by Cole Baxter
“Where are you?” I begged. “Help Mommy find you, Gregory!”
“Help me!” he wailed, finally able to verbalize his fear.
“Tell me where you are!”
More wails. Gregory was a very intelligent boy, but he often had troubles communicating. Plus, he was so young that it was hard for him to understand his situation. He had never been prepared for this kind of experience—no kid should have to be. But, because I spent so much time coaching him on how to act in certain social settings, I felt as though I did him a disservice by not really instructing him about what to do if someone wanted to cause him harm.
Gregory was a trusting kid who took things at face value. If someone told him that they wanted him to go over to their house to work on a fun project, he’d go without a second guess. When he was in the first grade, I had to sit down and tell him how dangerous it was to get into a stranger’s car because he tried to catch a ride home with a random guy when I was just a few minutes late to pick him up. I don’t think the message really stuck with him, though.
I wanted to shield him from the world because no child should be burdened with everyday horrors. But at the same time, I worried that I was going to make it harder for him to understand truly dangerous situations. So, I did my best to educate him on right and wrong without getting into too much detail and prayed that no one would ever try to take advantage of a disabled kid. I didn’t want to tell him too much and add a lifetime of anxiety to his Asperger’s. He had been doing so well, and I didn’t want to make life any harder for him.
Suddenly, his cries grew louder and more frantic. I dropped to my knees and crawled on the floor, trying to find anything that could help me. Finally, my fingers wrapped around a plastic cylinder. With a flick of the switch, the flimsy flashlight illuminated the foot of space in front of me with its dim light.
I still couldn’t see anything in front of me, but at least I would be able to tell if something was about to pop out at me. I continued along the wall, searching for my son. At one point, I even pointed the light toward the ceiling in case the sounds were coming from above. I even shuffled my feet around, just in case Gregory happened to be beneath me.
“Turn on the freaking lights!” I roared at our captor. I was becoming increasingly frustrated in my search and didn’t want to play along anymore. I was so close to having my baby in my arms and I didn’t want to wait a second longer. “Just let us go.”
He didn’t respond. For all I knew, he wasn’t there at all. I sat down on the ground and curled up into a ball. As the tears poured down my cheeks, I remembered how scared Gregory was of the dark.
All kids had their own irrational fears, but my son seemed to have some that were worse than what would be considered normal. The dark was an ongoing fear, even at his age. Pediatricians promised that he’d grow out of it by age five or so, but they didn’t know my son. While he became overwhelmed by being over stimulated, under stimulation had a similar effect on his brain. He slept with a small nightlight by his bed, which gave him the perfect amount of vision, just in case he woke up in the middle of the night. He also played nature sounds on a little machine next to his head, soothing him to sleep every night. Being alone in the dark would be pure torture for my son.
Feeling angry and hopeless, I started sprinting through the maze, just so I could cover as much ground as possible. But with how worthless my flashlight was, I didn’t see the brick wall around the corner until my face smashed into it.
I bolted upright, feeling wet spots on my face. But it was not blood. No, I had been sweating and crying in my sleep again. Feeling ill, I walked to the bathroom, hoping that I hadn’t woken my mother. After splashing some cool water on my face, I sat on the toilet lid and held my head in my hands.
Just when I thought I was going to get some quality sleep, I was up before my alarm, willing myself not to throw up. There was never an escape from the madness. If I didn’t have to imagine all of the horrible things that could be happening to my son during my waking hours, the nightmares wouldn’t be so destructive. But my missing son and my attacker were always on my mind. Not even medication could fix that.
I couldn’t do this anymore. I needed to find my son, but all of the information that I might have been able to share was locked away in my brain and I didn’t have the access code to retrieve it. While I was afraid of what I had either lost completely or was purposefully blanking out, I still wanted information that would lead to my son. I was completely helpless.
At the same time, I couldn’t help but feel as though I should be working so I could raise the funds needed to find a missing child. If things didn’t go well, I would have to hire private investigators. Those were not cheap, and I didn’t want to resort to begging others for the funds. However, with my mind constantly in other places, I don’t know how I could focus for long enough to code. The focus I needed was just not there.
I could hear my mom’s alarm clock going off. She’d traded her shift at work so she could visit my brother in the afternoon. I felt bad about not being able to make much of a financial contribution to the family. I had enough saved up for my son and me to live comfortably. I wasn’t in a position where I could pay for a private investigator and pay for my brother’s medical bills. If I could, I would have paid the difference that my mom would have lost, had she spent all of her time at the hospital. Unfortunately, I wouldn’t be able to do any of those things unless I managed to create an app that sold really well.
Perhaps I would eventually find inspiration from the kidnapping to create something that would save lives. I already made an app that helps keep women safe after my abduction. Mine used GPS technology to send information to friends and family. When I was taken, nobody panicked immediately because I was supposed to be safe with my husband. So, when text messages and calls went unanswered by me, people just assumed that I was busy instead of being locked in a house with a rapist.
