by Rose, Willow
"My sister was kidnapped, Christine. It wasn't just a little thing. It wasn't just me overreacting. I never saw Sydney again after that day. No one knows what happened to her. Not a day goes by when I don't wonder why the guy took her and not me."
Christine looked into my eyes, then exhaled. "I know this story, Mom. You've told it to me a thousand times. It doesn’t mean the rest of us can't live our lives. Now, can I please go? I have homework to do."
I let go of her, and she ran up the stairs. I looked at my trembling hands. I walked into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of wine, my hands shaking so heavily I could barely hit the glass when pouring it.
Chapter 42
THEN
The boy was down in the living room when it happened. His dad had brought home a new toy truck for him, and he had woken up early on this Saturday to play with it. His baby sister came down too and brought her dolls with her, and now they were playing on the floor, blocking out the world and forgetting everything around them for just a few hours.
The knock on the door was loud and demanding. The boy gasped and looked at his sister when they both heard it. The boy swallowed, knowing he wasn't allowed to open the door when his dad and new mommy were sleeping. Still, the knocking continued, and the two children got curious.
Together, they walked to the window and peeked outside.
Baby sister gasped. "It's Momma!"
The boy's heart pounded, and he could hear his pulse in his ears. He didn't know what to do. Seeing his mother made him feel warm and happy, yet he knew he couldn't count on her. She could be high and then there was no telling what she might do. That was what his dad had told him. That was why they didn't go visit her anymore. Their dad was afraid of what she might do to them.
"We have to let her in; come," his baby sister said.
Mommy knocked again, hard and angrily. It frightened the boy. Soon, she was yelling too.
"Let me in! I want to see my children! Tommy, I know you're in there! TOMMY!"
His sister looked at him, pleading. "She wants to come in. She wants to see us; come."
His sister rushed to the door and reached for the handle. The boy stood like he was frozen.
"Wait," he said worriedly. "We should wake up Dad first."
"Why? She wants to come in. Let's let her in," baby sister said, tilting her head, not understanding. "It's Momma."
"No," the boy said and walked to her, grabbing her hand. "We can't."
His sister burst into tears. If there was one thing in this world the boy couldn't stand, it was his sister crying. It hurt his heart so badly he couldn't stand it.
"I want to see my momma!"
"Okay, okay," he ended up saying. He grabbed the lock and unlocked the door. His sister stopped crying and grabbed the door handle, then turned it and the door swung open.
Outside stood their mommy and, as he saw her, the boy's heart started to race. She smiled and bent down, holding out her arms.
"My babies!"
Baby sister ran to her and hugged her tightly, while the boy stayed behind scrutinizing his mother. She had gotten skinnier, her cheeks had sunken in, her eyes had deep dark marks beneath them, and she looked different. He didn't like the way she looked.
"Aren't you going to hug your mommy?" she asked.
The boy stared at her, contemplating for a few seconds more, then decided he would love to feel her embrace once more and took off toward her. He had barely reached her when a voice yelled from the stairs behind them.
"What's going on here?"
It was Daddy and New Mommy. They were storming down the stairs, barely dressed, New Mommy wearing a silky robe, daddy in his jammies. They grabbed baby sister and the boy and New Mommy pulled them inside, while Daddy started to yell. The boy heard it all from inside the house, while his sister cried her little heart out.
"You can't just come here like this."
"They're my children too, Tommy. I am entitled to see them."
"Look at you. You can't even look me in the eye. Look at how your hands are shaking, not to mention your slurred speech. You're high again, aren't you?"
"No! Why would you say that? Tommy?" their mommy pleaded. She was crying now, and the boy wasn't sure he could hold his tears back much longer either.
"Get off my property before I call the police. You hear me? I don't want to see you here."
"But…Tommy…they're my children…I want to see them," she cried. "How can you be so cruel?"
"Get out."
"I don't want to go," she said, hissing. "I’m not going till I have seen my children."
"Then I'll just have to call the cops then," their dad said.
"You can't steal them from me."
"Go home."
The boy looked out the door, just as his mother picked up a rock from the flowerbed, the one with the irises that New Mommy loved so much. His old mommy threw it at the window. The window shattered with a loud noise and both children screamed. Glass scattered everywhere in the living room. Outside, their mother was screaming too as their dad tackled her and pulled her into the street.
"Don't you ever come back here, or I'll make sure the police put out a restraining order," he yelled.
The boy grabbed his sister in his arms as their mother walked away, head slumped, still yelling. Meanwhile, their father came back inside, snorted, then slammed the door behind him. He knelt by his children and pulled them into a warm embrace. Both kids were shaking heavily.
"What's wrong with Mommy, Daddy?" the boy asked, tears streaming across his cheeks.
"She's not well, son," he said.
"Can't a doctor make her well?" little sister asked, with a sniffle.
Their dad shook his head. "I’m afraid not."
"Why not?" the girl asked.
"She's a drug addict," the boy answered. "It can't be cured."
