Listen

by Rene Gutteridge

  Jill smiled gently. “It’s what we’ve always been, I suppose. It’s no surprise to God.”

  “I didn’t realize you were religious.”

  “I used to be, you know, years ago. I actually met Mike in church. I haven’t talked to God in a really long time. But let’s just say I’ve been brought to my knees by circumstances beyond my control.”

  Kay laughed. “Yeah. I guess you have.”

  She took Kay’s hand and began praying. Kay had to tune out all the noises of the house. The living room fan’s hum. The oven’s ticking as it cooled. The branch near the dining room that scraped across the window. The heat kicking on. So much distraction.

  The prayer seemed to end as quickly as it began. Kay opened her eyes, blotting them with her napkin. Jill’s eyes gleamed too. They both offered comforting smiles to one another.

  Jill’s cell phone sprang to life with a disco tune. “Text message from Nat.” She plucked it from her purse. “Oh, wow.”

  “What?”

  “Another post has been made on the Web site. Nat said I have to see it to believe it.”

  Kay groaned. “Oh, brother. What is it this time? Someone dyed their hair the wrong color?”

  “Can I use your computer?”

  “Sure,” Kay said, pointing to the nearby office. She didn’t really want to look. She was so tired of this mess and all that it had brought to her town and her family.

  She helped Jill log on and then headed to the garage for more trash bags.

  “Oh!” Jill gasped.

  Kay tried to hide her irritation and kept walking to the garage. She was done with that stupid Web site. She opened the door, hoping not to let too much cold air in. The garage was drafty and always had . . .

  Kay stumbled backward, nearly tripping herself. She hit the door with her back, throwing herself off-balance. She toppled to the floor, jamming her elbow. A fiery pain shot up her arm. “Jill! Jill!”

  Pattering footsteps rushed toward her. “What is it?”

  Kay’s shaking hand pointed to Damien’s car. “His car is here!” She turned to Jill, sinking into her arms. “Where are they?”

  * * *

  Damien wasn’t sure how much time had passed. There was a digital clock high on a wall in the jail, but he could see only the hour, not the minutes. It was starting to give him a good sense of what jail was going to be like, where time becomes meaningless and precious all at once.

  His hand stroked the day-old stubble that had sprouted from his skin. He hated the prickly feel of it and usually shaved every weekday. He wondered if he would shave in prison. He wondered if he would even serve in prison. He had no idea if what he was charged with carried jail time. Yeah, he should probably call a lawyer.

  Maybe tomorrow.

  He needed more time to think.

  What he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around was telling Kay. He didn’t want her to see him like this. But it was inevitable. And what would Hunter say? Would he let Damien take the fall? Knowing his son, he doubted it. But it might be necessary. He wasn’t sure he could live with the idea of his kid in juvie with all sorts of messed-up teens. He didn’t want Hunter introduced to the dark side of life that way.

  The reality of it wasn’t sitting well because so far he hadn’t nailed down exactly what that reality might be. Did he really think he could make up his own reality here? take the fall for his kid? Was that in Hunter’s best interest?

  If he could just talk to Hunter, ask him what this was all about. But right now he knew Hunter was safe at home with Kay. She’d picked him up from his after-school stuff. That was where he wanted everyone. By late tonight, he was sure they would find out where he was. Maybe they already knew. Maybe Grayson paid them a visit. Maybe the neighbor came over and expressed concern.

  It was weird having absolutely no control over anything. No matter what he wanted to do or what he thought he wanted to do, he could do nothing but sit. Unnerving yet strangely freeing.

  A noise caught his attention. The jail had come alive with a small flurry of activity. People who’d been previously sitting were now on their feet. Small groups of three and four were huddled around computers, murmuring just out of earshot.

  Someone in uniform passed by.

  Damien jumped to his feet and clung to the bars. “Hey, what’s going on?”

  He was ignored.

  * * *

  “I’m driving and that’s final,” Jill said, whisking Kay down the front steps of the home she didn’t bother to lock.

