by Peggy Slocum
“Did you hear about a kidnapping last Thursday?” Beth asks, staring out the pickup’s window at the gray overcast moving in from the southwest. More snow.
“No … someone was taken? Where?”
“From the house you picked us up at.”
“Odd, something as serious as that usually hits the prayer chain by now. Are you sure?”
“According to Mrs. Freedman, yes. She’s the grandmother.”
“Boy, that name sounds familiar. What’s the girl’s name?”
“Vicky … her mother is missing as well.”
“I’ll ask around and see what I can come up with,” Sarah says. “By the way, thanks for the help today. It was great having you and Elliot along.”
“No, thank you. Something about Mrs. Freedman doesn’t rest well with me. I would’ve walked back to Boston before getting into her car.” Beth considers Sarah for a moment. “It felt great helping all those people today. No wonder you are always so happy.”
“Is that what you think? I always have a smile? You know me better than anyone else.” Sarah reaches for Beth’s hand, as if to comfort her. “After your parents died and you came to live with us, you became my closest friend. Remember all the trouble we used to get into?”
“Yeah.” Beth smiles.
“Why did I change, Beth? Would I have helped people like this before I changed? It’s OK—be honest—how was I?”
“I don’t know. You weren’t any different than the rest of us,” Beth answers. “No, I guess not. You felt that people who didn’t have anything brought it on themselves. If they wanted something, they should work for it. They didn’t deserve a handout.” When did she change? “Yeah, I think I remember—you switched majors. You would’ve made an excellent lawyer. I’m still amazed your parents supported you.”
“Do you really think that change happened by itself?”
“I’ll be honest. I thought you lost it,” Beth says with sincerity.
“Well, yeah, you’re kinda right. I did lose it. That’s the crazy thing. I had to lose it to gain everything.” Sarah studies Beth, disappointed with her friend’s apparent lack of understanding. “OK, Beth.” She pauses to collect her thoughts. “God talks to each of us in different ways … through the Bible, other people. For me, it was a dream.”
Beth watches Sarah’s countenance glow.
“I had this dream and there was a mighty King who was giving everyone a job. He asked each person, ‘What are your talents?’ One said, ‘carpenter,’ another ‘tent-maker.’ Others shouted, ‘tax collector,’ ‘doctor,’ or ‘lawyer.’ Then it was my turn. He said to me, ‘What do you want to do?’ And I said proudly, ‘I want to help people.’ ”
With tears in his eyes, the King asked, ‘Will you help my people?’ Suddenly I was surrounded by hundreds of people. They were poor, lonely, and sad. They had no one. They needed someone. They needed … God. It dawned on me who the King was. I yearned to see the King again, but he was gone. The world says ‘Give a man a fish and he will eat for a day. Teach a man how to fish and he will eat for a lifetime.’ Jesus says, ‘Feed my sheep.’ ”
Beth is motionless for a moment. Inside, a confusing rush of emotions start to well up from the pit of her stomach. Feeling out of control is never an option for Beth. Instinctively, her mind dissects the dream at lightening speed. Within seconds she begins to rationalize with Sarah. “You changed your life because of an intense dream that you took far too seriously, causing yourself to make a rash decision. And—you’re happy about it,” Beth says, not comprehending why, watching Sarah gaze at her with a knowing satisfaction. Not a smugness, but as if some sort of progress had been made. Maybe she really did lose it.
Beth, walking into her office, notices Symphony talking on the phone. She’s actually quite pretty behind all those layers of Goth gear. Symphony’s long hair is coal black with blue overtones. Her rounded face and dark brown eyes are accented by her razored bangs and layers that frame her soft features. She appears normal enough. Elliot is overreacting …
Symphony catches Beth staring at her and takes the phone away from her ear. “I put your messages on your desk.”
Caught off guard mid-thought, Beth stumbles. “Oh, thanks.” She goes to her office.
Symphony returns to her monotoned conversation.
