I drop off the hot coffee that I’d been holding on April’s desk giving her a little wink as I continue on to my office. Not just any office, but a corner office with my nameplate and “CEO” on it. My brothers and I opened King Securities not that long ago. Our company has grown, and it looks as if we will need to do some additional hiring in the not too distant future. The staff we do have, are loyal and trustworthy. We perform a detailed background check on each applicant, vetting each person carefully. Because we provide security and run investigations, each of our staff understand that privacy is key. Public scrutiny could make or break some of our clients.
We’re meeting in the conference room in fifteen minutes to discuss our next possible case. We received an emergency call from District Attorney A. Peters and were only informed that there is urgency involved. We don’t know much more than that, as he wants to discuss with us in person. He’s certainly piqued my curiosity and that of my brothers’ as well.
April has gone ahead and set up a tray with coffee, tea, some muffins, yogurt and fruit. Clean mugs, plates and cutlery are also available for our use. She keeps us all organized and on our toes, we wouldn’t be able to do it without her. I get to the conference room just as Deacon and Carter arrive and we shoot the shit until April buzzes to advise our clients have arrived.
D.A. Peters is here with his wife, Diane. She’s a wreck and weeping loudly, looking as if she may buckle under the weight of her shoulders if it weren’t for her husband bolstering her, as they enter. He doesn’t look much better there is a grim tightness around his mouth, emphasizing the deep grooves at the sides of his eyes. Carter, Deacon and I share a look between us, noting that whatever is going on, can’t be good.
We watch D.A. Peters as he walks around the room, our attention solely on him. We wait patiently for him to speak, allowing him time to gather and organize his thoughts. He runs his hands through his hair in frustration and says, “Thank you for agreeing to see us on such short notice. What we’re about to talk about cannot leave this room,” he says seriously while looking each of us in the eye. “I’ve been able to keep what I’m about to tell you away from the media, but I’m not sure if I can hold them off much longer, those bloodhounds always smell a story.” We all nod solemnly indicating he should continue, he’s captured our attention.
He takes a deep breath and we’re shocked at his next words as he says, “Four nights ago our daughter, Savannah, was abducted out of her home.”
I flinch at the name Savannah. Since she hasn’t responded to my texts, I seem to see her in everything I do, or everywhere I go, even here at work. I shrug it off thinking there must be hundreds of women with the name Savannah and give D.A. Peters my full attention.
“We didn’t even know she had been taken, until I received an odd text message, alerting me to pick up a message from the front desk of the local Delta hotel,” he says rubbing the scruff on his chin in frustration. “I initially thought it odd, and was going to pass it off,” he says pacing back and forth, “As I’m sure you can imagine I get a lot of mail from supporters and the haters. Something prompted me to head down there and take it seriously,” he says solemnly, “and I’m glad I did. I brought the envelope here with me, obviously I’ve handled it but I’m not certain who at the hotel handled it, so you will need to decide if there is any value to dusting for prints. As an officer of the court, mine are on record. Diane didn’t touch the envelope, or the letter inside,” he finishes while fidgeting with a file folder.
He passes me the folder and I open it to find the envelope, letter, photos of the crime scene and photos of his daughter. Fuck no! It’s Savannah! I need to keep it together, but no wonder she didn’t text me back. She couldn’t. I pass the photo around and can see my brothers appreciating her beauty, not certain if they remember her from the club. I’m surprised that I experience a pinch of jealousy and possessiveness the feeling so odd and out of character for me. All because my brothers are admiring a beautiful woman who I danced with and am interested in. I don’t have any ownership over her, so why the odd thoughts.
They chose a very good photo of Savannah, showcasing her raven colored hair and amber eyes, a very unusual color like aged whiskey. With gloved hands, I reach into the envelope and open the letter, handling it carefully. I take several photocopies of it, and place the original back into the file folder a bit surprised that my hands are shaking. I give both Deacon and Carter a copy and the room falls silent as we all read what is written.
Dear Mom and Dad.
