The Stolen Breath

by L. G. Davis

  I try to get her to sit up, which is a challenge. “Come on, sweetie, let’s get you cleaned up.” It takes me half an hour to get her cleaned up and tucked into bed.

  I pull up a chair and sit. “You need help, Anita.”

  She stares at me for a long time. “He called me,” she croaks. “Greg...I don’t know how he found my number. He said he’s going to find me. He said no one else can have me.”

  “You have to tell the police.”

  “I can’t do that. If I go to the cops, he’ll kill me.”

  I spend a few more minutes trying to convince her to call the police, but she refuses.

  “Honey,” I say, defeated. “I’m sorry, but I need to go and put up more flyers. I know you can’t come with me, but I need to go. I’ll be back, I promise. Then we can talk about this, okay? I need you to get some sleep.”

  “Okay.” She gives me a faint smile. “Thank you.”

  I hate that my entire life is falling apart. My child is gone and my friend has slipped back into her old habits.

  I brush the hair back from her face, and give her a kiss on the cheek.

  Before I leave the house, I look around for bottles of alcohol and pour the toxic liquid out. I find quite a few. By the time I’m done, I’ve inhaled so much alcohol fumes that I feel dizzy.

  Still holding the flyers, I jump into my car and drive faster than I have driven in my life. Instead of going to put up the flyers, though, I find myself driving to the nanny agency.

  The police said they will handle everything to do with Madison, that they would go search for her. They even said they would contact the agency. But since it’s been days and they haven’t gotten anywhere, it might be time for me to take matters into my own hands.

  The building looks as if it’s much older than the last time I saw it, with peeling paint and a creaking front door.

  The petite woman at the reception is in her forties with dry curly hair and thick eyeliner. When she sees me enter, her eyes widen. “Good morning, Mrs. Caswell.”

  “Hi, I need to talk to your boss.”

  “I’m sorry, but she’s busy at the moment.” The woman shifts in her chair. “She’s in a meeting.”

  “This is important. I need to talk to her now.”

  They know what happened. There are flyers right outside the agency. And they know they’re partly to blame for what happened. That’s why the receptionist is acting all nervous.

  “Forget it. I’ll find her.” I charge through the space, opening doors until I find Marcella’s office. I don’t even bother to knock.

  She’s not on the phone and she’s not with anyone. The receptionist lied. She was clearly instructed to keep me out.

  Like the building, Marcella White looks older than the last time I saw her. Her makeup is dry and cracked, and her once glowing auburn hair looks dull. One button on her button-down dress is also missing.

  When she looks up from her desk, our eyes meet.

  “Why are you here? I already spoke to the police. Madison Price is no longer one of our babysitters.”

  The kind and sympathetic woman I met when I came to the agency in search of a nanny is long gone.

  “Yeah, but I’m not letting you off the hook. I’m Lea’s mother, and I deserve answers.”

  “I don’t have anything to say to you.” She distracts herself with moving papers around her desk.

  “I need Madison’s address.” The police asked me not to take matters into my own hands, but I need to do something.

  “We cannot give out such information for current or past babysitters. Besides, I told the police everything I know.”

  “I need you to give it to me. You messed up. You probably didn’t do enough research before accepting Madison as one of your providers. You sent me a psychopath.”

  “I do sincerely apologize,” she says, her voice gentler, her dry lips trembling. “I’m really sorry.”

  I sit down because I’m tired and my knees are threatening to give way. “Please, you must understand that if I don’t get my child back, Madison could hurt her. You don’t know what she was like. She was obsessed.”

  We stare at each other for what feels like a lifetime, then Marcella pulls open a drawer. She removes a piece of paper and scribbles something on it. She pushes it toward me when she’s done. “This is the address she gave us.”

  “Thank you.” I snatch the paper from her hand. “So, this is where she lives?”

  “It’s where she said she lived.” She pauses. “But...” Her voice trails off.

  “But what?”

  “I went to the place two days ago and according to a neighbor, no one has lived there for weeks.”

  “She gave you the wrong address, is that it?”

  “Yes, I reckon that’s how it happened.”

  “How’s that even possible? Don’t you do proper research on your nannies before you put them into your database? You took anybody that showed up, even someone as dangerous as Madison?”

  “We didn’t know. I didn’t know. She seemed like such a sweetie pie.”

  “You didn’t do your proper research and now my child is missing.”

  “I am truly, truly sorry. I wish I could have done things differently.”

  “But you didn’t.” I stuff the piece of paper into my bag. “Now here we are.”

  “I didn’t, and I blame myself. I do. I blame myself for everything that happened.”

  “If they don’t find my child, I’m sorry but you will regret it.” With that, I push out of my chair and head for the door.

  Even though she told me that no one lives at the address Madison gave them, I drive there anyway. It’s an apartment in the center of town. No one comes to the door, and the neighbors confirm what Marcella said. No one has lived there for weeks, probably since the day Madison moved in with us.

  Left with no other choice, I do the only thing I have the power to do. I put up flyers and ask everyone I see around town if they have seen Lea. I even show them a photo of Madison. No luck.