"I’m so sorry you had to see her like this," their dad whispered. "That's what drugs do to people. They make them act irrationally. Right now, your mother isn't acting rationally. You can't trust her. But I promise you, it won't happen again. I won't let it. I'll protect you."
Chapter 43
After saying goodbye to the kids the next morning, I walked upstairs and opened my safe, then found my gun. When we moved to Cocoa Beach, I had put it away, thinking I wasn't going to get any use of it, but I wasn't feeling safe anymore, not even in my small cozy hometown. Maybe I was just being paranoid like my daughter said; I didn't know. But I knew this feeling a little too well, and I also knew that wearing a concealed gun made me feel safer.
I sighed and looked at my phone. I still wasn't convinced of Coach Thomas' innocence, to be honest, but at the same time, I found it hard to keep looking into him since it would only end up hurting Matt. I would have to tread carefully.
There was something, though, that I had to check. A thought that had entered my mind and I couldn't let go. I grabbed my computer and began a search, then found some old articles that I began to read. I made a few phone calls back to some old colleagues out west in California and made tons of notes on my pad. Then my dad called, and we chatted for about half an hour. As I hung up, there was a knock on my door. I walked to the window and looked down into my driveway.
It was Matt.
"What's he doing here?" I mumbled.
Probably came to yell at you for ruining his career.
I walked down and opened the door, preparing an entire speech of excuses but also ready to defend myself, when I took one glance at his face and realized that wasn't why he was here. This had nothing to do with what had happened the day before.
"We need to talk. Can I come in?"
"Of course," I said and stepped aside. He had his laptop under his arm, which he placed on my kitchen counter. He sat down on a stool with a deep sigh. There were cereal leftovers all over and spilled milk, which I hurried up and wiped away.
"You look like you could use a cup of coffee," I said.
"Yes, please." He tried to smile, but I
knew him well enough to know that he was forcing it. He was biting his lip and, from the look of it, he had been at it all morning, maybe even all night.
I poured coffee for the both of us, then found some cookies and put them out, but Matt didn't touch them. Instead, he sipped his coffee, then looked deep into my eyes.
"What's going on, Matt? You're scaring me. Did something happen? Have you gotten in trouble with Chief Annie because of me?"
He rubbed his forehead. "Chief Annie sent me here. Not to scold you, but to beg you. It's time we bury the hatchet and face reality. We can't do this on our own. I’ve come to ask you to help us out with the case. We're in deep here. Too deep, Eva Rae. We need your help. Do you think you can do that? Chief Annie told me I had to get down on my knees and beg you if I needed to. Do I need to?"
I sat down on a stool next to him, completely taken aback, holding my coffee between my hands.
"I…I have…"
"I know you have this book to write," he interrupted me, "and that you're super busy with other stuff, but we can't do this without you. Things have gone from bad to worse since yesterday, and we simply don't have enough experience to deal with it. Please?"
I put my hand on his arm to stop him talking. "That's not what I was trying to say. I was about to say that I would love to. But I need to have free hands. I need to do this my way."
"Whatever it takes," Matt said. "Chief's orders. And I will behave too."
I chuckled. "Was that an excuse?"
"I guess. I was an idiot the other day. I’m sorry," he said. "You’re allowed to flirt. I don't know why I got so mad."
"I get it," I said. "The pressure is on your shoulders. Now, show me what's on that computer. I don't assume you brought it to check your emails."
Chapter 44
"Where do I begin?" Matt said, his voice heavy. He had opened his laptop and was clicking the mouse. "Oh, yes. The autopsy. Let's begin there."
He opened a document, and I moved my stool closer, so I could look over his shoulder. He smelled just like he used to when we were younger. It brought back many fond memories and a sense of comfort to me.
"Sophie Williams died from asphyxiation, they concluded," he said.
"When?" I asked. "When was she strangled? She was taken three months before she was found, but the body wasn't decomposed."
"Oh, yes, well, time of death is set to be somewhere between eight p.m. and eleven p.m. on the night she was found, October 5th."
"Okay, so in other words, he kept her for three months somewhere before killing her and placing her there," I said. "What else? Was she abused sexually?"
He shook his head.
"Okay, so it's not something sexual, which I’m quite surprised about, to be honest. She was dismembered; we saw that," I said. "Do they know with what tool?"
Matt nodded. He swallowed hard. "A sharp object, possibly an ax, it says."
I nodded again and sipped my coffee. "A common household tool. What has me rattled is the fact that he dismembered her but not to dispose of the parts. That's usually the reason for dismembering someone. To get rid of the parts one after another in order not to be discovered, but that’s not this killer's motive. It's not the kill itself; it's the displaying of the victim that gets him going."
"Which leads me to the next part, the one that has us all puzzled."
I sipped more coffee, then looked at him. He looked like he needed a moment to prepare himself to be able to say what came next. I braced myself for something nasty.
"The body parts didn't belong to her," he said.
"Excuse me?"
He swallowed again. "The arms and legs weren't hers. The head and torso were."
