by James Hunt
Ricky followed his father through the exit, and they bumped into another large crowd. The security team tried to plow through, but the large crowd and the darkness only caused the masses to grow more agitated.
“Hey, watch it!”
“What are you doing?”
“Get your hands off me!”
Before either the Tellers or the security team could do anything, the masses in the hall started to panic from the sudden intrusion, and when the protestors from outside entered the main hall, their voices ringing high into the ceiling, it created the final spark that triggered chaos.
Bodies slammed into one another, and Ricky was ripped from his father’s hand.
“Dad! Daddy!” Ricky’s voice was swallowed up by the angry cry of the mob. He struggled to fight against the people in the hall, and between the darkness, and the bodies, he had no idea which way to go.
Eventually, Ricky found his way to the wall, clinging to the cold concrete as the current of bodies rushed past him. He whimpered, wishing his parents were nearby. But then his pocket buzzed, and he reached inside to grab the secret phone he’d been given.
The screen was bright in the darkness, but it also offered security, something to distract his worried mind as the crowd around him continued to panic. It was Ricky’s friend reaching out to him.
Kurt: Go to the bathroom on your right.
Ricky glanced to his right and saw the bathroom entrance. He hurried toward it, ducking inside. It was even darker in the bathroom, but the glow from his phone helped guide him.
A row of urinals was on his left, and immediately after that was another row of stalls. He glanced down at his phone to see if his friend had any more instructions, but it was blank.
“Hello?” Ricky asked. Ricky crept forward, moving toward the closed doors of the stall. He texted his friend.
Ricky: Are you here?
Ricky waited for a reply, but when none came, he opened the door to the first stall; it was empty. The next stall door was open, but the next door was closed. Ricky didn’t know why he was so afraid. After all, his friend had told him he should go in here, so it had to be safe.
But all Ricky could think about was what had happened to his parents. Why weren’t they here? How was he going to find them?
Before Ricky opened the door, a hand grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him backward. At first, Ricky thought it was his friend, but he didn’t understand why his friend covered his mouth and gripped him so tightly.
And when the person picked Ricky off the floor and hurried out of the bathroom, the moment he had waited for so long, to meet his friend who he trusted, was nothing like Ricky had imagined.
5
Jim was on his third cup of coffee by the time he reached the precinct. It was half-past nine when he entered the building and the place was buzzing. He tapped the desk sergeant on the shoulder. “What happened?” Jim asked.
“Big stink at the convention center, some kind of power outage,” he answered, unphased by the precinct’s hectic energy.
Jim remembered the message he had received from the Broker earlier this morning. If he had something to do with it, Jim knew he would be joining the chaos soon enough. Until then, Jim walked to his desk to catch up on paperwork.
But Jim distracted himself with his phone, looking at the text the Broker had sent him. It was maddening having the monster orchestrating all of these abductions, hiding in plain sight.
Jim had tried every trick in the book to track the Broker from the texts, but the Broker never used the same number twice, and every time their cyber division attempted to locate the phone associated with the number, it always ended up at a dead end.
But that didn’t mean he stopped trying.
Jim headed back to the cyber division and found Missy Logan at her desk. She had purple hair, wore only black, didn’t enjoy human interaction, and was the best cyber investigator they had.
“Got another one?” Missy asked, never taking her eyes off the six computer screens, each with a different spread of data across it.
“He texted me this morning,” Jim answered.
“Always assuming it’s a he,” Missy replied. “Women can be pedophiles, too.”
“They can, but it’s rare,” Jim said, setting down his phone on Missy’s desk, pushing it toward the keyboard until it was in her line of sight.
Missy finally stopped typing and picked up the phone. “Jim, I have to tell you, I don’t think this will be any different than the last time.”
Jim already knew that, but he couldn’t do nothing. “Please.”
Missy sighed and then plugged the phone into her desktop. “All right, let’s see what we’ve got here.” She pulled up the phone’s system on her computer and started sifting through the messages. “Do you remember what he said?”
“The last thing he sent me was to ‘stay sharp,’” Jim answered.
Missy shivered. “The fact that this person is so elusive gives me the creeps. I mean, I know there are some good hackers, some even better than me, but to have one this good who does the things he does…” She shook her head. “It’s scary.”
“Yes, it is,” Jim said.
After five minutes of scanning the messages on Jim’s phone, Missy found nothing that would be helpful. “Sorry, Jim,” Missy said, returning his phone. “He uses an AES encryption for all of his messages, and that encryption has never been broken. He’s smart and careful.”
“And boastful,” Jim said, remembering how playful he sounded whenever he reached out to Jim. “Thanks anyway.”
“No problem,” Missy said.
Jim returned to his desk and grew anxious as he waited for the inevitable phone call. So far, the Broker had never been someone to bluff. Every time Jim received a message from him, starting with the abduction of Amy Fuller, the Broker had always made good on his threats.
Jim wasn’t used to playing on the defensive so much. Of course, with every case, there was a certain amount of catch-up that he would have to do, but he’d never chased a single person for so long without finding any piece of evidence he could use.
“Morning.” Kerry dropped into her chair and fired up her computer.
