“Backseat. Where's the money?”
She slid open the side door of van and motioned at two large duffle bags. He unzipped one, finding bundles of neatly wrapped hundred-dollar bills. The second contained similar piles of bills. He picked up one of the banded piles and ruffled it.
“Quit waving it around! It's all there!”
Benny watched as Susan went to his car, removed the baby, taking both the carrier and the blanket. She went to her van and opened a diaper bag. She pulled out formula, diapers, and clothes.
Benny noticed the van had Missouri plates and a St. Luke's Hospital parking sticker.
So that's where you’re from. That might be useful information sometime.
She changed the baby and heated some formula with a portable bottle warmer she plugged into the van’s lighter socket. When it was ready, she wrapped the baby in a dry blanket and sat to feed him. It was then she noticed Benny watching her. “You want something?”
“No, guess not.” He wasn't sure what to do.
“Then beat it, and try not to do anything stupid!”
Benny ignored the urge to tell her what he was thinking, threw the duffle bags in his trunk, and got back in his car. He had places to go and money to burn. He drove off without looking back.
*******
Stan was waiting for his sister’s call. “Hello?”
“Hi, Stan. On my way north, everything went smoothly.”
“Good. Let me know when you hit town and I'll set up the delivery.”
They hung up and Stan called the Duncans.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Duncan?”
“Yes?”
“This is Zeb Johnson. I’m calling to arrange the appointment to drop off your new baby.”
“Really? When?”
“Tomorrow afternoon okay?”
“Sure, what time?”
“Say four?”
“Great, see you then.” She hung up and called Wade, then her mom.
When she hung up with her mom, she looked at the living room. Their baby was coming home and that called for a celebration. A party was in order.
*******
Blue balloons hung from every light fixture, railing, and picture frame available. White streamers ran back and forth across the living room ceiling. A table set up in the middle of the room displayed plates, forks, and a large blue-and-white cake.
On the cake were three words.
Katie read them aloud. “Welcome home, Jack.”
Shirley smiled. “It was very sweet of you to name him after his grandfather. I’m sure my dad is smiling down proudly from above.”
Katie reached over to hug her mother. “It just felt right.”
Wade was on the other side of the table and watched as the two shared somewhere between the tenth and twentieth hug of the day. Not that he minded; he’d received his share, as well.
A knock froze everyone in place. Staring at the door, nobody appeared to know what to do. Wade wasn't sure anyone was breathing. They stood like that until Shirley finally broke the silence. “Are you going to get it, Wade?”
He snapped out of his stupor and rushed to the door. When he opened it, there stood Zeb Johnson with the baby, their baby, wrapped in a blanket. Wade was sure he stopped breathing this time. My son.
“Come in, come in.”
Zeb came through the door and walked toward Katie. Katie stood locked in place, her eyes glued to the little bundle coming toward her across the room. When the lawyer got to her, he reached out and gently laid the baby in her arms. Katie stood staring down at the tiny bundle. When she looked up, Wade was watching her, tears running down his face.
Shirley stood looking over Katie's shoulder. “Welcome, Jack. Aren't you a doll?”
Zeb pulled out a folder of papers and gave them to Wade. “Do you have my client’s check?”
Wade reached over to the desk and retrieved the check. “Please tell your clients again how much we appreciate their sacrifice.”
“I will. I assure you they did what they felt was best for the child.”
“I must go.” He turned and walked back to the door. “They're waiting for me to notify them the baby is safe. I wish you all the best.”
The door closed and it was just them. A family.
Not Wade and Katie and Shirley, but Dad and Mom and Grandma. Baby Jack had just changed the way they saw themselves forever.
Chapter 4
Michael Barton sat in the doctor's office, staring out the window. Huge oak trees shaded the parking lot. People came and went, any one of whom might know something about what happened to his son. Two and a half years had passed since their son was taken, and it still consumed his thoughts on a daily basis. The police were no closer to finding him today than they had been on that awful afternoon.
He and Tammy had been cleared early on. What followed were searches of ponds, woods, and dumpsters. The police didn't say it, but he knew they were looking for a body.
He couldn't accept that. He felt his son was still alive. He knew it inside, but he was the only one. Even Tammy seemed to have given up all hope.
He and Tammy had been trying for another child for the last year and a half with no luck, so Tammy had gone to the doctor. It had been a normal check-up with a pap smear, but the doctor's response had been unsettling. In place of the standard letter saying everything was fine, the nurse had called and said the doctor wanted to do a recheck. Tammy had scheduled it—it wasn’t all that uncommon—and they had waited for an all clear.
Instead, they had received an ominous call asking them to make an appointment with Dr. Sanders, an oncologist.
“What's an oncologist?” Tammy had asked him.
“It's a cancer doctor.”
“Oh,” was all she said.
Her reaction still haunted him. She didn't seem surprised, or even upset. He, on the other hand, was shocked. It never occurred to him that her difficulty getting pregnant could be the result of something as serious as cancer.
