Up Close And Gone

by Jennie Spallone

  Shana’s jaw dropped.

  David slowly rose to his feet. “My wife and I have no sons.”

  The young man pulled a gun on him. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

  David put his hands up. “Who are you?”

  Aamer fumbled for his cell phone but the young man kicked it to the floor. “Not a great time to make a phone call.”

  Shana gazed at the tall young man standing before her, then turned to her husband. “Remember I told you I was raped at a college fraternity party?”

  “News like that is kind of hard to forget,” David said.

  “What?” came a high-pitched scream from just inside the doorway.

  Shana’s heart pounded like a pestle as Becca rushed to her bedside.

  Her daughter enfolded her in her arms. “Is it true?”

  Shana trembled as she laid her head against her daughter’s breast. “Don’t hate me.”

  “You should hate her,” said the young man with the gun. “Your whole life has been a lie.”

  Her daughter turned to the young man with the gun. “Who are you? What are you doing in my mother’s hospital room?”

  The young man bowed low, the gun barrel following his movement. “I am your mother’s kidnapper.”

  Becca’s eyes followed the movement. “The detective said my mother’s kidnapper wore alligator high-tops.”

  He raised one foot. “Yep, that’s me.”

  “Asshole!” David raised his cane at him.

  The young man knocked it from his hand with his gun. “Watch your language, old man.”

  Shana sensed her son’s encroaching mood change. She sent her husband a stern glance, then pinched Becca on her arm to warn her off further dialogue. Her daughter sloughed off her hand. “Why did you kidnap my mother and take her hostage?”

  Before her son could open his mouth to speak, Shana interceded. “He planned to avenge my rape.”

  “That makes no sense. You don’t even know her!”

  The young man wiggled the gun at Shana. “You wanna tell her, or should I?”

  Shana raised her arms. “Don’t!”

  “Don’t kill you or don’t tell Becca who I am?”

  Becca’s eyes widened. “I know who you are. You’re the one who’s been skulking through my sister’s Facebook posts. That’s how you knew about our family trip to New York, about the time and location of our family brunch.”

  Shana’s heart dropped as Daniel retrained his gun on her daughter. “Enough, Becca!”

  But her daughter was stubborn. She wouldn’t back down; it was in her DNA. “You expect my father and I to believe you booked a flight from Chicago to avenge the rape of a woman you’ve never met?”

  Earlier, Shana had phoned the detective to share her theory about her captor’s real name and profession. She should be there any minute. God-willing, they’d still be alive by the time she showed up.

  “While we’re at it, is your name really Rod Stewart?” Becca persisted.

  She aches for truth over safety, like me, Shana silently lamented.

  A tall, lean, bespectacled man calmly entered the room. “Rod Stewart was my favorite singer. Our family used to listen to his songs.”

  The young man’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Dad! What are you doing here?”

  The puzzle pieces were beginning to fall in place, thought Shana.

  “You said you were going to find your foster parents and ask them why they abused you, but I knew who you were really going to see. Give me the gun, son.”

  Rod pointed the gun at the floor instead.

  “When I first saw your police sketch on the news,” said Alan, “I told myself you had a double and went about my business. But I had a bad feeling in my gut, so I called your workplace and asked to speak to you.”

  “You only phoned me at DCFS once, when mom died.”

  Alan picked at his face. “That’s a story we need to revisit over a beer sometime.”

  “You don’t drink beer!”

  “You told them you were taking a two-week vacation. I let myself into your apartment and checked your desk. Your laptop was gone, but I did find a rental receipt for an Air B&B that was For Sale, along with a map of Central Park.”

  “So you didn’t kill your grandmother,” guessed Shana. “The owner rented you her house until the new owners took possession!”

  “I’ve been known to substitute fiction for truth,” the young man apologized. “It’s unlikely the police would suspect an empty house with a For Sale sign to be anything other than that. I tracked that house on Google Satellite after Rachel posted that your—our—family was visiting New York City and lunching at the Boat House restaurant.”