Beth takes her coat off and hangs it next to the door. In the back of the office is a well-organized desk. Beth places the overstuffed purse in the middle of the desk. On the right is a phone with sticky notes posted in random order. Slightly annoyed, Beth rearranges them into a straight line in ascending order by time. Beth reads them to herself exactly as Symphony wrote them.
8ish AM weird guy wants to know hours and what we do/Told him # salt.
9ish AM guy/has your home #/wanted your partners #/I said is same & hung up
10ish AM Frank/will call cell
1ish PM Sam
1ish PM Frank/no 1 showed/ try again @ 5 -you can come
Beth glances at her watch. It’s four thirty, better hurry. In the bottom right desk drawer she neatly places the contents of her purse. Then she closes and locks the drawer, throws her purse around her shoulder, grabs her coat and leaves.
“I have to go, Symphony.” Beth grabs the keys for the company’s Jeep Grand Cherokee from behind Symphony’s desk. “I’m going to be late, so you can leave early.”
Symphony gets up and reaches for her coat on the back of her chair.
“Would you like a ride?”
“Um, nah.” Symphony points to a large, round pin printed in a bold, black font on her left jacket lapel reading, “No Solution in Pollution.” “I’ll pass.”
“OK then, you have a great weekend, and I’ll see you Monday.”
Symphony points to the other pin, below the first, reading “Day by Day Man.”
“Great pin,” Beth says. Who do I know that needs a receptionist?
Chapter 5: Kelly’s Apartment
Beth pulls the Jeep Grand Cherokee to the curb behind the police cruiser. Twilight has brought the January chill to the air again. Beth pulls her coat tight around her as she approaches Frank waiting in his patrol car with the steam from his fresh coffee swirling out his open window.
“Get in.” Frank motions Beth to the passenger side.
Beth gladly hops in to escape the cold. “What’s going on?”
“People upstairs ain’t back,” Frank replies. “Landlord won’t be here for another five minutes.”
“Where’s Chip?”
“He’s got a special meet’n he goes to on Friday’s. He can’t miss ‘em.”
“Oh … that kind of meeting,”
“Yeah. Ya know, church. That must be him.” Frank points to a skinny middle-aged guy walking toward the apartment building.
Beth and Frank get out of the police car to introduce themselves.
“How are ya?” Frank asks.
The slender man wearing a derby cap considers them with uncertainty.
“I’m McDonough.” Frank flips his badge for the landlord to inspect and continues, “and this is Ms. Doyle. We’d like to ask you some questions ‘bout Kelly Thompkins in Apartment Three.”
“Why?” the landlord asks flatly.
“We think she has been abducted,” Frank says.
“No … too bad. Nice girl, that one.”
“Can we see her apartment?” Beth asks.
“Yeah, I’ve got the key. Name’s Berny.”
“Thanks for the help, Berny,” Beth says genuinely.
“Let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help you find her,” Berny says. “She always paid her rent on time. She never complained … real quiet. Only person I’ve ever saw visit her was her grandmother.” Berny continues to ramble aloud as he takes the heavy ring from his belt and flips through the keys. “Here it is.” He points toward the stairs to the upper apartments.
Beth and Frank enter Kelly’s apartment. To their astonishment, the apartment is fully furnished.
&nb
sp; Frank scratches his head. “Man, Beth, it was empty. This whole place was empty.” Unless my eyes are playin’ tricks. “No, I know what I saw. This place was empty.” Immediately he grabs his cell phone and dials Chip. After two minutes, he slaps the phone shut. “He said he took my word for it and didn’t look, that he assumed it was empty. I had him stakeout the apartment all day. He didn’t see nobody.”
Beth scrutinizes the apartment biting the inside of her lower lip. “Well, it’s full now. So, let’s find something that stands out.”
Irritated, Franks says, “Like a full apartment that was empty.”
They continue to search the apartment, but find nothing.
“This place is so perfect it looks like a showroom,” Frank says.
