Sully frowned. “So? It’s not like I’m on the force anymore. Why should I care about a 911 call?”
There was a long pause. “Sully…it was from your ex-wife.”
Sully shot up to a sitting position, the phone receiver pressed painfully against his ear. “What?”
“Sully…your kid is missing. He’s been missing since early this morning.”
Sully didn’t hear any more. He slammed down the receiver and shot from the bed. Eric missing? There had to be a mistake. He grabbed a pair of jeans and a shirt.
As he dressed, a million thoughts raced through his head. Remain calm, he instructed himself. There was probably a logical explanation. Lots of kids lost track of time, especially kids like Eric.
He grabbed his wallet and car keys, but before leaving he paused in the living room, next to a large wire pen. Inside the pen, a collie puppy looked at him with soulful brown eyes. Eric’s Christmas present. Theresa would probably kill him, but he’d decided the kid needed a dog. And if his ex-wife threw too big a fit, Sully figured, the dog could stay here for Eric’s semimonthly visits.
He placed a handful of dry food in the cage, gave the pooch a pat on the head, then raced out the door, trying to hold on to his calm until he knew exactly what was going on.
ERIC FIRST BECAME AWARE of the feel of an unfamiliar, thin mattress beneath his body. He was lying on his stomach, and the odor of the mattress was damp and sour. His nostrils flared at the unpleasant scent. He swiped at his mouth, embarrassed to discover he’d been drooling.
It was dark…the darkest dark he’d ever seen. In his room at home, even when his mom turned out his lamp on the table next to his bed, light still spilled in from the window…moonlight, the glow from the street lamp, the pinpoint of illumination from his night-light. No matter how dark it got…it never got this dark.
He rolled over on his back, groaning as a headache tried to take off the top of his head. Where was he? What had happened? He frowned, trying to remember. It was hard to think. His brain seemed mushed all together in his skull. He worked his mouth open and closed. He felt as though it had been stuffed with cotton. Was he sick? No…that didn’t seem right.
He remembered eating cereal for breakfast. He remembered walking to school. It had been a pretty day. The sky had been a perfect shade of blue, like a crayon that was fresh and sharp. He’d seen a leaf that looked like a galloping horse. A bird had chattered to him from the high branch of a tree. Then…
He squeezed his eyes tightly closed, trying to remember, needing to remember. Hands grabbing him from behind…strong arms pulling him…something sickly-sweet-smelling pressed against his nose and mouth…then a wave of cold and nothing.
He wanted to yell for help, but was afraid to. It smelled bad, kind of like Rose’s basement, where she had shelves of fruit and vegetables in jars and potatoes and onions in big, wooden bins.
It’s a dream, he reasoned. Sooner or later I’ll wake up and be in my own bedroom and Mom will be frying bacon and hollering to me to get out of bed and clean my room or Santa Claus won’t come.
He’d had bad dreams before. He squeezed his eyes tightly closed. All he had to do was wait for night to pass, then he’d wake up in his own bed. He’d tell his mom all about this crazy, scary dream, and they’d laugh about it. Keeping his eyes tightly closed, Eric waited for his nightmare to pass.
Chapter Two
Theresa paced the floor of the living room as she answered the questions Officer Donny Holbrook asked. With every question that was repeated, she was aware of time passing.
She’d been grateful to see Donny Holbrook’s familiar, handsome face at her door a few minutes earlier. Donny had been Sully’s partner on the force before Sully resigned, and Donny had been an occasional visitor to their home when she and Sully were still married.
“And so the last time you saw him was this morning when he left for school?” Donny sat on the edge of the sofa, a notebook and pen in his hand.
“Yes.” Theresa sighed. “Donny, we’ve gone over this a dozen times already. No, Eric wasn’t angry or upset about anything. He wouldn’t have just run away.” She stared in frustration at the middle-aged, blond-haired cop. Why was he sitting there so calmly? Why wasn’t he out there, doing something, anything, to find her little boy?
“Is it possible he went to see Sully?” Donny asked. “Has he been upset about the divorce?”