  Back home, I pull out my laptop. I haven’t written a blog post since the one that ruined my reputation as a mother. But I need to do it again. I still have some loyal fans who might want to help me. I don’t know how they could, but I would take anything at this point.

  In this new blog post, I apologize for the last one and beg for their understanding. Then I post photos of my missing child and the woman I believe is responsible for her disappearance. I beg my followers to contact me with information or any tips I can use to find my daughter. I also ask for their prayers.

  It’s not long before I get responses. Some people tell me they saw it coming, that I deserve what I got. Others sympathize with me and write me messages so touching they bring me to tears.

  I’m surprised when five people reveal that they live in the larger cities near Sarton. They promise they will keep their eyes open.

  I choose to focus on the positive comments and emails that come my way.

  In the late afternoon, I return to Anita’s house to check up on her.

  She’s still in bed, snoring. She doesn’t even move when I touch her.

  Instead of waking her, I leave a note.

  I was here. I’ll come back later. D

  I leave the house quietly and go home to deal with my own troubles.

  Chapter 15

  It’s midnight—a week after Lea’s disappearance—when hunger pangs alert me to the fact that I haven’t eaten much of anything. Keeping anything down has been a challenge. Despite my hunger, I’m in no mood for food, but I won’t be any good to Lea if I’m physically broken as well.

  I drag myself from the couch that has been my bed for almost a week and head to the kitchen. I force down a bowl of five-minute chicken soup from a packet and a slice of bread and shuffle back to the living room.

  The TV is blaring, and clothes and other items are strewn everywhere. I settle on the couch between a towel and a couch cushion, grab the remote, and switch to a local
news station. I brace myself for what awaits me.

  After a yogurt commercial, my baby becomes the topic of discussion.

  My stomach turns when a photo of Lea in her crib flashes across the screen.

  Given that Sarton is a small town with very little crime, my baby’s story has been front and center for days.

  A female reporter with dark hair and a pinstriped, navy suit, turns to the camera and adjusts her smile, obviously struggling to hide her excitement. Being asked to discuss such a large case—for Sarton standards—must be a boost to her career. I don’t know her, but I wish I could punch her face through the screen.

  “It’s been a week since Lea Caswell was snatched from her crib in broad daylight while her mother was taking a shower. Since that fateful day, no one has seen her. Her mother, Delia Caswell, claims the kidnapper is Lea’s former nanny, Madison Price, a woman who had been let go only a few days before Lea’s disappearance. But some residents are beginning to ask questions after snippets of a blog post that Mrs. Caswell shared before her child’s disappearance surfaced.”

  “These disturbing revelations have led some to wonder: Could Delia Caswell have hurt her own baby?”

  To my horror, a screenshot of my blog post appears on screen with the last two sentences isolated. The nails to my coffin.

  “Do I ever wonder how life would be if Lea were not born? Forgive me for choosing not to answer that question.”

  I hurl the remote as hard as I can against the wall, the battery compartment bursting open and the batteries clattering to the floor. I scream and pull at my hair. It’s driving me crazy not to be in control, and not knowing what to do.

  How dare she say that? How dare anyone even think that?

  I’ll be the first to admit I was not the best mom, but I would never harm my baby. I’d rather check myself into a mental institution.

  I turn off the TV and storm to my bedroom. The phone rings while I’m brushing my teeth. It’s Officer Randall.

  My stomach in knots, I spit out the toothpaste and answer.

  “Officer, did you find my daughter?” That has to be why he’s calling late.

  “I’m afraid not,” he says, his voice gentle. “But we found Madison Price.”

  “You did?” My head snaps up. “Where was she? Was Lea with her?”

  “I’m afraid not, Mrs. Caswell. She was alone in her car on her way out of town.”

  I clutch my stomach. “Did she hurt my baby?”

  “I think it’s best you come to the station. We’re in the process of questioning her right now.”

  “I’m on my way.” I grab my purse and rush out of the house.

  IT’S AFTER MIDNIGHT and the air is cool against my skin. Before I drive off, I glance at Anita’s house. All the lights are off. That’s a good thing. Hopefully, it means she did not drink herself into a stupor and forget to switch off the lights. It’s been happening almost every day since the last time I found her passed out on the couch.

  On the way to the station, I rehearse what I’ll say to Madison when we come face to face again. I’m pretty sure she has Lea. Why else would she want to leave town?

  The police station is a small brick building with big windows and stairs in the front. The Sarton Police Department is not staffed with many police since it’s a small town and crimes don’t happen often. I only see two officers leaving the building as I enter. One of them, a woman, holds the door for me.

  “Thanks,” I say under my breath.

  Officer Randall is the first to notice me when I enter and immediately comes to greet me, his hand outstretched.

  “Where is she?” I ask after shaking his hand briefly.

  “Come with me,” he says.

  I follow him.

  Madison is in a room with another officer. I can only see her through a pane of glass. I doubt she can see me. Her eyes are focused on the glass division, but they are blank, holding no emotion whatsoever.

  I’m able to hear all the questions fired at her.

  “I thought you might want to hear her being questioned,” Officer Randall comes to stand next to me.

