Ricky leaned back in his office chair and stretched both arms above his head. It was a quirk he had when in thought or battling boredom, which was often. He wondered how everyone back in Ruidoso had reacted to the letter. He imagined the shock in their eyes at the Polaroid and the fear they must have felt after reading the note. I’ll bet they’re outside their minds.
The day he dropped it in the mail, he didn’t fully understand the depth to his actions. But now, days later, his brain stuck on one track, clarity came. He sent correspondence to Josie because he was completely and utterly infatuated.
It was still too soon to go back and try to take her again. No matter how much he wanted it, not enough time had passed. Instead, he tried to focus on his career. A paycheck provided a necessary distraction from extracurricular activities. But a lack of income didn’t stress him in the least. He was a saver, not a spender, and planned for lean stretches. A frugal lifestyle was a worthwhile sacrifice because it allowed him time to come and go on a whim. And now, time had become the enemy. What he wanted, he could not have. His video collection from past victims quickly became monotonous, mildly amusing, at best. He wanted what was out of reach, Josie.
The sexual cravings grew, and he needed to do something. Someone else. I need to find someone else. It was that simple. Warm, live flesh was the only cure to his summertime blues. Who will it be?
He reached for a New York Times newspaper on the desk, and the search began. It was always the same, done with one and on to the next. Even from the time he was a boy, he always worried about what would come next. And two decades later, only one thing had changed, his capability. A boy’s inclinations evolved into a man’s skill.
* * *
The house he grew up in was, in all aspects, normal. It was a traditional three-bedroom, two-bathroom, fifties-style ranch home in a Florida suburb. It sat amongst a neighborhood with hundreds of other homes, basically identical in outward appearances. Middle-income, working people were the inhabitants.
His parents occupied the master bedroom of the home, and Ricky had one of the remaining two bedrooms to himself. Being the only child was easy. Both his parents worked, and he was free to do as he wished. Too much free time made way for idle hands. The family next door had two daughters, each a few years older than Ricky. He used to think of ingenious little ways to peep, finding them changing or bathing. Even as a child, when he would catch a lucky break and see them naked, a weird sensation ran through his body. It was mysterious and pleasing, a secret he felt but knew not to share. In those early days, desire awoke inside his heart and could never be undone, innocence unveiled.
He spent hours in his bedroom, strategizing a likely time for it to happen again. Even normal childhood activities were avoided in preparation for when his next chance might be. If it came along, he didn’t want to be sidetracked.
* * *
He was grown now with years of experience under his belt. As he flipped through the newspaper, suddenly, as if ripped from a world of despair, hope burst into reality. A black-and-white picture of a beautiful little girl stared back at him. The face was young, innocent, and perfect. Enamored, he quickly browsed the article and made up his mind. Yes. This is her.
All the information was there. Her name and general location were more than enough to go on. He gently folded the page so that nothing except her pretty little face showed. He pulled up a program used to find people on the computer, and his fingers scurried across the keys.
In West Virginia, Lindsay Watson and her extraordinary gift waited. She was worthy of his attention.
Chapter Twenty
On Saturday evening, same as always, Isaac came home and parked his old Chevy in the detached garage. He had not wanted to leave after the arrival of the letter, but with encouragement and reassurance from Tom and Charlie, he let go of his fear, the instinct to stay, protect, and control, and returned to the job. It took a while for the anxiety to fade. Reason told him that worry did nothing to change the circumstances. Sarah and Josie were in capable hands, and he had to relinquish the negative thoughts and move on with life. And just like he had hoped, the second day of work was easier than the first, and the third was easier than the second. Nerves settled, and the world expanded again.
Inside the kitchen door, Josie came running. She jumped into her father’s arms and squeezed. “You’re back!”
“Did you miss me?” Their faces were less than a foot apart, and her hands were on his cheeks.
“I always miss you.”
I always miss you. The answer was so simple yet different. There was a maturity to it, one that had not been there before, like the last four days had aged her.
“I missed you, too.” He kissed her and put her down.
She’s growing up right before my eyes.
Sarah wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged. “How was work?”
“Good. It was … good.”
“Yeah?” She looked up to him, knowing how hard it was for him to leave after the surprise on Wednesday morning.
“Yeah.” He searched for the words. “Liberating, I guess. How were things here?”
She tiptoed and kissed his curvy lips. There was a brightness in her eyes that had been gone for too long. “Good. We actually had some fun.” She shrugged. “Is that weird?”
It was a little strange to hear they had fun. But at the same time, what else were they supposed to do? The comment did, however, catch him off guard. And it wasn’t just her but also Josie. The whole energy of the house was different. It was better, like a shadow was lifted.
“Not weird, just … different.”
The arrival of the letter had sent Sarah into near hysterics. Fear, not just sorrow, stacked on top of Caroline’s death, and the burden was too much to bear. Then after a sleepless night, a switch flipped. The situation was no less painful, but she granted forgiveness to the unfairness of life, and gave up hope that the past could have been different. Pining for Caroline did nothing to protect Josie. And just like that, her outlook shifted.
Tom came in the kitchen and leaned against the counter. “Well, where’d you go?”
