pulled up to the small building, but didn’t turn off the car. Instead he opened the passenger door window from his driver’s side controls.
“Get out of the car.”
It wasn’t Vogel’s voice; another man had come to the window with a gun. Baskin let out a small scream of terror and looked toward Vogel, but all he said was “You heard him. Get out.”
The man at the passenger side pulled the door open, grabbed Baskin, and pulled her out. She tried to scream but it caught in her throat. “You too,” the man said, pointing the gun at Vogel. “Get out.”
“What are you talking about, Z? You know what we’re supposed to do.”
“I know exactly what I am supposed to do. I said get out of the car.”
Vogel was confused and scared, but he did as he was told. The man called Z handcuffed them to each other and then to a pole inside his van. He placed tight gags over their mouths so they could not communicate or yell for help; it was all they could do to breathe. Then he took the clear plastic bag out of his pocket and left it in the glove compartment of Vogel’s car. Once he had done that, he removed any trace of his fingerprints inside the car and closed the door. He went back to the van and drove off with his captives.
Vogel, handcuffed in the back, had long ago begun to share Baskin’s panic; this was not what was supposed to happen. All he could think of was that maybe Espinosa had learned what he had done and had somehow gotten to Z. But how could that be?
Vogel would never learn whether he was correct, and he and Baskin would never be seen again.
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