WRAPPED: The Manhattan Bound Series, Book Two

by Juliet Braddock

  In truth, this was all a part of his scheme just to isolate Louise further from reality. She needed someone—something—to mind and to nurture. A baby, he reasoned, would keep her close to home and available at his whim for whatever he wanted or needed. In turn, he would be her hero for “adopting” this child. He could easily solidify his place in her life and in her home. With a kid, too, she’d be far less worried over his whereabouts.

  As the girl’s due date approached, Fred met with her often, assuring her that his niece and her husband were thrilled at the prospect of becoming parents. Naturally, they had their lawyer draft up the appropriate adoption papers, and Fred promised to pass them along soon.

  Using Louise’s old typewriter he worked fastidiously, pounding out what he thought was reminiscent of legal jargon. He told Louise that it was a real estate contract that he was drawing up. Purposefully, Fred didn’t hand over those papers until the day the woman was ready to give up her newborn baby girl—nor did he tell Louise until he came home with a little pink bundle in his arms.

  Overwhelmed and overjoyed, Louise couldn’t stop crying as she held the tiny and sweet little girl in her arms. This wasn’t just a surprise, she was convinced; this was an affirmation from Fred that he wanted to be a true family. He loved her, and she loved him. Now their lives were complete with tiny Molly.

  The last time Molly would really see the light of day was that afternoon when they scrambled to pull a nursery together—with a credit card he’d stolen from one of the patrons at the bar. As they meandered from store to store to purchase furniture, clothes and baby essentials, Fred relayed the entire sob story of Molly’s arrival.

  His cousins, who lived in Jersey, had been in a fatal car accident, leaving behind this baby and not much more. He was the closest surviving relative, and so the authorities contacted him to find out if he’d be interested in caring for the baby. He’d even furnished a letter that he’d mailed to himself, drafted on Louise’s typewriter, just in case she had any questions.

  Naturally, she did, but she also knew to keep her mouth closed. They had far too much joy now to stir his anger. And she finally had discovered a purpose in life. She was now someone’s mother!

  Louise also harbored high hopes that with this delicate infant in their home, perhaps Fred might be gentle with her. That flicker of promise lasted for about two weeks before Fred went on a drug binge, shooting heroin for two days before he came home and knocked Louise on the floor because she’d left dishes in the sink…while she held baby Molly in her arms.

  Drugs, however, would figure greater into their lives than she’d ever imagined. By the time Molly was toddling around, Fred had introduced her to cocaine, for which Louise had developed a liking. She enjoyed the boost of energy, especially having to run around after a small child all day, and she saw nothing wrong with a snort every now and then. She also felt a bit stronger under its influence to Fred, and she often stood up to him without thinking about the consequences first.

  Now the permanent marks of Fred’s cruel hands had begun to show upon Louise’s skin and rail-thin frame. Black and blue bruises covered her arms and legs. She’d begun to walk with her shoulders slumped because it was too painful to hold herself upright. At that point, her nose had been crushed so many times that she didn’t even feel it when he punched her.

  And yet she refused to leave, reasoning that Molly needed a mother. However, she never considered the possibility of escaping with the child to a shelter. A part of her still wanted to believe that they both needed Fred to survive.

  When Molly was around two, Fred showed up late one Saturday night with yet another baby—a newborn boy—and that time, Louise asked no questions. They didn’t have a television since Fred had smashed the screen. Louise had no way of knowing that this child was heir to one of the wealthiest families in the entire country—and that his kidnapping had set off the greatest manhunt in New York City history to that date. She just took him in and took him on as her next project.

  Initially, Fred thought they could make some money off this kid—set a ransom, drop the boy in exchange for the cash and call it a day. Shit, he would have even gone cheap. A hundred grand would have easily set him up for yet another new life. He could have left Louise and the other kid behind. The Caribbean was calling his name.