It took a few seconds before the realization finally sunk in. I blinked a couple of times, then wrinkled my forehead.
"They weren't hers?"
He shook his head.
"Then whose were they?"
He tapped on his computer, and another file came up. A picture appeared of a young boy, looking to be about the same age as Sophie.
"Scott Paxton, also twelve years old, disappeared on Sunday, September 12th while biking home from a friend's house. He's from Titusville. His mom's a drug addict who didn't notify the police till several days had passed and then she told them she believed his dad had taken him. They put out an Amber Alert, but neither the dad nor the boy was ever found. In the end, they just assumed he had run away with him…maybe to another state."
"But he hadn't," I said and ran a hand through my hair while thinking about all this new information. The Cocoa Beach Police had done an excellent job of hiding this from the press. As soon as they found out, they would gobble it all up and spread panic in town. It was a good call to hide it for as long as they could. Especially since it seemed like the killer wanted this out; he wanted this part to be told, the gory details. I wasn't sure why yet, but there was no doubt that this was his goal. Otherwise, he wouldn't have gone to such trouble to do it and display the body the way he did. The more I got to know about this killer, the less I liked.
"There’s more," Matt said.
"I had a feeling there was," I said and finished my cup. "Let me just get a refill first. I have a feeling I’m going to need a lot of caffeine for this."
Chapter 45
I refilled both of our cups and grabbed a cookie. I know that most people wouldn't be able to eat in the middle of something like this, but I wasn't like most people. I could always eat and, the more troubled I was, the more I did. Or maybe I just couldn't help myself. I needed some comfort in the middle of all this human tragedy and misery.
"So, last night, this came to our attention," Matt said. "Or rather it was sent to me directly, in an email addressed to me."
I leaned over and watched him open an email, then click on a link. The link sent him to YouTube where a video appeared. He started it and leaned back so I could see better.
At first, it showed a video of Sophie Williams from when she was still alive. She was sitting in a room, on the floor, tied up, her mouth duct-taped. She was crying and screaming behind the tape.
"Oh, dear Lord," I said.
"There's more," he said.
Another clip appeared, this time of the senator's son sitting in the room where we found him, money stuffed down his throat, gasping for air behind the bills.
Then there was text sliding across the screen, while the boy was groaning and gasping for air behind it.
DO I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION YET?
I glanced quickly at Matt next to me when he signaled for me to keep watching.
A new text appeared.
FACTS:
Every 36 seconds, there's one divorce in the U.S.
That's 2,400 divorces a day.
16,800 a week.
876,000 a year.
50 % of American children will go through their parents’ divorce.
Children of divorce suffer in school.
They have behavioral problems.
They are less likely to graduate from high school.
Kids of divorce are more likely to commit a crime while juvenile.
They are five times more likely to live in poverty.
They suffer from health issues like anxiety and depression.
Their suicide rate is twice as high.
Even God hates divorce, Malachi 2:16
The text stopped, and the camera then zoomed in on the face of a crying Sophie Williams. And then the camera was turned off, and the screen went black.
I leaned back and stared at Matt, who was still very pale. I shook my head and scratched my forehead, then grabbed my phone and found my Bible app and read out loud from Malachi 2:16:
"'For I hate divorce!' says the LORD, the God of Israel. 'To divorce your wife is to overwhelm her with cruelty,' says the LORD of Heaven's Armies. 'So guard your heart; do not be unfaithful to your wife.'"
I put the phone down, wondering if I should send this passage to Chad. Matt gave me a look.
"You understan
d now why we need your help?" he asked.
I sipped my coffee while chewing on all this new information. I grabbed another cookie and bit into it. A couple of crumbs fell to the counter. I ate the cookie while thinking some more.
"So…what do you think?" Matt asked cautiously.
I spoke with my mouth full, lost in my thoughts. "First off, he placed the body for us to see, somewhere he knew tourists came, where everyone comes. He wants our attention. That's why he chose Sophie, a girl in the public eye. The same goes for the senator's son. He wants to make sure he's the talk of the town. That the media will talk about this. But not because he gets a thrill out of it; no, this runs deeper. He has some sort of mission with this. Now the part about dismembering the body and putting it together the way he did using parts from another child—also from a home of divorce—it symbolizes something for him. There's a message here for us to read. After seeing this video, there is no doubt. It represents the way children are split in a divorce. There’s a split between parents, and sometimes siblings are split as well, torn apart in their loyalty and sometimes physically between two homes, two lives. I must say, it's very carefully created. He’s put a lot of thought into this, which tells us he's extremely calculated and deliberate. This is well-planned beyond anything I have seen before."
Matt nodded, growing paler as I spoke. "And the senator's son?"
"The senator's son, and the money in his mouth, I will assume represents poverty. How children often end up in poor conditions after a divorce. Mothers who don't get alimony or just the loss of the extra income often sends children into a life of poverty."
"But the senator's son isn't poor?" Matt said.
"I know. That's what has me wondering a little. Wait a second. The place he was found. The old lady living next door said the place had been empty. Why was it empty?"