by Billie Dale
Love stretches in long tendrils straight from her heart, wrapping my son and me tight in their grasp. She doesn’t need the words. She is them.
Cash isn’t a three-year-old who believes cartoon characters walk among us. He told me the only reason he kept up with Preslee’s need to help him search for the animated children’s Atlantis—Bikini Bottom—is because he enjoys the way her eyes crinkle when she smiles. She’s woven us both under her spell.
When they sprawl out on the blanket Mazzy helped me stage, my dopey grin won’t lower. I move to ask MJ if she wants to join them when sirens blare from the weather radio in the house. Since the hotel warned of pop-ups we’ve kept it on. My eyes search the horizon, seeing the fast moving black sky at the same time Preslee does. I shout out a warning, ask Mazzy to make sure all the window locks are latched inside, and move to brace the shutters on the million and one windows on the cabin.
I thought we had plenty of time but the gloom rips across the water, bringing violent winds, followed by sideways rain, all gaining momentum from the churning sea.
The powerful gusts rip the wood panels from my hands. It takes all my strength to force them closed. Sand scraping my eyes doesn’t help my plight, neither does the way I keep watch over my shoulder to make sure Preslee and Cash head this way. Seth handles the left and Miguel takes back. I hear her shouting, but her voice falters in the bluster.
After securing the last piece on the entire back window, I round the corner expecting Cash and Preslee to be bounding up the stairs but it’s not them. It’s Seth and Miguel. Miguel yanks open the screen door shouting first Preslee’s name then Cash’s. Mazzy shakes her head, saying they’re not in there. Seth eyes scan the coast, his face growing hard the longer his head shifts back and forth. I follow his motion, seeing the blanket, basket, and their other belongings snagged with cyclonic air hitting the ocean.
Preslee’s mint green lacy coverup catches on the deck post. Panic claws up my throat. No matter how hard I stare through the blanket of rain, the beach is empty.
∞∞∞
Preslee
Preslee, lass, you need to wake up. The sound of my grandfather, Herb Carmichael, beckons through my foggy brain. Come on, girl, this ain’t the time to be a sleepin’. In my mind’s eye, he steps through the haze. Salt-and-pepper hair disarrayed around his head, worn long-sleeve plaid flannel, half-covered with denim overalls. He looks the same as he did when I was six and he died.
“Pops?” I garble, my tongue glued to the roof of my dry mouth.
Yeah, doll, it’s me. Been trying to nab your attention since you moved in the plantation. Damn thickheaded child. Always watching those shows on poltergeist extermination. Don’t even get me started on Gayle…
“Pops what are you doing here?”
Listen. Take a deep slow breath.
Cold, hard ground digs into my exposed arms and legs. Riotous bass thumps in my skull and sweat soaks my skin. Moss, salt, and dampness hurt my nose. Lethargy hinders my movement. Waves, drips, and static acerbate my aching head. Through the cacophony I hear talking. Mile a minute jabbering I’ve grown to love. Cash.
Shock and fear race through my veins. The beach, the storm, the stab. Gotta save Cash. I ease open one eye, seeing nothing in the blurry darkness.
Don’t move. Let them think you're still out cold. Keep assessing what’s going on around you.
Not sure I should heed Pops, but since my head seems to weigh a million pounds and my limbs feel stuck, I’ll listen for now.
Something cold and heavy pinches my wrist. With maximum effort I manage a tiny tug, realizing it’s a shackle. A woman talks to Cash. His vivid, excited voice placates, allowing me time to fester on how screwed I am.
I lie here fighting the urge to shiver as whatever they injected in my neck clears my system. From the smells and sounds, I figure I’m in a cave. Either Pops has gone silent or I’ve grown lucid enough to not hear him.
Shoes slap against the floor. Closer, closer until they stop near my head. The sound of knees popping and encroaching body heat tell me they’re squatting. Fingers tangle in my hair, dragging up my head. “I know you’re awake, bitch,” a woman spews, flinging spittle across my face. She yanks me forward. Strands rip from my scalp preventing my ability to continue pretending. My face scrunches and a pained sob confirms I am indeed awake.
