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could only make out some of the titles. Wuthering Heights, The Great Gatsby, David Copperfield, Lord of the Flies … books we’d studied at school. I couldn’t see any modern books up there, just classics. I looked at the next shelf. This one contained mostly field guides: guides to desert flowers and animals, studies about snakes. There were books about tying ropes and making shelters, and others about rocks. I saw a dictionary of Aboriginal languages. As I looked over the titles, I realized something.
    “We’re in Australia, aren’t we?”
    A brisk nod from you. “Took you awhile,” you muttered.
    I remembered what you’d said to me in the airport, about whether I’d ever wanted to visit … and then your odd accent. It made sense. Apart from the fact that I’d thought Australia was all beaches and bush, not just endless red sand. But I felt a brief glimmer of hope anyway, a stirring that maybe everything would be OK. Australia was a civilized country, with a law system, and police and a government. People could be looking for me already, police hunting me out. The whole nation might be on alert. Then the glimmer faded. You’d taken me from Bangkok. Who’d guess to look for me in Australia?
    “Who knows I’m here?” I asked.
    “No one. No one knows either of us are anywhere. We’re in the middle of the Australian desert. We’re not even on the map.”
    I made myself swallow. “Nowhere is unmapped.”
    “This is.”
    “You’re lying.”
    “I don’t lie.”
    “How did you bring me here, then?”
    “In the back of the car. It took awhile.”
    “Without a map?”
    “Like I said,” you hissed. “It took awhile.”
    “I would have remembered.”
    “I made sure you didn’t.”
    That shut me up. Your eyes darted away from mine, and I took a step back. I remembered the chemical smell of that cloth over my face. The hazy jolt and sway of being in your car. The sickly sweet chocolates. I reached for more memories, but they wouldn’t come. I shook my head, not really wanting them to, either. I took another step back into the darkness and leaned against the bookshelf. My head was reeling. I wondered what else you were hiding from me. What other horrible little secrets.
    “Someone must have seen you,” I whispered.
    “Doubt it.”
    “There are cameras in airports … security cameras are everywhere now.”
    “Most of those cameras don’t even have film in them.” You lifted the lantern. Its light cast shadows onto your face and made dark hollows under your eyes.
    “Someone will be looking for me. My parents will be looking for me.”
    “Probably.”
    “They’re important, you know.”
    “I know.”
    “They’ve got contacts, money. They’ll be on TV; they’ll post my photo all over the world. Someone will recognize it.”
    “Unlikely.” You moved the light toward me; I felt its heat. “You were in the trunk most of the way here, under the tent.”
    My chest tightened once more as I pictured my body curled up and contorted, thrown in like a piece of luggage. It was like a grisly horror film, only I hadn’t made it to the knife scene yet. I crossed my arms over my chest. How could I not remember any of this? Why only just tiny glimmers? Were the drugs you’d given me really that strong? I took another step away from you, backed up toward the door.
    “In the airport, someone will have seen you….” I was speaking to myself, really. “Someone will have seen me. It’s impossible you could have got past all that security without anyone …”
    “If anyone saw you, they wouldn’t have recognized you.”
    “Why not?”
    “You had a wig on, sunglasses, heels, a different coat. The passport I used for you had a different name. I left your old one in the dumpster.”
    You moved toward me. Again, there was that intensity in your eyes, like you wanted something, and I remembered how you’d looked at me in the coffee shop. I’d fallen completely for that piercing look then. This time it