Theresa sat down on the chair across from the police s sergeant. “Of course Eric was upset about the divorce, but he’s adjusting. And no, he wouldn’t have gone to see Sully without permission. Besides, Sully lives miles from here. Eric wouldn’t attempt getting there on his own. And if he had, Sully would have called me.”
“We have somebody trying to get hold of Sully now,” Donny replied. “Problems in school?”
“No, no more than the usual kid stuff.” Theresa squeezed her eyes closed, refusing to allow tears to fall, even though they burned hot behind her eyelids.
“Would he have gotten into somebody’s car, perhaps a stranger’s?”
Theresa shook her head. “Absolutely not. He wouldn’t have gotten into an acquaintance’s car, either. Eric and I have a password, and if the person doesn’t know the password, then Eric won’t go with them.”
“Smart.” Donny nodded in approval, then stood. “Do you mind if I have a look around in his room?’’ He smiled sympathetically. “Theresa, you know there are certain procedures that have to be followed.”
She nodded and pointed down the hallway. “First door on the left.”
As he disappeared in the direction of the bedroom, Theresa walked into the kitchen. She didn’t want to hear about procedures. She was tired of questions. She wanted somebody to find Eric—now.
Where was he? Where could he be? She tasted her fear, felt hysteria only a breath away. But she refused to give in to it, afraid that if she allowed her fear to take over, she’d lose her mind.
The refrigerator motor kicked on, humming into the relative silence of the house. Normal sounds, for normal times. She could hear the muted sounds of Donny in the bedroom, and if she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine it was Eric playing in his room and all was right with the world.
She went to the window and looked out, somehow feeling that if she stared long enough she’d see Eric coming down the street, hurrying because he knew he was in big trouble.
He’d have a wonderful story about a caterpillar he’d captured, or a bird who’d beckoned him to follow her to an old nest. Theresa wouldn’t care where he’d been. She wouldn’t care what he’d done. As long as he was safe.
The front door opened, and her heart jumped into her throat with hope. “Eric?” she called, and ran into the living room.
Her ex-husband stood in the doorway. Clad in worn, tight blue jeans and a wrinkled cotton shirt, for a moment he didn’t say a word. He simply held out his arms to her.
Suddenly she was in his embrace, being held tightly against his body warmth, his broad chest, with his familiar scent filling her head.
The tears she’d held in check for the past several hours flowed freely as she buried her face against the curve of his neck, needing to be near the only person in the world who must be feeling the same fear, the same bewilderment, the same horrendous loss she felt.
His arms enfolded her, his hands stroking down the length of her hair. “It’s all right, Theresa. I’m sure it will be all right.” And somehow, at the strong assurance in his voice, she believed it, for just a moment.
“How did you know?” she asked, not moving from his embrace.
“Kip heard about the 911 call. He phoned me and I came right over.”
She stirred from his arms when she heard Donny leaving Eric’s bedroom. He entered the living room, and he and Sully nodded to each other.
“So, what’s the story?” Sully asked.
As Donny filled in Sully, Theresa sank onto the sofa. It was crazy. There had been a time when she was madly in love with Sully, then a time when she
was incredibly angry with him. Most recently, she’d simply tried to put him out of her life, out of her thoughts.
Yes, it was crazy, but she was glad he was here. She knew Sully would demand action, and if by sheer willpower alone he could find Eric, he would.
She’d seen little of him since their divorce, and as he listened intently to what Donny told him, she looked at him, noting the changes the past months had wrought in him.
Sullivan Mathews had always been a big man. Standing over six feet, he’d been built like a football player, with massive shoulders and slender hips. He’d lost weight, Theresa observed. Although his shoulders appeared just as broad, he’d lost any hint of a protruding gut, and his face seemed thinner, older.
Still, with his gunmetal-colored eyes and dark hair, he was an attractive man. His features were hard, unforgiving, and yet she knew that when he smiled, his face lit with a character and charisma that had once made him a favorite target for newspaper articles and photos.
“Have you started canvassing the area?” he asked Donny.
