by William Mark
“She kept her word…huh!” she said out loud, surprised.
A loud commotion pulled her attention away from the newspaper. It was coming from the front desk area. Curious, she glanced over her shoulder and saw Curt Walker being berated by someone whom Rachel assumed to be the hotel manager, with some kind of security officer. Curt appeared worn down and was taking the verbal assault by the two men. A streak of dried blood from a deep cut had run down his left eye, and his clothes were crinkled and disheveled. She looked around for help, unsure if it was her place to intervene. She stood up from the table looking farther down the hallway for Melinda or Beth, but she figured she may have to step in. She watched Curt try to hold himself up. She noticed his knuckles were also bloody, and his face was ghostly pale and hollow, like he’d been up on an all-night drinking binge. She was embarrassed for him.
Above the protests of the manager and security guard, she heard him calling out, “Mel? Mel?”
As the manager and security officers threatened to call the police, Rachel got up to leave the restaurant when she saw Melinda run over from the elevator and intervene. She took Curt under his arm, held him up straight and addressed the manager. Rachel went back to her seat, unable to look away. Most of the other restaurant goers went back to their breakfasts, but Rachel felt invested in what was going to happen.
The image of that heroic, yet complicated man in the trench coat from the night before was a direct contradiction of what she saw the morning after. She didn’t understand what had happened. Rachel remembered hearing that all members of the team had a story…hell her baggage was quite heavy, but how deep was the abyss that Curt was trying to crawl out of, she wondered. Before her was a complete mess of a human being, incapable of even taking care of himself, let alone leading a team of clandestine child rescuers on dangerous missions. She had been content with her decision to join the team; however, seeing this side of Curt gave her second thoughts.
Rachel watched Melinda smooth things over with the manager and the security guard. She figured the envelope that was handed to the man was a bundle of cash to make something go away. Once settled, Melinda walked Curt outside into the bright morning sun and out of Rachel’s sight.
Fixated by the dramatic scene at the lobby desk, she failed to notice Alexis Vanderhill approach from behind.
“May I join you?” she asked, startling Rachel.
“Oh my, yes. Please.”
“He’s flawed, as we all are, but he is necessary to the success of this mission. I hate to see him like that. With all the pain he bears, he uses it to see things no one else sees and gets the results that no one else can…and for that, he is invaluable.”
Rachel listened in acceptance. She was learning everything about the team all at once, and with her own background, she didn’t feel it necessary to judge anyone. It was just a lot to take in so quickly.
“What happened?”
Alexis thought about the question but answered, “Nothing important to the mission.” She bent over and pulled out a letter-sized envelope and slid it across the table to Rachel. “I want you guys to head east and work your way towards Chicago.”
“You’re not coming?”
“Oh no. I don’t work on the team per se. I support the team and work behind the scenes making sure that the mission moves forward, therefore giving you the backing you need to be successful.”
“Oh, I thought....” Rachel stopped. She had assumed they all worked together.
“No, this is where we part ways, for now.”
Alexis motioned for a waiter who came and took her order for a coffee to go.
“Rachel, do you know why I brought you on to this team?”
“To help…” she looked around for prying ears, “…find missing kids, right? Make a difference by any means?”
“Yes, that’s the overview…but the main reason?”
“No, not really.”
“Well, Curt is a leader, but he gets in his own way sometimes. He is his own worst enemy. I brought you on because I want you to be the leader that this team needs. I’ve been looking for someone of your talents to take over and make this good team, great.”
Rachel didn’t know how to accept the compliment and the responsibility Alexis was giving her.
“It’s something I hope to see you grow into. I know jumping in with all of this at one time is asking too much, so let’s just ease in to it, okay?”
“Okay, that’s sounds doable. Does the rest of the team know about this?”
“No.”
Rachel looked dejected. She’d been the new girl a few times with different DCF offices and knew the difficulties some people had with change. She hoped she wasn’t going to step on anyone’s toes, especially not knowing the pre-existing dynamics of the team, but she trusted Alexis Vanderhill to know what she was doing.
“Okay. I guess we’ll see what happens on the way to Chicago. Is there anything I need to know about Curt?” She nodded over to where the earlier scene had gone down.
“Not immediately. But in due time, you will. When he’s ready.”
The waiter came with her coffee and set it down on the table. Alexis pulled out a fifty dollar bill and left it on the table to cover Rachel’s and her order, with a considerable tip. Rachel protested, but Alexis smiled as she walked away.
Chapter 7
It was one of his favorite memories of his son.
Josh had just finished his first week in second grade, and as in the two previous years, he got to choose the restaurant for a celebration dinner. He chose his favorite restaurant, a Tallahassee staple on the east side of town off Apalachee Parkway. Barnaby’s was labeled as a family tavern with fried chicken, burgers, and their signature pizza on the menu. The dining area remained dimly lit from the stained glass windows, reminiscent of an old English tavern. There were no servers, just a walk up counter that sat in front of three huge brick ovens used for baking the pizzas. A glass partition allowed the patrons to watch the pizza baking process.