  With the intense investigation and scrutiny from every major agency in New York out in force to find this damn baby, though, Fred decided to just lay low. He’d let her keep the fucking kid. It was easier than going to jail.

  There was something so different about this infant boy, though. In comparison with Molly, the boy they’d named Freddie was quite content. Once he learned to smile, he did so often, and Louise couldn’t help but play favorites between the two. Molly had been a cranky, if not colicky baby, and she’d caused Louise to lose so much sleep with her constant bouts of this or that. However, baby Freddie just kept her entertained, his bright blue eyes always dancing and those little curls bouncing about his head as he learned to crawl then walk.

  Yes, her life had finally found some meaning again, but their illegal habits came before those two kids. They fed the children just enough to keep them alive and spent what little money they had coming in—from Louise’s welfare benefits and whatever cash Fred could steal from any and all sources—on drugs and paraphernalia.

  Eventually, Louise saw less and less of Fred, and when he was home, he usually locked himself downstairs in her mother’s former apartment with Molly. Everyone could hear the child screaming, and in her lucid moments, Louise pondered if the neighbors ever listened. However, they were illegal immigrants, and they dared not speak an ill word of anyone, lest their own secrets be revealed.

  It was, indeed, the setup for some very perfect crimes.

  Freddie, though, had become her constant companion. Naturally, Fred hated the toddler, who was ever curious and got into everything. That little boy, Fred said, was too smart for his own good, and he often turned his abuse toward the child when he’d make a mess or run through the house just a little too gleefully.

  The majority of Fred’s abuse at that point, though, focused on little Molly. She was the one who started it all. Even though he brought her home, Molly was the first. Now he regretted every single moment since he met that damn bartender.

  Louise’s state only further disgusted Fred. She looked like a subway car had rolled over her, and she didn’t have the energy to do anything but smoke crack and play with that stupid curly-haired kid. He had no use for her, and he sought attention elsewhere.

  One day, out of the blue, his promiscuous ways caught up with him. A frail woman he’d vaguely remembered shooting up with and fucking for a few nights over a year before arrived on their doorstep. In her arms, she held a baby. Supposedly the little boy had been the result of one of their binges. She told Fred that she would leave the child on the stoop if he didn’t take the boy inside.

  All along, Fred thought he’d covered his tracks, making himself relatively invisible to the outside world. However, this woman managed to find and follow him home from the bar with the intention of dumping her kid. As she ran down the steps and toward the street, she disappeared into the dark Brooklyn night, leaving Fred to take care of yet a third screaming kid…and to explain it all to Louise.

  Fred actually had hopes that Louise would kick him out, but she didn’t. One more child meant one more mouth to feed when they felt like it, but she was too battered and drugged to even care. Her only concern was little Freddie. Maybe one day, she could have the courage to leave. However, for the moment, she stuck around.

  As time went on, Fred’s violence toward all them escalated. Molly had broken bones that were never set and would never have the chance to heal. Louise was barely a shell of her former self. The two boys seemed fine, but they weren’t immune to Fred’s wrath. And his only solution to all of the drama unfolding around him was to do more drugs.

  Throughout everything, Louise’s only comfort was Freddie. That
day when Molly wouldn’t wake up, she thought for a moment that they might have their chance to flee…until her precious little boy ran out the door and found help from a neighbor.

  Later, that child would only tell the police of the beatings and the filth. He was far too innocent to understand that anything else that happened to him in that house of horrors. Hidden away since he was merely hours old, he’d learned what little he knew in life from those two adults who took him away, and evil was the crux of their collective existence.

  That afternoon was the last Louise Reynolds would see of Drew McKenzie in person until many years later when he made his debut on Broadway. She’d followed him in the papers and on the society pages over the years, and her heart brimmed with pride over his success. Even though he had been separated from her, Louise still considered herself a mother to him, having raised him for the first five years of his life.

