Their Only Child

by Carla Cassidy

  “I promised myself I wouldn’t talk about it anymore. The chief thought I was crazy when I told him.”

  “Tell me, Sully. I won’t think you’re crazy.”

  He cast her a half smile…an echo of the Sully she’d once known. “You haven’t heard me yet.” The smile faded, replaced by torment. “I think I was set up.”

  “Set up?” Theresa frowned in confusion. “By whom?”

  “By one of my fellow officers.”

  She met his statement with stunned silence. He forced another smile. “Crazy, huh?”

  “Not crazy,” she countered. She knew Sully well enough to know he wouldn’t jump to such a conclusion without reason. She also knew that if he believed such a betrayal had taken place, it would explain his drinking and his resignation from the department. Sully had believed in the brotherhood of the blue…and if he believed one of his brothers had set him up for murder, then his sacred trust had been corrupted, and that was enough to break a man.

  She left the sofa and went to his side, sitting on the floor at his feet. “Tell me why you think this, Sully. You must have reasons.”

  He smiled, and it was once again a reflection of the bitterness that ate at him inside. “That’s the problem—there’s nothing specific I can put my finger on as proof.” He raked a hand through his hair, a familiar gesture Theresa recognized as intense frustration. “I don’t know…maybe when the surgeons cut that bullet out, they took my sense with it.”

  “Your instincts have always been terrific, Sullivan, don’t discount them now.”

  This time his smile was genuine, almost grateful, as he took her hand in his. “I’ve thought and thought about that night What keeps playing in my mind is that if the shooter was after Louie, he got him. A perfect shot to the forehead. Why take the risk of shooting me, unless I was the primary target?”

  “Maybe the shooter just went crazy?” Theresa was trying to play the devil’s advocate.

  “Maybe,” he replied, but she heard the doubt in his voice. “But most criminals would rather do anything than kill a cop and bring down the wrath of the whole department on their heads. Besides, it’s more than that.” He frowned again, released her hand and rubbed his forehead. “It’s a gut feeling, one with no rhyme or reason…just there.”

  “Who knew when and where you were meeting this Louie?” she asked, crossing her arms and leaning on his knee.

  “Five men knew. The chief, Barry Walker, Tony Marcias, Kip and Donny.” Again his hand raked through his hair. “Sometimes I’m sure I’ve lost my mind, and other times I know somebody I trusted tried to kill me.”

  “Sully, why didn’t you tell me this before? Why have you carried this burden alone for all this time?” It hurt, that all the days and nights she sat with him in the hospital, at a time she thought their marriage was strong enough to withstand the blow, he’d kept this from her, refused to share what was in his heart It made her realize that the marriage she’d thought so strong, so good, had only been an illusion, a dream, without substance.

  Cold winds of despair swept through her as the ache of the unknown where Eric was concerned was coupled with this new emptiness.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Kip said as he entered the living room from the kitchen. “Just thought you might want to know they found your neighbors at the Ramada Inn in St. Louis.”

  Theresa stood, heart banging against her ribs. “Eric?"she asked breathlessly.

  Kip shook his head. “No sign of him, and no indication that your neighbors had anything to do with his disappearance.”

  “What are they doing in St. Louis?” Sully asked, also rising from his seat.

  “According to the officer who interviewed them, the husband decided to surprise the wife with an anniversary trip.”

  Theresa closed her eyes, remembering Rose mentioning Vincent’s secretiveness. She’d forgotten all about their approaching anniversary on the twenty-eighth of the month. Relief flooded through her as she realized that the couple she’d come to love hadn’t betrayed her love and trust.

  The relief was short-lived, quickly swallowed by a despair so deep, so dark, it nearly stole her breath away. “Why haven’t we heard anything?” she asked Sully. “For God’s sakes, why haven’t they let him go?”

  She felt her control slipping, sliding out of her grasp, and she welcomed the flirtation with insanity. Picking up a glass candlestick, she threw it against the fireplace. It shattered into a thousand pieces, and she shattered with it. “We paid them…we gave them the money…so where is Eric? Why haven’t they released him? Where is our son?”

