"That's true Lieutenant Ben. Thank you, I appreciate it," I said, confidence gaining back in my step as I got out of my car. Looking around, there were hardly any people out here.
"Yeah, no worries. In the meantime, you stay low, try not to make any noise and find your nephew. He's out there somewhere probably scared shitless, but if he knew his aunt like I did, he's got nothing to worry about. Stay cool kid."
He hung up the phone. That was Lieutenant Ben, straight and to the point. No BS.
I felt that sixth sense thing crawling up my spine as I walked inside the drugstore. Something was terribly wrong and I knew it could only get worse from here before it got better.
Chapter Seven
Rodney woke up that evening with a throbbing headache. The swelling on his eye was still there, but he was able to see out of it a little. He tasted dried blood on his lips and tried to lick them but his tongue felt dry and thick. Grabbing the soda on the side of him, he opened it to take a sip. Feeling a slight burn from a cut inside his mouth, he placed the top back on and put it down. He opened up one of the candy bars and tore into it then stopped chewing. He didn't have an appetite for any candy. Placing the candy next to the soda, he sighed out loud. His clothes were still damp from the ice water Numbers threw on him. Rodney felt his stomach grumble, but he didn't want to eat. He remembered his mother reading Hansel and Gretel to him when he was little and he swore from that day that he wouldn't eat from strangers. Or killers.
Never once did Rodney imagine being in this situation.
What have I done? Rodney thought to himself. How can I convince Numbers and Brennan that I'm on their side? Are they really going to kill me? Will anyone ever find me? Why didn't I just obey Dad's rules? I wouldn't be in this mess I'm in had I just listened to him.
Is Jessica thinking about me? Rodney thought about Jessica, the young lady he met online who lived in Manhattan. He really liked her and wondered what she was thinking since he must've missed her call by now. Usually, Jessica would call Rodney right before he left for school. She always had to watch her siblings in the evenings and sometimes overnight while her mother worked. Rodney enjoyed chatting with her via FaceTime whenever her mother was at work. When he finally met her mother, she instantly took to him and fixed him a big plate of Spanish rice and beans, rotisserie chicken and salad. For such a skinny guy, Rodney had a big appetite.
He tried not to think about food. Anyone's cooking would do now though. He loved his Aunt Nina's food. She always tried different cuisines and he would help her in the kitchen. Thinking of Aunt Nina, he wished he had been completely honest with her. He didn't want to get her into any more trouble which was why he didn't tell her in the first place. Had he told her, she would've used her cop influence to lock up Numbers and Brennan for good.
But then others might come after him. Others who were above Numbers and Brennan in this dark underworld game of unethical hacking. Rodney had been hacking since he was twelve years old. Built his own lab even. His father didn't say much as long as it kept him out of trouble with the drugs and drinking. Rodney knew his father just wanted him on the right path and not wind up like his uncle Matt.
Rodney looked around the room. The concrete walls were dark grey with dark stains as if someone spilled something and didn't bother to clean it. The floor was also concrete and cold. The one thing Rodney noticed was that it was huge which meant the house was huge. Standing up, he looked over to his left and saw windows which had curtains. Tiptoeing to the windows, the chains dragging behind him, he carefully reached out to move the curtain. He rushed to push it back only to be met with more concrete walls. Rodney began whimpering out loud.
He looked around for another door other than the one Numbers and Brennan went back through. He didn't see one. The only other objects in the room were a long table, what looked like a large pail with dried paint all over it and a pile of blankets. Curious, Rodney began walking toward the blankets deciding he would use one to warm himself up with. Inching closer, he smelled something like a dead rat. He reached out for the blanket but quickly yanked his hand back. He stared at the blankets for a few seconds and stepped backward.
"Nah," Rodney said out loud. Swallowing hard, he walked back to his mattress, pulled the dingy blanket around him and drew his knees up to his chest, putting his head down in between them.
"I will not cry. I will be saved," Rodney said to himself.
