Their Only Child

by Carla Cassidy

  “How in the hell is that possible?” he asked. “Didn’t anyone see anybody go near that can? How did the perp manage to get the money without anyone seeing him?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t explain it,” Donny snapped, obviously frustrated by this new turn of events. “I had half a dozen men doing nothing but watching that trash. We never saw anyone suspicious-looking approach it.”

  “But you saw somebody.” Sully stared at the three officers, his face flushed with anger.

  “Kids,” one of the other men replied after a moment’s hesitation.

  “What kids?” Theresa asked as she placed a placating hand on Sully’s arm.

  “There was a point this evening when about five kids were hanging out close to the trash can. You know, wrestling with each other and horsing around,” Donny said. “The only thing we can figure, the perp paid off one of the kids to retrieve the paper sack from the trash. With all the other kids around, we never saw it happen.”

  Sully cursed again. “Dammit, I should have stayed at the mall.”

  “What could you have done that we didn’t do?” Donny retorted.

  All the anger seemed to whoosh out of Sully. “I don’t know.”

  “I’m sorry, Sully. We didn’t think those kids posed a threat. They weren’t even teenagers, they were younger. Who’d have thought…” Donny’s voice trailed off. He heaved a deep sigh and drained his coffee. “We’re going to pack it in for the night. There’s nothing more that can be done here for now.”

  Within minutes, all the men had gone home. Home to their families, home to put together toys for the morning, to wrap last-minute presents, home to their warm houses, where their own children slept safe and sound.

  Theresa stood at the front door, watching as their cars’ taillights disappeared into the darkness of night With them went the last of her hope.

  She leaned weakly against the storm door, the pane of glass achingly cold against the heat of her forehead.

  She didn’t move until Sully gently took her arm and moved her away so that he could close the front door. When she looked at him, she saw the shine of tears on his cheeks, knew he felt the same black despair she did.

  She moved into his arms and kissed him, unsure whether she tasted the salt of his tears or her own. They didn’t speak. Their pain was beyond words, their need to be in each other’s arms too enormous to deny.

  His mouth tasted of anguish, the same as her own. Tears were inadequate to express the emotions roiling inside her. She only knew she wanted to be held by Sully, escape into him.

  Where before their kisses had been filled with pent-up passion, the ones they shared now were filled with the unfulfilled hopes and dreams for the little boy they had created together.

  As if in silent agreement, they moved to the thick rug in front of the fireplace and silently shed their clothes. Theresa knew Sully had the same need she did…the need to be held, the need for them to love each other for this moment in time. She needed to get lost in a world without thought, and knew he felt the same way. Their need wasn’t physical, but rather spiritual.

  Theresa turned off the lights, leaving the room illuminated only by the flames in the fireplace and the Christmas lights flashing and chasing one another amid the tree boughs.

  As she joined Sully on the rug, for a long moment they merely gazed at each other. His face was a study in contrasts, each feature intensified by the play of the light.

  She ran her fingers across his face, like a blind woman learning braille. Prominent cheekbones, bold brow, features Eric had taken from Sully’s gene pool. Sully’s nose had a small bump on the bridge…the remnant of a break that had occurred his first year on the police force.

  It was a face that Theresa loved…a face that would only grow more handsome with age. She saw the shadows of Sully’s face each time she looked at Eric.

  A sob caught in her throat, and Sully pulled her to him. With her cheek against the warmth of his chest, she could hear his heartbeat, a thundering pulse that had often lulled her to sleep when they were married. She’d missed that…the metronome of his heartbeat

  She tangled her fingers in his chest hair, felt the stir of his desire against her thigh. She knew Sully’s desire was more than physical. She saw his need shining in the depths of his tear-filled eyes, the hunger of the soul to connect intimately with the mother of his missing child.

  She reached her hand down and stroked the length of him, remembering the night she believed their lovemaking had resulted in Eric’s conception.

