Silent Reaping

by P D Platt

  After assuring Solomon he was okay, Daveek called out for his friend. “Benny, it’s Daveek…You in here, man? Mia?”

  They both called out repeatedly, listening intently for any response. But the house remained still and dark, only misery and loss emanating from within.

  Wielding his flashlight, Solomon turned to Daveek. “I’ll go in. You stay here and keep an eye on Emily for me.”

  From where he stood in the family room, he could see the kitchen and dining area, and the staircase stood immediately to his right. Judging by the layout, Solomon figured all the bedrooms must be upstairs. After taking a deep breath of fresh air from the front doorway, he headed up, skipping steps to save time.

  Upstairs, all the doors along the short hallway were closed, but he guessed there were no more than three bedrooms. Wanting to get through this as quickly as possible, he knew hesitation was his enemy. He pushed open the first door, the beam of his flashlight directing his eyes.

  The master bedroom. Two dead parents. The overpowering smell forced him to slam the door shut as he gagged into his sleeve. With his arm still covering his mouth and nose, Solomon charged ahead, wanting to get this ordeal over and done with.

  He opened the next door—a linen closet. At the end of the hall was the bathroom, its door partially shut. Bypassing the other two remaining doors, he headed straight for it. Not sure how much more death he could witness, especially a child’s body firsthand, he wanted to rush and procrastinate at the same time. The bathroom door creaked open when he shoved it with his flashlight. Empty.

  His breaths came short and choppy, causing his heart to thump faster. Sweat beaded on his forehead and neck, triggered by an overwhelming uncomfortableness he wished he could escape.

  The last two doors—Benny’s and Mia’s—both prominently displayed colorful signs with their names. He turned the knob on the first room, smiling a little as he read the sign: If Your Name’s Not Benny, Keep Out. He eased it open, shining the white beam of light ahead to crack open the darkness. The bed stood empty. No unpleasant odor inside. Thank goodness.

  Wanting to get the tormenting anticipation over with, he repeated the process with the girl’s room, rushing even faster this time. He pushed the door open and scanned the frilly room decorated wall to wall in happiness and kindness. From a collage of cute baby animal posters to a collection of princess figurines, it was evident love had lived here.

  Having prepared for the worst, Solomon exhaled and relaxed his shoulders, grateful he’d encountered another empty room. He had no desire to find a child’s body. Ever.

  Solomon returned downstairs and headed outside. Waving to the two children, who sat on the car hood, he called out, “C’mon. It’s clear.”

  Waiting for more information about his friend, Daveek remained where he was.

  Although relieved he hadn’t found the children dead, the alternative, of them being alone and afraid in this enormous world, felt just as terrifying for Solomon. He wanted to stall for as long as possible, hoping they were just playing outside somewhere and would turn up at any moment.

  “No sign of Benny or Mia.” Solomon left it at that, unwilling to mention the parents. “Let’s load up some stuff from the pantry.”

  As the three reached the front stoop, a four-door silver pickup cruised past, its windows too dark to see inside. Its oversized tires sat under a lifted suspension, giving the truck an even greater presence as it towered past. Suspicious of everyone, Solomon sat a hand on the reassuring pistol still tucked under his belt. The vehicle continued on, moving at a near crawl.

  “Get inside, guys,” Solomon instructed with a firmness that left no room for protest.

  He continued to watch the truck until it disappeared around a bend, waiting until he was satisfied it wasn’t coming back. When he attempted to close the front door, the kids begged for it to stay open, expressing a desire to have access to fresh air.

  Solomon rummaged through the pantry, indiscriminately dumping armfuls of canned goods into the large plastic tote he’d brought along for just that purpose. The children stayed near the front door, their faces pinned toward the street, wanting to keep the depression of what the home held behind them.

  Satisfied with the food haul, Solomon lugged the overloaded tote to the car and heaved it onto the front seat. They all agreed to look for Benny and Mia, knowing they may well be hiding outside somewhere, possibly nearby.

