STOLEN

by DAWN KOPMAN WHIDDEN

  “We don’t like to admit it, but the other four are FDNY. It’s a known rivalry in New York. We have some wild football competitions.”

  Sanders had a look of confusion on his face. “You said there were nine of you? Somehow the math doesn’t add up.”

  “Eight of us boys, four are law enforcement, four are in the fire department. The lone holdout is the oldest, my sister, Mary, and she had the good sense to get married to a cop.” Marty spoke with a relative amount of pride.

  “Family tradition?”

  “Sort of. My dad is a retired corrections officer. He worked for twenty-eight years in the state prison system. I guess you can say civil service is in our blood. What about you?”

  “First generation. I grew up in the state foster care system. Parents died in a car wreck when I was six years old. Long story and not very interesting, which is fortunate for me. I was one of the lucky ones. Always landed in a good home. Which brings me to what I mentioned earlier, what we found in the Blakey home, while executing a search warrant.”

  They got caught at a red traffic light, and Sanders took advantage of the brief stop to hand Marty copies of the articles from the newspapers the investigators found in the Blakey residence during the search.

  Marty flipped through them quickly, confused. When he got to the one about the kidnapping of a child in Fallsburg, New York, with the faded picture of a smiling toddler, his heart stopped, and he felt like someone shoved a hot ball of wax down his throat. His stomach muscles twisted into a knot and he was speechless. He recognized the little boy immediately. The light changed and it took several angry drivers and violent horn honks behind them for Marty to come out of the state of shock he was in.

  Marty gave Sanders a long, hard glance, but didn’t say another word for the rest of the drive, grateful they were almost there and it wasn’t a long stretch. By the time they got to the hospital, his mind was doing somersaults. The information that Sanders gave him on the ride over had him reeling and he didn’t know which way to turn. Did the Blakey boys have some knowledge about the little boy they called T.J.?, the little boy who disappeared twenty-five years ago from his front yard, less than fifty yards away from Marty’s own home? Would they finally get some answers on what happened to his neighbor’s son who disappeared, that April morning, while they were burying Marty’s mother?

  When Hope and Tristan got to the hospital and entered the Captain’s room, Hope wasn’t that surprised at Tristan’s reaction. When he first made eye contact with her future father-in-law, the child stood back as if he wasn’t quite sure what to make of the man with the bandaged head.

  But a few words from the old man, and whatever fear or anxiety Tristan was feeling immediately vanished.

  “Hey, I don’t bite, kid; and from what I hear, if anyone should be afraid of getting gnawed on by someone’s pearly whites, that should be me!”

  That seemed to tickle Tristan’s funny bone and before long, the two became fast friends.

  Ryan Keal Sr. made a pretense to appear to stumble with his ability to remember the boy’s name, calling him Max, Charlie, and Seymour; anything other than Tristan—and for some reason, the kid was enthralled by it. Finally settling on a nickname, the captain began to call him ‘Tiger’ which delighted Tristan to no end and his normal grunt turned into a loud roar. The old man and boy seemed to be magically attracted to each other and within a short period of time, a bond had developed between the two. It was a good thing, too, because it was hours later before the Captain got his release papers and he was allowed to leave the hospital.

  Passing a grocery store on the way home, Hope realized she was in need of some essentials, and if she didn’t stop now, she wouldn’t be able to leave once they were settled in at home.

  Hope felt a little wary about leaving the two of them alone for any length of time, but she felt she had no other choice but to leave the two of them together in the vehicle while she dashed into the grocery store and picked up a few essentials like milk and eggs and the Captain’s favorite foods and snacks. The only other alternative would mean having the two of them accompany her inside the grocery store and the Captain was still too weak and the little boy way too active.

  As she closed the car door, she leaned in through the open window to talk to her passengers. “You two behave yourselves and . . .” she looked directly into Tristan’s eyes, “you, you are in charge! Do not let him leave this vehicle. Understand?”