By now, you are aware that I’m not at home, and that I’ve been abducted. You probably don’t even believe this letter, and I can bet that Daddy has already touched base with the shelter, and my friends, and confirmed that I haven’t been anywhere in days. I don’t even know how many days have passed. I’m hoping that he will let me go, but a part of me doubts that he ever will. I have begged for my release, but he won’t give in. He’s only “allowing” this letter so he can verbalize his demands. He said that you can’t go to the police, and you can’t involve the media. He wants money, for all his troubles. He is asking for one million dollars. I explained to him that I don’t have that kind of spare cash, but he thinks that you do. He said he would be in touch so that he can give you further instructions. Please don’t give up on me and don’t forget me. Xoxo Van
Below this handwriting in block letters is the following:
PAY UP OR THE BITCH DIES.
INVOLVE THE POLICE, OR THE MEDIA
AND THE BITCH WILL DIE.
SLOWLY AND PAINFULLY.
I want to punch a hole through the wall I’m so pissed, but I need to control my reactions. I’m taking this personally and I take care of what’s mine. I don’t take kindly to someone fucking around with something that belongs to me. I shake off the thoughts and look up at D.A. Peters my brow furrowed and raise an eyebrow in question, he knows what I’m asking.
“I don’t have that kind of cash on hand,” he says quietly, “but I can get it. I need to liquidate some savings which will take me a few days. We didn’t know how to proceed, so we’re here to get your perspective and because we want to hire you,” he looks at each of us with a plea in his eyes. “We need you to find our daughter and bring her home to us, where she belongs,” he says sitting down.
I speak up as I have several burning questions.
“Why do you think she may have been targeted? I ask while watching their faces carefully. “Was there a recent breakup, or bad relationship? Or do you think this is about you? Is there a particular case that you may be working on that could be behind something like this? Maybe something you’re working on can help us pinpoint where your daughter is, or who has her. Any information you can provide us, can only help, but we need you to be transparent, and honest with us. We aren’t here to judge you. So please do NOT hold back on us,” I finish my rant and wait to see what they have to say.
D. A. Peters clears his throat, “Yes, of course, we will tell you anything you need to know. Diane and I have been happily married for over 30 years,” he says while patting her hands then giving them a gentle squeeze while she gives him a watery smile. “There isn’t anything about us, or our marriage that would pertain to this, no hidden skeleton or anything like that. Our marriage isn’t perfect, but we don’t have any big issues that would pertain to this. I don’t think it has anything to do with any cases I’m currently working on either, but I will have my admin get copies of everything I’m working on to you on a coded chip. I will provide you with a password once it’s done, but under separate cover. I don’t think it has to be said that you need to use the utmost discretion. Because of my role, I can’t share certain things about each case, but the pieces that are public record I can, and will, share. I don’t think this has anything to do with a boyfriend, or a bad breakup, she doesn’t date, but Diane can speak to that piece,” he finishes authoritatively. I can understand why he is as successful as D.A., he’s had complete control of the room and our attentions once
he began speaking.
I look over at Mrs. Peters and wait for her to speak.
She sniffs and wipes her nose with her handkerchief, “Savannah is a lovely girl, very sweet and kind. She gives so much of herself to others, and thinks of herself last,” she is crying openly now, having difficulty speaking. She goes on to say, “She is a good girl, and an even better daughter, but she is innocent, maybe naïve is a better word. She hasn’t had a boyfriend, so I don’t think it’s a bad breakup”.
I must have a look of shock, or confusion on my face. “No boyfriend”? I ask. “Ever? How old is Savannah?”
Mrs. Peters smiles at me, and must understand why I’m so doubtful. “She is 22. And the answer is no. No relationship. Ever”.
I can see that Deacon and Carter are as shocked as I am. Is this what her friend Lacey was referring to when she called her a “newbie”? Parents don’t always know things about their children, I think to myself. Especially their adult children, and surely, Mrs. Peters is wrong about Savannah never having had a boyfriend. She’s an extremely beautiful woman with a very open, and expressive face and she sure knows how to dance in a sensual manner. Surely there’s been a man at some point? My mind is still boggled trying to mesh the hot little woman who was dirty dancing with the shy, and naïve woman being described and somehow I know it’s true if I add up all our texts and meetings, I just didn’t want to see it or believe it.
