A local woman missing- Mary Kubica

Bea is in the driver’s seat. Bea is driving my car. Her window is
open an inch. It moves her hair. Somehow or other the rain doesn’t
get in. The radio is on. Bea speaks to herself, something agitated,
incomprehensible.
It all comes rushing back to me then.
Bea and me arguing. Bea with the hammer. Delilah standing
scared in the open garage door. After that: nothing. Blackness.
The first words out of my mouth are, “Where is she?”
My words are garbled when they come. My lips are sluggish,
unable to form words. The pounding in my head intensifies when I
speak. I press my hands to my head, drill my palms into my eye
sockets. It helps nothing. I pull my hands away.
I try again. “What did you do with her?” This time, words form.
“You’re awake,” she says, glancing over her shoulder at me. As
she does, she tugs on the steering wheel by accident. The car
swerves. A car horn blares. Bea looks back ahead. She rights the
car before we get hit.
“What did you do with Delilah?” I demand.
Bea doesn’t say. Her lack of a response makes me frantic,
desperate. I need to know where my daughter is. I need to know
what she’s done to my child.
I grab for the door handle, try and force open the door. My first
thought is to jump from the moving vehicle and make a run for it. But
I can’t because the door doesn’t budge. The child locks have been
activated. I don’t know how long I was unconscious. Long enough for
Bea to do something to Delilah, to get me in the car and drive. I look
out the window. I try and orient myself as to where we are. We
haven’t gone far. We’re only a few blocks from home. If I can just get
out of the car, I can get back to Delilah. I can see if she’s okay.
“Did you hurt her?” I ask. I’m terrified that Bea has done something
to her. Delilah watched as she hit me over the head with the
hammer.
Delilah saw too much. Bea couldn’t just let her go.
I slide to the other side of the back seat. I try and open that door.
It, too, is unopenable. I go to put the power window down, but it’s
locked. Bea has thought of everything.