“Yeah, too perfect.” Beth sits on the sofa. Nothing can hide under this sofa. It sets directly on the floor without any legs. Her eye catches a dark speck on the beige fabric. How did that get there? Is that grease? She kneels down to inspect a smudge of grease near the floor. “Frank,” Beth says. “Help me tip this couch upside down.” Sure enough, the grease is on the bottom and side of the sofa. “Keep your eyes open. There may be grease on something else.”
Ignoring Frank’s puzzled expression, she focuses on her search. They search ten more minutes but find nothing more. Hey, how about the bed? That would be heavy and long like the couch. In the bedroom, she has Frank help her remove the mattress and box springs from the bed.
“Aha, more grease, just as I thought,” Beth says, delighted, “a smudge—just enough to prove that you’re not insane, Frank.”
“What do you mean?”
“Kelly is a starving actress. She doesn’t have a car. Her house is impeccable. Not one thing out of order. That’s funny—it’s the second time today I have seen this. Anyway, no sign of a dust ball or a cobweb. Yet, we find grease on her couch and bed. I believe you, Frank. Someone moved her out and then moved her back in. They must have been wearing greasy clothes or somehow brushed the furniture against it.”
“Why would someone do that?”
“Got me. This whole day feels like something out of the twilight zone,” Beth replies. “Hey, did Odell say who he had close last night?”
“Yeah. Kelly,”
“Hmm, she closed last night and opened this morning. That was mean. What is he doing, trying to make her quit?” Beth asks. “Cash box was perfect, not even missing a penny. I think we’ve stumbled onto something really big, Frank. Can you keep the grease off the record for now?” Beth asks. “Don’t even tell Chip. OK?”
“Yeah, o’course,” Frank says. “If I share the information I’ve got now, the only thing it’ll prove is I’ve sucked you into my delusion.”
Beth gives Frank an understanding expression and pats him on the back. “I assure you, I don’t get sucked into anything.”
* * *
“Thanks Berny.” Beth says, giving the key to the apartment manager behind his desk. “What do you remember about the grandmother?”
“Not much, except she dressed kinda old fashioned and was real proper. That’s all that sticks out right now.”
Beth hands him her card. “If you think of anything …”
Berny butts in. “Yeah, I know, call ya. I watch CSI all the time.”
“Great,” she fakes a smile. A professional.
Frank winks at Beth, letting her know he feels the same way. “I’ll be in touch with ya,” he says to Berny as they leave.
Chapter 6: Web of Deception
Oh, what a tangled web we weave,
When first we practice to deceive. Sir Walter Scott
Beth unlocks her office door, trudges in, and collapses into her executive leather office chair. Unlocking the bottom right drawer, she pulls out the materials she collected at Vicky’s house. She sighs. “Boy, today has been unbelievable.” She notices the light for her phone’s mailbox blinking as she reaches to turn on her desk lamp.
She presses the mailbox play button.
An emulated, monotone female voice says, “You have three messages. Message number one …”
“Hey Beth, it’s Sam. Kyle and I decided to take a trip to the Bahamas. I’ll call you in a week or so when I get back. Later,” Sam’s happy voice says.
“Message deleted. Message number two …”
“Hey hon, it’s Elliot. Got the car. I’m head’n back home. Give me a call if you’re goin’ over that stuff. I’ll come back.”
“Message deleted. Message number three …”
The phone plays silence for fourteen seconds followed by the click of a terminated connection.
“Nice,” Beth says, barely audible.
“Message deleted. No more messages.”
Beth fits the headset to her ear and presses speed-dial one. She leans back and clasps her hands behind her head as she waits for the connection. She hears the unique call-waiting ring. He better answer.
* * *
Elliot checks the caller ID, cuts his call short with Frank and answers Beth. “Hey, hon.”
“I’m at the office; come over and we’ll go through the materials I collected from Mrs. Freedman’s daughter’s house. I’m starting now.”
“OK, I’m on my way.”
* * *
Now, let’s check out this notebook. Beth opens the notebook and finds several pages missing. Someone was in a hurry when they removed these.
The pages have ragged edges as if they were grabbed in one hand and torn out with haste. Ten to fifteen pages remain intact and on one is written, “You will never find us!”
