by Jon Mills
“A flight sounds good. Same pickup location?”
“Sure.”
“How long will it take?”
“How long do you need?”
There was a chuckle on the other end of the line as if the man thought he was booking in a slot for a massage. And yet in many ways, for some that was all they wanted. He didn’t go into the details of what they wanted. He only told them what they couldn’t do and that was very little. Everything had a price tag. Once the clients arrived on the flight, they would make known what they wanted. If it involved beating a boy, they paid a larger amount to cover the amount of time that the boy would then be out of service. Some were beaten so severely they were laid up in bed for weeks at a time.
“Two hours.”
“You sure you need that much time?”
“I just got a promotion.” He let out a chuckle with little regard to the kid. In their eyes, it was all business. William didn’t question what they wanted as long as they could deliver the funds prior to going in.
Garth was always on board to ensure that nothing got out of control.
He hung up and leaned against the car allowing the sun to bathe his face. It was good to be him. There was no financial stress. No worries about being caught and no end in sight. They had developed a well-oiled machine that funneled boys in, kept clients happy and then gave the boys an opportunity to help them when they got older.
By the time they reached the age of sixteen, if they even lived that long, all the boys at one time or another would have been involved in assisting with abduction, and being recorded on film abusing newcomers. No matter what they thought they were going to do once they got older, none of them if given the chance ran to the police. They were as guilty as him.
He walked into the home and closed the door behind him. In the open-space living room, the boy referred to as Billy was sitting on the edge of a sofa. William went over and tore off his blindfold and then took a seat across from him.
“Can I get you a drink?”
The boy nodded, looking around like a scared animal. His wrists were still bound behind his back. Seated to the right of William was Garth. He got up and went over to a drink cabinet and returned with a bottle of water.
“Take the restraints off.”
As Garth was taking them off, William asked Billy how many times he had done it. Six times. The boy knew what he was getting at. He was referring to how many times he had been told to sexually assault another one of the boys. They made them do it, initially to hold it over their heads, but mainly it was done to control them. It never ceased to amaze him how quickly they changed. Some even got a liking for it.
“Well, I have some good news for you.”
Garth returned with a bottle of water and handed it to Billy. He unscrewed the top and gulped it down as though he hadn’t had a drink in weeks. When he was done, he looked back at William. William enjoyed the power he had over them. While he didn’t indulge with those he sold, he liked to watch the process of transformation.
They came in scared, full of fear and resistant and eventually he broke them down and got them to the point that he could walk out of the house and leave the door wide open and they wouldn’t attempt to run. It was called Stockholm syndrome. Though the media knew it existed, none of them could fathom it. How could a person who was being abused daily not run when given the opportunity? Even he found it remarkable but it worked. Those who didn’t run were the gems of the group. They were the backbone of his business.
There were some like Neville and others who he could trust in an open space among the general public. They still wouldn’t run because they had fed them a story. A false one of course but one that made them believe that harm would come to them and their families if they ever attempted to run.
“You’ve been with us for two months now and I’ve been following your development. Tell me, do you wish to go home?”
“No.”
He would ask them that question. More often than not, they would say yes. If they did, he would increase the pressure they felt, increase the amount of times they were sold and increase the beatings. Eventually they would break. They all did in the end.
“Very good. Then you are ready to move on to the next stage.”
William downed a glass of expensive bourbon that Garth handed him.
“Come with me.”
He led the boy outside into the daylight. Garth flanked him on the right keeping a handgun aimed at Billy. Even though he didn’t believe Billy was a flight risk, he couldn’t take any chances. The home he had was in the most remote and private part of Yosemite Park. No one came within earshot of the sprawling property. He led Billy across a dusty section behind the home to a large barn that stored horses. He inserted a key into a padlock, and occasionally glanced at him. His skin was a little pasty from having been in Carlos’ home but he would soon remedy that by having him sunbathe under the heat of the Nevada sky.
When he opened the barn, William greeted a few of the horses by patting their manes.
“Do you like horses, Billy?”
He nodded.
“Perhaps if you do what is asked of you today, I will let you name one and take care of it. Would you like that?”
He answered again with a nod. It was common for them to not say anything. Carlos had practically trained them to be silent when he was around. They were to respond with a shake of the head or a nod. He didn’t like to hear their voices or hear them cry.
William was different.
He enjoyed hearing them wail. There was something about them crying out that made him feel powerful. Without him they went hungry. Without him a client could take a beating too far. Without him they could be disposed of and never seen again.
Yet on the other hand, as much as he enjoyed lording his power over them and making them grovel before him, there were some that wouldn’t adapt.