  Tristan responded with a very serious nod and the Captain replied with what sounded like a “Hhmmpff!” to express his playful displeasure.

  Fortunately for the Captain and Hope, Marty’s sister, Mary, had been busy cooking and then freezing meals in anticipation for when her father was released from the hospital. The whole family knew what a control freak the man could be, and they all knew that no matter how he was feeling, he would want to prepare the meals when he came home. Mary knew stocking the freezer with the prepared meals would keep the old man out of the kitchen and off his feet. Although the family loved Hope, and welcomed her into the family, even Hope couldn’t deny that her cooking skills were lacking, and the Captain would insist on cooking, even in his weakened condition.

  Before long, Hope had the Captain settled on the sofa in the family room. She put the television on for the two of them to watch while she unloaded the groceries and put them away. Every few seconds, she would pause and listen, making sure she wasn’t needed in the other room before she started to prepare lunch. Satisfied everything was copasetic with the Captain and Tristan, she decided that instead of making a plain old sandwich, she would take out one of the lasagnas that Mary had left in the refrigerator. She thought she heard the sound of a doorbell ringing, but assumed it was coming from the television, so she just ignored it and finished what she was doing. The T.V. was apparently keeping the two of them occupied, and it was quiet, so she made the decision to get the food warmed up and ready to serve while things were still calm.

  She set the timer according to the Post-It note Mary so graciously left on the cover of the casserole dish, and wiping her hands on a towel, Hope walked back into the family room.

  “Food’s almost ready, go wash . . . .”

  He was just standing there; his hands were extended, holding the gun level with her face. Her first instinct was to look to see where Tristan and the Captain were. She felt her heart actually stop beating until she spotted them, and then she felt the organ beginning to spasm, in quick bursts, and it felt like the her heart was slamming against her chest wall and it was about to explode.

  She stood frozen, but managed to calm herself enough in order to ask the intruder a question. “Who are you? What do you want?”

  “You!” His voice was strained and she could hear his nervousness in that one word. He waved the gun in short jerks. “I need you to get me something to drink, go back in there and get me a drink.”

  His throat was raw and tight, and it almost hurt to talk. His tongue went to his upper lip, and then slipped under the upper part of his gum and he passed it over his teeth, as if he was trying to moisten his mouth. His left hand went to his face and he rubbed his eyes, leaving the pistol in his right hand, which now trembled uncontrollably. “Go, get me something to drink. NOW!” He raised his voice and barked it out when he realized she wasn’t moving.

  She caught a glimpse of the Captain’s eyes and was able to read his silent instructions. There was no question that he was trying to relay to her to just do what the armed man said.

  “Is water okay?” She asked the intruder, slowly regaining some of her composure.

  “Yeah, sure, just hurry,” he ordered her, keeping his eyes targeted on her back, watching that she didn’t make any sudden moves to escape. He turned his back for a brief second when she was at the sink, and extended his free hand out to Tristan. “Hey, buddy, come here.” His voice took on a more gentle tone as he called the boy over.

  Tristan got up, but then hesitated, and didn’t step any closer.
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  “It’s okay, Tristan, everything’s going be alright. I promise. I just need these people to give us some stuff and we’ll be on our way. Okay?” He once again beckoned the boy over with his free hand.

  Hope walked back into the room and handed the man the glass of water.

  With his hand shaking, he managed to get the glass to his mouth and he drank the liquid down in one swift motion. Liquid ran down his face as he wiped his mouth with the back of the hand that held the gun.

  “Go, go sit down there, on the couch, with the old man.” He ordered her, waving the gun as he placed the glass down on a table at the end of the sofa.

  By now, Tristan had managed to make his way over to Shane and was standing next to him. Shane pulled the little boy into his side and gently squeezed him by wrapping his forearm over the little boy’s shoulders with a warm hug that was obvious to both Hope and the Captain. It gave Hope some comfort in knowing that Tristan was in no direct danger from this man; but the fact that this man was overtly nervous and not in much control over his emotions concerned her. The piece of steel that was in his possession was a very dangerous weapon and she knew accidents happened, even in the most stable of hands.

