Up Close And Gone

by Jennie Spallone

“Can’t give away all my trade secrets until we find Daddy.”

  “You’ve got his address?”

  “Of course.”

  “You Googled all the people with the same name, age, and state of origin?”

  “That was a wee bit tricky,” he said humbly. “Took me days to narrow it down.”

  “My brilliant son. One more question.”

  Daniel slammed the steering wheel, then, like a re-take, touched it gently. “Yes?”

  “Can you turn off the air conditioning? It’s freezing back here.

  Chapter 27

  Becca

  Detective Hernandez stood at the foot of Rachel’s hospital bed, delivering the crushing words: None of the 300 leads panned out. Her shocked expression was similar to that found in a slasher movie—a genre they both refused to watch.

  “Twenty-thousand-dollars in reward money, three hundred leads, and nothing to show for it?” Rachel asked.

  That question bounced off the walls as Daddy entered the room. He kissed Becca, and then made a beeline towards Rachel. “

  How are you feeling, honey?” he asked, his voice fake cheerful. “Sorry I didn’t visit last night, but I was emotionally and physically drained.”

  In the silence, Daddy noticed the detective’s presence.

  “Any update on my wife?” he asked, his voice hopeful.

  The detective adopted a wide stance, laptop in hand. “Unfortunately, nothing yet.”

  Rachel’s eyes were devoid of expression. “The reward money didn’t work.”

  “I’m sorry to make you repeat yourself if you already told the girls, but can you summarize what you do and don’t know at this juncture?”

  Detective Hernandez leaned back, one foot pushing knee high against the wall. She scanned Mom’s computer file. “We went back to the Boat House to interview the restaurant staff. Neither your waiter nor the hostess recall your wife returning to the restaurant.”

  That bitch who couldn’t remember one purple-streaked haired woman, Becca thought.

  “Neither the carriage drivers nor the mother wheeling a baby buggy recall seeing your wife after their initial interaction with her.”

  “You told them about the reward?” Rachel demanded.

  Detective Hernandez nodded.

  “What about joggers and families visiting Central Park Sunday afternoon?” Becca asked.

  “The NYPD had thirty-one security cameras solely covering the park. It’s a relatively safe site. Only sixty-five criminal acts reported per year, as opposed to thousands in Manhattan and the Bronx.”

  “What are you saying?” asked Rachel.

  “The cameras caught your mother coming out of the restaurant, walking along the paved path, and then the wooded areas, and at the sites where the carriage drivers, as well as the water fountain where the woman with the baby were sighted. However, later in the day, a glitch in the Microsoft High Domain Awareness System occurred on three cameras. It’s not certain if extremely high temperatures followed by a severe thunderstorm had a negative impact on the system.”

  “You’re saying my wife could have been in the section of the Park where the malfunction occurred,” Dad said softly.

  Becca nibbled her fingernails. Mom could be in real danger.

  “So what the hell are you doing about it?” asked Rachel.

  Detective Hernandez leaned against the wall and stared at Rachel. “Why don’t I shut up and let you tell me?”

  Dad gives my sister a reproving look—a look both of us have only received a couple of times in our lives for serious acts, like underage drinking or copping candy at the grocery store. Then his eyes returned to the Detective. “Please, carry on.”

  “Before the software glitch occurred, your wife was videotaped lifting her arms to the sky and twirling during the rainstorm.”

  Becca’s heart caught in her throat. Mom was all about expressing joy.

  “The Park emptied of visitors. Then someone approached her.”

  Just then, Zander walked into the hospital room. Becca glanced at the wall clock. It was 5:15 p.m.

  “Hey, Pa.” He gave Dad a hug, nodded to me and the Detective, and kissed Rachel. Then he went to the sink to wash his hands. “Any word on Ma yet?”

  “You’re just in time to hear the latest,” Becca said with false heartiness.

  “Which is nothing,” Rachel grumbled.

  Detective Hernandez frowned. “My answer might have been misleading.”

  “Misleading, how?” Becca asked.

  The detective’s smile was almost imperceptible. No doubt, she was grateful Becca wasn’t snarky like Rachel.

  “This morning on NYPD Instagram, we received a picture of a woman stepping underneath an oversized black umbrella. That woman could be your mother.”

  “So you wait until now to tell us?” Rachel said.

  Detective Hernandez’s lips tightened.

  Zan gave Rachel dirty look. He could tell she’d been giving the detective a hard time.

  “Did the picture show who was holding the umbrella?” Becca asked.

  “Unfortunately, not.”

  Dad went pale.

  “However, at noon today we received a Pinterest photo of the first picture. Except this photo had been zoomed in. Although the umbrella completely covers the face, hands, and frontal view of the person, shoe prints are possible to make out.”

  “Spell it out for us, Detective,” said Dad. “What do these findings indicate?”

  “When we zoomed in on the shoe, itself, we noticed it was a high-top sneaker, brown rattlesnake print.”

  “Brand logo?” asked Zan.

  “Don’t need to know the logo,” said Dad. It’s a ConservaT.

  Dad worked in a men’s shoes wholesale liquidation business with their grandpa until 2018, when they both retired. He knew every brand of shoe there is.

