by James Hunt
Table of Contents
Stolen Lives Super Boxset
The Abducted: A Race Against Time
Discovery
Crime Scene
A New Friend
Interrogation
Released
Deadly Exchange
Teamwork
Remembrance
Showdown
The Abducted: Vengeance
Escape
Breathe
Painful Reunion
Six Months Later
The Informant
Search for Sarah
Duplex
Captured
Holding Cell
Purgatory
Last Stand
Death Notes: The Beginning
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Death Notes Bloodied Words
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Death Notes: Obituary
Chapter 1 – Baltimore 30 years ago
Chapter 2 – Baltimore – Present Day
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Stolen Lives Super Boxset
Copyright 2016 All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means without prior written permission, except for brief excerpts in reviews or analysis.
The Abducted: A Race Against Time
Sarasota, Florida
Phillip Anderson was a wanted man. Lee County Police Department released an APB, and a state-wide manhunt was just around the corner. What authorities didn’t know, however, was that he had one destination in mind. And once he got there and did what needed to be done, it would be too late.
He had long since fled Anderson Auto Salvage in a getaway van—and had effectively evaded authorities. They had little knowledge of his frequent disguises and his overall resourcefulness and intelligence. Phillip knew that if he was going to remain free, he would need to utilize his talents like never before.
He often wore wigs, makeup, and even dresses to fool his victims and earn their trust. It had worked every time. At six feet and two hundred and thirty pounds, he wasn’t the most convincing woman. But in the interest of his disguise, he often kept a clean shave. The concept of being someone else was something that had always intrigued him.
After going through an Arby’s drive-through, Philip parked and applied his makeup in the rear-view mirror. He then put on a frumpy brunette wig and adjusted it accordingly. His red lipstick glistened and his light-blue eye shadow matched well with his rosy cheeks. He scarfed down his sandwich and then changed into a sleeveless light-blue dress that went down to his ankles. He put a pair of sunglasses on and smiled at himself in the mirror. Phyllis was ready.
It was early Thursday morning when he pulled onto Miriam Castillo’s street, parking a few houses down. He knew that she wasn’t going to be home. In fact, he was counting on it. Miriam had joined the hunt for him with the other authorities. She had ruined everything and would hefty pay a price.
Phillip was, however, expecting to see Miriam’s daughter, Ana, and her ex-husband, Freddy. It was a risky mission, but he needed to act before Ana went to school. A few buses had already passed him by. He grabbed his purse, stepped out of the van, and headed toward Miriam’s quaint home at the end of the cul-de-sac. His loafers brushed against the pavement as he walked across the road and onto the sidewalk, whistling along the way.
***
Freddy was in the living room, glued to the television. The morning news detailed the raid at the Anderson Auto Salvage Yard, and the subsequent hunt for their number-one suspect, Phillip Anderson. The other Anderson boys—Greg, Walter, and Jake—had been taken into custody, along with their sixty-something parents, Boone and Judith.
Freddy was uneasy when he heard Miriam’s name on television, and then he saw a quick image of her from when she was on the police force.
He leaned closer to the TV, mouth agape, and tried again to call her cell. It rang and rang until she finally answered, apologizing. She was on her way home. One of the detectives at the station was driving her. They’d be there in an hour by her estimate.
“They’re talking about you on television,” Freddy said excitedly, standing up and adjusting the belt on his bathrobe.
Ana had just woken up and walked across the hall, straight to the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
Freddy continued. “Ana is going to get a kick out of this for sure!”
“Don’t tell her too much,” Miriam said. “There are things about this case she doesn’t need to know.”
Freddy paced the living room, a smile across his face. “So, you’re famous now? Congratulations!”
Miriam laughed. “Hardly. But thank you.”
Freddy turned and looked at the bathroom door down the hall as the toilet flushed. “I have to make breakfast for Ana. Better hurry up if you want some.”
Miriam paused. “Will do.”
“Drive safely, and we’ll see you soon.”
“I will. Thanks.” She paused again. “I really appreciate your help. It means a lot to me.”
“My pleasure,” Freddy said, turning back to the television screen. The news anchor was still discussing the story. Before hanging up, he told Miriam, “Maybe we could, uh, talk about things later?”
Miriam sighed. “I don’t know, Freddy. I just think things are fine between us now, and let’s keep them that way.”
Freddy walked toward the kitchen, lowering his voice. “Look. We need to talk. I need this, and I think I’ve earned it, coming here on short notice to watch Ana while you play detective.”
“All right, Freddy. Drop it,” she said with increased agitation in her voice. “We’ll talk later. Okay?”
Freddy smiled, victorious. “I’ll have a plate of eggs ready for you when you get here.”
Miriam said good-bye and hung up. Freddy walked back to the living room and stood in front of the TV, cell phone in hand. The news flashed a mug shot image of Phillip Anderson. His gray hair, standing on end, and his bushy beard and sunken eyes made him look like a madman. The photo, they said, was from a DUI arrest from two years ago. Anderson had a record, and the news anchor reminded viewers that he was believed to be a dangerous and violent man.