  Sully grabbed her and pulled her roughly against his chest, holding her tight, as if trying to keep her together. Theresa had always prided herself on being strong, keeping control. Those were qualities that had gotten her through a difficult childhood, characteristics that made her a damn good prosecutor. But at the moment, she was simply a woman whose heart was breaking, a mother who needed her child.

  “Shh…” Sully consoled her as Kip disappeared back into the kitchen. He patted her back, then caressed her hair as she wept into the front of his shirt, releasing pent-up tension along with her tears.

  She cried for the marriage that would never be fixed. She mourned Sully’s shattered innocence on the night he’d been shot, and she cried for the little boy lost to them both.

  “We’re going to get him back, Theresa.” Sully’s voice rang with strength, as if, when it left her, he’d breathed it in.

  She nodded, wanting to believe him, needing to believe. She stood another minute in his embrace, then moved away, knowing she had to stop depending on Sully.

  He had his own demons to slay, and he’d made it clear that he didn’t want, or need, her help. She had to put any thoughts of a reconciliation behind her, and she had to regain her courage, her fortitude…for Eric.

  Looking at her watch, she realized it was almost nine o’clock. As Sully had told her about the night of his shooting, the evening hours had slipped away.

  Nine o’clock. Christmas Eve. If Eric was here, they’d be giggling in the kitchen, filling a plate of cookies for Santa. They had a litany of rituals that had become Christmas traditions through the years.

  And by abandoning those rituals on this night, she feared, she’d be abandoning Eric. With that thought in mind, she went into the kitchen.

  Kip looked up in surprise as she went to the refrigerator and pulled out a gallon of milk, then got the cocoa and sugar from the cabinet. As she mixed the ingredients in a saucepan, Sully came into the kitchen.

  He seemed to know exactly what she was doing. As she warmed the cocoa mixture, he opened cabinets until he found the one with the cookies.

  They worked separately, but in tune, Sully fixing both a platter and a saucer of cookies, while Theresa poured three cups of hot cocoa and a glass of milk.

  “Come and have a cup of cocoa with us, Kip,” she said to the officer, who was missing Christmas Eve with his family to do his job.

  “Sure. That would be nice,” Kip agreed as he stood.

  Theresa carried a tray of drinks, Sully took the cookies, and Kip followed as they went into the living room. As Theresa handed Kip a mug of the steaming drink, Sully turned the gas on in the fireplace, instantly producing cheerful flames. Montana curled up on the rug in front of the fireplace, as if he, too, were suffering from the same bone-chilling cold that ached inside Theresa.

  Under normal circumstances, this time would be filled with Eric’s eager chatter, the excitement of a child awaiting the arrival of Santa. But these were not normal circumstances, and the silence of the three adults filled the room more loudly than any child’s laugher could have.

  When Theresa could stand the hush no longer, she picked up the book they always read together on Christmas Eve. As Sully and Kip sipped their hot cocoa, with the cookies and milk in their appropriate place on the fireplace hearth, Theresa opened the book. “’Twas the night before Christmas…” she began.

  ERICS FINGERS
ACHED from the day’s work. He’d spent all the daylight hours pulling, tugging and prying at the nails that held the boards in place over the small window. He’d managed to completely get the lowest board off. But the space was still too small for him to wiggle through. When he finished working for the day, he’d carefully leaned the loose board back into place, not wanting the masked man to know what he’d accomplished.

  Night had once again come, and he could hear a cold wind whistling around the window. He sat on the mattress, huddled for warmth, hands jammed into his pockets.

  He’d eaten the last of the food, and that worried him. Would the masked man come back? Bring him more food? Although his belly was full at the moment, he didn’t want to think about having no food. It scared him.

  He knew it was Christmas Eve, and he thought of the cookies his mom had bought especially for Santa. Chocolate with double fudge. They were Eric’s favorite, so he knew Santa would like them, too. He hoped his mom remembered to put them out even though Eric wasn’t home to remind her.

