STOLEN

by DAWN KOPMAN WHIDDEN

  “Look, I have to pick that up. It’s probably my mother, and if she doesn’t get an answer, she’s going to worry, and she’s just going to come over to see why I haven’t answered my phone. Please.”

  Her request didn’t appear to have any influence on the man. He was standing in front of the Captain with his hand extended, holding a sheet of paper.

  “Honestly, you don’t know my mother. She’s a bit obsessive; look, you don’t want her to get it into her head to come here and if that’s her and I don’t answer that phone . . . .”

  He was getting tired of her rambling. “Go on, answer it, but make it quick.

  She walked over to the telephone and wasn’t surprised to hear his footsteps following right behind her.

  She didn’t recognize the voice on the other end.

  “Dr. Rubin, Hope? This is Lieutenant Sanders from Oregon. Are you alright in there?”

  “Yes. Hello, fine.”

  “Hope, we believe Shane Blakey is in your home? A yes or no is adequate.”

  “Yes, Mama, I’m fine.”

  “Is he armed, Hope?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Is anyone hurt?”

  “Oh, no, Mom.” She looked over at Shane and smiled and rolled her eyes as if she was speaking to her mother.

  “It’s okay, Hope, I want you to tell him the truth. You can tell him I want to talk to him. Tell him Lieutenant Sanders from Falling Rock, Oregon wants to speak with him.”

  “Okay.” She bit down on her lip and pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. She turned around to find Shane was standing so close to that her right breast brushed up against him.

  She backed up a little and held out the phone’s receiver.

  “It’s for you. He says it’s a Lieutenant Sanders, from Oregon.”

  Startled at first, when hearing the familiar name, Shane cautiously took the phone from Hope.

  His voice cracked out a “Hello?”

  “Shane, this is Mike Sanders from the H.I.T.S. division of the Oregon State Police. You remember me, right?”

  Sanders held his breath, waiting for Shane to interrupt him, but there was silence on the other end.

  “I’ve been investigating the homicide of Troy’s wife, M’leigh.”

  “Yeah, I know who you are.” He nodded to Hope, indicating for her to go back to the teenage boy, who was standing by the sink and was making him extremely nervous. He knew the old man and girl wouldn’t be a problem, but he wasn’t assured the kid wouldn’t try something stupid. Hope complied immediately, even though her instinct was to stay closer so she would be able to overhear the phone conversation.

  “Shane, can you tell me if everyone is okay in there? Are you hungry? Do you need any food? I can have a pizza delivered. I hear that New York has the best pizza, even better then Luigi’s on Main Street. You’ve been there, right?” He wasn’t expecting an answer and he didn’t get one. “There are five of you, right? Four adults and one kid?”

  Sanders thought he was pretty sure how many people were in the house, but he was fishing nevertheless. He wanted to confirm all of what they knew up till now. How many were in the house and that no one had been hurt or in need of medical assistance.

  “No, we’re not hungry. We don’t need pizza.” Shane clenched his teeth as he replied and began pacing back and forth, holding the coiled cord in his free hand and then in a completely different and quieter tone, he added, “Everyone’s fine.”

  “Good, that’s good, Shane. No one’s been hurt. No harm done. So why don’t you let the family out and we can talk.”

  “No, man, I can’t do that.” He kept his eyes on Dylan, who was still standing by the sink. He didn’t trust the kid one bit. He took a deep breath and then spoke softly into the receiver, “Sanders?”

  “Yes, Shane.”

  “I need to know how my brother is. He’s going to be okay, right?” With those words spoken, he sat down at the dining table which was now cleared of the dirty dishes, waiting for an answer.

  “He’s going to be fine, Shane. I just came from the hospital and I spoke to Troy myself and he told us exactly what happened in the cabin. We know you were just trying to protect your family. We know what your old man . . . we know what Archie did. We know all of it, Shane.”

  Shane was hesitant; wondered if he could trust the man, so he questioned him. “You’re not bullshitting me, are you, Sanders? You better not be bullshitting me!” And then as if he had an epiphany, he made a demand. “I want to talk to my brother! You need to have Troy call me himself. I want to speak to my brother and hear he’s okay. I want to hear it from his own mouth.”

