by James Hunt
“I don’t understand why you’re wasting your time with this broad. You have half the damn state looking for you right now.”
“Excuse me?” the man shouted. “I’m not paying for your worldly advice, I pay you to act.”
“All right, Phil. Damn, man. I get it.”
Their conversation ceased as footsteps sounded outside. Ana remained still, so still she could hear her own breathing. Allison had buried herself in Ana’s side. Who were they talking about up there? What did any of it mean?
“Next time anyone comes down here, we have to try to make a run for it,” Ana said.
Allison looked up. “How?”
“He’s big. We can outrun him.”
Allison studied Ana’s bruised face and nervously broached the question. “Did he do that to you?”
Ana paused and nodded. “Only because I hit him on the head with a shovel.”
Ana smiled. “You did?”
“Yep. And I almost made it out, but the door was locked.”
There was a shared confidence between the two girls. They were complete strangers, but in that moment, Ana felt closer to her than any other girl she had ever known. Footsteps suddenly sounded. The same thumping boots Ana knew belonged to the bad man. To their immediate despair, they heard the basement door open. Allison squeezed Ana tightly, and began to sniffle and cry.
“Shhh,” Ana said. “Don’t be afraid.” It was hard advice to follow considering her own creeping terror. A pair of black boots came trudging down the stairs, followed by someone wearing sneakers and blue jeans. Ana tried to stand, but Allison was clinging to her. “Come on. We have to make a run for it.”
Allison shook her head, her eyes clenched shut and tears rolling down her cheeks. It was too late. The man had reached the bottom of the stairs, holding a tote bag in his hands. Any signs of Bobby were gone, replaced by the man’s reddened, leering face.
Ana looked up, making eye contact with him, against all her better instincts. For a moment he just stood there and stared, saying nothing. The top of his head was bandaged with a blood-stained cloth that ran across his graying hair, giving Ana a brief moment of satisfaction.
He walked over to the huddled girls and tossed the tote bag onto the floor. Looking at Ana, he spoke. “I took these clothes from you room, but plans have changed.”
Ana looked away, saying nothing as Allison buried her face into her chest.
“You there,” the man said, pointing to Allison. “What’s your name again?”
Allison didn’t respond beyond a few faint whimpers.
“Her name is Allison. Now what do you want?” Ana said with as much anger as she dared to muster. It was what he mother would have told her to do: show strength.
The man disregarded her insolence and squatted near them, knees cracking. “Allison,” he began in a calm tone. “I need you to change into the clothes in this bag.” He pulled out a Hello Kitty shirt and held it up. Ana noticed dirt stains all over it that weren’t there before.
“What’d you do to my clothes?” she asked.
“We have to make sure that Ana looks the part,” he responded.
“She’s not going anywhere,” Ana said, staring him down. It was a bold move, but the man wasn’t in any mood to argue. Without hesitation, he wound his hand back and smacked Ana in the face, sending a shock through her body as she cried out and fell back against the wall. Allison screamed out and started to cry, clinging more tightly to Ana. Ana freed one of her arms and felt her face, as white spots danced in front of her eyes and in the air all around her.
“You shut your mouth,” the man said. He then tossed the shirt to Allison, followed by a pair of jeans. His knees cracked again as he stood up, towering over them.
“Let’s go, Allison,” he said with his hand out.
Allison held on to Ana, looking away from the man.
“I’m not going to ask again,” he said, balling his fists.
“Do it,” Ana said softly into her ear. “Take the chance to leave while you can.”
The man nodded in agreement. “Now that, I can agree with. Listen to her, Allison.”
But Allison further attached herself to Ana, refusing to leave. The man shook his head in disappointment and sighed.
“Very well. You leave me little choice.”
He swooped down, clutching her legs by the ankles and then jerked her upward. Allison screamed as he yanked her away from Ana and dragged her across the cold, concrete floor.