  “Our? What do you mean ‘our’?” asked Becca.

  Shana squeezed her eyes, waiting for the worst.

  Instead Alan spoke. “I gotta hand it to you, son, the house was in a perfect location, twelve minutes north of park grounds.”

  “I know, right? I only planned to talk to my birth mother, not kill her. But she thinks I’m a bad guy.”

  “You are a bad guy,” Shana shouted. “You kidnapped me from the park, you shackled me to a radiator, you starved me, forced me to sit in my own shit.”

  “Language!” Alan and the young man said simultaneously.

  Becca’s voice rang throughout the room. “OMG! My mom is your birth mother!”

  “Darling, this all occurred decades ago,” Shana called after her daughter, but she’d already buried her head in her father’s shoulder.

  Shana glanced at David. The hurt expression on his face made her feel sick to her stomach. Had she been shielding her husband from the truth all these years for his benefit, or had she been afraid of the repercussions her truth might bring, she wondered.

  “Don’t say another word, son, until I get you a lawyer,” said Alan.

  What a mess she had made of their lives, keeping all these truths locked in her memory. Now it was all out, and, damn it, she was glad. “You threatened to cut me up into beef soup chunks.”

  Rod once again aimed the gun at Shana. “She’s an evil one, this mother of ours. I wanted to make her pay for giving me up at birth, for the fucked-up life that followed.” He banged his forehead with the gun. “Language.”

  “I gave you to a loving couple who longed for a baby. You told me yourself that your first adoptive father only turned you in to DCFS because your adoptive mom died of cancer.”

  “Yeah? What about the foster care that followed? What about being shackled to the living room radiator while they went out to shovel the snow? Do you have any idea how hot a radiator gets when you’re sitting inches away?”

  Shana caught her breath. Poor—the letters of her son’s real first name played roulette in her brain. She castigated herself for her thoughts still being jumbled.

  “What was even more fun was being locked in a closet for sucking my thumb–I was a traumatized four-year-old forced to sit in my own bodily waste while they collected a monthly check.”

  But for the closet, her son had revisited his own horrors on her, thought Shana.

  Alan stepped between her and their son. “Put down the gun, son,” he said, his voice firm. “Your birth mother and I both know you didn’t mean to hurt her; things just got out of hand.”

  “Out of hand?” Shana snarled.

  “Does she know?” Alan asked his son.

  The young man glanced at her. “If she does, I didn’t tell her.”

  “Tell me what?” she demanded.

  “This big guy is bi-polar,” said Alan.

  The memory hit her like a bowling ball. “I know, he told me.”

  “He also has anxiety disorder from his foster home abuse. That anxiety turned into full-blown panic attacks as a teenager when he was a counselor at wilderness camp, but meds helped
reduce his symptoms.”

  Now she remembered. “He’s been giving himself SSRI shots, prescription drugs he acquired illegally,” she said. “And as a camp counselor, he must have learned basic healing procedures, which is why he was so eager to administer aid.”

  Shana’s husband shrugged. “His psychological disorders are no excuse for his criminal actions.”

  “That remains to be seen,” said Alan.

  Becca inched toward her brother. “I’m sorry you had to experience this abuse, but our mom couldn’t have foreseen that would happen. She did the best she could.”

  Shana watched as if in slow motion her son turn the gun on her daughter. “But you and your family sure didn’t.”

  Becca retreated a step. “What are you saying?”

  “You guys didn’t even attempt to rescue Mom. I was prepared to die in a shoot-out, but no police came pounding on the door of the house. No hostage negotiation took place. You and your family failed the test.”

  Hoping to block her son from her daughter, Shana moved almost imperceptibly between them. “It doesn’t matter who did what when, son. Put the gun down and let’s start anew.”