Just when he thought he was about to drop some tears, he heard footsteps. He breathed silently, trying to listen to what they were saying as they got closer. His heart racing, he had to count to ten to calm himself down.
What if this is the time they decided to kill me? Rodney thought.
"Man I'm telling you. Put your money on England and watch who comes out on top, yeah?" Brennan said to Numbers who was in front of him heading down toward the basement.
"Yeah, you know what? I just might have to do that. You're always right at these sort of predictions," Numbers said with a low chuckle then stopped. He stood a few feet away from Rodney.
At first, he just stood there, legs slightly apart, his hands clasped together in front of him. He wore black jeans, black boots and a black turtleneck sweater underneath his black coat. His hair was pulled back in a ponytail. He glared at Rodney. Rodney slowly looked up at him. He drew his knees closer shifting his gaze over at Brennan who wore army fatigues and army green hunting boots.
"Are you going to kill me?" Rodney asked in a shaky whisper.
Brennan walked closer over to Rodney and asked him, "Where are the copies? We know you have them." His eyes illuminated under the dim lighting. Rodney felt a huge lump in his throat.
He shook his head. "Man I don't have any copies. I only have that one. That's it, I swear!" Rodney shrieked, holding his hands up in front of him, bringing his knees down.
Brennan wasted no time in striking Rodney in the face, forcing his head to swivel to the left. The chains swung with him as he tried to catch his balance from falling over onto his side.
"Liar! We know you have them!" Brennan yelled out, drawing a knife out of his side leg pocket. He jumped on Rodney and put it up against Rodney's neck.
"Hey man, easy there, easy B. Let's do this another way shall we?" Numbers said condescendingly with a tight smirk.
Brennan looked back at Numbers, not removing his hands off of Rodney's neck at first. He nodded his head, standing up and putting the knife away. Then with one swift motion, he grabbed Rodney by the throat, his feet, arms and chains dangling in the air as he tried to scream out for mercy.
"Please Brennan, I can't, I can't-" Rodney said as Brennan's thick hands wrapped tighter around his windpipe. Rodney's eyes fluttered open back and forth until he started to feel darkness envelop him in the air.
"Put him down, Brennan. Now," Numbers said flatly, standing closer to Brennan.
"What? I say we do him in now and be done with it. He'll never be found. Case closed," Brennan seethed between his teeth.
Numbers shook his head and stood in front of Brennan. "Now Brennan. Put him down. That's an order." Numbers' face went dark as he stood taller, puffing his chest out.
Brennan sighed and tossed Rodney onto the bed, his back hitting against the concrete wall with a slight crash.
"What was that for? Huh?" Brennan barked as sweat formed on his brow. He wanted to get rid of Rodney once and for all so they could resume business as usual. He gave Numbers a staredown.
Numbers ignored the glare and sighed. "Brennan. One day, soon enough, I will tell you all about why this boy is important to me. Yes, he might have other copies of the recording, but whatever he has, he's going down, too, for accessory to murder. We've already established that."
Brennan shrugged. "Okay, what is it then? What's so special about him? Hmm? Why not do this now so we can go back to getting this paper?" Brennan asked snappily.
Numbers didn't answer him. He gave Rodney a longing look with no emotion then turned on his heels to go back up the steps.<
br />
"Give him that bag of food you have. And then let's go eat ourselves. We can discuss my plan about Rodney later. Right now, I want to catch the evening news and see if his ugly face is on TV. You know, you're famous Rodney boy! You have yourself to thank for that!" Numbers said, taunting him. Numbers laughed his maniacal laugh and kept walking up the stairs before he turned back around.
Kissing his teeth, Brennan tossed the bag at Rodney's feet. Some of the contents fell out. He didn't even care if Rodney said thank you. For what? He wasn't trying to make friends.
"Brennan, let's go. Don't kill the boy. Yet. Not until I say so. Now, let's go check out those hotties, too. You need some ass," Numbers joked.