  “We stay together. We’ll go only two houses down on either side, and then we’ll head back in the car, even if we don’t find them. Understood?” Solomon instructed.

  “What if they come back and we’re not here?” Daveek asked.

  “A note!” Emily spouted.

  “Great idea, honey.”

  Daveek grabbed a sheet of paper, and Emily stuffed a blue crayon into her dad’s hand. Solomon scribbled a note, mentioning Daveek and giving directions to their house. Emily insisted her dad draw a map showing their house and the street where they lived. He took a few moments more to draw a rough sketch, using the landmarks of the nearby water and community entrance as points of reference.

  This done, they headed down the street together, calling out for Benny and Mia every few steps. Solomon kept an eye out for the truck, gripping the pistol hidden under his shirt.

  Coming from inside a short picket fence one house past Solomon’s pre-determined search limit, a puppy’s weak yaps caught their attention. Before he could tell them to wait, the curious children ran ahead to get a glimpse of the pup.

  Reaching the fence first, Emily reported, “It’s just a puppy, Daddy. A little brown, fuzzy-wuzzy puppy.” Her face lit up with a pure smile of delight.

  “I think he’s hungry.” Daveek pointed to the overturned bowls near the back door.

  Happy for the attention, the puppy wagged his tail uncontrollably. There was no question of not helping the little brown fuzzball. After jumping the fence, Solomon turned and lifted the children over.

  “I’ll go inside and find some food,” Solomon told them.

  Both kids were now down on their knees, letting the pup lick their faces, totally enamored of their new friend. Only a small portion of the backyard was fenced for the puppy, the remainder blended into the woods that abutted the rear of the property. The homeowner obviously loved all things yard and garden—precisely edged flower beds surrounded every shrub and ornamental tree, and a half dozen birdfeeders and birdbaths sat randomly scattered on wooden posts.

  Although the screen door was locked, a quick, hard tug broke its flimsy latch free, giving access to a screened patio filled with hanging baskets and planters of herbs and vegetables. He rapped hard on the glass-paneled back door. As expected, no response came from within. Before resorting to breaking the glass, he wiggled the knob just to be sure. No such luck. Solomon grabbed a small garden spade leaning on a nearby wall and used its handle to shatter the pane, requiring several blows to turn cracks into a rainfall of shattered glass.

  His first instinct was to use his sense of smell to establish the condition of any occupants—a gruesome new reality. A foul smell equaled a high probability of it being safe to enter. When the unmistakable odor assaulted his nostrils, it produced a strange mix of unpleasantness and relief. Knowing the house was unoccupied gave him the confidence to move about freely. He felt a twinge of guilt for becoming increasingly callous in death’s presence.

  As he walked past a breakfast nook tucked into a bay window on his right, Solomon pictured the homeowners sitting there watching the birds’ activity just outside. He searched the kitchen, thinking of the logical places one would keep pet food. Soups, coffee, flavored oatmeal, rice, and grits filled the pantry, neatly stored in clear, labeled canisters. Everything in the house was neat and tidy, organized to the point of obsession. Maybe the laundry room. It seemed unlikely someone this meticulous would store human and pet food in the same space.

  His instincts were right; on entering the laundry room, Solomon noticed categorized stacks of beef,
chicken, and lamb canned dog food. After selecting a can of chicken, he returned to the kitchen and fumbled through several drawers to find a can opener. Realizing the sidetrack of this pet rescue mission had taken longer than anticipated, Solomon became anxious; he was worried about the children being outside alone.

  As soon as he stepped into the covered patio, his throat closed tightly and his stomach clenched. The kids and puppy had disappeared. Dropping the dog food, he shouted for them—his voice barely distinguishable as words. He ran frantically toward the street before pausing briefly and holding his breath, listening for the whimpers of the puppy or the children’s giggles. Refusing to allow any other thoughts to surface, he could only hope they’d run off to play with the little dog. If anything had happened to them, he couldn’t bear it.

