Suburban Dangers

by Megan Whitson Lee

  His fingers twitched and his heart pounded as he moved the mouse, and clicked on the address bar. He didn’t know how much time he had until Katherine and Brandon were up, so today he would go straight to his favorite. His body relaxed. It was like taking medicine, soothing every part of his brain, his heart, his mind. He was lost in the images of women in various poses and state of undress. Time and place shrank away as his longings were filled in the webpages of Girls, Girls, Girls. Oh, how he’d missed these pages this week. It was like coming home again. All that mattered was this moment—these images—and the pleasure he got from it.

  When his cell phone buzzed against the table, he thought it was his stomach growling. The sound pulled him from the comfortable trance, out of the warm waters, and back into the cold, stark reality.

  Christina. Could you wake up Brandon? Been trying his phone and he is not answering.

  He could ignore it, but then she’d just keep texting…and then she’d start calling. With a sigh, he closed the site and shaking off the brain sedation, headed upstairs. It wasn’t entirely unusual for his teenagers to stay up late and sleep until afternoon, although it was after one o’clock, which was pretty late for them. He rapped his knuckles against Brandon’s door. “Brandon? You awake in there?”

  No response.

  “Brandon?” Tyler grasped the doorknob and turned. Locked. Anger gushed through his veins. The kids knew they were never to lock a door in this house. Ever. “Brandon, unlock this door now!” Tyler pounded on the door with his fist, rattling it in its frame. “I’m telling you right now—if you don’t open it, I will break it down. Don’t test me.”

  Another possibility occurred to him—one that eclipsed the anger and replaced it with fear. Images of Brandon dead in his bed stampeded into his mind’s movie screen, along with a picture of the thugs at his door the day before, and news headlines of teenage suicide or gang-related murders. “Brandon!” Tyler called out frantically, rattling the doorknob and throwing his shoulder into the door.

  “Dad? What’s going on?”

  Katherine floated from the doorway of her room, her voice soft and gravelly from having just woken up.

  “Your brother’s not answering and the door is locked,” he said between thrusts to the door. The door gave way with a crunch, jarring against the frame at an awkward angle, the force of which propelled Tyler forward, staggering into the room.

  The bed was empty, blankets and sheets strewn across it as though Brandon had been in it during the night. Impulsively, Tyler rushed to the closet and peered in. Nothing but a heap of clothing on the floor and some soccer balls.

  Katherine, pale and ghost-like, stood in the broken entryway. Her gaze was fixed on the partially open window and the snow flittering inside, accumulating on the sill.

  Tyler shot forward, grasping the sill and thrusting his head outside to the ground below. Nothing. He felt the cold, wet snow melting underneath his fingers. His breath made puffs of smoke-like panic into the air. Where was Brandon? How had this happened? He wrenched his head back inside and turned to his daughter, still standing like a zombie in the doorway. “Katherine, call 9-1-1.”

  She stood without moving, her eyes wide and staring as though trying to focus and understand the situation.

  Tyler jolted toward her, grabbed her shoulders, and spun her around to face the hallway. He gave her a little push. “Go! Call 9-1-1. I’m going next door to get Josh.”

  Katherine skittered down the hall like a frightened doe, and Tyler rushed the stairs, taking two and three at a time. He flung open the front door and dashed out into the snow, nearly falling as he scaled the slippery embankment between the two houses. Arriving at the Wolfs’ front door, he pounded upon it, praying they were home.

  The sound of a dog’s alarm-like bark sounded from within. It seemed to take minutes, not the thirty or so seconds that actually passed before the door opened.

  Josh stood before him, still dressed for church in a wool sweater and khaki pants.

  “It’s Tyler,” Josh called to Molly over his shoulder. “Hey. What’s up, my man?”

  Tyler’s voice sounded shaky and unnatural to himself. “Hey, sorry to bother you, but Brandon’s gone. I don’t know where he went.”

  “He’s not with Christina?”

  “No. He was staying with me last night. Christina texted me because she was trying to reach him on his phone and he wasn’t responding.”

