Up Close And Gone

by Jennie Spallone

  Halfway through first semester, Allie had walked into his life and assuaged his fears. One of only ten female students in his graduating class, Allie was brilliant, nerdy, and gorgeous. Best of all she loved him, which she consistently demonstrated through the next two years of college.

  Despite his dad’s protests, Daniel had stopped going home for holidays and vacations, choosing instead to hang with Allie and her family at their summer home or winter cabin. He’d just about convinced himself that life was moving on a upward trajectory when, in June before his senior year, he received the phone call he’d dreaded.

  “Daniel,” his father had said, “I’m sorry to do this to you, but you’ve got to come home. Mom’s gotten a lot worse, and I can’t work and take care of her with only Bubbe to help.”

  “Why can’t Aunt Leah and her kids help?”

  “It’s not their job, son.”

  “Put her in a nursing home,” he pleaded.

  “Would you want us to give up on you if, God forbid, you had a terminal illness?”

  “But I’m doing great at school. I’m dating a nice Jewish girl. That’s what you guys always wanted, right?”

  “You can always go back to school, son, but your mother is not always going to be here.”

  Daniel knew he was being a jerk, but some evil spirit was urging him on. “I have a right to live my own life. I’ve got a scholarship for my whole college career. I’m not leaving.”

  His father sighed on the other end of the line.

  Prickles of guilt edged through Daniel’s resolve, but he held firm. “Mom won’t even recognize me if I come home.”

  “She doesn’t recognize me anymore, either.”

  The sound of his dad’s sorrow was tearing him up inside. “You can get a nurse or companion to help you out.”

  “Your mom’s too young for Medicare, where those services would be covered. I’d have to pay out of pocket.”

  “You always boast about how well the stock market’s doing.”

  “The experts are predicting a recession in the next couple of years,” said his dad.

  Daniel warned himself to remain steadfast in his resolve. “That’s then, this is now.”

  “Come home, son. You can finish up school at ITT.”

  “But dad…”

  His father’s voice hardened. “I’m not going to beg. You’re over 18. I trust you to make the right decision.”

  Daniel heard the click.

  On the flight home, Daniel had wept non-stop. When the stewardess asked if he needed anything, he retorted: “I need my mother to be normal again. Can you give me that?” She’d scooted away. “Didn’t think so,” he called after her. The passenger in the seat next to his followed the stewardess’ example, the seat remaining empty for the remainder of the trip.

  Allie had offered to return with him to Chicago. For the summer, but Daniel knew in his gut—though he refused to admit it aloud—that summer vacation could stretch into the fall. He loved Allie too much to allow her to risk school and career. She tried to convince him otherwise, they’d argued, and he’d left on a sour note.

  Daniel had still been in a foul mood when his dad had clicked off the ignition. Silently, he’d followed his dad up the driveway and through the kitchen door.

  He remembered his shock at seeing his mother for the first time in several months; her skeletal body, her expressionless face. Bits of scrambled eggs dribbled from her lips, a soiled bib catching the mess.

  Dad had grabbed a baby wipe and lovingly drawn it across her lips. “Sorry you have to see your mom this way.”

  Daniel had dashed from the room, slamming his bedroom door behind him.

  His life as he knew it was over.

  Chapter 62

  Shana

  Dr. Poinsetta excused herself to use the visitor bathroom down the hall. Shana glanced at the wall clock above the television. Twenty-seven minutes. That’s how long she’d been talking to the shrink about what happened during her bondage. Although the police-appointed psychiatrist reacted compassionately to her story, Shana sensed the doctor, like Detective Hernandez, believed she was withholding the real name of her captor.

  She certainly wasn’t going to confide the conversation she’d had with her daughter, that she sensed her captor went by another name, because she could be wrong. Hell, she’d told the detective she was an airline stewardess! Her memory was slowly returning, but it was still too faulty to rely on.

  Even if Shana’s memory returned to normal, how many times in her newspaper career had she misinterpreted the body language of her interviewees, placing a negative spin on their words? Fortunately, the editors caught her innuendos before publishing her articles.

  Shana was attempting to put into words the visual images that floated through her brain, but it was damn difficult to capture them all. She’d told the psychiatrist about being chained to the kitchen radiator, about the overpowering smell of ammonia her captor had used to mop away her poo. The plates of food he’d flung in her face. The ever-present hunger and thirst. Her terrifying fear he’d carve her into beef stew if she didn’t do as he directed.

  And still, the psychiatrist sought more from her; more than she could give.

  Dr. Poinsetta resumed her seat across from Shana’s bedside. “Did Rod tell you why he kidnapped you?”

  The single memory was back and strong; a memory she’d not even shared with her daughter. “Rod kidnapped me to revenge my rape.”

  “Nineteen to twenty-seven percent of women are assaulted during their college career. Why would Rod choose to avenge your rape, specifically? And why avenge a rape that occurred almost fifty years ago?”

  Shana worried she looked like an idiot in front of the shrink, but the flap covering her memory of this answer was cemented shut. “I wish I could tell you. I really don’t know.”