  He’d noticed her movement and retrained the gun on her. “You want to save Becca and hang me out to dry.”

  David spoke up, his voice tense. “The only one who’s hanging you out to dry is you, with your self-pitying attitude; an attitude you share with your mother.”

  “Don’t bait him,” Shana whispered.

  “You’re my wife, not my mother. It’s time you start acting that way.”

  He was standing up to her, in front of a mad man, to boot, thought Shana.

  “You don’t even know me, know what I’m capable of, old man.”

  “You don’t know me, either,” said David. “If you did, you’d know the girls and I were working with the police 24/7 to rescue my wife. Her picture, along with one of you with your face hidden by an umbrella, was plastered all over the news channels, as well as social media.”

  “But you were too clever,” interjected Aamer.

  Rod turned the gun on him. “Shut up!”

  “You’d also know that if I have anything to do with it, we’re all walking out of here alive, including you and Aamer,” said David.

  “If anybody walks out of here alive, that’s my decision. I know that won’t include me.”

  Slow and steady, Shana told herself. “It doesn’t have to end this way, son. Put the gun down. I promise I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

  He smirked. “It’s a little late to switch gears now, don’t you think?”

  Shana’s eyes widened. She prayed the detective would be here any minute. Armed.

  “Why are you pointing a gun at our mother if you don’t want to hurt her?” Becca blurted.

  He focused the gun on Becca. “Mommy could have aborted me, but she let me live. I owe her that. But she still needs to pay for abandoning me. She showered her love on you and your sister; love that was rightfully mine. It’s only fair you or Rachel should die in her stead.”

  “Rod, don’t do anything crazy,” Shana pleaded.

  “Why are you acting clueless? You knew my real name two days ago.”

  Suddenly the last missing marble, her son’s real name, parachuted into Shana’s brain. “Daniel!”

  The young man’s demeanor turned sunny at the revelation. “Wow! I was beginning to feel like Rumplestiltskin!”

  “Who’s Daniel?”

  They all turned to find Zander about to wheel Rachel across the threshold.

  “He’s our brother,” said Becca.

  Daniel pointed his gun at them. “Nice to finally meet you.”

  Rachel took one look at the gun and screamed Zander whisked Rachel back out into the hallway.

  Shana made a move to follow, but Daniel waved the gun in her face. “This could have been my family if you hadn’t abandoned me.”

  David hobbled to his feet. “Don’t shoot my wife. Take me instead!”

  Daniel guffawed. “You’d sacrifice your life for hers, knowing she didn’t trust you enough to share her truth?”

  Shana’s teeth chattered, but she spoke through her fear. “David, I didn’t tell you about my rape and pregnancy because I didn’t want to burden our new relationship with my baggage.”

  “Sometimes it is the best way,” said Aamer.

  Daniel pushed him to the floor. “Nobody asked your opinion.”

  Aamer rubbed his lower back. “Sorry I interrupt.”

  “My wife’s life is what’s important to me,” said David. “I don’t care two bits about her past!”

  If only that were true, thought Shana.

  Her son trained his gun on her husband. “So I’m just a mistake to delete, old man?”

  “Dad didn’t say you’re a mistake,” Becca said boldly.

  “He’s right.” Daniel pivoted toward Shana. “You’re the mistake.”

  Shana froze.

  Alan inched his way toward Daniel. “You want to take revenge on your birth mother for subjecting you to foster care abuse, but it’s not her fault; it’s nobody’s fault.”

  Daniel brandished the gun high over Alan’s head, still trained on Shana. “That’s what you flew here from Chicago to tell me, Dad?”

  “I flew here to save your life, Daniel. I’ve watched three of my children die; I will not allow you to be Number Four.”

  Daniel’s body trembled. “So Mom wasn’t hallucinating when she talked about dead babies.”