  “Did you call 9-1-1?”

  “Katherine’s doing it right now.”

  “Be over in a sec. Let me just get my coat.” Josh ducked back inside the house and closed the door.

  Tyler stepped backward off the front stoop, feeling as if he might be sick. He trekked around the side of the house to the place below Brandon’s window. A fine mist of white powder sifted from the sky, and with the cold temperatures, it was quickly accumulating. In the distance, he heard the whine of sirens. He couldn’t tell for sure, but it looked as though there were some drag marks around the side of the house. Oh, dear Lord, please no. If he walked around the side and found…

  The crunching sound of snow under foot accompanied Josh’s arrival. “There you are.” He moved to stand beside Tyler.

  Tyler stared at the ground and the faint marks that trailed around the side of the house. Wordlessly, Josh followed the trail. With dread and fear rising in his throat, Tyler followed him. Around the corner, the metal structure of a ladder rested against the siding.

  Josh pointed. “Yours?”

  Tyler exhaled. No bodies. Just a ladder. “Yeah. That’s mine.”

  “Looks like that’s how he got out of the house.”

  They made their way around to the front yard just in time to meet the police pulling into Tyler’s driveway. Josh waved to the first officer who emerged from the first car, and out of the second, unmarked car stepped Detective Abbie Jackson.

  Her face was solemn. “Hi Josh, Mr. Jones.” She pointed to the two male officers who stood on either side of the patrol car, the radios attached to their shoulders buzzing with communications. “This is Officer Phillips and Officer Mendoza.”

  Tyler held the front door open as they all entered. Snow blew inside and across the threshold. “Thanks for coming,” Tyler said softly, shutting the door just as a gust of wind tried to force its way in. He ushered them into the living room.

  Officer Mendoza took out a notepad.

  Tyler motioned for them to sit, but they all continued to stand.

  “What time did you last see him?” Abbie asked.

  “Last night.” The inside of his mouth was bone dry. The phone in his pocket buzzed. He needed to contact Christina.

  Officer Mendoza scribbled something on his notepad.

  “When did you notice he was gone?”

  “Not until twenty minutes ago. I just thought he was sleeping in. His mother texted me that she couldn’t get in touch with him. I went up to his room. The door was locked.”

  “Is that unusual—for his door to be locked?” she asked.

  “Yes. We don’t allow locked doors in this house. I had to break the door down.”

  “You broke down the door.”

  Tyler nodded.

  Officer Mendoza continued to scribble.

  The sound of pen against paper irritated Tyler. “Katherine,” he called out.

  His daughter sat silently in the corner. Her face was pale and drawn—eyes swollen and puffy. One even looked a little bruised.

  “Call your mom. Let her know what’s going on.”

  She lifted her phone from the table.

  “Can we see his room?” Abbie asked.

  “Yeah. Come on upstairs.” Tyler motioned for them to follow. Tyler flipped on the hall light leading up the stairs.

  “Lana still not back?” Josh asked.

  “Tonight.”

  “Where are Micah and Celia?”

  “At my parents. I felt safer with them there—you know, after what happened yesterday.”

  “
What happened yesterday?” Abbie asked.

  Tyler quickly filled her in on the visit from the thugs. “I called you guys in yesterday for that, too.” They were quickly becoming that house on the street—the one that was always plagued with trouble.

  “I was one of the officers who answered that call,” said Officer Phillips.

  “I’ll want to get some more information on that, too,” Abbie said. “But right now, let’s take a look at Brandon’s bedroom.”

  Tyler led them into Brandon’s room—a room that had teenage boy stamped all over it—the mess, the wall posters, the clothes strewn everywhere. It was freezing cold from the open window. On the floor, a pile of clothing and other articles lay in a mound, and Tyler stood over it, as though observing a dead animal at the side of the road. When he spoke, he spoke to the mound, not to Josh. “I found porn on Brandon’s computer. Sick stuff. Violent, disgusting stuff.” Tyler’s eyes watered. “Anyway. I took the computer out of his room. I grounded him, too. I guess I might have said some pretty harsh things to him.”