  “Rod asked if you knew the name of your rapist. You told him you did not, correct?”

  Shana hugged herself. “He accused me of lying. Then he hacked into the guy’s telephone records.”

  “Rod is a medic, correct?”

  Shana put her hand to her forehead. “Yes. No.”

  The psychiatrist looked up in askance.

  Might as well tell her what she and Becca hypothesized. “My daughter and I think Rod is actually in computer surveillance.”

  Shana noticed Dr. Poinsetta’s eyes widen. No wonder. She hadn’t shared that tidbit of information with Detective Hernandez.

  “What makes you think he lied about his profession?”

  A flood of information flooded Shana’s consciousness. “Rod said he worked for the Department of Children and Family Services in Chicago,” she said, her voice bubbling over. “He tracked foster care parents to ensure children were not being abused, just like he tracked down information on my college rapist. Just like he tracked my movement upon leaving the restaurant. He saw I was without a purse or cell phone. That’s how he was able to swoop in on me when the rainstorm hit. He brought an umbrella along, leaving nothing to chance.”

  “I feel your excitement at being able to finally put two and two together,” said the psychiatrist. “However, the question remains, “Why you, Shana? Why would your captor book a flight from Chicago to New York solely to track you down, to kidnap you?”

  But Shana was too psyched with sharing her newly retrieved memories to answer. “The important thing is, he did it. Rod found out where my rapist lived. Then he moved to New York City—at least that’s what he told the bicyclist—and confronted the rapist.”

  The psychiatrist rose. “Thank you for chatting with me, Shana. I hope this time has been beneficial for you.”

  “Definitely! I can’t wait to tell Mrs. Frog about our conversation.”

  At Dr. Poinsetta’s tight smile, Shana giggled, another memory marble fallen into place. “Just kidding!”


  “I wish you and your family the best of luck.”

  Shana placed her hands in prayer position and bent forward from the chest. “Nameste.”

  The psychiatrist pivoted. “You practice yoga?”

  “I do. So does Rod.”

  “Really!”

  Shana closed her eyes for a second. “He sat in yoga pose as he questioned me about my relationship with my daughters.”

  “How did he know about your daughters?” asked Dr. Poinsetta.

  Shana closed her eyes again. “Facebook.”

  “He talked to your daughters on Facebook?”

  She shook her head. “He read their Facebook posts, which is how he knew we were flying here to meet my son-in-law’s family.”

  “Did he say how he got your daughters’ names?”

  “Don’t know. By the way, whatever happened to the little girl with the red parasol?”

  Chapter 63

  Alan

  September 2008

  We’ve come full circle, Deb, Alan whispered to his wife as he stood over her sleeping body, preparing to remove her breathing tube. She’d been in hospice care since the beginning of the year, her death imminent. Unlike after Justin’s death, Alan doubted Deborah’s family would find fault with his actions. They had all paid dearly for loving this woman of his.

  But Daniel had paid most dearly. Foregoing his senior year of college. His future as an engineer in limbo. Changing his mother’s pull-up diapers while Alan was at work, bearing witness to his mother’s retreat into infanthood, had done its damage.

  Daniel had regressed into the old behaviors he’d brought with him as a young child. Distrust, acting out, self-mutilation. Older now, Daniel had hooked up with a series of prostitutes—who knew what kinds of diseases they transmitted. Nightmares were his son’s constant companion. He worked out four hours per day, except on the Sabbath.

  At one point, he’d introduced one prostitute as the girl he planned to rescue and marry. Fortunately, Rabbi Shapiro was able to make Daniel see the light. “Each person possesses the tools to rescue him or herself. God can help, but that person, alone, must do the work. You want to help this girl? Just be present for her.”

  Alan hadn’t been doing so great, either. He was a wreck; his hair long and straggly, his eyes bloodshot from little sleep. Deborah had regressed into dementia; she kept him up all night with her shrieking—calling for her dead babies. Alan worked just enough hours to keep his engineering job. Lucky for him, he still had his mother-in-law to help, and his boss was very understanding. Alan knew Libby had been right all along; he should have put Deb in a nursing home. But they’d have to use up their life savings before she’d have been accepted on Medicaid. He couldn’t leave his only remaining child destitute; he knew Deb would have felt the same way.

  Daniel had offered to set Alan up with a Go Fund Me Facebook Account to raise money for Deborah’s placement, but Alan had declined. He detested asking people for money. Even Deborah’s mom and sister had been unaware of the dire straits in which they were headed.

  It had taken Daniel three years to graduate ITT; two years longer than it should have. Since graduating, Daniel had once again begun to get his act together. He broke off with the ladies, cut back on extreme exercising, and was eating and sleeping better. He interned for DCFS; tracking foster care parents to make sure they were fostering for the “right” reasons had become his obsession. Not a bad obsession to have, thought Alan.

  All was going in the right direction when Daniel began inquiring about his birth parents. He’d been doing so, on and off, since high school. At the time, Alan had truthfully told him he and Deborah had not been privy to that information. His son’s questions had eventually tapered off—until now.

