The Child Snatcher

by Aria Johnson

  Chapter 27

  On Bran’s first birthday, we had several reasons to celebrate. I had officially become his adopted mother and on the day before his birthday, Bran had taken his first steps, which Jeff recorded.

  We threw him a birthday party in town at the Please Touch Museum. Watching the playful yet tender way Jeff interacted with Bran touched me deeply, and put tears in my eyes. If only Brandon’s father had treated him with such love and kindness, maybe my son would still be with me today. As misguided as Brandon was, he seemed clear about wanting a child. I think in his own quirky way, he thought bringing a child into the world would redeem him.

  Jeff was in the midst of helping Bran explore a giant dump truck, and I was supposed to be filming the moment, but the hand that held the camera dropped listlessly to my side.

  When Jeff noticed me wiping tears from my eyes, he took Bran out of the dump truck and strode over to me.

  “What’s going on?” he inquired.

  “I’m having a moment, but I’ll be okay.” I tried to chuckle but couldn’t quite manage it, and the sound that emerged sounded like the cry of a suffering animal.

  “Are those tears of joy or is something else happening?”

  “A little of both—I’m ecstatic that Bran is happy and healthy and that I have you in my life, but I miss Brandon so much and I wish he could experience this moment with his son. With Bran in his life, I think my son would have finally found the happiness that eluded him.” I made a squeaky sound as I tried to stifle a sob.

  Jeff embraced me. “It’s okay, babe. It’s okay,” he said soothingly as I sobbed against his chest.

  • • •

  A few weeks after Bran’s first birthday I took him to a photographer for professional pictures. I loved capturing the many physical changes that had occurred since his infancy. His hair had been dark and curly like Brandon’s during his first few months, but somewhere along the way, his hair had become straight with a reddish hue. With his super long lashes, he was the most beautiful child I’d ever seen. He still had Brandon’s eyes and nose and I was grateful that none of Ava’s physical characteristics were visible in him.

  The photographer, who spoke with an Irish lilt, set Bran up with a beach ball, bucket and shovel, and placed him on a blanket, creating a beach scene. Bran was such an agreeable baby, it was easy to get him to smile and laugh.

  Midway into the photo shoot, the photographer, assuming that I was Bran’s natural mother, asked me if the Irish blood he saw in Bran was from my side of the family or his father’s.

  “Neither,” I responded. I didn’t know anything about Ava’s ancestry and wasn’t interested in knowing. As far as Howard and I were concerned, there wasn’t a drop of Irish in either of us.

  “Oh, I thought this little redhead was a sturdy Irish lad. I must be getting old.” The photographer chuckled to himself and began gathering stuffed animals that would be used as background props for the next shoot.

  Although I tried to laugh it off, a deeper part of me was troubled. So much so that when I got home, I ordered a DNA kit online. When the kit arrived, I swabbed the inside of Bran’s cheeks and my own as per the instructions of the grandparentage test.

  I was on pins and needles during the days that led up to receiving the results. When they finally arrived in an email, I anxiously opened it. I peered at the information through squinted eyes that quickly widened. My eyes raced over the wording and scanned the numbers at least ten times before I covered my mouth with my hand and slumped in the chair.

  My eyes traveled from the computer screen over to Bran who was sitting on the floor playing with a toy car. I gazed at him in disbelief and then released a tiny whimper.

  My emotions were all over the place. I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience. It didn’t seem real. But the facts were facts. If fifty percent of Bran’s DNA had come from Brandon, there should have been twenty-five percent from me, yet the results stated that Bran and I shared zero percent DNA.

  That goddamn Ava was such a corrupt human being and a monstrous liar! My lips parted wide and I cried out in anguish. My baby . . .my little Bran was no relation to me.

  Back when I had bumped into Ava at Home Depot, I’d made the assumption that she was pregnant with Brandon’s child and she strung me along for the ride.

  All this time, I’d treated Ava decently. Kept money on her books, sent her photos of Bran, and had even contemplated taking him to the prison for a visit.

  It was no wonder that my son had been so easily manipulated by Ava. She was the master of manipulation and my son and I had both been fools.

