by Roger Hayden
"There you are," she said.
"Hey," Tara responded.
Tara slid over to the window as Jessica sat.
“Thought I’d lost you,” Jessica said.
"Same seat, same time," Tara said, her attention shifting out the window toward the parent pick-up area across from the bus loop. The bus door closed as its engine revved and the balding old driver pulled forward and circled out of the loop and onto the main road.
"You wanna come over later?" Jessica asked. "Samantha and I are thinking of going to the mall."
Feeling pressured, Tara thought to herself but decided against it. "That's all right. I've got a lot to do later."
Jessica tilted her head back and laughed in response. "Oh yeah? Like what?"
"Chores and stuff."
"Chores?" Jessica said, followed by an even louder laugh. "Sounds like you’re up to no good." She then leaned closer to Tara and spoke in a hushed tone as the chatter of the bus surrounded them. "Is it a boy?"
Tara's eyes widened and her cheeks went red. "No!" she said, outraged while playfully swatting at Jessica's shoulder. "You should know better." How could she explain to her friend that she just wanted some time alone?
"So, what's the big secret then?" Jessica asked.
Her dark hair was perfectly trimmed at her shoulders, and she had the biggest greenish-blue eyes Tara had seen. Boys always noticed Jessica. She had a way of getting their attention. They had been friends since elementary school, but Tara could also sense a rift between them ever since the beginning of sixth grade. Different interests.
Jessica persisted in her questioning, but Tara gave her the same answer each time.
"Maybe tomorrow," Tara said.
Jessica sighed in return but finally let it be. Tara grew more excited as they neared her bus stop—the same one she shared with Jessica. They lived only a block from each other in the same neighborhood they had lived their entire lives so far. The bus slowed and turned down Tara's familiar neighborhood street, past the storybook two-story house that Tara had always wished she'd lived in. She saw the bus driver's face in his large rearview mirror. Though he always wore dark sunglasses, Tara always felt like he was watching her and the other girls, stealing glances whenever he could.
She had confided in Jessica before that their driver "gave her the creeps," and Jessica completely agreed.
The bus came to a three way stop and turned down Sonnet Court—Tara's stop. She stood up as the bus halted and followed Jessica off the bus, feeling the eyes of the driver upon her. Maybe it was all in her head. As her feet hit cracked pavement, four other children spilled out from the bus and split up in different directions. Tara and Jessica walked together like they did every day, and Tara knew that the matter of hanging out that day had hardly been quashed.
"Change your mind yet?" Jessica asked as they passed a chain-link fence of a house with several dogs barking from the living room, their breath fogging the windows.
The school bus roared past them, leaving a wisp of silence between the two girls as it faded into the distance. Three houses down, Tara noticed a red van parked on the opposite side of the road facing them. There was someone at the wheel reading a newspaper with their face concealed. Was someone’s parent? All the other kids had gone the opposite direction. Tara and Jessica soon passed the idling van, paying it little mind. Something felt off about it, but Tara couldn't say for sure. There weren't any windows in the back, and the driver's side was tinted dark enough to where Tara couldn't tell who it was.
"Hello?" Jessica asked again. "Earth to Weirdo."
Tara snapped out of her distraction and turned to Jessica as though nothing was wrong. "Yes?"
“I asked if you had changed your mind yet."
"I'm sorry. Not today."
Jessica simply relented with a shrug, finally dropping the matter for good. "Your loss, kiddo."
"I know. I wish I could. We can always hang out tomorrow.”
"Sure thing," Jessica said, turning down a street to their right. She offered a wave and skipped off, holding her bag over one shoulder. "See you tomorrow! Have fun with your chores."
Tara waved back and couldn't help but to smile in return. Jessica liked to joke around, but she was never mean about it. With one block left to cover, Tara continued down the road past the modest homes that had their yards filled with landscape rocks. Her pace quickened as she neared Livingston Drive, with her house in view. She fully expected to not see any cars in the driveway. No parents. No older brother and his crass friends loitering in the kitchen and eating leftovers. Everything would be perfect.
She turned on instinct and looked behind her. The weird van was no longer there, but she hadn't heard it drive away. There was no one around—no other kids, no Jessica, and no one outside their house. Her street suddenly felt eerie and deserted. Tara continued toward her house when the van from earlier entered her vision far down at the end of the street and headed toward her.
She wanted to run but didn’t want to make the driver suspicious. What did she have to be afraid of? It was just a van. Feeling defiant, she kept walking. She wasn't going to allow herself to feel unsafe, not in her own neighborhood. She kept her eyes ahead and hands at her sides at a newly cautious pace. The van neared, coasting toward her in a nonchalant manner.
Her heart rate increased and her breath grew short. She could feel the driver staring at her, much like how she could sense it with her bus driver. A quick glance from her peripheral gave her a glimpse of a man driving with no one in the passenger seat. The rattling engine gave her the chills. She gripped the straps of her bag over her shoulders, prepared to run, and no matter how close the van got, she couldn't look the driver in the eye. Instead, her eyes remained down, focusing on a beetle as it scurried down the road.
