Martin snickered to himself at the picture of fat Alfred shooting video of naked models, and thumbed the “Play” button on his remote. Instantly, the film began again, the same tired blonde with the same used-up features writhing and moaning in the same patently phony way, but Martin didn’t care. All he saw when he looked at the screen was Carli Ferguson, and she wasn’t used up at all.
At least, not yet.
CHAPTER 17
THE DREAM IS ALWAYS the same.
You’re lying in bed, tucked under the covers, fresh from a bath, squeaky-clean and warm. You fall asleep almost immediately because there is so much to do when you’re ten years old, and you’re so tired at the end of the day.
After midnight, it’s always after midnight when it happens, your bedroom door cracks open and a sliver of hallway light flashes across your carpeted floor, followed immediately by the figure of a man. He is tall and bulky, but he moves with surprising stealth and speed. He sits on the edge of your bed as you pretend to sleep. The springs squeal, protesting the added weight of his body, and he knows you are awake, that you are only pretending to sleep, but you do it anyway. You can’t help it.
You know what’s coming; it’s the same thing that is always coming. You wish it weren’t, but wishes don’t matter, even in dreams. The man places his hand tenderly atop your head and strokes your hair gently, almost reverently. Soon his touch takes on a more insistent quality and he begins to caress your face. His hand feels fevered, sweaty. “I know you’re awake,” he whispers.
You open your eyes at his words and shake your head in mute protest at what you know is about to happen but it doesn’t matter. It never matters. The man pulls the blanket down and lifts up your pajama top and traces the bony contours of your prepubescent body with his rough hands. He is breathing harder now, harsher. His respiration comes in gasp-like bursts; he is nearly panting.
Finally he hooks his fingers under the waistband of your flannel pajama bottoms—the ones with Aladdin and the Genie on them, they are your favorites and you wear them to bed whenever you can—and slides them over your hips and down your legs. Then he climbs on top of you and does what he came to do, ignoring your whimpers of pain and protest. He finishes quickly and then leaves the room, always with the same parting words: “You’ll learn to like it if you just give it a chance.” The door closes silently behind him and the room is plunged into darkness.
It’s painful and terrifying, and, no matter how many times he does it—and it’s a lot of times, two or three times a week—you never get used to it, it never gets any easier, and you press your face into your pillow, sobbing quietly, your tears soaking the pillowcase. You want to scream, but you never do.
You never scream.
CHAPTER 18
May 25
MARTIN SAT PATIENTLY IN his car as it idled on the side of the road. He had positioned himself roughly half the distance between Carli Ferguson’s high school and her mother’s home on the route he knew she would take after school. He knew because he had been watching her for days.
The first day of his surveillance, Martin had parked his little Nissan in the lot of a convenience store located not far from her neighborhood. He much preferred the comfort of his box truck with its specially fitted cargo hold when hunting, but he thought it might be expedient to stay away from the truck for a while, at least until the heat died down.
He had always known there might come a day when the cargo truck, for whatever reason, became impractical, and had prepared for that eventuality, planning ahead, as he always did. For years, Martin had garaged his Nissan at his mother’s home three towns away. The inconvenience was a hassle, but now his foresight was paying off—he had a vehicle at his disposal known to virtually no one.
After pulling into the convenience store lot, Martin had ambled inside and bought a soda. It was unlikely the manager would chase him off the property if he sat in his car sipping a drink he had just bought inside the store.
A few minutes later, a big, yellow school bus had come roaring by, traveling much too fast, as school buses always seemed to do. Martin made a mental note that, if the bus was involved in an accident and any harm came to his angel before he was able to snatch her, he would research the name of the careless driver and —well, let’s just say it would not be pretty. He had started his car and followed the bus at a distance, stopping and waiting as students exited, just another anonymous motorist stuck behind the bus. Eventually, the big rig had arrived at Carli’s stop, the one just down the street from her stepfather’s house, and he watched closely, waiting to see Carli exit, but she never did.
Apparently, she preferred walking home from school to riding the bus. Why that would be, Martin had no idea, but he wasn’t about to complain. He hadn’t finalized his approach yet, but knowing she sometimes went home on foot would add a few options. Martin Krall was a big believer in options.
The following day, Martin had chosen a parking spot across the street and down the road a short distance from the high school, in the direction Carli would have to walk to get home. He hoped she was not going to visit a friend’s house right after school and figured his chances were pretty good that she would not. His theory was that an all-American type like her would probably go straight home and complete her homework before doing anything else.
He was right. Five minutes after two, shortly after the kids spilled out the school’s front doors like bees exiting a hive, Carli Ferguson had come strolling along the sidewalk, engaged in an animated conversation with another girl who was roughly the same age. Martin assumed the girl must be Carli’s best friend. The other girl wasn’t exactly ugly—in fact, under normal circumstances, Martin would have considered her an intriguing possibility as his next companion—but he only had eyes for Carli.
