by Sharon Sala
His sports bars were a cover for the hit man he was. And the only jobs he took were ones with a target that challenged him. It was easy to just walk up and shoot someone, but in this day and age of cameras everywhere, doing it completely unseen, unnoticed, and getting away with it was impossible.
So he came at his work from a different angle. He not only located his target beforehand, but he found a way to meet them face-to-face, making sure his face was familiar enough that they dismissed him, and then he followed them for days, sometimes longer, until he found the opening...the weakness...the place that allowed him to slip in and out unnoticed. It was, after all, about the hunt.
And today, he had walked into Dodge Security and Investigations with only one thing in mind. He’d introduced himself to his next target. He’d made a pest of himself enough so that the next time Jade Wyrick saw him, that was how she would remember him, and she would see him again. He would make certain of that. She might be pissed off at him, but she would never see him as a physical threat—not until it was too late.
* * *
Randall Wells arrived just after six thirty to pick Trish up for the prayer vigil. He knocked on the door, then stepped back and waited, but it was Trish’s mother who answered.
“Good evening, Randall. We’re almost ready,” she said, and then called out to Trish. “Randall is here.”
“Coming,” Trish called.
She said “we’re”—as in, she’s going, too?
Randall was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that Trish’s mother was going with them when Trish came down the stairs in jeans and a white hoodie. She looked different. Older. Sadder. It made Randall uncomfortable. He hoped she didn’t spend the night crying.
“I hope you don’t mind that I’m going with you,” Beth said. “Trish wanted me to.”
“Of course not, Mrs. Caldwell,” Randall said, and hurried ahead to open both the front and back doors of his car.
Trish got in front, her mother in the back, and they headed to the field house.
“Mr. and Mrs. Dawson are coming,” Randall said.
“Yes, I know,” Trish said. “They called me.”
“Right,” Randall said, and that was the extent of his conversation until they reached the school.
He circled the parking lot beside the football field until he found an empty space and parked. A huge crowd was already gathering, and more were arriving by the minute.
“Justin and I thought you would want to say something tonight,” Randall said.
Trish panicked. “No. I’m not making a speech. I’m not putting myself on display. I’m here. And I’ll stand beside his parents if they want, but this is about them and Tony.”
“Right...totally understood,” he said.
Trish and her mother got out together, then waited for Randall to walk them through the crowd.
Justin saw them coming and ran to meet them.
“Hey, Trish. Hey, Mrs. Caldwell.”
Beth smiled. “It’s good of you and Randall to organize this,” she said.
Justin shrugged. “It’s the least we could do.”
There were volunteers in school colors at the gates handing out prayer candles.
“We’re praying for you,” one girl said, as she handed Trish a candle.
“I’m not lost. Pray for Tony,” Trish said, then walked away with the candle in her hand and an ache in her chest.
They made it through the crowd all the way up to the makeshift stage before they spotted Baxter and Macie near the steps.
When they saw Beth and Trish approaching, Macie went to meet them and gave Trish a hug.
“I know this wasn’t easy for you, honey, but we’re really glad you’re here,” she said.
Trish’s eyes welled, and all she could do was nod.
Her mother spoke for them. “We wouldn’t have this any other way. We love your Tony, too.”
A few moments later, the school principal took the stage and the ceremony began. People jostled her from behind, and when they did, her mother moved closer, putting her arm around her and pulling her close.
Trish was blinking back tears again when Tony’s parents took the stage to thank everyone for coming, and then Randall and Justin were recognized for organizing the vigil, and through it all, Trish was growing numb.
This is a dream. It has to be a dream. I’m going to wake up and it will be morning, and Tony will have sent me two texts while I was asleep, telling me how he couldn’t sleep for thinking of me.
But the air was getting colder, and there was a mist starting to fall as the pastor moved to the microphone and started praying, and the silence that descended upon the crowd was eerie.
The mist got heavier, and candles began going out, leaving the whole crowd in momentary darkness, which only added to the eeriness of the night. Then someone thought to use the flashlight on their phone, which prompted others to do the same. Within moments, they were holding their phones up over their heads. Someone began singing “Amazing Grace,” and the crowd was awash in light.
Trish took a deep, shuddering breath, then closed her eyes.
Please, please, God, don’t let Tony be dead.
* * *
Long after everyone had finally gone home, the solemnity of the ceremony had stayed with them. The mist had turned into rain, and Trish was lying in her bed, listening to it hammering on their roof, and praying that wherever Tony was, he had shelter, too.
* * *
Randall was in his room on the phone with Justin.
His parents were in bed watching television. He could hear late-night TV host Stephen Colbert’s voice coming from their room.
“How do you think the prayer vigil went?” Randall asked.
“Good,” Justin said. “What did you think?”
“Yeah, it was good,” Randall said.
Justin sighed, hesitated and then asked in a quiet, shaky voice, “Where do you think Tony is?”
“I don’t know,” Randall said. “I expected the searchers to find him the first day.”
