Hard Trauma

by Franklin Horton

  “I’ll take care of it, Barger. You just do what you’re paid to do. I’ll deal with the rest. Besides, this is your fault. You drive like an old lady.”

  “I’m sorry if I have to take breaks,” Barger snapped. “I can’t do more than ten or twelve hours a day. My back starts hurting.”

  “You complain like an old lady too.”

  “You want to help drive? We could drive straight through if you’d help out.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” Tia replied, her mind elsewhere. She was already thinking of someone she could get to replace Barger. Someone younger and more able to handle long hours behind the wheel. Someone better looking would be nice too. Barger was old and fat. She got tired of looking at him.

  21

  Ty made decent time on the highway. At some point, Deena sent him a long text expressing her concerns and letting him know he should contact her any time day or night if he was considering “something drastic.” He appreciated her concern but not her sense of drama. Lieutenant Whitt tried to call him twice and he ignored it both times. On her second call she left him a voicemail, but he’d yet to listen to it.

  He texted Jessica.

  What time do you go into work?

  Not until midnight, was her speedy reply.

  That was a long way away but he supposed it didn’t matter. He was at least a day away from Arizona. That made him begin to consider what he was going to do when he got there. Was he going to set up surveillance on the house? Was he going to barge in and demand to know where Gretchen was? Worse yet, what was he going to do if she wasn’t there and this had all been a wild goose chase?

  Ty stopped in Oklahoma for a power nap at a rest area. When he awoke, he charged through the windmill-spotted grasslands into northern Texas, eventually hitting the yellow-brown dirt of New Mexico. If his day went as planned, he would get a hotel room outside of Albuquerque just as Jessica was going into work. Before he settled in for the night, he hoped to have the name and address belonging to that RV.

  When the sun disappeared over the horizon ahead of him and full dark settled on the highway, Ty began to tire. He was road-weary and needed a caffeine boost. He took an exit offering several options, including a Petro Panda. Part of him was determined he would never give up any more of his hard-earned money to that business ever again. Another part of him might get a wicked charge out of stopping there. He even considered taking a selfie in front of the store and sending it to that dick from human resources.

  “What store am I at now, Butch? Take a guess. Where’s Waldo?”

  In the end, the familiarity of the Petro Panda won him over. He knew the layout of the pumps, knew the restrooms were clean, and he also knew they stocked his favorite energy drinks and they were on special right now, two for four dollars. He pulled into the well-lit facility and fueled up. While the gasoline pumped, he emptied the trash from his truck and shoved it into the Petro Panda cans. After what they’d done to him, they could damn sure haul off his trash.

  When he was done at the pump, he pulled his truck into a space at the side of the parking lot, went inside, and purchased his energy drinks and some junk food to keep him awake, struggling with whether to go with Mike And Ikes or Hot Tamales. He decided to buy both.

  On the walk back to his truck, a bag of caffeine, chemicals, and sugar dangling from his arm, his phone rang. He checked the display and saw it was Lieutenant Whitt again. This time he decided he’d answer it, but for purely selfish reasons. If the call pissed him off, it might help keep him awake while he pushed through this last stretch of road.

  “Hello?” he said, his voice neutral and intentionally pleasant, ready to absorb whatever she threw at him. He was the kid surrendering to the fact he was going to get a spanking and ready now just to get it over with.

  “Good evening, Ty. It’s Lieutenant Whitt.”

  “Why, I thought I recognized that number.”

  She ignored his sarcasm and didn’t sound as angry as he’d expected. “I assumed you must recognize it since you’ve been ignoring my calls.”

  “Well to be honest, Lieutenant, after the weekend I’ve had, I wasn’t interested in another ass-chewing. If I wanted to feel bad about my life I didn’t need your help doing it.”

  “I actually wanted to call and apologize for going off on you the other day. Things have been a little stressful. No one likes a missing child case. No one likes the FBI coming in, telling them they’re incompetent, and shoving them out of the way.”

