Abducted

by Brian Pinkerton

  “This is good news, though, right?” asked Dennis.

  Calcina responded, “Every clue helps.”

  In the swirl of voices coming from the other room, Anita heard: “…they’re getting the Coast Guard…”

  “Coast Guard?” said Anita. She stared hard at Calcina. Immediately, her heart began thundering in her chest.

  Calcina winced. It was probably something he didn’t want her to hear. He spoke carefully. “The car is parked near the ocean. We have to act quick just in case…”

  He didn’t have to continue the thought. Anita exchanged a mortified glance with Dennis.

  “Worst-case scenario,” said Calcina. “We have to look into every possible scenario. You know that.”

  Several investigators were leaving the house. Calcina watched them go, then turned back to Dennis and Anita. “I’m going to the site.”

  “I’ll follow,” said Dennis quickly.

  “It’s a long drive,” said Calcina. “You’re in no shape. Why don’t you ride with one of us.”

  “I’m going, too,” said Anita.

  Calcina shook his head. “No. I’m sorry. I need one of you to stay here in case she calls.”

  “I want to go where Tim is,” said Anita. “If I stay here I’ll go crazy.” But Calcina just gave her a stern look.

  Dennis headed upstairs to change his clothes. He was still wearing his slacks and polo shirt from dinner. Anita followed.

  They both changed in the bedroom, quick and sloppy, into jeans and sweaters.

  “I’m going with you,” said Anita.

  “Honey, you heard the lieutenant,” responded Dennis. “They need you to stay.”

  “I don’t care. We’re going to get Tim. I’m not waiting around the house, it’s torture.”

  Dennis gave her a long look, then nodded. “OK. I’ll get directions. We’ll take the jeep. We’ve got to move fast.”

  Dennis got directions from one of the investigators. Then Anita joined him as he left the house. They walked swiftly across the lawn to the Jeep Liberty. No one seemed to notice—except for a TV news reporter and cameraman.

  “Can’t talk,” said Dennis quickly. “Going to get my son.”

  “Why do you think your nanny took him?” shouted a red-haired woman, soaked in makeup and waving a microphone.

  Anita slammed the car door on her. “Let’s go,” she said.

  The Jeep backed into the street, careful to avoid the investigators, reporters, and curious onlookers who were scattered everywhere, hovering around the house and moving slowly in the dark, like a scene from Night of the Living Dead.

  The Jeep accelerated down the street.

  “I didn’t lock the front door,” said Anita.

  “Is that a joke?” said Dennis. “We have the Oakland Police Department in our house.”

  Anita smiled, almost laughed. Suddenly, breaking free from the house and its chaos, she somehow felt better. She could breathe again. They had a destination now, and things were clearer. Early daylight was moving across the sky.

  “We’re going to get Tim back,” said Anita.

  “Yes, we are,” said Dennis. His voice wasn’t just hopeful, it was affirmative. “Yes, we are.”

  VI

  The Jeep soared north, tearing past car after truck after car. Anita caught blurred glimpses of ordinary faces going about their ordinary routines. She wished she was one of them.

  The drive would take most of the morning. Dennis and Anita had planned to take turns driving, but so far it was all Dennis, gripping the wheel with white-knuckle intensity, eyes glaring ahead.

  While he drove, Anita was supposed to catch up on sleep—impossible. Fear and adrenaline kept her wide awake. A planned stop to grab coffee never materialized. Anita merely sat silently, watching to see that Dennis didn’t suddenly nod off and veer off the highway.

  Dawn spilled out over the Northern California coast, filling in life and color to the area surrounding Highway 101. The daylight brought another layer of cold reality to the night’s surreal turn of events.

  Aside from the hum of the Jeep, Anita and Dennis were sealed in a vacuum of silence. Ordinarily, when Dennis drove, there was loud music from his favorite rock and roll CDs, The Who or The Rolling Stones. At one point, they did try the radio but snapped it off when a newscast began with a reference to “Every parent’s nightmare.”