I’m going through the rest of the photos when I stop, my hands trembling.
“Who took this picture, the ones of the symbol on the floor?”
“I took them, thinking they must mean something. When I showed Diane the picture she immediately said we needed to contact you. Diane and Van talk about everything, and apparently Van had shared a story about you and your childhood and some secret code language you and your brothers came up with.”
“Your wife is right, and so smart to come to us. I think this is our first clue,” I say with a tentative smile on my face.
“What does it mean?” I can see the question in the D.A.’s eyes and hope. The symbol drawn is simply the following: + *
Which is the letter A in our alphabet, if that is even what she was trying to say and then the asterisk meaning “R”, but maybe it’s an X. I wrack my brain trying to come up with all the “A” possibilities but they are endless. I’m pondering when Diane speaks up.
“She went out on that disastrous date with Andrew Randall.” I point at her and shout “Yes!”
I let them know that I’ve run a detailed background check on him, but hadn’t had a chance to look at it yet. I can see Diane smile a bit at this news. I can’t tell you why I even ran the background check, except for I was jealous when she was on that date with him. When she was obviously so upset and needed my help getting away, my protective instincts took over. Now I’m glad I did it, as it will certainly save us some time. I already requested a very detailed report, not a basic one, so hopefully something would be revealed to us.
I let them know that we’ll also go back to basics, chatting with all her friends and we’ll go door to door in her neighborhood to see if anyone has seen or heard anything.
I see them still waiting on us, and getting anxious, “Please, will you take our case”? D.A. Peters asks. “My security team isn’t built for this sort of thing, so I need you. WE need you. Please find our daughter. Find Savannah and bring her home,” he stops on a plea.
I stare at D.A. Peters, while the gears are turning in my head. We’ll need to sit down, and draft out our plan of action, and then put it in place. I look at Deacon and Carter and we all nod our heads, subtly. It’s a go.
I grab the back of my neck, rubbing lightly, knowing we’re overwhelmed and say, “We agree to take on your case. We will require you to sign some waivers and some other paperwork.” I stop and look at them, they need to understand this next piece, or they can’t have our services. I take a breath and say “We are in charge and we make the decisions. This means no matter what, you defer to us.” I see them nodding their heads, desperate to find Savannah. I sigh, “OK, then we will move forward and draft a plan. We’ll start getting some feelers out there and see if we can’t smoke him out. See if he’ll make a mistake”.
We all stand and shake hands. I look at Mrs. Peters stooped over and sobbing. The poor woman is broken.
I really hope we’ll be able to help.
I can’t hold back my whimpers, my guard is scaring the shit out of me. He’s pacing like a lunatic, flapping his arms and muttering to himself. He’s been doing this for the past thirty minutes, his feet marking a path into the filthy carpet, the dead cockroach’s evidence of his heavy foot. He’s been holding an in depth conversation with several “people” in his head. He seems very different than he was yesterday and that disheartens me. I thought Andrew Randall, my bad coffee date had taken me, but this guy sort of looks like him, but is acting completely differently. Today he is stuttering, which he wasn’t doing before. He seemed so arrogant, and in charge. This guy? This guy is just plain crazy. I’m not imagining the difference am I? Who knows, I’m so confused, tired and hungry that I don’t know what to believe anymore. If I’m wrong, then I left information that isn’t going to be helpful in any way. In fact, I may have jeopardized my chances at being found because they’ll look in the wrong places.
I try so hard to get out of my head, and think of happier times. Sometimes it takes a huge effort to think of happy memories, and other times they slip into my head. Today they come easy and for that I’m thankful. I think of Mom and Dad and even Reid, but then my concentration is shattered when he suddenly starts slapping his face making me think of some of the people down at the shelter. They aren’t in their right mind and my heart breaks at what other people call “the crazies.”