  Sprinting down Azalea Drive, he passed two, three houses. Four. No sign of them anywhere.

  Panic consumed him as he ran, yelling for them repeatedly while his eyes darted back and forth, searching for a hint of his daughter’s light blue sweater. She loved that sweater embroidered with little butterflies along the sleeves and around the collar. Marion bought her that sweater. Her mom bought her that sweater.

  And now Emily had gone missing under his care—under his watch.

  When the suspicious-looking silver truck from earlier appeared directly in front of him, moving much faster than before, his worst fears screamed to life in an instant. His gut churned and adrenaline coursed through every tissue in his body. Decision time. Were the kids in the truck or was its presence merely a coincidence?

  He wasn’t willing to gamble their lives, not out of hesitation or fear of being wrong. No. This truck was going to stop for him.

  He positioned himself in the middle of the road.

  Chapter 12—Emily & Daveek

  Daveek turned, trying to figure out why the incessant chatting had stopped. He realized he hated the silence even more. Emily was nowhere in sight.

  He would have given anything to hear her voice again.

  An awfulness swarmed his insides. He was older than her, and it was his job to watch out for younger children. His parents had told him so for as long as he could remember. While it had been a chore to run around after little cousins, who’d merely seen him as a slightly older playmate rather than a rule-enforcing adult, he’d appreciated being seen as the responsible one.

  And now something awful had happened to his new friend, and it was all his fault.

  Emily had insisted on moving the puppy, wanting to let it run outside its small backyard area. But as soon as its paws touched the ground, it had been off and racing. The absence of a fence had invigorated the little pup—it had been able to explore and smell things previously only seen from a distance. Trees, bushes, the house next door, and the enticing tires on the car parked in the driveway. The more Emily called and chased, the faster the excited pup ran.

  When the puppy disappeared through a thick row of hedging separating two yards, Emily ran around the front to cut it off while Daveek took a shortcut through the bushes. Halfway through the leafy wall, he stopped and turned back after being repeatedly pricked by pointy leaves.

  By the time he made it out to the street, Emily stood on the curb, staring at a tall truck idling in the middle of the road. He called out to her, but the engine’s rumble drowned out his petrified voice. His heart pounding, he watched her climb onto the step rail before the passenger door opened and someone yanked her inside. The door slammed shut, and the truck sped away.

  Daveek ran after it as best he could but soon realized it was no use. He cut back across the lawns to find Mr. Parrish. He’d know what to do.

  Bricks of guilt weighed on him as he ran. Emily had been taken, and he was to blame.

  Chapter 13—Everything to Lose

  Solomon stood his ground in the center of the road as the truck headed straight for him. He thrashed his arms above his head in a crossing fashion, but there was no response; the truck didn’t even slow its pace. Solomon pulled the pistol from his belt, brandishing it with a wave of his hand. The engine ramped, screeching the truck’s knobby tires as it mounted the worn pavement beside him. As the truck sped past his planted stance, he felt a whoosh of air.

  His heart stopped for several beats before his instincts kicked in, and he screamed, “Stop!” as loud as he could. His muscles tightened and released in rapid succession, his body awaiting a command.

  Solomon’s legs dashed a few steps after the truck before a familiar voice froze him, liberating part of his anguish.

  He turned and saw Daveek running at him full speed, his face conveying pure panic. “They’ve taken her!” he screamed, pointing at the truck rounding the corner in the distance. These were the worst possible words Solomon could have heard. His daughter was the only precious thing left on this planet, and now he’d been robbed of her by the vilest of monsters.

  Solomon knew there was only one way out of Halcyon Place. Azalea Drive formed the main loop of the neighborhood, and its exit went directly past his house. Realizing there was no point in going back for his car—parked back at the Freemonts’ house, it was in the opposite direction of where he needed to head—he made a split-second decision and ran. Realizing he had to get to that intercept point first, he knew his only chance of beating the truck was if he short-cutted it across the neighboring properties.