  Christmas Eve. He closed his eyes and imagined the Christmas tree, decorated with lights and ornaments and tinsel. The vision made him smile.

  Eric had always loved Christmas Eve almost as much as Christmas morning. Every Christmas Eve, his mom made hot cocoa, and they’d all sit around the tree and talk and laugh. Eric loved to hear his dad laugh. It made him all warm and tickly inside.

  Funny. He wasn’t so scared of the dark tonight. After two nights in the total darkness, he’d realized there were no monsters in the cellar. And the dark made it easier for him to paint pictures in his mind. Pictures that kept him warm in spite of the cold. Pictures that made the darkness of the room fill with light.

  He knew his mom and dad were probably together, worried about him. He liked thinking of them together. He hadn’t understood that divorce stuff. He’d told his mom that the thing he wanted most for Christmas was for them to all live together, be a family again. But she’d told him that was a wish Santa couldn’t give him. Still, the idea that they were probably together now made him happy, even though he wasn’t there with them.

  He closed his eyes, feeling the burn of tears. He didn’t want to cry. Crying was for babies. But he wished he was home. Except he had a feeling that was another wish that was beyond Santa’s control.

  Once again he focused on painting the Christmas tree in his mind. He could perfectly imagine the living room, with a cheerful fire in the fireplace, carols playing on the stereo, and the tree shining in the corner. He could almost taste the sweet warmth of hot cocoa sliding down his throat, smell the freshness of pine needles. Before his mother tucked him in bed, she would read out loud.

  Eric frowned, trying to remember what it was she read every Christmas Eve. Something about kerchiefs and caps and sashes. Panic swelled inside him as he searched his mind, trying to remember the words that last year he’d nearly known by heart.

  It scared him that he didn’t remember. What if he stayed down in this cellar so long he forgot what his mom and dad looked like? Forgot his own name?

  He had to remember. He had to. And then, suddenly, thankfully, the words came. Relief flooded through him. ‘"Twas the night before Christmas…” he began, his little voice filling the darkness with hope.

  Chapter Eleven

  “How could you do this to me?” Robert’s voice swelled in Theresa’s ear.

  She gripped the phone more tightly. “It’s nothing personal, Robert. The police are checking out everyone close to me.”

  “Yeah, but it was so humiliating. I open my door and two cops are standing there on the porch. They also told me that a couple of men were speaking to my secretary and the president of the bank. Something like this could ruin me. My God, Theresa, what were you thinking of?”

  “I was thinking of my son,” she snapped, then bit back a sigh. Moments earlier, they had gotten word that Robert had an airtight alibi for the day of Eric’s disappearance. He’d been at the bank all day, then gone to dinner with a group of friends. “Robert, I’m sorry you were embarrassed, but the police have to do their job.” Dear God, her son had been missing for two nights and three days, and this man was complaining to her about a little embarrassment. “Look, I can’t tie up this line. I’ll talk to you later.” She slammed down the phone, suddenly realizing what it was she hadn’t liked about Robert. His utter selfinvolvement. Robert saw the world only as it related to him. Self-important, self-indulgent…Robert was all of those things and more.

  “Sometimes crises bring out the worst in people,” Kip said softly.

  She looked at him and forced a smile. “And sometimes crises make you see the worst that’s always been there.”

  “You and Sully are holding up well,” he observed.

  “Sully is strong. He gives me my strength.”

  Kip studied her face for a long moment. “Maybe you need to remind him of that once in a while.” Kip bit his lip, as if he were sorry he’d said anything.

  “What do you mean?” Theresa looked at the man who probably knew Sully better than anyone at the moment “You can’t just throw out a statement like that without doing a little explaining.”

  Kip worried a hand through his graying hair. “Sully is battling a lot of internal demons right now. He has been since the night of his shooting. His biggest demon is fear.”