A lantern sways overhead, spraying yellow light through the darkness. She throws me against the wall. The chain protests my movement, twisting my wrist at an awkward angle. When my eyes adjust her gaunt features come into focus. Too thin face pocked with large scabby sores mar what was once my sneering-faced bully. Stringy, dirty inky hair lays limp over her ears, sweeping off away from her face in what I think is an attempt at styling. She cocks a snarling grin plagued with broken rotting teeth where straight white years of orthodontia used to be.
Nice to see she didn’t lose the sneer.
She heaves a blanket over me. “My boy needs to see you’re okay. Play nice and I might let you drink some water. Do anything stupid and I’ll hurt him while you watch. Got it?”
“Wow, Paris, it’s great to see you again too,” I snark, turning away from her rancid stink. “Might I suggest a Tic Tac before you breathe on me again from your meth-rotted mouth.”
Her hand connects with my cheek flinging my head to the side, fire rages along my cheekbone.
Smart, Preslee. Way to enrage the skeezed-out drug addict.
“If I had my way, you’d be shark food by now. But He wants you alive and I want Joey.”
Rage prickles the hair on my arms. “He’ll never come back to you. One look will make his dick crawl up his own ass. Hurt Cash and he’ll tear you apart,” I hiss through gritted teeth. Her yard rake snarl grows.
I soften my tone, trying not to feed her demented twisted mind. “Let both of us go now and I promise he won’t hunt you down. I’ll even pay you to drown yourself in drugs.” I’m talking out of my ass, hoping something prompts sympathy. But from the way her hands shake and pupil-blown eyes flit, she’s tweaking and junkies don’t care about anything but their next fix. Plus, she said something about a he, and I don’t want to still be here when the real puppet master takes the stage.
She kicks me in the hip, ricocheting agony down my leg. “Should’ve stayed in California, Preslee,” she mocks. A sob falls from my lips, I roll into a protective coil, making myself as small as I can with my bindings.
“Mom, can I see her now?” Cash’s tiny scared voice calls from the blackened end of the cavern. It slices my heart to him call her Mom. She hasn’t earned the right.
She bangs my head on the wall with a fistful of hair. “Don’t make me hurt him,” she hisses. “Sure, honey, come on. Preslee can’t wait to see you.” Her sugary changed tone makes me want to vomit.
Tiny feet rush forward. I keep my cuffed hand under the blanket, shake off the agonizing hurt burning me from head to toe, suck back my tears, and force my lips into what I hope is a convincing smile. He drops on my lap, fanning the flames of pain where Paris kicked me. Tiny arms rope around my neck as he hugs me with all his strength.
“Are you okay?” I ask, absorbing his body heat my aches vanish in the comfort in his innocent hold.
“Yep,” he pops the P. “Mom gave me a Happy Meal. The fries were cold.”
A loud male voice roars, ‘Paris!’ My free arm stays locked around Cash. Pure fear widens her eyes. Her already shaking body trembles harder when he bellows again. She glances from Cash to the dark end of the cave. “Go,” I say. “He’s safe here with me.” I try to convey my compliance without letting Cash in on the direness surrounding us.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she orders, and I understand her loud and clear. At least she cares enough to keep her son somewhat protected. For now.
As soon as she’s out of earshot, Cash hugs me again. “I’m scared, Elvis. My head hurt when I woke up and the cave is creepy. She says to call her mom. I remember Daddy showing me pictures, but
she looks different and her breath stinks. Can we go home now?” His bottom lip warbles.
Damn, my heart breaks and I’ve never felt more worthless. “Cash, I need you to keep doing what she says until your dad comes. No matter what they say or do with me, you must stay the sweet boy you are. I need you to be strong and pretend to be Pinocchio again, just like you did the day at Nona Gayle’s. Okay?” He nods his head as a fat tear streams down each cheek. I hug him tighter. “Have you seen the guy out there?”
He swipes a hand under his nose sucking back his sobs. “No, she grabbed me on the beach and shoved a rag on my mouth. It smelled like a hospital and tasted sugary. I fell asleep and woke up here.”