  “What is it you want?” Hope asked him again.

  The man didn’t answer. Instead he walked over to where the Captain was seated, with the gun he pointed to the bandages that covered his head. “What happened to you?”

  Still having a bit of trouble responding to questions, partially because of the medications he was taking and the fact his brain had just been operated on, the Captain appeared to stumble with his answer and wasn’t quick enough to answer, so it was Hope that replied. “He is recovering from surgery, he had a brain tumor. He is very weak and he needs to rest and lie down. Please put the gun down.” She deliberately kept her tone soft but stern.

  Knowing she was taking a chance by moving, Hope took a few steps and slowly made her way behind the couch, stopping directly behind the Captain and placed her hands on the older man’s shoulders.

  Both of the men were locked on each other’s eyes, staring at each other, neither of them making a move, both of the men trying to calculate the danger of the other’s presence. The Captain reached up and took Hope’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

  “Are you okay, Captain?” Hope asked him.

  The older man gave her hand another squeeze in reply.

  “Captain? Why are you calling him that? Does he have a boat or something?” Shane asked her, finally breaking eye contact with the older man, as he turned his head to look at Hope. Shane was nervous and when he was nervous, he had a tendency to ask questions. He glanced around the room, not waiting for an answer. Keeping one eye on the girl and old man, he started to walk over to the far wall, his arm leading Tristan to follow him. He stopped and turned back to the old man. “Who are all these people?” He lifted the gun and pointed to the array of family pictures decorating the wall. He spent a few seconds considering each photograph. It was as if he was really studying them. He turned back to the Captain. “Is this you?” He pointed to a photograph of the Captain taken when he retired from the working at the state prison. He was in uniform, standing and holding a plaque thanking the man for his thirty years of dedicated service. “You were a cop, too? Like your kid?”

  “Corrections officer.” The Captain answered him, his voice hoarse. His throat was still raw from the respirator that had been inserted for his surgery, and the tension in the room made his throat restrict even more. He knew it was not a good sign to have this man, who was standing in front of him with a gun, be aware that his son, who could come walking in any moment now, was a cop. It meant the stranger standing in front of him knew Marty was armed and he would view Marty as some sort of threat. As foggy as he was from the medications he was taking, he tried to calculate just how much this man knew and what his plans were.

  Although he tried to keep a slight smile on his face, to keep the man from thinking he himself was a threat, he envisioned himself kicking the guy right in the balls, dropping him to the ground, stomping on the man’s hand and recovering the weapon. But the Captain was no fool. He knew he was way too weak. And he wasn’t going to take any chances that would endanger Hope and the boy, just to prove he still had all his faculties. His brain may have been affected, but his sanity was still intact.

  “Are you hungry?” Hope asked the stranger, trying to direct the conversation in another direction.

  When he didn’t answer her, she tried a different approach. “You look hungry. Can I get you something to eat, maybe more water?”

  Shane lifted his arm off of Tristan and studied the wall of pictures. He wasn’t going to be distracted. “All these people your family? All these kids?” He placed the nozzle of the gun along the glass frames as he made his way down the wall of photos.

  “Most of them. Some of those pictures are of my grandkids . . . .” the Captain managed.

  Suddenly, Shane looked up, the scent of the food warming in the oven was slowly permeating its way through the room and finally awakened Shane’s sense of smell. He took a deep breath through his nostrils, keeping his mouth closed.

  “What is that? Is that Italian food? We like Italian food, don’t we, Tristan? It’s his favorite. We like spaghetti. Tristan really likes spaghetti. Don’t you, Tristan?” He rubbed the back of the little boy’s head affectionately.

  Hope tried to keep herself calm, but didn’t know if he would be able to see through the façade. “It’s Italian, but I’m afraid it’s not spaghetti. It’s lasagna. Do you like that?” Her body remained tense and stiff, but she was confident she was able to keep the fear hidden as she spoke. Her words came out as naturally as if she was talking to an invited guest.