“Yeah, me, too,” Justin said. “I can’t figure this out. I just can’t figure this out.”
“Same,” Randall said.
Justin’s belly hurt, but he stayed quiet. There was nothing else to be said.
Randall kept talking, because the silence was painful.
“I heard Mr. and Mrs. Dawson telling Trish’s mom that they’d hired a private investigator to go look for him,” he said.
Justin frowned. “What can one man do that two days of air and ground searchers couldn’t?”
“I don’t know. I just heard them say he was famous for finding lost kids,” Randall said.
“Well, I hope he does find him. This needs to be over,” Justin said.
“Right. The sooner the better,” Randall said.
“Yeah,” Justin said, and disconnected.
* * *
Macie had cried herself to sleep in Baxter’s arms, but he couldn’t sleep. His thoughts were filled with what-ifs and worst-case scenarios, and every time he closed his eyes, he imagined Tony’s broken body unprotected, exposed to the elements and the wildlife. It was a parent’s worst nightmare come to life, and he felt like Charlie Dodge was their last best chance.
* * *
Back in the Chisos, Charlie had hiked almost three hours before he walked up on an old man sitting on the side of the trail. The old man’s eyes were closed, his legs crossed in a meditative position as he rocked back and forth, muttering the same chant over and over beneath his breath. His long hair was braided and hanging over his shoulders, his skin was so brown it looked like leather, and the multitude of wrinkles on his face were creased with sweat and dust.
Charlie had no intention of disturbing him, and was about to step off the path to give him space when the man suddenly opened
his eyes.
“Do you hear the ghost?” he asked.
Charlie stopped. “Uh, no, sir. Do you hear ghosts?”
The old man tilted his head back and squinted.
“You’re a big one, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I guess I am,” Charlie said.
He nodded. “Are you camping over tonight?”
“Yes,” Charlie said.
The old man closed his eyes again. “Maybe you’ll hear the ghost. I heard him, but I couldn’t find him.”
Charlie started to walk on when it dawned on him what the old man was saying. He stopped and went back.
“Why did you think it was a ghost?”
“Because it woke me from my sleep, moaning, then screaming down the canyon like a banshee.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t someone crying for help?” Charlie asked.
“Nobody was talking. Just a scream. I know a banshee when I hear one. I’m praying it away.”
“Where did you hear it?” Charlie asked.
“Up there,” the old man said, pointing in the direction Charlie was heading. “Bloodcurdling. Spine-chilling, I tell you. I’ve been hiking up here for years and I’ve never heard anything like that.”
“You know there’s a teenager somewhere up there who’s gone missing, don’t you?”
The old man nodded. “I saw the searchers. They told me. I told them about the ghost, but they didn’t listen.”
“I hear you,” Charlie said. “I’ll watch out for the ghost.” Then he walked away.
He hiked all the way to the site on the trail where the boys had made camp. It was dusk and getting dark fast by the time he stowed his food in the bear box and put up his tent.
He built a fire and made coffee, but settled for jerky and protein bars instead of cooking. Once his belly was full and the coffee had warmed him up from the inside, he got out his iPad, but there was no reception, so he went for the sat phone to check in with Wyrick.
* * *
Wyrick had been working for almost three hours, going through the boys’ social media accounts, when she discovered a very interesting link between the missing boy and Randall Wells. Now she just needed Charlie to call in. It might not help him find Tony Dawson, but it could explain the holes in the other boys’ story.
It was just after 10:00 p.m. and she was sitting cross-legged in bed with a bowl of popcorn in her lap and a cold Pepsi on the table beside her, watching a country-music awards show. Even though she didn’t know much about country music, living in Dallas, it seemed like the appropriate thing to do.
A singer named Blake Shelton was onstage, and Wyrick was thinking to herself that Shelton was as tall as Charlie when her phone rang. She hit Mute and answered abruptly.
“Hello.”
“Hey, it’s me,” Charlie said.
“Are you okay?” Wyrick asked.
Charlie sighed. “Yes, Mother. I’m getting ready to go inside my little tent and tuck myself into my little sleeping bag.”
“Shut up,” Wyrick said. “I have news.”
Charlie grinned. He’d gotten under her skin, which was rare. Score one for him.
“So, talk to me,” he said.
“Remember Baxter and Macie saying they haven’t lived here but a few months?”
“Yeah, so?”
“So, over a year ago, before they ever moved here, guess who Randall Wells was dating?”
“I don’t do guessing games,” Charlie said.
“Trish Caldwell!” Wyrick said.
“Wait...what? The same girlfriend Tony has now?” Charlie asked.
“Yes. I found pictures of Randall and Trish together on Snapchat and Instagram. They were a couple for about six months, and then evidently they parted ways. Trish went back from being ‘in a relationship’ to single, and so did Randall.”
“How long ago was this?” Charlie asked.
“Their breakup was at least four months before the Dawsons moved to Dallas, so Trish was a free agent for at least six months before she hooked up with Tony. Now she and Tony are a couple.”