  “Did you call any of his friends?” Josh asked. “He’s probably with one of them.”

  Tyler shook his head. “Haven’t had a chance yet. I only know a couple of his friends.”

  “We’ll want to make those calls,” said Abbie. “See if they know anything. You never know—he could be hiding out with them. Open window.” Abbie pointed at its partially open position. “Escape route there, I guess.”

  “Yeah,” Tyler said. “That window sticks when the weather’s cold.”

  Abbie and the officers trolled around Brandon’s room, taking notes and talking amongst themselves.

  Tyler’s heartbeat pounded in his throat.

  “Mom’s on the way,” Kaki announced from the doorway.

  “Great,” said Tyler. That should add some hysteria to the mix.

  When they had finished inspecting the room, Tyler and Abbie Jackson moved outside the door which hung lopsided from one hinge.

  “I’d like to talk to your daughter…and your ex-wife when she gets here, see if they know anything. You should call the friends. After that…well, Brandon’s a minor. There’s no twenty-four-hour waiting period to report a minor missing. We’ll file the report. Could be a runaway situation, but with what you reported yesterday…could be something else, too.”

  Tyler rubbed at his eyes and nose as if that would scrub away the horror of the situation.

  Josh moved to stand beside him, placing his hand on Tyler’s shoulder. “Hey, look. I’m sure he hasn’t gotten too far. With it being as cold as it is outside, you can bet he’ll call or come home soon.”

  “Or freeze to death,” Tyler said. He swallowed bile.

  ~*~

  Lana’s plane landed late that afternoon as the newscasters all around the region began broadcasting numbers associated with accumulating inches of snow. “A lot of flights were canceled,” she told Tyler as they retrieved her suitcase from baggage claim. “Too bad mine wasn’t one of them.” The words were mumbled under her breath, but Tyler heard them. They stabbed at his already aching heart.

  “The kids are waiting for you at home with my parents.”

  It was only a seven-minute drive from Dulles Airport to their house, but it was already dark, and with the roads icing and the snow whipping, Tyler had to concentrate on his driving. He decided to wait and tell Lana about the situation with Brandon until they were on their way back, but she was talking full-force.

  “It was eighty-degree temperatures the whole time I was there. And you should see the house where Erin lives. It overlooks this beautiful manmade lake in a gated community…and Dan, her business partner, he lives nearby, too. I got some information about that subdivision in case we want to look at houses there. Or we may want to look at the luxury condo units. They aren’t too far away from the office, and they’re within walking distance of the ocean.”

  Tyler wanted to get home as soon as possible to stop her incessant talking about this California fantasy. He didn’t want to hear about gated communities and ocean-side views. Brandon, his son…was missing.

  Lana was still talking as they turned into their driveway.

  “Go on inside,” he told her. “The kids are waiting for you. I’ll get the bags.” Tyler grabbed the bags out of the trunk and carried them inside, anxious to hear whether there had been any word from Brandon.

  Micah held yellow flowers for Lana, telling her proudly he’d purchased them at the grocery store when Tyler’s parents had run out for bread, milk, and toilet paper earlier in the day.

  Celia had drawn a sign in simplistic green crayon that said Welcome Home Mommy! The W-E-L took up the top half of the page, and the rest of the letters were pushed together on the bottom half. The exclamation point hovered in the bottom corner. On the back, Celia had drawn a princess in gold and silver crayons with bubble-feet peeking out from under a triangle skirt. “I made this for you, Mommy!” Celia held out her sign.

  “And it’s beautiful, baby!” Lana squatted down and let her purse and carry-on bag fall from her shoulders as she embraced first Celia, then Micah.

  Tyler’s mother moved forward and politely hugged Lana, and a cordial nod was exchanged between Lana and his father. As they all made their way to the kitchen, Lana chatted animatedly about the new job, the opportunities in Santa Monica, the great weather, and the wonderful, laid-back place it would be for the kids to grow up.