“You girls have to take the fun out of everything,” he moaned. He stopped and picked Allison up, throwing her over his shoulder as she screamed and cried.
Ana stood and rushed over, hitting his legs. “Leave her alone!”
He walked away and continued up the stairs, ignoring the blows.
“Let her go!” Ana screeched at the top of her lungs.
The man stopped in the middle of the stairs and looked down at her. “I’ll deal with you later.” His boots clomped back up the stairs as he carried a flailing Allison with one arm.
Ana ran up the stairs, chasing after them as the door slammed. Allison’s faint cries from outside the room continued. Ana stared at the door trying to conceive a plan. She thought of her parents and how worried they must be about her. Her mother would want her to fight—to do everything she could to get free. At that moment, she was more than certain that if she didn’t escape soon, she was never going to make it out alive.
***
Miriam fled Homestead in Lou's Crown Victoria with heightened urgency. Allison swayed in the passenger seat, clinging to her armrest. The car was going at least twenty miles over the speed limit on the interstate, but she couldn’t have cared less. Her mind bolted in a hundred directions as the paramount task of finding Ana in time sent her emotions spinning. Of course she had to return the girl to her parents—that much was clear.
But Allison was also crucial to any chance she had in playing and winning Phillip Anderson’s game. They pulled to a darkened rest stop off the interstate where Miriam took a deep breath and tried to get her thoughts together. She had killed three men and would have to alert the authorities.
There was also Lou. She would need to bring him up to speed. She needed help. She needed every tool at her disposal. Through it all, she had overlooked one main element: Allison’s fragile condition. The girl needed to be admitted to the hospital, to make sure that she was okay. Allison was reticent about what had happened to her, and Miriam had yet to broach the subject in full. They parked next to a restroom, one of the few vacant spots in a lot filled with eighteen-wheel semi-trucks. She turned to Allison and began probing, her voice soft and gentle.
“Just bear with me for a moment, Allison. There’s a lot we have to do.” She pulled out her cell phone and handed it to the girl. “But first, I want you to call your parents and tell them that you’re okay. Then let me talk to them.”
“I don’t know her number,” Allison said with a tinge of shame. “On my phone, it’s just Mom.”
“Okay,” Miriam said. “We need to get you to a hospital and have you checked out.”
“I’m fine,” she said, almost too soon.
Miriam leaned closer to her and brushed back the girl’s hair. “That’s good to hear, but we have to make sure. We’re going to catch the man who kidnapped you, and we need to make sure that no stone is left unturned.”
“I just want to go home,” she said, looking down.
“We will,” Miriam said. “But my daughter is still out there. Ana. You talked about her. I need to get her back from the same man who took you. You can help me with that, right?”
Allison nodded with a sniffle. She rubbed her nose and looked at Miriam glazed sadness in her eyes. “She tried to help me. We were going to escape.”
“I know you were. And now we have to do everything we can to rescue her. Understand?”
Allison nodded again.
“Can you think of anyone to call? Any numbers?”
Allison lo
oked up, thinking. “I don’t know.”
Miriam masked her disappointment and moved on. “We’ll go to Miami and find a hospital from there.” She took her phone and rested it in the middle console. Her fingers traced along the GPS screen affixed to the dashboard. “What school do you go to? I’ll look for it on here.”
“Melrose Elementary,” she answered.
Miriam typed it in and a location popped up, only twenty miles away. She then did a search for hospitals in the Miami-Dade area.
“You’re doing fine, Allison,” Miriam said. “Just hang in there and we’ll find your parents.”
She backed out of the parking space, stopped and reached into her pocket. The Beretta was still warm there. She grabbed her phone and scrolled through the contacts, stopping at Lou. He wouldn’t believe her, not right away. And once he did, he’d simply admonish her for going into such a situation without backup. Either way, she needed him. The crisis had escalated beyond her control. They coasted back onto the interstate, headed for the Miami-Dade Hospital, some twenty-five miles away. She called Lou and held the phone against her ear.
