The Boy Who Appeared from the Rain

by Kevin David Jensen

  Chapter 16

  Pain throbbed through Zach's arms and legs. His back ached, too, from being bent double for so long. He had stopped sobbing a while ago, not because he was tough, but because he had simply run out of tears.

  He was terrified. Faster than he could react, a man had jumped out of a passing SUV, grabbed him, and flung him, backpack and all, into the rear of the vehicle. A second man had sped them away while the first had tied him up, knotting his wrists and ankles together in front of him with a cord, forcing his arms between his knees. Even now, the cord was incredibly tight. The man hadn't been muscular like Derek, but he had been so strong anyway, like Dad.

  The whole thing had happened so quickly, Zach had hardly had a chance to fight back. In the SUV, he had thrown himself this way and that, tugged against the cord, worked at the knot with his fingers—anything to free himself. But in the end, all he had been able to do was sob into the gag his kidnapper had bound across his mouth.

  Through his nose Zach heaved a full breath, though his chest screamed at the effort. At last, he realized, he had stopped shaking. It wasn't that he was any less scared. He was just too exhausted from trying to escape and from crying.

  The two men—Asian men, with eyes a little like Aunt Lia's narrow eyes—had said almost nothing to him, ignoring his pleas for release. They had simply left him on the floor of the SUV, where the back seat should have been. They had left him to scream and sob into the foul-tasting gag. It tasted like his socks when they had been in the laundry hamper for a week.

  The men had driven for perhaps an hour, finally stopping in a place with lots of trees. Without undoing the cord, one of the men had lifted Zach out of the SUV, hauled him across a pad of smooth cement, and forced him into an empty metal shed a little wider than Dad's shed in the back yard. There they had latched the cord to a metal loop embedded in the wall and left him. He had pulled desperately against the loop and the latch, but neither had budged. He had kicked against the wall with even less result. A dull ache had gradually worked its way through his arms and legs as he sat with his hands and feet fastened awkwardly to the wall twelve inches above the floor.

  They had left Zach all alone there. It had been pitch-black inside the windowless shed. He had heard sounds—the rain on the roof, of course, and the wind; a truck, perhaps; a plane; two people talking somewhere outside—but for the most part all was silent. He had been grateful to still have his jacket on; the air had grown chilly, but with the jacket he had stayed warm enough.

  After nightfall, the two men had suddenly returned, undone the cord binding him, pulled off his backpack, removed the gag from his mouth, and let him collapse onto the floor of the shed. New pain had shot through his stiff muscles with the abrupt movement. They had dragged him outside to a tree, given him a minute there, and fed him an apple and a cup of water. He had spotted a massive house nearby—a mansion, surely—and tried to run for it, but they had caught him easily, dragged him back into the shed screaming, and bound and gagged him again.

  He was all alone once more. What was the point of kidnapping someone and then just leaving them in a shed?

  He had no way to tell the time. They had taken him when he was halfway home from school, before 3:30 that afternoon. It could be bedtime now, or maybe a little earlier. Bath time, at least. Was this a bath night? He wished he could have a bath, mostly to be anywhere but here. He would even use soap without being reminded.

  His nose itched, but he couldn't quite bend himself down to where he could reach it with his thumb or even his shoulder. The itch was as agonizing as the fire burning in his back, his legs, and his arms.

  What are Mom and Dad doing right now? he wondered, trying to distract himself from the itching and aching. Would they be worried about him yet? Uncle Ben and Aunt Lia and his cousins had probably finished their dinner with Mom and Dad by now and returned home. Zach wondered if Marissa had missed him. She could be really annoying, but she was okay as a cousin anyway. He had been hoping to play soccer with Brooke again tonight.

  For the first hour or two, Zach had wondered whether he was going to die. Gradually, though, as the initial shock of his kidnapping had faded, his thoughts had drifted toward home. His room—Mom had probably been furious when she saw that he still hadn't cleaned his room. He had been mad at her this morning for being so picky about it, but only at first. She had been right to stick with what she had told him, making him clean his room before going to Cayden's house. He had even told Cayden he needed to clean it, and that he might be able to come over tomorrow.

  What if Mom had let him go to Cayden's house today? Then the two men wouldn't have been able to kidnap him, not if he had been walking with Cayden. He would be taking a bath at this moment, or sleeping safely in his huge, warm bed. No, he thought, they would have just taken some other kid, maybe one of my other friends. Or they would have come back for me another day.

  He stretched his fingers and set them beneath his shoes, pointing his toes upward. With a little effort, he could support his feet with his hands, giving the muscles in his legs a break. After a minute, though, he had to trade the strain from his arms back to his legs. He alternated like this for a while, fidgeting frequently, trying to find a way to make this unnatural position comfortable. He found none.

  Was Mom still mad? If he could escape and find his way home right now, what would she say? "Zechariah Timothy, being kidnapped is no excuse. You are not allowed to get kidnapped until you've cleaned your room." Then she would rub his head and say, "You've been out in the rain again, haven't you?" He hurt too much to grin at the thought.

  Dad… Dad would say, "Hey, pal, let's go out and play some catch in the street lights, loosen up that arm. You need to throw a little after being tied up all evening." But if he ever got away—if he lived, Zach thought with a shudder—his arm would need days to recover, it hurt so much from being stretched out like this for so long.