Donny nodded. “We’ve got men out between here and your son’s school. We’re also checking with all the hospitals in the area.”
Sully nodded, as if satisfied for the moment that everything that could be done was being done. “You called all his friends?” he asked Theresa.
She nodded, her fingers lacing and unlacing in her lap. “None of them have seen or heard from him today.”
“I think we have to face the possibility that Eric might have been kidnapped,” Donny said.
“Kidnapped?” Theresa looked at him blankly, the word not having a place in her reality, in her comprehension. “But…why? Why would somebody want to kidnap him?” She looked at Sully, willing him to deny the possibility.
“’If it is a kidnapping, then we should hear something about a ransom soon,” Sully said. “But it’s a little early for us to jump to that conclusion.”
Donny nodded his agreement. Sully then looked at Theresa. “Would you mind making a pot of coffee? It’s cold outside, and as the officers check in here, I’m sure they’d appreciate a cup.”
“Of course.” She jumped up, eager for the activity, any activity, to occupy her.
She went into the kitchen and got out a serving tray, along with mugs, the sugar bowl and the creamer. Noticing that the sugar bowl was nearly empty, she opened the cabinet and grabbed the sack of sugar, pausing when she saw the boxes of cereal lined up side by side.
The colorful box of Trix stared at her. Trix are for kids…and they were Eric’s favorite. But this morning he’d wanted pancakes.
“Please, Mom? Please, please make me pancakes,” he’d begged, smiling impishly. “I’ll give you ten kisses if you do.”
She captured the memory in her mind, savored it like a piece of sweet chocolate in her mouth. He’d come to the breakfast table talking about Wendy Sortie’s broken arm and the cast she’d let everyone sign the day before.
She’d barely listened to his chatter, preoccupied with all the things she needed to do before Christmas morning. There were still gifts to be wrapped, and she’d promised to make homemade divinity for the church party.
“Ten kisses, Mom,” he’d said again, playfully, trying to bribe her.
She’d set the box of cereal and the carton of milk in front of him. “How about one kiss and a bowl of Trix?” She’d kissed him soundly on the forehead, then gone back to making out her grocery list
Her hand shook as she took the box of cereal down from the cabinet. She hugged it to her chest, almost able to feel the warmth of his fingers lingering on the cardboard as he poured a bowlful only that morning. His fingers…long and slender, always with dirty nails from his digging and exploring.
She closed her eyes, remembering the scent of his hair, the sweet brush of his lips against her cheek as he’d kissed her goodbye. Her chest ached with the need to reverse the hours, stop time, grab hold of him and not allow him to walk out that front door.
“Theresa?”
She spun around to see Sully standing hesitantly in the doorway. She opened her mouth, then closed it, unable to speak for a moment.
She held out the box of cereal, her vision blurring with the burden of tears. “He wanted pancakes this morning.” She dropped the box to the floor, a sobbing gasp caught in her throat. “I didn’t make them for him. I gave him cereal.”
In three long strides, Sully reached her. He smelled of minty soap and winter winds and the familiar scent that was simply Sully. His body seemed to surround her, his musculature comforting in its very solidness. “Theresa, you can’t fall apart now. You’ve always been so strong. You need to be strong now.”
She moved out of his arms, his words vaguely irritating. “Why can’t I fall apart? When things got tough before, that’s exactly what you did.”
He stepped backward, as if she’d physically punched him.
“I’m sorry, Sully,” she whispered, horrified by what she’d allowed herself to say. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just so scared.”
“I know.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, a familiar gesture that let her know he was as worried as she. “Donny wants to know if you have a recent photo of Eric, something he can get copied. The pictures I have are out-of-date.”
Theresa nodded and went to the kitchen desk drawer. “We just got his school pictures last week.” She removed an envelope from the drawer and withdrew the contents. “Eric was going to frame one of the eight-by-tens as one of your Christmas presents.” She handed him one of the smaller photos. “Sully…do you really think Eric has been kidnapped?”
He thrust a hand through his thick, dark hair. “I don’t know, Theresa. I don’t know what to think. Eric’s a good kid. If he could come home, he’d be here.” He looked at her, his gray eyes dark with the torture of his thoughts. “I think it’s a possibility, but at this point everything is a possibility.”