  Kay ran to Jill’s car, tugging at the handle until Jill unlocked it. Kay noticed their neighbor across the street staring for no particular reason.

  Jill started the car and slammed it into reverse, barely looking back as she skidded out the driveway. Kay tugged at her seat belt before it finally unlocked enough for her to get it around herself.

  Jill’s attention was divided between the road and Kay. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’ll go file a missing person report. Reports.”

  Kay nodded, swiping at tears, trying to calm herself down.

  “But the likelihood is that they’re together,” Jill continued, floating through a neighborhood stop sign. “We have evidence of that. And that’s a good sign.”

  “But where would they walk to? What would they be doing?”

  Jill stared forward, her face frozen with what looked like an important thought.

  “What is it?” Kay asked.

  “Maybe . . .”

  “What?”

  “I told you there was a post on the Web site, right? A new one?”

  “Yes?”

  “It was a note from whoever is responsible for the Web site. He said he’d reveal himself. It’s going down in like fifteen minutes.” Jill concentrated on the clock. “Maybe that’s where they went.”

  “Where?”

  “Old Morgan Road. There’s nothing really out there.”

  “An old abandoned dog-food factory.”

  “Yeah. And a dump.” Jill glanced at her. “They could’ve gone there.”

  “On what? A bike? It’s like five or six miles from our house.”

  “Maybe they rode with someone.”

  Kay tried to swallow that possibility. “Yeah. That’s true. Someone could’ve picked them up.” She grabbed Jill’s arm. “I’m totally overreacting, aren’t I?”

  “There are a lot of possibilities here,” Jill said. “But I don’t think it’s bad that you alert the police. You can’t be too safe, especially with how nutty this town is getting.”

  “I just feel in my gut . . . something. Something’s not right.” She pressed the side of her head against her window, gazing out at the evening traffic. “Hunter lied to me. I think. I might’ve misunderstood him, but I don’t think so. He told me he was doing some after-school activity, and the teacher said there’s nothing going on.”

  Jill patted her leg. “Okay, then that’s possibly good news.”

  “How?”

  “He’s maybe up to something, but at least it means he’s not involved in some freak accident. He might be lying to you, but he’ll be coming through that front door, probably with some story he’ll try to sell. And you’ll never be so happy to have a story sold to you.”

  “Yeah. You’re right. So maybe we shouldn’t panic.” Outside, leafless trees and yellow grass dimmed against the fading light. “I miss Frank. He would know what to do. He would tell me what to do.” Kay sank in her seat, watching the streetlights pop on one by one. “Maybe it’s foolish to go to the police.”

  Jill’s expression solidified into determination. “No. We’re going to the police. Definitely going to the police.”

  * * *

  Damien continued to stand at the bars, wondering what the commotion was about, trying to get the attention of anybody who seemed willing to spill the beans to a guy they thought might be capable of posting it on the World Wide Web. A couple of times a few people who were hunched over the computer turned and looked at him. Wha
t? Was some indecent picture of him circulating now?

  Weariness drew him back to the chair. He wanted to curl up on his cot and drift into unconsciousness. But the strong smell of urine kept him from doing anything but sitting straight up.

  He noticed, though, that the attention of all the people in the middle of the room suddenly drifted to the front doors. Captain Grayson entered, trailed by two officers. He stopped and talked to someone, then focused his attention in the direction of Damien.

  Damien stood, greeting him at the bars. “What’s going on?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I’m pretty observant. I can tell something big is going down.” He nodded toward the open floor of the police station.

  Grayson looked excitable and relieved. His face was trying to tell some sort of story, perhaps favorable if Damien was being granted a wish or two. “We’re releasing you.”

  “You are?”

  Grayson’s smile spoke first. “We have new evidence that someone else is behind this.” His smile dropped. “What’s the matter?”

  “What kind of evidence?”

  “A post just showed up on the Web site. Whoever is doing this says he plans to reveal himself out on Old Morgan.”

