“C’mon, yo, he ain’t that heavy,” one of them loudly whispered. Esteban saw that all three were still wearing their ski masks, concealing their identity.
“Shut the fuck up!” The third one commanded. Esteban could hear the third kidnapper, walking next to his horizontal body, carrying something that sounded like chains. He couldn’t see because it was too dark.
“You carry the little motherfucker then,” he retorted.
Esteban gave one more attempt at writhing himself free but the grips on his wrists and ankles were too strong. He could hear the feet underneath him scuffle along the infield of the baseball field. Clouds of dust began to simmer around him. Suddenly, Esteban was dropped near home plate. The thud temporarily knocked the wind out of him. It only took a few short inhalations to regulate his breath. He realized he was free of the vice grips and wanted to make a run for it but then he heard the click of the gun in his left ear. Esteban, for the first time in as long as he can remember, felt scared.
“Now, are you going to shut the fuck up?” The biggest of the three guys asked, still resting the gun behind Esteban’s ear. Esteban could do nothing but casually nod an agreement.
When the kidnappers ran back to the car and sped away, Esteban was chained to the fenced in backstop of the baseball field.
SIXTEEN
I woke up Wednesday morning once again feeling rejuvenated. I had my usual bowl of cereal, a yogurt, and a glass of orange juice. No coffee for me. Lindsey was back at work by the time I was out of bed but I was lying awake to see her leave. Over my bowl of Cocoa Puffs and strawberry banana yogurt, I sorted through Esteban’s incident reports. Principal Garvey was nice enough to let me make a copy of them to look over at home.
There must’ve been well over a hundred incident reports describing various situations Esteban had been involved in, either provoking or instigating a fight or argument. Each incident report was to be thoroughly completed by the staff member or members who witnessed the incident. The writer, who was usually the primary witness to the incident, had to fill out the student’s name, program, since they were sent to their home districts, the homeroom teacher, the reporter’s name along with date and time of incident as well as who, if any, were the victims. The location was to be checked off from a series of boxes listing everything from the bus to the cafeteria to somewhere in the community. The next section asked the writer to describe in a brief sentence of what initiated the incident followed by what types of behaviors were exhibited during this incident, such as disruptive or disrespectful behavior, fighting, bullying, or possession of weapons and stealing, among others.
The meat and potatoes of the report filled in the middle section. This is where the writer was to describe the incident and the observable behavior they witnessed. The bottom of the page was another check- box area for the writer to indicate what responses or consequences were given to handle the situation and a brief summary of what intervention strategies were utilized as well as the outcome. The outcome referred to how well the intervention strategies, such as a call to the parent or guardian, suspension, separation from the situation, inability to earn breaks, among others worked. I can always tell when Lindsey had to fill out incident reports at work because she would come home drained. She always complained about how time consuming they were and needed to complete them by the end of the school day so Garvey could have them to review. He would decide if a further consequence was needed. Lindsey couldn’t remember a day where she didn’t have to fill one out and her own personal daily record for incident reports, she told me, was seven. Most were on Esteban but she certainly had her fair share of other guilty parties in her class of six students.
Esteban’s incident report file read like a student’s handbook of what not to do in school. He had a fight with someone on a weekly basis. Stole portable video game consoles out of classmates’ book bags. Threw pencils at staff and students. Broke three windows. Not only ran out of the class but the school building at least five times. However, it was indicated that Esteban never got farther than the staff parking lot behind the building when he ran out. Vandalism. Inappropriate sexual and drug related drawings in art class. Flipping tables and desks. Punching a water fountain until it broke from the wall. Hitting computer screens. I started to see it as comical and laughed to myself. But I tried to suppress the comical thoughts and push more sympathetic thoughts to the front. A kid with this much anger and aggression really must have a rough home life, I thought.
