by T. M. Smith
The bodies of Emily and Sean Langford were on their bedroom floor, a picture of them with their son on the ground beside her, glass broken. Frank assumed it’d been knocked off the bedside table, probably during a struggle. What caught his attention wasn’t the framed image or Emily’s hazel eyes, staring right through him, empty and lifeless. Frank’s eyes were drawn to the large pool of blood underneath her husband, Sean. The man lay slumped on his side, throat cut, dried blood caked on his neck and chin.
“Any sign of the kid?” he asked Caleb.
“Not yet, but the attic still needs to be searched,” his partner told him.
The crime scene techs arrived and ushered them out of the bedroom and then the ME, Roman Ward, arrived to examine the bodies. Frank and Roman had dated briefly when he was still in college and remained friends. Knowing the best examiner was there to try and determine what had happened to the young couple was of little consolation at the moment. There was still the matter of the missing boy.
Dismissed until they returned to the precinct to write up reports, Frank and Caleb volunteered to search the attic. After scouring every last square inch of the dark, dank room, Frank was climbing back down into the house when he turned and just happened to catch a sliver of light on the floor right next to the top of the fireplace tunnel to the roof. Scurrying back into the attic, Frank crawled over to the light on his hands and knees. It was in a corner where the ceiling went down at a sharp angle, prohibiting him from standing.
Taking a closer look behind a shelf that held several boxes and a sewing machine, Frank could see the faint outline of a door. “Caleb, get back up here and help me move this shelf!” he shouted over his shoulder. Once the shelf was moved and he was able to open the door, Frank was relieved to see the little boy from the pictures, Taylor. He was obviously terrified, eyes wide as he tried to crawl through the wall behind him.
“Hey there.…It’s okay, I won’t hurt you.” Frank spoke softly, careful not to move or reach for the kid and possibly freak him out.
“Where’s Mom?” the boy asked, tears filling his eyes.
Frank’s heart broke for him; he’d lost everything. At least when Frank’s mom died, he still had his father and their home. But this scared little boy had no idea of the harsh reality that was now his life. The boy, Taylor, frowned and shook his head furiously, turning sideways and pulling his body farther away from Frank.
Poor thing, he was probably terrified. They didn’t yet know why or how he’d wound up hidden here, or why his parents were downstairs lying in a pool of their own blood. But there was no sense in making the boy any more frightened. So Frank scooted back a smidge and sat down, crossing his legs and loosening his posture. “Okay, it’s okay. I’ll just sit here and wait until you’re ready to come out.”
Chapter Two
Taylor
Summer 2006
“Don’t go far, Taylor, dinner will be ready soon,” Valerie Stone called out to him as he bolted out the back door and ran toward the beach.
“Yeah, yeah,” he responded. As soon as his feet hit the sand, he kicked his flip-flops off while pulling his T-shirt over his head, tossing it on the ground beside his shoes. The sun was setting and as he sprinted toward the water, his feet not burning like they would have a few hours earlier. Once he was knee-deep, Taylor dove under and swam out as far as he could before rising to the surface for air.
Taylor floated as the gentle waves slowly rocked him side to side, watching as the sun fell lower on the horizon, in absolute awe at how close it seemed to be to him. Almost in reach, but always just a little farther away. The beacon shone brightly on the lighthouse in the distance, reminding Taylor that Frank and Caleb had promised to take him to that side of the island to tour the lighthouse the following day.
Their trip to Galveston Island back in Texas a couple of months before had been the highlight of Taylor’s young life. Frank had accompanied them, which made it so much more fun for Taylor. They’d gone water skiing and snorkeling, things he knew his foster parents wouldn’t necessarily want to do. Maybe that was why they’d asked Frank to go with them, so Taylor would have somebody to do stuff with. Valerie and Charles Stone weren’t boring; they did things with Taylor all the time—took him places and bought what he needed to play baseball. But they weren’t as agreeable with some of the activities he and Frank enjoyed doing.
