The Unexpected Hero

by Michael C. Grumley

  Taylor followed his line of sight and turned back around, trying to determine if the boy was, in fact, looking at him. He was. He was sitting next to his mother, waving excitedly at Taylor as if he’d spotted a friend.

  Dan Taylor stared back for a long time. Finally, his frown softened and he waved back. He began to turn and head for his train’s platform when he stopped. On the wall above the young boy’s head, something caught his eye. It was a large picture. An advertisement.

  The ad was a large public service announcement, featuring the faces of five young children, with ages ranging from what looked to be about eight years old to probably eleven, who had disappeared or been abducted in the last few years. Taylor stood there, transfixed on the middle picture of another young boy. His reddish blonde hair was slightly tussled with light freckles covering his nose and cheeks.

  It was a face Taylor had seen before when he glimpsed Black’s wallet.

  He could not move. Taylor stared, paralyzed at seeing the young face, frozen in time by someone’s camera lens. The boy’s eyes were full of life and innocence. He wondered where the child was when the picture was taken.

  But what truly devastated Taylor was wondering where he himself was when the boy’s picture was taken.

  He was hiding in the mountains, that’s where. Unexpectedly, Taylor felt flushes of emotion wash over him. The first was sadness at the terrifying panic the boy must have experienced when he was abducted. The second was anger. Who were these sick people that preyed on children? His last wave of emotion was that of shame.

  22

  It took less than thirty minutes for the taxi cab to find the address. When it did, the driver stopped in front of the nondescript corner house. Taylor paid the fare and stepped out onto the hot asphalt. Without a word, he pulled his bag out from behind him and slung it over his shoulder. The taxi promptly drove off, leaving him staring from the street.

  He’d remembered the address from the wallet. It was Black’s home. Painted a faded green, with bushes and a small hedge, the house was in desperate need of maintenance. Just above them were two dirty window screens.

  The old street was quiet. Most people were indoors, trying to avoid the unrelenting midday heat. Once the taxi had made its right turn, Taylor looked back at the house and followed the sidewalk around the corner, toward the tall wooden fence. He casually made his way along the fence until he reached the end corner, and then circled around the back of the yard.

  The fence post was easy to climb and he hit the ground inside with a thud. He listened carefully. The only noise was coming from a neighbor’s window. He walked lightly down one side of the backyard toward the house. Unlike the weed-covered ground, the rear screened-in porch was neat and organized with a small table, various tools, and cleaning supplies stacked in the corner.

  Taylor listened again. Still nothing. He snaked a finger through the worn, screen door handle and pulled. It didn’t open. He peered in from the side and spotted the latch which secured the screen using an eye bolt on the other side. It wasn’t strong. Just something to keep the door closed. Taylor wrapped four thick fingers through the handle and looked around one more time. With a sudden and forceful jerk, one of the brackets splintered from the wooden frame and the door fell outward, partly open. The noise was louder than Taylor had hoped and he quickly stepped inside.

  He scanned the porch, including the table and the tools. There was no police tape, no footmarks on the floorboards, nothing that indicated the cops had arrived yet. It was just a matter of time. No doubt they were in the process of getting a warrant.

  Taylor knew time was short. He assessed the door to the house, painted the same dull green with two deadbolts above the knob. He didn’t expect the door to be unlocked and he was right. Getting through the door would be nearly impossible, so for the sake of expediency, he grabbed an old spade from the group of tools. Taylor then broke a smaller pane of what appeared to be the kitchen window.

  He immediately ran the tool around the edges of the frame, clearing the glass, and was inside before anyone had time to peek over the fence. And with any luck, Black’s neighbors didn’t like him enough to take much notice of an intruder: a distinct possibility.

  Inside, the house was deathly quiet. He stood away from the window and examined the immaculate kitchen. It was spotless. Nothing was left out on the counter, and a subtle scent of pine was present from most likely a recent cleanser or disinfectant.

  Taylor silently followed the hallway and peeked into the front room before scanning the front yard for any movement.

  He had to hurry. He checked the rest of the house and returned to the kitchen. There, he pulled a white vinyl chair out and away from the table.

  The chair squeaked momentarily when Taylor lowered his bulky frame into it. Taking a deep breath, he popped two pills into his mouth and chewed them, moving the remaining bits under his tongue. Reaching inside his shirt, Taylor pulled the chain over his neck and tightly gripped his metal cross in his palm.

  He managed his breathing until his pulse began to slow. A moment later he dropped his chin and closed his eyes.

  After glimpsing the house, Taylor was back in the hallway, intently examining the walls. The hanging portraits were of an older couple: most likely Darias Black’s parents. Halfway down the hall, a tall but thin bookcase covered part of the left side. Its shelves were filled with old, used books and Taylor recognized several classic titles.

  It wasn’t the books that Taylor was searching. It was the dimensions of the bookcase itself. He stood back, studying it. Stepping closer, he examined the large brackets attaching the case to the wall. Both were firmly secured. He stepped to the other side and ran his fingers over the second set of brackets. This time they moved. He felt for resistance and found they both slid down nearly an inch. With a heave, he pushed the side of the bookcase, causing it to slide sideways and revealing what he was looking for: a dark, narrow doorway.

