The Child Snatcher

by Aria Johnson

  With the singular thought of getting him back, I staggered to the living room. The door was wide open and the shrill sound of the alarm was replaced by a human voice coming over the intercom. It was someone from the security company, asking repeatedly if everything was okay. I didn’t bother to answer.

  I stood in the doorway immune to the wind and chill as I looked out into the darkness, stunned to discover that my car was gone. I closed the door and hobbled back to the bedroom in search of my handbag.

  Frantically, I ripped back the cover and the sheet, but of course, it wasn’t there.

  Ava had taken everything. My car, identification, money, and credit cards . . .and my grandson.

  Tears streamed as I envisioned Bran. So tiny and helpless, and at the mercy of a lunatic who was hell-bent on selling him.

  Head in my hands, slumped on the couch and sobbing, I suddenly jumped to my feet when I heard tires crunching along the dirt road. I ran to the door. Ava had had second thoughts and had brought Bran back to me. I swung the door open, laughing and grinning almost manically.

  But my smile froze and then dropped when I saw the flashing lights of a state trooper’s squad car. A male officer emerged from the car, shining a flashlight as he strode down the icy path with confident footfalls that seemed immune to slipping on ice.

  “Is everything okay, ma’am? We received a call from your security company. They tried to reach you by phone and over the intercom and were unable to make contact.”

  I should have felt grateful for police assistance, but my story was so complicated and seemed so convoluted, I didn’t know where to begin. I took a deep breath. “My grandson has been kidnapped,” I said, wringing my hands.

  “Excuse me?”

  “My grandson . . .my car . . .and my purse . . .stolen.”

  He immediately called for backup. “My name is Officer Snyder. Can I come inside, ma’am?”

  I stepped aside and allowed the officer entry.

  He tilted his head and squinted at my head. “You have a head wound. Were you assaulted during the break-in?”

  I gingerly touched the area he was referring to. My fingertips sank into a small pool of warm, gooey blood. “It wasn’t a break-in.”

  “Was the child a boy or girl?”

  “A boy.”

  “How old and what was he wearing?”

  “He’s a newborn. He was wrapped in a green blanket and was only wearing a diaper.”

  “And did you get a look at the perpetrator?”

  “Yes, it was his mother.”

  “A newborn was stolen by its mother . . .and she fled in your car?” His eyes narrowed skeptically, like my story suddenly didn’t add up. “What’s the mother’s name?”

  I gave him Ava’s full name, spelling out her last name, which he jotted down.

  “Make, model, and color of the vehicle. And I need the plate number.”

  “It’s a white Toyota Camry, but I don’t know the plate number by heart. The registration card with that information is in the glove box,” I explained.

  “That’s not a problem. I can look it up.”

  He spoke into the two-way radio, again, reciting Ava’s full name and referring to her as the perpetrator. He named me as the victim, and gave a description of my car.

  When I heard the words “assault,” “robbery,” “domestic dispute” and “possible kidnapping,” the ordeal became so unbelievable and surreal, I had to take a seat on the couch.

  “Okay, ma’am, I looked up your registration and put out an APB on your car. With the icy roads, your daughter wouldn’t have gotten very far.”

  “She’s not my daughter.”

  “I thought—”

  “My son’s the baby’s father and—”

  “I need to contact your son. Did he have custody?”

  “No, he’s deceased,” I whimpered and tears began to seep from my eyes. At that point, I realized how insane my story sounded, but the wound on my head was proof that I’d been the victim of violence. I stood up, feeling the need to further prove my claim that the baby had been kidnapped. “I’ll show you where the baby was sleeping,” I said and beckoned for him to follow me to the bedroom.

  We entered the room and I pointed to the fireplace shovel on the floor. “That’s what she hit me with. The baby was sleeping peacefully . . .in there.” I pointed to the empty dresser drawer and the cop visibly flinched. “I didn’t have a chance to get him a crib yet,” I explained.

