STOLEN

by DAWN KOPMAN WHIDDEN

  “Dylan’s motorcycle. Did they find the bike, Mom? He’s just brokenhearted. He needs that bike to get to work and school.”

  “Did you really eat this stuff?” Jean asked as she raised the loaded fork full of the green concoction into the air.

  “Mom! Honestly!” Bethany cried out, her voice tinged with impatience.

  “I’m sorry, Bethany, I have a lot on my plate right now.” She hesitated, realizing she meant it literally as well as figuratively. “I have a murder investigation and a possible armed and dangerous suspect on the loose. Dylan’s bike is not a priority. Let him take a bus to work. Or better yet, walk.”

  Now she was frustrated and just shoved the vegetable side dish in her mouth and swallowed. It was starting to taste a little bit more appetizing. When she looked up, she was struck by the look of hurt on Bethany’s face. She quickly glanced over and saw Glenn’s expression; indicating he also was disappointed with her response.

  Suddenly, feeling an overwhelming sense of guilt, she put down the fork. “I’m sorry, honey, it’s just been a long day. Did Dylan file a report with the police?”

  “Yes, as soon as it happened. We all saw it, this guy, he just got on the bike and took off.” Bethany pulled her long blonde hair back into a ponytail, and took one of the utensils off of her mother’s plate, helping herself to a spoonful of the side dish.

  “You were there?” Her mother suddenly perked up now, concerned. It didn’t occur to her until then her daughter may have been in danger.

  “Yes,” the teenager answered with a hint of exasperation. “It was so fast; we were in the store getting sodas, and Dylan had come in to pay for his gas. I turned around and I saw this guy ride off with Dylan’s bike. I screamed for him to stop; but he just turned around and looked at me. I thought he was going to stop, but then he just gunned it and took off.”

  “Did you get a good look at this man?” Now, as if she was in auto-mode, she put a fork full of roast potatoes into her mouth.

  Next thing she knew, Bethany’s attention had shifted; her eyes focused on the table. She lifted her mother’s cellphone off the table and held it up. “Mom! Him, that’s him, Mom. This is the guy that stole Dylan’s bike.”

  Jean stopped eating and quickly swallowed what was already in her mouth. She looked at Bethany in disbelief. “Are you sure, Bethany? Are you positive?”

  “Yes, Mom, I’m sure, that’s him. That’s the guy! That’s the guy that stole Dylan’s bike.”

  Glancing over at Glenn, Jean pushed the plate away, got up and took the phone back from her daughter. She paced around the room as she proceeded to punch in Marty’s cell number. At least she knew now exactly what to look for, and if the second Blakey brother was still around, she knew how he was getting around. Suddenly, much to her daughter’s delight, finding Dylan’s motorcycle was about to become a priority.

  He stashed the Harley behind some dead brush in the woods, directly behind the hospital, and followed a rarely used path that brought him to a side entrance. He had passed this area once or twice before and noticed a group of orderlies and cafeteria workers would hang out back here to smoke. The last time he happened by, he noticed one of the hospital employees tossing a dirty uniform through the window of a beat up Chevy Camaro. Glancing around, he scanned the parking lot, looking for the sports car. He hopped up when he saw it parked in between two large SUV’S. Looking around to make sure no one was paying him any attention, he calmly and quietly walked between the two larger vehicles and peered in the back passenger side window of the sports car. With another stroke of luck for him, the window was open. There it was. A white lab coat sat crumbled on top in a pile of other discarded clothing. Looking up again, he glanced to his left and right, making sure no one was in the area. Convinced no one was watching him, he reached his hand through the open window and grabbed the white coat and briskly walked away.

  Hope quickly caught up to Tristan after he came out of the lavatory and when the little boy realized she was walking next to him, he latched onto her hand and didn’t let go.