So, with my app, all a user has to do is add phone contacts to a special list. Then, if one of these people tries to contact the user and they don’t respond within ten minutes, the contact receives the user’s location on a map. It’s not foolproof, but it protects a person’s privacy while keeping their family in the loop.
Anyway, that was just one of my ideas that happened to catch on. Sometimes, app developers spend months working on something that never sells. I guess I happened to find a niche. It’s unfortunate that I profit from people’s insecurities, but at least I can justify it by knowing that it might save a life.
My other apps weren’t as serious but still made decent money. One of the more successful ones was a game for kids with autism to practice coping skills in different stressful situations. Another one was just a way for new parents to track things like feedings and diaper changes. Now, with my son missing, I wondered if I would ever be able to successfully create an app to ensure that this never happened again.
I didn’t want to speak with my mother, so instead of going downstairs for an early breakfast, I slipped back into bed. I had no intention of trying to fall back asleep, though. Instead, I checked my phone for missed messages, hoping to receive some more information from Detective Reyes. Unfortunately, there were only emails for twenty percent off children’s clothes at a store that I frequent with Gregory. I kept it, in hopes that he could be home soon enough to use it.
Then, I went to the local newspaper’s website, in hopes that there would be some sort of lead. But after scrolling through a few pages, I remembered that the police said they would not release too many details about the case, just in case it gave the kidnapper any information. I closed out of the browser and tossed my phone onto the other pillow.
The second the phone hit the satin case and slid under the covers, it began to vibrate. I scooted my hand underneath the sheet and lazily searched for it. I wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone, but on the off chance it was the police, I needed to answer it.
Jacob’s name appeared on the screen and I thought about tossing it back onto
the pillow. But for some reason, I kind of wanted to get this horrible dream off my chest, and I didn’t have a therapy appointment scheduled for a few days. Reluctantly, I answered the phone and held it to my ear with a shaky hand.
“Hello?”
“Annabeth?” Jacob said in a breathy voice. “What are you doing up so early?”
“You’re the one who called,” I responded, a little confused by the tone of surprise.
“I guess you’re right,” he said, letting out a nervous laugh. “I couldn’t sleep, and I was just thinking about yesterday. I hope you’re not upset with me.”
“No,” I said sleepily. “I think we’re all a little stressed out right now.”
“Absolutely,” he replied. “So, are you doing okay?”
My initial instinct was to lie, but there was so much I wanted to get off my chest, and Jacob was the only person available for listening.
“Actually, I’m not,” I replied. “I had a really awful nightmare, and now I’m almost afraid to go back to sleep.”
“What was it about?” he asked, sounding interested.
“I was looking for Gregory in the maze.”
“The—the maze?” he stammered after a long pause.
“The maze that I was held captive in. I had a dream that Gregory was crying out for me, but I couldn’t find him. I woke up before I could rescue him.”
“Oh, Annabeth,” he breathed. “Do you want to come over?”
I frowned. “Come over? It’s early.”
“Are you busy today?”
I scoffed. I knew I would do nothing but twiddle my thumbs all day and worry. “No, I don’t have anything going on. I’m just waiting for an update.”
“Come over for breakfast,” he offered.
“Really?”
“Sure! I’ll run down to the bakery and get those cheese Danishes you like. I can put on a pot of coffee too. How about you swing by in half an hour?”
“I don’t know,” I said hesitantly, staring down at my ragged pajamas.
“Come on,” he said. “It’ll be good for you. Don’t you think you should get out of the house? I worry about your being all alone in there.”
That fact hadn’t crossed my mind until he mentioned it. He was right—I would feel a little safer being with someone else, even if it was just for an hour or so. By the time we were done, perhaps I could go back to the police station and check in.
“Yeah, okay,” I replied. “I’m just going to get ready and then I’ll head over.”
“Awesome,” Jacob replied, speaking a little faster. “See you soon.”
I hung up the phone and stretched out in my bed. I heard my mom start her hair dryer, so I raced into the bathroom to take a quick shower before she left. I estimated that I had about three to five minutes to get out of the shower before she was gone. I hated the thought of standing naked under running water while home alone.
Of course, this was all just part of my daily routine. I had so many safeguards built into my schedule that these sorts of things didn’t seem out of the ordinary for me. Occasionally, my therapist would give me a horrified look when I mentioned things like checking under the bed before I went to sleep and making fake phone calls when I was in public and felt nervous.
Unfortunately, my little rituals and habits weren’t as effective as I might have hoped. Still, I clung to my routine as a mental safeguard, to at least give me the impression that I had an ounce of control over my life.
Chapter Sixteen
When I arrived at Jacob’s small split-level house, I quickly ran to the front step while repeatedly hitting the lock button on my car’s remote. The little beeps must have alerted Jacob to my arrival because he answered the door on the first knock.
“Hi,” he wheezed. “Please, come in.”
I followed him down the hall into his kitchen as his feet stomped on the hardwood floor. He had always been a big kid, but he had become quite rotund in the time since I had gone to school. I wondered if some of his unhealthy habits stemmed from his breakdown all those years ago. I had noticed that whenever I was feeling anxious, I ate poorly or ate nothing at all.