After that, Frank invited Taylor and the Stones to come and spend a couple of weeks at his family home on the beach, and Taylor got to ride in a plane for the first time. The nice lady that showed him what to do if the plane crashed brought him peanuts, pretzels, and three Sprites. But then he had to go pee a lot and he hated the bathroom on the plane—it was tiny and it smelled funny, and if the plane bounced, he missed. It was just really gross and it creeped him out. So Taylor decided that when they flew back to Texas the following week, he wasn’t going to drink anything on the plane.
A seagull flew overhead, cawing, and Taylor looked up, covering his eyes to block the last few rays of sun. This place was amazing—the best place he could ever remember being and he never wanted to leave.
“Hey, Kid, Val sent me to get you; dinner’s ready.” Taylor turned when he heard Frank call out to him. He always had the most fun when he was with Frank, but did he always have to call him kid? Taylor didn’t care for the nickname.
Swimming to shore, he begrudgingly snatched the towel Frank held out for him. “Hey, what do we say?” Frank placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping Taylor from moving farther away.
“Thanks,” he muttered, rolling his eyes, his arm attempting to wriggle free of Frank’s hold.
“Wait, what’s wrong, Taylor?” Frank knelt down in front of him, concern evident in both his eyes and tone of voice.
“I don’t like being called kid.”
Frank chuckled. “What? Since when?”
Taylor stomped his foot, certain that would make his point firmer. “Since now!”
“Okay, okay.” Frank stood, hands in the air. “No more kid.”
Taylor wrapped the towel around his shoulders, smiling and nodding; he could never stay mad at Frank. He was the best friend Taylor ever had.
After dinner, Taylor took the trash out and was heading back into the house when he saw Frank sitting outside alone. There were two chairs and a small table made of wicker that sat in the backyard of the cottage, and he’d seen Frank sitting by himself at night a couple of times since they’d arrived. Taylor hesitated, wanting to walk over and sit down with Frank, but uncertain if it would be okay. Sometimes his foster dad would sit on the swing in their backyard at home and Taylor wasn’t supposed to bother him. “Charles just likes to be alone every now and then; that’s all, sweetie,” Valerie had told him when Taylor asked if he could go play in the backyard and was told, “Not right now.”
“You can come sit, Kid…sorry, Taylor.” Frank called him over, chuckling. “I won’t bite.”
They sat there quietly for the longest time and while Taylor normally didn’t much care for sitting around doing nothing, he realized he was actually enjoying the quiet time. He thought about his mom and dad, remembering swimming on a beach somewhere with them, though he couldn’t remember names or places. His mom, Emily, had packed a bag with towels, sun tan lotion, and a blanket that she spread out on the sand when they got to the beach. His dad, Sean, had carried a cooler with water, sodas, and snacks in one hand, a Nerf football in the other.
That was the last good day he could really grasp on to, remember, and keep fresh in his mind, and that made him sad. Looking down at his hands, Taylor wondered if they looked more like his mom’s or his dad’s. Throwing the football that day at the beach, he could remember clearly how large his father’s hands were. Sean Langford was a big man, as big as Caleb, and when he held that ball, drawing back to throw it, his hand was almost completely wrapped around the width of the foam toy. His mom was pretty tall too. At least, he thought she was.
Behind his eyes, in the crevices of h
is mind, Taylor saw an image of his parents that day at the beach: his mom leaning into his dad, head slightly upturned as they kissed briefly before turning on Taylor and chasing him into the water, the three of them laughing and splashing each other.
“Hey, Taylor, you okay over there?” Frank asked.
“Huh?” He shook his head, looking over at Frank. “Yeah, just, tired I guess.”
“It’s okay to think about them, to remember them. I think about my mom all the time, especially when I’m here at the beach.” Frank’s mouth lifted like he was supposed to be smiling, but it looked funny.
“Really?” Taylor wasn’t sure about that.
“Of course.” Frank sat up straight, tucking one leg underneath him and pointing to the garden beside them. “You see the rosebush over there?” Taylor turned his head slightly, his eyes catching on the bright blooms. He nodded.
“My dad and I planted it the day after my mom’s funeral. That bush wasn’t much bigger than this table here, but it grew and flourished and now it takes up half the backyard.”