Paris returns. “Come on, buddy. I’ll let you watch cartoons on my phone.” She reaches out her hand for his.
He squeezes me one more time. “I love you, Elvis,” whispers in my ear cloaked with tears.
My lids overflow, holding him tight with one arm. “I love you too, Johnny. Remember what I said.” I kiss his soft hair, breathing in his bubblegum seawater-tainted scent.
His hand fitted in hers; she leads him into the shadows. Before I lose myself in sorrow, a tall form steps away from one of the blackened hollows. I take in his loose fitting jeans, orange retro tee, both hanging on his average frame. Rough unshaven jaw, narrowed lips, too big nose, and plain brown eyes under a flop of dark hair.
For a second relief runs a soothing, rescuing path through my veins. In the dim light his pupils grow wide, his lids lowered to slits, and a sickening cruel grin fishhooks his mouth as he stares down at me.
He tears the blanket from my one-handed grasp. Still in my bikini, he leers at my exposed skin. “I warned you’d be mine soon. Now, I’m your only choice,” he taunts.
Any blossoming hope from when I recognized him vanishes with the sound of the crashing tide outside.
Forty-Six
Joey
I don’t stay in shock for long. I can’t. The clog of terror blocking my throat keeps me from filling my lungs.
Mother Nature rages outside, but I’m a volcano ready to blow inside. Thirty minutes after they disappeared, my living room overflows with people. Mom, Carrie Lynn, Gayle, and Rosa keep busy cooking in the kitchen. Dad, Johnny, Joe, Curry, Seth, and Miguel stand around a map spread out on the table. Hendrix and I pace circles around each other. Sam and Mazric arrive soaked from the rain. They rush to Mazzy and haven’t let her go yet.
We’re waiting for police. The wait is killing me. The storm locked down the entire island, bogging down the locals with flooding and panicked tourists.
“We need the camera feeds from the houses over there,” I point toward the back of the house. “From the docks, ‘cause they had to have a boat, and the hotel.” Phone in hand, I continue to call the same number hearing a voice mail each time. “Damn it! Where the hell is Creeden?” I yell, almost crushing it in my hand. He’s the only person close who can hack into the feeds.
Mazzy Jae sits next to Sammy on the couch with a laptop on her legs, her fingers flying across the keys.
“Maybe he’s on a flight home,” Sam offers as an excuse for why he’s ignoring my calls.
“I got it,” Mazzy cheers. Sam shushes her, telling her to play her game quieter. “No, Mom. Here, Uncle Joey, I accessed the recordings.” She turns her computer, showing me a screen filled with black and white images. “This,” she points to the top corner, “is the hotel,” her finger moves right explaining each cell.
Top left shows Creeden in the hotel lobby arguing with a scary thin woman. Top middle shows the two of them renting a boat. Top right shows him outside the cabanas we stayed in the first night, dated back to the time when someone stole Preslee’s things. Bottom left is across the street from the wine café where he hovers in a corner. Bottom middle shows the view from behind the house. The neighbor’s feed caught the woman hovering at the edge of beach. Bottom right is a Coast Guard buoy cam I have no clue how she hacked, but it’s the most damning. Through the crashing wave swells and torrential rain I see an open ocean craft. Frozen on the screen, Creeden holds a limp Preslee in his arms and Paris, my ex, rubs a hand over Cash’s limp body.
Son of a bitch, Creeden was her stalker and Paris Jones is his accomplice. “FUCK!”
“How the hell did the cops not find,” Hendrix stabs his hand at the screen, “this? But a nine-year-old girl can?”
Mazzy shifts, fidgeting on her cushion, side-eyeing her parents seated on either side of her she gnaws on her bottom lip. “Mazzy Jae Vortex,” Sammy Lee scolds. “Spill.”
“I took apart Creeden’s app. The one he created to help narrow down Preslee’s stalker. The lines of code didn’t match what he said, and now Joey can’t get him on the phone. I mirrored my rig back home since it’s more powerful. Used some tips I picked up from a hac…” She catches Sam’s disgruntled mom glare, gulping down a swallow she continues, “A fellow user discussion group. I found where his app was junk. Since coders have signatures, I followed his and found an Easter egg hidden in the binary. Creeden tapped in the footage, set up an algorithm designed to facial recognize himself. It then reformatted, cutting out his image before splicing with previous shots. I also found dot vids from what I think are places Aunt Preslee lived in California. There’s live feed from inside her apartment and the Carmichael Plantation. He’s been watching her for a very long time.”