“Hey, Dad.” He released Sarah and hung his flannel shirt on the coat rack. “I stayed up north the whole time.”
“No fires?”
“Nope. All that rain has things pretty settled.”
Helen came in from the hallway and set a glass of iced tea on the table. “Good to have you back.” She hugged him.
“It’s good to be back.”
“You went over Taos?”
“Mmm hmm.”
“Did you see the house?”
“You know, that reminds me.” He scratched his stubble and cocked an eyebrow. “A moving truck was parked in the driveway.”
“Good,” Tom chimed. “I hired a guy to take away that old sofa your mother refuses to get rid of. I can’t do it while she’s around and thought this would be a good opportunity.” He chuckled at the inside joke.
“That sofa,” Helen informed, “belonged to my mother, her mother, and her mother’s mother.”
“So that would make it … what? Your great-great grandmother’s?”
“That’s right, buster. It would.”
“All I’m saying is, just because it’s sentimental, doesn’t mean it’s useful.”
“Well, if old means useless, you’d better be glad I’m sentimental, or I’d throw you out with the couch.”
Tom looked around with his eyebrows raised and a smirk on his face. “I guess I should be thankful she keeps me around. What do you think, Josie?”
She was smiling too. “I don’t think you’re useless, Pa Paw.”
“There. You see, honey,” he said. “Josie doesn’t think I’m useless.”
“Josie, I don’t really think your grandpa is useless. He’s just a nag about that couch, and I don’t care what he thinks. It has history.”
“Nobody else knows the history, nor do they care to. To them, it looks like a piece of wood covered
with soiled canvas.”
“My great-great grandfather made that sofa from the scrap wood of an old wagon, and my great-great grandmother covered it with fabric from flour sacks. Nobody thought anything of it back then, except for ‘Hey, that’s creative.’” Helen’s Italian passion showed through. The enthusiasm was contagious and put everyone in a good mood. “Folks were poor and admired her craftsmanship. The frame’s been repaired since, and I’ve had the fabric cleaned.”
Isaac looked from one to the other like a spectator at a high-tempo tennis match. The topic was old, and the argument repetitive, but the spirit was great. It meant something. This restored, positive atmosphere was not a product of his imagination. It was real, and it was relief, the beginning of a new normal.
Chapter Twenty-One
The next morning, after breakfast and coffee, Tom and Helen drove back to Taos. They longed for home after being away for four weeks, but the good-byes were not easy. Isaac stood in the front yard with Josie and Sarah, waving until his parents were out of sight. It was just the three of them. Their life was never going to be the same.
“We should probably get ready,” Sarah said. “Anna’s doing this meeting for us, and it would be nice to get there early.”
“Are you sure you’re up to it?”
“It won’t be easy. Nothing with this is. But if it means keeping our family safe, I’ll do whatever it takes.”
At the Smith’s house, Isaac helped Anna’s husband, Riley, set up for the meeting. They pushed all the living room furniture aside and made rows with folding chairs. Sarah was in the kitchen with Anna. An assortment of veggie trays, fruit platters, and finger foods were prepared while they visited. It had the look of a party but not the feel.
Josie went upstairs with Jason with strict instructions to not let him do anything unsafe. She promised, and they went to play.
At twelve o’clock, the guests began to trickle in. All of them lived in or around the neighborhood. In attendance were the elderly, newly retired, empty nesters, and other young couples with kids. Despite the age range, everyone shared the common goal of keeping the street safe.
They were in their seats, munching on snacks, when Anna stepped to the front and called their attention. “Thank you for coming. As I explained in the letter you received, we are here to discuss the safety of our neighborhood. This isn’t just for Isaac and Sarah. It’s for all of us. We all have or know kids who run around without supervision.” She scanned the room. “Because of recent events, I’ve asked someone to speak who can help us keep things, as much as possible, like they were and teach us what to be more aware of. I think everyone knows our chief of police, Charlie Biddle.” She raised her arm, palm up, toward the back of the room.
Charlie? Isaac had no idea he was there or that he was coming. He turned to look for his best friend and found him at the food table with a half-covered plate of snacks.
Clearly, Charlie was not ready, and the look on his face was that of a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He quickly straightened up, set the plate down, and swallowed the last of his punch.
He squared himself at the front of the living room and tugged on the heavy gun belt riding below his belly. “Folks, it’s real simple. Anna asked me to give a lesson on safety, and regardless of where you are or what you’re doing, these rules apply.” He cleared his throat. “Rule number one. If it looks funny, report it. If you see or hear something and the thought crosses your mind, ‘I wonder if I should mention this to somebody?’ do it. We’re not so busy at the station that we can’t handle the calls. In fact, we want them. Citizens are our best sources for crime prevention. In town alone, we have several thousand citizens and only a few police officers. And by things, I mean suspicious vehicles, persons, or something out of place. Just call it in, and we’ll check it out. Then you won’t have to wonder anymore.”