  Devastated, I wept into my hands.

  • • •

  I sat in the crowded, noisy visitor’s room waiting for Ava to be brought out. When she spotted me, she waved and broke into a huge grin—like we were long-lost friends.

  “Hi, Claire,” she said cheerfully. “I don’t get many visitors—Muffy comes every now and then, but she has a new girl, now.” She prattled on for a few more moments and then noticed that Bran wasn’t with me. “Hey, I thought you were going to bring the baby with you.”

  “Prison isn’t the kind of place I want my son to become familiar with,” I said coldly.

  Noticing my tone, she looked at me skeptically. “Why do you have a bug up your ass?”

  I glared at her. “This isn’t a social visit. I only came to let you know that we’re moving.”

  A surprised look crossed her face. “Really? Where’re you going? Nowhere too far, I hope. We agreed that I could be a part of Bran’s life when I get out.”

  “No, I don’t think so. I’ve changed my mind.”

  She leaned forward and laughed nervously. “I hope you didn’t change your mind about that other arrangement we agreed on. I’m looking forward to that nest egg you put aside for me,” she said in a confidential tone.

  “I’ve changed my mind about that too,” I replied, looking her square in the eyes.

  “You’re fucking kidding, right?”

  “I’m dead serious.”

  “You can’t do that. I gave you my fucking kid.”

  “No, you tried to sell me your fucking kid.”

  “I don’t recall you being all holier than thou when you accepted the offer.”

  “He’s mine now—legally adopted. You don’t have any more leverage.”

  “You bitch,” she spat in a low tone. “I lied for you and took the full blame when your crazy ass could have killed both me and your grandchild when you denied us medical care.”

  I leaned forward and spoke softly. “First of all, Bran is not my grandchild, so cut the crap.”

  Ava took on the appearance of a cornered animal as she glanced around the room. I half expected her to call for a guard, but she didn’t. Her face hardened. “If someone’s stupid enough to buy me shit and offer me money, I’d be a fool to turn it down.”

  “You’re scum. And I’m glad to be rid of you once and for all. I only stopped by to let you know that there’ll be no more money on your books. No more shopping sprees at the commissary,” I said tauntingly.

  “Fuck you and your money. I’m not worried. Another sucker is bound to come along.” She leered at me and propped her elbow on the back of the chair, pleased with herself. “And another thing, don’t think you can get rid of me that easily. I’m all in that kid’s bloodstream. If he doesn’t take after me, then he’s bound to take after his daddy. And his daddy is a bigger con artist than me.”

  My pulse rate sped up and I felt faint. From what I’d read about nature versus nurture, rearing a child in a good home didn’t necessarily override the child’s innate behavioral traits that were embedded in his DNA. Learning that both Bran’s parents were corrupt and immoral people left me badly shaken and I wondered what kind of child I was raising.

  “Do you know who the father is?” I asked shakily.

  “Hell, yeah, I know who the father is. Bran’s daddy is Walter Caulfield.”

  My heart ski
pped several beats. “Walter Caulfield?”

  “Yep,” Ava said proudly.

  Please God, no. Hadn’t I suffered enough? Please let this be a cruel joke. My baby could not have been fathered by a master criminal that the FBI couldn’t catch. And with a mother that was the scum of the earth, was it possible that my child would have an ounce of decency?

  Enjoying my reaction, Ava elaborated, wearing a cruel smile. “Yeah, ol’ Walter got spooked when I got popped, but I’m surprised that he hasn’t come back to claim his seed. It’s a good thing you’re skipping town, Claire. You get to buy yourself a little time. Because if I know Walter like I think I do, he won’t give up easily. He’ll track you down and find you, eventually.”

  Ava sneered at me. “Guard!” she bellowed. When the guard appeared at our table, she stood up. “This visit is over. Take me back to my cage.”

  Epilogue

  FOUR YEARS LATER

  I’d never told Jeff about the DNA test or my discovery about Walter. I didn’t give him any explanation for why I kept moving. Every six months or so, I’d think I saw Walter in the midst of a crowd at an amusement park. Or in line behind me at the ATM machine. It was beyond nerve-racking. I was terrified that he’d steal Bran and sell him to a child pornographer or any of the numerous predators that preyed on children.