  Early on, there was an attempt at some conversation. It looped in circles of anger, disbelief, and helplessness, before fading altogether when words couldn’t match the horror. Without conversation, Anita was left with images. As much as she tried to stare at the landscape outside her window, she kept seeing Tim.

  Moments of Tim, like film clips. Achingly vivid recollections of his touch, his smell, his warbling little voice. Snippets of dialogue from the past week played in her head. Tim was learning to put his new vocabulary into phrases and sentences. He was learning how to walk up and down the stairs rather than slide and climb. He was more focused on favorite books and games. Overnight, he had started to brim with curiosity about everything around him. His range of expressions was growing, each one a delight. Of course, there were moments when the “terrible twos” emerged, flashes of defiance and temper, but they were usually short-lived. He was always onto something else.

  She recalled their last encounter. She had come home early from her last day of work, loaded with boxes of belongings from Digital Learnings. She rarely, if ever, came home early, so he was wild with delight, bare feet running in circles around her. She gave him a goofy keychain from one of the boxes—something a vendor had given her. He had gripped it tight for the next hour. A gift from Mommy.

  She gave him a juice box with a straw and told him not to squeeze it. He did, red fruit juice squirted on his shirt, and she had shouted at him and scolded him—

  Oh no, Anita thought. The memory stung. He had cried briefly. Pam had changed his shirt and soothed him. But the thought of scolding him suddenly filled Anita with guilt, although it was really nothing harsh, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that any other mother wouldn’t have done. But now it was a lasting memory…

  Pam had fed Tim while Anita changed clothes. Pam didn’t act unusual, perhaps quieter than usual. Dennis arrived home somewhere around seven, as Tim was being prepared for bed. Pam handled the diaper change, the face washing, getting rice out of his hair. In fact, realized Anita, she had seen Tim very little in the final hour before she left with Dennis for dinner.

  I didn’t even read him a story, realized Anita, followed by Why am I torturing myself like this?

  Tim was asleep in his crib when Anita and Dennis left for dinner. She had checked on him once, touched him gently, he stirred, and it was goodbye. See you later. Not even the tiniest thought that he wouldn’t be there when they returned. It seemed so long ago, years ago.

  Now this. This madness. She tried again to affix her focus emotionlessly on the scenery outside the car. The trees waved in the cold. At various times she could see the ocean. As the highway rolled beneath the car, Anita couldn’t help but wonder about Tim’s state of mind when he traveled this same route hours ago…was he awake…was he scared…was he warm.

  Tim trusted Pam. For better or worse, he was probably not fearful. Just tired and confused. And hungry? He would be hungry by now. What did Pam have to feed him? Had she even thought that far ahead?

  Maybe he was being fed right now. Maybe Tim had already been rescued and all this worrying was unnecessary. In their rush to leave the house, they had left the cell phone behind with the police, so there was no way for anyone to reach them. She considered checking the radio for news, but decided that was not how she wanted to receive her progress reports. God forbid, what if…? She squelched the thought.

  The drive was starting to hypnotize her. She wished it would numb her. Or at least settle the buzzing, gnawing tension in her chest and stomach.

  “Oh God,” she finally said out loud, the first words in a long time to pierce the sil
ence.

  Dennis didn’t react. He continued staring ahead, eyes sunken and bloodshot, face dark with stubble. He was barely moving, aside from small adjustments to the steering. Finally, when she didn’t expect it, he spoke aloud in a cold, flat tone.

  “I’m going to fucking kill her.”

  The directions took them off Highway 101 and into Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park, about 30 miles south of the Oregon state border. Dennis took a wandering, unpaved road along a rugged stretch of coast, under a dense canopy of redwoods, seeing very little traffic or signs of civilization. The trees practically blocked out the sun; it felt eerie, like the day was already coming to a close.

  At this point, the information vacuum was truly driving her crazy, along with the thick tension that threatened to implode the Jeep.

  “I see something,” said Dennis, his voice cracked and murky from remaining silent for hours.