He looked around to see if there were any questions. No one raised a hand. “Now more specifically, I believe Anna’s letter explained the current situation next door with Isaac and Sarah.” He drew a long breath and pulled his lips in tightly, figuring on how best to proceed. “When the intruder broke into their home, it was the middle of the night. The abduction in Kansas—admittedly done by the same man—happened in the late afternoon. A little girl was taken in broad daylight. According to the letter he sent, there are implications that he may come back this way. That threat could be empty, or it could be true. It might be never, but it might also be tomorrow, next week, or next year. Please know I don’t tell you this to suggest that he will, but to make you aware of the possibility. Reaching out like that is a serious action. Hopefully, he will be caught sooner rather than later. In the meantime, we need to keep a watch out, and it’s up to you to help make this neighborhood safe.”
Isaac held Sarah’s hand. This was what a small town is all about, and despite the uncomfortable topic, he knew it was the best thing that could happen, especially for Josie.
“You all know the ins and outs around here. You know each other’s cars, vehicles that visit frequently and park on the street, and who walks around the streets. If someone you don’t know or have never seen is prowling around, give us a call. If they belong, they won’t mind a few questions from us. If you see a company car or any company vehicle that is unusual or has an unfamiliar logo, give us a call.”
Isaac was impressed with the way Charlie presented the material. He didn’t see this side of him often. It was direct and straightforward. Through his chubby appearance and good-ol-boy façade, there was a professional. By the looks on the guests’ faces, they too were surprised. They didn’t know him like Isaac, but opinions were opinions. Charlie was not a washed-up city cop who couldn’t hack it. He simply wanted a different lifestyle, and that was why he returned to the scenic mountain village.
When it was over, Josie came down from playing with Jason. Her facial expression was one of pure exasperation. That was how everyone felt after an hour with the energetic little boy.
Outside on the lawn, the day was bright. It was the first time in a while that Isaac felt productive. Like any road to recovery, though, two steps forward eventually means one step back.
Chapter Twenty-Two
A double vision of wavy blonde hair, fair, smooth complexions, and deep green eyes seductively stared at Ricky in his daydream. He smiled, and his cheek twitched. The world was perfect, the best he could imagine.
“Caroline … Josie,” he whispered. A false anticipation of events heightened his demented, mental stimulation.
He was in Shepherdstown, West Virginia, waiting for nine-year-old Lindsay Watson to finish her music lesson. When she was through—just like every other Monday, Wednesday, and Friday—she walked to the corner, turned off the main street, and made the one block trek home. She lived less than two hundred yards behind the historic row of main street offices where she took violin lessons.
The streets in Shepherdstown are classic, old-town style and have no end to their charm. Since the late 1700s, business fronts have lined the sidewalks where pedestrians and cyclists move about. The atmosphere is friendly, college liberal, and eclectic. An artsy, quaint atmosphere is ideal for all walks of life, and Ricky relished the unsuspecting nature of the citizens.
On that warm, July afternoon, Lindsay stepped outside, violin case in hand, and walked to the corner. She turned right and stayed on the sidewalk between the street and the two-hundred-year-old brick wall. The building opposite her side of the street was the same, a two-story, windowless wall where shopkeepers once lived above their stores. Beyond the shadowy stretch, commercial zoning turned to residential, and she could see her next-door neighbor’s backyard. The white van parked by the curb did not look out of place, no different than dozens of other delivery vehicles in and out of the alley.
The violin case swung at her side, and she skipped merrily along. But as she approached the passenger side, a man in a wheelchair fumbled with the sliding door.
“Hi,” Ricky said. He wor
e jeans, a North Face T-shirt, and a ball cap with the local college logo.
“Hi,” she politely responded and continued down the sidewalk.
The street angled slightly uphill toward the neighborhood. After ten more paces, she would cross the entrance to the alley and officially enter her little village of old, refurbished houses.
Ricky fumbled with the latch and made a clumsy show. “Excuse me,” he called to her. “Would you help me out? I can’t get the door open.”
Lindsay stared, unsuspectingly for the moment, and sized up the situation.
“I’m sorry to bother you, sweetheart,” he went on. “But when I try to open it …” He reached with his hand and let the wheelchair roll backward. “My chair won’t stay still. Whoa!” He smiled and acted helpless. “If you could just pull the handle, I have a lift that helps me in.” He flashed his pearly whites and played on his handicap to draw out her tenderness.
Her parents taught her to be wary of strangers and especially to never get into vehicles with them. They also taught her to be kind and courteous and to assist the less fortunate. She didn’t think anyone in a wheelchair would hurt her.
“Yes, sir.” She came closer. There was so much life in her movement, so much innocent joy. Good manners kept her from staring, and she reached for the handle.
“Thank you so much! You’re an angel.” False gratitude emanated from every pore of his being. His eyes averted to one end of the street and then the other. So far, he had not broken any laws, even if someone were watching. But all was clear, and he tensed, a compressed spring energized for release. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”
She swept the handle up and had no more said “There you go” when Ricky peeled the door open with one hand, wrapped his other hand over her mouth, jumped into the back, and slid it shut. The action happened so fast that she never had time to scream. He placed a moist handkerchief over her face as she kicked, swung, and squirmed to get away. The chemical took effect within seconds.
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