She was dressed in tight jeans, torn across the front of both legs in the current style of teens everywhere. He didn’t get why anyone would pay good money for clothes that were already ripped, but figured it must be a generational thing. The pants were skin-tight and accentuated her butt perfectly, so Martin wasn’t about to complain. A loose-fitting, black t-shirt with the words “Life is Good” framing a smiling cartoon face was tucked into the front of her jeans, with the shirttail hanging over the back, fortunately not obscuring the view too much.
In short, Carli Ferguson looked like a typical high school girl. Except she wasn’t typical, not even a little bit. She was Martin’s angel; the girl who would help him rise above a mundane and ordinary existence. She would give him a week in heaven. Maybe more, if he played his cards right. Maybe a lot more.
The pair had walked right by Martin’s car on the way home, passing a scant few feet away from him. He had told himself he would drive away as soon as he saw Carli approach, but he became so enthralled by the girl’s natural beauty and innocently suggestive sexuality that he simply forgot to leave.
Not that it mattered. Carli and her friend were so involved in their conversation, he could have tossed a bomb in their general direction, and, unless it had struck one of them, they would never have noticed. He sat in his car and daydreamed, watching his angel until she disappeared from sight.
That was yesterday. Today, Martin had chosen the convenience store parking lot again, for the simple reason that it was closer to Carli’s house. He knew that her friend, the almost-but-not-quite-as-pretty one whose beauty paled in comparison to Carli’s, lived somewhere between the school and his angel’s home, although he wasn’t exactly sure where. It was important, at least at this stage, that she have company when he approached, so that he wouldn’t unduly frighten her.
Sitting in the parking lot of the same convenience store twice in three days was by no means ideal. He knew he was exposing himself to a certain measure of risk, but the town Carli lived in was so small there weren’t a lot of reasonable options. Oh well, he thought, both times were before the actual kidnapping, which made it unlikely any of the sheep would notice anything out of the ordinary, and besides, anything
worth having—which Carli definitely was—was worth taking a few risks to acquire.
He had just taken a bite from his bag of chips and cracked open his soda when Carli and her friend rounded the corner, meandering down the sidewalk that would take them past the store and on to their homes. Like yesterday, they were deeply involved in a conversation, seemingly unaware of their surroundings. Martin wondered what they were discussing. Boys, probably, although that particular subject would become moot once she became his companion, and certainly when, if she moved on afterward. She would have no need for anyone else when she was with him, and no opportunity for anyone else after that. He was glad Carli didn’t appear to have a boyfriend—he couldn’t bear that.
Finally, the pair reached the convenience store parking lot, heads together, both of them giggling at something Carli’s friend had just said, and, as they approached, Martin opened his car door and strolled casually to a point roughly ten feet in front of them. They still hadn’t taken any notice of him, or of anything else for that matter. He held his soda can in one hand and a plain white envelope in the other. “Excuse me,” he said in a voice just loud enough to be heard.
Both girls glanced at him suspiciously, as teens everywhere do when being addressed by an adult they don’t know. Carli’s friend looked around as if to be sure the older stranger was actually talking to them. He was. Nobody else was within earshot.
For a moment no one spoke, and then Carli answered tentatively, “Yes?”
Martin’s heart soared. He had known his angel would be the one to answer, and she had. Her voice was sweetly feminine, melodic and pleasing, just as he had known it would be, even though an element of suspicion shadowed her tone. Kids today were so distrustful. It was a shame. Martin blamed nervous parents for that.
This was where it would get interesting. Martin knew if he seemed too anxious or came on too strong, he would spook his new companion and her friend. “Yes…uh…” He tried to put just a touch of uncertainty in his voice. Kids ate up vulnerability. They were drawn to it. Martin called it the Lost Puppy Principle. “Um, is one of you Carli Ferguson?”
The girls looked at each other uncertainly. “Why do you want to know?” his angel finally asked.
“I’m sorry,” Martin said with what he hoped was a disarming smile. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. My name is Ron White, and I’m the assistant women’s varsity soccer coach at the University of Albany. You know, upstate? In New York?”
The girls looked at each other hesitantly and he continued. “Anyway, the time must have gotten away from me. I was supposed to meet Carli Ferguson and the Athletic Director at Stockton High about a possible soccer scholarship from Albany. A full ride for four years!”
A grin began tugging at the corners of Carli’s beautiful mouth, and Martin knew he had her. “I feel very badly that I missed my appointment, but I saw you girls walking past and it occurred to me that you,” he smiled at Carli, “look a lot like the photo I saw of the young athlete I was supposed to meet today. I guess I was mistaken. I’m so sorry to have bothered you.”
Martin turned and took a step back toward his car. After a hesitation of perhaps half a second, Carli said, “I’m Carli Ferguson.”
Martin smiled widely and then once again rearranged his features into a look of polite interest before turning back around to face the girls. He held the envelope out. “This contains all the details of the scholarship offer, but must only be opened by an adult of legal age. I strongly suggest Carli’s father. I look forward to working with you to develop your soccer skills.”
