“What do you mean ‘elsewhere’?” I asked. “Ladykiller took my daughter. You have to push him till he cracks.”
“Ms. Fenty, we’re gonna end up releasing Ladykiller. He admitted that he had a heavy presence on your profile page, but he adamantly denied taking your daughter. We don’t have enough evidence to hold him for very long.”
“Why don’t you put a tail on him and follow him to Kylie?” I asked desperately.
“We know where he lives. And we’ve talked to his mother, whom he stays with. Ms. Fenty, are you aware that Ladykiller is only seventeen years old?”
I gasped. “No…”
“His real name is Landon Roby and his mother’s name is Deborah Roby. From what his mother explained, all he does all day when he’s not at school is type on his computer. And he’s not at school much because he’s one of those half-day seniors. According to a few of his teachers, he’s actually a good student. His mother told us that if he had taken a 4-year-old child she would have known about it.”
I was shaking my head. I couldn’t understand it all. And why did Ladykiller’s mother’s name sound so familiar?
“I have to ask you some more questions,” the detective said, his tone becoming harsh. “I’ve turned up a lot of interesting things during the course of this investigation. So I have to ask you, ma’am, how long have you had a violent streak?”
Blinking, I said, “What are you talking about?”
Copeland butted in. “You know what he’s talking about.”
“I’ve come across several things that have disturbed me and I have to follow up on them.” Frisk reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. He unraveled it and looked it over. “I came across a popular hiphop website that featured a video of you going toe-to-toe with another female. Can you explain that to me?”
“It was just a fight that got caught on tape.”
He nodded. “I went further back and found that you broke into a woman named…” He squinted at the sheet. “…Dava Babcock’s apartment. You proceeded to beat her and were subsequently arrested and put on a year’s probation.”
“Are you serious? In your little research you found, did you also see that my baby’s daddy put a restraining order out on Dava? She was crazy. She was stalking the both of us and even threatened my daughter on The Site, which you should have record of. Hell yeah I went over there and kicked her ass. I’d do it again.”
“Ms. Fenty, I also found that someone called the Department of Family Services on you for striking your daughter. The report read that you struck her several times for allegedly crying too loud.”
“That’s a fucking lie!” I shouted. “I know it was Dava Babcock who called DFS on me. She was just trying to get my daughter taken away from me because she was jealous of my relationship with Rodrick. What are you trying to say to me, detective?”
He stared me down. “Have you ever physically abused your daughter, Kylie Brown?”
I slapped him. I don’t think I slapped him hard but I know I woke him up. His eyes were wide and he shot to his feet, only to stop Copeland from coming after me. He adjusted the collar of his suit jacket.
“Don’t ever accuse me of hurting my own daughter,” I cried, pointing my finger up at him. Tears streaked down my cheeks. “I would never lay a finger on my daughter. Never!”
-
Tyesha816: What did I do to deserve this?
August 19th, 11:25 a.m.
CHAPTER 16
“Tyesha, put your seatbelt on,” my mother said to me again.
I ignored her. It was raining heavily outside and it seemed as if the windshield wipers could barely keep up. But what was the worst thing that could happen? We could skid off road and smack a guardrail, but we wouldn’t roll over. My mother was driving too slow for that. And what if I did end up dying? Without Kylie, I already felt dead. A car crash might do me a favor.
Scrolling through the comments again, I hoped to stumble upon some sort of lead. But there was nothing but well wishes. And I was starting to see a few people had made assumptions that my daughter hadn’t been kidnapped at all. I came across a comment from somebody suggesting that I might have abducted my own daughter and I felt anger singe into my veins. My thumb started typing a response on its own: Fuck you! But I didn’t post it. I deleted it because there was no point in responding to people’s cruel, attention-seeking remarks. The comment was linked to another social media network, one reported to be more popular than The Site. I followed the link and it took me to where the comment originated—I had a profile page on this site too but rarely used it—and saw that there were even more hateful comments from people under the trending topics #tyeshafenty and #tyesha816. Several local news stations had aired a brief segment on me and Kylie over the past few hours and it looked like people were drawing their own conclusions.
Samantha Hemp: She blamed her daughter’s kidnapping on somebody from The Site. I don’t believe it. #tyeshafenty
Gary Rezoni: The “stalker” she said took her daughter was a minor! #tyeshafenty #tyesha816 #crazybitch
Swagirl42: Nine times out of ten it’s the parents that did something to their own child. #numbersdontlie #tyeshafenty #guilty
RozayBlack: People don’t kidnap Black kids. Ijs. #tyesha816 #tyeshafenty
Keoni Badd: Her daughter is way too beautiful. If she did it, I hope she gets life in prison. #tyeshafenty
Channel 12 News: “…daughter still missing. Detectives suspect mother of foul play…” #tyeshafenty #newstory #C12News
the prettiest troll: Did you see how big her daughter’s forehead is? O_o #tyeshafenty #tyesha816
Stephen’s Wife: I normally don’t pass judgment before all the facts is out, but this just sounds fishy… #tyesha816 #tyeshafenty
I closed my phone and put it in my pocket. My mother asked me once more to put my seatbelt on so I just pulled it across my chest and clicked it in the socket out of respect for her.
