Two Footsteps

by Belle Brooks

  I’m stunned into silence.

  “I tried everything to urge whoever it was to talk, but they never replied. I think it’s important, boy. I’ve tried to contact you numerous times, but it just went to your voice mail.

  My throat tenses. This is definitely important information and one he should have reported to the police. “Okay. John, don’t answer the phone from here on out, promise me.” My heart sinks; the ache that follows causes an unfamiliar tightness in my chest.

  Morgan’s been taken.

  “I won’t. I promise. Hurry home.” There’s definite dismay in his tone.

  Whoever is calling has Morgan. I know it. “Just do nothing. Keep the kids safe for me.”

  “They’re safe.”

  “See you soon, John. Don’t answer the phone.” Hanging up promptly, I twist on my bare heel to face West. His eyes question me immediately; there’s no need for any words.

  “Morgan … shit … fuck.” My fist curls into a tight ball as I huff.

  “Reid, what happened? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Morgan’s been kidnapped,” I blurt out, with full intensity.

  West stares hard. “What’s happened?” His head cocks to the side. His expression remains firm.

  “We have to go now. You need to get to my house. We need to leave right now. I’ll fill you in, in the car.” I snatch the bag from the table. “Let’s go.” I snap.

  West takes the lead as we hurry back through the doors we entered after my arrival here.

  “Peter. We’re going,” West says as we pass Gleaton who is standing by the front counter in reception already swinging the keys from his finger.

  “Right.” It’s all Gleaton replies before he joins us.

  Exiting the front doors of the police station at a pace faster than I could have hoped for, has the three of us entering the unmarked car I previously rode in. Once buckled in, I search the screen of my phone once more. Five a.m., so much time has passed.

  “Banks residence.” West is direct with his instruction, and Gleaton wastes no time pulling out from the curb. We’re on the road before I can even blink. West swivels in his seat, and I wait until his eyes are peering over its top.

  “Morgan’s been taken.”

  “Reid, talk me through this.”

  “There’s been phone calls made to my house. John said there was breathing and growling coming from the other end. He thinks it’s a man calling, and so far, this has occurred five times.

  “Since when?”

  “The last two hours is what I was told.” I’m breathing heavily. I can hear every breath I’m taking. “The person who’s calling won’t say anything. John said he tried everything he could think of to get him to respond. It has to be linked to Morgan, right? What if they’re waiting for me? Isn’t that how kidnappings work?”

  West stares at me, until his narrowed eyes suddenly widen. I know he believes I’m speaking the truth, because not a second after I think this, West shifts in his seat and leans forward flipping a switch. The sirens wail loudly. “Peter, get us there now.”

  With a sigh of relief I drop my shoulders and relax my tensed jaw. It doesn’t last long, because my balls launch into my throat the moment we go flying around a corner at high speed.

  The sirens are cut a few streets out from our house, even though we still travel at such a high speed the car bounces over the entrance of the driveway with tremendous force. When the car stops an inch from closed garage doors, I take one moment to breathe before leaping from the vehicle and racing up the front stairs. I don’t get the chance to grab the door handle before it opens and Shirley appears. Her shawl is wrapped around her shoulders when she outstretches her arms. I don’t know why I do it, but I run right into the gap this creates and find comfort in her embrace.

  “Shirley,” I whisper as one of her arms folds around my waist and the other lifts until her fingers stroke my hair.

  “I know, Reid. I know. It’s going to be okay. It’ll be okay. You must be exhausted,” she says, releasing her grip and holding me at a distance. “Look at your eyes. They’re swollen and bloodshot. Let me make you a coffee.”

  “The phone, Shirley. Where’s the phone?” It’s a breathless deliverance.

  “Let’s take these questions inside, Reid,” West says, when he suddenly stands beside me.

  The house is quiet. Too quiet. And with every step I take towards the light the kitchen provides, I become more unsettled. A dark cloud hovers above my head. A cloud as charcoal as the ones that accompanied the storm which ripped my life apart last night. Doom and gloom is what is left behind. This is my reality. My wife has been abducted.