  “Then it was a shitty weekend for all of us.”

  “Most days I don’t give a shit how I treat people, but you and I both served our country. I feel like I owe you a little more respect and consideration than I might give the average civilian. I’m sorry.”

  Ty tossed his shopping bag into the driver’s seat of his truck, went to the back of the truck, dropped the tailgate, and took a seat in the cool night air while he talked. “I appreciate the apology.”

  “With that in mind, I want to let you know why I wasn’t interested in hearing your theory about what happened to Gretchen. This is strictly between us, and if you ever tell anyone, I’ll deny we had this conversation. Anyway, the divorce between Gretchen’s parents isn’t final yet. He told her he was going camping and off-roading somewhere in the area of Moab, Utah, and that he would be out of cell range for a week. When one of the husband’s friends saw the story on the news that Gretchen was missing, he called her mother and spilled the truth.”

  “Did he admit that her dad took her?” Ty asked. He couldn’t accept that was the case. Could his intuition have been that wrong?

  “Not quite. The friend said that Gretchen’s dad wasn’t really going to Moab. He was driving down to Mexico, looking at a place on the Gulf of California with his girlfriend. He’s wanting to move out of the country when the divorce is final.”

  “Have you been able to track him down?”

  “Not yet. Apparently he was keeping things low-key because he didn’t want Gretchen’s mother to know about the girlfriend or his plans to leave the country. We did confirm that his passport was used to cross the border into Mexico. He’s not using any of his credit cards, though, and we don’t have a name on the girlfriend to monitor if they’re using hers. We’re looking into that.”

  “So you’re still leaning toward the dad taking her?”

  “I think it’s fairly obvious,” Lieutenant Whitt said. “They’ve probably smuggled her across the border somewhere and have no intention of returning. The dad is going to start a new life in Mexico and wanted his daughter there with him.”

  Ty didn’t believe it. His instinct told him he was right. She’d been abducted by strangers, most likely in the RV he was chasing. While it may not be logical, his gut told him those people knew something, and he was not going to stop until he found them.

  “You don’t believe it, do you?” the Lieutenant asked, sensing Ty’s reluctance to buy into the theory.

  “You have your gut feeling and I have mine,” Ty replied.

  “Well, this is the consensus of the FBI and the Virginia State Police. The mother was pretty much in agreement with us until you planted that seed of doubt about the puppy. If this doesn’t pan out, I’ll give you a call and we can discuss your theory.”

  That response told Ty all he needed to know about her attitude toward his theories. She had no interest in hearing them and put no credence in them. Although she may have felt bad about the way she treated him, she continued to dismiss his theory about Gretchen’s disappearance. He understood that with every passing day the odds of recovering Gretchen became slimmer. By the time they realized they were on a wild goose chase, the trail would be cold. He couldn’t let that happen.

  “Well, thanks for the call, Lieutenant Whitt. I’m heading out of town for a while. Good luck with your investigation. I’m sure you all have it under control.” He figured his sarcasm might be showing a little bit but that was okay.

  “I might advise against that, Mr. Stone. That was
the other reason I was calling you.”

  “Why? Am I a suspect now?”

  “Not in this matter. A deputy did inform me today that you’re being charged with assault for an incident at a movie theater. Does that ring a bell?”

  Ty’s heart sank at that news. It was the last thing he needed. “There was an incident with another patron in line last week. He put his hands on me and I reacted as trained.”

  “Then as a law enforcement officer I would advise you not to leave town, Mr. Stone. Your interests would best be served by turning yourself in and making a statement. I’m not sure that the argument you were ‘reacting as trained’ will get you very far.”

  “I’ll take that under advisement,” Ty replied, knowing he had absolutely no intention of doing either of those things. He was not turning himself in and not making a statement. He was going to Arizona. He could deal with the rest of this mess later.

  “You take care, Mr. Stone. Good luck.”