  It had been the night of their six-month anniversary. She’d surprised him with a night in a luxury hotel room. They’d stayed in bed all night and most of the next morning, finally hurrying to dress minutes before checkout time. It had been a night of love, a recommitment of the vows they’d spoken six months before. Two months later, when she discovered herself pregnant, she’d known that particular night of love had produced the legacy she carried inside her.

  A fresh wave of emotion swept through her with the memories. That had been a time of innocence, when they were young enough to believe that good always overcomes evil and their love was strong enough to survive any bumps life threw in their path.

  She kissed him again, knowing that this time it was her own tears she tasted.

  SULLY DRANK of Theresa’s kiss, as if her lips alone possessed the elixir to heal the wound Eric’s absence left behind. He tangled his hands in her hair…dark silk with a touch of red in the sunlight…so like Eric’s.

  In all the hours of his deepest despair, in all the agony of self-doubt and loss of himself, Sully had never felt the kind of yawning anguish he felt when Donny told him the money was gone. And along with the money had gone their hopes for finding Eric.

  He stroked Theresa’s breast, wanting to lose himself in desire, allow the flames of passion to momentarily hush the horror in his mind. He wanted to warm himself, cloak himself with her, allow them to give a small measure of comfort to one another.

  He rolled her on her back, her hair splaying out against the bold geometric-patterned rug. Leaning his head down, he touched his mouth to her nipple, heard the swift intake of her breath as the pinkish tip grew taut

  He not only wanted to love her body, he wanted to embrace her soul, give to her, in an effort to appease the hunger they both felt for their child. In this despair, they were united, and it seemed only right that they comfort each other by the most intimate communication a man and a woman could have…by making love.

  As he caressed her breasts with his lips, his hand sought the damp heat between her thighs. She gasped and arched up to meet his intimate touch.

  The blue of her eyes deepened to navy, glazed with a familiar look. He knew the pleasure of his touch was driving all other conscious thought from her mind. That was what he wanted…to give her heart, her very soul, a respite from the darkness.

  He increased the depth and length of his caresses, wanting to sweep her away from the tree with no angel, the house with no laughter, the home with no child.

  Her responses, the little sounds she made, all were as familiar to him as the back of his own hand, the sight of his face in the mirror, and yet each moan, every caress she returned, felt as new, as exciting, as it had the very first time they made love.

  As her hand curled around him, her touch as intimate as his. on her, he felt the last of his rational thought slipping away beneath a mountain of emotion too complicated to sort through.

  Much later, he picked her up in his arms and carried her into her bedroom. He helped her pull a nightgown over her head, then tucked her in beneath the sheets. He could tell that she was empty…bereft of thought, energy and emotion.

  The emotional stress of the past three days, the nights of little sleep, had finally caught up with her, and almost immediately she fell into a deep, soundless sleep.

  Sully sat in a chair at the side of the bed, watching her sleep. Occasionally her eyelids quivered and her forehead wrinkled. Nightmares, he
thought. Even in sleep, the strain didn’t ease.

  As he continued to watch her, his heart filled with love for her. He loved her…had never stopped loving her. But it was only now, while she slept, that he allowed himself to feel it, to embrace the love he felt for her.

  She and Eric had been everything good in his life up until the time of his shooting. She’d been his laughter, his joy, his passion. He’d marveled at her intelligence, delighted in her wit. Theirs had been a charmed existence, made only more wonderful with Eric’s birth.

  Having grown up with an alcoholic father, before meeting Theresa, Sully had believed that happiness was for everyone else, but not in his cards. Theresa had brought him a happiness he’d never dreamed possible.

  The night of his shooting, it had all shattered, and he’d realized then that fate had been laughing at him. Fate had taunted him by showing him a glimpse of happiness, then snatched it all away.

  He’d picked up his first glass of booze to ease some of the physical pain the bullet had left behind. He’d found a seductive side effect. It had also numbed the emotional pain of knowing he’d never again be the man he’d been, and he’d never again be anyone’s hero.