I sit on the coffee table in front of her, wanting her focus on me and not the trouble she might be in from her parents. “MJ, on a normal day your big brain and extensive vocabulary impress the hell outta me, but right now I need you dumb it down for me.”
“Right. Sorry. I don’t want to get grounded, but I’m more afraid for Preslee and Cash. I tapped into an exclusive podcast after I got going on the new system Dad bought me. Accidentally entered the wrong line of code anyway, it was a discussion/class set up for the FBI child predator unit. I wanted to help investigate the list of suspects on Preslee’s stalker list, so I asked questions. That’s how I cyber met Carly and Harrison. They’re both agents with the program. We began messaging each other, I explained what kind of information I needed and they suggested certain routes for me to try.”
“They willingly dished out information to a little girl?” Sam asks, her mom tone on the defense.
“Of course not. My IP address tracks to a law computer at Harvard. I told them I’m a student in federal crimes studies, working on a case for class. I figured out the coding on my own, they merely kicked me in the right direction. Creeden designed the app to erase his image. When the program recognizes his face, it automatically goes backward for however long he’s in the frame, but keeps the time stamp moving. He kept all the edited clips as trophies on his home system behind multiple firewalls. It wasn’t too hard to break through. I guess he thinks none of us are smart enough to figure it out. I didn’t know about the live feeds or the Coast Guard buoy cams until I messaged Carly a little bit ago, told her about Cash’s abduction and asked her for help. She said to ask if there’s anything else she can do.”
“Thank you, Mazzy.” I pull her into a tight hug. “Your rule breaking might save Cash and Preslee. I think it gives you a free pass with the parental units.” Her shoulders relax at my whispered words.
Hendrix bends over the back of the couch, scanning the laptop screen. “Hey, Mazzy, there’s a new message and from the preview it looks like a map.”
She grabs it, clicks a few times, and turns it toward me. Identical to the island representation spread on the table but lit up with vibrant rings of blue, greenish-yellow, and red cores in various locations. Mazzy says it’s the caves in the area. Each blue circle represents a cavern. The green inner part shows it’s accessible. Yellow and red signify something warm is inside.
“Since Mazzy didn’t find video of him dragging my son and Preslee to an airplane, he’s keeping them someplace close until he figures out a way to whisk them off the island,” I ramble, thinking out loud.
Hendrix grabs Maz
zy’s iMac taking it to the table. I can’t make head or tails of the cartography. Dad glimpses at the screen, twisting the paper version to match the image. He marks a black X in a spot near the big blue expanse. “Here we are.” With his glasses perched low on his nose, he takes a red sharpie circling five different areas corresponding with the red blobs on the digital version. “Here are the places he could be keeping them.” His job in construction and plan reading makes him indispensable.
“Why those and not one of the hundreds of others lit up red?” I ask, mentally figuring how in the hell we will reach each of these locations.
“Larger heat signatures. The storm cooled things down, which is why these other spots are bright green. Those tiny red areas show residual warmth from where the oppressive heat wave clung to the rocks and foliage, despite the chilled rain. Four people in an otherwise cold cave emit tremendous warmth in an otherwise cold area.”
My hand grips his shoulder. “Thanks, Dad.”
“So what are we doing?” Hendrix asks.
I’m at a total loss. The storm still raging outside hinders the police, plus with the temperature, the chance of another popping up is huge. Without someone who knows what areas work for holding kidnapped people we’re screwed. Limited weapons, untrained civilians, and an island under siege from violent weather patterns.
Mazric, Seth, and Miguel hush-argue in the far corner of the room. Both bodyguards wear grim expressions, with their heads slowly shaking and faces staring at their shoes. My cop brain can’t accept my worthlessness. I’m fucking useless to save the two people who matter the most to me. Fuck lot of good my small-town chief smarts does me.