by Willow Rose
I called Shannon when I left the Hawthornes’ house and told her what I knew. She tried hard not to get hysterical. I could tell she was struggling to hold back by the tone of her voice.
“It’s all over the news, Jack,” she told me. “I don’t know how they found out, but they did.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “We knew it might happen, right? We’ll get through this too. Together.”
I worried that Shannon would start drinking again. She was so fragile and this was tearing at her severely. I couldn’t lose her to the bottle once again. I simply couldn’t.
“They’re saying I have a history of alcohol abuse and debating whether I’m fit to be a mother or not,” she said, sounding a lot calmer than I expected her to be in this situation. “They’re talking about how it happened with Angela too. But Angela wasn’t even with me when she was kidnapped.”
“It was completely different back then,” I said. “Don’t listen to them.”
“They don’t care. They just want me to look like I can’t handle being a mother. Now they’re talking about Joe, calling him my abusive ex-husband, and saying how I was accused of murder once, ugh; they’re bringing up everything, Jack. My entire story. Everything.”
“Turn off the TV, will you?” I said.
“They’re setting up outside the house now,” she continued. “I see cameras being set up. I don’t want to have to go through this once again, Jack. I hate this. Maybe we should just elope to some island far away, and then I promise to never sing again.”
I laughed. Not because it was funny. There was nothing funny about this situation. It was more to comfort her and because this entire situation had become completely ludicrous. Here we were, just trying to get married without too much fuss about it, and look at us now.
“Let them tell their stories,” I said. “Meanwhile, we focus on getting Tyler back. That’s our main focus right now. How are the kids?”
“They’re all right. Sarah is with them in the yard. They’re scared, Jack. I’ve been trying to calm them down, to tell them we’ll find Tyler, but I get the feeling they don’t really believe me much. I’m trying, though. I really am. Thank God for Sarah.”
We hung up. I was looking out the window of my rental car, studying another row of old houses, built the typical Southern Savannah-style. How do you hide thirteen girls? According to Betsy Sue, they didn’t even go into the yard. She had been deprived of sunlight for years and years.
“The girl screams at night,” I mumbled angrily. What kind of a hint was that? How was that supposed to help me?
My phone rang. I picked it up. It was Detective Bellini. “I have the list of doctors living in the area for you that you asked for. I’m sending it in an email.”
35
May 2016
Little Miss Muffit looked so pretty in her dress. It was long and pink and had flowers on it, just the way it was supposed to. It wasn’t the right dress and it would never be, since Betsy Sue had taken the right dress with her when she ran away. But the doctor had sewn a new one just for little Miss Muffit.
Now she was standing in the big living room while all the girls sat in a circle around her.
Little Miss Muffit was crying, tears rolling across her cheeks. It was a big day for her; the Doctor couldn’t blame her for being emotional. The Doctor felt a little emotional too.
Little baby Rikki Rick was in his car seat, watching Miss Muffit getting ready for her next step. The girls were all cheering her on. They knew and understood what was going to happen and why.
The Doctor walked to her and grabbed her hand. “Are you ready?”
Miss Muffit looked up, tears springing from her eyes. “Please,” she said. “Please, don’t do this to me.”
The Doctor grabbed the brush and started to brush Miss Muffit’s hair, gently using long strokes. Then Daisy brought her the rose, which she placed in the girl’s hair.
“There. Now you look just…perfect.”
“Please. I’ll be good…”
The Doctor shushed her, then reached out a hand. Miss Muffit looked at it, while the girls all cheered.
“Miss Muffit. Miss Muffit!”
“Come on, then,” the Doctor said. “It’s time.”
Miss Muffit sniffled and wiped away her tears, then grabbed the Doctor’s hand in hers.
“Good girl. Say goodbye now.”
All the other girls were quiet as she waved goodbye to them. They walked upstairs and stopped by a small door. Miss Muffit gasped when the Doctor put the key in and turned it. The Doctor could feel how the little girl shivered. She held on to her hand tighter, so the girl didn’t try and run.
The door opened and the small dark room opened up. Miss Muffit had the same terrified look on her face as the others before her when she spotted the chair. None of the girls were ever allowed in there, yet all the girls knew what was in there, even though they had never seen it with their own eyes.
Now, she saw it. And she knew it was the last thing she would ever see.
Miss Muffit whimpered and tried to pull away, but the Doctor held firmly onto her. Forcefully, the Doctor pulled her into the room and placed her in the chair, where her arms and legs were strapped down.
“Please,” Miss Muffit pleaded over and over again. “I’m sorry.”
There was a small window next to the chair that she was allowed to look out of, and the Doctor made sure to pull the curtain to the side.
“There you go, my little muffin. You’re all settled.”
Miss Muffit cried hard now. “Please, let me go. Please.”
The Doctor couldn’t blame her for her tears. But she knew this was going to happen. They all grew up knowing it.
The Doctor wiped away a tear from her cheek, then bent over and kissed her gently.
