by Charly Cox
She settled on a rubber band instead, finished putting her hair up, and went into the bedroom to put on her most comfortable pair of pajamas just as her family arrived home. Even if the slamming door hadn’t shaken the whole foundation of the house, it would be hard not to notice everyone was here, considering her children were currently trying to outshout one another. With a groan and a muttered Mabel, she made her way downstairs.
‘I’m not only the oldest, but I’m also Grandma’s first grandchild, so obviously, the car would go to me!’ Holly shouted.
‘So what? It’s not my fault I’m the youngest. Besides, I’m her only grandson, and you don’t even like sports cars or racing, so why would you even care?’ Isaac yelled back at his sister.
Brock was leaning against the counter, legs crossed, crunching an apple. She kissed his cheek, stole the fruit from his hand, and took a bite before handing it back. She inclined her head toward her children and mouthed the words, ‘Your mom’s car?’ Her mother-in-law drove a beautiful but flashy yellow Camaro. Alyssa thought it made her look ridiculous. Her mother-in-law thought it made her look cool. ‘Yep,’ he said.
Alyssa shook her head and nipped the heated argument before it got completely out of hand. ‘Grandma hasn’t kicked it yet, so there’s really no need to argue about who gets her car, now, is there? Besides, maybe neither of you will get it.’
Both Holly and Isaac turned their dispute on her, speaking over one another until she was forced to draw on the ‘mom death glare,’ shutting them both up. They knew that look, and they knew not to argue when she gave it. Holly walked by her, and Alyssa remembered her hair clip. ‘Holly, don’t forget to put my brown hair clip back in my bathroom, please.’
Holly turned in the doorway. ‘What are you talking about? I don’t have your brown hair clip,’ she said, her voice surly.
‘Well, it’s not in my bathroom, and I’m sure neither your brother nor father took it, so, my deductive reasoning and detective skills tell me that leaves you.’
‘Well, I didn’t take it, so your deductive reasoning must be rusty. Maybe you lost it somewhere.’
Everyone stared at Holly like she’d grown a third eye in the center of her forehead. Alyssa religiously put things back where they belonged. It only takes five extra seconds, she always said whenever someone said they’d put something back ‘later.’ Standing her ground, Holly muttered, ‘What? It could happen.’
Alyssa sighed. She was tired, and the last thing she needed to be fighting about was a hair clip. ‘Will you just look? You might’ve even shoved it into your gym bag without thinking.’
Holly shrugged her shoulders, ‘Okay, but it won’t be there because I didn’t take it.’ She turned on her heels and walked away.
Isaac started to trail after his sister when Alyssa noticed his face was red and flushed. She put her arm out to stop him and settled the back of her hand against his forehead. ‘You’re a little warm. Are you feeling okay?’
‘Everyone was coughing and hacking at Trevor’s. It was gross. Maybe I caught a bug there. Can I go now?’
‘Sure,’ she said, letting her arm fall back to her side.
A few seconds later, two doors shut loudly enough to indicate teenage displeasure without actually slamming the bedroom doors. They’d learned early in life that slamming doors was not worth the trouble it caused.
‘Do I even want to know how that conversation got started?’ she asked Brock.
‘Mom,’ he said, and that was all she needed to hear.
His mother had a penchant for causing strife between her only two grandchildren. She liked to hear them argue over who loved her the most. It was like a game to her, a kind of power trip even. ‘Of course. Why didn’t I think of that?’
‘I don’t know,’ Brock replied, grabbing onto the tie of her pajamas to pull her to him. ‘Why didn’t you?’
‘So, what’d I miss for dinner?’ she asked.
At his grimace, she laughed. ‘Meatloaf? Really?’ He wrinkled his nose, and she laughed harder. Mabel insisted that her son loved her homemade meatloaf when in reality, he could barely stomach it… and refused to break her heart by telling her. ‘I’m so sorry I missed that.’
‘Yeah, I’m sure you are. On a different note, did you get anywhere on your case?’
Reminded of her disappointment, she admitted, ‘Not far. And Cord cut off my caffeine,’ she grumbled, still irritated, even if he’d been right.