What I found to be most comical was what was written in most of the sections of the incident report that asked the writer to describe what initiated the incident. I could tell, from her handwriting, that most of these were filled out by Lindsey herself. And most of the initiated behaviors were reasons, such as: “Esteban didn’t feel like doing math today.” “Esteban was bored so he got up and walked out of the room.” “Esteban didn’t like the way Brandon turned around and looked at him.” “Esteban didn’t get to go first in Connect Four.” All very justifiable reasons for the aforementioned aggressive behaviors.
Kids like Esteban have difficulties processing what others might deem to be infantile situations. Their only way of dealing with situations, regardless of the level of complexity or frustration, is to act out violently. More often than not the violence is a learned behavior from the people that surround the child themselves. The kids who exhibit a gang mentality tend to have some exposure to parents or siblings who have direct gang ties. (In this case Esteban’s older brother seemed to have a track record of drugs and possibly some gang ties.) The kids who are highly aggressive and immediately resort to punching, kicking or spitting on someone as an initial reaction are usually victims or witnesses to such behavior outside of school. The Right Step School’s design is to work with these students on their social and community skills and expose them to various positive community environments as a way of improving their skills. I remember Lindsey struggling severely to fully comprehend the functionality, or lack thereof, of her students. She struggled severely her first year at The Right Step School but through rigorous training and professional development she was able to learn strategies to handle all types of situations.
It must’ve rained overnight because the grass had puddles randomly splashed around the backyard. I was rinsing out my bowl and throwing my yogurt cup in the garbage can when my phone buzzed. It was Lindsey. Her text read: Esteban’s not in school today?!
First Journal Entry:
September.
Paterson! Jake?
7-11 Robbery? Where did the gun come from?
What the hell is going on?
When is Jake coming home? Is he coming home?
This shit isn’t for me. Can we trade places? God, what I wouldn’t give to trade places with Jake right now.
Who’s really to blame? Is it Jake? Can it be the drugs?
Speaking of drugs- where did they come from? How did Jake get drugs? Who did he know to get him drugs? This is crazy! I’m done- NO MORE
I’m to blame! I’m to blame! I’m a terrible human being!
BLAME ME!
SEVENTEEN
I wrote back to Lindsey, asking if the nurse received a call or any type of contact from Esteban’s house about the reason why he wasn’t in school. Based on Esteban’s attendance record he was regularly in school and Lindsey told me his mother usually called and reported the reason for his absence. Lindsey previously mentioned that most of the reasons given were that he was sick or had a doctor’s appointment; she emphasized the reasons with quotes.
While I was waiting for her reply, I decided to sift through Esteban’s incident reports and sort them into several different piles. The piles were distinguished by the type of infraction: fighting, vandalism, bullying, and physical contact- student to teacher. The largest pile was a close tie between bullying and fighting. I hadn’t met Esteban yet but my impression, from what Lindsey told me, he liked to use his size and physical appearance to intimidate and push around his classmat
es. Several of the fights Esteban got into were initiated by his comments and successful attempts to provoke other students. I had a good feeling about the type of kid I was dealing with.
I hadn’t received a response text from Lindsey yet. I noticed the time to be about eight forty- five, which was just when arrival was winding down and the students were having their breakfast to get their day started. There wasn’t much more I could do until Lindsey replied to my text so I decided to get dressed for the day. I walked through the kitchen and climbed the adjacent staircase to the second floor, which brought me to a lengthy corridor with three bedrooms down to the right and a bathroom and linen closet to the left.
It wasn’t until the recent weeks that I was able to not only climb the stairs but walk the length of the corridor to my bedroom. For the longest time I had to sleep in the guest bedroom downstairs. It became such the routine that I had Lindsey move my clothes and amenities downstairs as well. Something about being upstairs in my bedroom created such a hostile environment in my brain that I wasn’t the only one that couldn’t sleep. My thrashing and violent jolts occasionally left bruises on Lindsey’s lower extremities. There’s a reason why I had such a difficulty sleeping upstairs but it’s a big part of my story that I haven’t told anyone about. I keep it to myself- well, now the lifeless pages of my journal know.