  Louise’s life, however, had taken many twists and turns since the cops showed up at her door that day. The cruiser pulled up in front of the house not long after the boy escaped, and together, Fred and Louise were cuffed and loaded into two separate cars. A swarm of press met them at the Brooklyn jail where they’d been taken for questioning. Word got out fast in a town as big as New York, and the murder of a child was a crime that would leave them both vilified for the rest of their lives.

  Fred’s existence, however, was cut short once he was booked. A gang of other prisoners had caught word that he’d killed and possibly raped a little girl. They cornered Fred in the shower the next day, abusing him before they delivered a series of final blows to his skull.

  However, he did cooperate with investigators before his death, revealing the identities of the parents of both boys. While the results for the testing that was available at the time often took weeks to return, the McKenzies were called that very night with the promise of hope that their little James Andrew was finally on his way home. However, his identity would remain secret, and the McKenzies wouldn’t address their son’s return in public for another year, allowing him time to acclimate into their family.

  Eventually, the mother of the other young boy had been located, but he’d spent some time in the foster care system before he had his chance at a reunion. She was on a short break from her regular benders when she’d been found, and she took the child back with every intention of caring for him.

  Drugs always pulled her back into the fold, though, and not even her diagnosis with HIV could stop her from shooting up. When she died, the third child in the Fred Drum scandal was returned to the system again, his life just that of another child who was forced into obscurity—lost in ribbons of red tape and a mountain of paperwork. Not even the McKenzies could save him.

  Determined to be in no shape to stand trial, Louise had been taken to the hospital with injuries so severe that she’d spent weeks in bed. All charges were dropped against her as a victim.

  When she was initially brought into police custody, her crushed face appeared to be lopsided as if her jaw had been smashed on one side, which indeed it had been. Both cheeks bruised, she looked in the mirror to find her skin had swollen to shades of brown, yellow and blue. But her wounds extended far beyond her face. There were burns and lacerations, broken ribs, damaged kneecaps and broken toes. She’d even lost the use of her left hand that Fred slammed in a taxi door.

  In spite of everything, she grieved hard for Fred. She still loved him, and nothing could ever change that. While countless psychiatrists donated their time to treat her, they managed to help her detox from the heroin and cocaine, but not from the drug that consumed her fully—Fred Drum.

  He waltzed into her life at just the right time to take advantage. Her mother had just died, and she was weak with grief and guilt. She had no friends left. And Fred swept Louise off her feet. Her medical team insisted that she was suffering from Stockholm Syndrome in which hostage victims eventually empathize with, if not take fondly to, their captors. However, Louise continued to profess her love for Fred.

  It took her months to physically recover after Molly’s death, and she spent time in and out of hospitals around the city. The doctors swore she was one of the worst cases of domestic violence they’d ever treated. Others in her shoes had passed on. While she’d developed a bit of a hunchback and walking was often a chore, Louise managed to fight through her treatments.

  Once free, she maintained a sense of secrecy about her life. She’d moved just far enough away from New York, distancing herself from the town that both pitied and hated her. With the help of those who had assisted her throughout her recovery, she found a part-time administrative job at a small law firm that was willing to train her. However, she missed the city with such an intensity. She was born, raised and spent most of her lifetime there.

  When she decided to retire, she found a small apartment in the Bronx where she’d planned to carry out the rest of her days—unbeknown to the actual victim of all that had happened, a now grown Drew McKenzie.

  Now as Maxine thumbed through the archives and poured over the images of Louise before and after she met the likes of Fred Drum, she just shivered. Each and every article—some supporting Louise as a battered woman, others criticizing her for refusing to find help—brought the gritty reality of Drew’s early life to the forefront of her consciousness. She understood why he warned her not to search for information, but she had to know.

  Her stomach churned at the images, but she couldn’t ignore the truth about what this woman had done to her beloved Drew. Forgiveness was often the toughest hurdle to conquer, and Maxine truly had a merciful heart. However, just this once, she couldn’t find the strength within herself to excuse that woman’s vile and vicious acts.

