Half-Past Dawn

by Richard Doetsch

  “I know.” Jack laughed a guilty laugh. “I will.”

  “I got that for you weeks ago. You need a little bit of faith, Jack. I can’t even remember the last time you were in church.”

  “You know me, as long as you believe in me and I believe in you, that’s all the faith I need. Besides, when have you known me to wear any jewelry? I don’t even wear a watch.”

  “When you wear this”-Mia held up the box like a spokesmodel, withdrawing the gold cross-“you can think of me.”

  She leaned across the center island of the car and put the cross around Jack’s neck.

  “I don’t need a piece of jewelry to remind me of you. How about you wear it?”

  “Because I got it for you.”

  They came to a stoplight in the middle of nowhere, the red light shining on Jack’s sudden smile. “In that case,” he said as he took the box out of her hands and lifted the velvet interior to reveal a second necklace.

  Mia leaned forward, looking at it. “It’s beautiful.”

  The chain was platinum and suspended an intricate pattern of varying blue stones: topaz, blue onyx, and small sapphires. Shards of blue light danced and leaped through the polished stones’ crystal centers, seeming to bring the necklace to life.

  “What’s the occasion?”

  Jack removed the necklace from the box. “Indulge me.”

  Jack leaned forward. Mia reluctantly obliged, tilting her head down as he clasped the necklace around her neck. He gently removed the single pearl choker he had given her for their wedding anniversary and tucked it into the jewelry box, then slipped it back into his pocket.

  He tilted his head, assessing the piece as shards of light refracted off its precious stones. Jack unbuttoned the top two buttons of Mia’s sweater and loosened the top of her dress to expose a bit more cleavage, allowing the blue stones to contrast against her skin. He ran his finger around her soft white neck, trailing it down her chest. “It looks great on you.”

  “I don’t think you’re looking at the necklace.” Mia smiled as the light turned green. She pointed at the light and cleared her throat for effect.

  Jack gave her a smirk, turned his attention back to the road, and continued up the highway.

  “You know you were already on your way to getting lucky tonight?” Mia said. “You should have saved this for a day when I’m angry with you.”

  “There are so many of those, how could I possibly choose?” Jack smiled.

  Mia reached over and stroked her hand down Jack’s face. “Thank you.”

  They headed up Route 22 toward Byram Hills, both in silent thought as the rain pounded the windshield, its pitter-patter competing with the thumping of the rhythmic wipers. As they approached Rider’s Bridge, they could see the raging river fifty feet below, a churning cauldron that rose well above the banks, pulling anything and everything into its rapids-like flow.

  As the SUV hit the bridge pavement, the rear wheels lost their traction, and the Tahoe went into a sudden fishtail. Jack held tight to the wheel as the vehicle skirted left to right and back again, pulling hard to bring it under control. Mia’s right hand shot up and gripped the passenger strap above the door. Their collective breath caught in their throats as the car spun headfirst toward the guardrail.

  But Jack finally gained control. Slowing down to catch his breath, he had turned toward Mia with a that-was-close smile when the flashing red lights lit up his rearview mirror and the back of the car.

  “Tell me you didn’t have more than two glasses,” Mia said as she caught her breath.

  “God, that was close,” Jack said as he pulled over to the side of the two-lane overpass that spanned the rushing Byram River. “I’m perfectly fine, though I think I shaved five years off my life with that little maneuver.”

  The flashing roof light slowly passed them. It was atop a black Chevy Suburban, and it came to a stop just in front of them.

  Jack rolled down his window, the pouring rain instantly soaking his arm and the interior door of his car, stoking his mood. “This is bullshit.”

  “Shhh, let’s keep it in check,” Mia said as she smiled and rubbed his leg. “Take the ticket like a man, and we’ll be home in ten minutes. Then you can continue playing with my new necklace.”

  They both sat silently, staring straight ahead, the thump of the windshield wipers rhythmically droning as a man in a dark suit approached. Jack glanced at the blue necklace and Mia’s cleavage, motioning with his eyes.