  She noticed there was a little bit more of a bounce in his step as he made his way up the corridor, pulling her along. He peeked into each room they passed and with each unsuccessful attempt at finding the man she now thought to be the boy’s father, Tristan’s steps became a little bit more urgent. Just before they turned a corner, passing a nurses’ station, she realized she was going to pass the Captain’s room. This time it was Hope who stopped and peeked into the room, holding Tristan back for a moment. He looked up at her, concern flashed across his face as his eyes landed on the older gentleman lying on the bed, his head wrapped in white cotton gauze. Hope nodded a hello to Ryan Jr., the eldest of Marty’s seven brothers, who was sitting vigil next to his sleeping father watching a muted television set. Looking up, Ryan gave a short wave, and when he realized Hope wasn’t coming into the room, his eyes, once again, became riveted to the television screen.

  Looking down at the curly-headed boy, she nodded an okay for him to proceed. They continued to walk down the corridor with Tristan peeking into each of the rooms until he suddenly stopped abruptly as they turned the corner. Sitting outside one of the rooms was a uniformed officer who appeared to be concentrating on something on his lap. Giving Tristan a slight tug and a smile, letting him know it was alright to proceed, it became apparent to Hope, the closer they got to the officer, that the man was engrossed in a game of computer solitaire, busy sliding the images of cards from one part of the phone’s screen to another.

  She felt Tristan tug her, as he stopped again, and Hope noticed a look of panic shoot across the child’s face.

  “It’s okay, honey, I know him.” She gave his hand a quick squeeze and this time it was Hope that took the lead.

  “Hi, Sully,” she addressed the man, taking his attention away from the game.

  The round-faced veteran looked up from his phone screen. His brows were thick and each one formed a perfectly straight line, but it was the ninety-degree angles facing downwards which made him resemble a carved pumpkin.

  “Hey, Dr. Rubin. I guess you’re here visiting Captain Keal? He’s down the corridor on the other end, room 416.” The husky, uniformed veteran lifted his arm to demonstrate which direction she should head.

  “Actually, no, we’re here to see the patient in this room. May we?” Hope’s eyes dropped down, acknowledging Tristan.

  The veteran cop looked at the child suspiciously; suddenly realizing this was the kid everyone at the station house had been talking about. He was off duty when all the hoopla occurred, so this was the first chance he got to see the kid. Kid didn’t look like the savage they all said he was. The boy looked just like a normal kid to him. The way everyone was talking about the kid, he was expecting him to be half-wolf, half-piranha. This kid, he thought, looked more like half-cottontail, half-puppy.

  Sully glanced in the room and was confident the man was still unconscious or asleep and posed no danger to Dr. Rubin or the kid. “Yeah, but I better go in there with you, just as a precaution. He’s not handcuffed or anything and the doctor said he’s breathing on his own, but he hasn’t really regained, what’s the word? Con . . . con . . .”

  “Consciousness,” Hope offered.

  “Yeah, that. He’s still out of it and we don’t know if the guy is dangerous or not.” Once again he looked suspiciously at the young boy.

  Tristan, anxious to get inside, wasn’t going to wait a second longer for permission. He slipped right past the cop who was slowly getting his bulky body out of the chair. Before he could be stopped, the little boy climbed up onto the bed and lay down beside the man, the curls on his head pressing down on the man’s naked chest. This time he took care not to disable any of the wires that were still connected to parts of the man’s still body.

  Hope walked over to the bed and placed her hand on the small of the child’s back. “Tristan, is this man your father? Is he your daddy?”

  It was dark by the time they got back
to town; and as much as Marty craved a good hot meal and a hot shower, he headed straight to the hospital to check on his dad. He knew Hope never answered her cell while she was driving, so he wasn’t too concerned when it took several attempts before he finally got through to her. Although it was a brief conversation, she was able to confirm that she was indeed with Tristan and they were both at the hospital. Knowing that, Marty had an additional motive for going straight there.

  The Captain was alert and watching television with his brother Ryan when he walked into the room. His color was still pasty, but he was sitting up and talking. Apparently, he wasn’t too happy with super slugger Alex Rodriguez and his lackluster performance in the batting box. Except for the obvious raspy tone of his voice, he definitely sounded like the old man’s former self.

  “He’s finished. He needs to pack it up and call it a career. He just doesn’t . . . . Hey, look who’s here.” With a slight grimace, he pulled himself up so he was sitting a little bit more upright.