Taylor was amazed at what Frank was saying. “Wow, that’s so cool. My mom liked roses too, the red ones, though. Dad used to bring them home for her all the time.”
“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it? You have to move past the pain, Taylor. That way, you can remember all the fun times you had with them. If you only think about the bad stuff, it can make the good stuff fuzzy, not let you see those memories clearly. Do you understand what I’m saying?” Frank asked.
Taylor nodded. Wow, all those doctors Valerie and Charles had taken him to were so stupid. Neither of them spoke again for a while and Taylor didn’t mind it, not at all. Taking another peek at the garden, he realized he didn’t know what Valerie’s favorite flowers were. “Frank, do you know what Valerie’s favorite flower is?”
Frank shook his head. “Sorry buddy, I don’t. But you can ask her.”
Yeah, he’d do that as soon as he went inside to get ready for bed. “Frank, do you think my mom and dad up in heaven would be mad if I called Valerie and Charles Mom and Dad?”
Frank cocked his head, looking at Taylor for a minute before he answered him. “Do you think your parents would have liked Valerie and Charles? That they would appreciate everything the Stones have done for you in their absence?”
Without hesitation, Taylor nodded. “Well, there’s your answer.” Frank smiled, patting Taylor on the knee before he stood. “Come on Kid, let’s get inside before Val sends out a search party.”
Rolling his eyes, Taylor followed Frank into the house. Valerie was coming down the back stairs as they entered the kitchen. “I was just coming to find you. Shower, teeth and bed, in that order.” She mussed Taylor’s hair as he passed her.
He stopped at the top of the stairs, almost forgetting to ask about the flowers. “Valerie, what’s your favorite flower?”
His foster mom looked from him to Frank, then back at him. “Stargazer lilies, why do you ask?”
Taylor shrugged. “No reason, just curious.”
Chapter Three
Frank
Summer 2007
Thankfully it was Frank, not Val or Charlie, that caught Taylor playing tonsil hockey with the youngster from next door. Was it Billy? No, Bobby. Buddy maybe? Who the fuck cared? Frank only knew he had to put some distance between them before everyone else got down to the boathouse and flipped shit. Clearing his throat, Frank tried so very hard not to laugh when Barry shrieked and jumped roughly six feet away from Taylor. Speaking of six feet, damn, when did the kid get so tall? Frank pondered that thought while staring at a contrite teenager, arms folded over his chest.
“I’ll catch you later, Billy.” Taylor dismissed his tryst.
Billy, yes, I was right the first time, Frank thought, shaking his head as he walked past Taylor. “Your parents are right behind me.”
It wouldn’t be the last time Frank caught the two of them together over the duration of their summer at Martha’s Vineyard. The birds and the bees and safe sex had already been covered, at length, over dinner the summer before when Taylor informed them he liked boys, not girls. His preference was beside the point when considered in the bigger picture. The boy needed to know how to be safe and careful regardless of which sex flipped his switch as far as Frank was concerned. Still, he made Caleb purchase the condoms and packets of lube and give them to Taylor.
That way, he could look Val in the eyes and honestly say, “I didn’t do it. Caleb did.” Then she could beat the big, dumb, schmuck with a spatula, not Frank.
“He’s fifteen, Frankie, how do you even know if he’s having sex yet?” Caleb bitched and moaned as they searched out the condom aisle at CVS.
“What were you doing at fifteen, Caleb?” Frank asked.
“Point taken,” his partner agreed.
When they finally found the contraceptive aisle, it was a study in ignorance, watching Caleb pick through the dozens of choices. “Lubricated, thin, extra-large—oh God, I did not need that mental picture in my head—ribbed for her pleasure.” Caleb looked over at him, and with all seriousness said, “Now that’s just racist. What if gay guys want a little ribbing for their pleasure?”
Frank choked on his gum. “Oh wow, you are a special kind of stupid. That would be sexist, not racist, dumbass.”
“Whatever.” Caleb waved Frank off dismissively. Much like Frank was waving the blond brat from next door off right that second. Little Billy sprinted around the back of the boathouse just as Justine came walking down the slip, winking at her husband, the Stones on her heels.