  “What’s the date of birth of the infant?”

  “Uh, today . . .I think. I mean, yesterday, maybe. Yeah, he was born before midnight.”

  “What hospital?”

  I shook my head. “She went into labor in my car.” I realized that my story was getting crazier by the minute, but I wanted the officer to have all the facts.

  “Did you take the mother and infant to the hospital after the birth?”

  “No.”

  “Why not, ma’am?”

  “I couldn’t. She was going to sell him on the black market and I had to keep my grandson safe from the people involved in the baby-selling ring.”

  “I see.” He arched a brow dubiously and then closed his notepad. “Why don’t we go back to the front room and wait for backup to get here.”

  Flashing red and blue lights announced the arrival of two local police cruisers. A team of officers came in. Two of them were carrying finger-printing kits and immediately went to work, dusting surfaces around the cabin with a dark powder.

  A female officer introduced herself as Detective Graham and she ushered me to the bedroom where we could speak in private.

  “Can you tell me what happened?” she asked. She had kind eyes that instantly put me at ease.

  I repeated everything I’d told Officer Snyder, but feeling more comfortable, I went into more detail. Divulging how Ava had used Brandon for his sperm for the purpose of deliberately bringing a child into the world to be put up for sale.

  The detective nodded, encouraging me to go on. I wept as I told her about Brandon’s suicide and the awful texts I found on his phone from Ava, calling him names and goading him into shooting himself. “What she did to my son is a crime in itself,” I sobbed.

  I admitted to refusing to get Ava medical attention and to bringing her to the cabin against her will. “But I did it to protect the baby,” I clarified. Like an idiot, I blathered on and on, often repeating myself when the detective didn’t nod or murmur a sound of understanding. She merely listened without commiserating.

  Finally, she said, “Ms. Wilkins. We found your car. Ava Stephenson was driving along Interstate 80 with a male infant lying across her lap.”

  “Oh, thank God! Where’s my grandson? Is he all right?”

  “He’s getting checked out at the hospital as we speak.”

  “Please take me to him; I have to see him right away. And what about Ava . . .is she in police custody?”

  “They’re both at the hospital, ma’am. Ava is being questioned and so far, your stories match . . .somewhat.”

  “Somewhat?” I scoffed. “I’m sure she left out the part about her plan to sell her own baby.”

  “I’m not sure. What I do know is that you both agree that she was forced at gunpoint—”

  “It was a Taser—not a real gun.”

  The detective continued. “She was coerced by threat of force to give birth in a car, denied medical attention, and held against her will in this cabin. Is that what happened?”

  “Yes, but it’s not the whole story.”

  The detective’s face hardened. “Claire Wilkins, you’re under arrest.”

  My knees buckled and the room seemed to spin around. “But . . .but . . .she assaulted me,” I protested, touching my head injury.

  Detective Graham maintained her steely look as she began reading me my rights.

  In a state of shock and feeling as if I were in an alternate universe, I meekly put my hands behind my back. Without protest, I submitted to the tight, cold h
andcuffs that clenched my wrists.

  Chapter 24

  They kept me in lockup overnight and into the next day. Finally, I was arraigned and when I was led into the courtroom, it seemed that I was in some sort of warped, parallel universe.

  Feeling mortified, I stood before the judge. I was so embarrassed, I couldn’t bring myself to glance over at Jeff, whom I’d contacted when I was granted a phone call. There was no one else to call. Certainly not Veronica—not with her association with Walter.

  Jeff had arranged everything. He’d hired a lawyer and with my car impounded, he’d made the long trip to the mountains to lend moral support and to drive me home.

  During the arraignment, I was hit with a litany of charges: kidnapping, false imprisonment, aggravated assault, fetal abuse, child abduction, and child endangerment. The fetal abuse charge was due to my refusal to get Ava medical help while in labor and during childbirth.