  How long would it be until Mom and Dad realized something was wrong and came looking for him? Could they be looking for him already? Had anyone seen his kidnappers grab him? Maybe someone had called the police. What did Dad tell Uncle Ben when he asked where Zach was? Would Marissa be happy he was gone?

  Why me? he wondered, but a noise outside interrupted his thoughts. He jerked his head up and listened. Someone was outside the shed, coming closer. The lock unlatched and the door swung outward, letting in a bright light that blinded him for a moment, until his eyes adjusted.

  It was the two Asian men again, and one of them shone a flashlight in his face, making him squint away. A third man entered with them this time, a Caucasian who knelt in front of Zach and lifted his chin with a finger, examining him.

  "Zechariah Fleming," the man said. "Yes, this is he. Well done."

  Zach stared at him, eyes wide with fright. The man looked vaguely familiar.

  He smiled. "Relax. I'm not going to hurt you. My name is Hugh. We've met before."

  Zach remembered—Grandfather had introduced him to Hugh two or three years ago. The man had asked Zach a few questions, just like all the other adults Grandfather introduced him to did.

  "And you, Zechariah," Hugh continued, "have grown. You have a strong throwing arm—and a lefty, no less." He patted Zach's left shoulder. "I saw you throw the first pitches at the Mariners game, you and your friend. Do you go to many games? I have season tickets."

  Hugh made no move to release Zach. Zach tugged against his cord, his blue eyes darting between Hugh's brown ones.

  "You're uncomfortable," Hugh observed. "I'm sorry about that. You will need to remain here just a little longer, I'm afraid. But one of my ships is scheduled to dock in Seattle tomorrow, and the moment it's unloaded these men will escort you there. Once you're on board, you can have more freedom. Do you like Thai food?"

  Zach grunted and again pulled helplessly against the bonds around his wrists and ankles. He didn't know what Thai foo
d was, and he didn't care.

  "I hope you do. I have a winter house in Thailand; that's where you'll be staying. I'll join you there after Christmas. Maybe we'll play some baseball together, you and I. You'll like it there, once you get used to the heat."

  He studied Zach's face for a moment. "I don't figure your parents told you, did they? That would have been the proper thing to do, though I can understand their reluctance. It seems they, er…didn't want you anymore. So I bought you from them."

  Zach stared at him in defiant disbelief.

  "It's true. Something about your grandfather being dead, and so they needed to find another place for you."

  Zach's eyes went wide. Mom's exact words! How could Hugh know, unless…

  "I know it's rough for you right now, Zechariah. It was your dad's idea, apparently. You know how he's been gone every night? We've been negotiating, he and I. See, I'm embarrassingly rich, and he and your mom needed money, so we made a deal. They didn't figure you'd like it much, so I offered to have you picked up. I hope you understand."

  Zach's throat tightened. He could hardly breathe. He refused to believe it. But Hugh knew what Mom had said, word for word. She must have told him this morning after Zach left for school.

  "Hey, don't take it personally," Hugh consoled him, placing a fatherly hand on Zach's shoulder; Zach tensed at his touch. "I know it's a hard pill to swallow. But look—after a while, you'll get over it. You only knew them for, what, a few months? So no big loss, right? And me—I've known you your whole life. Not that we've spent much time together, but now we can remedy that. Tell you what—I'll see you after Christmas, and then I'll buy you something, okay? Whatever you like. Think on it—something expensive, something you've always wanted. Believe me, I can get it for you."

  He stood, regarded Zach for a moment, and then left. The Asian men followed him out and shut the door behind him. "Leave him here for the night," Zach heard Hugh say, "and get him on the ship in the morning. I'll pay you the moment he's out of American waters."

  Their footsteps faded away, abandoning Zach and his muffled cries to darkness again. Zach had thought his tears had all dried up earlier, but now they flowed freely again, and he sobbed. They didn't! he screamed at Hugh in his thoughts. Dad wanted to play catch again tonight! He said I might be a pitcher next year! Mom told me to come home tonight and clean my room!

  How, after everything they had done together, could Mom and Dad send him away? They couldn't, they didn't! But Hugh had quoted Mom perfectly. Playing catch with Dad last night, staying up late to watch the Mariners—it had all been a ploy so he wouldn't guess what they were about to do… Still, if he could escape, maybe he could go back to Mom and Dad and convince them to let him come home again, to return all that money. He would tell them he was sorry, that he would be the best kid they could dream of having, and everything would be okay again…

  He tugged at the cord with renewed vigor, but it didn't budge anymore than before. He twisted this way and that, but movement only increased his aching.

  After a while, since trying to free himself was still pointless, his mind drifted again. He wished he had claws, sharp ones that could cut the cord. He remembered, from a wonderfully open place where nothing was tied up, the mountain goat, free to go wherever it pleased, to climb on rocks and snow, to descend into grassy meadows. No one had tied up the mountain goat.

  But Zach—he hurt. He had been betrayed. He was scared. He was all alone.

  He prayed. He had never actually prayed before, not by himself. At church, yes, and at meals with Mom and Dad, but not by himself. He didn't know what to pray, and he didn't even mean to pray. He just did it. Please help. It was the simplest of prayers. Please just help.

  But as the minutes passed, no one came for him. It got colder inside the shed. His nose began to hurt from the cold, and he shivered. He shifted his position again, the little bit that he could. He dropped his chin and closed his eyes, trying to sleep. But just like his rescuers, sleep did not come.

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