Brennan took one last look at Rodney. He waited until Numbers went through the door and bent down so Rodney could hear him.
"No one is coming to save you, boy. You're dead either way. I don't know why Numbers wants to keep you alive so bad, but whatever the reason, just know I am going to kill you," Brennan threatened.
A tear fell from Rodney's non-swollen eye. He knew he was going to die. He needed to get out of there.
Before Rodney could ask Brennan to use the bathroom, he had already gotten back up, went up the stairs and through the door. He heard the locks being clamped shut.
Once again, Rodney felt defeated. He didn't know what he was going to do, but he knew what he was not going to do.
And that was die at the hands of Numbers and Brennan.
His vision was still blinded by tears but he stared over at the blankets with the horrible smell. He wondered if it was more than a dead rat under there.
Time would soon tell.
Chapter Eight
I began my drive back home that evening exhausted, checking my phone every two milliseconds it seemed like. The snow was hitting the Mid-Atlantic area and surprisingly, the south, hard, so both Mom and James couldn't get a flight out just yet. I was on my own for now.
And still no word from Rodney.
After going to every restaurant in the college section of Oswego, I went to grab something to eat myself. What I really wanted was a drink, but I knew I couldn't. It felt almost like when I was on the job. Several of my colleagues drank when they were just hanging around, listening to the radio for calls, but I never took that risk. It would be just my luck for me to drink on the job and then get called out to the city for a special case or something. I needed all my marbles on straight no matter how upset I was feeling.
I pulled over to the side of the road by a small strip mall and just sat there. I felt so hopeless. What did I do wrong? I went over everything in my head again from the time Rodney helped with dinner to the time he went to bed and then myself. What was he doing before then? Did I even care? Was I interested?
Rodney was always on his computer. I checked it before leaving out and found nothing but a bunch of rock videos in his search bar. There were a few how-to's on hacking, but that was about it. There was a message he received on a messaging app, but it said, "From Jessica" and had a few hearts in the message. Nothing else. Everything was empty. I did find a picture of him, his mother and my brother. Jill was from Spain, like her new lover. My brother met her when he was in his twenties and so green in the love department game that he married her six months after they met. I had to give it to them, they did try for as long as they could.
Unlike me.
I was a divorced soon to hit that "time's ticking" age of thirty-five. I met Mateo, my ex, at a party in Mexico. He was in Mexico on business. I was there on vacation. He lived in New Jersey and I lived in New York. I left New York, moved in with him and balanced my life with Mateo and work. We got married a year later and would've still been married had not all that other stuff happened. I wish he was here. The Mateo I met in Mexico. That guy, the bronze-skinned, tall, handsome, caring man was the man I wanted back. But Mateo was none of those, well at least not caring. I quickly found out his evil side and how he tried to take me down with it. From that day on, I vowed to never give my heart to anyone again.
Putting my car back in drive, I sucked it up. I had bigger problems than to reminisce about Mateo and me. He had my heart at one point. Right now, Rodney and my family have it. I needed to stay focused.
The roads were clear, thanks to the snowplows arriving early to clear the way. I was glad because I wanted to get home, take Moxy for a walk and make some more calls. While I was out, I did hear from the head of the search party. They were already searching in an area by the park to dig deeper than what I had done earlier. I told them about the snow cleanup and they told me they were used to it and would do the best they could.
Halfway home, my phone started ringing. I swiped the button without looking at the screen, hoping it was good news.
"Hello?" I answered in a rush.
"Hello, is this Mrs. Nina Westbrook?" the female voice on the other end asked.
"Yes, this is she. Who is this?"
"Great, my name is Pamela Atwell, I am a reporter with Channel 56 News. I wanted to talk to you a brief moment about your nephew Rodney's disappearance?"
I paused for a beat wondering who gave this reporter my real number. The only person I could think of was Bly. I knew it had to be him because I had left a Google Voice number on the flyers with Rodney's pic I was distributing.
Turning left to go onto the main road, I told her to go ahead.