After dressing in a pair of jeans, a New York Mets t- shirt, and my black Sketchers, I went back down to the kitchen table. I checked my phone again. Still nothing from Lindsey. I wrote down Esteban’s address on a Post- it note and went back into his binder. A smaller section behind the incident reports was designated for FYIs. A while back, Lindsey had explained to me that FYIs were, in a sense, similar to incident reports but not nearly as thorough and were to be predominately used for nonviolent, but yet still concerning issues. The top of half of the page was where the concerning issue was to be explained and the bottom was where the writer was to explain what strategy was employed. Most of the time, the strategy employed was a simple series of verbal redirections or notifying the nurse or counselor. Esteban’s FYIs were written about the excessive use of inappropriate language, not completing homework, inappropriate usage of the Internet, aimlessly walking around the classroom, and even personal hygiene.
The five FYIs that blared sirens at me were drug related. Two were written by Lindsey, reporting that she saw Esteban rolling up a piece of white printer paper as if it were a joint. One Lindsey wrote about a comic- strip drawing Esteban made of a guy selling someone else drugs while the next scenes were showing how to smoke and resell marijuana. Another was written by Lindsey’s classroom assistant, Heather, explaining that she heard Esteban talking about some friends from his neighborhood who were profound in using and selling drugs.
The fifth FYI was what really sent the fire signals out. This was the most recent documentation, written by Lindsey. It was dated April 11, 2015. The summary at the top of the page read:
While Esteban was getting up to use the bathroom, I saw him reach into his front pocket to store his pencil. When Esteban was out of the room, I walked around the room to continue my lesson. When I passed by Esteban’s desk I saw and picked up a small plastic bag, containing what looked like marijuana residue. I opened the bag and smelled the inside, confirming my assumption.
The bottom of the page noted that Lindsey notified Margie, the case manager, immediately as well as Principal Garvey. There were notes made by someone else’s handwriting, Margie’s I presumed since it looked like a woman’s. She had noted that she notified the district, made several failed attempts to contact the parents, and a suspension notice was written. Esteban was going to be suspended for three days and continue to be seen by his SAC counselor. SAC or student assistance counselors are assigned to students who have a history related to drugs. And now, based on my recent discovery in Esteban’s desk, a sixth FYI could be documented about finding another dime bag in his possession at school.
In addition to the FYI another document titled an Urgent Response Form was written by Lindsey. The Urgent Response Form was self- explanatory. These were used for students who were in immediate need of clinical attention and sometimes outside medical or police intervention. Students who were expressing suicidal or homicidal ideation in any form, written, verbal, or other required a Urgent Response Form. In addition, students who were suspected victims of parental abuse or neglect, exhibiting sexual inappropriateness, such as exposing themselves or asking for sexual favors, possessing a weapon or an illegal substance, or stealing would require a URF. Esteban had four of these written. There wasn’t a steady pattern of occurrence.
The first was two weeks into the school year and Esteban was referred to Margie, the counselor, because he had told a classmate that he wanted to kill him because the student was sitting at the computer Esteban wanted. The clinical follow- up, which was written on the bottom of the URF, stated that a determination was made that Esteban was ‘joking.’ Two other URF’s were written by Lindsey indicating a worry of child neglect because of poor hygiene and the fact that he had worn the same clothing several days in a row. Clinical follow- up stated that a DYFS call would be placed.
The fourth URF was dated the same day as the drug- related FYI, April eleventh. There was a check mark next to “Possession of illegal substance- Type: Marijuana paraphernalia.” I stacked this with the other drug- related documents and started reading them all again in succession.
I fetched my phone out of my pocket after I felt it buzz. It was a response text from Lindsey telling me that the nurse tried the home twice and got no answer and that she was worried.