  His legs raced like never before, his arms pumping as he gripped the pistol tighter, holding on to the one thing that could save his little girl. His brain automatically guided sprinting strides through bushes and shrubs, leaping him over boundary-forming brick knee-high walls and circumventing fences that presented too much of an obstacle. Feats that would never have been attempted before became automatic responses, performed without a second thought or the slightest trepidation.

  As he crossed Holly Lane, his senses tuned to the far end of Azalea where it looped back toward his house, which was only two properties down from the exit of Halcyon Place. Between houses and trees, he caught a glimpse of the truck as it straightened out and accelerated toward its escape. He heard the engine’s loud revs as he crossed into the final yard that separated him from the road.

  Carrying too much speed for the sharp corner, the truck slid under hard braking and veered into a yard, taking out a section of picket fence and obliterating a mailbox. Solomon gained precious seconds as the truck maneuvered through the debris, reversed, and drove back onto the street.

  Solomon pushed harder, running faster than he’d ever thought possible. He needed to reach that exit street first. As he entered the homestretch of the last hundred yards, he panicked. What exactly was his plan? How was he supposed to stop a speeding truck? It wasn’t like he could just shoot at it, not with his daughter inside. His legs churned as his mind raced, still grasping for solutions.

  He was certain of one thing: if that truck got away, he would never see Emily again. It was this realization that formed his next actions. Drawing his pistol, Solomon centered himself in the street, standing almost directly in front of his own home. Only a few hundred yards separated the truck from escaping onto the highway, taking away his daughter forever. His chest heaving, he raised the pistol level and aimed for the front of the truck, hoping he could hit its tires.

  With his hands shaking, Solomon acknowledged the massive gamble he was about to take. Sweat rolling into his eyes, he steadily increased the pressure on the trigger, finalizing his aim for the driver’s side tire. But before he could shoot, a throaty, high-revving rumble followed by the squeal of tires sounded over the approaching truck’s engine.

  As if shot from a slingshot, Skye’s yellow Mustang reversed from her dad’s garage, aiming straight for the street, directly in front of the kidnapper’s vehicle. Solomon watched in astonishment as Skye’s car went from rapid acceleration to hard braking, sliding across the street to cut off the pickup in a perfectly timed fashion.

  Just as taken by surprise, the truck’s driver braked and veered in a futile attempt to
avoid imminent collision. The Mustang’s rear end slammed squarely into the side of the truck, just past the rear tire, crunching metal and fiberglass together in an explosion of mass and matter. It struck with enough force to spin the pickup ninety degrees, both vehicles ending up crosswise in the street as their engines sputtered to a stop. The truck’s driver attempted to restart his disabled vehicle, its engine emitting a famished whine as it fought to crank over.

  Solomon had instinctively sidestepped as the violent dance of the vehicles commenced. Time slowed as he absorbed the scene in front of him. The smell of rubber and gasoline prevailed in the warm midday air. Looking over at the Mustang, he noticed Skye leaning motionless against her steering wheel.

  Aching for a sign that Emily was okay, he headed over to retrieve his little girl. The sound of coughing and wheezing came from the pickup’s cab before the driver’s door flew open, and a haggard man tumbled out, his rifle clattering to the pavement beside him. Blood trailing from his pallid, wrinkled temple, the disoriented man planted the rifle’s stock on the ground to prop himself upright. Staring directly at Solomon, he struggled to raise his weapon.

  There was no need for Solomon to contemplate his next decision; for him, hesitation no longer existed. He aimed his pistol at the loathsome creature wavering in front of him. The one who’d tried to rip his last reason for living away from him, who’d defiled his daughter’s innocent experience: the simple happiness of playing with a puppy. This man, this beast, had destroyed that, replacing it with an irreversible and permanent fear.

  Sighting his muzzle at the man’s chest, Solomon pulled the trigger. As the bullet’s impact slammed him back against the truck, Solomon shot twice more. Releasing his weak grip on the rifle, the vile man slid forward, coming to rest face down on the rough pavement.