  “Look, Shane, if you come out now, I will personally take you to him.”

  Sanders turned to see the look of displeasure on Chief Bergman’s face. The giant man’s jowls remained still, but Sanders could see the tension in the man’s face. He knew he was stepping over the line, negotiating a deal, but he didn’t care. He needed to get Shane out of there before the Hostage Negotiating Team showed up, with a sniper or a S.W.A.T. team, and he was forced to let them take over; he feared what the result would be in that case.

  “I’ll think about it. I need to talk to this old man first. Call me back in five minutes.”

  Before he could say another word, Sanders heard the click of the phone disconnecting.

  Slamming the phone’s receiver on the metal hook, Shane walked back to where the Captain was sitting. “I asked you a question, old man. Do you know this kid?”

  Getting more and more frustrated with his medical condition and his inability to take control and disarm the man; the Captain fought hard to hold back tears. For the first time in the man’s life, he was experiencing a feeling of helplessness. Suddenly, he was feeling old and frail. The man who spent two years in the Marines and fought during the Korean War, and then went on to spend the next thirty years as a guard in a maximum security penitentiary in the State of New York, was embarrassed and ashamed. Brain tumor or not, he felt he should be able to take advantage of the man’s obvious nervousness.

  “I asked you a question, old man, answer me. You know this kid, right?” He held up the photograph of T.J. Kolakowski again.

  “Yes.” The Captain debated with himself just how much information he should tell the man standing across from him holding the gun. He was still unsure of what the man was looking for or even why was asking about the missing child.

  Shane pulled out the chair across from the Captain and sat down, his legs spread apart, his knee shaking uncontrollably. He placed his elbows on the table and leaned over so he was directly looking into the Captain’s watery eyes.

  “Is this me?” He held the paper up so it was touching his cheek and the face of the missing child in the article was adjacent to his own.

  The question hit the Captain like a bolt of lightning. The tiny grey hairs stood up on the back of his neck and arms. His gut felt like someone slammed a fist into it.

  He looked into Shane’s eyes. Only one had remained opened completely. The man’s left eye was almost completely shut. The Captain carefully and quite deliberately answered. “No, son, that’s not you.”

  “Are you positive? Look again!”

  “No, son, I’m positive. I knew that little boy and he isn’t you.” His anger with the man was started to recede as his curiosity intensified.

  Frustrated and unhappy with the Captain’s answer, Shane spoke again. “It was a long time ago; maybe he changed. Maybe he looks different now.”

  It felt to the Captain as if the man was pleading with him, hoping for a different outcome.

  “I’m sorry, son, but the little boy in that photograph, it’s not you. I would know that child as if he was one of my own kids. I’m telling you, that little boy, it’s not you.”

  The sudden squeal coming from the television room startled all of them.

  “Dirteee!!” Tristan hollered out as he pointed to the large flat screen television set attached to the wall.

 
; Tristan turned on the television and Marilyn Tams, the five o’clock news reporter, was updating the medical status of the man police now identified as Troy Blakey. The wind was blowing and the reporter was having trouble keeping her long blonde hair from flying in her face. She was standing outside the main entrance of the hospital, microphone in hand.

  “Police have identified the man hunters found shot in the same cabin where kidnapped victim Michaelah Sandburg was discovered as Troy Blakey.” Blakey’s name and face flashed across the screen.

  “Marty, please tell me what in the world is going on?”

  Marty shifted his weight around so that he was facing the woman. His fingers tapped nervously on the vinyl headrest. He was nervous and he wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

  “Mrs. K, the man in the hospital, the one on the news . . . .” He felt himself stammering.

  “Marty, for God’s sake, just tell me what’s going on here. Who is that man at your house? What does he want?”

  Jean was driving erratically through traffic and swerved in order to avoid a collision. If Mrs. K was frightened, she didn’t let on.

  Marty took a long and drawn out deep breath and then exhaled. “Mrs. K, the man in the hospital, the one we are going to see now, we believe is your nephew T.J.”