  Mia, feeling exposed, buttoned up her sweater.

  Suddenly, to Jack’s shock, there was a gun in his face, the black steel barrel coming to rest inches from his left eye.

  “Hands on the wheel,” the man in the black suit said quietly. His blond hair was plastered with rain to his head. He looked at Mia, “And you, hands on the dash.”

  Mia slowly put her hands on the dashboard above the glove compartment and turned to her right to see a second man in black, skinny, with a sharp long nose, his gun aimed at her head.

  As if on cue, both doors were ripped open, and Jack and Mia were violently pulled from the car into the pouring rain. The skinny man thrust Mia against the car.

  “What the hell is going on?”

  “Quiet,” the skinny man snapped, his red hair already soaked in the storm.

  “You have no idea who you’re messing with,” Mia said through gritted teeth as the rain ran down her face. “You may want to open my purse and check my badge, because, I swear to God-”

  The man brought the gun to rest inches from her eye, silencing her. He was painfully thin, his neck and jaw almost skeletal. With the rain running down his face, over his unblinking eyes, he looked like something out of a nightmare.

  The blond man spun Jack around, kicking his legs out as he assumed the position of a perp. The man frisked him from stem to stern, pulling the blue box from Jack’s pocket. He opened it and spied the pearl choker. Without interest, he closed the box and threw it into the car. He grabbed Jack by the neck, punched him hard in the kidneys, and threw him to the rain-soaked pavement.

  The skinny assailant spun Mia around, running his hands up and down her torso, her legs, frisking her through her soaked sweater and black gown, while a third man, linebacker-sized, in a black suit, popped the trunk of their Tahoe.

  The team of three operated with military efficiency, as if every move was planned, as if they had a singular goal to accomplish on a hair-trigger timeline.

  “Where is the case?” the skinny man demanded.

  Mia just stared at him.

  “Case seven-one-three-eight?” The thin man leaned in, his breath assaulting her senses.

  Mia looked at Jack and began to mouth something-

  “Got it,” the third man cried out as he hoisted a long black metal box from the rear of the Tahoe.

  As the skinny man looked through the teeming rain at his partner, Mia drove her knee into the man’s crotch, following it up with a hard elbow to the nose. But while her FBI training was thoroughly ingrained in her mind, it didn’t prevent the powerful blow the man countered with and unleashed into her jaw, driving her 125-pound body into the car as he rammed his pistol into her forehead.

  At the same time, Jack, who lay on the bridge, spun his leg left, sweeping out his assailant’s legs, sending him crashing to the ground, his head hitting the pavement, his gun skittering away. Jack dove on top of the man, drawing back his fist and unloading it into the man’s throat, stunning him. He continued to pound his knuckles into the man’s face but was suddenly grabbed around the neck and yanked backward. The third man was much larger, pushing 275. His fist crushed into the side of Jack’s head nearly knocking him out. For extra measure, the man didn’t stop, hitting Jack twice more, opening up a large gash on his brow and his cheek.

  And then a gun exploded, the crack of the percussion echoing in the rainy distance. Jack collapsed, a bullet lodged just below his shoulder. He looked up to see the bloodied, raging face of the blond man he’d beaten, leer
ing down on him in anger before he was tugged away by the linebacker.

  The skinny man dragged Mia toward the black Suburban as she kicked and screamed, fighting with all of her will to break free and get to her wounded husband.

  Jack struggled to focus in spite of the pain that coursed through his body, his heart aching as he could barely move, unable to stop the men who were taking Mia.

  “Let her go!” Jack shouted through a bloodied mouth. “Take me, take me, please…” As his words faded, he was hoisted up and tossed into the passenger seat of his car.

  The large man climbed into the driver’s seat, threw the car into neutral, and hit the gas, revving the engine to redline. With a last bit of strength, Jack tried to get out of the vehicle, but the man drove a punch into his bullet wound, sending crippling shards of pain through his body.

  The man kept his foot on the gas pedal, the engine howled with pent-up energy, and he threw the Tahoe into drive.