  I was considered a flight risk and the overzealous prosecutor had asked that the bail be set ridiculously high. My lawyer—God bless the man—argued on my behalf and the bail was reduced to a reasonable amount.

  Retrieving my handbag, which contained my wallet, identification, and the keys to my home was a lengthy process. Jeff and I had to wait for over two hours. The Taser was kept for evidence, along with my cell phone and my car.

  Afterward, I walked trancelike to Jeff’s car, looking neither left nor right at the spattering of people who stood in the freezing cold outside the courthouse, curious to get a look at the crazy lady who’d kidnapped a premature infant, refused it medical care, and had held the child and its mother captive in a remote cabin.

  “Wanna stop and get something to eat?” Jeff asked.

  I shook my head. “I just want to get home.” Food was the last thing on my mind. The act of eating had lost its appeal months ago . . .after Brandon died. And it had even less appeal now.

  Jeff looked more handsome than I remembered. As he drove, I stole glances, unable to bring myself to look at him openly. My situation was so humiliating, I couldn’t bear to look him directly in the eyes. Furthermore, I was sure I looked like death warmed over. I was tempted to pull the visor down and take a peek in the mirror, but was terrified of seeing the mask of horror that would stare back at me.

  I couldn’t wait to get out of the wrinkled, smelly clothes I had on. I desperately wanted to take a bath and have a long, private cry.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked in a gentle voice. “You’re facing some serious charges. None of this is like you at all, Claire. What happened—why’d you do it?”

  I wasn’t ready to tell my side of the story, but I couldn’t stay clammed up forever. Jeff had been waiting patiently for me get over the grieving process, and now that I was facing lengthy jail time, he deserved an explanation.

  “I don’t know where to begin.”

  “Begin with the flight back from Paris. That’s when you began putting up a wall . . .and that was the last time I saw you.”

  “Right. I couldn’t get in touch with Brandon and I was scared out of my mind. When I confided in you about his problems, I didn’t tell you the whole story. I left out the fact that he had set up housekeeping with a mean, psycho girl named Ava and her lesbian lover, Muffy.”

  “Huh? What?” Jeff whipped his head in my direction and then quickly returned his eyes to the road.

  “Exactly. The way Brandon was living was too raunchy for me to speak of.”

  “Hearing that your son lived with a lesbian couple took me off guard, but I didn’t mean to seem judgmental. People should be able to live and love the way they choose.”

  “But Ava didn’t love him. She was using him to get pregnant. She tricked him into believing she wanted to start a family with him, but all she really wanted was to make money by selling the child.”

  Jeff shot me a look of incredulity.

  “Yes,” I said emphatically. “Ava is a conniving, money-hungry liar—a real piece of work. Brandon wasn’t perfect by any means, but he was innocent compared to that con artist. You wouldn’t believe how ruthless and cruel she could be. Brandon had such self-loathing, he allowed her to demean him and he agreed to share her with a woman because he didn’t want to lose her.

  “My actions probably seem drastic. I’m sure what I did seems insane, but I did it for the love for my grandchild. To protect him from a fate no child deserves.”

  Jeff reached over and caressed my hand. “During our short relationship, you never talked much about your past. You didn’t say much about your son or your ex-husband, and I didn’t pry. But I want to know your story, Claire.” He paused and I noticed his Adam’s apple bob as he contemplated what to say next. “I want to help you get out of this mess because I love you, Claire.”

  When he said he loved me, I became a crying, blubbery mess. I felt so undeserving.

  “I never gave up on us, but if there’s even a prayer for us to repair our relationship, you have to stop being so secretive. There has to be trust between us from now on. I need to understand you and know who you really are.”

  No man had ever spoken to me so lovingly or treated me with such human compassion. Jeff’s gentle kindness prompted me to cry even harder.

  “Hey, hey, it’s gonna be okay,” he said softly, rubbing my shoulder with his free hand. “Tell me about Brandon . . .about the relationship between you two.”