“Hey.” Jim continued to stare at his phone, both hoping for and dreading another text message. Because as infuriating as those messages were, each one represented another opportunity to catch the Broker.
“Busy morning,” Kerry said, glancing around the office.
“There was an incident at the convention center,” Jim said.
“I heard,” Kerry replied. “You all right?”
Jim and Kerry hadn’t been partnered for as long as some of the other detectives in the precinct, but they were already in sync with one another, able to read each other’s thoughts.
“He sent another message,” Jim said.
Kerry’s expression darkened. “When?”
“This morning—early,” Jim answered.
“Has anything come in?” Kerry asked.
“Not yet, but I’m betting the incident at the convention center was his doing,” Jim answered. “All we can do now, though, is wait.”
“God,” Kerry said, “just when I think today might be a good day.”
Jim was quiet for a moment, and then he leaned over the desk, whispering, “How was therapy?”
Kerry had kept her therapy sessions a secret from everyone save for her family, Jim, and the lieutenant. She had fought long and hard to overcome the baggage her father had left behind for her when she had joined the force, and now she had finally earned some respect around the precinct.
Therapy, at least in the department, still had a stigma associated with it. Officers didn’t want to believe they could be broken enough to speak to someone about the things they’ve seen and the instances they’ve experienced on the job. It was easier for most just to sweep it under the rug.
But Kerry couldn’t sweep Amy Fuller’s death under the rug. She knew she would never forget what she had see
n, what she had felt, but she needed to figure out a way to live with it.
“It was good,” Kerry said, then she leaned closer. “You should try it.”
Jim grimaced. “You know how I feel about therapists.”
“What you went through as a kid was terrible,” Kerry said. “But not all therapists are bad people.”
Jim shook his head. “I’m not saying that. I’m just saying therapy isn’t for me. But I’m glad it’s working for you, really.”
Jim had been subjugated to sick and twisted individuals when he was in the foster system, some of them therapists. None of them did the proper due diligence to investigate the abusive families Jim had been sent to live with, and he and hundreds of other children had paid the price.
“Well, let me put it another way,” Kerry said. “How long do you want to stay at your parent’s place?”
Jim rolled his eyes. “I’m working on it.”
“I’d work faster,” Kerry said. “Jen is a good woman, and she’s not going to wait around for an apology forever.”
“What makes you think I’m the one who has to apologize?” Jim asked.
“Do you really want me to answer that?” Kerry replied.
Jim dropped the subject. He had enough on his plate, and he didn’t want to add arguing with Kerry to the list. Work was still the one good thing he had going for him.
“Any news on the ‘mom’ front?” Kerry asked.
“Is therapy going to make you start asking a bunch of questions now?” Jim asked.
“Someone needs to get you to open up,” Kerry answered.
Jim knew the lack of sleep and frustration with the Broker was making him irritable. “I’m sorry.” He set his phone down on the desk and rubbed his eyes. “I haven’t reached out to my biological mother, but I will when all of this crazy work stuff dies down.”
“Hey,” Kerry said. “We’re going to catch this guy, Jim.”
“Yeah,” Jim said. “I know.”
“Martin, North.” Lieutenant Mullocks poked her head out of her office. “We’ve got a situation at the convention center.”
Jim and Kerry exchanged a quick glance before they joined Mullocks in her office.
“What are we dealing with?” Kerry asked as Jim closed the door behind them.
“I’m sure you’ve heard about the power outage, but there’s something else,” Mullocks said. “A kid was taken. We have units on the scene trying to sort out this mess. It’s a madhouse down there, but so far, one child has remained unaccounted for.”
“Who?” Jim asked.
“Ricky Teller,” Mullocks answered. “He was there as a performer at the convention, which was hosting a YouTube exhibition centered around children’s content.”
“He’s the only one missing?” Kerry asked.
“So far, yes,” Mullocks answered. “I have a pair of uniforms bringing the child’s parents down for an interview. Once the uniforms on scene finish their sweep, we’ll send out the AMBER Alert and start the process.”
“We should start it now,” Jim said. “The Broker messaged me again.”
Mullocks was one of the toughest officers Jim had met. She was a small woman, but she made up for it with her fiery personality. It was rare for Jim to see the lieutenant nervous, but with twelve cases already tied to the Broker, Mullocks was anxious.
“Okay,” Mullocks said. “Start the paperwork. Let’s find out who abducted Ricky Teller.”
The caffeine helped but only a little. Jim was running more off of pure adrenaline now than anything else. He had pulled back-to-back all-nighters before but never after such a long stretch of exhaustion. But he was still sharp enough to handle this case.
“Jim,” Kerry said, standing outside the door to the room where the parents were waiting for them inside. “Before we go in there, maybe we should consider handing this over to someone else.”
Jim frowned. “What?”
Kerry kept her voice hushed. “We might benefit from a second pair of eyes on this, someone who can look at it fresh.”
“Kerry, if this abduction has anything to do with the Broker, then we have to handle it ourselves,” Jim said. “We know these cases better than anyone.”