After the girls walked away, Martin retreated to his car and watched them leave, his attention captivated again by that perfect figure, clad in tight, form-fitting jeans. He hoped his angel would follow his instructions and save the envelope for her father, but even if she didn’t, it wouldn’t really matter. Either way, the busybody would get to see it soon enough.
CHAPTER 19
BILL BLINKED IN SURPRISE when he saw his daughter waiting for him in the hallway outside his apartment door. “Hey, honey, this is an unexpected pleasure.” He crinkled his forehead suspiciously. “Wait a minute. It’s not Friday, is it? Did I sleep through two days or something? Are you here for the weekend?”
“No, Dad, it’s not Friday.” She shook her head with a grin. “Do I really have to wait until the weekend to see my favorite dad?”
“You don’t even have to wait another second. Come on in!” He opened the door with a flourish, and Carli bounced inside. After she entered, he followed her in and then peered back out the door, down the dimly lit hallway. “Where’s your mom?”
“At home.”
“Well, then, how did you get here? Did you use her car?”
“Who needs a car? I walked, silly. It’s not that far.”
“Does she know you’re here?”
“Of course.”
Bill sighed. It was hard for him to believe sometimes how big his only child was getting. She was practically an adult. When she was a baby, he had always thought that most of the worrying would end as she got older. It turned out that the worrying never ended; you just focused on different concerns. He had discovered that was the dirty little secret about parenting—there was no finish line, you just kept going and going, hoping you were running the race properly, but most of the time not knowing whether you were even still on the course.
He reached for his wallet. “So, how much do you need?”
“I’m not looking to borrow money.”
Bill laughed. “That’s a relief. I was bluffing. I don’t actually have any cash on me. But I am curious why you’re here, hanging out with your old man instead of plotting with Lauren how to catch Cody Mall’s eye. Not that I don’t appreciate the attention.” He moved to the kitchen sink and filled a teapot with water, placing it on the ancient stove. “Tea?”
“It’s Small, Dad. Cody Small. And sure, I’d love a cup of tea. Anyway, I’m here on a very important mission.”
“Really. A mission. Now I’m intrigued.”
Carli handed him a plain white envelope with the words “Mr./Mrs. Ferguson” handwritten on the front with black marker in carefully constructed block letters. Bill turned it over in his hands, a look of puzzlement on his face. “Okay, I give up. What is this?”
Carli grinned. “This is the key to my college future, and to your financial future.”
“Really. Well, you’re not old enough to buy a lottery ticket yet, so what gives?”
“Why don’t you open it and see?”
Bill examined the envelope carefully. “It’s addressed to your mom, too. Has she seen it yet?”
“Nope. Coach White recommended I show it to you first, so here I am!”
“Okay, I’ll bite—who is Coach White?”
“He’s the assistant women’s soccer coach at Albany University, Dad, and he told me today they want to offer me a full scholarship! At Albany. To play soccer!”
“Is that right? Congratulations, honey. What did Coach Benson have to say about this?”
“Coach Benson wasn’t there.”
“You met with a college coach at the school without your high school coach present? That’s unusual, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t meet with him at the high school. I was walking home with Lauren, and he was late for the appointment. He saw us walking by and introduced himself. And he gave me the scholarship stuff right outside the 7-Eleven. He recommended you open it first, so here I am!”
A feeling of unease wormed its way through Bill’s belly. He stared at the envelope as though he could divine its contents by force of will. He couldn’t imagine a legitimate college sports coach or recruiter approaching his teenage daughter out of nowhere, on the street, and giving her a letter to pass along to her mother or father. Something was not right. Bill set the letter aside on the kitchen table as the shrill whistle erupted from the teapot.
Carli looked at him incredulously. “You mean you’re not going to open it? Aren�
��t you curious? I know I am. You can’t keep me waiting like this!”
Bill smiled at his daughter’s excitement and wished he could share her enthusiasm. If the strange envelope actually did contain an offer of a full athletic scholarship to Albany, they would have some celebrating to do, but he could not shake the sensation that something was off about the whole situation. Carli was a good, not great, high school soccer player. A full athletic scholarship offer from a college seemed unlikely.
He poured their tea and handed a cup to Carli before picking up the mysterious envelope. “Let’s check out your scholarship,” he said with artificial cheer.
CHAPTER 20
HELLO, MR. FERGUSON, THE letter read.
That’s quite the beautiful young girl you have there. Carli is a fitting name, too. Pretty and distinctive, without being overbearing. Just like her, if I may be so bold. It is not a name that says, “Look at me, I’m cute and adorable!” But she has no need to shout to the world about how cute and adorable she is—everyone can see it. Don’t you agree? Of course you do, you’re the proud daddy. I don’t know her well yet, but I’m sure as I get to know her better—more intimately, if you will—I will discover all of the many endearing facets of her totality, as I instruct and train her. That is something I am so looking forward to doing.
You see, thanks to your interference a few days ago, I am now lacking companionship, and certain acquaintances of mine have had their delivery schedules disrupted. These are not people who readily accept such disruptions, and neither am I.
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