  Taylor leaned his head into the opening, searching for a light switch. He soon found it and flipped it on, bathing the small room in light.

  From the inside, he could now see it was actually a third bedroom in the house. It was smaller and the door had evidently been removed, replaced with the bookcase instead.

  He turned around and scanned the room. The walls were completely covered in pictures. Pictures of children from various angles and distances. Some were taken of children getting off a bus. Others at what appeared to be parks or swimming pools.

  The grotesque wallpaper was bad enough, but it was the small closet that turned Taylor’s stomach. The doors to the closet had been removed and inside was what he could only assume was a shrine of some kind. Items adorned each side. In the middle sat a table beneath several close-up pictures. All of the close-ups were children, one of whom Taylor recognized immediately. He’d seen his face on the wall of the train station. The same young boy.

  Taylor put a hand on the wall to steady himself. The feelings of fear and sickness in the room were overwhelming. Suddenly, a realization hit him that nearly caused him to vomit. The items hanging on each side of the closet rod were articles of their clothing. Trophies.

  He whirled around at the wallpaper again and the nauseousness instantly compounded. He was stumbling toward the door when his eye caught something in one of the pictures. The photo had been taken at a park and a shadow could be seen on the ground in the picture. No doubt the shadow of Darias Black, standing on a sidewalk while he snapped the photo. But it wasn’t Black’s shadow that caught Taylor’s eye. It was part of a second shadow, standing next to the first.

  The revelation hit Taylor like a two-by-four. He raced to the small opening and squeezed back through. He spun to his left and stared back down the hall. There were four doors, two lining each side. As he ran down the hallway, he could see one was a bathroom and the second a small closet. The other two were bedrooms. Two bedrooms. And both were used.

  Someone else lived in the house with Black!

 
; 23

  Lars Black was growing nervous. His brother was still in custody in Bakersfield, and there was very little time left before a more thorough investigation began. Their lawyer confirmed that since no fingerprints were found on the gun ditched at the scene, the case was largely going to rest on the eyewitness account of Dennis Mayer. Which meant Lars needed to make sure Mayer would not be able to testify. And he needed to do it fast.

  The problem was that he couldn’t find Mayer. He’d reached his house that morning only to find the place empty. There was, however, another way. Lars discovered that Dennis Mayer’s wife was a psychiatrist in Glendale. Her office was easy to locate and he waited for her to show up, which she did later that afternoon. But her stop was brief. She and her young daughter left minutes after arriving and drove across town to someone else’s home. They had been there ever since.

  So had Lars. The younger Black was now calmly watching the house and, more than anything, waiting for the sun to go down.

  “They’re going to be fine.” Mary reassured her sister, placing a fresh cup of coffee down in front of her. Down the hall, her kids could be heard playing with their cousin Ellie.

  “I know.”

  Mary stared at her sister. She knew that look on her face. “But?” she added.

  Shannon frowned. “But…I don’t know how long I can do this for.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean things are different now. At first it was just search and rescue. I didn’t,” she paused, “…I didn’t expect it to get like this. I really thought Taylor was overreacting. I didn’t expect them to actually become targets.”

  Mary took a sip from her own mug. “Neither did I.”

  “This has become dangerous, Mary. And I’m not convinced Evan’s health problems are behind him yet. I’m worried they’re just morphing into something else. Maybe something deeper.”

  Mary stared at her sister for a long moment. “Well, since you brought it up…I asked you to come over because there’s something else I wanted to talk to you about. About Evan.”

  Shannon raised her eyebrows expectantly.

  “I was thinking about what Evan and Dennis said, about the attack last night. Did anything stand out to you about the timing of it all?”

  “Not really. Why?”

  “Well, I’ve been thinking of something Evan said. About the gunshots. And the timing.”

  Shannon stared pensively. “You mean when he fell?”

  “Exactly. Evan said something actually caused him to lose his balance.”

  “Right. He said it was a seizure, which is why I’m worried that his problems, or at least his symptoms, may be changing into something else.”

  “It’s possible,” Mary nodded, pursing her lips. “But there may be another explanation.”

  “Such as?”

  “At one point Evan made a comment that there was some kind of flash that accompanied what he thought was a seizure.”

  “Right. But a lot of things can happen during seizures. Mental disorientation, for example.”

  “Yes, I know,” Mary agreed. “But what if that’s not what it was? What if it wasn’t disorientation at all?”

  Shannon’s expression grew curious.

  Mary continued. “He said it was a flash. Does that sound like disorientation to you?”

  Shannon brushed away a strand of short brown hair. “Well, disorientations can be…” Her words slowed to a crawl and she stopped, thinking.

  Mary went on. “Remember, Dennis was the one who described the gunshots. Evan was already on the ground, right?”

  “More or less.”

  “But…when Dennis mentioned the shots, he said there were two flashes.”

  “Right.”

  “And Dennis hadn’t seen Evan until they were both back here.”

  “I’m not following.”

  Mary fixed her eyes on Shannon. “What I’m saying is that Dennis told us the shots occurred after Evan had tripped. And Evan said he saw a flash and tripped, before the shots. It’s been bugging me ever since I heard it. I think they were too excited to catch that detail.”