  Her hand flew to her mouth, covering a loud gasp. Her eyes shut in disbelief. Marty was afraid she was going to pass out.

  A few seconds passed before she opened her eyes. The car came to a sudden stop and it jolted them both. She watched, as if in a trance, as Jean unbuckled her seat belt, exited the vehicle and opened the door for her. Marty ran around the other side of the vehicle and put out his hand to assist her. Without a word, she clutched her fingers around the palm of Marty’s hand and he saw a flood of tears running down her cheeks, which were now crimson in color.

  It was a relief. Marty wanted to be the one to have this conversation with the woman who was such a big part of his life and who filled a role so desperately needed by the loss of his mother. She became such a strong influence on Marty’s sister Mary, his seven brothers, and himself. If it was not for the strength of this lady, so tiny in stature, yet so strong in confidence, Marty may not have been able to survive that part of his life. She had lost her sister-in-law in a tragic car accident and then she suffered something he considered immeasurable pain, the disappearance of her three-year-old nephew and the suicide of her only brother. Looking at her, Marty realized how she possessed a good deal of the same qualities he loved and admired so much in Hope. He wanted to be the one to tell her the news.

  She didn’t say a word as they walked into the hospital lobby. It was just as well, because his thoughts now were somewhere else. Marty didn’t know why but, at the moment, he was incredibly calm. He was upset that he was persuaded to leave; but he knew he would not be allowed to be involved in any negotiations or action required to get his family out safely. He had this uncanny sense that everything was going to be alright. Maybe it was his police training; maybe it is just how he reacted to his own fears. Or maybe he was just in shock. He was walking with Jean and Mrs. K, but his mind was ten miles away; and then just before they entered Troy Blakey’s room, Marty closed his eyes and he prayed.

  A nurse Marty didn’t recognize was changing the gauze bandage on Troy Blakey’s abdomen. He caught a quick glimpse of the wound. The wound was seeping pus and it immediately turned his stomach and bile seeped into his throat. Marty tried to be inconspicuous when he turned away to hide his discomfort, but he was pretty sure that Jean caught on.

  The nurse finished up and gave Blakey a flirtatious smile before she left the room. That also did not go unnoticed by Jean or Marty.

  “Did you find my brother?” His eyes passed quickly and without recognition over the gray-haired woman who stood quietly by the doorway, her eyes riveted to the man in the bed. Her hand flew to cover the gasp that came out in a short uncontrollable burst from her throat.

  Marty couldn’t hold it in for a second longer. He was angry and he was scared. He was also conflicted. Now every time he looked at the man, he saw the child that was stolen from his front yard. He wanted to haul off and slam his fist into his jaw, but a vision of T.J. riding his fire engine red tricycle appeared before him.

  “Blakey, your brother is in my home, he has taken my family hostage and you need to get him to let them go.”

  Troy looked at him as if he had three heads.

  “No way, Shane wouldn’t do that.” He looked around the room as if he was looking for someone to back him up. When no one spoke, he turned back in Marty’s direction.

  Marty pulled out his iPhone and placed a video call to Hope’s phone.

  While he anxiously waited for the connection, Marty explained to Troy what was going to happen.

  “My fiancé has an iPhone, Troy, and I’m going to set up a video connection between you and your brother. Your brother wants to know you’re okay. So you need to tell him that you’re fine and he needs to let my family out; and he needs to surrender his weapon and lay down on the ground with his legs and arms spread out and wait for Sanders to come in and get him.”

  The room was silent except for the sound of Marty’s cellphone ring coming through the speaker.

  Marty was surprised to hear Hope’s voice on the other end. He was expecting to hear Shane Blakey answer. The moment he heard her voice, he was overwhelmed with a sense of relief. The tension slipped from his body for just a brief moment, like a hiccup. He was able to see her lips briefly flash in front of the screen as someone moved the phone into position.

  “Hello.”

  She sounded calm, which gave Marty some assurance.

  “Hope, are you alright? Is everyone okay?” Marty asked her, trying hard to keep his own anxiety from escaping.