  Shana watched Alan extend his hand toward the gun. “Mom wanted to tell you when you were in middle school. But your behavior was so unpredictable in those years, I worried you’d go off the deep end. I convinced her to wait until you were older and could handle the news…”

  Daniel yanked the gun from his father’s reach. “…but that day never came, did it?”

  Alan looked as forlorn as she felt, thought Shana.

  “Mom was never okay with you not knowing the truth. I made a mistake, forgive me.”

  “Did you kill my siblings, liked you killed Mom?”

  Alan looked like he’d been punched in the gut. “Two of your brothers died in utero. Justin was the third baby. His first day on earth, Justin’s organs had already begun to shut down. He suffered for eight days. The doctor said it would be a couple of hours or days, at most. Your mom and I couldn’t bear to see him suffer. I pulled his breathing tube and let him die in peace.”

  Daniel pounded his forehead with the gun. “And here I thought I was an only child.”

  “You were an only child, at least to us, Daniel,” said Alan.

  “An only child reared in lies and deceit, ignorant that I had two sisters and three brothers.”

  Becca spoke up. “It’s not all about you. Our mother blindsided me and Rachel, too.”

  Shana called out to Becca. “Darling, it happened so many years ago. I wanted to spare you and your sister from knowing you had a brother conceived during rape.”

  Daniel raised the gun to his right temple. “I am my birth mother’s garbage. My foster care parents’ monthly paycheck. My two adoptive families’ hope. A commodity. That’s all I am. That’s all I’ve ever been.”

  Shana couldn’t let Daniel kill another human being. She certainly couldn’t allow him to kill himself. She opened her mouth to speak, but Becca beat her to it. “Go ahead, Dude. If you’re going to kill yourself, get it over with.”

  “What are you doing?” David hissed at their daughter.

  Becca paid him no heed. “Woe with you, woe with you.”

  Daniel glanced at her out the corner of his eye.

  “All these people are vying over your love, your forgiveness. Offering you the family you were denied. But you’re so wrapped up in the injustices done you, you can’t see the light.”

 
Shana held her hand to her heart; her daughter was braver than all of them put together. “Daniel, if you kill any of us, you go to prison for the rest of your life. Kill yourself, you pull the shade on all possibilities for a new future.”

  “Even if you’re right, it makes no difference. I’ll go to prison for killing your rapist.”

  A new voice echoed through the room. “Put your gun down on the floor and kick it across the room.”

  They all turned to see a plain clothes detective raise her badge with one hand as she trained her gun on Daniel with the other.

  Daniel smirked at the detective as he kicked the gun across the floor. “Sure, no problem.”

  Her eyes still trained on Daniel, Detective Hernandez bent for the gun. The very same instant Daniel rammed his body into hers, throwing her off balance.

  Aamer pulled a pocketknife and was approaching from behind.

  Shana placed herself between Aamer and her son. “No!”

  Daniel turned to see her arms raised to protect him. Tears fell from his cheeks.

  Becca grabbed the gun from the floor and pointed it at her brother.

  He pivoted to look at her, a tiny smile on his lips. “Are you your brother’s keeper?”

  Aamer placed the knife at Daniel’s ribs. “Do not move!”

  Daniel back-slapped the knife away, just as Alan began pounding the burly man with his fists. “My son’s already put down his gun. Leave him alone.”

  Taking advantage of the moment, David threw a Styrofoam glass of water at Daniel’s feet, and he slid onto his backside.

  “Enough!” shouted Shana. “I refuse to have anybody’s blood on my conscience!”

  Detective Hernandez pushed through the family, leaned down, and cuffed Daniel’s hands. “You are under arrest for assaulting a police officer, and for holding a gun on innocent bystanders.”

  “What about for killing his birth father?” shouted Shana.

  “Lucky for him, Daniel does not excel at slicing body parts.”

  “Body parts?” cried Alan.

  “His birth father is recuperating from shoulder surgery at a hospital less than an hour from here.”

  “He refused to admit I was his son,” cried Daniel.