  Then Anita saw it, too. There, tucked deep among the redwoods, was a police car, then a second police car, and then…

  An explosion of activity. They had entered the hornet’s nest. Police, emergency vehicles, television vans, men in FBI windbreakers, all mixed up and moving around.

  In the midst of everything, Anita spotted Pam’s parked Toyota, surrounded by yellow police tape. She felt a thunderbolt of both terror and relief.

  Dennis parked on the grass. He leapt out of the Jeep; Anita followed, out of the stale car air and into the harsh winter chill.

  “It’s so cold,” she said, and she wanted to cry, but wouldn’t, didn’t.

  She followed Dennis to Pam’s car.

  “Don’t touch anything!” shouted an FBI agent.

  Anita looked in the window. She saw the baby car seat they had bought for Pam so long ago…the cell phone…Pam’s purse. She left without her purse?

  “Are you the mother?” asked a slick, Clark Kent lookalike with a rich voice. A television voice.

  “No,” said Anita. More reporters began closing in, armed with microphones, notepads, cameramen.

  Dennis scanned the crowd. “Where’s Calcina?”

  Anita looked, too. She found him fifty feet away talking with a group of investigators. She moved to get in his line of sight. He saw her, grimaced at the sight of both of them, and held up a finger to indicate “one minute.”

  “Have you ever experienced trouble with your nanny before?” asked a perky blonde with big hair, accompanied by a young photographer.

  “Not now,” Dennis said firmly.

  The photographer took pictures anyway. Anita did her best to ignore him.

  “Dogs,” said Dennis.

  “Dogs?” Anita repeated, not knowing what he was talking about, until she followed his gaze into the forest, where several investigators held bloodhounds on leashes. The canines were muzzled, moving quickly and crookedly between the trees.

  Earlier in the evening, one of the investigators had asked for Tim’s blue blanket “to pick up the scent.” It was another surreal moment at the house, lost in the commotion of everything else. Now it was another ugly reality.

  “I don’t think they’ve found them yet,” said Dennis.

  “No,” said Anita. Her attention became distracted from the dogs to a steady, growing noise in her ears. The sound had started a few minutes ago as a faraway hum and now reached the level of a rapid, forceful pounding that bounced off the trees.

  Dennis jerked his head. “What the hell is that?”

  Anita turned around in a complete circle, searching for the source, and found nothing, even as the sound intensified. The ground shook beneath their feet, yet no one paid it any attention.

  Whump-whump-whump-whump.

  The pounding amplified dramatically until it drowned out all other sounds, blasting through the trees. It felt like a fast, hammering heartbeat in Anita’s chest. She followed the direction of the noise, taking several steps, breaking into a jog, then running. She ran deeper into the woods, past faceless investigators and through the maze of giant redwoods. She almost stumbled, but didn’t slow down her momentum. The noise continued to grow louder, assaulting her, vibrating her bones.

  WHUMP-WHUMP-WHUMP-WHUMP.

  All of a sudden, the forest vanished.

  The trees and brush stopped coming, the bright daylight returned, and there was a wall of blue. Blue sky and blue ocean for as far as she could see. Her feet stopped abruptly, because if they had continued, she would have gone soaring into space.

  The ground ended and plunged hundreds of feet into a faraway swirl of rocks and sea. Anita screamed, but the scream was lost in the gigantic ROAR.

  A helicopter charged into view, big and orange like a monstrous insect, hugging the coast. The blades sliced through the air, deafening, hammering her ears until she thought her head would burst. The force sent her staggering backward.

  Strong hands grabbed Anita and pulled her back. It was Dennis.

  She was mere feet from the edge of a cliff. A driving wind cut across the horizon, chilling her flesh. Down below, she could see Coast Guard boats appearing tiny in the waters.

  Anita knew that no one could survive a fall into the violent, freezing waters below. They would be pulverized by the rocks, pulled into the ferocious spirals of sea. It looked like the mouth of a monster.

  The helicopter made a sharp turn and started to circle back. Anita pulled loose from Dennis’s hold and retreated back into the woods. Her tears felt cold on her face. Dennis came after her.

  “Anita!”