Jacob’s house was nice, but bare. His bachelor pad had no artwork or photographs adorning the walls. In fact, the only photo I could see was one of the two of us, standing in my front yard. I must have been in high school by then, and he was standing with a protective arm over my shoulder. I smiled when I saw the frame on his kitchen counter. He must have gotten it out to show me. The girl in the photo was so young and happy, completely oblivious to what life had in store for her.
“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the table. I pulled out a chair and sat down, my feet tapping on the floor as I waited for him to join me.
I continued to look around the kitchen, trying to piece together my disjointed memories about my host. Did Jacob have other friends? Perhaps a girlfriend at some point? As I looked over the room, I saw dirty dishes in the sink and takeout packages stuffed in the trash. I didn’t get the feeling that Jacob was used to having guests in his home. The kitchen didn’t smell terrible, but it definitely didn’t smell good. He was a loner.
“Here we go,” he said with a smile on his face. He slid a stained mug in my direction, sloshing a few drops of steaming coffee down the side. Then, he opened the plastic clamshell container and dropped a pastry on each of our plates before licking the icing off his chubby fingers.
“Thanks,” I said morosely. I pinched off an edge of the Danish and dropped it into my mouth. I had absolutely no appetite, but he had gone to the trouble to procure my favorite breakfast, so I obliged.
“So, why don’t you tell me more about this crazy dream?” he said.
I nodded and started from the beginning, giving him details about how I felt in the maze. I described the cold brick walls, the soft earth beneath my feet, and the damp smell. He sat up a little straighter as I got into the details. I’m sure it sounded like the plot of a horror film to him.
“Wow,” he said when I was finished.
“I know,” I replied. “It’s pretty messed up.”
“It’s absolutely fascinating,” he said.
My stomach turned. I didn’t find it fascinating as much as I found it horrifying. It was a poor choice of words on his part.
I fiddled with the hem of my shirt. I suddenly felt very uncomfortable and wanted to go home. Then, I remembered that it was still early in the morning and I would be alone. I should be thankful that someone was willing to sit beside me and listen.
Besides, I couldn’t fault Jacob for what I thought was an inappropriate reaction to my fears. He was a bit of a social outcast. My son didn’t always fit in with his peers, so I naturally felt drawn to those who could use a friend. If Jacob was being weird, it was only because he didn’t know he was doing anything wrong. I needed to be more patient or I would lose him too.
“Is that really what it was like when you were held captive?” he asked.
I nodded. “Pretty much. It was always so dark and damp in there. I know it was a maze because I couldn’t navigate around the space. But I have no idea what the layout was like.”
“Do you remember where it was?”
I shook my head. “No. The therapist says it’s possible that I’ll never regain those memories.”
“That’s wild,” he said. “What was it like in there? How did you feel?”
“In the dream?” I asked.
“No, in the maze.”
I bit my lip. This was something I only really spoke to my therapist about.
“I don’t need to burden you with this,” I said dismissively. “I have a therapist for that. I can dump all of this stuff on her because she’s a professional. You’re not. You’re just my friend.”
“I can be more than your friend,” he said. “I can be your confidant. Look, I think it’s best to be able to speak about what’s on our minds. I don’t think you can talk to your family about this, can you?”
“No,” I said mourn
fully. “I really can’t. And you’re right—sometimes, it’s hard to keep this all to myself.”
“Then tell me about it,” he pried. “Come on, who am I going to tell?”
“I just don’t quite understand why you want me to talk about it,” I said. “It’s really heavy stuff. Sometimes, I even feel like I’m going to force my therapist into therapy.”
“She probably already is. Why don’t you start with the maze? What’s that like?”
I sighed. “Basically, just imagine a haunted house where it’s dark and you don’t know if something is going to pop out at you.”
“I’m sure it’s more complicated than that.” he frowned. “I think you’re smart enough to leave a haunted house.”
“Well, not literally a haunted house,” I replied, feeling frustrated. “It’s unlike anything I’ve ever known. I tried so hard to find an exit, but it was just impossible. I remember a few little bits. There were two dead ends in a row. Then, there were a few curved areas that led back into the maze. I remember sleeping in one of those spaces because I could put my back up against the wall.”
“That sounds scary.”
“That’s an understatement. There’s no terror like it, except for maybe having my child taken from me. It was horrifying not knowing if I’d ever get out. Sometimes, I just wanted to die in there.”
“Why?” he asked, his head tilted slightly.
“Because of how I was treated in there,” I said, my voice cracking.
“What was the man like?” he pressed.
I shuddered. “Awful. Words don’t even begin to describe how awful he is. He was big and often smelled bad. He covered my face when he had his way with me against my will.”
“What?”
I let out a deep breath. “Yeah. That’s exactly what it was. He pushed himself on me and made sure that I could never see his face very well. I kind of remember a time where I fought him off and removed the cover, but when I try to picture his face, it’s just blank. I know it’s not possible to have a completely blank face, devoid of all facial features, but that’s what my memory came up with.”