  After the first year of running and not explaining why, Jeff had had enough. I couldn’t blame him. It was difficult for him to conduct his business never knowing when I was going to start throwing our possessions in storage bins and boxes. Maybe if I’d been brave enough to share the truth with him, he would have stuck it out with me. But I was too ashamed to admit that I’d been duped into believing that Bran was my grandchild. I wasn’t sure if Jeff would still love him if he knew the truth.

  Now it was only Bran and me, living in a small town in Wyoming. So far, so good. I felt safe. No shadowy figures in the crowd, watching me from afar.

  I discovered that love is love. Bran’s genetic makeup didn’t change the way I felt about him. I loved him every bit as much as I had loved my own son. And I would protect him with my life.

  It was obvious to me that his genetics had no bearing on his character. He was nothing like his biological parents. I had molded and shaped him into a fine little boy who was intelligent, kind, and had principles. Even at the tender age of five he exhibited personality traits that made me proud.

  I was afraid for Bran to be out of my sight for an entire day, and so I homeschooled him. Learning came so easily to him that he often finished his schoolwork between noon and one p.m. Most days, we’d go on an outing after he’d completed his lessons. To the park, a museum, and sometimes we’d take a tour bus ride to become familiar with our new city.

  Bran had an abundance of toys. Practically everything on the market, but he didn’t get to interact much with other kids, and that saddened me.

  I was thrilled that a neighbor down the street had a little boy Bran’s age. His name was Ryan and he was a delightful child. Polite like Bran and even-tempered. Last week they’d had a playdate and were scheduled for another visit today.

  We arrived at the appointed hour and I lifted Bran up so he could ring the doorbell. I lowered him down to the porch when Ryan’s mom opened the door. I could tell right away that she was upset about something, but I didn’t appreciate the way she was glowering at Bran.

  “What is it, Polly? What’s wrong?”

  “Your son is a thief,” she exclaimed, poking her finger in Bran’s direction.

  “What?”

  “He stole Ryan’s coin collection and I ought to call the police. Ryan’s coins were priceless, and he would have had them to treasure for years to come if I hadn’t allowed young Bernie Madoff here to come snooping around,” she ranted. “Mark my words, your boy is going to end up in the penitentiary.”

  “I don’t understand. What are you saying?” I clutched Bran next to me and put my arm around him.

  “Ryan inherited his great-grandfather’s collection and it contained rare coins from all over the world. Priceless silver dollars from the eighteen-hundreds, rare quarters and dimes.”

  I couldn’t believe this hysterical woman was accusing my innocent five-year-old of committing a crime. “Why do you think Bran took the coins?”

  “Ryan showed Bran his collection the last time he was here, and then Ryan put them away before Bran left. Bran seemed to enjoy learning about the coins so much that Ryan planned to show them again, but when he took out the leather book that they’re kept in, all the silver dollars, quarters and dimes were gone. Every single one of them.” She twisted her lips and glared at Bran. “But your son left all the foreign currency.”

  “There has to be a mistake. Bran would never do anything like that. He has no reason to steal anything,” I sputtered, insulted and appalled beyond belief.

  “Oh, he did it all right. I’m sure of it. That little con artist might fool you, but he doesn’t fool me for one darn minute. That boy of yours is as shifty as a ten-speed clutch,” Polly accused.

  At a loss for words, I grabbed Bran by the hand and rushed off the porch. During the walk back home, Bran asked me repeatedly why Ryan’s mom was mad at him.

  At first I pretended not to know, and then I turned and faced him. I got down on one knee, making myself eye level with him. “Tell me the truth, sweetheart. Mommy won’t be upset. Did you accidentally take any of Ryan’s coins the last time you visited him?”

  Bran furrowed his brows and shook his head. “No, Mommy. That would be stealing.”

  “Exactly,” I agreed. “And you know that Mommy will give you everything your heart desires. You have no reason to ever steal anything from anyone . . .ever. Am I clear, Bran?”