They mentioned Miriam again and showed her official police photo, even though she had quit the force a year ago. An energetic commentator dubbed her a “testament to vigilance.” Freddy smiled and walked to the bathroom down the hall, rapping on the door and calling.
“Ana, hurry. Your mom’s on TV!”
The shower turned on. Freddy got the message and walked away, setting his cell phone on a nearby coffee table. Suddenly a knock came at the front door. Surprised, he approached the door, peeking out through the living room curtains where he saw the back side of a large woman in a Sunday dress at the door. What she wanted, he had no idea. It was pretty early for callers.
He neared the front door and
looked through the peephole. The woman stood with a purse strap on her shoulder and her hands folded at her front. She wore dark sunglasses and had on too much makeup. Her frumpy brunette hair covered her shoulders on both sides like a fur scarf. Outside of these few oddities, she looked harmless. Freddy ran his hands through his short, thick hair and opened up the door halfway as the outside light beamed into the foyer.
“Hi, can I help you?” he asked, squinting.
The woman smiled. “Hi there! My name is Phyllis,” she said in a perky, but deep southern accent. She extended her thick, meaty hand and Freddy shook it, introducing himself.
“Is Miriam here?” she asked, looking over his shoulder.
Freddy glanced behind him. “No, she’s not.”
“Shucks. Well, I live a couple houses down and I was hoping to catch her. I heard about her on the radio and saw that her car was still here.” She folded her hands and raised them to her face. “It’s so exciting!”
Freddy nodded. “Sure is. She’s still on the road. You can probably catch her later today.”
The woman eyed him intently. “You’re Freddy, correct? Ana’s father?”
“That’s me.”
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” she said with a subtle bow.
Freddy nodded back again, searching for an out. Phyllis pressed on with enthusiasm and a smile. “But what I really wish I could get from you is a cup of sugar.”
His face bunched up in confusion. “Sugar?”
“That’s right, Sugar,” she said with a laugh as Freddy stood awkwardly holding the door.
“Miriam and I exchange stuff all the time. My husband needs a lot of sugar in his coffee if he’s going to get up in the morning. ‘Fraid I’m all out.”
Freddy glanced behind him again, toward the kitchen, then turned back to her. “I really don’t know where she keeps anything. I’m just here babysitting, frankly.”
Phyllis tried to peek past him. “She keeps a big bag in the cupboard next to the fridge.”
Freddy turned again and scratched his head, wishing she’d go away and tell her damn husband, Too bad, no sugar.
“It will only take a minute, I promise. Thanks so much!” she said with another big smile.
“Okay,” Freddy said reluctantly. He opened the door and stepped aside. “Come on in.”
Phyllis thanked him and went in. They walked past the living room, where the television flashed more images of Phillip Anderson’s mug shot from at least five years ago, with the title: “Snatcher on the Loose!”
“I can’t believe that,” Phyllis said as they entered the kitchen. She took her purse and set it on the table. “Just terrible.”
Freddy turned slightly and then went to the cupboard, opening the one nearest the refrigerator. “Yeah, it’s really something.” His back remained to Phyllis as he searched the shelves, coming up short. He opened the next cabinet—nothing but dishes. He moved to the next and found shelves full of spices and condiments.
With his back still turned, Freddy moved some cans aside in the cabinet. Phillip reached into his purse and grabbed a pair of black gloves. After putting them on, she pulled out a long hunting knife.
“I hope they find that awful man,” he said, maintaining his womanly tone. “He looks like a monster.”
Phillip’s eyes remained fixated on Freddy as he continued searching the cabinet.
“Found it!” Freddy said, reaching for a half-full bag of sugar in the back.
Phillip lunged forward, wrapped his thick arm around Freddy’s forehead, and yanked him back into her chest. Freddy’s arms flailed in the air as he screamed out in panic—his cries cut short by the deep slice of the blade across his throat. Blood spurted from the gash right below his Adam’s apple.
Phillip squeezed Freddy’s head back more, holding him as he choked with blood as it sprayed on the kitchen counter, running down Freddy’s chest and soaking his robe. Phillip released his grip and tossed Freddy aside like a rag doll. Blood continued to gush from his wound, forming a thick pool as he smacked face-first onto the tile floor.
Phillip held the bloodstained blade, standing over Freddy and watching as he gasped for his few last breaths. Blood had gotten all over Phillip’s dress. He went to the sink and washed the knife under the faucet. He then wiped the knife clean with a paper towel ripped from the countertop dispense. As he turned the faucet off, he heard the shower cease in the bathroom down the hall.
“Ana…” he said under his breath with a smile.
Freddy’s motionless body lay on the floor. His mouth was open. His eyes were wide and dilated. Phillip stepped over him and went to the table, where he put the knife back in his purse. He stepped around Freddy, knelt down, and lifted him up.