  “This is important why?” Rachel asked impatiently.

  “Most people don’t walk around in rattlesnake print gym shoes.”

  “So the person who kidnapped…”

  “…last saw,” Detective Hernandez interrupted.

  “…my mother is the member of a gang?” asked Rachel.

  Zan rolled his eyes. “No gang member’s going to be taking a stroll through Central Park.”

  “You know all about gangs, huh?” said Rachel.

  Zan threw his arms in the air. “You seriously have to work on your attitude unless you want to raise this baby with a chip on her shoulder!”

  Becca wanted to second that statement, but she was scared of the blowout.

  “Where did this lead come from?” asked Dad.

  Detective Hernandez’ voice took on a conciliatory note. “We’re not sure yet, but we’re working on it. We believe the person who sent the first picture and the person who sent the second picture are one and the same. However, the sender is using an alias.”

  “Well then, you better get going and find the guy in the snakeskin shoes who kidnapped our Mom!” Rachel said icily.

  Zan shook his head, jumped to his feet, and stalked out the door.

  “I was talking to the Detective,” she shouted after him.

  “He knows,” Becca said wryly.

  “We all do appreciate your hard work, Detective,” said Daddy.

  Becca glanced at Rachel. She shut her eyes and rubbed her tummy.

  “Impressive!” joked Dad.

  Nobody laughed.

  “I’ll be in touch,” said Detective Hernandez as she exited the room.

  Daddy excused himself to go to the bathroom down the hall.

  Becca climbed into bed beside Rachel. “Sometimes you can be so obnoxious.”

  “I don’t want to talk,” she mumbled into her pillow.

  “I’m scared, too, but you
don’t see me taking it out on the Detective, do you?”

  “You’re a better person than I am,” she said drowsily.

  “You shouldn’t get so riled up. It’s not good for the baby.”

  “I’m tired.”

  A memory marble hit Becca. It was December. Frigid cold. An electrical storm. Power outage. Telephone lines down. Daddy away on business. Dark skies. She and her sister freaking out. Mom lights candles. They all snuggled together beneath coats and blankets. Mom started singing an Israeli lullaby: “Tum ba la, tum ba la, tum ba la li la….”

  As Rachel nestled her head in her pillow, Becca began to sing. “Tum ba la, tum ba la….

  Chapter 28

  Alan

  April 1983

  Alan and Deborah sat together on the sofa facing Dr. Gardner. This session, Deb was talking non-stop.

  “Alan and I went back to synagogue for the first time since our babies died.”

  Four months after the event, he still winced at the sound of the word.

  “I’d read the newsletter wrong. Instead of the regular adult Shabbat service, it was the monthly parent-tot Shabbat service. Alan immediately wanted to slam out of the synagogue, but I thought I could make it through.”

  “She told me I could do whatever I want, but she was staying,” Alan interrupted.

  “The tot service only lasts an hour. I didn’t want to be rude and leave.”

  Dr. Gardner looked at Alan. “How did that make you feel?”

  The truth?”

  Dr. Gardner and Deborah both looked at him. He felt like an insect under a microscope. “Alone. I felt alone.”

  “What did ‘alone’ feel like?”

  Alan stared at Deborah. “Like she didn’t need me anymore. Like she could be strong all by herself. Like I was useless.”

  Silence permeated the office.

  Finally Deborah spoke. “Your reactions are just your perception. Everything’s about you.”

  “Thanks for that great insight,” he retorted.

  “What were the feelings behind your words when you told him he could leave but you were staying?” asked Dr. Gardner.

  “I felt strong enough to endure watching all those little kids with their families.”

  “I wanted to protect you having to endure that painful experience,” Alan said, exasperated.

  Deborah took his hand and looked into his eyes. “I knew it would be painful, but I wanted to challenge myself.”

  “What happened then?” asked Dr. Gardner.

  “I told her I’d pick her up later. Then I left.”

  “How did that make you feel, Deborah?”

  “Part of me was furious that Alan deserted me, but another part of me was grateful; now I was free to react or not react to the experience without judgment.”

  “What did you discover about yourself?” asked Dr. Gardner.

  Deborah swiped at her eyes. “I felt jealous that having healthy babies came so effortlessly to all these parents. The pain of watching mothers nurse their infants during services, when it had taken so long for my milk to dry up with nothing to show for it. The pain of listening to toddlers and their mommies and daddies sing the blessings and songs together. Try as I might, I couldn’t stop my tears. But their joyful singing camouflaged my sobs! Allowing myself to express my rage felt cathartic. By the time Alan picked me up, I felt much calmer.”

  “She did seem less depressed,” Alan confirmed.

  “Depression is anger turned inward,” said the psychiatrist.

  Deborah smiled at him. “I threw my arms around Alan and thanked him for trusting me to go through that experience and not lose myself in the process.”

  He smiled back. “I was glad you weren’t angry I left you alone at services. But I couldn’t figure out why you were thanking me.”

  “What do you hear Deborah saying?” asked Dr. Gardner.

  “That confronting, instead of denying, emotional pain helps a person heal.”

  Deborah hugged him. “I knew you were a compassionate person; it just took you awhile to show it.”