  I race to the cordless phone perched in its holder on the kitchen counter. I snatch it into my possession and hold the receiver in my tight grip. It doesn’t ring, but there’s a part of me hoping the moment I put it to my ear, whoever has been calling will talk. There’s nothing but a ringtone when I work up the nerve to listen.

  Call, you bastard.

  “This world can be an awful place at times, Reid. It disgusts me. I know our Morgan and she’s as tough as nails. She will come home, you believe my words.” Shirley has her back to me as she holds the kettle under the running kitchen tap.

  “She will,” I reply, choking on my spit, which causes me to cough and splutter as I pass the receiver to West who’s holding out his hand.

  “Reid.” Shirley turns.

  I nod as I clear my throat. “I’m fine.”

  “Sit. You need to sit.” Shirley encourages with an outstretched finger, indicating for me to choose a seat at the breakfast bar. I don’t move a muscle.

  “Do you have more than the one cordless?” West asks.

  I nod. “The office. There’s one in my office.”

  “Where’s the office?”

  “Down the hallway between the kitchen and Morgan’s open library there.” I point to the open area surrounded in darkness to my right. “Open the last door on the right-hand side.”

  “Okay.” West stands close to Gleaton and mumbles something I can’t decipher. It’s clear it was instructions to retrieve the handset because Gleaton disappears down the hallway with haste.

  “What happens now?” I can’t be sure if I speak these words or I think them. West doesn’t say a thing, so I assume I never spoke aloud. I’m caught off guard when West hands the receiver he’s been holding to Gleaton who has returned as fast as he left. Everything seems so out of place. So wrong. Again, the detectives exchange mumbled words between each other, and I wish for my sake they’d speak clearly and open so I don’t need to strain in trying to hear them.

  A notepad drops to the kitchen bench with a soft thud, claiming my attention. West opens it wide and turns his eyes downwards. Where did the notepad come from? It’s not one I recognise. “What happens now?”

  West and Gleaton both shift their attention to me, neither say a word in response.

  Just answer the question, dammit.

  They don’t. They continue their muffled whispers instead.

  Shifting my eyesight to the unlit staircase, I’m hit with the realisation our children are up those stairs, in their rooms, with absolutely no knowledge of what has happened. Soon they’ll awaken and find a horrible mess awaiting them, one I’ve not been able to fix. How do I tell them what’s transpired? How do I take care of them and find Morgan at the same time?

  Why is this happening to our family?

  “I’m making you that coffee now. Two sugars, yes?” Shirley pauses. “Reid, the kids are fine. I promise. They’re still sleeping. John is up there.”

  I nod. “Two,” is all I manage to say.

  “Do you two detectives want a coffee while I’m making some?” Shirley continues.

  I snap my head towards Gleaton and West.

  “No, thank you Mrs …?” West pauses. I believe he’s waiting for Shirley to fill in the blank.

  “Mrs Peters, and you be sure to remember that. I don’t particularly
like being questioned by police, I’ll have you know.”

  West writes in the note pad. “Mrs Peters, thank you. It’s a no on the coffee.”

  I hear footsteps coming down the staircase. I listen intently for the children, then twist my neck in the direction of the noise. John appears and I follow him as he strides towards me. The second moment of relief I’ve experienced comes from seeing John. I’m not dealing with this alone, because he’s here with me, and there’s no mistaking how much of a loyal friend he is to our family. His hand pats my shoulder when he reaches my side, and my relief all but vanishes by the time we make eye contact. I’m not alone in my worry, fear and heartache, but Morgan could be and I can’t seem to shake this thought.

  “Reid, it’s good to have you home.” John seems to look over my shoulder. “Who do we have here then?” He continues past me and holds out his hand. “Detective …?” he waits for a reply.

  “West … Astin West, and this is Detective Peter Gleaton.”

  Immediately John says, “I hope you have leads on where Morgan is?”