  “Don’t talk to me—”

  “He’s not down there.”

  “How do you know?”

  “You can’t think this way.”

  “Everybody else obviously is.”

  “Everybody who?”

  She didn’t want to engage in a conversation with him. It was all too much to bear. She returned to the mob of people at the site of Pam’s car, waving away reporters with both hands.

  Almost immediately, Calcina was in front of her.

  “Where’s Tim?” said Anita, out of breath, starting to choke on her own words. “Where is he? Where is he?”

  Calcina waited for Dennis to catch up.

  Anita saw the reporter watching, but keeping a distance. Video cameras were rolling.

  “We don’t know,” said Calcina. “Here’s what we do know: she left everything behind in the car. The phone, her purse, the money. All she took was Tim. She hasn’t made any more calls.”

  “Why are they looking in the ocean?” asked Anita, pushing the words out painfully.

  “We’re searching the ocean, the woods, the highways, everywhere. There’s a good possibility she switched cars.”

  “Are there any footprints?” asked Anita.

  Calcina shook his head. “We had a heavy rain here earlier that’s made it very difficult. We haven’t had any luck so far, but you never know—”

  “I’m tired of not knowing!” snapped Anita.

  Calcina said nothing. His eyes looked tired and sad, and she immediately felt bad. He was the last person to take her anger out on. He was doing everything he could.

  “What can we do to help?” asked Dennis.

  “Help us check the woods. But don’t get lost. Stay in sight. We’re scouring the area for clues. It could be anything.”

  In that instant, Anita saw Roy Beckert. He was nearby in a flannel shirt and jeans, talking to an investigator. She couldn’t detect any emotion in their faces, any significant exchange of information.

  Then, for a moment, Roy noticed Anita. Their eyes locked. She didn’t look away. Finally, he did. There was no sympathy, no apology in his eyes.

  Just the sight of Roy filled Anita with rage. She couldn’t bear to see anyone associated with Pam in any way. She felt sick.

  The roar of the helicopter kept rising and falling as it circled the area. After a while, it no longer filled her with dread, it became white noise. Someone with the state police gave her a donut. She took several bites and promptly threw it up.

&nb
sp; The investigators all had similar expressions: frustrated and grim. When one of them broke from the norm and showed an inexplicable smile or bored yawn, it angered her.

  Anita and Dennis joined the search of the woods, silently going off in random directions and circling back, undoubtedly covering ground that was already covered.

  Throughout it all, Anita tried to comfort herself with a series of potential scenarios.

  Maybe they’ll be discovered hiding out in the woods…

  Or the highway patrol will catch them in another vehicle…

  Maybe some campers or hikers found them and took them somewhere…

  As the feeling of hopelessness continued to grow, Anita finally gave in to Calcina’s persistence that she and Dennis talk to reporters. “If you’re on camera, if the public can see and feel what you are experiencing, they will be moved to help,” insisted Calcina.

  The first interview was horribly awkward, but by the third one she was doing better, less aware of the camera, more prepared with statements. Dennis chimed in here and there, but the media seemed more interested in her. The mother’s grief was more dramatic. Better ratings. Whatever. Just get me back my son.

  Cold and exhausted to the point of delirium, she finally returned to the Jeep and locked herself in the backseat. She curled herself into a ball. No matter how difficult it was, she needed some sleep. She needed a clearer mind. Maybe a clearer mind would provide her with the clue that would solve the mystery. I’m not abandoning him if I sleep, she told herself. I’m making myself stronger so I can rescue him.

  She slept for about an hour and a half, awakening occasionally with a disoriented jolt, a few seconds of Where am I? What’s going on? followed by the brutal return to reality.

  She was sleeping fairly deeply when a tapping on the window woke her up. It was Dennis and Lieutenant Calcina. Their faces were serious, not happy “we rescued him” faces.

  She nearly fell out of the car in her haste to hear what they had to say.

  “It’s not Tim, but it’s not good,” said Dennis quickly, his voice thin and breathless. He then looked at Calcina to deliver the news.