But Josh, being the ripe age of seven, wasn’t a food connoisseur. Although it was a given, he wanted their signature pizza for dinner. He chose this venue for the small room in the center of the restaurant that housed eight video arcade games, some modern, some retro. While Curt and his wife, Tracy, sat at the table, waiting for their table number to be called, Josh had set his order and bee-lined it to the game room.
“Quarters mom?” Josh begged with his hand held out.
Curt smiled and fished out some change from his pocket before Tracy could. Josh sifted through the pile for the coveted quarters and picked them out with his tiny hands. He watched as Josh concentrated as if the world’s fate were in the balance. He gazed at the boy in amazement and felt the warmth within radiate through his body. It was the warmth of pride…the warmth of fatherly love.
“Thanks, Daddy!”
“No problem, buddy!”
Curt smiled as he watched the boy run with complete abandon toward the game room, rip the door open, and disappear inside.
“He’s getting so big, isn’t he?” Tracy asked rhetorically.
“Yes. Yes, he is.”
It was a celebration for the boy, but Curt needed a break from the harsh reality of being a cop. The first week of second grade for Josh coincided with a tough week at work. Curt had just been moved up to the Special Victim’s Unit within the Criminal Investigations Division at the Tallahassee Police Department. He transferred from the less glorified unit that investigated property crimes like thefts and burglaries. As a member of the Special Victim’s Unit, he worked cases involving crimes that were sexual in nature as well as crimes against children. It took a special kind of person to stomach these investigations; it took an even more extraordinary person to work them.
The first case that dropped onto Curt’s desk was a child abuse case. A working mother, careless with whom she left her two kids, was working the night shift at a grocery store and left her loser and aimless boyfriend in charge. Bath ti
me apparently interfered with an important football game he had put money on, and he left the youngest child, not quite two years old, alone in the bathtub. The water that pumped in was straight from the water heater and scalding hot. After the boyfriend set the naked child in the water, he tuned to the more important football game, failing to realize the water was too hot. He ignored the child’s screams, for he was too busy screaming at the television, directing his team’s quarterback to act accordingly. When the mother returned home, the child still sat helpless in the tub and had sustained second degree burns from the chin down from the blistering hot water. By this time, the skin on the child’s legs had blistered up and had begun to slip off. It looked as if the child was wearing loose fitting opaque colored socks. The images seared into Curt’s mind as he worked the case.
The child was rushed off to the hospital for treatment, and the boyfriend fled before the patrol officers arrived on scene. Incredulously, the mother attempted to defend the boyfriend’s actions and failed to cooperate with the officers, saying the child must have turned the hot water on herself.
Curt did his job and tracked down the boyfriend and appropriately charged him with neglect of the child. During the interview, Curt fought every urge to climb across the table and beat him senseless. His selfish act had left the poor child with blisters and an unhealthy fear of water. The doctors had explained, based on the injuries, the child had stood in the burning hot water for at least twenty five minutes. The vision of the helpless child crying out for her mother while in extreme pain no child should know, fell to the depths of Curt’s core and angered him to the point of lashing out at the so-called “man.”
As he sat in the interview room, he remembered the video system over his shoulder was aimed at the suspect and figured the beating he deserved would not look good replayed on the evening news. Curt fought the desire to strap the man down to his chair and pour boiling hot water on his scrotum in a sterilization effort, for he did not truly deserve God’s gift of a child in his life. But he managed to swallow the anger and play the sympathetic man to the self-centered suspect who tried to excuse his behavior on the over-importance of a football game—a game that was being played hundreds of miles away by men who could care less about his loyalty.
Curt obtained the confession and sent the man off to jail with no fanfare. He felt sorrow for the scarred child left in the wake of his selfishness and noticed a stain was left on his soul from playing into the man’s ego instead of the vengeful law man. He went back to work but couldn’t shake the feeling of shame and guilt. He left as soon as the paperwork was done and headed straight home.
Upon walking in the door, Josh ran up to him with excitement and gave his father a hug. It was a daily ritual since Josh had learned to walk. Curt knelt down and squeezed him tight vowing he would always love him and protect him and not let some asshole leave him in a tub of scalding, hot water. At that moment, during the embrace of his young son, the stain from earlier was washed away in a tidal wave of love. He instantly felt better and was reminded that the world was not as ugly and that innocence still existed. He was also quickly reminded by his son that it was his choice of restaurant that night for dinner.
“Hey Daddy, they have a new zombie shooting game. Wanna play with me?” Josh had poked his head out of the game room and yelled down the several tables to where his parents sat.
“Sure, buddy.” Curt looked at Tracy with a the-boy-needs-his-father look. He explained that he would obviously find no pleasure in a game that required the necessary killing of zombie hoards, for playing the game with him would be more of a duty than anything. She smiled back with a knowing look that her husband would enjoy the arcade game just as much as her son.
“Go!”
“I’ll be right back.” He kissed his wife on the lips and darted off to the game room.
“Have fun honey!”