  He remembered the look in his mother’s eyes when his father would come home drunk once again. Pity coupled with revulsion. Sully supposed his mother had loved his father once, but years of disappointments and empty promises had destroyed that love. Sully hadn’t wanted that to happen to him and Theresa. He’d never wanted to see that pity, that revulsion, in Theresa’s eyes, so he’d left.

  He could love her now, while she slept, because in sleep he felt no demands from her. When she was awake, he felt the weight of expectations he could never fulfill. Yes, he could love her while she slept, but when she awakened he’d have to push that emotion aside, forget it ever existed.

  It was nearly three o’clock when he pulled himself out of the chair in the bedroom and went into the living room. He knew sleep would be impossible, as his mind kept going over and over the events of the past three days.

  The police had exhausted all clues. The list of potential suspects had become nonexistent. Sully still had the feeling that Eric’s disappearance wasn’t a stranger abduction, but had been executed by somebody Theresa and Sully knew. He had the same sick feeling in his gut that he’d had on the night he got out of his patrol car and advanced into that alley.

  He had nothing to base his feeling on, other than the instincts honed through years of police work, and he no longer knew if they could be trusted.

  And what really bothered him was a deep-down feeling that his shooting and Eric’s disappearance were somehow related. But that didn’t make sense…did it?

  As always, when he tried to focus on that night so long ago, a sick unease swept through him. Something nibbled at the edges of his mind…a forgotten detail…a suppressed memory that Sully suspected held an important clue to exactly what had happened that night.

  As the nighttime hours slipped away, Sully sat and stared at the Christmas tree, trying to retrieve whatever it was that might be hidden in the dark recesses of his mind.

  By six o’clock, he was no closer to any answers. But he knew what had to be done. He left a note for Theresa on the pillow next to hers, then crept out of the house.

  No dawn light broke the gray shroud of morning. Clouds hung heavy and full, laden with the promise of snow. A cold northern wind whipped through him as he ran to his car.

  No press awaited him. The sidewalk outside was empty. It was Christmas morning. All but the most dedicated journalists would be home with their families. Those working would eventually come back here—the story was too heartbreaking, too rich with emotion, to ignore.

  As he waited for his engine to warm, he stared at the house, outlined with the red and green lights that blinked a beacon of hope.

  Christmas morning. In several of the houses down the block, already lights were turning on. Sully knew children lived in these homes, children who couldn’t wait for a reasonable hour, who awoke early in excitement and anticipation of the treasures Santa had left behind.

  Eric had always been an early riser on Christmas morning. “Santa came! Santa came!” His excited voice would awaken Theresa and Sully. He’d jump into the middle of their bed, his little body toasty with sleep, his cheeks ruddy with excitement. “Come on…get up! Santa came!”

  Sully’s hands tightened around the steering wheel at the sweet memory. Where was Eric? Where in the hell was his son?

  He put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb. If Eric was still alive, then time was of the essence. Whether it was stranger abduction or acquaintance kidnapping, keeping a child of Eric’s age and intelligence captive would quickly become too great a task. Time was running out. Sully just hoped it hadn’t already run out.

  Chapter Twelve

  December 25

  Theresa awoke at a few minutes before seven, her eyelids swollen from the deep sleep that had possessed her for the past several hours.

  Although she should have felt somewhat refreshed, she didn’t. She felt dull, lifeless and still so afraid. She knew without opening her eyes that Sully wasn’t in the bed next to her. His body warmth was gone, and the room held only the sounds of her own breathing.

  She squeezed her eyes tightly closed. Why get up? What reason did she have to get out of bed? It was Christmas morning, but no joy awaited her. Without Eric, she’d never have Christmas again.

  Theresa had never known hatred before, but God help her, as she lay in bed, listening to the sound of emptiness in this house bereft of Eric, she hated the person responsible. She hoped he was arrested, thrown in prison for the rest of his natural life.

