by Dekker, Ted
“Yes and she got the plate number too. We already know that the truck was reported stolen several weeks ago in Nashville. We’ll find it.”
They stared at her, no less concerned, but at least she’d given them something to hold on to.
“We’re going to do everything we can to find Alice, I promise you. This isn’t just my job. It’s my life.”
“Thank you,” John said.
She gave him a nod and turned to Louise. “I understand you were here when he took her.”
“Yes.”
“I know you’ve already told the detective everything you remember, but I need to hear it from you. Walk me through it. Beginning with the first encounter at the front door.”
“Alice answered the door first.”
“Show me where you were standing when you first saw him.”
Louise walked to a spot about eight feet from the front door and stopped. “Here.”
Olivia sized up the door from Louise’s vantage point. “The report said the man was wearing gloves when he entered the house. What about when he first came to the door? Did you notice whether or not he wore gloves?”
Louise thought a moment then shook her head. “No, I don’t think he was. I would’ve remembered.”
“You’re certain?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
No gloves the first time. Why?
Because he didn’t expect to have to use force.
Olivia caught the attention of a CSI tech in a blue windbreaker. “We need to double check the work-up for this area, especially the doorbell—prints, fibers, skin. The abductor had exposed hands.”
“Will do.”
Back to Louise: “What happened next?”
Louise led her through the house, starting at the living room and ending at the closet. She recounted in detail the terror she and Alice had experienced. The man. The way he forced her to the ground. Everything she could remember.
Olivia stood at the foot of the stairs, mind churning. Why come into the house? Why not wait for a better opportunity, when Alice was away from the house? Why risk a home invasion in daylight, and while the mother was home?
He was desperate. Inexperienced. He hadn’t come for a girl; he’d come specifically for Alice.
“Can you show me her room?”
Louise led her upstairs. Four doors flanked the short hallway. To the right, a hall bathroom and the entry to the master bedroom. To the left, two other bedrooms.
Olivia angled into the bathroom. “This is the bathroom Alice used?”
“Yes. John and I have our own.”
She scanned the countertop. A pair of hairbrushes sat on top of a neatly folded hand towel. A pump bottle of Burt’s Bees hand soap. A red toothbrush next to a half-used tube of toothpaste.
Alice’s, but in Olivia’s mind they were as much Michelle’s.
She turned to Louise. “Can you show me her room?”
The woman led her directly across the hall and nudged the door open. To her right, rays of sunshine highlighted yellow-painted walls the color of daffodils. A full size bed with a lavender comforter sat against the far wall, and a small desk nestled beneath the window was stacked with books. Several framed pictures, black-and-white landscapes of the desert, were laid out on the bed.
Olivia stepped deeper into the room. Picked up one of the pictures.
“She was going to hang those up last night,” Louise said. “She picked them out herself. She was beginning to feel like this was her home too.”
“Tell me about Alice. What is she like?”
“Quiet. Curious. She’s unusual for her age, we saw that the first week she was with us.”
“How so?”
“John and I have raised two so we’re used to the turmoil that comes with this age.” Her face lightened. “But Alice is different. She’s more like an adult trapped in a young person’s body. Unusually quick-minded, but naïve to the ways of the world. She trusts too much. That scares me the most. When the man broke in, she just sat there on the couch. She did what he told her. She didn’t say a thing.”
“And the man? How did he react to her?”
“That’s the thing. He seemed apologetic. Scared even. It was so strange. He forced me down only because I tried to run. I know it sounds crazy, but when he said he wouldn’t hurt us, I believed him.”
“Did he say anything else? Anything unusual that sticks out?”
Louise thought for a moment then shook her head. “Not that I can think of.”
“The detective who interviewed you last night wrote in his report that Alice suffered from amnesia. That she couldn’t remember anything beyond six months ago. There’s nothing in the file that explains why.”
“They say her amnesia probably came from trauma she suffered at some point. Her brain’s way of protecting her, like post-traumatic stress disorder.”
“What do you know about her parents?”
“Nothing. They said the documents are confidential. Do you think someone from her past took her?”
Yes.
Everything pointed to an abductor who valued Alice for who she was and his connection to her. It was why he’d come to the front door first. Why he hadn’t worn gloves when he’d come. Why he’d been apologetic. Why he hadn’t harmed either of them. It was always in the whys.
But she didn’t say yes. Not yet.
“Half of all children who’re abducted are taken by family members. It’s a possibility that we can’t rule out.”
Louise blinked. “Actually, now that you say that, there was something else. He said Alice was a special girl. He made a point of saying it.”
“Special?”
“Yes. No . . . Very special. He said she was very special.” She paused. “What do you think he meant?”
Olivia’s thoughts spun back to Michelle’s abduction. A monster that could not fathom the meaning of special had crushed their lives.
Five minutes. That was the time difference between saving Michelle and allowing her to be taken. Time. In Alice’s case, it wasn’t the time it took to get a quart of milk; it was the time she’d lived prior to her amnesia.