Twenty- four hours, she thought to herself.
Miriam hadn’t slept in days, it seemed, and it was certain to be a long night. Did she even have a chance? Why would Phillip Anderson make it possible to find him? Little made sense, and she was quickly losing control of the situation. Lou could help get her mind right, that was if he’d answer his phone. The call went to voicemail, and Miriam left a message.
“Hey, I need you to call me back as soon as you get this message. It’s important. Thanks.”
She hung up and set her phone down wondering what he was tied up with. Palm Dale was the farthest thing from her mind. The situation there was scary—vigilante justice, in-fighting among jurisdictions, the FBI, the Andersons, and the news media.
Though things weren’t much better at her house in Sarasota either. She had hastily fled a crime scene amid hordes of news cameras crowded outside on her lawn. Then it became clear as day: Her attempts to slip away and start a new life for the past year had failed. She was back in the spotlight again. This was also evident by the number of missed calls on her phone, many from unrecognizable numbers.
They traveled north for about twenty minutes as Miriam scanned the radio for any recent developments. She found hip-hop, classic rock, and salsa stations, but no news. It was almost a relief to her. Allison had remained quiet for the most part, and the small talk they tried to engage in was limited and strained. She was tired. Probably hungry too. Miriam didn’t want to push her too much in her current state.
“Hungry?” she asked finally. “We could stop at McDonalds or something if you’d like.”
Allison stared out the window in a daze as they passed a series of gas stations and fast food restaurants on the busy highway. “Not really,” she responded.
“You’re going to eat once we get to the hospital, okay? That’s non-negotiable.”
Allison shrugged. Ahead, a few blocks down, on their right was a large, bright, four-story building complex with signs pointing every which way and palm trees symmetrically planted along every road. The hospital was in view. Miriam began to feel a little better. Allison could get the care she needed, and Miriam could possibly get answers. As they pulled into the busy patient lot, her cell phone rang with yet another number she didn’t recognize. This time, out of sheer curiosity, she answered it.
“Ms. Castillo?” an eager man’s voice asked.
“Yes?”
“This is Agent Nettles with the FBI—”
“How’d you get my number?” She was glad to hear from them but also highly skeptical.
“We’re FBI, ma’am. It isn’t very hard.”
She wanted to speak to Lou. “Where’s Detective Albini?”
Nettles paused. She could hear a dozen other side conversations around him and didn’t envy him one bit. “Uh. He should be around here somewhere. But I didn’t call to talk about him. I’m calling to get an update from you.”
“An update?” she asked, searching for parking.
“No one has seen or heard from you in hours. I’m getting calls about a crime scene in Sarasota. Your face is all over the news. Greg Anderson gets beaten and hung from a tree. And the Snatcher is still loose. Ms. Castillo, we’re in a world of shit right now.”
“I have a situation of my own here,” she responded, pulling into a space at the end of the third lane down.
“Oh yeah?” Nettles said.
“That’s right,” she said.
“Are we going to have to put an APB out on you as well?” he asked.
“Not necessary. I’m at Mercy Hospital in Miami-Dade County.”
Apparently flummoxed, Nettles didn’t immediately respond. “What are you doing there?”
“I’m with a young girl. Her name is Allison, and she just might be the key in getting to Phillip Anderson.”
Nettles was demanding and pushy. “How… what is going on? What have you gotten yourself into?”
“I need help, Agent Nettles,” she said. “I need all I can get if I ever want to see my daughter again.”
Remembrance
Miriam parked near the emergency room and then took Allison by the hand and walked through the automatic double doors. In their haste, they passed doctors, nurses, patients, and staff. She checked Allison in at the front desk, describing the matter as one of a delicate nature.
“I’ll need the number to the sheriff’s department as well, please.”