  “We are taking this situation very seriously.” I watch as West scans his eyes up and down John. “Mr Peters?” he asks.

  “Yes, it’s Peters, but just call me John. Now, does Reid need a lawyer? If you are trying to pin whatever’s happened on him, you’re sadly mistaken.” John has no fear of their presence and is acting like the dad any child would need in a difficult situation.

  My mind darts straight to thoughts of my own parents and then Morgan’s. The thought of having to call them, along with my brother, makes my stomach churn. How do I tell them something like this? I cup my hands around my mouth and begin to rock back and forth on my heels. I need to find out what happens next.

  “Not at the moment, John, he doesn’t need a lawyer at the moment.”

  “He won’t be needing one at all. I’m telling you right now, Reid has nothing to do with Morgan’s disappearance. We have been their neighbours since before they brought their beautiful boy into this world and their love for each other is the real deal. You would be mindful to remember that.” John’s words spit out with force and sincerity.

  West nods. “Mr Peters. I’m sorry, John, we will keep this in mind throughout our investigation.”

  “Yes, you will.” John hitches his upper lip as he passes West, and then Gleaton, whom I see place one of the handsets he’s been holding back onto its base, and the other he lays against the bench beside it. “There’s my bride,” John says loudly. “Can I get a cup of coffee, my love?” He moves towards Shirley.

  Shirley delivers a smile in response, and it’s one that could light up the room. This automatically has me envisioning Morgan and the way she used to be so smitten whenever I’d enter the kitchen as she made breakfast. I’d wrap my arms around her waist, kissing her neck, and then I’d wish her a good morning. Why did I stop doing this?

  When did we lose our way?

  When did we forget to treasure each other?

  God, I miss her. I want her here, I need to say sorry. I want to trace kisses up her neck and across her cheeks. I want to wrap her in my arms and never let her go, ever.

  “Reid let me fetch you something to eat, breakfast, anything you would like?” Shirley’s sweet gaze seems to be begging me to say yes.

  “No thanks,” I sigh, pulling one of the four stools out from under the breakfast bar where I finally sit.

  A freshly brewed cup of coffee is placed in front of me. “Well, drink this and we will think about food again soon.” I receive a sad smile from Shirley, and I instantly try to tell myself that this is a nightmare I’m going to wake up from soon and that everything will be okay. The only problem is, this situation feels far too real to be that of a bad dream. I wish it was. I wish I could wake up, race down the stairs and gather Morgan in my arms, confessing my love for her. No more tension, no more woe is me. I’d tell her I’m proud of her and I love her. I need a chance to do this. I need her to come home so I can.

  “John, I’d like to ask you a few questions, if I can?” West is oddly abrupt.

  “Let’s get this over with.” John is quick to reply, almost as if he expected West to ask this of him, right here, right now.

  “How about we go over there?” West is pointing to the left and in the direction of the room on the opposite side of the staircase.

  “That’s a loungeroom,” John says.

  “Good. It will give us more privacy. It won’t take long.”

  “Reid?” John looks to me.

  “Just do whatever he wants, John.”

  “Okay. Let me grab my coffee first.”

  I’ve had a moment to shower and to change out of the blue cotton pants and T-shirt that West gave me to put on after they took my clothes at the station and threw them into an evidence bag. I wasn’t surprised when Gleaton handed me another zip lock bag before coming upstairs to shower. His instructions: Put the clothes in it and seal it. I did as I was told. Co-operation is going to be the key to finding Morgan.

  I slip on a pair of grey sweat pants and a white cotton T-shirt trying to be as quiet as I can, because the last thing I want is to be poking around in my drawers making noise that will stir the children. The evidence bag is scrunched in my hand as I tip-toe past the children’s bedrooms and make my way back to the lower level, in the hope of seeing what John’s expression is like after his private chat with West. I’m too late because John’s already back in the kitchen with Shirley when I drop the bagged clothes on the bench and sit back on the stool I previously occupied.