‘Jerk. Want me to beat him up for you?’ Brock pulled her into his arms where she settled her head against her husband’s solid chest.
‘Hmm. It’s an idea. Can I get back to you?’ She felt his nod, and she smiled. ‘He said I had to eat first, that crackers weren’t considered food.’
‘He’s right. But I’ll still kick his ass if you want,’ Brock said.
‘Thanks,’ she mumbled into his frame as the words serial killer and resembles you blasted through her brain. ‘And I think our leads are finally starting to branch out now. It’s just a matter of finding which limb to go out on first.’
‘You’ll get it, babe. You always do.’
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Wednesday, April 3
His chest heaving as he tried to calm his galloping heart, Bishop observed the wreckage he’d created in his blind rage. Vein pulsing in his temple, he jerked open the utility closet, nearly ripping the door off its hinges, grabbed a broom, and swept up the splintered glass littered with the news articles about Alyssa Wyatt. Just thinking about her made him howl, an unnatural growl echoing off his walls, and he threw the broom across the room. After seeing the photo album, he’d read them again, this time with a new understanding.
His gaze was drawn to a trickle of blood trailing down his arm where he’d gouged himself. Tremors shook his body as he moved over to the sink to clean his arm. When he finished, he walked into the living room, his fists clenching and unclenching at the sight of his shattered lamps.
Shattered – just like his life. His fury almost blinded him as he began the process of picking up the broken pieces. Shards of glass were embedded in the couch and the furthest recesses of the room.
It all made perfect sense now. In order to survive, he’d forced his life before Carl to the darkest recesses of his mind, but now that they were back in the open, the memories swamped him like thousands of tiny gnats on a hot summer’s day.
He’d been riding his bike in front of the house when Alyssa went inside for some Kool-Aid. She left him there alone to fend for himself against the bad man. He was only trying to help the old man in the wheelchair.
It was a sunny day, and the mosquitoes were thick, but Timmy wanted to play outside anyway, and since all his friends were gone for the summer, he begged his sister to play with him, but she refused.
‘I’m braiding my hair,’ she said as he watched, mesmerized as her fingers magically twisted her hair into a long pleat. She’d been practicing doing it by herself since she was nine now.
And then Mama came in, and he put on his sad face and said, ‘Mama, ’Lyssa won’t play outside with me. She says she’s too old.’ He looked down at the floor and scuffed his shoes against the tile.
Mama put her hands on her hips. ‘Lys, it won’t kill you to play outside with your brother for a while. Why don’t you go ride your bikes or something?’
‘I don’t want to play with him. I’m too big now,’ Alyssa whined.
Mama placed one finger against her lip, tapping as she thought about it. Then she said, ‘Yes, I can see that. You’re right. So, why don’t you go change your clothes and grab some garden gloves? You can help Daddy and me weed, mow the lawn, rake the leaves, and mend the fence.’
Alyssa hated yard work, just hated it. And Mama knew it, too. She heaved out a huge breath and glared at her little brother. ‘I’ll play with Timmy.’
Mama looked surprised. ‘Oh. Well, I guess it’s your choice. I just thought you were too old.’
Timmy ran over and threw his arms around his s
ister’s waist. ‘We’re going to have so much fun, just wait and see!’
‘One hour. We’ll ride our bikes for one hour, not a second more, okay?’
Timmy nodded and ran out the door, Alyssa close on his heels.
Overheated from riding in the hot sun, she stood in the shade of a willow tree and watched him for a while before she hollered, ‘Timmy, I’m going to get some Kool-Aid. Do you want some?’
‘Is it strawberry?’
‘No, grape.’
He wrinkled his nose. ‘No way,’ he said. As soon as the screen door slammed, rattling the glass at the top, Timmy rode from one mailbox to another in front of his house and his neighbor’s even though he wasn’t supposed to leave the yard.
When he heard someone call out, he stopped and looked around. A man in a wheelchair was sitting on the sidewalk in front of his friend’s house and waving for him to come over. Timmy looked over his shoulder to the house and then the backyard. His sister hadn’t come back out, and Mama and Daddy were still busy, so he got off his bike and laid it on the ground.