“It means we have hope,” she said, reaching for her phone. “It means he values her. It means we may have more time. It means the key to her abductor probably lies in her past.”
“A past she doesn’t remember.”
“But someone else does. Whoever that is, I have to find them.”
She dialed the field office on her cell phone and got her lead analyst. “Get me Alice Ringwald’s adoption files. I want everything, as far back as you can go. And find out who’s running the orphanage that handled her adoption. I want them on the phone ASAP.”
4
Day Two
10:23 am
I DON’T KNOW how long it had taken us to reach the cabin in the woods—maybe two hours after we left the city—but it felt much longer because all I could think was that at any second the police were going to pull up with flashing red-and-blue lights behind the truck and take me back. Each minute it didn’t happen felt like an hour; every mile farther felt like the distance between the earth and the moon.
Back in the house I’d been in too much shock to fully realize what was happening, but the moment we pulled onto the highway with me sitting in the cab, gray duct tape over my mouth, I realized that everything I knew might be changed forever. I really was being taken. Stolen. Driven away into the darkness without a clue about what would happen to me.
I might end up a slave. I might end up dead. I didn’t think the man would kill me—my thoughts were more about suddenly feeling totally lost. For six months I had carefully constructed my world from nothing, and now that nothing seemed to be coming back to me.
There on the highway I began to cry silently.
The man had been focused on getting away as quickly as possible and the sight of tears on my cheeks so surprised him that he swerved. He reached over and took the tape off my mouth, apologizing profusely: “I’m so
sorry. Are you okay? I promise I’ll take the tape off your hands as soon as I can pull over, but I have to get to a safer place. Please don’t cry . . . It’s going to be okay. You’ll see . . . you’ll see . . . .Please don’t cry, sweetheart.”
He told me that his name was Wyatt; that he was my father; that everything was going to be okay. That my mother’s name was Kathryn and that she was going to be out of her mind with excitement when she heard that he’d rescued me.
But I kept crying.
Worried, he pulled out his cell phone and called her. On one hand, I could hear the enthusiasm in his voice when he told her he’d rescued me, but his face went flat when he told her that I was crying. He listened intently for a while.
“I will, sugar. I promise.” He listened again. “You’re right . . . It would be too much. I will, sugar. I promise.”
They spoke a little while longer and then he hung up. He glanced at me with sad eyes.
“Kathryn said just to let you feel whatever you need to feel. It’s going to be okay. This is a big shock to your system and you’re going to be confused for a little while. To let you sleep and tell you more when you wake up. You just need to know that she loves you very much. You’re going to be so much happier now. You’ll see, sweetheart . . . you’ll see.”
“Why are you doing this?” I asked. I think those were my first words to him.
“Because you’re our daughter. You deserve to belong to your own family. It’s the way it should be. I can’t tell you everything right now; Kathryn said you should go ahead and cry if you want to. It’s okay. I promise.”
By the time we left the highway maybe an hour later, my mind was numb and my tears had stopped. We followed a few paved roads then turned onto a dirt road that wound up into the hills to an old cabin hidden in tall trees. It was dark so I couldn’t see much as he led me into the house and to a bedroom at the back.
He lit a small oil lamp and brought me some pickles, a glass of milk, and two Snickers bars with a plate of crackers. The small bed had been neatly made and the room looked tidy. A brown teddy bear sat on the white pillow, smiling at me with one white eye.
We’d hardly spoken during the ride—him because Kathryn had told him to leave me alone, I suspected; me because I felt too lost to voice any of my thoughts. Every time I thought of a question or wanted to say how I felt, I would realize that it was pointless. But when I sat down on the bed, I looked up at him and told him that I was afraid.
He stood at the end of the bed, looking at me awkwardly, at a loss for words. So I told him I wanted to go back home.
“I am taking you home, Eden,” he said. He meant his home, where he thought I belonged. “I know you’re afraid. And I’m sorry. But please don’t be. I’m going to be right outside on the couch. There’s bears in the woods up here, so don’t go outside. No one can hurt you here, I promise.” He looked around uncomfortably. “Okay, get some rest, okay? Okay . . . I’ll be right outside if you need anything. It’s going to be okay, I promise.”
My first thought was that he was telling me about the bears because he didn’t want me to run away. But after he left, it occurred to me that he could just as easily, and probably had, locked all the doors and windows to keep me in, so he probably was serious about the bears, for my own safety.
I only had to leave the room once—to use the bathroom, which he quickly showed me to. Then I returned to the room, ate one of the Snickers bars, drank some of the milk, lay down, and stared at the ceiling. It took me a long time, but I finally fell into a numb sleep.
It was late morning when I awoke and my first thought was that I’d had a terrible nightmare. That Louise was downstairs setting the table with eggs and bacon, because I could smell it. But it only took a few seconds for the events from the night before to come crashing into my mind.
I was in a cabin. In the woods. With a man named Wyatt who’d kidnapped me. I was still alive. He hadn’t threatened or hurt me. He claimed to be my father and was taking me to my mother.