  “Maybe things just happened too fast.”

  “Maybe. But they both remembered it clearly. What if they’re both correct?” Mary leaned forward onto her small dining room table. “Shannon, what if they both saw the same flash?”

  Shannon furrowed her brow. “What do you mean, the same flash?”

  “What I mean is, what if Evan actually saw the flash a split second before it happened?!”

  Lars Black eased the back door closed behind him. It was dark inside the garage with little of the day’s remaining light creeping in through the cracks. He crossed through the darkness and approached the inside door to the house, where he paused to pull a thin cloth mask over his head.

  He put his hand on the doorknob and turned it gently. It was unlocked. He began pushing the door open very slowly. Slow enough to allow him to stop immediately at the slightest sound.

  As the crack between the door and jam grew bigger, Black could hear both women talking. They sounded close-by. From the opposite direction, he could make out the sounds of children down a hallway. He spotted a picture on the wall and could see a woman’s head reflecting in the clear glass. She was just around the corner with her back to the hallway. And the second woman sounded just as close.

  Both women turned when they heard the door creak. But it was too late. Lars Black leaped into the carpeted hall and rounded the corner before either of them could react. They gasped and froze when he pressed a gun against the side of Shannon’s head.

  “Where is he?” Black whispered.

  Both women were still in shock.

  “Where is he?!” Black repeated, raising his voice.

  Shannon dared not move. She remained erect in her chair without moving a muscle. “W…who?”

  Black hissed through his mask. “Your husband!”

  Oh my God! Shannon fought to keep calm. “I…I don’t know. Driving maybe.”

  “Driving where?!”

  Shannon didn’t answer. She struggled to even think. “I’m not sure.”

  “Then call him.”

  Shannon stared at her sister. She blinked, trying to remember where her phone was. “Uh…” Suddenly, her eyes grew wider than her sister’s. Ellie had her phone. Shannon had let her play games on it on the way over. She still had it. “I…I don’t have my phone,” she said calmly. “I think I left it in the car.”

  Black scanned the room and spotted the kitchen phone near the wall. He nodded to Mary. “Get that one!”

  Mary scrambled from the table and practically lunged at it. She grabbed the cordless handset and turned back toward Black at the table.

  Shannon was petrified. Her mind raced, trying to think of what to do. She managed to look up into the eyes of her sister only to find her standing still, fixated on Black. Shannon nearly screamed. Give him the damn phone!

  What Shannon didn’t notice was the slight shift in her sister’s eyes.

  A loud thunk came from behind Shannon. The gun fell from her temple and she felt Black’s body waver. She jumped as her attacker crumpled abruptly to the floor. Confused, she looked at her sister and then spun in her chair.

  She was speechless to find Dan Taylor standing behind her, holding a giant wrench. Without a word, he peered down at Black’s motionless body. He stepped closer and reached down, pulling the cloth mask off. Black’s dark-haired head fell back to the floor with a thump.

  Taylor turned to Mary when he heard the kids laugh in the other room. “Don’t let them come out here!”

  Without a word, Mary bolted down the hallway.

  Shannon stood up and pushed away from the table. She was surprised once again as Tania came running in behind Taylor with a golf club in her hand.

  “You can be one goddamn hard woman to find,” growled Taylor.

  “I’m sorry,” Tania breathed heavily. “I didn’t have Mary’s number on my phone. But I
remembered where she lived.”

  Mary reemerged from the hall just as Shannon took another step back, staring down at Black. “Who is he?”

  “The brother of the man who shot at your husband last night.”

  “Is he dead?”

  “I doubt it. But you’re safe now.” Taylor looked around. “Where’s Evan?”

  Mary folded her arms. “They left already.”

  Taylor shook his head in frustration. “Christ, when is someone going to listen to me? When are you all going to help me talk Evan out of this? What he’s doing is dangerous! And this is only the beginning. This is not something that he should be playing games with just to be a hero.”

  “He’s not.”

  Taylor turned around and looked at Tania. “What?”

  “I said he’s not!”

  “He’s not what?”

  Her face grew angry. “He’s not trying to be a hero!”

  “Yeah? Well then, what do you call it?”

  Shannon watched the young woman clench her fists and take a small step toward Taylor.

  “Have you ever bothered to ask him? Ask him why he’s doing this? No. Of course not. It’s easier for you just to judge, isn’t it?!” Tania slowly shook her head. “If you had, you would know why. You would know why, and you would see that he’s not trying to be anything. Especially not a hero!”

  Taylor squinted at her. “What are you talking about?”

  “Have you ever asked him anything at all? Like where he grew up or what his childhood was like?”

  Taylor didn’t answer.

  “I didn’t think so. Maybe you should start by asking where his father is. Have you ever thought about that?”

  Again, no answer.

  “His father is dead. He died when Evan was six.” Tania glared at Taylor. “Do you want to know how? In a fire! Their house caught fire and Evan’s father saved him. He saved Evan and tried to save his four-year-old sister too. But he couldn’t find her. He went back in and died trying to find his daughter.”