“And we’ve failed, Jim,” Kerry said. “The Broker is still out there, still taking kids.”
“Where is this coming from?” Jim asked. “Is this something your therapist asked? Because if you need to step away—”
“I’m fine!” Kerry said, raising her voice louder than she intended.
“Kerry,” Jim said, touching her shoulder. “I can’t stop. I’ve tried, but I can’t. And if this is one more chance to find the Broker, then I’m going to take it. If you don’t want to do this, then I understand. But I’m going into that room to figure out how to find their missing son.”
For Kerry, it was like smacking her head against a brick wall when it came to speaking with Jim lately. But she should have known better to think he would hand this over. He wasn’t going to budge, and Kerry wasn’t about to let Jim go through this alone, so she followed Jim into the room to begin their investigation. She could keep it together for a little while longer.
The father, Daniel Teller, had his head bowed at the table, and neither Jim nor Kerry was sure if he was praying, meditating, or keeping himself from losing his mind. The mother, Marcia Teller, was on the phone, pacing anxiously around the room.
“Well, I don’t give a shit who you have to talk to about this. I want all the names of everyone who was inside the venue!” Marcia screamed. “Don’t give me that privacy bullshit, Barry. My son is fucking missing; do you understand me? You can either be part of the solution or part of the problem, and if you’re part of the problem, I will end you!” She hung up and then squeezed the phone with the intent of breaking it in half.
“Mr. and Mrs. Teller,” Jim said, announcing their entrance, “I’m Detective Jim North, and this is my partner, Detective Kerry Martin.”
Daniel jerked up his head to look at them, and Marcia stepped to their side of the table.
“What can you tell us? Did you find him?” Marcia asked, eyes wide as she aggressively entered Jim and Kerry’s space. “Speak up!”
“Marcia,” Daniel said, exasperated. “Give them a chance to do their job, okay?”
Marcia lingered a moment before she finally backed down, and while she returned to her side of the table with Daniel, she didn’t sit.
“I can understand your anger,” Jim said, taking a seat, glad to sit down. He’d been feeling lightheaded since he arrived at the precinct, and the last thing he needed was to have Kerry or Ricky’s parents see him pass out. He just needed to eat something, and he would do that the moment he stepped out of this interview. “We have a forensic tech on scene at the convention center along with uniformed officers questioning witnesses. There have been several arrests—” He held up his hand before Marcia could interrupt him. “—none of whom have revealed the person who took your son.”
“It will take some time to gather and assimilate all of that information, but what we’re here to do right now is learn more about your son,” Kerry said.
Marcia closed her eyes and tensed, speaking slowly as if she were about to vomit. “My son is all over the internet. It’s what he does. You want to know what he looks like? Here.” She tossed the phone at Jim. “Look up his channel.”
Jim gently returned the phone to the center of the table. “We have all of the physical descriptions we need, but we’re looking for insight into your son’s life.”
“What do you mean?” Daniel asked.
“Your son has a very prominent presence on social media,” Kerry answered. “Have you had any problems with cyberbullies or threats recently?”
The moment Kerry asked the question, Jim watched as the parents exchanged a glance, and he knew Kerry had touched on a sore subject.
“We do everything we can to shield Ricky from the darker side of celebrity,” Daniel said. “But lately, there have been cert
ain individuals who have tried really hard to make their displeasure known about what our son is doing.”
“Anyone in particular?” Kerry asked.
“Jamison Kent,” Marcia answered.
“The Be With It actor?” Kerry asked.
“Yeah,” Marcia answered. “The bastard hasn’t left us alone for the past six months.”
“He’s started some kind of movement with parents about child actors,” Daniel said. “And he’s using Ricky as the poster child for his movement. It’s gained a lot of traction. He was at the convention center, protesting. If there’s anyone you should question, it’s him.”
“Aside from the protest today, what kind of threats has he posed to your son?” Jim asked.
“Every YouTube video has a comment section,” Daniel said. “Some people choose to turn the comments section off—”
“But that hurts the algorithm,” Marcia said. “Which hurts your performance, which affects the bottom line.”
“Right,” Daniel said. “But there is a monitoring feature that we activated as a way to make sure we can see what people are posting before Ricky does. Plus, our audience is also a bunch of other five to nine-year-olds, so we don’t want them seeing anything that would be a detriment to their own mental health.”
“And we don’t want to damage Ricky’s brand,” Marcia said. “He represents a wholesome experience to families all over the world.”
“Why do you do that?” Daniel asked.
“Do what?” Marcia asked.
“Our son is missing and you’re speaking to these detectives like they’re marketing executives.”
“They said they wanted to know about Ricky’s life!” Marcia said, shouting. “Am I not supposed to talk at all?”
“It’s always about money with you!” Daniel said, growing frustrated. “Money, money, money. That’s all you ever talk about, and it’s all Ricky ever hears you talk about! God forbid you actually have a real conversation with him about anything other than the business!”
“Mrs. and Mrs. Teller—”
Marcia slammed her fists onto the table, silencing Mike. “Well, someone has to make money for this family because you sure as shit failed miserably! That’s why I handle the finances and the business and you’re editing the videos.”