At the far end of the barn, William swept his feet across the ground, pushing back a large amount of straw that covered a door. He unlocked it and pulled back the thick wood to reveal stone steps that disappeared down into darkness. He pulled out his keys from his pocket and clicked on a small flashlight to guide his way as he entered the stairwell. It wasn’t long before they were at the bottom. He pushed up a lever and the sound of a generator kicked in and lights lit up a long narrow passage that had been formed almost fifteen years ago. The walls had been finished and tiled and the floor was made of granite. Everything about the location was of the highest quality besides the entrance itself. That was created on purpose in the event the place was ever raided. Not that it would. He would hear about a raid long before it would happen. That was the beauty of knowing high-level U.S. officials in prominent positions. They didn’t want to lose what they had. This was a drug that fed their addiction.
As he walked the hall, he thought back to all the men he had brought down there: bankers, politicians, police chiefs, teachers, ministers and those in the media itself. Their positions only served to keep the machine going. And what a machine he had designed.
When he reached the end of the hall, he pressed a few buttons on a keypad and a thick vault-style door slowly opened. Fluorescent lights flickered on and he led the boy inside. In the center of a tiled room with multiple drains knelt a naked boy secured by chains. His head was down. His body was torn up by the lashings he had received from the past client. Blood had dried but the trails remained of where it had trickled away from his body towards the drain.
The boy could barely lift his head so William did it for him. He went over, took a meaty hand of his hair and raised him up.
“You remember Louis, don’t you?”
He smirked as he watched the expression on Billy’s face change.
“Louis here has been a bad boy, haven’t you, Louis?”
Louis attempted to say something but between the blood on his face and the snot drooling from his nose, all he could muster was a mumble. His body was like a rag doll, held by steel restraints. W
illiam was curious to see what Billy would say or do when he told him what he was going to do.
“Garth. The whip over there, give it to Billy.”
Billy’s eyes darted back and forth between Louis and a table which was off to one side of the dome-shaped room. Laid out on it was all manner of instruments of torture. Off to the right was a steel door that opened up to an incinerator. Once they were done with the dead, they were placed in the incinerator and were gone forever.
Garth returned and rolled Billy’s fingers around the cat o’nine tails. Each of the nine leather thongs had sharp pieces of twisted metal inserted into areas along the leather.
“Whip him,” William said in a soft tone as though it was nothing more than requesting the boy to shake a hand. Billy looked on in horror. A tear trickled from his eye as William repeated his request.
“Boy, do you have a hearing problem?”
Billy shook his head. His hands were shaking and he was barely gripping the whip.
“Then whip him!” he bellowed but still Billy did nothing. William paced back and forth for a minute or two.
“Okay, perhaps we are moving a little too fast. The whip is a bit much, I agree.”
William went over to Billy and took it from him and returned it to the table. He paused running his fingers across the table in front of him. When he returned to Billy he was holding in his hand a bowie knife. He wrapped Billy’s fingers around it, then he grabbed the back of Billy’s neck and forced him over behind Louis.
“Lift his head.”
Billy shook his head. “No. No.”
“I won’t ask you again. Lift his head!”
When Billy refused, William released his one hand from Billy’s neck. He grabbed a hold of Louis and yanked him up until his neck was facing the ceiling. Then in one swift motion he took the knife that was in Billy’s hand along with his hand and forced it across Louis’ neck from ear to ear, slicing through the jugular and sending blood spraying out.
Chapter Seven
The following morning Jack received news of the second abduction from Mrs. Carson. This time it was a thirteen-year-old boy by the name of Danny Grant. He too had a paper route, though this time he was snatched off the streets on the west side of Albany. All that had been found was his newspaper bag and bike.
What appeared to be a break in the case was a witness had seen the car and managed to jot down the plate number. Police were following up and an Amber Alert had already gone out.
When Jack showed up outside a block of apartments in a fairly run-down section of neighborhood, he noticed two police cars outside, as well as a crowd of neighbors huddled together. The place was already swarming with media from nearby towns. Their vans were parked in a line and reporters were yelling at cameramen.
Even though specific details would eventually emerge, he needed to know what that plate number was and if the police had managed to come up with anything substantial.
He lingered outside with a cup of coffee. The sun was up and he could already feel that it was going to be another blistering day. The fact that Danny Grant had been working for the same newspaper company as Billy certainly meant that there had to be a tie to someone who was familiar with the boys, or at least with their route. No stranger in their right mind would have taken the risk of scooping them up without keeping tabs on them first. It was a close-knit community and too many eyes would have been on them.
While he was waiting outside he overheard one of the reporters mention the name Stephen Radcliff. A man with dirty-blond hair, a thin jacket and jeans was talking with the media. After they were done asking their questions, Jack watched him disappear into the crowd.
Eventually, as a door opened to one of the apartments, a small, heavyset man wearing a grey suit stepped out along with two officers in uniform. The media swarmed them and he raised his hands and told them that the matter was being dealt with and for now the family asked the public to respect their privacy.
“Is there any connection to the Billy Carson case?”
“At this time we don’t believe there is.”
“But he worked for the same paper,” another reporter hollered.
“That’s correct but to jump to conclusions at this stage would be premature.”
“Chief Weldon, is it true that Stephen Radcliff was the one who witnessed it?”