She’d wanted to go to the first appointment alone, saying it was just a bunch of testing, but he wouldn't hear of it. She turned out to be right. They didn't talk to the doctor for more than a few minutes, but the tests had gone on for hours.
Today, they were back to hear the results. He heard someone come in, and turned to see the serious face of Dr. Jim Sanders. They shook hands, and the doctor slid behind the desk. Opening the file folder he carried with him, he looked up at Michael and Tammy. Clearly uncomfortable, he shifted in his seat.
“I'm afraid the news is not good,” he paused and shifted again. “You have ovarian cancer, and it has spread.”
Silence hung in the air for several minutes. Michael reached over, taking Tammy's hand, and stared at the doctor. “How do we treat it?”
“Our options are limited, I'm afraid. Surgery will be pointless, as the cancer has metastasized. Chemo is one option. It’s unlikely to stop it, maybe slow it down.”
“What about radiation?” Michael pressed.
“Radiation is a possibility, but it, too, will likely only delay the outcome. I'm afraid, short of a miracle, the cancer is terminal.”
Michael's anger flared. Not just at the doctor or the cancer, but all of it. Most of all, at God.
His son was gone, they couldn't have more kids, and now he was told their life together was over. Michael lurched to his feet. “That's not good enough! What else?”
“Please Mr. Barton, sit down. Believe me, I am telling you the truth. The cancer is too far along for the treatments we have available these days. I'm sorry.”
Michael paced the office. “What about trials, drug testing? Isn’t there something we can try?”
“I did some research last night and there are no trials going on that are suitable for Tammy.”
“How much time would chemo give her?”
“Well, it's hard to...”
Tammy had not said a word, and sat stiffly in her chair, not even appearing to pay attention.
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“No,” she said.
She said it so softly, Michael wasn’t sure he heard her correctly. He stopped and stared at his wife. Her focus was on Dr. Sanders.
“I'm not going through that to gain a couple weeks or months. Unless you can tell me it will be cured, or will buy me years, I won't do it.”
“But Tammy...” Michael began.
“No, Michael. I will not go through that. I've seen what it's like.” She was still staring at the doctor. “Well, Doctor Sanders. Does it have that potential?”
“To buy you years, or cure you?”
Tammy nodded her head at him.
“Well, anything is possible but,” he shrugged, “...no, probably not.”
Michael slumped back into his chair. He’d lost his only son and now his wife was going to be taken from him. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right.
The injustice ate at his very soul. Something welled up in him. He didn't know if it was the anger and frustration, or something else, something darker, something more powerful. He wouldn't accept what was happening. He couldn't.
The reason his wife wouldn’t fight the disease was their missing son. She’d not been the same woman since that day. Her desire to take part in everyday life gone; she seemed to just drift along.
The only fire he saw in her was when Detective Strong would call with updates. She’d get excited when she saw the number on the caller ID, and then sink back into depression when there was nothing new.
Dr. Sanders went on to discuss the course the disease would take and what steps could be taken to ease Tammy's suffering. He gave her four to six months.
Michael looked at a calendar on the wall. Four to six months. Four months was the three-year anniversary of the kidnapping.
The rest of the appointment was a blur. He’d asked questions, but didn't remember the answers. When they were done, he’d helped his wife up and out to the car.
No words passed between them on the way home, but Michael was sure his wife looked at peace. She looked as if a weight had been removed, not as if a death sentence had been delivered.
He didn't feel peace. He felt like he was dying inside, leaving an empty hole where his soul used to be. And he felt something else. A darkness that crept in, filling the void. He’d sensed dark days ahead, and he didn’t care.
*******
Another blue-and-white cake sat in the middle of the table at Katie and Wade Duncan's house. This time it read: Welcome home, Jesse.
The house seemed as if it would fly away at any time with the sheer number of balloons hung around the walls.
Jack stood on the couch, looking out the front window. “When's baby coming?”
Shirley ruffled her grandson's hair. “Soon, Jack.”
He was now her oldest grandson, she realized. She has a youngest and an oldest now, with the birth of Jesse.
It had been a wonderful three years with Jack, and the news Katie was pregnant again had only added to it.
Katie seemed to have no fear this time, and Dr. Phelps had even suggested the adoption of Jack might have relaxed her enough that there wouldn't be any problems. He was right. Jesse had come on time and the delivery had gone smoothly.
“They’re here!” Jack jumped down, ran to the door, and pulled it open.
Katie led the way, carrying a little bundle wrapped in a blue blanket. Wade followed with a diaper bag and gifts from the hospital staff.
When everyone was inside, Katie sat on the couch so Jack could see his new little brother. Jack's gaze was glued to the little baby. He reached out, touched Jesse's tiny hand, and giggled when Jesse pulled it away. All of a sudden, Jack sat up, as if remembering something. “Cake now?”
Laughter filled the house.
“Yes, Jack, cake now.”