Theresa’s heart ached as if icy hands were clutching it tight, cutting off blood. “I’m so afraid,” she whispered.
He hesitated a moment. “It’s going to be all right,” he said, as if to reassure himself as much as her.
They looked at each other, and somewhere in the back of her mind, Theresa wondered how they had messed up so badly, how they had lost each other in the past two years.
They both froze as the phone rang.
In an instant, Sully grabbed her and pulled her into the living room where Donny was about to pick up the phone. “Don’t.” The single word shot out of him like a bullet. “Let her answer it.” He motioned to Theresa.
“We don’t have any equipment hooked in yet,” Donny replied. “We won’t be able to trace.”
“She still needs to answer it,” Sully replied, and nodded to Theresa.
Theresa felt as if she’d swallowed a cotton swab. Her mouth was achingly dry. Let it be Eric, she prayed. She wanted it to be him, saying he was lost, assuring her he was fine, just scared and embarrassed.
Sully moved to her side and pointed to the phone. Wiping her sweaty palms down the side of her slacks, she drew a deep breath, then snatched up the receiver. “Hello?” Sully pressed his face against hers, sharing the call.
“Mrs. Mathews? This is Mrs. Jenkins.”
Theresa expelled her breath and closed her eyes in despair. “The school secretary,” she whispered. “Yes, Mrs. Jenkins. No, no, we haven’t heard from him yet. The police are here now.” Theresa answered the woman’s questions, thanked her for the call, then hung up the phone.
“Now what do we do?” she whispered bleakly.
“We wait,” Sully said. “All we can do is wait.”
SULLY had never been a patient man, and waiting for something to happen, for some information to surface, had always been a part of police work that he hated. Now that it was his own kid that was missing, the waiting was the worst kind of torture he’d ever known.
As Theresa paced the kitchen floor, and Donny coordinated the neighborhood search efforts, Su
lly drifted down the hallway and into Eric’s bedroom.
He hadn’t been inside the house before tonight, had respected Theresa’s privacy and her need to establish a home separate from him.
Every other weekend, he pulled up out front and Eric ran out to his car for their weekend visits. Now he wanted…needed…to see the place where his son lived and dreamed, the place he slept each night.
Eric’s room. It breathed with the essence of the little boy. It held the scent of hidden cookies, cedar chips and childhood dreams.
The bed was covered with a brown-and-blue plaid spread, haphazardly pulled up and crooked on one side. Obviously, Eric had made it himself that morning.
The walls were decorated with posters of the Kansas City Chiefs football players, one wall exclusively dedicated to the retired quarterback Joe Montana…Eric’s hero.
A hamster cage sat on the nightstand, a small sign propped in front of it. My friend Petey was scrawled in bright red crayon. At the moment, the white hamster slept in a pile of cedar shavings, unaware that his friend Eric might be in trouble.
Sully sat on the edge of the bed and reached down to get a stuffed rabbit that peeked out at him from beneath it. The bunny was white, missing an eye, and with an ear that dangled from a remaining piece of thread.
He and Theresa had bought it for Eric for his second Easter. Eric had adored the stuffed animal, carried it with him everywhere, and refused to fall asleep at night unless Bunny was next to him in bed.
A night-light burned in the socket against one wall, the eternal light of little boys and girls everywhere, with the magic to keep monsters away.
Eric was a boy full of incongruities. A boy who was fascinated with the rough-and-tumble world of football, yet who needed a night-light burning in the night. On top of the dresser was a collection of odds and ends, leaves, nutshells, pinecones, a congregation of nature in the church that was boyhood. An explorer who still slept with his favorite stuffed animal in his arms.
Sully gripped the bunny against his chest for a moment, wishing the rabbit could tell him his son’s last thoughts, any secrets Eric might have had that would let Sully know where he might be. With a sigh, Sully pushed the bunny back under the bed, knowing his son would want the childish bedtime companion to remain his secret.
Their Only Child Page 2