  She moved the phone’s camera into a position so that Marty could see both his father and Dylan seated on the sofa. She was trying to be inconspicuous, but he knew it was intentional. Marty’s dad looked pale, but no worse for wear. Dylan was adjusting a pillow behind the Captain’s back.

  “Yes, Marty, we’re fine. Everybody is okay.”

  Suddenly the screen went out of focus. Someone grabbed the phone from her and all Marty saw was a blur.

  Marty shut his eyes, trying to keep his anger at bay. He turned towards Troy and carefully manipulated the camera so it was focused on his whole body, and then slowly settled on the area around his head and face. Marty nodded to the man in the bed, signaling him to talk.

  “Shane, Shane, buddy, it’s me. Are you there?” Troy looked around as if the whole experience was something from a science fiction movie. Apparently, the technology wasn’t familiar to him.

  “Troy, man, is that you? You’re awake. You’re okay man, you’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”

  Marty was taken by the emotion in the man’s voice. He wasn’t expecting to hear Shane Blakey close to sobbing, but there was no mistaking it.

  Troy moved Marty’s hand so he could see the face of his brother who now was looking directly into the camera’s lens.

  “Yeah, bro, I’m fine. Everything is going to be fine.” He looked up at Marty and then at the phone. “Where’s Tristan, Shane? Is he with you?”

  The second Tristan heard the sound of his father’s voice, he rushed over and climbed over Shane’s arm, nearly toppling the man over in an effort to locate where the familiar voice was coming from. He was so stunned when he saw his father’s face, he froze. His mouth and eyes were left wide open as if he was paralyzed. It was like a still photo taken from a video. The shutter closed and time stopped.

  “Hey, buddy, how are you doing?”

  His son’s silence didn’t seem to affect him at all, and then Marty realized the little boy’s lack of communication was something uneventful for the man he called Dirtee.

  Marty didn’t have to prompt Troy, what came next was spontaneous.

  “Shane, you need to let those people go. It’s over, Shane. He can’t hurt anyone anymore
.” He told his brother, referring to the old man who now rested in the morgue.

  “I can’t, man, you don’t know what I did . . . I shot him, Troy, I shot the old bastard. I killed him, Troy. They’re going to arrest me. I can’t let them do that, Troy. I can’t go to jail.”

  Marty was holding the phone as Troy spoke, but he was still in a position so that he could see. For a brief moment, Shane turned and looked around the room. Marty could see his eyes start to fill with tears; and he feared that he was beginning to panic.

  “I still don’t know who I am, Troy. But I was right, wasn’t I? He stole us, didn’t he? I was right all along. I’m not that bastard’s kid. He stole me, right? He stole you, too!”

  His speech became more rapid, and Marty started to fear that he was losing his hold on reality. He remembered having a conversation with Hope about how stress can cause a person to break from reality as easily as you can snap a twig in two.

  Troy looked up at Marty as if he was pleading for a way to respond.

  Marty nodded and took sole possession of the iPhone. He turned the phone so Shane could see his full face. “Yes, Shane, you were right.” Marty told him. It was the truth. “You were right all along. Archie Blakey kidnapped you when you were three years old. He kidnapped both of you. We know who you are, Shane. Your real name is Charlie Ward.”

  The second he heard his name, Shane collapsed and crumbled to the ground in a tight ball. Tristan, who was hanging over his arm, fell with him. The little boy kept, unsuccessfully, trying to lift the man’s head up, which was now lowered and covered by his arms. Unable to succeed, he just held his face against the top of his uncle’s head and caressed him by running the palm of his hands through Shane’s thick blond hair.

  It was Dylan who saw the opportunity to help Marty’s father off the sofa and led him quietly out of the room and out of the house. Marty willed Hope to join them, but he knew better than that. She was never going to leave the man in the state he was in. Marty could no longer see what was happening in the room, something was blocking the camera lens, but he could still hear. Marty closed his eyes as he thought he heard Hope walk over to take possession of the pistol from the now spent and broken man, but Marty later realized it was Sanders, who had rushed in as soon as he realized Dylan and Marty’s dad were safely out of the house. Jean had been in contact with him during the entire episode and the minute he was confident Hope or Tristan were no longer in danger, he made his move.