“Hmm, that’s odd,” Beth says to herself. She puts the notebook down. I wonder what was on the pages that were ripped out.
Beth takes the bundled pictures and letters out of her purse. She removes the rubber bands and places them in three neat piles on her desk. Two of the stacks are pictures. People posing. She flips over the pictures and checks for names, dates, or anything that can identify Vicky or her mother. None of these pictures were taken without false studio backdrops. One background is a time-lapsed photo of a stream running over a gray stone waterfall through a lush forest. Another scene is cotton-ball clouds floating in a surreal blue sky. All of the supposed parents and their children are dressed for a funeral and smiling cheese. No cluttered bedrooms or kitchens. No Christmas trees with presents underneath or pictures of porches with jack-o’-lanterns and autumn leaves. No cakes with candles surrounded by smiling children. There’s nothing here.
The third stack contains handwritten letters on lined paper. She removes the band and reads a poem and love letter, both with the emotional depth of a newspaper obituary. The letters were written in a dry, condescending prose and are signed, “Love, Mom.” No surprise there.
Finally, Beth’s attention focuses on the locked photo album. She reaches into the back of the bottom right drawer and pulls out a small locksmith’s set. She searches for the correct instrument. Ahh, this should do it. She inserts the pick and turns it aptly to align the lock’s mechanism as if using a key and it clicks open.
Beth ponders each picture in order as their story unfolds. Baby toys, Easter bunnies, and inflatable wading pools pass by, revealing the lives of a man, woman, and child. Beth finds Vicky’s name printed on the back of one with the face of a young girl peering through the oval, cutout face of an astronaut in a large white spacesuit. One has a date printed neatly on the back and others have a digital time stamp in red within the picture. She closes the album, still musing. “These are the real deal.”
Beth reaches for the locket that she pulled out of Vicky’s nightstand. This is more difficult than is appears. She presses her thumbnail against it with enough force to shave a piece off and then the clasp gives way with an audible snap. Inside, the tiny family portrait adds the final punctuation mark to the pictorial documentary of their lives. Nothing substantiates Mrs. Freedman’s accusations. Why would Vicky’s mom disappear? There is no evidence of the usual drama kings or queens from broken homes where desperate moms ma
ke so many bad choices in the name of survival. Where’s her father? His last picture is no more than two years old. Beth’s mind continues arranging the pieces of the puzzle as she reclines and closes her eyes. The minutes pass in the dim room, lit only by her desk lamp. Her exhaustion covers her like a blanket and her thoughts disconnect from the world.
In the darkness a spider web materializes from nothing. Beth has the lucid impression of a web fusing to the moistened skin of her cheeks, eyelids and forehead, causing a warm tingling sensation. She is unable to detach from the uncertain horror. Her heart quickens with her increasing fear and anxiety. Her mind wants to escape to consciousness, but she presses to suffer the dream because of something greater and deeper within herself. I must see this. Her mind’s eye focuses upward toward the ceiling filled with an enormous spider web and in the midst, a black widow. Working hard at its web, it knows that Beth is staring into its eight hideous eyes. Not concerned, it continues its tedious masterpiece …
Beth’s headset reports the incoming call as her mind rushes to the surface, leaving the vision buried in her subconscious. She presses the answer button before the second ring. “Hello?”
“Beth, it’s Sarah. I know where your missing girl is,” Sarah says with exuberance. “They weren’t taken. They’re hiding.”
“I knew it!” Beth straightens with anticipation. “Where are they? Is there any way I can talk to them?”
“I’m not allowed to say, but I’ll find out if she is willing to speak with you.”
“Great. In the meantime, I’m going to do a little research.”
“And, Beth.”
“Yeah?”
“Be careful; I have a strong feeling you’ve stumbled into a web of deceit.”
How does she do that? Without me telling her anything about my dream, she seemed to know more about it than I do. An involuntary shiver races through Beth as she remembers her dream. Creepy, just, creepy.