  “Old Morgan? There’s nothing out there but an abandoned factory.”

  “You’re not off the hook yet, okay? Your credit card is still involved, though it may have been stolen. But there is stronger evidence now pointing to you not being the person we’re looking for. Whoever this guy is, it looks like he wants to be caught. Our intention is to bring him in tonight, peacefully and without resistance.” Grayson’s radio crackled with a voice, and he turned it down. “Of course, this whole thing could be a setup. We don’t want to have a suicide-by-cop incident, either.”

  Damien’s nerves sizzled with panic. Suicide by cop?

  “We’re not taking any chances. We have no idea what kind of person we’re dealing with. But the good news is that you get to go home to your family tonight.” Grayson started to walk away.

  “Wait! Please! Unlock the door!”

  Grayson turned back toward Damien. “Calm down. There’s a procedure we have to go through. Like every good government establishment, there’s mile-high paperwork. You’ll be out of here by this evening, though.”

  “Lou! Wait! Please!”

  Grayson looked irritated. He rejoined Damien at the bars, his voice low. “Let me give you a piece of advice. I realize this whole thing could be a potentially big story for you. Your reporter instincts are going crazy. You want to be there when the news breaks. But as a family man myself, my advice to you is to go home, be with your family. I say this with deep conviction: your family’s the most important thing you’ve got on this green earth. Focus on that tonight, all right?” He turned and marched straight into a group of deputies waiting near the front entrance.

  Damien grabbed at the bars, wanting to scream, but all he could do was helplessly watch. What’s Hunter doing?

  Through a nearby crackling radio, Damien heard the words SWAT team.

  35

  “Sir, there’s paperwork. We’re waiting for a fax from the DA’s office.” The plump woman behind the desk turned at the sound of a fax machine nearby. “Don’t have a cow. I’ll go look.”

  Damien watched her take her sweet time as she wove around three desks to get to it. She pulled the paper off the machine, took a long look at it, and then nodded. She ambled back over, accompanied by a skinny man and his superlarge key chain. Without much effort, he picked the right key and unlocked the cell door.

  Damien’s heart raced as if he’d been running for miles, except all he’d been doing was standing at the bars, gripping them as though he might be able to break through. His ears burned bright red. His fingertips tingled.

  The woman gestured. “Right this way, sir. We need you to fill out—”

  “Where’s my stuff?”

  The woman made no attempt to hide her annoyance. “Sir, just sit down here. We’re working as fast as we can. This isn’t the Marriott.” She headed toward some file drawers but got sidetracked by a fellow jailer. She stopped to chat.

  Damien realized what he was about to do was probably the stupidest thing he’d ever done, but at the moment he seemed incapable of being rational. Suicide by cop, SWAT team, be with your family—the words throbbed and pulsed like a bad headache.

  It was almost like watching himself in a movie. He bolted from his seat and ran toward the front door, half-expecting a group of people to pounce on him. He was a free man, but was it before or after the paperwork?

  He heard the woman shouting, “Sir! Sir!”

  He shoved the front doors open and rushed down the irritatingly long front steps of the police station, his feet moving like he was running tires at football practice.

  Old Morgan Road was at least five miles from the police station. He didn’t have a car or his wallet. He didn’t even have a coat. He was going to have to hitch a ride. Squeezed into his half-baked plan to get to his son was a frantic prayer to God, with no real words able to express what he needed. Still, he was pretty sure it was coming in loud and clear.

  He glanced behind him. Nobody was coming out of the police station after him. He turned and headed south toward Old Morgan Road.

  * * *

  Kay tried one more time to text Jenna. She pushed Send, then stared at her phone. She’d tried calling minutes before, but there was no answer. Now she was unable to get ahold of a single person in her family.

  “I’m so afraid,” Kay said between the sobs. “I feel like something is really wrong.”