“No one mentioned this,” Charlie said. “I wonder if Tony knew.”
“If you want, I can find out tomorrow,” Wyrick said.
“I want,” Charlie said. “Interview Trish first. Find out if Tony knew that. Then when you talk to Randall and Justin, find out when they started hanging out with Tony. See if it was before he hooked up with Trish or after they began dating, and then let me know.”
“I’ll call parents and set up interview times first thing tomorrow,” Wyrick said.
“Thanks,” Charlie said. “I’ll be on the trail. No iPad signal, so you’ll have to call the sat phone.”
“I know. Now go tuck yourself in your itty-bitty tent and try not to get into trouble.”
She disconnected before Charlie could respond, but she heard him chuckle, and that was enough to sleep on.
* * *
A coyote howled from a nearby ridge, and another one answered way down in a canyon. A cougar was on the way back to its lair, dragging the carcass of her kill to her cubs—a great horned owl her only witness as it soared silently above her, going in the other direction.
A half mile away, a steady trickle of water was seeping out from the walls of a deep, narrow cave, falling near Tony Dawson’s motionless body and into his outstretched hand.
His face and clothes were caked with dirt and dried blood. The visible skin on his fever-racked body was cut, scratched and purple with bruises.
In his delirium, his mother was sitting beside him and crying. Sometimes it was his father’s voice telling him to hang on, but the pain was constant. His body was on fire, and when he was conscious, he wondered why it took so long to die.
* * *
Charlie’s sleep was fitful. He kept dreaming about Annie. Then the dreams would change to a kid crying for help, but he couldn’t find him. Once he woke up to an animal snuffling around the outside of his tent, but stayed quiet until it moved away.
He was up, dressed and having an MRE for breakfast with his camp coffee when a porcupine waddled into camp. Charlie eyed it carefully, and then took another bite of meat ravioli from the pouch as the critter sidled off into the underbrush.
He broke camp and was back on the South Rim Trail by sunup. There was a junction up ahead where two trails merged, one of which was Boot Canyon Trail, which would take him down a narrow canyon trail into forest, and he was leaning toward taking that one at the junction. As it got lighter, he used his binoculars constantly, stopping periodically to scan the vista.
And all the while he was looking, he was wondering what magic Wyrick was going to pull out of her hat today. They needed a break of some kind to point him in the right direction.
* * *
Wyrick made the calls to set up the interviews just after 7:00 a.m. She apologized for the early time, then explained what she needed.
Trish’s mother, Beth, was immediately on board.
“Yes, ma’am. Trish will be more than willing to help you in any way she can. She’s in the shower right now. What time do you plan to come here?”
“I’m beginning with her, so eight o’clock.”
Beth glanced at the clock. That was forty-five minutes away.
“She’s staying home from school, so we’ll be waiting,” she said.
“Thank you,” Wyrick said. “I’ll see you soon.”
The next call she made was to Nita Wells, Randall’s mother. She was immediately on the defensive, and complaining about the timing of the call.
“You should have called sooner. My son is getting ready to leave for school, and he’s already talked to the police,” Nita said.
“So, he’s going to be late for school today, and it doesn’t matter what Randall told the police. Charlie Dodge is not the police. He was h
ired specifically by Tony Dawson’s parents. Are you unwilling to help them find him?”
“No, no, of course not,” Nita Wells said.
“I have your address. I’ll be there a little after 9:00 a.m.,” Wyrick said, then hung up and made her last call to Justin’s mother, Andrea Young. She answered in a sleepy voice.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Young, my name is Wyrick. I work for the private investigator the Dawson family hired to look for Tony.”
“Oh, uh, yes, what can I do for you?” Andrea said.
“Charlie Dodge is already on-site searching, and I need to talk to Justin this morning.”
“I don’t know what else we can tell you, and he’s getting ready for school.”
“I’m sorry, but he’s going to have to be late for school, and you can’t tell me anything, Mrs. Young. I need to talk to Justin because he was there.”
“He told the police every—”
“Charlie Dodge is not the police. Are you refusing to help?” Wyrick asked.
“No, of course not. When do you want me to—?”
“I have your address. I’ll be there before ten.”
“But Justin has a test and—”
“With all due respect, Tony Dawson is our priority. No one knows where he is. If he needs medical attention. If he has no shelter from the elements. Just make sure your son is there when I arrive.”
“Fine. But we’ll be right there with you when you talk to him,” she said.
“I fully expect you to be,” Wyrick said, leaving her to think about that for a while.
She guessed teenage boys with things to hide would be hard to break, so this morning she dressed to intimidate.
They’d smirk about her bald head and flat chest and she knew it, so she chose a low-cut black leather vest that revealed more than enough of the red-and-black dragon tattoo, a black bolero jacket, red leather pants and knee-high black boots. Then she slashed black shadow across her lids, bringing the shape to wicked winged points at the corners of her temples. If they weren’t scared before, they were going to be when she got through with them.