  Sniveling, wiping my eyes and my nose, I began talking about my son. Beginning with when he was a cuddly, happy baby.

  I told him Brandon’s entire heartbreaking story. How I’d been partly responsible for not standing up for him when Howard treated him with such contempt. How I’d tried to make up for my negligence after the divorce, but it had been too late. And how I’d condoned his outbursts and downright rudeness when he grew older out of a sense of guilt.

  My tears had dried by the time I got to the part about bumping into Ava at Home Depot, but when I reached the part of the story where I discovered the empty dresser drawer, the tears began to fall in torrents, all over again.

  “I’m so worried about little Bran,” I sobbed.

  “He’s in good hands at the hospital,” Jeff assured me. “And now that the court’s involved, she can’t wantonly sell the child to the highest bidder; she’ll have to account for the child’s whereabouts.”

  “What about the man, Walter Caulfield? Suppose he overpowers Ava and takes the baby right out of her arms? I get the impression that he’s not kidding around.”

  “With the media attention surrounding this case, I can guarantee you that anyone involved in an illegal baby-selling ring has already skipped town.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “If he’s in his right mind, he took the loss and got the hell out of Middletown. Listen, Claire, instead of speculating, why don’t you get his home address from your friend, and I’ll pay him a visit.”

  “No, Jeff. I don’t want you to get involved with him. He’s a dangerous man.”

  Jeff scoffed. “He’s a coward and a bully that preys on impoverished young women. Let’s see how he stands up to me.”

  “No, you’ve helped me enough. I don’t want you getting mixed up in this mess.”

  “If you feel threatened by this Walter guy, then I’m already involved.”

  In another lifetime, I would have been swooning over Jeff’s open admission of his feelings for me, but under the circumstances, with my freedom being threatened and my fear of what the future held for Bran, all I could do was wring my hands.

  “Even if Walter went away, the baby’s life is still in jeopardy if he’s left with Ava. She’s bad news, Jeff. She’s an awful human being. No redeeming qualities. She’s so completely damaged and unbearably narcissistic, I think something’s missing in her. I honestly don’t believe she has it in her to care about anyone other than herself.”

  “I hate to be the one to break the news to you, but the media is depicting her as a courageous mother and a hero who managed to
escape from her cruel abductor.”

  “They’re calling me cruel and portraying me as a monster when I was trying to save an innocent life from the real monster.” I groaned loud and long. “Obviously the way I handled the situation was bizarre and outrageous. I’m sure there were better options, but when her water broke, I panicked. She wanted her phone and I was terrified she was going to call the baby brokers that had been supporting her and had promised her a lump sum upon delivery of the baby.”

  Jeff caressed my arm comfortingly.

  We rode in silence for a while, both of us deep in thought.

  “I have an idea,” Jeff announced.

  I glanced at him.

  “Besides you, Ava is the only other person who knows the real story. She knows the truth about your motives—that you were trying to prevent her from selling your grandchild.”

  “Yes, but surely you don’t think that a self-serving girl like her would ever admit the truth? I bet she’s having a grand ol’ time at the hospital, enjoying her celebrity status and putting on quite a show for the staff. Probably insisting that the baby stay close to her and pretending to fear that someone will take him from her again. I can see her now, showering him with kisses, and pretending to be the picture of selfless motherhood in front of the staff, yet I had to threaten her with violence just to get her to feed her child.”

  Jeff nodded his head. “Things look pretty bleak right now, I know. But my wheels are starting to spin and I may have an idea that will clear your name.”

  Despite Jeff’s optimism, I sighed regretfully. “With Ava’s testimony and the way I stupidly blurted out a confession to that female detective, I don’t see how I’m going to get out of this mess, unscathed.” I shook my head grimly. “I had a lot of time to think while I was locked up, and I’ve decided to plead insanity. I’m going to discuss it with my attorney when I meet with him tomorrow. After all, I spent thirty days in the psych ward after I lost Brandon. That should help my case; don’t you think?”