  “Hey, Pop, how are you feeling, old man?” Marty leaned over and gave him a kiss on his forehead just below the gauze bandage that circled his head.

  “Fine, now get me out of this joint. The nurses here are worse than prison guards. I know convicts that have more compassion than some of these people who have the gall to call themselves nurses.” He spoke, straining his vocal cords, so he was loud enough for the nurse who was entering the room to hear. Ignoring his words, the thick-waisted nurse shoved a thermometer in his mouth and checked his pulse.

  Apparently, the nurse and the Captain had already become acquainted because, in a distinct Caribbean Island accent, she threatened him with another sponge bath.

  “Of course, not this lovely lady here, Marty, she’s an angel sent from heaven.” He managed to tell them after the thermometer was removed and he swallowed the two pills she handed him.

  Marty was thrilled to see how animated he was this early after his surgery. He had halfway expected him to be lying at death’s door. If anyone would make a comeback, it would be the Captain, he thought. The man cheated death once before, over fifty years ago, after he was brutally stabbed by one of the inmates he was guarding. Thanks to the quick thinking of another inmate, who managed to overcome his attacker and put pressure on the wound, Marty’s father was alive today.

  “I thought I saw my future daughter-in-law pass by a few minutes ago. Was I hallucinating? Has the morphine drip caused me hallucinations? Pretty ones, at that?”

  “You not get-ting morphine, Cap-tin Keal,” the nurse informed him, with broken English, as she adjusted his intravenous bag. “You be allergic, remember?”

  “Well, I’m glad someone is on the ball around here!” He gave her a flirtatious smile as she made a note on his chart.

  “You waaastin’ you charm on me, Cap-tin Keal. I have five children at home, all under t’ age o’ nine. Three of t’em, they still in diapers. You remember what that’s like, don’t you?”

  Taking the nurse’s hand, he slowly lowered his bandaged head and gently laid his lips on her knuckles as his eyes took notice of her name tag. “Bless you, Nurse Loretta. Yes, yes I do. You are a remarkable woman, working full-time and caring for such a large brood. How do you manage?”

  For some reason, there was a touch of an Irish brogue sprinkled in the Captain’s speech. It gave Marty and Ryan a sense of relief that his sense of humor was still alive and well.

  “I have a remarkable man at home, Captain Keal. A very remarkable man, my husband is. Now, you need t’ get some rest. Now, are you hearin’ me, Cap-tin Keal? You want t’ get you-self out o’ here? You be needin’ to get you-self some rest.” She smiled, her teeth almost fluorescent white, in stark contrast against her ebony skin color, and nodded in Marty’s direction as she left the room.

  His father laid his head back on the pillow. It was obvious he was still in pain, but there was no way he was going to admit it to medical personnel, or family members, or anyone.

  “No really, Marty, I thought I saw Hope pass by. Was I dreaming? She didn’t come in the room, just walked right by.” He stated, hinting at his disappointment that Hope would pass by and not come in and visit.

  “Does she have a patient here? Can you hand me that glass, please?” He didn’t move his head, just his eyes, as he tried to direct Marty to the glass on the bedside tray.

  Marty sat down beside him and handed him the glass, even helping him maneuver the straw so he could take a sip. He watched as his father closed his eyes while slowly sucking the liquid from the hollow tube. He took deliberate care as he swallowed, letting Marty know that his instincts were right, his throat was sore.

  “Yes, Pop, Hope is here. She’s with the little boy they found in the woods. There seems to be a good chance the man in the room down the hall, the one who was shot, may be his father.” Marty realized then that his father probably was unaware of the recent current events, so he started to explain from the beginning. The Captain immediately cut him off.

  “I saw that much of it on the news. Poor kid. I thought they didn’t know who he is. They said on the news the kid was another kidnap victim. You telling me he wasn’t kidnapped after all? Was he hurt?” True concern seeped through as Marty looked in his cloudy blue eyes.

  “Actually, he appears to be in very good physical condition. The doctors haven’t found any signs of physical abuse, but we don’t have a clue of what he has been through, or if he is a victim of some sort of abuse. Actually, Jean and I just came back from Queens. We went to see the little girl, Michaelah Sandberg, hoping to get some more answers. She’s a remarkable little girl. I just hope that she’s able to put this all behind her. I tell you, Pop, this is a sick world.”