  Ty hung up without a goodbye. He hadn’t expected that incident at the theater to materialize into anything. He was used to being around men who would dust something like that off and take it as a lesson learned. He forgot sometimes that not everyone was that way. For some folks, everything was a legal matter. Fucking lawyers. They’d ruined the world.

  He got in his truck and cracked open an energy drink. He selected a Five Finger Death Punch playlist on his phone and turned it up loud. He needed to elevate his mood and keep it up. He had one more reason to be depressed now. If the demons returned, they would be excited by this latest development. They loved to peck at you while you were down. Hopefully the music would keep them away.

  22

  Ty was running on fumes by the time he reached Santa Rosa, New Mexico. He’d been talking out loud to himself for over an hour, driving with the windows down to keep himself alert. He finally reached a point where nothing was working and decided he needed to find a hotel immediately. He was ready for a real bed and a shower.

  He chose a well-lit two-star motel where he could park directly in front of his room, not wanting to leave his rifle in the truck nor carry it through the lobby of a hotel. That sometimes drew unwanted attention. Lots of it.

  After he’d paid for his room, he parked in front of his door and observed the parking lot. There was no one moving around. He grabbed the gear he needed for the night, locked his truck, and went inside. The room was small but clean, with two beds, and plenty of southwest colors in the decor. Though the bed was tempting, he didn’t even sit down on it yet. If he did, it was all over. He’d fall asleep sprawled out and fully-clothed. He was determined to take a shower first.

  He took a hot one and collapsed across the bed feeling human again. Before sleep could take him, he grabbed his phone off the nightstand and shot Jessica a short text.

  You working?

  In seconds she texted him a photograph of what he assumed to be her computer screen. It was the results of his license tag search. There was a name and address in Tucson.

  He texted her back. Thank you very much. I owe you.

  It’s in Tucson. That’s where Cliff’s office is, she texted.

  In his delirious state, the name didn’t ring a bell. Who’s Cliff?

  Former Wasteland dude. Human trafficking guru.

  How had he forgotten that?

  Sorry. Exhausted.

  No problem. Get some rest. Just let me know how it goes. And be careful.

  Will do, he replied, then plugged his phone in to charge. He resisted the urge to log into the Wasteland. He was too tired to get sucked into it right now. He also resisted the compulsion to immediately begin planning his op in Tucson now that he had an address. He double-checked that all the locks on the door were secured, then jammed a wedge beneath it. He carried a plastic wedge in his gear exactly for this purpose. It would prevent the door from being opened even if all the locks were defeated.

  He clipped a gun light onto the rail of his Glock and placed it on the nightstand, turned the lamp off, and settled into the stiff sheets. The bleach-smelling pillow was too small and it made his nose burn, but he was too tired to care. Despite his exhaustion, thoughts bounced around in his head. They were not the organized, structured thoughts he normally had but chaotic, fleeting streams of ideas that resembled ants pouring from a disturbed anthill.

  This was not Ty’s first rodeo. He’d participated in hundreds of operations over his career, mostly in Iraq and Afghanistan, but on other continents as well. Mission planning was a big deal in that life and there were lots of support personnel backing it. You were rarely on your own. Unless, of course, you were stuck in a mud storm and no one wanted to risk getting dirty or losing men.

  This time he had no support personnel. There was no team backing him. That information on his phone and the pictures from social media were all the intel he had. It wasn’t much to go on, and he was going to have to wing it. The last time he did so was in that mud storm and the burden of what happened then weighed heavily upon him. In fact, he had nightmares about it nearly every night.

  This needed to turn out better. If anyone died, it needed to be that lowlife scum who stole children. Ty was even fine with losing his own life. Some days, it was barely worth holding onto anyway.