  Enraged, Maxine sighed as she continued to stare blankly at the ugly photos rolling on the screen of her iPad. So lost in sorrow was she for those three children that she didn’t hear the shuffle of feet over the floor, and she jumped in her seat as Drew spoke up to say good-bye to his attorney at the door.

  With her back facing him, she didn’t bother to hide the screen as Drew approached her from behind. All the while, she held her breath as she waited for his reaction, hoping that this wouldn’t throttle him into a rage.

  “Oh, Maxine!” he winced as he closed his hands over her shoulders and closed his eyes. “Little one, that’s exactly what I didn’t want you to see.”

  Turning around on her knees to face him with the back of the couch between them, she hugged him tightly. “Drew, I had to know,” she insisted. “And I wanted to know. You will not suffer through this alone for one more second. I love you, and I am here for you.”

  “Some said that she was a victim, too, Maxine…” he began, but she placed a finger over his lips.

  “Domestic abuse does not excuse the rape of children, Drew,” Maxine said, her voice calm and steady. “And you’re allowed to hurt over this.”

  “I-I…am so thankful that I have you in my life,” he said, tears welling in his sad blue eyes. “I honestly don’t know how I would get through this right now…”

  “Drew, you’re stronger than she is,” Maxine said, imploring him to listen to her. “I know you’re in pain because I can feel it, too. But you have to stop blaming yourself and making excuses for all of this.”

  “The…boy—the other boy…” Drew’s voice trembled. “He was her neighbor. She offered to babysit….” With each short sentence, his voice trailed off until he was sobbing again, and Maxine pulled him close once more. “Thank God his mother forgot her phone that day…thank God, Maxine…”

  “She’s done, Drew,” she said, unable to speak Louise’s name. “She’ll rot in jail from herein.”

  “But she’s lived a whole lifetime,” he spat. “She’s in her late sixties. What good is this doing now?”

  “Stop, Drew,” she said gently. “Somehow, I’m going to help you put an end to your suffering and find some closure—as best you can—in this.”

  “I’m the reason he’s hurting now, though. I
kept my mouth shut. I never told anyone. And I should have—I was old enough and responsible to know better once I turned eighteen. I should have told the police…”

  “No,” she said. “You were embarrassed and frightened. And maybe you even thought you’d made peace with it. But you cannot blame yourself.”

  Yes, Drew bore the guilt of knowing that boy would never have been subjected to Louise’s cruel handiwork if he had reported her when he still had the chance. Maxine tried in vain to convince him that his parents would have supported him—and continued to love him—but Drew wasn’t sure that he could withstand the sadness in his mother’s eyes or his father’s fury.

  Disclosing his past to Maxine nearly obliterated him, but he knew that if he continued to hold his secrets so closely, she would have walked out the door. That sort of tragedy would have been his most certain death. Perhaps one day, with her love and support, he might find the courage to open up to Declan and Maggie. For the moment, he had to just allow his wounds, so freshly re-opened, to continue to bleed.

  However, it was indeed Maxine’s fierce determination and unfaltering support that distracted him that afternoon. Although he'd considered just locking himself in a room to wallow in self-inflicted guilt, he knew damn well she wouldn't allow him to be alone for one single moment.

  “Let me just remind you, Drew, that I love you with my entire heart and soul,” she whispered. “And we’re going to get through this—together.”

  Dammit, that sweet lady always had a way of making the treachery in his life disappear, even if for only a few moments. He had to find some way within his own reality to realize how much he deserved her.

  Touching his fingertips to her lips, he murmured, “I love you back, little one. Tenfold. Oh, how much I love you...”

  One last time, he looked into her eyes, searching again for any traces of doubt, but found none. She did love him—unabashedly and unconditionally. Only with Maxine could he find the strength within himself to be brave. At long last, he’d convinced himself that her journey alongside him was a selfless one, and he knew that within her, he would discover the courage to continue on.