He cleared his throat and addressed them. “The witness wishes to remain anonymous, I can’t say any more about that. Now there will be an official statement issued to the press shortly. Right now our team of officers are investigating this. As it stands it’s not currently being considered an abduction.”
There was a gasp among the media. “Are you kidding?”
“It seems pretty obvious,” a guy muttered beside Jack.
“We have a missing boy. That’s all right now.”
The chief elbowed his way through the crowd to an idling police car.
As the crowds thinned out, Jack pondered for a few minutes what to do. Without police assistance or details being released he was no further ahead than the public at knowing where the boy might have gone.
He contemplated for a while making a phone call to her.
He’d have to be careful. Perhaps she had changed her mind since that day. While he was chewing it over, two adults came out of the apartment and dashed towards a waiting car.
“Mrs. Grant, could we get a few words? How are you feeling? Have you heard from anyone? What are the police doing?” The media were relentless. They fired their questions like darts with no sympathy, all they wanted was to be the first to get that soundbite. Two abductions in a matter of two months in the same town was big news. Having the two kids around the same age, working for the same company and disappearing under similar circumstances was too coincidental. The mass of reporters crowding them made it virtually impossible to reach their vehicle.
“Get that camera out of my face,” a male pushed back and a few of the reporters cursed him. Jack knew the chances of being able to speak with them were next to none. And yet perhaps he didn’t need to.
Later that morning Jack rented a car. With all the back and forth he was doing, he was burning a hole in his pocket ordering Ubers. He picked up a small sedan from Hertz Rent a Car on 11th Avenue. The next stop on his list was The Albany Star located on Lyon Street. It was a small, one-story square building made up of mostly tinted glass. He entered the doors and approached the front desk. The inside looked professional with a waiting area off to the left. Four chairs and a table with magazines in a pile; off to the right was a large plant and a water cooler. A petite, dark-haired girl sat behind the front desk, drinking from a large on-the-go coffee mug. She had a headset on and was rattling away to someone about her relationship with some guy. Jack leaned against the counter and cleared his throat.
“Got to go.”
She pressed a button on the side of her Bluetooth device and smiled.
“How can I help you?”
Jack stared at her nameplate.
“Paige. That’s a lovely name.”
She puffed out her chest and got this wide grin on her face.
“Paige, I was hoping to speak to Stephen Radcliff. Do you know if he’s in today?”
“I’m sorry, sir, he’s taking the day off.”
“Related to the missing child?”
She looked around nervously. “I’m really not at liberty to discuss it.”
“You wouldn’t have his home address by any chance, would you?”
“That would be private.”
“Ah, I understand. I will deliver the vehicle another time.”
Jack turned to leave.
“Deliver?”
He turned back briefly and thumbed over his shoulder. “Yeah, he recently won a brand-new sedan.” Jack pointed out front to the gleaming sedan he’d rented.
“Oh wow, with the run of bad news that he’s had lately, I expect that will cheer him up.”
“But no problem. I’ll swing by next month.
”
“Sir, can I take your name and number? Perhaps I can leave a message at his home.”
Jack tossed up his hand. “Ah, don’t worry about it. I’m sure he can wait.”
Jack could see the girl chewing the end of her pen in the reflection of the window as he slowly walked back to the door. There were few things that pissed bosses off more than a secretary that couldn’t do her job and at bare minimum get a name or number.
“Um. Sir. If you want to wait a minute, I’ll get you an address.”
He smiled and turned back.
“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind this one time.”
She pecked away at her keyboard with oversize fingernails and her screen flashed a few times. She took a pad of paper and jotted down the address and handed it off to him.
“What was your name again?”
“Thank you,” he replied without giving it. Five minutes later he was on his way down the main stretch of road towards a mobile home park that was southeast on Columbus Street. When he pulled in, he saw a couple riding out on their bicycles. Stephen’s home was in a small cul-de-sac tucked back into a woodland at the end of Newport Terrace. Outside was a blue Ford truck. The entire home was made from clapboard. Under the sunshine of the day, it was a nice, cozy-looking area, peaceful even. Jack parked behind his vehicle and pushed out. No sooner had he stepped out than the storm door creaked open and the dirty-blond man poked his head out. He was wearing no top, and he had on a pair of jean shorts. Jack noticed he’d changed his clothing since seeing him that morning.
“If you’re from the media, I’ve already told them what I know. I don’t wish to be bothered.”
“I’m not from the media.”
“Then I have nothing to say. Get off my property.”
“I just want a moment of your time. I’m assisting the Carsons with the disappearance of their child.”
He frowned. “Didn’t I speak to you before?”
“Possibly.”
Before he had got within spitting distance, Stephen shut the door. Jack held open the storm door and pressed the button. The bell rang and the man returned looking even more flustered than before. This time he kept the door barely open. He spoke through a thin gap as if he was trying to hide what was going on behind him. The dank smell of marijuana seeped out.
