by T. R. Ragan
EIGHT
Beast returned to his home in Roseville to find his dad and Rage watching television, which wasn’t a surprise since Rage seldom slept, claiming she had insomnia. But Beast knew it was more than that. She’d never had trouble sleeping until recently. He had a hunch it had more to do with her illness than anything else. Little Vinnie had a soft heart and stayed up with her most nights, taking naps during the day.
After filling them in on what happened at the meeting, he left them to watch the news while he went to his bedroom to change his shirt and brush his teeth. It was late, and he was tired. Hudson McMann’s return was being played on every news station across the country. He was happy for Faith. She had her son back.
He tossed his shirt in the basket and then slipped on a clean one. As he did most nights, he glanced at the framed picture of his wife and daughter. Five years since the accident, but it still felt as if it had all happened last week. On more than one occasion he’d been certain he saw his wife from a distance, only to lose sight of her as he rushed to have a closer look. His wife’s close friends and relatives had reached out over the years, but keeping in touch with them only made him feel worse.
He’d read about the stages of grief.
Denial and isolation. Check.
Anger. Check.
And that’s as far as he’d made it.
He opened the top dresser drawer, pulled his keys and wallet from his pants pocket, and placed them there next to the envelope. The letter from Sandi Cameron, the young woman who’d been texting while driving, crossed the divide, and hit his wife’s car head-on. Everyone told him he should be thankful his wife and child had died instantly. Sorry, people. That didn’t help. He’d prefer it if they hadn’t died at all, thank you very much.
He picked up the envelope, examined the return address. It was handwritten, big loopy letters. Sandi had been living at her parents’ house in Roseville at the time of the accident. This particular letter had come all the way from Texas. Rage had said she was twenty-three or twenty-four. He didn’t care. After the accident, before her court date, he’d given Sandi a chance to make things right by talking to other teenagers about texting and driving, and she’d turned his offer down. She’d done her six months’ probation or whatever and went on with her life. Good for her. His thumb flicked across the part of the envelope that had been sealed but was now lifted slightly from age. When he’d first received the letter, Rage had been all over him to open it and see what she had to say. She was convinced Sandi Cameron was probably riddled with guilt and was now asking for forgiveness. Even if that was true, he could never find it inside himself to forgive her for what she’d done. A text message in exchange for two lives. Nope. It would never happen.
As he dropped the envelope back into the drawer, movement out of the corner of his eye caused him to turn slowly toward the window and then remain perfectly still.
Most of the light in the room was coming from the bathroom, leaving him standing in the shadows. Through the window he saw what he’d been seeing a lot of this winter. Raindrops hitting the glass and tree branches swaying. And one more thing: a dark shadow hunched forward as the figure ran past.
Beast didn’t panic. He never panicked. Slowly, inch by inch, he reached back and opened the same drawer he’d just closed, slid his hand inside, and grabbed hold of his pistol. He knew it was loaded and ready to go because his gun was always loaded and ready to go.
Not wanting to take any chances that whoever was outside might see him, he dropped to the ground and crawled across the floor to the other room.
Little Vinnie saw him first.
Beast put one finger over his lips right as Rage realized something was going on and met his gaze. She started to get up, but Beast shook his head.
Both Rage and Little Vinnie dropped to the floor as if they had been waiting for this moment for a while now.
Low to the ground on his belly, Beast crawled to the kitchen, where he reached a drawer, opened it. He found Rage’s gun, made his way back to the other room, and slid it across the wood floor toward her.
With everything going on of late, Little Vinnie had been keeping his rifle close by. At the moment he had it tucked under his arm. He tilted his chin, letting Beast know they were ready for whatever happened next.
Again Beast crawled to the kitchen.
He stopped. Listened. Didn’t hear a thing. As he passed the kitchen table, the back door was kicked in.
Splinters of wood rained down around him as he jumped to his feet.
A large man, more fat than muscle, stepped inside.
Using both his fist and his handgun, Beast knocked the guy over the head.
No sooner had the man dropped to the floor than a second man clad in dark clothes rushed through the back door and into the house. Beast jabbed an elbow into the man’s jaw, laying him flat, then glanced over his shoulder. He saw his dad and Rage standing a few feet away. Little Vinnie had the barrel of his rifle aimed at the open door. “How many are there?”
“No idea.”
One of the men squirmed. A swift kick of Beast’s boot to the guy’s head quieted him.
Beast waited to see if anyone else would join them before he stepped outside to have a look. A voice he didn’t recognize said, “Nice and slow, so I can see—”
Beast didn’t do nice and slow. He spun around, knocked the man’s gun from his hands, and took him out with a left hook.
A few seconds later, Rage stepped outside. “Don’t shoot your dad,” she told him. “He went around the side of the house.”
Sure enough Little Vinnie came around the corner and said, “It’s all clear.”
“Should we call the police?” Rage asked.
“No. I have a better idea.”
After Beast relayed his plans, the three of them made quick work of pulling off the men’s clothes. They used zip ties to fasten their wrists and duct tape to bind their ankles and cover their mouths. Beast and Little Vinnie tossed them into the back of the truck and took the men for a drive.