With a grunt, he dragged Freddy’s body to the kitchen table, pushing a chair out with his leg. The TV continued on about the ongoing manhunt and so-called “underground dungeon” discovered on one of the Anderson properties. It was strange for Phillip to hear about himself in the third person; a new kind of fame he hadn’t counted on or desired.
He sat Freddy upright on the chair and patted his hair. Freddy’s head slumped down as fluid leaked from his eyes, nose, and ears. Phillip grabbed the purse and went toward the living room, where he took the remote and muted the TV. Following the silence, a hair-dryer turned on in the bathroom, blowing loudly.
Phillip casually dug into his purse and pulled out a rag and a twenty-ounce bottle of chloroform. He then held the rag to the opening and tilted the bottle, holding it there. The hairdryer stopped. Phillip crept to the bathroom, bottle and rag in hand, and knocked on the door.
“I’m almost ready. Chill!” Ana said from inside.
Phillip knocked again.
“What?” Ana asked, annoyed.
Another knock. Ana swung the door open, angered. “I said—” she began, freezing up in her pink T-shirt and blue jeans. Her eyes widened as she looked up at the stranger before her.
Phillip lunged forward, grabbed the back of Ana’s head, and shoved the rag into her face. Ana’s arms flailed and punched air. She tried to kick. She tried to scream, but she didn’t have a chance. Her cries were muffled. The rag covered her nose and mouth. Her eyes watered. Phillip shoved her face deeper into the rag.
“There, there,” he said. “Go to sleep.”
Ana’s arms fell, and her body went limp. Phillip scooped her up with one arm and left the bathroom. He grabbed his purse from the couch and rushed Ana out of the house, closing the door behind them.
Discovery
Miriam arrived on her street, ready to collapse once she got home. It had been a whirlwind past couple of days, thrust back into a case she never thought she’d re-visit. Lou, a friendly detective who always insisted that she call him by his first name, dropped her off at her house after a long night at the hospital, where two girls, rescued from abduction, had been taken for treatment.
Their suspect, Phillip Anderson, had fled the scene, but Miriam was confident the police would find him. His face was all over TV and the Internet. The case had all the makings of a national crime story: a tight-knit crime family in a small Florida town who dealt in drugs, kidnapping, and murder—Anderson could run, she believed, but he’d turn up somewhere.
Miriam took comfort in that fact as Lou pulled up into her driveway to drop her off.
“Thanks, Lou,” she said smiling.
“You got it. Call me after you get some rest, and we’ll go over the case,” he said as the car idled.
“Sure thing,” she said, opening the door.
“Miriam…” he said as her foot hit the pavement. She stopped and turned. “Yes?”
“Don’t worry about Anderson. He’s on the run, he’s scared, and it’s only a matter of time before he makes a mistake.”
She nodded in understanding, bid him farewell, and stepped out of the car, closing the door. As he backed out, she walked up the driveway with a gym bag over her shoulder—her standard travel bag. She’d been away
from home for three days—shorter than planned. The case had been solved, and she could go back to her normal life. There was nothing she wanted more.
Her Tahoe sat in the driveway next to Freddy’s truck. She passed both vehicles, feeling a little better about herself and how everything turned out. She approached the front door and gave it a try. It was unlocked.
She opened the door and walked in. Something immediately seemed off-kilter. The television was on with the sound muted. The air was still—the house silent. The blinds were drawn, and the lights off. It was a little past ten in the morning, and she assumed that Ana was already at school. But it was strange not to see Freddy anywhere.
“Freddy?” she called out, scanning the darkened living room.
She nearly jumped to see him sitting at the kitchen table with his back to her. She set her gym bag down and went into the kitchen.
“Freddy?”
Her eyes glanced past him to a thick puddle of blood, extending from one end of the tile floor to the other. She called out to Freddy again. He didn’t move. She felt her body shaking, crept around to face him and then covered her mouth, stifling a horrified gasp.
His throat was slashed. Blood soaked his T-shirt and bathrobe. His head was tilted down, his eyes wide, pupils dilated and lifeless. Trembling, she stepped back with the urge to run, but then noticed a note on the table.
You took my playmates, Miriam. Now you and your daughter are all I have left to play with. Love Phyllis.
Her legs shook as a cold chill consumed her body. The connection was clear. Anderson had found her. Her heart raced; she felt light-headed from her rapid breathing. She dropped the note and turned away. The sight of Freddy’s corpse filled her with grief. She tripped and fell back against the counter as one elbow rammed against the microwave.
She felt vulnerable and afraid. Anderson could still be in the house, watching her. She fell to her knees. The shaking had traveled to her hands.
“Ana,” she thought. “Oh my God, Ana!”
She reached into her purse and pulled her 9mm Beretta and cell phone out, ready to call 9-1-1. A missed call was displayed on the screen from an unavailable number. Before she could even investigate, the phone buzzed with a call from the same unknown number.