Just relax, she said to herself. It's nobody. Don’t worry.
The van chugged forward, speeding up, and then drove right past Tara. A gust of wind followed that blew her hair back, and she could smell its lingering exhaust in the air.
Good, she thought. It's gone now.
She slowed and turned her head slightly to make sure. The van continued down the road, braking at the stop sign. There was a small ladder on one of the two rear doors and a spare tire with a horse-themed tire cover on the back. As it turned out of sight, Tara ran and then met the gaze of any elderly woman walking outside her home with a small bull terrier on a leash.
She smiled at Tara from afar with passing interest. Tara took a quick right and kept her focus on her destination, three houses down. To her delight, there were no cars in the driveway. She sighed with relief and felt along her jean pockets for the house key.
The basketball hoop in her driveway was faded and the hoop was missing a net—a constant reminder that her family was just getting by. But they still had a roof over their heads and all the basics. Tara recalled a time when her parents had a lot more money. Or at least it seemed that way. Then her father developed a "gambling problem," and things started to change after that.
Her mind drifted from her family's current financial state when suddenly she found herself paralyzed at the sight of the van returning from the other side of the road.
Tara bolted immediately for her driveway, ducking behind a row of bushes that separated her house from the neighbors. Someone was circling her neighborhood, and she couldn't figure out why. She peeked out from the top of the bushes and could see it approaching, but it was still far enough away that she could make it to her house in time.
She rushed toward the steps of her front porch while remaining crouched down. She half expected to see one of her neighbors on the side or across the street stick their head out the window and ask her what the issue was, but no one seemed to be around. She pulled her house key out and leapt to the front door in haste. The Astroturf floor mat slid to the side upon impact, causing Tara to wobble. She regained her balance and jammed her key into the front door as the van steadily neared well under the posted thirty-miles-an-h
our speed limit.
Her door opened with the turn of her key, and Tara slipped inside, slamming the door behind her. After locking the deadbolt, she crept to the side of the living room window and watched through the thin white curtain as the van passed her house. This time, the driver's window was rolled down and Tara caught a fair glimpse of his face. He was a man with sunglasses, a thick mustache, and bushy hair. He looked strange, almost as though he was hiding his appearance. Tara slipped away from the window just as the van drove out of view, certain that the driver hadn't seen her.
She pulled her backpack off and dropped it to the floor with a deep breath. Part of her wished that there was someone home to talk to. She thought of calling Jessica but dismissed the idea as she walked into her empty kitchen, feeling safer by the minute. She pulled a glass from the cupboard and opened the refrigerator, reaching for the nearest milk carton. She then filled her glass up with milk and grabbed some chocolate-chip cookies from a jar. This was what it was all about.
She kicked off her sneakers and went into the living room, carrying her milk and cookies. She turned the TV on and took a bite of her cookie while lifting her feet onto the coffee table, white socks on display. She had just leaned back when a knock came at the door, startling her.
She dropped her cookie onto the sofa and then whipped her head around, staring at the foyer. After a long pause, another knock followed. She felt frozen to the couch, unable to even speak. Who was it, and why were they at her door? She slowly set her milk on the nightstand to her left and muted the television. Perhaps they had a delivery.
Tara had no intention of answering the door, but she did need to find out who it was. She got up and walked quietly to the front living room window, half expecting to see a UPS truck or something. What met her sight, however, alarmed her to the core. There, in plain view at the end of the driveway, was the same red van that she had seen three times already.
She backed against the wall again, short of breath, and reached for her cell phone. She pulled it from her pocket, prepared to call her mother as the knocking at the door ceased. Phone to her ear, Tara moved toward the foyer and approached the front door, ensuring that the deadbolt and door handle were indeed locked. Her mother's line rang and rang and soon went to voicemail.
She hung up and then stood on her toes, lifting herself up, eyes level to the peephole. She was ready to face the mystery knocker, prepared to call 911 next, but no one was there. Instead all she could see was an empty porch with the ominous red van in the far distance. At first, she didn't know what to think. Where had he gone?
With the chain lock still in place, Tara unlocked the door and pushed it open, just enough to feel the outside air. She felt emboldened, though apprehensive.
"Who's there?" she called out, but no one responded. There was no one there.
Her instincts told her to close the door before it was too late. She closed the door and re-locked the deadbolt. Someone was messing with her, and it was time to call the cops.
She stepped away from the door and dialed 911, holding the phone to her ear with a combination of hope and anxiety. She backed into the living room as an operator answered, voice filled with urgency.
"911, what is your emergency?"
"Yes," Tara began, "I—"
She barely got another syllable out when suddenly, footsteps sounded from behind her and two gloved hands grabbed her mouth and neck, jerking her backward. Her phone fell to the hardwood floor below, and she watched helplessly as a large boot came forward and stomped the phone to pieces.
She screamed as the hand began to suffocate her, twitching and turning her body with all her might, but she was outmatched in every way. An arm went around her neck, choking her. Tears rushed from her eyes as consciousness slowly left her body, and then everything went black.