  The wheels screamed as they spun on the wet bridge, struggling to gain traction, smoking until they finally caught and launched the SUV into the rail of the bridge. The linebacker dove through the open driver’s-side door, hit the roadway, and rolled clear.

  Inside the vehicle, Jack looked with half-mast eyes to see Mia break free from her captors and chase after the Tahoe. He then caught a sudden glimpse of the small blue box that lay on the seat next to him and, without a thought, picked it up, holding it tight, as if it was the last piece of Mia he would ever touch, and slid it into his pocket.

  The car crashed through the rail, sailing out over the river like a bird taking flight, but gravity soon took hold, and the Tahoe began its arc toward the rushing waters, knifing into the raging river, an explosion of water hurled nearly bridge-high. The car bobbed, quickly caught in the flow, tossed around as it slowly sank. As it neared the river bend, its taillights finally disappeared, their red glow hovering below the surface before fading to nothingness.

  • • •

  Despite the driving rain and the churning waters, there was a silence over the valley, the white noise of the downpour obscuring and absorbing all other sounds, creating a quiet over the Byram River, as if in reverence. The downpour continued to rage, roughing up the waterway, the storm surge carrying the water high up on the banks.

  And then, out of the black water, climbing up into the dark night, he clawed his way onto the shore. His shirt was torn, hanging from his body, and blood poured from his shoulder.

  He crawled through the mud and finally collapsed, gasping for air, rolling onto his back. His mind was blank, as dark and empty as the night around him; it struggled for purchase. Jack reached up, pressing his fist into the bullet wound on his shoulder, and his mind finally cleared, his thoughts returned, pouring in with panicked awareness as he realized…

  Mia was gone.

  CHAPTER 5

  FRIDAY, 7:00 A.M.

  Standing in the kitchen, as the realization that Mia must have been kidnapped washed over him, an even worse thought stabbed at his heart.

  “Where are my girls?” Jack spat out, his voice desperate. He raced past Frank, up the stairs again, into their bedroom, looking around. Everything was in place; he checked the drawers, the closets, as if he would find some clue. He had no idea what he was looking for as he searched under their beds. He stopped and looked at the innocence around him, their toys, their books, the stuffed animals on their beds.

  With all of his focus on the night before, on Mia, Jack had forgotten about his daughters, always thinking them safe, out of harm’s way. His mind filled with panic, the feeling a parent gets when a child is hurt or in pain, when a child gets momentarily lost in the supermarket, but this was far worse.

  Frank arrived upstairs. Standing in the doorway, he looked at Jack, with no answer but a face filled with equal panic.

  The sound of a closing door broke the moment. Jack looked out the front window to see a dark blue car at the curb, and a man walking up to the front door.

  “Where did you park?” Jack quickly asked.

  “In the back,” Frank said as he peered out the window. The two raced down the stairs and into the kitchen, looking out the side window at the dark-haired man.

  “Reporter?” Jack asked as the man arrived at the front door.

  “No way. Looks like law. Just not sure which side he might be on.”

  The knock at the door was loud.

  Jack and Frank didn’t make a move. Waiting.

  The knock was louder this time, pounding. And the doorbell rang.

  There was no more knocking; the moment seemed to draw out. And then the door opened.

  With unspoken understanding, Jack and Frank stepped from the window and quietly slipped into the powder room. Through a crack in the door, they could see the man enter the house. He stood in the hallway, listening, eyes shifting around… and he disappeared. Frank slowly drew his gun.

  Jack could hear the man walking around, into the kitchen, opening the garage door. They saw him again, back in the hallway. He stepped into the den. Jack could hear him tearing open the drawers of his desk, opening the armoire and the file cabinet, papers rustling, things falling off the desk and the shelf. Then the room fell silent.

  And the man burst out of the den, heading upstairs.

  Jack and Frank stepped from the powder room and silently walked through the kitchen. Out of sight, they crouched on either side of the stairs. Waiting.

  The intruder came down the stairs, carrying something in each hand.