  There’s talk all around me. West and Gleaton, John and Shirley … I listen to bits and pieces of each conversation, well, until it becomes one muffled sound banded together and then I force myself to block them all out. I run my finger around the rim of my coffee mug over and over, and keep thinking about where Morgan could be. I picture every place we’ve ever travelled. I search my memory for each overgrown piece of land I know exists around these parts, every lake and river … there’s so many of them. I’m on edge. I need to figure out how to find my wife. Where do I even start?

  Knock, knock, knock.

  I instantly startle and leap to my feet.

  “Sit down, boy. I’ll get the door.” John takes charge and marches until he has the door thrown wide open. “More cops,” he calls out.

  Constable Maloney follows John in, and there are two other officers I’ve not seen before. Well, if I have, I can’t recollect it.

  “You three need to do a sweep of the lower level of the house. I want you to look for anything out of the ordinary,” Gleaton says calmly.

  “Right, boss,” a tall lanky gentleman with bright orange hair responds.

  “Is that necessary?” I’m not sure why they are searching the house. Morgan’s not here.

  “This is just routine, Reid.” Gleaton says, sounding distracted.

  The clock I watched tick over every minute last night, takes my attention; it’s 6:45 a.m. It’s been another hour and forty-five minutes since Morgan has been missing and my heart still has that god-awful aching sensation ripping through it. I find myself clutching my hands to my chest and praying the phone rings so this prick can ask for his ransom, and I can give him what he wants in exchange for Morgan’s safe return … then this will all be over. Why hasn’t it rung yet? A stabbing pain penetrates my chest when I come to think of how very frightened Morgan would be if she’s in the hands of someone truly evil. I’ll find this asshole and slit his throat if he hurts a hair on her head — I’d kill for Morgan.

  Ring, ring, ring.

  I’m upright and panting. My throat constricts as my heart pumps with force. I’m instantly terrified by the sound of the phone ringing. I can’t move.

  “Answer it Reid, now!” West orders as his face appears right in front of me. “Move.”

  I do. I rush to the handset and take it into my grip. West is clutching the other handset, cupping his hand over the mouth piece. He points to the accept button. “Press it n
ow,” he mouths.

  I do. “Reid Banks speaking.” The words croak from my mouth.

  “Good morning, Reid. How are you this morning?” The voice is robotic.

  “I’ve had better,” I say, in a tone absent of masculinity.

  “Are you missing something? I think you might be missing something.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Who?”

  “Morgan.”

  “Oh, her.”

  He damn well knows who the fuck I’m talking about. “Just don’t hurt her.” I try not to sound panicked, but I fail.

  “I’m glad you’re home, Reid. I’ve been trying to reach you. It’s rude not to answer your own phone. I guess you’re lucky though. If you hadn’t picked up on this attempt, I might have just slit your wife’s pretty little throat. Don’t leave the phone again. You hear me?”

  “Yes. I’m here. I won’t. Please, don’t hurt her. I understand.”

  “She’s fine. Don’t worry. Right now, she’s taking care of a little business and soon we’ll play our game.”

  I listen intently, gulping as I swallow excessively. My balls have launched to the back of my throat and are hanging there in suspension… I’m fucking petrified by the word game.

  “Reid, I really hope Morgan is much better at my game of life than she ever was when playing life with you.” A small laugh follows before the phone goes dead.

  “Fuuuuuuck!” I scream at the handset. “Where is she? Where’s Morgan? What game?” Detective West takes the phone from my trembling hand and places it onto the bench beside the one he had.

  “He’s gone, Reid. You did a good job staying calm, well done.” His fingers press in to my shoulder.

  “Well done. Well done. Some psychopath has my fucking wife and I wasn’t here to take his call earlier because of you arseholes.” My words fire at him with toxic acrimony.

  “Reid, we need to follow procedure. Everything is being done to help Morgan and you just need to trust us. This is another clue and it gives us more of an idea what we are dealing with.”

  “You’re dealing with a fucking lunatic who has my wife … he has my wife.”