“Goodbye, my muffin,” she said, feeling a pinch of sadness in her heart. She had really grown to love Miss Muffit.
The Doctor walked to the door and took one last glance at the girl, who was now struggling to get loose, before the door was closed and locked with the key.
The Doctor stood for a few seconds, an ear leaned against the door, while Miss Muffit’s screams finally emerged through the walls.
36
May 2016
I tried my best. But of course you can’t just drive by a house and tell if someone is being held kidnapped there. I looked for signs of toys or girls in the windows, or even houses that seemed to be closed off, but no sign of the thirteen girls or my Tyler anywhere.
Next, I tried the list that Detective Bellini sent me and drove through five addresses of doctors living in the historic downtown area. I rang the doorbell of all five of them. Three of them weren’t home, but I spoke to their wives, who hadn’t seen my boy or any girls. Two were home. I showed them a picture of my son, asking them if they had seen him. They both answered that they had already seen the picture on the news and that they were terribly sorry they couldn’t do more to help.
When the afternoon was approaching its end, I drove to the harbor and parked the car. I walked to the dock where I had found Betsy Sue sitting, dangling her feet over the edge, and sat down.
The shadows on the harbor were growing longer as the sun was about to set behind me. The water in the harbor was calm. A big French tanker was about to dock further down.
I went through everything Betsy Sue had told me in my head, wondering if I had missed something, if there could be anything that I hadn’t realized could help me.
I stared at my dangling feet, wondering about Betsy Sue and if it would have been better if I hadn’t helped her that evening when I spotted her sitting here.
And that’s when I saw it.
I spotted the birds circling the area not far from where I was sitting. It drew my attention because there were so many of them. Hundreds maybe. Hundreds of black ravens. They were making an awful noise, some seemed to be fighting over something. I got up, jumped down on the rocks below me, and avoided the water hitting my feet just b
ecause it was low tide. I walked closer and saw some of the birds disappear into the walls, maybe a crack or—as I realized when I got closer—a tunnel.
I stopped at the entrance of it and waved off a couple of ravens that tried to scare me away from whatever it was they had found in there to fight over.
“Shush!” I said and walked inside the tunnel.
It was about three feet wide and about the same height. The rocks underneath me were slippery. There was about an inch of water in the bottom, soaking my shoes. Old bottles, used syringes, and empty wrappers from burgers and pizza told me the place was used only by homeless and others seeking it for shelter. I followed the birds into the damp smelling claustrophobic tunnel and felt my heartbeat quicken the further in I got. I found my phone and used it as flashlight, lighting the ground under my feet as I got closer to where the many birds where gathering.
By the sound of their fighting, and the smell in the tunnel, I had a gut-wrenching feeling inside that this was a little too familiar for a homicide detective. I had seen this type of scene before.
Too many times.
Deep inside the tunnel, I reached an area where all the birds were hanging out and I shone my light on it, holding my sleeve up to cover my mouth and nose. I shooed the birds away and what came to light was even more terrifying than what I had imagined.
Ravens were still picking the meat off the bones, some fighting over pieces in the air. A familiar emptiness in my gut gripped me when I knelt down as I had done so many times before when called out to a homicide investigation. I shone the light on one of the bones. I had been on the job long enough to realize that by the size and length of it, these bones didn’t belong to a full grown adult.
37
May 2016
Shannon couldn’t stand it anymore. She couldn’t simply sit there in that old wooden house where the entrance was barricaded by reporters, waiting for her son to come back. She knew Jack was doing everything he could to get their boy back, but still she felt like she had to act too. Sitting there in the living room watching the TV crews do their thing had to be the most frustrating thing in the world.
There had to be something she could do. Something.
Shannon got up from the chair with a groan. She walked to the kitchen, where Sarah was fixing dinner for the kids. They all went quiet when she entered.
“Any news?” Sarah asked.
“Did Jack find him?” Angela asked.
Shannon shook her head, walked to the refrigerator, and grabbed a bottle of water. Emily was sitting by the TV, while the kids were eating at the counter. Her plate still sat at the table next to her, untouched.
“I’ll be going out for a little while. Do you think you could look after the kids?” she asked. “I don’t know when Jack will be back.”
“Sure. No problem,” Sarah answered, slightly surprised. “But how will you get past them?” Sarah nodded towards the windows. They had pulled the curtains to make sure the photographers didn’t take pictures of the children.
Shannon drank from her bottle, then put it down. “I have my ways.”
Shannon kissed Angela on the head and smelled her hair, remembering her as a little baby and how much she loved holding her in her arms. The memory overwhelmed her as soon as she started thinking about Tyler. Her stomach was in one big knot from the deprivation, the longing to be able to hold her son again.
“Are you alright, Mommy?” Angela said.
Shannon nodded and kissed her, forcing a smile. “I will be. Soon.”
She left the house using the back door into the yard. It was almost dark when she climbed the neighbor’s fence and slid into their yard, wearing a hoodie she had borrowed from Sarah.
She walked onto the street on the other side of the neighboring house, and no one noticed her as she disappeared around the corner.