  Without waiting, Jack tackled the man hard into the wall, driving his fist into the man’s gut. The man dropped what he was carrying and drew back his fist, but Frank’s fist caught him first, square in the jaw, knocking him to the ground. Frank shoved his gun into the man’s face, ending any further struggle.

  Jack glared at the intruder, but his eyes were quickly drawn to what he was carrying. The file was thick, notations in varying pen and pencil covered the outside, and the header was labeled Keeler.

  Jack snatched it up.

  “What is that?” Frank asked.

  “Nothing.” Jack headed into the den and put the file away.

  “Interesting file,” the intruder said. “Keeping secrets from people?”

  “What’s in the file?” Frank asked again.

  “Nothing,” Jack said. “Just personal stuff.”

  But the file was quickly forgotten as Jack saw the other two things the man was carrying.

  “Why the hell would you take these?” Jack yelled at the thief.

  They lay there in all of their innocence on the floor. And Jack’s blood began to boil. He had bought them almost a year earlier, they were “just because” gifts, simple yet filled with meaning. Hope and Sara loved the two stuffed bears. One blue, one brown, they always brought smiles to their faces.

  Jack grabbed the man, hoisting him up. He slammed his head into the wall. “Why?”

  “They’re for your girls,” the intruder said. “To make them happy. To comfort them, give them something to play with.”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  The intruder stared at him.

  “Where are my girls?” Jack pulled the man in close, doing everything he could to restrain himself from killing him.

  “Why, did you lose them?” The man smiled, taunting him. “Misplace them?”

  “Where are they?” Jack pulled him closer, face-to-face. “Did you take them? Who took them?”

  Frank stepped toward him, his gun aimed at the man. He placed his hand on Jack’s arm, the action calming him, getting him to back off.

  Jack frisked the man, searching under his suit jacket. He found a gun in a shoulder holster, took it, ejected the clip, tossed it aside. He checked his pockets, finding nothing but a cell phone.

  He flipped it open, checked the call log, found nothing. He passed it to Frank.

  “It’s new,” Frank said. “A onetime phone so it can’t be traced.”

  Jack snatched the phone back out of
Frank’s hand and violently threw it against the wall, smashing it to pieces. “Who do you work for? Where are my wife and children?”

  The man looked at Jack, his dark eyes curious, questioning. “The whole world thinks you’re dead.”

  “Answer my question.”

  “How did you survive?” the man asked. “When he finds out you’re alive-”

  “Who?” Jack screamed in his face.

  “-your wife won’t even make it until dawn.”

  “What do you mean?” Jack’s voice was unable to hide his fear.

  “He’s leaving the country at dawn tomorrow. Why bother keeping her alive when he could have you?”

  And Jack suddenly realized that no one could know he was alive, no one could know he didn’t lie at the bottom of the river, or Mia would surely die.

  “Who is he?” Jack screamed as he grabbed the man, his rage trembling in his arms.

  But the man fell silent and looked away in defiance.

  Frank looked at Jack. “We need to turn him over to the cops-”

  “We can’t,” Jack snapped as he let the man go. “What if he’s right? We can’t let this guy out in the open, or it will leak to the press that I’m alive. What if whoever has Mia finds out that the papers are wrong? Then what’s stopping him from killing her, even killing my children?”

  He turned back on the man with new anger, grabbing him by the lapel of his jacket. “They’re children, how could you?”

  “Jack…” Frank said, trying to calm his friend.

  “What the hell are we going to do with him?” Jack turned on the man again and raged into his face. “Where are they?”

  Frank thought a moment. “We drop him at a friend’s house.”

  “What? Who?”

  “Someone I trust even more than you. He’ll keep an eye on him until we can figure out how best to use him. And if need be, he’s the type of person who’s had practice at extracting information. If this guy knows where Mia and the kids are, he’ll find out.”

  With the man’s hands bound together with duct tape, they tossed him into the rear seat of Frank’s Jeep. Before Frank closed the door, Jack flicked the switch of the child lock. He followed suit on the other door and climbed into the passenger seat, and Frank drove off.