He knew he wasn’t supposed to leave the yard, but he was also supposed to be polite because it was the right thing to do, Mama always said. Besides, he was pretty sure this was the same guy who’d lost his puppy by his preschool a few days ago.
‘Hi,’ the man said. ‘My puppy ran under that blue van there, and I can’t get him out. Can you help me?’ He pointed down the street.
It was the same man. He should buy a better leash. ‘I’m not ’posed to go that far or talk to strangers,’ said Timmy. ‘I’ll get my daddy, and he can help.’
‘Oh, well, it’s just my puppy might get away if I don’t hurry.’ The man sounded so sad.
Timmy was conflicted. He didn’t want to get in trouble, but he didn’t want the man to lose his puppy either. He looked at the man, then at his house, then back at the man. He sure wished his sister was here. She’d know what to do because she was nine now.
If he hurried, he could get the puppy and be back before anyone knew he’d left the yard. ‘Okay, I’ll help, but we have to hurry.’
The man smiled. ‘Thank you. What’s your name anyway?’
‘Timmy. Timothy Evan Archer,’ he said proudly.
‘Well, Timmy, Timothy Evan Archer, my name is Carl. Now, we’re not strangers.’ Carl reached out and shook Timmy’s little hand, then pointed to the blue MBC plumbing van. ‘I think I saw Spot – that’s my puppy’s name – go under that van. He might be by the back tire. Can you check for me?’
Timmy knelt down to peer under the van, but the man said, ‘I don’t know if you’ll be able to see him from there. He’s a sneaky little bugger. You might have to go behind there to look.’
‘Okay,’ Timmy said as he stood back up and walked toward the open back door of the van. And then something covered his mouth and nose, and he suddenly felt very tired. Just before he passed out, the man stood and threw the wheelchair and Timmy’s bike into the back of the van.
When he woke, he was tied to a bed. He tried to lift his head, but his body felt like those heavy bags of dry cement Daddy used to make the patio. He was scared, and the bed was wet beneath him where he’d peed his pants. He started to cry. ‘I want my mama,’ Timmy sniffled.
‘Well, now, I’m afraid your mama doesn’t want you.’ The man, no longer in the wheelchair, came through the door, and Timmy screamed. ‘That’s why she asked me to take you,’ he said, speaking over Timmy’s cries.
But Mama loved him; she said so every night when she tucked him in and read him a bedtime story. Even when she was mad, she told him she loved him. Voice shaking, Timmy stammered, ‘My mama lo-lo-loves me; she to-to-told me so.’
The man removed Timmy’s shirt and wet pants, leaving him naked. ‘Well, you see, Timmy, your sister – that was your sister outside with you, right?’ When Timmy nodded, Carl said, ‘Why did she go in the house and leave you outside?’
‘To g-g-get a dr-drink of Kool-Aid.’
Carl stared down, his scary eyes making Timmy shudder. ‘She didn’t really go in for Kool-Aid, Timmy. She went in so I could take you. You’re too much trouble, and your family never wants to see you again.’
Spasms of sadness and fear raced through him. Why didn’t they want him anymore? What had he done wrong? Was it because he wanted to play outside? And what about Daddy?
Carl touched Timmy’s face, and then moved his hands down his body. ‘Pretty soon you won’t even remember your old family.’ And then he’d put him in the shower and taken him to the basement.
The next day, he told him his new name would be Evan. And every day when Carl hurt him, he reminded him that his family no longer wanted him, that Carl was his dad now. It wasn’t long before Timmy began to disappear, and he forgot his first family altogether.
Other Boys came and stayed in the scary basement, too. Some only stayed for a little bit, and some, like Evan, stayed for a long time. Then one day, Carl unlocked his cage and told him they were leaving. The other little boys watched with wide, frightened eyes as Carl dragged him by one arm up the steps. Outside, he tossed him in the truck where he landed hard on the floorboard. They drove to the end of the road, and then he stopped and jumped out, ordering him not to move, and Evan knew to obey. Pretty soon, a loud explosion rocked the truck, and then Carl jumped back in and hit the gas.
They passed lots of firetrucks on their way out of town.