  She rolled over on her back and stared up at the ceiling, thinking of those moments of give-and-take, the communication of hearts, that had happened when she and Sully made love. Still, even as intimately as they touched one another, as close as she felt to him in those moments, she’d felt a distance she couldn’t breach, a place in his heart she couldn’t touch.

  She’d thought she was over Sully. She’d believed she’d put him into her past as efficiently as she’d placed her wedding band in a safety-deposit box. But their lovemaking last night had been more than a physical joining. He’d touched her soul, curled himself forever around her heart He’d left her past and reminded her that now, as much as ever, she loved him. But to what avail?

  She rolled over on her other side, her hand slapping against a piece of paper on the opposite pillow. She picked it up and scanned it, unsurprised that Sully had left to take a drive. He’d never done well in the patient-waiting department. And this house without Eric would drive him as crazy as it drove her.

  She spied the shirt he’d worn the day before at the end of the bed. On impulse, she leaned down, grabbed it and pulled it on around her thin nightgown.

  Instantly she was engulfed in the scent of Sully, a spicy, earthy smell that comforted her. She pulled it tight around herself and lay down again.

  She knew what she was doing—focusing on her relationship, or lack of one, with Sully, in order to keep her mind away from the horror of Eric’s absence.

  Eric. Where are you, baby? She believed what she’d told Sully, that someplace Eric was still alive.

  She should get up. Theresa had never been one to laze in bed after awakening. She’d always prided herself on being a go-getter, greeting each day eagerly, ready to brand her mark on the world. Sully used to tease her, telling her that if he wanted to make love to his wife in the mornings, he usually had to go chase her down.

  Yes, she should get up…but why?

  Donny and Kip and the rest of the officers probably wouldn’t be here until later in the day. Theresa suspected they believed that the ransom demand had been a hoax that paid off for some sicko, that whoever collected that money hadn’t had Eric at all. So where was he? Where was her baby?

  For the first time in her life, Theresa didn’t want to get out of bed. Instead, she closed her eyes
once again, reaching…seeking the dark oblivion of her sleep.

  Within minutes, she’d fallen into a beautiful dream. The sun was shining and she and Sully and Eric were playing in a park. She could smell the sweet scent of the bright green grass, hear the boyish joy of Eric’s laughter mingling with Sully’s deeper, richer laughter as they tossed a Frisbee back and forth.

  In some deep part of her consciousness, she was aware that it was a dream, but she didn’t care. They were together, and Eric’s laughter rode the summer breeze.

  When Sully gazed at her, his eyes were filled with the kind of love, the promise and commitment, they had radiated with on the day Sully and Theresa were wed. His smile warmed her, stoked a fire of desire, of love, inside her.

  A loud bang resounded, and the beautiful vision shimmered, like a picture dropped to the floor. Another bang, and Sully’s image faded away. “No!” Theresa cried mournfully. The third bang made Eric vanish, as if he’d never existed…leaving Theresa alone…sobbing in despair as the warm summer breeze turned to arctic winds of ice.

  She sat up, realized the banging in her dreams was somebody knocking at her back door. She got out of bed and pulled a robe on over her nightgown and Sully’s shirt. Swiping the tears from her cheeks, she hurried to the back door.

  “Theresa.” Rose’s plump arms wound around Theresa, pulling her against Rose’s broad body as the older woman burst into tears.

  “It’s all right, Rose. Shhh…” Theresa found it odd that she should be the one comforting. She looked helplessly at Vincent, who stood behind his wife, as Rose’s sobs rose in volume and pitch.

  “She’s been doing that since we left St. Louis,” Vincent said, his dark eyes radiating his innate kindness, along with grief for the little boy he’d grown to love.

  “Rose…” Theresa extracted herself from the woman’s embrace and motioned them both into the warmth of the kitchen.

  “We got here as soon as we could,” Vincent explained as he shrugged out of his overcoat. “We would have been here sooner, but we didn’t know.”