  Tyler’s parents listened politely and silently.

  “I know a move to California would mean you wouldn’t see us all as often, but we could arrange holiday visits—or you could fly out and see us.”

  Tyler gritted his teeth, waiting for Lana’s stream-of-consciousness retelling about her trip to end.

  “Mommy, where is California?” Celia interrupted.

  “It’s on the west coast of the United States, sweetie. And it’s beautiful. We’ll be by the ocean, and it’s always sunny there.”

  “Is it far away from Grandma and Grandpa?”

  “Sort of. It’s about a five-hour flight.”

  Celia appeared to be considering this. “Would we still be able to see them every week?”

  Everybody in the room shook their heads at this question, and Lana answered, “No. Not every week. But we’d still see them.”

  “How often?”

  Lana, still smiling, sighed with exasperation. “I don’t know, baby. We’ll work all that out when the time comes. Definitely we’d see them at Christmas and during the summer.”

  “I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave Grandma and Grandpa.”

  A few more seconds of this line of questioning, and there would be a scene. “Let’s not worry about that right now, Celia. Grandma and Grandpa are going to stay with us for a few days. You’ll like that, won’t you?” Tyler asked.

  Celia clutched her grandmother’s leg, and smiled. “Yes! And we can play all the games we played at Grandma and Grandpa’s house. It was so much fun! We got to sleep over two nights this week.”

  “They were very good,” Lyman confirmed. “I taught Micah how to play chess.”

  “And I beat Grandpa a bunch of times!” Micah beamed.

  “Yes, you did.” Lyman pointed to his head. “This old brain’s not quite as sharp as it used to be.”

  “And we get to play games again tonight, don’t we Grandpa?” Celia asked.

  “Yes,” he answered quietly.

  “Really? You’re staying the night?” Lana’s smile drooped and her eyes widened. She looked from Tyler’s parents back to Tyler. “Why’s that?”

  “We need to talk about some stuff,” Tyler said. A sense of dread settled. He needed her to tone down all the talk about California. He couldn’t even imagine going now.

  “And what did you do all week?” Lana asked Tyler as she sank down on a stool at the kitchen island.

  Celia pulled at her mother’s arm, forcing Lana to lean severely to her right. The little girl whispered in her ear, but it was loud en
ough for the rest of the room to hear. “Mommy, Brandon ran away.”

  In the sudden silence of the room, the thud of little pellets of ice pelting the roof became loud.

  Lana’s expression wrinkled with confusion. “What’s going on?”

  “I’ll fill you in on it upstairs. We can take your bags up to the room.”

  “I don’t really think you can go out in this weather to look for him tonight,” Tyler’s mother said.

  “I gotta try, Mom.”

  “But the roads—”

  “You want me to come along, son?” Lyman asked Tyler. “Help you look for him?”

  “No, thanks, Dad. I think Josh may help me. It would be better if you and Mom stayed here and helped with the kids, waited to hear any word, or if he comes back…”

  Lyman looked at Micah. “You up for a game of chess?”

  “Yeah!” Micah’s serious mouth spread wide in a grin.

  “Can I watch?” Celia asked.

  “Of course,” Lyman said in a tone of enthusiasm.

  Tyler never heard words like that from his father while growing up. He couldn’t ever recall playing chess or any other game with his dad.

  Lana hugged Celia and Micah again. “I’ll be back down in a little while, OK? I’ve got to unpack a bunch of gifts for you.”

  The children seemed happy to follow their grandparents into the den.

  Tyler and Lana carried her bags upstairs.

  “What’s going on? Where’s Brandon?”

  Tyler sat on the bed, staring straight ahead, his chest constricted with anxiety. “We think Brandon sneaked out of the house last night or this morning early. No one’s heard from him. Christina and I had to file a police report.”

  “Have you called all of his friends? Could he be staying with Jared or—

  “We’ve called everyone we can think to call. No one has seen him.”