After getting Allison admitted, Miriam did her best to explain the situation to the front desk and subsequently, the doctors and nurses. A bald-headed Indian man with a thin mustache, a Dr. Aji Bhandari introduced himself as the attending physician. He was dressed in a white coat and carrying a clipboard, and jotted a few notes as he talked with Miriam and a nurse checked Allison’s vitals in a closed patient’s room. Miriam explained Allison’s condition as best she could: psychological trauma and perhaps physical abuse. Dr. Bhandari nodded but showed no reaction.
“Once the police get here, I need them to track her parents and bring them here as well.”
“Why did you not go to the police first?” he asked. “This man, you say, is still out there.”
Miriam signaled the doctor to the side and spoke softly. “She’s been through enough as it is. I need to get her in a relaxed setting, have her checked for injuries, and find out what she knows about the man who kidnapped her.”
“So you’re a cop?” he asked.
“I used to be,” she said. “This girl is part of something big that stretches far beyond this county and the next. The FBI will be here soon as well.”
Dr. Bhandari’s eyes widened. “The FBI?”
She looked at him with an earnest nod and spoke quietly as the nurse pumped the Velcro band wrapped more tightly around Allison’s skinny arm. “We’re going to need a room where we won’t be disturbed. Some place where we can check her for injuries, and let her get some rest.”
Dr. Bhandari pressed his lips together and looked around the room. He wasn’t pleased. “Maybe you’d have better luck at the police station. We’re running a hospital here, and while I respect the situation, we simply don’t have the resources to facilitate this investigation.”
“You’ve heard of the Snatcher, right?” Miriam asked, stopping him.
Dr. Bhandari thought to himself. “Yes…”
“And you may or may not have heard that there’s a manhunt for him throughout South Florida.”
Dr. Bhandari held his hands out at his sides in a gesture of futility. “I heard of him, but did not know about any manhunt.”
“This girl,” Miriam began, pointing to the side. “She escaped from wherever he was hiding. And she’s our only chance of finding him.”
“I understand that, but—”
Miriam folded her hands together. “So please… work with me here.” She held back from going into too many details involving Ana or anything else, but h
er intensity convinced Dr. Bhandari that she meant business.
“Okay,” the doctor said. “We’ll assign her a room.”
The hospital soon had its share of law enforcement as a dozen county sheriff’s department personnel convened in the lobby and some upstairs, responding quickly after Miriam placed the call for help. The crowd grew even larger when the FBI arrived on the scene via helicopter, followed by several Lee County investigators, including Lou.
Then followed Allison’s parents, Jack and Shelly Clifton, who had arrived disheveled and distraught. They had filed a police report after their daughter disappeared while playing in the yard, and looked both terrified and happy.
Allison’s room had been cleared, leaving authorities to loiter in the brightly lit hall outside, discussing their next move, while Allison sat upright in her bed on the other side of the closed door, alone with her parents. Dr. Bhandari looked overwhelmed by the assemblage of police and FBI, but attempted to stay focused and inform Miriam of Allison’s shifting condition.
“No signs of physical damage or trauma,” he continued, reading from his clipboard. “She had an acute level of dehydration, coupled with a bad level of shock.”
“So he never touched her?” Miriam asked.
Dr. Bhandari looked up with a brow raised as Detective Nettles and Lou approached from the side, listening.
“There are… no signs of physical abuse or trauma, like I said,” he continued.
Miriam thought to herself, then asked the doctor what he recommended.
“A good night’s sleep and plenty of liquids. Some food would be nice too…” he paused.
“She’s not eating?” Miriam asked. She recalled Allison turning down McDonalds—almost unheard of for a child.
Dr. Bhandari shifted impatiently as though he had a million other places to be. “Her parents are trying their best right now.”
Miriam peeked inside Allison’s room, beyond the blinds and could see Allison on her bed with a plate of food on a tray. Her mother held a fork and was trying to feed her. Her father stood over them both, brushing back her hair with his hand. She reluctantly opened her mouth and took a bite.