  She waited for some sort of response before she continued. When he nodded his head she took that as a good sign. “It’s about ready. Would you like some? My future sister-in-law made it, and she’s a wonderful cook.” She made an effort to keep her voice steady, and friendly, so he couldn’t hear any of the anxiety she was really feeling.

  “Do you have a cellphone?” he asked her.

  She nodded her reply.

  It was getting harder to pretend she wasn’t nervous; so she decided the less she said, the better off they all would be.

  He held out the palm of his gun-free hand.

  “It’s in my bag.” She motioned with her head toward the kitchen table.

  “Get it! Not just the phone, but the whole thing.” He instructed her again, this time waving the pistol.

  She walked back slowly and picked up the bag, handing it over to him. The silence was broken when suddenly the cellphone’s ringtone blasted out The Beatles tune ‘Hello Goodbye.’

  Shane dug his hand into the bag and retrieved the ringing phone. He looked at the screen. He hit the red IGNORE button and shoved the phone into the pocket of his jeans.

  He glanced over at the old man. “You hungry, old man? Come on; get up, in the kitchen.”

  It wasn’t like Hope to hold her tongue for this long, and her concern for her future father-in-law now took precedence over her nerves. “It’s not a good idea for him to move around a lot. Can I just bring it to him, he’s been through a very delicate surgery; and he really shouldn’t be moving around too much. He needs to rest.” She bit her lower lip, hoping she didn’t sound too demanding. She had no idea how the man would react and what, if anything, would set him off.

  Shane looked at her as if he was trying to figure out what her angle was. Why was she so concerned about this guy? He walked back over to the Captain and kneeled down in front of him. Looking him over, he surveyed the fresh bandages wrapped around the man’s skull. He studied the man’s hands and arms, coming to the conclusion that for an old man who just got out of the hospital, the guy was in pretty good shape. He took notice of his muscle tone and thought it was pretty damn good for a man of his age. He contemplated allowing the lady to bring the food over to the old man as he carefully scanned the room. Decidi
ng the room they were in was too big, he came to the decision to turn down her request. The kitchen was more secure; it was a smaller area and he could keep a better eye on all of them in smaller, confined space.

  “No, get up. I want us all in there.” He pointed once again with the gun, carelessly waving it in the air.

  He looked down at the man, and then placed his own hand under the older man’s arm and gently prompted him to get up. “Come on, let’s go.” He slowly and patiently waited until the Captain was able to stand up and kept a somewhat tight grip under the man’s arm as he slowly guided the Captain into the kitchen.

  He turned back to call Tristan. “Come on, Tristan, let’s get something to eat.”

  The little boy looked up at Shane. His face was blank and he was showing no sign of emotion, but Shane felt that something was different about the kid. There was something disturbing in the way Tristan was looking at him now. His head was tilted at a slight angle, his lips almost a pout, his eyes half shut, causing a deep crease on his forehead above his nose. Shane got a weird feeling Tristan was sizing him up. He’d recalled seeing the very same expression on his brother’s Troy’s face on several occasions. Like the time they were in high school and some jock was giving the brothers a hard time. The look on Tristan’s face was the exact same look Troy had just before he landed a punch directly into the teenage jock’s head. He laughed at the memory.

  “It’s okay, Tristan, I won’t hurt them, I promise.”

  The cellphone rang again, vibrating against the right side of his butt and startled him for a second. He pulled the phone out from his pocket. He immediately figured out who the caller was and he knew it might not be good idea to ignore it. He recognized the name, Marty, that flashed on the screen as the cop who he had seen earlier holding Tristan. He knew if he didn’t get an answer soon, it may lead to a problem. The cop might get it into his head that something wasn’t copasetic and start to worry and eventually show up. But right now, he was too hungry to think about it. One step at a time, first he would eat and then he would figure out what to do.