The video graphics of the zombie mansion the pair of heroes assaulted was dark and gloomy with enemy zombies and evil monsters popping out at every corner. Curt fought valiantly next to his trusted sidekick with their weapons drawn, a red and blue plastic handgun tethered to the console, and kept firing steadily at the onslaught of the undead. Together, they conquered the first levels of the game until their table number was called over the loud speaker. With the same enthusiasm exhibited when he ran to the game room, Josh dashed out of the small room for the dinner table where a piping-hot pepperoni pizza waited just for him.
That night of celebration, Curt found himself watching his beautiful son in awe. He was a spitting image of himself—dark hair, big brown eyes, and a broad, toothy smile with the cutest dimple in the crease of his left cheek. He wasn’t doing anything extraordinary, just being a normal kid that was born out of love, going through life as he knew it. He was unaware of the dark side of reality and the bitter harshness of life. He was still hopeful and constantly optimistic. Curt felt contentment at that moment, despite the ugliness his job brought into his life. He knew he had something truly special and worth fighting for.
As his son picked up his third piece of pepperoni pizza and took another bite, he chewed intently and noticed his father watching him. He swallowed his bite and smiled back at his father, halfway embarrassed at the attention.
“What?” He asked shyly.
“Nothing, buddy. I love you; that’s all.”
“Daaad!”
Curt smiled at the boy’s embarrassment and waved it off as a necessity of fatherhood. He picked up another piece of the pizza and took an over-emphasized bite to make a joke, followed by a comical chomping sound that registered a cute giggle from Josh.
“Nom, nom, nom….” He laughed at his own silliness.
“Curt!” Tracy said, embarrassed herself but overshadowed by the loud giggling of the boy across the booth from Curt.
***
The memories that reminded him of a joyful past had become more and more blurred over the past three years. Pain and helplessness replaced the hope of his past. He forced himself to remember what life felt like then as opposed to the hell it had become. Forcing himself to remember the happiness and purpose his life once held, as opposed to the tragic reality, helped him have a better hold on the hope that one day life would return to normal.
The soothing hum of the Mercedes Sprinter moving at close to 75 mph down the interstate towards Chicago kept Curt in a comatose state as the battle of good memories versus bad waged on in his mind. He slipped in and out of consciousness. He realized he was lying on the floor of the van, tucked away in the back, as the rest of the team ignored him. His pounding headache and throbbing knuckles were obvious signs that it had happened again. A wave of embarrassment washed over him as he fought back the nausea along with the physical pain.
The anguished memories came rushing back, and tears formed in his eyes. He was exhausted. His body was on the brink of shutting down, but he forced himself to continue. He had to keep looking for Josh. He justified the feeling of selfishness in needing time to recuperate by knowing it would be several hours until the team stopped. After fighting away the crushing blow of reality, Curt finally fell back asleep, his eyes filled with tears.
The front passenger seat of the Mercedes Sprinter was very comfortable for Rachel Goodwin. The buttery soft leather seat and armrests held her up, so she could watch the world go by through the large windshield of the van. About an hour outside of San Francisco, she copied Beth’s signature position and propped her feet up on the dashboard. She passed the time by reading the full report and background information the team had gathered for the recovery of Charlotte Morgan. The amount of useful information obtained in such a short amount of time was astounding to Rachel. As a DCF case worker and child advocate, it took her years to gather this level of information that the team somehow located in less than a day’s time. She wanted to learn more about the people she was teaming up with—trust never coming easy with her—but she stayed silent assuming this was how the group traveled. Especially with one of the
m passed out drunk in the back.
With the early morning start after the debacle at the hotel, Beth elected to follow the Sprinter in Curt’s Crown Victoria as the team made its way toward Chicago. Melinda remained in the back with Curt while Louis drove. Rachel kept tabs on the two in the back and noticed Melinda had dozed off too, leaving her alone with Louis at the helm. However, the normally chatty computer genius remained focused on his driving efforts with little white ear buds playing his music of choice. Rachel ignored the feeling of being out of place and trusted the words of Alexis Vanderhill that this was truly a mission and not a job.
The team stopped at a secluded rest area somewhere in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains to stretch, get some gas, and make a plan for the night. Curt stumbled out of the van, somewhat clear headed, but kept the oversized trench coat on even in the dry heat of the mid-west. He took the keys of the Crown Vic from Beth and agreed to follow the rest of the team towards their destination of the night, somewhere west of Denver, if they couldn’t reach Denver by nightfall. Curt didn’t bother saying anything about the night before, but Rachel read the embarrassment on his face.
Rachel stood back, letting the team make the decisions as they normally did, getting a feel for the dynamics outside of a dangerous operation like the previous night’s. They seemed near flawless during the operation, but she questioned their cohesiveness otherwise.
She found herself watching Curt, during the brief stop. She clearly saw his pain, as he wore it on his sleeve, although he clearly didn’t want to talk about it. The rest of the team avoided confronting him and let him deal with his demons in his own way. Curt noticed the attention from the new girl. Before the team filed back into the van, Curt locked eyes with Rachel with an uncertain meaning. As she held his stare, she felt something twinge inside of her heart. Curt broke the connection as he climbed in the Crown Vic ready to follow the Sprinter.