When we got to her house and she was unlocking the front door in a hurry to get us out of the downpour, she noticed how red my eyes were from crying.
“Go upstairs and lay down,” she said. “If you need me just holler.”
My mother wouldn’t let me go to my house alone, as bad as I wanted to. I really didn’t want to step into her clutter. It was madness—madness I didn’t need right now. But I couldn’t say no. I was here.
I felt like a zombie as I plodded up her stairs, dragging my own feet. My clothes were wet from the rain but changing outfits was the last thing on my mind.
When I walked into the room that once belonged to me, the tears began again. This was the room I grew up in as a child. But now this was Kylie’s room whenever she came over to grandma’s. Almost all of her toys were pink, and on the walls were scribbled pictures of cartoon characters, trees, and even colorful stick figures she drew of us as a family—Rodrick was the tallest stick figure with black lines for dreads, I was next with scribbled black hair and a triangle skirt, and then Kylie drew herself with a smile bigger than the outline of her simple face.
By the bed, I dropped to my knees and put my elbows on the comforter, clasping my hands together in prayer. I pleaded with God to deliver me from this torture. I was babbling, snot running down my nose.
“I just want her back, Lord! Please, I can’t take this!”
Feeling lightheaded, I laid down on the floor and stared at the ceiling. The bulbs around the ceiling fan were bright and blinding but all I could do was lay there and stare at the light, begging-wishing-pleading for this nightmare to be over. I started to hiccup as I cried, like I used to as a child. I couldn’t remember the last time I balled my eyes out like this. I wondered if Kylie was crying right now. Was she okay? Was she hurt? Not knowing made my bones begin to tremble.
My body couldn’t take anymore.
Then I rolled to my feet and looked inside the closet. There was a white jump rope with pink handles tangled around toys and stuffed animal
s. I untangled it and cut the ends off the jump rope with tiny pink scissors. I took a chair and pushed it dead center under the ceiling fan and, after unstrapping my gladiator sandals, I carefully stepped onto it barefoot, wobbling a little because the legs weren’t even.
On my tiptoes, I reached high past the wooden blades. The chair shook unsteadily, as I tied one end of the jump rope around the rod pipe connected to the fan’s motor. I pulled up the other end of the rope and tried to tie a noose.
But the rope kept coming undone.
“Dammit!” I fussed, sniffing the snot back in my nose. “How do you do this shit?”
I threw the rope down and let it hang, as I pulled my phone out of my pocket and did an internet search for “how to make a noose.” I memorized the steps, pulled the rope back into my hands and began tying it deliberately.
After I was done, I compared it with the internet image. It looked the same.
So I placed it around my neck and drew it up tight and secure.
My face had never been this wet. The tears poured down my cheeks, dripping off my jaw onto my T-shirt.
Looking at my phone again, I loaded up The Site. I stared at my status update box, trying to think of some last dying words that I could share with the world. Maybe I could post a philosophical stat to let other women know how precious their children were. Or maybe I could find a quote that summed up my love for my daughter and how I couldn’t live without her.
When I shifted my weight to my right foot, one of the chair’s legs cracked in half. I lost my balance, accidentally kicked the chair out from under me and my neck suddenly tightened in excruciating pain.
I couldn’t breathe!
I was suspended in the air by the jump rope, thrashing my arms and legs deliriously.
It was only causing me to swing, the rope to tighten. I struggled for air, dropped my phone and grabbed at the rope around my neck. I was clawing at my own throat. My fingernails drew blood.
“Ughghgh,” I choked.
My eyes felt like they were about to pop out the sockets. I tried to stretch my foot, an effort to hook my toes around the bed post, but it was out of reach. The ceiling fan repositioned and white dust sprinkled down on me. But it didn’t break.
And the room began to darken.
Death began to close in on me.
I didn’t want to do this anymore!
My mother must have heard the chair smack the floor because she came bursting into the room. She quickly hugged my legs and lifted up.
“Tyesha, take the rope off now!”
I fumbled with the rope and finally got it off, falling over on the bed because my mother couldn’t hold my weight. I was coughing terribly. I wasn’t out the water yet.
“Breathe, girl.” She pushed my wild her away from my face. “Breathe.”
Then my coughing started to get better.
“I’m sorry, Momma,” I wheezed out.
“Baby, it’s gonna get better,” she said, hugging me to her chest. “We’re gonna find Kylie.”
“I’m so sorry…”
“None of this is your fault. You just had a moment of weakness. Everything’s all right now. But from here on out, I need you to be strong. Kylie needs you to be strong.”
“I will, Momma.”
For the rest of the night my mother held me as I cried.
And she cried with me.
-
Tyesha816: God please forgive me…
August 20th, 10:27 a.m.
CHAPTER 17
When I walked into the Missouri Department of Motor Vehicles, I felt the eyes of my co-workers fall on me. I’m sure they were wondering if I was coming in to work because the place was swamped. But I wasn’t here to start my shift.
In order to get behind the counter, employees had to be buzzed in. I didn’t want to wait so I hopped over the half door in one bound, my running shoes giving off a small squeak against the shiny tile as I landed firm on the other side.