“Chop-chop, people, we’ve got some sailing to do!” Frank’s dad called out from the helm. Taylor was already on the boat with Hubert, starting the rigging that needed to be done before they could begin their trip to the other side of the island.
Charles and Taylor had come down to the slip the previous day to check the shrouds, turnbuckles, halyards, sheaves, blocks, and sheets to see if anything needed replacing or taping before their trip. It was a task normally completed by Frank and his father. But this year, they’d decided to give the job to Taylor and his foster dad in an effort to help Charles fortify a stronger bond with Taylor. When Charlie hopped into the boat and quickly moved over to assist Taylor with the turnbuckles, Frank could see the sheer happiness in the young man’s eyes and he was hit with a swell of emotions. Memories of being the same age as Taylor and helping his dad run through a similar checklist before they set sail assaulted his senses. It was an experience that money couldn’t buy, a permanent impression painted on a blank canvas that would be forever imprinted in Taylor’s mind.
Val came over to stand beside him, her smile radiant as she watched the two most important people in her life. “You sure you don’t want to join us?” Frank asked. Valerie and Justine had told the men over breakfast that they were going to take a pass and head into town to restock the kitchen and do a little shopping.
“I think it will be good for Taylor to have some time with just the guys.” Valerie waved to her husband and son, telling them to have a good time and be safe.
“Yeah, and us gals need some girl time,” Justine added.
“Don’t forget libations, honey bunch,” Caleb called out, his wife rolling her eyes before turning on her heel and walking back toward the house, Val right beside her.
Untying the dock lines, Frank climbed onto the Catalina 380, his dad’s favorite toy, and eyed the progress Taylor and Charles were making as he walked past them. He was happy to see that Charles was allowing Taylor to work through the steps, only answering questions and offering assistance when needed. “Hey, Pops, as soon as Taylor and Charlie finish, we’re untied and ready to sail.”
“All right, I’ll be up in five,” his dad responded. Hubert was below deck, likely in the kitchen area starting a pot of coffee and verifying that Caleb had actually stocked the small fridge and cabinets with something other than beer, whiskey, and potato chips. Frank still hadn’t discerned how in the hell Caleb could dri
nk like a fish and eat nothing but crap unless his wife was around to feed him, and still maintain his toned physique.
“Yo, Frankie!” Speak of the devil. Caleb was stretched out along the bow of the boat, having already shed all clothing aside from his swim trunks, a pair of aviators shielding his eyes from the sun, and a beer in his hand. “Genius, by the way, letting the kid and Charlie get the boat ready. Come on up here and have a beer with your bestie.” He waved Frank over, reaching into the cooler and pulling out another bottle of IPA.
Frank snorted, taking the offered beer and swatting Caleb’s feet out of the way so he could sit down. “There was no ulterior motive, dumbass. It’s a bonding experience for them.” Leaning to one side, Frank could see Taylor adjusting the boom and the smile that lit up his face was priceless. Had it only been two years since that fateful night? God, it seemed like so much longer. Taylor had gone through a lot the past two years and come out the other side, stronger. The kid, no…the young man was a fighter, a survivor.
His thoughts were interrupted when his dad came up the few steps from the galley below and hollered, “Thar she blows!” and everyone cracked up.
“Taylor, com’ere.” Hubert waved him over. “Good lord, boy, when in the hell did you grow taller than me?” The eldest of their group held his hand up above Taylor’s head for added emphasis. “Let’s learn you how to steer the boat then, shall we?”
“Really?” Taylor bounced on the balls of his feet, eyes darting to Charles, seeking approval. When his dad nodded, Taylor seemed to float on air as he followed Hubert to the wheel.
Charles shook his head, grin wide as he watched Taylor listening intently to every word Hubert uttered. Promptly deciding the two of them were fine on their own, Charlie walked over to the bow and sat right at the point of the boat, in between Caleb and Frank, muttering thanks when Caleb pushed a cold beer into his hand. The three of them leaned back and soaked in the sun while Taylor chauffeured them around Nantucket Sound.