  “Yes, thanks.” I don’t look at him. My eyes are on the woman who took my baby. I’m visualizing my hands on her, hurting her as much as she hurt me.

  Officer Randall offers me a glass of water, but I shake my head and wrap my arms around my body.

  I don’t want anything. All I want is my daughter.

  “Miss Price, did you kidnap Lea Caswell?” the other officer asks Madison.

  “I told you again and again that I’ve got nothing to do with it.” Madison’s hands are clenched tightly together on the table. “I don’t know who took that poor little girl. All I know is that it wasn’t me.”

  “Lea’s mother, Delia Caswell, told us that she caught you trying to kidnap Lea the night you were fired.”

  Madison’s body visibly stiffens, but she raises her chin in defiance. “That’s just a bald-faced lie. That night, Lea was crying and wouldn’t sleep, so I was going to just take her on a little drive to calm her down.”

  “But is it not true that you sneaked her out of the house after you drugged her mother?”

  Madison drops her gaze and stares at the table. When she raises her eyes again, they’re flashing. “I loved that sweet little baby like my own,” she shoots back. “I would never have done anything to harm her.”

  “But you made threats to her mother.”

  “I only told her that she did not deserve to be a mother, which is true.”

  “And you deserve to be one?”

  “Yes,” she says in a low voice. “I deserve to be one. And it infuriates me when women who do not deserve to be mothers get to have beautiful, healthy babies while—” She shakes her head. “Delia doesn’t deserve Lea.”

  “What were you about to say, Miss Price?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she says sharply and tips her head back, raising her eyes to the ceiling as if trying to fight back tears.

  “Miss Price, have you ever lived at the address you gave the Little Cradle babysitting agency?”

  She doesn’t answer and the officer smiles. “Did you give them a fake address?” he asks. “Why?”

  She returns her gaze to him. “I wanted to earn a living. If I told them I was homeless, they would have never given me a chance.”

  The officer paces the room for a while before coming back to the table. “Was it your intention from the start to work for Mrs. Delia Caswell?”

  “No. I didn’t even know her. I thought Delia was a nice woman with a sweet child.”

  “A child you later became obsessed with,” the officer says.

  “A child I became obsessed with caring for. As far as I was concerned, Lea didn’t have a mother. The only person Delia Caswell cares about is herself.”

  The officer strokes his beard. “What do you mean by that?”

  “She never did anything for Lea. I did everything. I changed her diapers. I fed her. I played with her.”

  I glance at Officer Randall, my eyes burning. “She insisted on doing everything. She wanted to keep me from my child.”

  I feel the need to defend myself. The woman is sick. I hired her to take care of my baby and now she’s accusing me of allowing her to do her job? I offered to take on some of the tasks and she pushed me away time and time again. It’s shocking that she would use that against me.

  “Let’s just listen,” he says, gently shushing me. “If there’s anything she’s hiding, we’ll get it out of her.”

  I turn my attention back to Madison. It’s hard to believe I once trusted the woman.

  “What made you choose to be a nanny, Miss Price?”

  She shrugs. “Why not? I love children.”

  “And you could never have any of your own?”

  The silence that follows is so long that the officer repeats the question twice.

  “I did get pregnant once. And I gave birth to a little girl. She died the day she was born.” Madison bites
her lip.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” the officer says.

  I’m shocked to hear Madison’s revelation. She never mentioned that she had been a mother. For a split-second my heart goes out to her, but then I remember that she might have taken my kid, and my anger returns.

  “Working as a nanny helped me heal.” She presses a tissue to her nose.

  “And did you also resent your previous employers for hiring you to take care of their children? Did you also consider them to be terrible parents?”

  Madison doesn’t respond.

  “Okay,” the officer continues. “We found several items of Lea Caswell’s clothing in your trunk. What were you doing with them?”

  “I was her babysitter. I kept her clothes in my car for when she needed changing...when we were out. I forgot to give them back.”

  “That makes sense.” The officer glances at his papers. “But what doesn’t make sense is why you told the mothers at the Bunny Babies play group that Lea was your daughter.”

  “I felt like her mother, the mother she never had.” There’s no trace of remorse in Madison’s voice.

  I turn to Officer Randall, numb with increasing rage. “Officer, that woman was obsessed with my child. She even had an album with Lea’s photos. I find it hard to believe that she doesn’t have her.”

  He assures me again that they will do everything to find out the truth.

  We continue to listen in silence.

  “Miss Price,” the other officer asks. “why were you leaving Sarton?”

  “It’s not a crime and there’s nothing holding me here.”

  “I see.” He pauses to cough. “After you lost your job as Lea’s nanny, did you sneak back into the house to stay in the attic?”

  “No,” Madison says.

  “Fine.” The officer gathers up his papers. “That’s all for today. Unless there’s something else you want to tell me.”

  “Yes, I do want to tell you something,” she says. “It doesn’t surprise me that Lea has been kidnapped. Delia was probably too busy thinking of herself to watch over her. And I’m sure she’s secretly pleased that Lea is gone. That poor baby was nothing but a burden to her.”