  Jill stretched her hand across the car and grabbed Kay’s. “I know. But it’s going to be okay. We have to trust God that—”

  “Damien!” Kay gasped. “Jill, slow down!” She unsnapped her seat belt and leaned toward the dash of the car, peering out into the cold, black night. Someone was running toward them on the side of the road. When the car’s headlights bounced off him, she swore it looked like Damien.

  Jill pulled to the curb. Kay opened her door.

  “Kay!” Jill yelled.

  But Kay ignored her, hurrying toward the dark figure approaching them. She could tell it was a man and his hand was now in front of his eyes, shielding them from the headlights.

  “Damien!” Kay rushed into his arms, crying. “Where have you been?” She backed away from him and looked him over. His somber expression terrified Kay instantly.

  “The kids? Where are they?”

  “I don’t know,” Kay cried. “I thought maybe Hunter was with you. I went to pick him up after school, and he wasn’t there. The teacher said there was no science fair project going on.”

  “Get in the car!” Jill yelled. “It’s freezing!”

  Damien held up a finger to Jill and looked at Kay, his thumbs stroking her cold, wet cheeks. “They arrested me tonight. I’ve been in jail.”

  Kay was nodding but not really understanding.

  “They just released me because the person doing this said he’d reveal himself tonight on Old Morgan.”

  “I know. What does that have to do with us?”

  “I don’t know how to say this, so I’m just going to have to say it, okay?”

  “Okay.” The strength that Kay had felt only moments ago upon seeing Damien now slid right out the bottom of her feet. She was pretty sure all that held her up were Damien’s hands, now holding each of her elbows.

  “Hunter is the person behind the Web site.”

  Kay was nodding again, not because she understood, but because she was trying to digest it while thanking God Damien hadn’t just told her one of their children was dead. Yet as the words sank in and as Damien looked deeply into her eyes, the gravity of what was spoken hit her hard. “Hunter . . .”

  “We have to get to Old Morgan Road. I don’t know what Hunter’s planning.”

  “You’re sure it’s Hunter?”

  Damien took her by the shoulders and helped her into the car. He c
limbed into the backseat. Jill had the heat cranked but Kay couldn’t feel her hands or feet, and she didn’t think it was because of the cold.

  Kay turned to Damien. She didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. They stared at each other until Jill said, “Damien, I’m so glad you’re—”

  “Take us to Old Morgan Road. And hurry.”

  * * *

  “The whole town showed up,” Damien whispered as they pulled to the side of the road. The abandoned factory, which looked more like a warehouse, glowed in the darkness from all the car lights shining on it. It seemed hundreds of cars surrounded the warehouse.

  Damien jumped out of the car and opened Kay’s door, pulling her out. “Come on!”

  He held her hand as they hurried toward the large crowd. Eight police cars were parked nearby, their blue and red lights silently strobing.

  Damien pushed his way through the crowd, trying to get to the front. Whatever was happening, it was going down fast.

  Captain Grayson shouted through a megaphone, “Come out with your hands up!”

  Kay gripped Damien’s arm. “Don’t let anything happen to him!”

  “I know,” Damien said, pulling her through the tight crowd. He had to shove a few people out of the way just to get through. He bumped into a large shoulder.

  “Damien,” the man said.

  Damien looked over at him. Bruce, from work. “Sorry. I need to get by.”

  Bruce nodded, then pointed to the warehouse. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

  “Why?” Heads were still in the way to a clear view of what was going on. He let go of Kay’s hand and used both hands to part a way for himself. He emerged from the sea of people being held back by police tape and noticed first Grayson and his team of cops with their guns drawn. Four had SWAT team jackets on, the only ones in their town. Damien had once written an editorial raising the question, Do we need SWAT? And then reversing the dilemma: Don’t we need more?

  “Come out now!” Grayson hollered.

  Damien glanced toward the factory, searching frantically for Hunter. He prayed Hunter would come out, give himself up. And not do something stupid like come out with a gun. Where in the world would he get a gun? From Frank?