EIGHTEEN
During Lindsey’s lunch break, she called me on my cell. I was in the car driving east on Route 80 heading towards Paterson. I wasn’t sure where I was going or what I planned to do when I got there. Lindsey had informed me that Principal Garvey had made an attempt to contact the Machado residence to discover the reasoning for Esteban’s absence. She said Garvey’s attempt also came up empty but I had my reservations about whether or not he actually called.
I got off at the Downtown Paterson exit and drove around with no intents and purposes. Maybe I was just getting the lay of the land. Even though this was my territory as a cop for three years I felt like it was all new to me again and I had to start fresh. The Machado’s address sat on the passenger seat next to me. I didn’t have much experience with Paterson as a pedestrian and really had no desire to due to its reputation of being littered with crime.
Paterson, at one time, was the shopping capital of North Jersey but has been outdone by large retail malls in Paramus and Wayne. Most recently, in 2011, the entire city was ravaged by Hurricane Irene. The Passaic River severely flooded, causing historic amounts of damage to homes and bridges, which displaced thousands of residents. The city has slowly recovered since and been able to return to normal.
I found my way on Market Street after a few minutes of driving and came to a stop at the corner of Market and Madison. I felt my phone buzz. It was Fitzy.
“How’s it going, Barnes, PI?” He said before I could say hello.
“Fine, Fitz. What’s up?” I said. I turned the car stereo down and was pissed that I was missing one of my favorite Van Morrison songs on my iPod. I paused it.
“I may have your first case for you.” I asked him to repeat what he said, just to clarify. Fitzgerald had always been a true- to- word type of guy, to me at least, so I guess I had to give him the benefit of the doubt.
“What is it?” I cautiously asked, trying to show some excitement in the fact that Fitzgerald actually lived up to his word of tossing me a few cases just to get me started. Fitzy definitely scored a few points in my book.
“A missing boy. From right our own neck of the woods,” he said. “Parents called it in a hour or so ago. Said he went out with a few friends even though the parents told him he couldn’t. The parents think the boy climbed out the first floor bathroom window. Said he’d done it a hundred times before but
would always be back before the mother was up for the day. This time he never came home. Peterson took the call.”
“Where does the boy live?” I asked, thinking this might have some real possibilities. The adrenaline started to overload my brain waves. And when Fitzgerald told me the boy lived in Paterson the adrenaline quickly started to flow and I started to get a little wary. It really radiated through my body once I compared Esteban’s address to the address Fitzgerald had just given me.
“And what’s the boy’s name?” I slowly asked. I heard Fitzgerald slump around some papers on his desk.
“Esteban Machado.”
NINETEEN
At two, late Wednesday night or early Thursday morning, depending on your own perspective, a black van pulled up to the baseball field on Lafayette. Two men exited the sliding side door, both in ski masks, and jogged to where Esteban had fallen asleep. Esteban’s right arm was tightly dangling as he had dropped to the ground when he dozed off. His head lolled below his left shoulder while his left hand was still balled into a tight fist. He couldn’t remember when he’d lost feeling in his right shoulder but knew it was numb by now. Esteban was awoken by the sound of the chains being cut by a large set of bolt cutters. His body shook as the chains were shaken loose through the holes in the fence. The guys whispered something to each other but Esteban couldn’t make out what was said. One of the guys casually kicked Esteban in the leg.
It took a moment to realize, but Esteban was free. He wanted to run. He wanted to kick. He wanted to scream but Esteban, for the first time ever, had a sense of reasoning control his mind. The impulsive rage had temporarily subsided. Esteban wasn’t sure if it was because of how tired he was or that genuine terror and fear had finally set in. Either way, common sense had slapped him in the face, if only for a few moments. Maybe a part of Esteban’s inner rebel was excited by the amount of attention he was receiving, albeit from thugs and kidnappers, and he wanted to see where this was going and why this was happening to him. Why was he the subject of such violent, thuggish street behavior?
The Incident (Chase Barnes Series Book 1) Page 5