Listen

by Rene Gutteridge

  Kay lowered her voice and tried a pleasant, calm smile. “I’m sorry. I’m just looking for my son, Hunter Underwood.”

  “I haven’t seen him since school today.”

  “He was staying late after school for that project.”

  “What project?”

  “For the big science project he’s been working on.”

  Mrs. Patterson shook her head. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “He said there was some science project he was doing. He’s been staying late after school. Today he was working on the essay.”

  “I’m sorry. You must be mistaken. I have assigned nothing like that, and nobody from the class has been staying afterward.”

  * * *

  Damien peeled into the driveway, punching his garage door opener. He sped into the garage and got out. The metal garage door rumbled closed. He unlocked the door that led into the laundry room, irritated it was locked although he’d been the one to suggest the extra precaution.

  The house was dark and empty. Somewhere he thought he smelled a candle recently burned. Was it lavender? Damien stopped in the kitchen, trying to catch his breath. He had to get a grip. He had to try to think clearly, not panic, no matter what the outcome was.

  He slipped off his coat and stuffed his gloves into the pockets, then threw his cell phone on the counter.

  His legs felt as if he were walking on unstable ground, as if at any moment his feet might sink into an unseen hole. Both hands were flat against his chest as he made his way to the dining room.

  There it was, still sitting on the table, closed up and ready for another family game night. He turned on the chandelier. Its sparkling light caressed the room, but there was nothing to calm Damien’s dread.

  He pulled out a chair and sat down, then moved the box toward him, staring at it for a long time. It took several tugs, but he finally removed the box top. Inside, the game was put back nice and tidy, with all the money lined up in neat stacks. Kay must’ve done it.

  He removed the game board, the pieces, and the money. He took a deep breath as he lifted out the pad of paper he’d doodled on the night before. He flipped it over to where he’d jotted down a line from the op-ed piece he’d been working on for the newspaper.

  Listen to all that is said from everyone you know. Listen hard and you will have understanding beyond the words.

  These sentences had been recorded in the conversation and posted on the Web site. Except Damien had written them down, not spoken them.

  He had not spoken them.

  Whoever recorded the conversation had to have been in the room, close enough to read it.

  At the table.

  Damien sat there, unable to react to the sobering realization of what was before him. His fingertips traced the letters of each word he’d written. His heart broke. He now had understanding beyond the words.

  His fingers pressed against his lips to keep them from trembling, but he knew what he had to do. Shoving himself away from the table, he stood and walked to the stairway. He used the rail and took his time with each step. It didn’t seem real. It seemed impossibly unreal.

  At the top he hesitated. What he might find could change his whole world in an instant and would prove everything wrong that he’d believed. It almost seemed as if he’d just been given news that he would die, and he had a few minutes to ponder it. There was nothing to do in a few minutes except to briefly reflect on what could have been.

  He walked toward Hunter’s room. The door was shut. He turned the knob and opened it, almost expecting the young man to be diving toward or away from something.

  But the room was quiet and peaceful. Neat, even. But odorous in a way only a teenager can manage. It felt awkward to be in here without Hunter. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been in his son’s room alone. It felt like trespassing.

  There was no use just standing around and thinking about it. He first went through his desk, searching through a bunch of unorganized papers, spirals, and folders. Nothing.

  Next he went to the closet, where he scooted clothing across the bar, digging behind boxes and junk, trying not to think of the implications of what would happen if he found what he was looking for.

  He walked out of the closet empty-handed and glanced around the room. There wasn’t a great deal of hiding space in the room. He walked over to the bed and dropped to his knees. The floor was cold even with the rug.

  He lay flat on his stomach and reached through the shadows, a little afraid of what might jump out and grab him. He groped around. A few papers. A couple of old toys.

  Then his fingers touched something cold, firm, folderlike. Walking his fingers across it, he tried to scoot it across the rug. When it didn’t budge, he nudged his thumb underneath it and pulled.

  Out slid a bright red folder. Damien pushed himself to his knees. His hands shook so badly he could barely open it, but when he managed to, his heart sank with grief. There in the folder sat the original letter that had been sent to him from the person responsible for the Web site.

  His son.

  Damien fell with his face to the floor, crying against the folder . . . against the evidence.

  Damien was unsure how long he’d lain on the carpet when he heard a loud knock downstairs at his front door. He couldn’t move and didn’t want to. But the banging continued, and now he heard a strong male voice. “Damien! We know you’re in there!”

  He looked at the folder, unsure what to do with it. So he carried it downstairs with him. Through the thin curtains of the side windows, he saw three men. He set the folder down and opened the door.

  Captain Grayson stood in full uniform. Next to him an officer Damien didn’t recognize. And Detective Murray.

  “You’re under arrest, Damien, for violations of state privacy laws.” Grayson took out handcuffs. Damien went numb as he offered his wrists. “You have the right to remain silent. . . .”

  But Damien didn’t care anything about his own rights at the moment. He wondered what he should do, whether he should turn over the evidence against his son. He stared blankly past the officers, past his front yard, into some unknown future that looked bleak.