She reached the Hawthornes’ big mansion fifteen minutes later and without being recognized by anyone. The officer at the gate called inside. They agreed to let her come into the driveway. Mr. Hawthorne greeted her there. He didn’t seem happy to see her.
“Your fiancé was here earlier,” he said. “We’ve already done what we can for you.”
“I know. I was just thinking…I had a connection with Betsy Sue that night we found her. I just really wanted to talk to her. I don’t know where else to turn.”
Mr. Hawthorne shook his head. “I’m sorry. It’s late. My wife isn’t feeling well. Betsy Sue needs her rest. I’m sorry about your son, Miss King, but there really isn’t much we can do.”
Shannon sniffled. “Please?”
“No. I’m sorry. I have to ask you to leave. I don’t want anyone to know you’re here and end up with the entire press corps parked out here. We’ve heard what they say about you.”
“Is that why you won’t let me see your daughter?” Shannon asked, surprised. “Because of the lies they tell about me?”
Mr. Hawthorne didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.
“I can’t believe you. We brought your daughter back to you. My fiancé…and you believe that? Just some stupid lies?”
“Is it a lie, Miss King? Is it all lies? Didn’t you lose your daughter? Don’t you have a drinking problem?”
Shannon took a few steps back. The resentment in Mr. Hawthorne’s eyes felt like arrows to her skin. How could he say such things? Was he right? Were they all right? Was she just a terrible mother?
“I should…” she walked backwards towards the gate.
“I think you’d better.”
Shannon turned, put the hoodie up over her head, and left through the gate. As it closed behind her, she felt a tear escape the corner of her eye. She wiped it away. For the first time since she was pregnant with Tyler, she desperately craved a drink.
To hell with all of them.
38
December 1990
“Be careful, my dear.”
Kimberly walked fast to keep warm and hardly noticed Mrs. Thomas till she spoke. Kimberly stopped and looked at her, her grocery bag in her arms.
“Excuse me?”
Mrs. Thomas was sitting in her rocking chair on the porch in front of her house, her legs wrapped in a blanket.
“Be very careful,” the old lady said, rocking back and forth.
“Of what, exactly?”
The old woman stopped rocking. She stared at Kimberly. “The room. Don’t go in the room upstairs. Evil lurks in there. It’s where it happened.”
The woman leaned back in her chair and started rocking again.
Kimberly sighed, exhausted. The groceries were heavy in her arms and she was freezing. When they moved to Savannah, she had given all of her heavy coats to one of their neighbors, thinking she was never going to need them again, but last night they had gotten three inches of snow and it was still freezing.
Kimberly wanted to ask more, but decided not to. For all she knew, the old woman was just babbling; she was probably senile as well.
“Have a good day,” she said and hurried past Mrs. Thomas’s house to get to her own.
Inside again, she put the groceries in the kitchen. Joseph was in the basement, as always. School was out for Christmas break, and ever since the break had started, he had been down there constantly, even sleeping in there. Some nights she had woken up to find the bed empty on his side. What he did down there, she still didn’t really know and, frankly, she had stopped caring.
Rosa was in the attic, as she liked to be when she couldn’t play outside. Kimberly had decorated the place a little and put a small table and some chairs up there, so she could draw or write, and she had made a reading corner with pillows, so Rosa could catch up on her reading over the break.
Kimberly put the groceries away, but still couldn’t shake what the old woman had said. Somehow, she knew exactly what room it was that Mrs. Thomas had talked about. There was a door up on the fourth floor that she had passed on many occasions, but never opened. Was there really a room in there? And, if there was, what was in there? Kimb
erly had tried to open it once, but it had been locked by a key and she didn’t know where to find the key. She had then decided it was probably just a cabinet, since it didn’t seem like there was enough room for more behind it.
Kimberly wasn’t sure exactly what made her go up the stairs. Curiosity? Stupidity? Fear? She didn’t know. But her heart rate skyrocketed as she reached the fourth floor and looked at the door at the end of the hallway.
Why was it again that she shouldn’t open it? The old woman never told her. She just said that she shouldn’t do it.
Pah, what does she know? Old senile woman.
Kimberly approached the door. She could hear Rosa playing in the attic with those creepy ravens making an awful noise. Kimberly hated those birds. They pooped everywhere and always tried to pull her hair if she approached them. Luckily, they never touched a hair on Rosa’s head.
“Don’t open the door.” Silly old fart.
Kimberly reached out and grabbed the handle, expecting it to be locked like it was the last time she tried. But this time it wasn’t. This time, when she turned the handle, the door creaked and opened.
Maybe it was just stuck the last time.
Kimberly gasped, her heart thumping in her chest while she pulled it all the way open.
A chair? Is that it? Is that why the old woman told me to not open the door?
Kimberly broke into loud laughter and walked inside the small room. It had slanted ceilings on both sides which made it hard for her to stand up straight. There was a small window looking into the street and next to it a chair, an old-fashioned wooden chair that looked very uncomfortable to sit in.