  “Fear?” She looked at Kip curiously. Sully had alluded to feelings of fear before, but she’d dismissed his words. She looked toward the back door, where Sully had disappeared a little while ago, telling her he needed to walk off some tension. “Fear of what? I’ve never known Sully to be afraid of anything or anyone.”

  “Sully believes he’s lost his edge, is missing the instincts that made him a good cop.”

  “Weren’t you there that night…when Sully got hurt? I seem to remember you were one of the first men on the scene.”

  Kip nodded. “I was in my patrol car when the call came in of an officer down.” Kip’s eyes darkened at the memory. “God, what a scene. Garbage rotting…the night hotter than hell…Louie dead and Sully as near death as a man can get. He was unconscious when I got there. I took off my shirt and pressed it into the wound on his chest, and in the moments before the ambulance arrived, he regained consciousness.”

  Theresa closed her eyes, grateful she hadn’t seen the man she loved lying near death in a stinking alley. Her first view of Sully after the incident had been of him in a sterile hospital bed, surrounded by life-giving machines. She looked at Kip once again. “Did he say anything?”

  “Yeah, he told me to tell you and Eric that he loved you.” Kip smiled. “I guess he thought he wouldn’t get a chance to tell you that himself.”

  Emotion welled in Theresa’s chest He hadn’t After that night, he’d never spoken of love. Instead, he’d crawled into a shell, retreating from everything and everyone.

  “He also told me he froze.”

  Theresa frowned. “Froze?”

  Kip nodded. “Apparently he heard the click of the shooter’s gun being cocked, but he froze. That’s what eats at him now…the fear that if he’s in a deadly situation again, he’ll freeze and somebody will get hurt. That’s why he started drinking…to stop the fear.”

  Theresa’s head reeled with all the information Kip had just given her. Why hadn’t Sully told her any of this? He hadn’t started drinking because he was unhappy in the marriage. It had been an effort to quiet his fears.

  She got up from the table and poured herself a cup of coffee, her mind working to assess this information, fit it into a proper place. But there seemed no proper place to put it.

  It hurt her that Sully hadn’t felt close enough to her to bare his soul, that it had taken a fellow officer to tell her what her husband was feeling.

  Sully walked in the back door, bringing with him a burst of arctic air. “I think the weather forecasters are finally going to get it right. It definitely feels like snow,” he said as he peeled off his coat and threw it across the back of one of
the kitchen chairs. He looked at Kip, then at Theresa. “Did I miss anything while I was gone?”

  “No. Nothing has changed,” Theresa replied briskly, averting her gaze from him. “You want coffee?”

  “Sounds good.” He took the cup she offered gratefully, then looked at his watch. “We should be hearing something from Donny in a few minutes. It’s almost eleven, and the mall will be closing.”

  Theresa sank back down at the table. “Surely if the police had seen anyone near the trash bin, they would have called us by now, arrested somebody.” She cupped her hands around the warmth of her cup. “Why would a kidnapper tell us to put the money in a trash bin, then not retrieve it? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “These things never make sense.”

  Senseless tragedy. How often had Theresa seen those words used in a newspaper report about a particular crime? A hundred? A thousand? And now those same words characterized her son’s disappearance.

  Some parents never found out what happened to their abducted children. Theresa tried to imagine a lifetime of questions…of wondering and waiting. She couldn’t imagine it After three days, she felt the rope of her sanity stretched taut. Eventually, it would snap.

  “Theresa, we’re going to find him,” Sully said, as if he’d read the horrible thoughts filtering through her mind.

  “You promise?”

  His eyes bored into hers, fiery with intent, yet darkened with the kind of emptiness she felt deep within her. “I promise.”

  It was almost midnight when Donny and several other officers returned to the house. Theresa could tell in a moment of looking at their faces that they had nothing to tell her, no hope to offer her.

  “We waited until the mall was empty, then I went down to the trash can,” Donny explained as he took the cup of coffee Theresa offered him. “The money was gone.”

  Theresa stared at him blankly. “What do you mean…it was gone?” Sully cursed soundly and slammed his hands down on the table.