It took me a few minutes to work up the courage to get out of bed and open the door, and when I did, I had a direct line of sight down a small hall into the kitchen. He was there, leaning over a skillet, dressed in the same clothes from last night, humming softly to himself.
My fear eased a little as I watched him, thinking that he didn’t look like a man who’d committed a terrible crime. I glanced to my right and saw that the hall ended at the bathroom I’d used last night. The window in there was too small to climb out, I remembered that.
But it was day now—what if I could climb out the bedroom window? Once outside, I could sneak to the road and make a run for it. Maybe find someone who could help me. Hide in the forest if Wyatt came after me.
I slowly backed into the room and closed the door, then rushed to the window, grabbed the two handles at the bottom, and yanked up.
It didn’t budge. I immediately saw why. The edges were painted shut. Staring beyond the smudged glass, I saw that rusted nails pinned the window to the frame. And there would be no way to break out through the glass because metal bars blocked the way, maybe to keep bears out.
Or maybe to keep me in.
No, the bars looked too old. The cabin had been sealed shut a long time ago to keep robbers or animals from entering while it was vacant. The only way out was probably through the front door.
A knock startled me and I spun around.
“Eden?”
“Yes?” I slid back onto the bed.
The door opened and Wyatt stood there, smiling awkwardly. “You’re up. Did you sleep well?”
I blinked at him, wondering if he could tell by the guilty look on my face that I’d just tried to climb out the window.
“Yes.”
“That’s good. Are you hungry? I made up some eggs and bacon. You like eggs?”
It felt strange, him asking me the kinds of questions someone would ask if nothing at all was out of place.
“Yes.”
“I thought you would. Want to come eat?”
I was too nervous to be hungry, but I saw no choice but to follow him into the main room. An old brown sofa and two wooden chairs sat around a large crate in front of a fireplace on the left; the kitchen and a small table stood on the right.
“Go on, sit at the table.”
I crossed to it, carefully pulled out one of the chairs, and sat with my hands in my lap.
He set in front of me a green metal plate loaded with more scrambled eggs than I could eat. Five strips of bacon. Then he carefully laid an aluminum fork to the right of the plate and finished the setting off with a glass of milk. His hands were thick and his nails could have used a cleaning, but he moved with care, as if he was performing a very special task for a queen.
He beamed at me, proud of his accomplishment. Maybe fixing breakfast wasn’t so common for him.
Wyatt sat across from me and put his hands on the table, palms down. “Go ahead and eat. I’ve already had mine.”
I stared down at the large helping. “I don’t think I can eat all of this.”
He smiled. “I guess I did overdo it a bit. You eat as little or as much as you want. It’s okay, we’re only gonna be here three days and I have plenty to last us that long.”
“Three days?” I looked around, unnerved by the idea of spending so much time away from John and Louise. But it could be much longer than that.
He looked at me sympathetically, then nodded. “I’m sure you have lots of questions. You have no idea how much trouble we went to, tracking you down and rescuing you. We’ve been looking for years. It was Zeke who finally found you—contact of his came across your name a couple months ago. Alice Ringwald. But that’s not the name your mother gave you. She named you Eden, because you’re the place of perfect new beginnings,” he patted his chest, “in here, where it counts.”
I didn’t know how much to believe, but not knowing my own past, I had no reason not to believe anything he said either. Which only meant that I didn’t
know what to think.
“Go ahead, sweetheart—you can ask me anything you want.”
“Anything?”
“Anything. I’ll tell you everything.”
________________________
WHILE ALICE searched her mind for the right questions to ask the man who’d taken her, Special Agent Olivia Strauss sat at her desk in Columbia’s FBI station, reading through the thin adoption file yet again.
Far too thin. Why were the details regarding Alice’s past so scarce? Still no call from the orphanage she’d left to join the Clarks. Evidence was being gathered, processed, and quickly compiled, but the whys and motivations behind abductions were the real case breakers. Whys led to who.
And who was what they needed to know. Who had taken Alice?
Her phone buzzed and she snatched it up. “Strauss.”
“I tracked down your guy. Andrew DeVoss, from Saint Thomas Orphanage. Line two.”
“Thank you.”
She punched up the line.
“Mr. DeVoss?”
“Please, call me Andrew.”
“Andrew. This is Olivia Strauss, special agent in charge of an active missing-persons case involving a child who left your orphanage a few months ago.”
“Oh my,” he said. “Who?”
“Alice Ringwald.”
There was a brief moment of silence. “Oh, no.”
“We’ve pulled our best resources, but I’ve run into a snag. I’m hoping you can answer a few questions for me.”
“Of course. Anything.”
“What can you tell me about Alice’s history? We suspect that someone from her past, possibly a close relative, is involved in the abduction.”
The phone went silent.
“Andrew?”
“She’s . . . Oh my . . .”
“What is it?”
“You must find her!”
His intensity surprised her.
“We’re trying. But to do that I need to know who from her past might have had any reason to take her.”
“No, no, it’s not that. She has no past outside of the orphanage.”