  Daniel looked so despondent that Alan feared his beloved son would once again sink into a dark place. So he’d invested a few bucks in a private investigator and soon had a hit–not for Daniel’s birth parents, but for his foster home mom.

  “Going to meet up with her to find out why she allowed me to be abused,” said Daniel.

  “Slow down, dude. You need to think this through.”

  “I have thought it through. I need to know why my moods are so up and down.”

  “You’re able to hold down a good job,” Alan had protested.

  “If it wasn’t for you and mom, I’d be making $100,000 per year, instead of $9.00 per hour,” Daniel grumbled.

  “Yeah, whatever.”

  Alan winced. “Soon, DCFS will bring you on board full-time. You’ll see.”

  “They could change their mind by then.”

  “What does talking to your foster care mom have to do with that?”

  “Long term, Dad. I need to know where my self-loathing comes from.”

  Alan had been shocked. “Self-loathing?”

  “Hey, it’s all good. I used too strong a word. Like you say, I might be into something good at DCFS and I don’t want to screw it up.”

  “Who are you and what have you done with my Daniel?”

  “I’ve always been mature, Dad.”

  Alan kept his mouth shut. Numerous examples to the contrary.

  Daniel hugged his dad. “Wish me luck.”

  Alan returned his hug. “Don’t be surprised if this woman turns out to be a player.”

  “Don’t be so judgmental, Dad. Maybe her husband abused her, and she was scared to stand up for me.”

  “Or maybe they’re gold diggers who fostered you and other kids for the money.”

  “Relax, dad. You need to trust in the goodness of people.”

  Alan could not believe the words coming from Daniel’s lips. His sudden change of attitude was the miracle he’d been hoping for. A new beginning.

  Which was the reason Alan was delicately removing his beloved wife’s breathing tube.

  Chapter 64

  Shana

  “Tell me the truth, David. Why is Rachel still here in the hospital?”

  “Well, well,” said David. “Aren’t you in a feisty mood?”

  Shana propped her bed straight up. “Tell me.”

  David lips fell into a horizontal line. “When you disappeared, the girls were beside themselves. They thought they drove you away.”

  “They did.”

  “Surely not into the hands of a kidnapper.”

  Shana waved her hands. “Keep talking.”

  “The police refused to take a report until that night, in case you’d temporarily stepped out on us.”

  “My bad,” she said flippantly.

  “You manipulated our emotions to take revenge!”

  Her voice turned apologetic. “I tried calling Rachel on somebody’s phone, but when she picked up, I couldn’t go through with it.”

  “Worried your pride would take a hit?”

  Shana stared into her husband’s eyes. “Worried you all were so furious, you’d leave me stranded at the park.”

  “Sometimes it’s okay to show vulnerability, you know.”

  Shana’s eyes began to tear. “You’d all be better off without me constantly embarrassing you in public.”

  “So this is a pity party, hmm? ‘My girls hate me. I’m so misunderstood.’”

  “Save my emotional flogging for later and tell me what’s going on with Rachel?”

  David sighed. “While we were at the police department, her water bag broke. She was rushed to emergency.”

  Shana wrung her hands. “But the baby’s not due for nine weeks!”

  “Revenge often has unexpected consequences.”

  Shana felt like she’d been slapped. “You dare say that to me? How about all the times you refused to get involved, leaving me to discipline the kids, keep them on schedule, do homework with them? Passive aggressive revenge because you married a strong woman!”


  David raised his hands above his head. “Don’t beat me up. I’m an old man. I don’t know what I’m saying.”

  “You know exactly what you’re saying, and they’re not the words I need to hear.”

  “It’s not my fault if you can’t handle the truth. It was severe stress that brought our daughter here. It’s severe stress that may force her into premature labor. She’s under observation for that very reason.”

  Shana hugged herself. “God forbid anything happens to Rachel or the baby. I’ve really screwed things up.”

  “No very much,” an accented voice boomed.

  She and David turned to see Aamer cross the threshold.

  Shana blushed; she’d put him in the hot-seat with all her questions, and he wasn’t even a criminal. At least not that she knew of. “What a nice surprise!”

  “I am sorry to not come before today, but I was at police station.”

  Shana frowned. “Why?”

  “They thought I kidnap you but find out they wrong.”

  “I am so sorry,” said Shana.

  “It is kind of you to stop by to visit my wife,” said David.

  “I pray hard to Allah for your safe return, and he shined his face on you.”

  “I appreciate that.” She held out a Saltine cracker. “Sorry, this is the best snack I can offer you at the moment.”

  “Thank you, but I have eaten. I am more concerned with you.”

  “I’m great! Getting released later today if the doctor remembers to call it in.”

  The big, burly man looked at her uneasily. “I think that is not so great.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I tell police detective about tall young man with alligator shoes who take you, but he not found still, right?”

  “’Yes,’ I mean ‘no,’” said Shana. “Rod has not been arrested yet.”

  Aamer removed his black hat and rubbed his bald spot. “You know this man who capture you?”

  “She should, I’m her son.”

  The three of them looked up to find a tall young man sporting a copper-colored beard and mustache and old school wire-rimmed glasses.