  Marty took the glass from him and refilled it with ice water and then placed the now full vessel back on the bedside tray.

  “You don’t have to convince me of that, son. I have seen the worst of it. Are they going to place the kid at Armistace?” he asked, referring to the hospital for children who were diagnosed with severe emotional problems, some of them who were often very violent and mentally disturbed, and the place where Hope worked.

  “No, he was placed in a foster home, not far from here, but he took off. Somehow he made his escape; and somehow or another he ended up as a passenger in Hope’s car. She found him hiding in the backseat, and for some reason, she brought him here. She is probably supposed to meet the social worker here. I think they’re trying to place him in a more secure home.”

  Marty glanced down at his wristwatch. “I told her I would call her as soon as I got here. She’s somewhere here in the hospital.” He got off the bed and pulled his cellphone out of his pocket.

  “She’s on this floor, Marty, I saw her just a few minutes ago.” Ryan interjected, confirming that it wasn’t an illusion his father had seen earlier.

  “Okay, well let me go see if I can track her down. I’ll come back in and see you before I leave.” Marty turned to his eldest brother. “Ryan, can I bring you anything?”

  “No, I’m fine. Lori is coming back and bringing me dinner. Go. Go find your lady. I’ll just stay here, keep Pop company, and watch the Yankees get pulverized,” he added in disgust.

  “I’ll catch you later, Pop.” Marty leaned over and kissed the area on his forehead that was free of the white bandage, getting a small taste of gauze on his lips. His father looked so vulnerable and tired. Marty felt that gnawing ache in his gut again. The one he felt while he was waiting for him to come out of surgery. Marty was his father’s son, so he did exactly what he would have done. He didn’t want him to see the fear and apprehension on his face; so he just smiled and walked out of the room.

  Marty was so preoccupied with thoughts of his dad and how he looked, he wasn’t watching where he was going. So he wasn’t too surprised when he had to apologize for bumping into the orderly pushing the cart down the empty corridor. If he wasn’t so exhausted and on this emotional rollercoaster, and if he was paying a bit more attention to his surround
ings, he may have realized that it wasn’t just an ordinary orderly he said he was sorry to. If he had only looked up and paid attention to the man’s face, he might have realized the man was the missing Blakey brother, Shane.

  Hope was waiting for Tristan to answer her question when her cellphone rang. She was relieved to see Sophie Harris’ name and number come up on the caller I.D. screen.

  “Hello?” She answered, placing the phone on speaker, leaving her hands free just in case.

  “Hope, it’s Sophie, I’m so sorry it’s taken me this long to get back to you, I have had several emergency placements, and I have been looking for a foster family for Tristan. It appears that I am completely out of options right now. One family has been thrown out of the system. I was going to call Judy, ask her if she had a spot for him at Armistace, but I wanted to get your take on that first.” She sounded out of breath and overwhelmed.

  “I’m sorry, Sophie, but we are overcapacity as it stands now. The state has been making noises and even made some threats about closing us down. We just can’t afford to admit one more patient. What about the lady he was placed with this morning? Can’t she take him back?”

  She kept her eyes on Tristan. His fingers were weaving in and out, twirling the hair of the man in the bed. It reminded her of when her old tabby cat Kibbles would knead his favorite blanket. She would sit for hours hypnotized by the repetitive motion of the cat’s mitten-like white paws. She almost got lost in the moment when she realized she was in the middle of a conversation with the social worker.

  “Same problem, we had to place twin siblings with her this afternoon. I don’t know what other options I have at this point, I may have to call another county residence, not the best option.” Sophie reported.

  Suddenly, Hope felt the nape of her neck being nuzzled. Marty came up behind her and planted a kiss on the side of her throat. She was startled at first, but then recognized the familiar feel of his five o’clock shadow and the faint remains of his favorite cologne. He whispered something into her ear, but she wasn’t sure she heard right, she changed her position so she could see his face. The crease in the middle of her forehead deepened as she tried to decipher what he had actually said.