  “Damien?”

  “What?”

  “I’ll tell you up front that we have linked your credit card to the Web site. That’s the evidence we needed to make the arrest.”

  Damien nodded.

  Grayson then handed him over to be taken to the patrol car. Damien’s elderly neighbor across the street stood in his coat, watching the entire scene.

  In an instant Damien could show them all he had, turn Hunter in. The folder lay right inside. But as they pushed him into the patrol car and as the officer reached across him to buckle him in, Damien didn’t say a word.

  * * *

  Kay, her skin now numb to the cold, returned to her SUV and turned it off, pulling the keys from the ignition. She closed the door and punched the remote lock.

  Where was her son? The path that Hunter took home could not be followed in a vehicle. He always cut through the park and then through a heavily populated neighborhood that did not have fences.

  She hurried toward the park, cursing as she thought about him not having his stupid cell phone. What if he was in trouble? Why did she have to ground him from that, when he might need it the most?

  Then wind stung her eyes, blurring her vision. “Hunter! Baby! Hunter!” Tears blew from her face. “Hunter!”

  She wasn’t exactly certain of the path, but she knew she was close. She continued to call his name over and over. The walk home was a little less than a mile, and she’d run the entire thing in less than ten minutes, calling his name all along the way. She even stopped some people to see if they had seen him.

  But nobody had seen her precious boy. She came within a block of their house. She could see the driveway. The house looked empty. All the lights were out, except the dining room light, which she must’ve left on. If Hunter was there, every light in the house would’ve be
en glowing. He had a bad habit of leaving lights on everywhere.

  She turned and started the long run back to her SUV.

  33

  At home, Kay parked the SUV in the driveway and hurried to the front door, unlocking it with shaky hands. Her mind rattled with all sorts of possible scenarios. She dialed Jenna’s cell phone again.

  “Hello?”

  “Have you seen Hunter?” Kay kept her voice light.

  “No. Can I call you back? I’m in the middle of something.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll talk to you when you get home.” She hung up and dialed Damien’s cell phone. She didn’t want to worry him, and she was having a hard time trusting her gut instinct right now, but something told her not to blow this off.

  She turned suddenly, because as she heard the phone ringing in her ear, she also heard Damien’s phone ringing somewhere nearby.

  There, on the kitchen counter. Next to a red folder. She shoved the folder aside and stared at the phone as it blinked and vibrated.

  Damien had been home? Maybe he had Hunter. Yes, that had to be it. She’d never known Damien to forget his cell phone, but he had a lot on his mind.

  It made sense, but she wouldn’t rest easy until she knew they were together for sure.

  She went to the dining room to turn off the light. Scattered across the table was the Monopoly game. They must’ve played a quick game after school. She smiled, though. It definitely meant they’d been together because who plays Monopoly by themselves?

  She managed a few deep, thankful breaths of relief and opened the freezer door. Wherever they were, she knew they’d be home for dinner, and she’d have it ready for them.

  * * *

  Grayson apologized for the cuffs, saying it was procedure and that they cuffed everyone.

  Damien didn’t say anything as he stared out the window of the patrol car, watching his town pass, street by street, house by house, door by door.

  The general mood seemed subdued like the crowd after a holocaust movie. But why not? Many of them had their private words splashed across the Internet. Others read the ugly words spoken about them. The ugly words they’d used themselves.

  It made Damien wonder if the words had any power before they were printed for all to read. Did they change the world when spoken, or did they change the person speaking them?

  The short drive to the jail was over. The patrol car pulled to the side of the jailhouse into a small, underground parking garage. Grayson helped Damien out of the car, guiding him along as if he were a dinner date, with his hand on his back and his attention to detail, like opening doors and gesturing which way to walk.

  “Sit here,” Grayson said. “I have to get paperwork.”

  Damien sat in a metal-and-vinyl chair, watching the activity in the jailhouse. It wasn’t particularly busy. A few people glanced at him, but other than that he was left alone.

  So he pondered whether or not he would face the consequences of his son’s actions. Would he be willing to spend time in jail for Hunter?

  He couldn’t fathom why his son would do such a thing, yet he knew there had to be some good reason. Hunter was not one to cause chaos and destruction for no general purpose.

  Through a nagging headache, Damien tried to find the strength to analyze the situation apart from his emotions. But he found it nearly impossible.

  And so he sat there, his cuffed hands limp in his lap, waiting for whatever might come. He could do nothing, so he did nothing. He shoved it all out of his mind and stared at the linoleum, a dull gray but clean. He’d once done an op-ed column about the conditions of the jail. Looked as if they’d taken his article to heart.

  * * *

  Jenna had texted, said not to wait on dinner for her. Kay sighed, watching the oven as if something exciting might happen. She’d fixed a simple Mexican casserole, a sure winner. It was bubbling and ready to be served, with no one to serve it to.

  Kay turned down the oven temperature and leaned against the counter, fiddling with a dish towel. She wondered what her parents had felt like when she was a teenager and there was no way to touch base with her. Maybe they were forced not to worry until there was confirmation that something was wrong.