William looked at me crazy when I took over his computer. I apologized to his customer and started typing.
“Tyesha, what are you doing?” William asked nervously.
“I’m trying to find my daughter.”
William gave me more space to type. “Well hurry up,” he said. “Ruth is here today but she’s out on lunch. If she catches you on my computer—”
“She’s gonna fire me,” I finished for him, as I continued typing. “I know. And I really don’t care right about now.”
He whispered to me, “Yeah, she’s gonna fire you. But that’s not the only thing. Unauthorized access to the system is a felony and you and I both know Ruth will make sure the State presses charges against you, after they give you the boot. You won’t be able to find your daughter while in prison.”
I stopped typing, but only for a moment. I had to keep going. When I decided last night to find Ladykiller’s address, I knew full well what I was doing. I knew there was a chance Ruth could catch me. Did I think about her pressing charges? No, I didn’t. But as long as the police didn’t catch me before I found Kylie, I didn’t care. I’d do my time knowing my daughter was safe with her grandmother. And if I ended up having to kill Ladykiller, I knew I’d be doing a lot of time. Those were the questions going through my head last night—Are you willing to take his life? Will you go to prison to find your daughter? Could you live your life without her, knowing you didn’t try your hardest to find her?
Yes, yes, and NO!
“Hurry,” William prompted. “She has an hour lunch and she left at eleven. If you know Ruth, you know she doesn’t get back late.”
I looked at the clock on the wall. It was ten till.
First, I found Gideon’s address under his full name, Gideon Byers. I had called him this morning to ask for a gun. It didn’t surprise me when he gave me an adamant “No.” I pleaded with him, even started crying desperately, but he told me he didn’t want me to go to jail in pursuit of Kylie. I understood, but I still was getting his gun. I was going to go to his house and take it. When I called him, he was at the grocery store. Hopefully I could get in and get out before he got back. And then it was on to Ladykiller’s.
I clicked a pen and scribbled down the address on a sticky note. The customer sighed impatiently, and William told him it wouldn’t be much longer. Then I looked up at the clock again.
I had seven minutes.
Typing in Landon Roby, Ladykiller’s real name, I came up with nothing. Then I realized that he probably didn’t own a car because he was only seventeen. But was he really just a teenager? I couldn’t be sure. He looked like a grown man in person and even older on his profile picture.
I started over with another search, glancing at the clock.
Four minutes.
My fingers moved like quick spider legs as I typed in the name the detective gave me of Ladykiller’s mother. Before I could finish, though, William tapped me on the shoulder. I looked at him and then followed his eyes—which were bulging like he’d seen a ghost—toward the entrance, where I saw Ruth coming in the door sipping a soft drink through a straw.
Dammit! She’s back three minutes early!
I typed faster and hit enter. Nothing came up! And then I saw that I misspelled her name. I typed it in again and then the address popped up.
“Tyesha Fenty!” Ruth called.
William buzzed her in as I finished writing down the street address. I didn’t need the city, state, and zip code. But I did write down what kind of car Ladykiller’s mother owned. A white BMW 325i.
As I stuffed the information in my pocket, Ruth tried to go in it when I pulled my hand out.
I slapped her hand down.
“What did you put in there?” she hissed.
“None of your fucking business,” I snapped. “Don’t ever put your hands on me again.”
“Whatever you put in your pocket is my business. You’re not even supposed to be here today. You’re on leave. So anything you did on that computer is in violation of policy—and
the law.” She turned to William. “Did you let her on your computer?”
“No, ma’am,” he said, showing his palms in his innocence.
I didn’t have time for this. I tried to walk past her but she grabbed my wrist. When I tried to yank away, her frail body jumped forward but she still didn’t let go.
“Bitch, I will kill you!” I shouted. “Let me go!”
“No, I’m calling the police. You’re not going anywhere.” Then she shouted at the security guard for help. “Stuart Bradshaw, get over here and apprehend her!”
Stuart hopped the half door like I did earlier. I couldn’t let him arrest me so I pulled away harder, but now Ruth had both hands locked on my wrist. I cocked back with my free hand to knock her old ass out but Stuart caught my arm by the crook of my elbow. He pulled me back away from her.
“Call the police,” Ruth said to William, who immediately picked up his desk phone and started dialing. I wasn’t mad at him for having loyalty to his job. But I was mad at Stuart for not letting me go.
“I have to get out of here!” I screamed at him, as I tried to wriggle out of his hold on my waist with no luck.
“Take her to the back, Stuart, and keep her there,” Ruth commanded. “William, give me the phone and take care of this customer.”
I kicked and screamed as Stuart drug me to the back of the building inside the break room. He closed the door and let me go. When I tried to go around him and back out, he pushed me back.
“Stuart, don’t do this! Please! I have to find my daughter!”
Then he did the strangest thing. He extended his arm and pointed behind me.
I turned and saw the emergency exit.
“You got away from me and you escaped,” he said. “I couldn’t catch you.”
I threw my arms around him and gave him a hug. “Thank you.”
“Go find your daughter,” he said.
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