  Wearing a confused expression, he nodded.

  I was terribly upset with Polly for accusing him of stealing. “Ryan probably misplaced his coin collection,” I said to Bran as we walked along.

  “Can I go over his house and play tomorrow?” Bran asked, looking up at me with his innocent eyes.

  “I don’t think so, honey. You’ll have to find a new best friend.”

  “But I want Ryan to be my best friend.”

  “I know you do. I’m sorry, honey. But you can’t have any more playdates with Ryan.”

  It worried me that Bran would be labeled a thief, causing other parents to be wary of him. Experiencing rejection for the first time in his life had to hurt and I wanted to take his mind off of it.

  “Do you want to stop at Seven-Eleven and get a Slurpee?”

  Bran’s face lit up. “Yaaaay! A Slurpee!”

  He was excited because I didn’t typically allow him to eat a lot of sugar. But after the ordeal at Polly’s, I wanted to cheer him up. As soon as we entered the store, the clerk behind the counter raised a hand, gesturing for me to stop.

  “Sorry, ma’am. I can’t serve you. And your little son is not allowed inside this store.”

  Stunned, my hand pressed against my chest. “What are you saying? Why isn’t he allowed to be in here?”

  “We have him on camera, ma’am. Every time you bring him in here, he goes up and down the aisle, stuffing his pockets with candy. All the goodies are within his reach and he helps himself.”

  “But he’s just a little kid. I’ll pay whatever I owe you.” Near tears, I felt desperate.

  “Keep your money. Just don’t bring that boy back. He’s not welcome here.” Glowering at us, the man pointed to the door.

  I held back the tears for as long as I could, but by the time we reached our house, I was sobbing. With shaking hands, I closed and locked the front door.

  “Did you take Ryan’s coin collection?” I yelled at Bran, clenching his shoulders and shaking him.

  “No, Mommy. I didn’t.”

  “Why have you been stealing candy from the store?”

  “I’m sorry,” he said in a cracked voice, his little face scowling miserably. “I like candy, but you won’t let me have it ’cause it’s bad for my tee
th.”

  “Do you think it’s okay to steal something that doesn’t belong to you?” I yelled.

  He shook his head and started crying pitifully.

  I felt so sorry for him, I pulled him into my arms and hugged him tight. I told him I was sorry for yelling.

  By dinnertime, Bran was back to his normal, cheerful self. He seemed completely over the 7-Eleven trouble and had accepted that he wouldn’t be invited back to Ryan’s. He still hadn’t admitted to taking the coins, and I held on to a glimmer of hope that stealing candy was his greatest misdeed.

  But my gut told me different. I was deeply troubled and wondering what kind of child I was raising. Hadn’t all the love and care I’d given him mattered at all? Or was he genetically predisposed to lie and steal? And if so, what could I do about it?

  I’d schlepped Brandon to a series of psychologists and psychiatrists, and dreaded having to go down that path again. But I couldn’t sit back and do nothing. Maybe if I got Bran into counseling at a young age, I could prevent him from progressing to armed robbery later in life.

  On second thought, with his intelligence, he was more likely to commit cybercrimes or banking fraud. Or worse! He had a double set of criminal genes and there was no telling what kind of immoral person he was apt to become with Ava and Walter as parents.

  Nevertheless, I couldn’t give up on Bran. I loved him too much to believe that his future was hopeless.

  At bedtime, I read him two chapters of Harry Potter and when he drifted off to sleep, I began searching his room, looking for Ryan’s coin collection, and hoping to God I wouldn’t find it.

  A peculiar bulge in his oversized teddy bear caught my eye. I crept over to it and discovered a slit in the fabric in the back. I stuck my hand inside and when I pulled out a pouch that used to hold a pair of binoculars, my breath caught in my throat.

  Holding the pouch, I walked trancelike out of Bran’s room and into mine. I opened the pouch and shook out the contents.

  Silver dollars, half-dollars, quarters, nickels, and dimes spilled out and clattered onto my bedspread. “Oh, my God,” I said in a hushed whisper as I raced to the bathroom.