He let the memory wash over him, reigniting his rage. Spittle formed in the corners of his mouth and his nostrils flared as he now turned his attention to his basement. It was still intact; he hadn’t used it since Callie McCormick. He cleaned it anyway, scrubbing every surface, including the walls, until his fingers were raw. He had new plans for this room, and those plans included Alyssa Wyatt. And she would come to him because he was going to do to her what she’d done to him.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Wednesday, April 3
The officer walked up the flagstone path to the front door and rang the doorbell. A boy answered wearing a pair of purple Colorado Rockies sweats and a muscle shirt. His eyes were watery, and his nose was red. He seemed confused as to why a policeman was standing on his front step.
‘I’m Officer Shane Pobiv. Isaac Wyatt?’
‘Yeah, I’m Isaac. Why? Is everything okay?’
Officer Pobiv shifted from foot to foot as he avoided the boy’s gaze. ‘I’m afraid not, son. I’m sorry to tell you this, but your mom’s been in a bad accident. Your dad and sister are already at the hospital, and they asked me if I’d get you. You’re going to need to come with me right away.’
‘What kind of accident? Is she going to be alright? Why didn’t someone call me?’ Isaac asked, his questions flying like bullets.
‘I don’t know a whole lot, but I promised your dad I’d hurry. I’ll try to answer your questions on the way.’
Shane could see Isaac was visibly shaken; his hands trembled, and moisture pooled in his eyes as he reached up to scrub at them before the tears could spill over.
‘Okay,’ Isaac said. ‘I’ve just got to grab my shoes and my phone.’
‘We really need to go now. You can use mine to call your sister and let her know we’re on the way.’
Isaac didn’t argue as he bent low to retrieve a pair of sneakers and rushed out the door to the waiting car. When he saw it wasn’t a police cruiser, he hesitated.
‘It’s an undercover car, but don’t worry, I have my lights in the back; I’ll turn ’em on and get you to the hospital before you can blink,’ Pobiv explained.
Isaac accepted the explanation, climbed inside the car, and put on his already laced-up shoes before buckling his seatbelt.
As the officer backed down the driveway, he engaged the childproof locks installed in the car.
On the road, Isaac asked, ‘Um. Can I call my dad now?’
‘I thought… I guess I forgot to tell you; in his rush to get to the hospital, your dad forgot his phone at work. That’s why I mentioned
calling your sister, but I suppose you wouldn’t’ve understood why I said that. What say you let me maneuver through these roads and when I reach the highway, I can dig my phone out. That work for you?’
‘Yeah. I guess. Yeah. Okay.’ Isaac’s fingers began a steady tap-tap-tap against his sweats, and before long, his legs joined in, bouncing up and down in rhythm as the officer navigated his way to I-40.
Pobiv interrupted the silence by asking, ‘So, you’re in high school?’
Isaac stared numbly out the window as he answered, ‘Um, no, eighth grade. I’ll be in high school next year.’ He watched the familiar scenery pass before asking, ‘How long do you think it’ll take to get to the hospital this way?’
‘Depends on the traffic, but I’d say no more than fifteen minutes. The other way is still jammed with the investigation and clean-up. Don’t worry, son; I’ll get you there.’ He reached over and ruffled the kid’s hair. Isaac didn’t actually pull away, but he came close. Pobiv dropped his hand.
Isaac chewed his thumbnails down to the quick as the streets passed by in a blur. ‘Um, I think you just missed the turn for the hospital.’ He hitched his thumb behind him to show the turnoff that said, ‘Hospital Exit.’
Distracted, the officer looked over and said, ‘What? Sorry. I was thinking about your mom.’
Isaac turned in his seat as much as the seatbelt would allow and repeated, ‘The exit for the hospital? You just missed it.’
‘She’s not at that hospital; she’s at one further down the highway.’
Isaac couldn’t remember which hospital that was. ‘Oh. Can I call my dad – I mean, my sister – now? I need to know how my mom’s doing?’ Isaac’s voice was strained.
‘Of course.’ The officer reached into his pocket, and as he pulled out his phone, it vibrated in his hand. He answered the call. ‘Officer Pobiv. Yeah. Yeah. Oh no. Okay. Yeah, I can do that. Okay, yeah, I’ll tell him; I’ve got him right here with me now. Thanks for calling.’ He disconnected.