*******
Throughout the afternoon, friends stopped by to see the new baby and visit. More gifts arrived and many pictures were taken. The whole time, Jack played the big brother, telling everyone who came to see the baby that his name was Jesse. By the end of the evening, Katie was exhausted, and bedtime brought relief for everyone.
Wade tucked Jack in and sat on the side of the bed. They said their prayers, including a special one for Jesse. As Wade stared down at his son, he could see a question forming. Jack always got the same look of concentration when he was wondering something.
“What is it, Jack?”
“Will he get big like me?”
Wade grinned and kissed his son's forehead. “Yup, and you and he will be best buddies.”
Jack liked the idea. “Best buddies,” he repeated and closed his eyes.
Katie was waiting for Wade at the bedroom door. Together, they looked at Jack. He’d made all the difference in their lives. He’d made them a family, and now Jesse was here to make things even better.
Wade kissed her and read her mind.
“Those people will never know what they did for us, will they?”
“No, but I pray someday they can.”
*******
Three months had passed since Michael and Tammy Barton were given the news by Dr. Sanders. Michael had never really recovered from the loss of his son, and he still hoped that someday Kristian would be returned to them.
Tammy had given up hope she would ever see her son again, and her decline from the cancer was faster than even the doctor had expected.
She had lost the will. The will to keep looking, keep hoping, keep fighting. She stirred slightly in her hospital bed, and he realized she was looking at him.
“You okay? The pain meds helping?”
She nodded and pointed at the water pitcher. He got up and filled her water bottle before placing the straw to her lips. She smiled a thank you and rolled over. She was back asleep in moments.
Michael sat back down in the chair he’d spent most of the last week in. They were in a semi-private room, but there was no one in the other bed. The woman who had been there passed away two days ago.
He’d been glad Tammy was asleep at the time. He hadn’t wanted to be looking into her eyes as they both thought the same thing. Soon.
The TV was tuned to the Weather Channel constantly, but only as background noise. It didn't seem to matter how hot it was outside or if it was going to rain. Michael stared at the screen without seeing.
*******
A commotion in the hall outside of Tammy's room dragged Michael to his feet. Stepping into the hallway to see what was going on, he found a man in cuffs, being dragged down the corridor by two officers. Holding one arm was a uniformed officer, and holding the other was Detective Strong.
“Jason, Jason! What's going on?”
The detective recognized Michael. “Michael, this is the man who took your son. We got a tip and found him here at the hospital.”
Michael couldn't believe his ears. “Where's my son?”
“We don't know yet; we're taking him downtown for questioning.”
Michael looked at the man struggling against Jason’s grip, and his anger flared. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a knife, charging the cuffed man.
Stabbing him repeatedly in the back, he heard people screaming his name.
“Michael...Michael!”
Michael lurched out of his seat when he awoke with a start, looking around to see Tammy was watching him. “Are you okay, Michael?”
“Yeah, just a nightmare.”
“Can I have some more water?”
He put the straw to her mouth again and sat back down. He rubbed his eyes. “I guess I dozed off.”
She smiled weakly. “You must have been upset, because you were kicking your feet in the air!”
Michael had always kicked wildly in his sleep and they’d taken to sleeping in separate beds.
He leaned forward and took her hand. “You need anything?”
“Yes, I want to ask you something,” she paused to catch her breath.
“Anything.”
“If you ever see our son again, will you tell him I loved him?�
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Michael nodded and gave her a smile, but inside he was breaking apart. “Of course.”
Frustration boiled inside him. He hadn't protected his son, and he couldn't save his wife. It wasn't fair. The anger that burned in him since the days after his son was taken threatened to take control.
He would find the person who was responsible, and there would be payback for all the pain. Michael promised himself he would make the kidnapper pay.
His dream had been unsettling, but less disturbing was how good it had felt. He imagined himself doing it for real. Killing was something he never thought was in him, but he could feel it now. He was capable and willing.
*******
A few months later, Michael found himself sitting beside her bed again, but this time they were in a nursing home. Tammy no longer knew Michael was even there. The weeks since Tammy passed into a coma had been filled with plans to somehow find the one responsible for his son’s disappearance.
The heart monitor started to beep. A long, steady droning, and Michael knew she was gone. He didn't run to get doctors, knowing she wanted it this way. He wished he could be gone, too.
A nurse rushed in and turned off the beeping, but she didn't call for help, either. Tammy had made it clear not to try to resuscitate her when she went. A doctor came in and checked her vitals, looked at her pupils, and declared Tammy deceased.
Michael stood, kissed her on the forehead and moved to the window. He stood staring out, not seeing, while people moved around him in the room. All he felt now was hate. Hate for whoever had taken his son. Hate for every couple that would grow old together. Most of all, he hated the pain. It ate at his insides and left him short of breath. Somehow, he had to stop the pain.
He heard the nurse say something. When he turned around, Tammy was already gone from the room.
“Take as long as you need,” the nurse said. “I'll be at the desk.”
Michael nodded and turned back to the window.
WHERE'S MY SON? (Det. Jason Strong (CLEAN SUSPENSE Book 1) Page 4