I was always feeling so suffocated at home, feeling the need to break free. Look where that’s gotten me now. I shake my head as I feel the hot tears fill my eyes, and spill down my face. I watch him through the curtain of my hair as my body shakes in fear. I’m in a heap on the floor, my muscles cramping. I’m so very afraid my mind started having its own conversation. Oh God, he is crazy, I’m never going to get away. I can’t reason with crazy, he won’t listen to practical advice. I can’t do this. Oh please. Please someone help me. I keep quiet while watching him, trying not to call attention to myself. Unfortunately my bladder doesn’t seem to want to stay incognito and is screaming at me to go pee. The way I see it I have two choices. I can pee myself where I sit, or ask to use the facilities. It’s not like I haven’t done it before, using the corner of the room I’m locked in as my personal toilet being sure to hurry before my captor can see me. But I’m not a dog, and want to use a toilet so I can wash my hands and maybe even my face. C’mon Van what do you have to lose? You need to go so just ask. I’m trying to encourage myself, but not sure I’m succeeding. I alternate between looking at my temporary toilet in the corner, the smells adding to my misery or looking at my captor and the possibility of a toilet and running water. I look toward my captor and wait until a lull appears in the conversation he is having.
I’m shaking, I really don’t want to do this, but I have to so I take a deep breath and clear my throat, hoping for the best.
“Excuse me,” I say softly, “I really need to pee. May I please use the washroom?”
He stops dead and turns to look at me. Like before he cocks his head to the side and has that stupid grin on his face. Every time our eyes meet, my body shudders and my heart rate increases, and not in a good way. This man creeps me out on every level. He walks over to me and I try not to flinch away as he bends over and unhooks my cuffs from the floor, pulling me up by the arms and yanking sharply. I wince, but keep my mouth shut, biting down on my tongue until I taste blood. We get to the bathroom and I see a hook on the floor in front of the toilet, and urine all over the floor, wet and dried. The same floor he is about to cuff me to. Oh my God that floor is disgusting. How the hell does he expect me to pull my pants down? Fo
rget pulling my pants down how the hell will I wipe if I’m hooked to the floor, bent in half like a pretzel? I’m trying not to cry, but I’m overwhelmed and frustrated and utterly terrified. Before I know what’s happening he has yanked my pants down, taking my panties with them and pushed me down on the toilet growling, “Pee.”
I hang my head, ashamed, my face feeling hot and I’m sure is a deep red color.
Sure Buddy. I can just pee on demand while you stand there and stare at me with that stupid fucking smile on your face. I keep my gaze downwards, as I feel my entire body shuddering and trembling. No man has ever seen me naked, except for this guy. I’m so embarrassed, an unwilling participant to his sick mind games. I know it isn’t normal to get to the age of 22 and still be a virgin, but I haven’t met anyone yet that I’ve fallen in love with. There are a lot of fun guys out there but just not “the one.” I’ve always been a social outcast, being dorky and somehow or other always saying the wrong things. I shake my head and try to think of running water, and thank goodness it works as I’m finally able to pee. Before I’m done, my captor takes some paper from the roll. Oh No. He isn’t going to wipe me? No. Please. I whimper aloud making my captor smile even wider. Tears are coursing down my face as he wipes me, my humiliation complete. He swiftly pulls my pants and panties up, leaving them bunched around my waist and wedged up my ass crack. It’s awkward and I want to fix it but my hands are still hooked to the floor. Once my hands are free I decide to take one more chance and say, “Please. May I was my hands and my face?” I don’t want to look at him, so I just look down until he sighs and yanks me over to the sink, causing me to cry out loudly. I sigh with relief when my hands are under the spray. I try to rub them together, and then splash some water onto my face. It feels good to wash away the tears, but I know they’ll be back. As I’m washing I think a bit about the choices and changes I’ve made and also about the time I’m missing from my fast track program.
Recovered Love Page 7