  She actually had quite a bit of assurance that everything was okay, but her motherly instinct still wouldn’t rest easy.

  She tossed the salad for the fourth time and decided to go ahead and fill the water glasses with ice. The phone rang.

  She snatched it up before it even completed the full ring. “Hello?”

  “Kay? Are you okay?”

  Kay caught her breath. “Jill?”

  “Yes, it’s me. What’s the matter? You sound worried.”

  “Um . . . no. I’m expecting a call; that’s all. Why do you ask?”

  “Just because, you know . . .”

  “Know what?”

  “The Web site.”

  Kay gripped the dish towel. “I thought you were cutting back.”

  “Natalie told me.” She paused. “I didn’t realize Damien was a suspect.”

  “He’s not. I mean, he is. But it’s ridiculous. They don’t have any proof. They’re grasping at straws. We’re fine and . . .” Her voice cracked, and she couldn’t get the rest of the sentence out. Fine? She wasn’t fine, judging by how she wrung the towel like there was water to squeeze out.

  “I’m coming over.”

  “No, that’s not necessary. I’m . . . Jill?” The line was dead.

  * * *

  Damien watched the plump and disengaged woman behind the desk take the man’s fingers one by one, pressing the tips into a pad of dark ink, then rolling them from side to side inside little white boxes. He looked like a criminal. Disheveled hair. Dirty hands. Torn clothes.

  She handed the man a wipe, as if he might be concerned about a stain on his fingertips.

  Damien remained in his seat, where he studied his own fingers. He wondered why he hadn’t done that yet.

  He sensed someone standing above him. Grayson. “You get one phone call. You can make it over at that empty desk.” He talked like there was nothing unusual going on. Just a regular day. “I’m not charging you yet. I want to give you every opportunity to clear this thing up. We’re going to hold you here for seventy-two hours. As we continue the investigation, we’ll be able to ask you to clarify things for us as they develop. I hope you understand.”

  Damien wondered whom he should call. Kay? He knew if he heard her voice, he couldn’t lie to her. He’d have to tell her everything. Should he call a lawyer? What was the point? It was his decision to take the fall for his kid or not. Plus, it just made him look guiltier. A friend? And which friend would that be? He didn’t have any close friends except Frank. These days he wasn’t sure where he stood with his coworkers.

  “Damien?”

  Maybe it was safer for everyone involved if he sat in jail. He needed more time to think things through. “I’ll pass.”

  “You’ll pass?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fine.” Grayson took him by the arm and led him to a holding cell. “Bail will not be set until we file official charges. For now, you’ll be here until we figure some things out.”

  Grayson stepped aside and let the officer working the jail holding area lock the door. The cell was a reinforced concrete box. Damien estimated about six feet by eight feet with a sliding door made of heavy bars. There was a slot, presumably for food. A stainless steel sink and toilet were bolted to the wall. There were two cells on either side of the expansive room. This jail was built in the late forties. Not much about it had changed, except the decor and the floor.

  “I don’t know what to say.” Grayson stared at the floor, the sounds of the police holding area whispering between them. He finally looked up. “I don’t suppose you have anything to say?”

  Damien answered him by sitting in the single chair near the back wall. He couldn’t look him in the eye for fear that Grayson might read his face and know he was hiding something m
ore than what Grayson perceived as guilt.

  Grayson sighed and left.

  Damien sat still, his chest barely lifting to breathe, and closed his eyes, remembering the day Hunter was born and the first words he whispered into his tiny ear: “I will always protect you.”

  34

  “I just wish I knew where they were,” Kay said. She’d taken the casserole out of the oven and served them both a plate, but she couldn’t taste the two bites she’d tried.

  Jill noticed. “You’re sure they’re together?”

  “Yes. Monopoly was out and they love playing it together. But where they went after that, I don’t know.” She couldn’t tear her gaze away from the cell phone on the counter. “I really wish we wouldn’t have grounded Hunter. If he just had his cell phone with him.”

  Jill reached across the breakfast bar for her hand. “I’m sure they’re fine. Like you said, you know they’re together.”

  Kay smiled. “I bet right now Damien is realizing he forgot his phone and he’s kicking himself.”

  “He knows he’s going to be in big trouble when he returns.” Jill let go of her hand and returned to eating her portion of the casserole. “Maybe we should pray.”

  Kay was certain her eyes appeared startled. It seemed like prayer occurred more often when there was a crisis to pray for. Was there a crisis? “We, um, we don’t go to church much. I mean, we haven’t, you know, for a while. We did recently. Once. But not regularly.”

  “And what’s that got to do with the price of tea in China?” Jill rose and came around the bar, sitting on the stool next to Kay. “When Gabby was missing, I just remember thinking how easily that could’ve been my Nat. I’m sure your family is fine. You already talked to Jenna. And you know Damien and Hunter are together. But let’s pray anyway. If anything, for your sake.”

  Tears dribbled down Kay’s cheeks. “Why would God listen to me? or any of us? Look what this town has become.”