  23

  While Ty had somehow managed to keep his shit together through the long days of driving, it eventually caught up with him. It could have been the lack of sleep or the depressing motel, but something snatched the rug out from under him. He awoke with a growing pit of blackness at his core. He could feel it expanding, parts of him crumbling into it like a widening sinkhole in a Florida suburb. It threatened to swallow his motivation, his sense of purpose, and finally his entire being. There was a pervasive sense of utter hopelessness.

  Like a dying man making a last ditch effort to save himself, Ty threw back the sheets and rolled onto the floor. He lay there flat, face down on the carpet. His limbs seemed too heavy to move. He could feel the hard concrete floor beneath the carpet, the coolness seeping into his body. He should have been revolted, knowing the kind of contaminants a motel floor might be exposed to. He didn’t care, though. Nothing mattered.

  He lay there several minutes and somehow found the motivation to crawl in the direction of the bathroom. He didn’t bother with the light but slithered over the rim of the tub and turned on the cold water. With his toe, he flipped the diverter and the water pelted his body like a November rain. After several minutes, he was shivering uncontrollably.

  It wasn’t the experiences of his life that were depressing him. It wasn’t like he’d been a drug addict with years of sordid memories he wanted to put behind him. He hadn’t been an abused child needing to deal with a whole past of torture and pain. His worst experience was that fiasco in the mud storm. Where did all this come from? These waves of darkness? These demons that tried to steal the light from inside him?

  He didn’t understand it. He wasn’t weak. He was a man who’d trained to power through hardship. He embraced the suck with a grin on his face. He was the guy smiling in the training photos when everyone around him looked exhausted and in pain. He was a tough son of a bitch. Where was that toughness now? Where was that lifelong ability to walk through the fire and come out unscathed?

  His foot shot out of its own accord and killed the shower, then turned the water off. He sat up, shivering, his arms wrapped around his core. He climbed from the tub and stood there on a shower mat the size of a pizza pan. He yanked a scratchy towel from the rack and dried off. He scrubbed hard, as if he could abrade the oily darkness from his flesh. He imagined it seeping from his skin like some poison on a dark shelf in the basement, long since having leaked through its packaging, and poisonous to anyone who touched it.

  He brushed his teeth and combed his hair, not meeting his own eye in the mirror. He couldn’t explain why he did that. He didn’t know if it was shame or fear of what he’d see there. He dressed, putting on clean clothes, and tucking his others back into his bag. H
e took a seat on the bed and plugged his laptop into his cellphone. He never trusted shady hotel Wi-Fi, opting for the hotspot on his phone instead.

  He checked the text from Jessica again. The tag was registered to a William Barger at an address in Tucson. He frowned at that, realizing he was half a day away from there. He plugged the address into Google maps and found it was in the Barrio Santa Rosa section of the city. Ty was an eastern boy. He’d lived in several states but none of them were in this part of the country. He was familiar with only the basics of the geography and terrain.

  The satellite photos showed him that the address was in a fairly congested neighborhood by his standards. All the houses were on little square lots with fences separating them. The yards were dirt. The low houses and sparse trees didn’t provide much in the way of concealment. There was definitely no place for setting up a hideout and maintaining surveillance on someone.

  He realized that all the elements that made the property hard to surveil should also make it a lousy place to hide a kidnapped child. There were neighbors all over the place. People would see you coming and going. It wasn’t impossible, though. He’d seen stories on the news about kids emerging from suburban homes, having been held in captivity for years. None of the neighbors suspected a thing. The kidnappers were always thought of like model citizens. This could be the same kind of situation.

  He needed to get on the road before the darkness paralyzed him again. He looked around the room and couldn’t imagine much worse than being stuck there for days, lying in bed, the curtains drawn. That would be the end of him. He might not have the strength to pull himself loose next time.

  Although Ty had an address, a lot of miles stood between him and that point. He shut his laptop and made sure all his gear was stowed, removed the weapon light from his Glock, and holstered the weapon. Opening the door, he was hit with a blast of heat that transported him overseas, to the sandy misery of the Iraqi desert. He blinked against the light and packed his truck.