  “Thanks to Dr. Gardner’s self-exploration homework,” Alan said.

  Dr. Gardner eyed her watch. “In our remaining minutes, I’d like to focus on you, Alan, if that’s all right with both of you?”

  Deborah shrugged. “Sure.”

  “That’s cool,” said Alan.

  Dr. Gardner turned to Alan. “How has grief affected your professional life?”

  Alan was struck dumb at the question. This was one thread he’d managed to conceal from the psychiatrist, although she’d broached it on more than one occasion. Work makes the man, as his father used to say. Alan preferred a more succinct saying: Without work, man is a Loser.

  He glanced at his wife sitting beside him so expectantly. If not the psychiatrist, his wife deserved an answer. Breathing deeply, Alan chose to reveal his soul once again.

  “A couple of weeks ago, one of my colleagues had a new baby. The office held a baby shower for her. I took one look at her and her baby—the pain was more than I could stand—put the gift on a table and ran out of the room.

  “Later, she came to my office and asked if I was sick. ‘Yeah, I’m sick at heart that you’ve given birth to a healthy, beautiful infant while God delivers dead babies to me and my wife’.

  “Her jaw dropped. It was then I recalled she’d only recently started working here; no one had told her about my loss. I apologized over and over again for my rude remarks, but she closed her ears and fled my office.

  “When did that happen?” asked Deborah.

  “Last Friday.”

  A light of recognition touched her eyes. “The same evening as Tot Shabbat.”

  Alan nodded.

  “So that’s why you stomped out of temple when I told you to leave if you couldn’t handle it.”

  He smiled thinly. “Bingo.”

  “How does that realization make you feel, Deborah?”

  She placed a hand on her heart. “I’m grateful to begin to understand my husband better.”

  “And how did sharing this story make you feel, Alan?”

  “I can’t say it was a pleasant experience.”

  Both Deb and Dr. Gardner nodded.

  “Sharing a story where I’m bad guy is painful. But I took a chance because I trust Deb to still love me afterwards.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” she asked, perplexed.

  “A man should be strong, both physically and emotionally, but you’re emotionally stronger than me.”

  “You went through the pain and came out the other side, same as I did,” she said.

  “How would you act differently if this kind of situation happens again at your workplace?” asked the therapist.

  “Baby showers are not a common occurrence,” said Alan.

  “As more young people are recruited, there’s bound to be more babies, right?” asked Deborah.

  Alan racked his brain for a viable answer. None came to mind. He began to sweat.

  “Do you need me to turn down the thermostat?” asked Dr. Gardner.

  Alan shook his head.

  “Are you feeling okay?” his wife asked anxiously.

  This was a perfect storm. He could lie to them both; tell them he was feeling dizzy. They’d believe him. The only one he couldn’t fool was himself. Damn, communicating was hard. Voicing ambivalence. Feeling stupid. Fearing reaction from others.

  Free fall time. “I don’t know if I would act differently in a similar situation.”

  “Something to discuss next session,” said Dr. Gardner. “Are you planning to attend together from now on?”

  Alan glanced at his wife. He’d taken a giant leap of trust and not fallen through the rabbit hole. Deb’s face was glowing. Go figure. “Sure.”

  “De
finitely,” said Deb.

  “You’ve both expressed your vulnerabilities today,” said Dr. Gardner. “Before we end, can each of you share a few words about what you take from today’s session?”

  “Confiding challenges and asking for help grows a marriage,” said Deb.

  “Marriage means trusting your partner to accept your vulnerabilities, as well as your strengths,” said Alan.

  The psychiatrist stood and walked them into the office lobby. “Have a loving week.”

  “We will,” Alan and Deborah said in unison.

  Chapter 29

  Shana

  Shana struggled against her captor as he re-shackled her wrists, tightened the rope around her ankles, and then dragged her fully clothed body into the backyard carport.

  The sun was just beginning to peek through the sky as he laid her in the back seat of the silver Audi—she’d noticed its logo. Her feet were bare, and her toes had scraped the concrete driveway. Still, she emitted a croaky whistle. At least she’d go in style!

  “Shut up! I need to think.” Daniel slipped into the leather driver’s seat and cupped his chin on the steering wheel.

  Silence was Shana’s Achilles’ heel. Her favorite color was red. Her son had no idea that drama fed her soul. Not this kind of drama, of course! Then, again, she’d never have guessed a child of hers would grow up to be a kidnapper and, yes, a murderer. Daniel had said his grandmother died in a nursing home, but what if he was lying?

  Today’s excursion would brand Daniel accordingly. Shana couldn’t allow him to kill his birth father. What good would she be to her husband and daughters if she broke free of her captor, after allowing him to commit such a horrific act? Either way, her son would kill her. Although Daniel hadn’t said as much, Shana suspected he was only keeping her alive to witness The Deed.

  This momentary silence would enable her to devise a plan, just as she did as a journalist when she elicited cold hard truths from white collar criminals. This time, both her life and that of her rapist were at stake.

  Chapter 30

  Deborah

  May 1983

  On her knees

  Coyote Howling

  Clawing

  Begging

  Babies!