"Yes, from what we understand, there's a possibility that you staged Rodney's disappearance due to your ongoing investigation with the Internal Affairs department in Manhattan. Is this correct? Do you know where Rodney is?"
"What? What the hell are you talking about? Staged my own nephew's disappearance? Why on earth would I do that? No that 's not correct and no you tell me where he is since you're so smart!" I said angrily.
"Well, we ran a news segment with the victims' family members stating that you intentionally shot their loved ones, leaving one crippled and one paralyzed. They, too, think you planned your nephew's disappearance to make it appear like he is missing, you magically find him and wa-la! You're a hero again. Is this correct?"
"Bit-I started," almost cursing her callous behind off. Instead, I hung up on her. I dialed Bly's number, but again no answer. I left him a message and yes I did curse his ass out. I called his sheriff, but he was on another call so I left him a message for him to call me immediately explaining my urgency.
I was fuming. The nerve of this smug reporter to call me and accuse me of something that made no sense at all. Like seriously? Why would I stage Rodney's disappearance? I was going crazy out of my mind trying to find him! I tried not to speed off onto the highway. It was hard not to with the way I was feeling right now.
Ten minutes later, I turned onto my driveway which was normally empty. This time, it had several cars belonging to people I did not know. They had the nerve to drive up in the snow. I was in a rage. Parking on the snow-covered grass, I jumped out of my car and marched through them having to endure them calling after me. There were about six or seven cars. One guy wouldn't move out of my way.
"Get out of the way, you're on private property!" I barked, breathing heavy.
"Ma'am, we just wanted to ask if you really staged your nephew's disappearance. This is not a good look for the citizens of Oswego, where we have a clean record of low crime and -" he cut off.
I cut him off actually. "No. Low crime and one missing teenage boy." I turned to face all of the reporters who were shoving microphones in my face. I shouldn't have said anything without consulting Lieutenant Ben or my attorney, but I didn't have time for that. I was truly on my own and this needed to be handled.
"Listen, people. My name is Nina Westbrook. I am an NYPD detective for the city of New York. I am on administrative leave, pending an investigation for a mistake I made with shooting two innocent people who were in the way of my sting operation. But that is not the point. The point is my nephew Rodney is missing. He hasn't been seen or heard from in almost twenty-four hours. We are doing everything
we can to locate him. And to wherever he might be, Aunt Nina will not give up looking for you. I know you're out there somewhere. We love you and miss you and need you to come home to us please."
The reporters stood and stared at me. Some started taking notes. The others cut their cameras off. One had the audacity to take a pic of me with their cell phone. My hair was wild looking in my face after that tirade, but that didn't matter. Tears fell down one of the male reporters' eyes. I didn't care about that either. He helped slander my name.
Turning on my heels, I went inside my house. I leaned on the back of the door, breathing in and out. My phone was ringing off the hook, both cell and house phones. Moxy was already behind the door barking like there was no tomorrow.
Only I needed tomorrow because that was when I prayed I found Rodney if I didn't find him today.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I clenched my teeth, wishing this would all go away. Just as I was about to go answer the house phone in the living room, a knock came on my door.
I turned around and looked through the glass on the side of the door, not wanting to hear from any of those reporters anymore. I shook my head no at him and yelled out.
"Go away! I've had enough of the press!" I felt an angry tear coming out of my right eye.
The man knocked again and cupped his hand around his mouth so I could hear him through the window.
"Mrs. Westbrook, I'd like to speak to you about your story. My name is Lance Steele and I'm a reporter, yes, but I want to get your story right. I believe you. I believe in you. We should talk."
Chapter Nine
I don't know what made me let him in. Could it be because he was fine as I don't know what? Tall, dark thick hair, gorgeous blue-gray eyes, about one-eighty or ninety, looked like he could be fit under his long overcoat. He was about six-three and wore jeans and a sweater underneath his coat. Hey, I'm a cop remember? I notice everything.
I Know What I Saw Page 4