Hours later Beast was finally able to drag himself to bed after driving around town and depositing the men at various locations. All three of them had been questioned about Lara’s whereabouts, and each of them had denied knowing anything about the girl.
Worried about someone being harmed, Rage had used a marker to leave messages on their bodies and faces to let people know the men were dangerous. That way, any Good Samaritan who happened by might think twice before letting them loose.
Faith hadn’t been asleep for very long when she sensed someone inside her room and quickly came awake. She looked around in the dark, stopping at a shadowy figure standing perfectly still near the door. Groggy from sleep, she reached slowly for the gun she kept in the top drawer of her bedside table.
“Mom. Are you awake?”
Her shoulders relaxed. “Hudson?”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
She patted the empty space next to her. “Come here. Get under the covers and get warm.”
The mattress dipped slightly as he climbed in. She moved toward him, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and kissed the top of his head. He smelled like her mom, hints of lavender and soap. “I love you,” she whispered.
“I want to go home.”
She didn’t respond right away. She knew sooner or later he would make mention of their home on Rolling Greens Lane. She’d just hoped it wouldn’t be this soon. “I want to go home, too, but we can’t. Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because I did something I shouldn’t have. I let my anger get the best of me, and, because of that, I’ve been ordered by the court to live here with Grandma and Grandpa.”
“Forever?”
“No. Not forever.”
“My stuff is at home. Can we at least go there for a little while?”
She thought about his request for a moment, wondered if he could handle seeing the house. Would it bring back bad memories for Hudson, or would it h
elp him deal with all the horrible things that had taken place? She would call Kirsten tomorrow and see if she would mind meeting them at the house.
“Can we?”
“Of course,” she said. “We’ll go after breakfast. But only for a short time.” She wanted to ask him how he was feeling, but she knew these things couldn’t be rushed. “If you ever want to talk about anything, Hudson, I’m here to listen.”
“I know.”
He fidgeted but didn’t leave the comfort of her arms, so she stayed still and concentrated on the beat of his heart against her chest.
Minutes passed before he fell asleep.
Since he’d returned home, she couldn’t help but stare at him, watch his every move. It took everything she had within her to find the strength to leave him be and give him his space. She breathed in his scent, his soapy-clean hair. Hudson was home. It wasn’t a dream. He was here with her now, in the flesh. She wanted to stay like this forever, keep her son wrapped tightly in her arms, safe and sound.
But people didn’t always get what they wished for.
Faith pulled up to the house on Rolling Greens Lane and shut off the engine. She looked at Hudson. “Well, here we are.”
He turned toward her. His face was still gaunt from his ordeal. Had they starved him? He was pale, too, and his eyes had lost their usual rascally spark.
She wondered if he was thinking the same thing about her. She was merely a shell of the mother he once knew—inside and outside. She looked wiped out most days. She used to have a nightly ritual of washing, scrubbing, lathering on creams and lotions. Showers were now taken for the sole purpose of waking her up. Makeup and lotions, blow-dryers and curling irons were all things of the past.
“Are you scared, Mom?”
The question surprised her. She reached for his hand, to comfort him as much as herself, but then stopped. If she touched him right now, she would lose it. She was certain of it. The emotions had been building like a volcano ready to spew lava and destroy everything in its path. She needed to be strong for her son. And yet she also knew she needed to be truthful. “I am,” she said, those two words strained and heavy. “Not in the way you might think, though.” She was thinking of the last time Hudson was here. Like his parents, he’d been bound and gagged. He might have seen the man with the knife lean down close to Craig and slice his throat. She wasn’t sure.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’m not afraid of those men.” Her voice became a whisper. “But I am afraid for my family, and for my children.”
His chin came up a notch. “You don’t need to be afraid for me, Mom.”
A sob nearly escaped, but she held back. She took his hand in hers, and gave his small fingers a gentle squeeze, something she used to do all the time when the kids were younger. She would walk them to class or to the library if she needed to stay after school for a teachers’ meeting or to talk to a parent. She would squeeze Hudson’s hand and then Lara’s, and they would squeeze her hand, too. But not this time. Hudson was preoccupied with worry.
“I remember what woke me up last night,” Hudson said.
She waited for him to go on.
“The men who took us. The ones who talked about a man named Patrick.”
“What did they do?”
“I saw the car in my dream. I was asleep when they pulled me from Dad’s car and carried me to another car.”
He paused.
“What did you see?”
“It was dark, but I heard them say, ‘There’s Patrick.’ One of them went to talk to him. The man named Patrick was driving the same kind of car the principal at our school drives.”
She tried to think, couldn’t remember what sort of car Mrs. Forbes drove.
“You know, the kind with the letters on the front of the hood.”
It hit her then. Mrs. Forbes drove a black BMW. “A BMW?” she asked.
His head bobbed. “Yeah, that’s it. He drove a black BMW. That’s what he drove, and there’s more,” Hudson said. “I saw his face.”
“You did?” Her pulse raced.
Hudson nodded again. “He stepped out of his car to talk to the guy, and I saw white skin and black hair.”
“How old do you think he was?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“If you had to guess, would you say he was younger than your uncle Colton?”