House Arrest
Day 3
Miriam Sandoval was shaky and disoriented. Everything had happened so fast and without warning. She knew the risks involved in pursuing the suspect without backup, something she had sworn she’d never do again, but with each letter she had received from her nameless, faceless suspect, she felt one step closer along the way.
True, she’d only stepped out that morning to purchase some coffee for the police sergeant and his partner, intending to drive around town and visit some locations of interest. But soon enough, it became apparent that she was being watched by the very man she was pursuing.
Sporadic clues like a message written on the back of an auto parts flyer affixed to her windshield brought her to a neighborhood of small, identical homes, bland and scrunched together. She was in pursuit of a man named Walter Browning, the closest person she had to a suspect in the case of two missing girls.
She knocked at Walter’s door, prepared to ask him some questions, but no one answered. The door was opened a crack, and she could hear the muffled sounds of someone screaming for help. A young girl. As she entered the house, she heard the child’s shouting more clearly from down the hall. She passed the living room, finding a man asleep in a recliner with the television on, but she kept her pursuit towards a door with multiple locks. From the living room, the man suddenly awoke, more surprised to see her than she had imagined. Before he pulled his gun on her, his ghost-white face was full of shock and disbelief. He didn’t resemble the confident schemer in the letters he wrote to her, goading Miriam into seeking him out. He looked angry and confused as though he had no idea what she was doing in his house.
“Freeze!” Miriam shouted.
The man aimed his gun and fired, piercing her earlobe, just as Miriam shot two bullets into his chest. The man crashed through a nearby coffee table as Miriam fell onto her back, slamming against the floor with a thud. She reeled to her side and covered her bloody ear with one hand.
She rose from the ground, gripping her pistol with her eyes on Walter Browning’s motionless body. She didn’t notice the blood on her shoulder or feel anything beyond initial shock. All she could think about was that she had just killed someone who may or may not have been the kidnapper.
Even if he was the right man, she’d still have a lot of explaining to do. All of Miriam’s doubts ended the moment she breached the door of a darkened, stuffy room where a young Natalie Forester lay on the bed, battered and terrified. She was one of the two missing girls Miriam was looking for. She went to call for backup, but her phone wasn’t in her pocket. It was lying on the living room floor, broken from her fall. She then heard a landline phone ring loudly from the kitchen.
The distorted voice on the end of Walter Browning’s home phone taunted Miriam with the same calm assurance evident in the letters. It was him all right. He boasted about having April, the other kidnapped girl, in his “possession.” The call was brief and without any details. Walter, it seemed, was only a part of the kidnappings. Her mystery man on the other phone was the other.
“I have April right here,” he had said. “Walter was just a primer to get things going. Think you can solve this thing without my help? It’s going to be exceedingly difficult, but I wish you luck.”
The call cut off before she could say much more. She tried to call the police, but the line was dead. It was no coincidence, she believed.
“Come on, Natalie,” she said, brushing back the frightened girl’s sweaty bangs. “We have to go now.”
Curled in a ball under the sheets, Natalie whimpered at first, but then seemed to understand that she was finally safe. There were bruises on her tear-soaked face and her right hand was handcuffed to the bed railing. Miriam examined the railing in haste, searching for a way to free Natalie. The thought of the other man closing in on them filled her with dread.
He knew that she was in the house. He had likely heard the gunshots and surmised that Walter had been taken out. Why else would he congratulate her? But what he didn’t know was that her cell phone had been damaged. He had to suspect that she would be calling the police, wouldn’t he? Then it occurred to Miriam that he knew more about her than she
could contend with, starting with the fact that she had pursued Walter Browning alone. He could bust through the door any minute.
Miriam yanked at the cuffs in frustration while noticing the red marks they had made around Natalie’s wrist. Walter Browning’s dead body still lay on the floor in the living room. There were no sirens wailing in the distance. No police battering down the door. They were sitting ducks.
Miriam’s hands moved along the railing, looking for a spot to detach them from the bed. She tried her best to comfort Natalie with reassurances while feeling along a small latch on the railing under the bed. She assumed there to be another latch on the other side of the bed and discovered as much with a simple click. Relieved, Miriam disconnected the railing bar and slid Natalie’s handcuff off the top bar, freeing her.
“I’m going to get you out of here,” Miriam said, pulling her closer. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”
Natalie spun her head around with her eyes widened toward the door. “Where is he?”
Miriam squeezed Natalie close and rubbed her head. “You don’t have to worry about him anymore.”
She then guided the frightened girl off her bed and led her out of the room by hand. As they reached the hallway with the living room in view, Miriam held her back. She could see the black socks on Walter’s feet just beyond a footstool.
“Keep your eyes down, honey, and follow me out the back,” she said.
Natalie nodded, not only looking downward but closing her eyes in the process. Miriam turned right and entered the kitchen where there was a sliding glass door leading into the backyard. She pulled the curtain back and slid the door open as the early afternoon sun shone into their faces.
She planned to go out through the backyard. With one hand in Natalie’s and the other gripping her 9mm Beretta pistol, Miriam moved down the steps leading to the barren fenced-in yard past three dusty lawn chairs and toward the fence gate on the side of the house.