“Umm. Maybe Colton’s age.”
In the rearview mirror, she saw Kirsten pull up behind her. She gave Hudson a warm smile. “You did good. I’m so proud of you.”
He glanced at the other car. His shoulders hunched downward as if he was trying to make himself smaller. “Somebody’s here.”
“Kirsten Reich thought it would be a good idea if she came inside the house with us. Do you mind?”
He shook his head. “I like her.”
“I do, too. Are you ready?”
He nodded.
“OK, then. Let’s say hello and then go get your things.”
Hudson turned away from her to open the car door. His movements were slow, guarded, as if he was taking in his surroundings before he took another step. She’d noticed the same thing at her parents’ house. He appeared to be always on the alert, always ready. Ready for what, she didn’t know, didn’t like to think about it.
Faith watched him shut the car door and then make his way to Kirsten, who was greeting him with a warm smile. Faith grabbed her purse and joined them. She and Kirsten acknowledged each other with a nod.
Kirsten led the way, following the path around the front of the house to the main door. The lawn had grown weedy and long. The maple tree and decorative bushes were overgrown and misshapen from neglect.
Faith nudged ahead and unlocked the front door. Hudson was at her side. She stiffened as she remembered the wall on which she’d painted images of the men who had attacked her family. Her chest tightened, and she stopped short. She couldn’t allow Hudson to see such a horrible reminder of that day. She reached out to grab his arm to keep him from going inside, but he rushed across the main living area toward the sliding glass door leading to the pool in the backyard.
“It smells like paint,” Kirsten said.
She was right. Faith stepped inside and turned toward the wall—the drawings and notes, the detailed painting, every brushstroke . . . gone.
“Are you all right?” Kirsten asked.
She nodded, grateful to her sister for taking care of the wall. Jana thought of everything. Faith followed Hudson outside and through the gate leading into the pool area.
“The pool is dirty,” Hudson said.
“Yes,” she agreed. “I’ll have to call someone.”
Faith looked past the fence surrounding the pool, to the trees bordering the property. Once spindly and sparse, the trees looked tall and thick as if she’d been gone for years instead of weeks. She remembered clearly the day Craig had planted the trees so many years before. She’d watched him dig the holes from the kitchen window, could still see the sweat on his brow and the appreciation in his eyes when she’d brought him iced tea. His eyes. Beautiful, loving, caring eyes. She’d been staring into those eyes when he was killed. Murdered. How would she ever go on without him?
A noise caught her attention. She turned and saw Hudson’s shoes slap against the pavement as he walked back into the house. Once again she followed him. She would have stayed on his heels if Kirsten hadn’t stopped her in the living room.
“I think we should give him some time alone,” Kirsten said. “Just a few moments to himself.”
Faith wasn’t so sure, but she didn’t follow after him.
“You did the right thing by bringing him here. He needs to see his home.”
“I’m surprised he would want to come back so soon,” Faith said. “After everything that happened.”
“He has more good memories here than bad,” Kirsten reminded her.
There was a knock at the door. It was her ne
ighbor Beth Tanner. Faith greeted Beth with a warm embrace.
“I heard about your son. I’m so glad he’s safe,” Beth said.
“Thanks.”
“No word yet about Lara?”
“Nothing yet.” Faith gestured toward Kirsten. “This is Kirsten Reich, a friend of the family. Actually,” she added, “she’s a therapist.”
Kirsten and Beth shook hands. “You look familiar,” Kirsten said. “Have we met before?”
“She was an ER nurse,” Faith explained. “She saved my life.”
Beth harrumphed. “I did what anyone would have done under the circumstance.” She touched Faith’s shoulder. “Have you seen the news this morning?”
“No. Why? What’s going on?”
Beth walked to the large-screen TV and picked up the remote. “Do you mind?”
“Be my guest.”
Beth scrolled through various channels. “Here we go,” Beth said. “They’ve been replaying the story all morning.”
Tammi Clark with Channel 10 news stood in front of a two-story house. According to the news ticker at the bottom of the screen, ten arrests had been made. A couple had been running a sex-trafficking operation out of an apartment building in Davis. The pair used social media to find clients. Their arrests led authorities to four other locations—Elk Grove, Woodland, Vacaville, and Folsom.
“We recently got word,” Tammi said, “that one of the arrests included an alleged leader of a sophisticated sex-trafficking ring. As we hear more, we’ll keep you updated. Back to you, Stacey.”
“If you’re just tuning in,” Stacey told viewers from behind a podium at the station, “it’s been a busy morning for the police and the FBI.” She reached for the piece of paper someone handed her. “Human trafficking, also referred to as modern-day slavery, is a growing problem in the United States. Many of these youths are recruited or lured by false promises and then forced into trafficking through violence, compelled drug use, and ongoing threats and intimidation. Sex exploitation has reached epidemic proportions in the United States. But in the past few days alone, dozens of arrests have been made. A citizen in Elk Grove, and others like her, are speaking up when they see suspicious activity. The word out in the street seems to be ‘If you see something, say something.’ I’m going to turn this over to Barb Moore, who is standing by, reporting live in Elk Grove.”
