The evil spirit of Martin just wouldn’t go away. Whether this was the menacing soul of Martin or not, the thought of it was disruptive enough, and cause for alarm. Brenda finally had to say something when the bizarre antics started up at the early age of one. They could be in a lot of trouble if she continued to keep this secret.
Carter took the secret reveal fairly well. He didn’t view it as Brenda lying to him. He viewed it as Brenda protecting her family from the evil spirit of Martin. Brenda knew that revealing a secret to him would go off smoother than he revealing one to her. She had put quite a bit of thought into it and she was eventually able to sleep a little better at night.
The majority of the problems that they were having with their son began when he started talking. It was not only the young age of nine months when he began saying words, but it was the content. He was also able to string these words together into proper sentence structure that would make people do a double-take in the grocery store. That was how show-stopping his behavior would be. It was more of what he would say than what he would do.
One of the reasons Brenda held onto her secret as long as she did was the subtlety with which Adam delivered his messages. Brenda was never 100% sure that she was hearing things, or perhaps mishearing things. One day when Brenda was cleaning up the kitchen, she saw Adam in his highchair picking up Cheerios with his little fingers and firing them across the room. Brenda could swear that he was saying, “Take that, Shirley.” Adam said this so low that she could only assume that it was impossible for her one-year-old son to make reference to Martin’s wife, Shirley. The fact that Brenda was the reincarnation of Shirley made Adam’s statements all the more bizarre.
That first comment put Brenda on guard. She paid close attention to his under-the-breath voice, trying in earnest to figure out what it was that he was saying. He was very cunning and delivered messages low enough to make you question his words every single time. Brenda possibly heard dozens of messages as the months passed, but confident on none of them.
During Adam’s second year of life, he delivered under-his-breath messages such as “Boulder or Bust,” “Martin loves Shirley,” “Desert Son,” and even “reincarnation.” Whenever Brenda asked him to repeat what he had said, confirmation failed. It was very frustrating for Brenda to think she heard him say something as opposed to know she heard him say something. That may have been another reason why she held this secret from Carter for so long, but there were far too many coincidences for her to let this continue.
. . .
The search party had gathered quickly after the newscast. The two news stations were still packing up their equipment by the time the 30 or so volunteers showed up to assist in the search; some in sneakers, some in shoes, some in shit-kickers. They all had one thing in common. They all wanted to help a family in the community who had just lost their six-year-old child to what appeared to be foul play. The news kept reiterating that point.
There were different reasons for helping. Some of the volunteers were just showing compassion, while others had young children of their own and couldn’t imagine having this atrocity happen to them. Some even took the day off from work to help out. However, Evan didn’t have to take the day off from work to help because he was retired, so he and Skippy had every day off.
In the years since Evan had retired, he had been helping people in the community. “That’s what I do to pass the time,” he told Carter and Brenda. “I’ve always done that. I was a police officer for 30 years. The last six years of my career, I worked in the canine unit and Skippy here was assigned to me. Been my partner since. We both retired at the same time and they let me take him with me.” Skippy looked up at Evan when he heard his name.
There was a police officer on hand to organize the search, and the volunteers hushed up when he began to speak. His loud authoritative voice was enough to hush the crowd. “Hello…I’m Detective Norton and I’m now the one in charge of this investigation. I see a bunch of you who were kind enough to back your community and help your neighbors, Carter and Brenda Spence…find their six-year-old son, Adam. Here is a picture of Adam.”
Detective Norton then held the photo of Adam high in the air, moving it slowly back and forth for the volunteers to see. “This is what Adam looks like. His parents tell me that this photo is only a few weeks old, so it’s accurate to this day. I am waiting for copies of this photo with contact information on the picture. I’ll be passing out the flyers when they arrive, along with staple guns and tape for you people to display anywhere and everywhere. My contact information will be on the flyers, so any one of you with any information…even the smallest lead…call me. No piece of information is too small.”
A blue Ford Mustang pulled in front of the house and had to double park due to the number of cars lining the street on both sides. The doors flew open and two plain-clothed officers jumped out and quickly made haste to Detective Norton. One of the officers had a pile of flyers in her hand, and the other had a small box with the staple guns and tape. As soon as they were handed off to Norton’s sidekick, the detective in charge continued leading the way.
“Because of the large number of volunteers in this search party, and with more expected, we will be running another batch of flyers, but for now…come forward and we’ll be passing out ten flyers to each of you. The staple guns and tape are for those of you spreading word on the street. You can attach the flyers to telephone poles, windows, or wherever you see fit. I’d like a group to search the surrounding woods. Make sure you have sturdy shoes and be careful. We have no information about whether Adam was taken or left on his own free will, but we need to keep both scenarios on the table until more information becomes available.”
Detective Norton removed his hat and pushed his thinning black hair back, then put the hat back on his head. He surveyed the crowd, then continued with his instructions. “The third group will be looking everywhere within town. Walk off the beaten path if you have to. We just need eyes and ears everywhere, so without further ado, let’s get this party started. Who will be our flyer people?”
Detective Norton looked around and saw roughly seven hands. “You people come forward for your supplies. How many of you will be hiking through the woods?” About 15 volunteers raised their hand for this duty. “You guys can just set off on foot now. Communicate with each other before you tackle the town.”
The front yard was a beehive of activity as flyers and staplers and tape were being passed out to the volunteers who had broken into two groups to discuss strategies. This developing story had news stations unpacking their supplies as they started interviewing the volunteers. One of the volunteers not camera shy was Evan, who, of course, had his dog, Skippy.
“What is it that made you want to take time out of your day to assist with this effort to find Adam?” The female reporter with flowing blonde hair held up the microphone to Evan’s mouth.
Evan seemed like a willing participant for the interviewer, but then he clammed up, resulting in an awkward silence.
The reporter tried a different angle to spark a response. “Have you ever joined such a search party before? Ever been involved with the community like this?”
Evan looked down at Skippy and ran his hand along the top of the dog’s head, front to back, several times. He looked the reporter in the eyes and stared hard, still not saying a word. The reporter looked very nervous with this delay and considered moving on to another volunteer in order to keep this story going.
“I’ve dedicated my life to helping people,” he finally managed, before another lengthy pause made the reporter again squirm, but not for too much longer. “Lost my wife years ago to a hit-and-run driver and been doing what I can to help others in the community ever since. It’s my mission in life…now that I’m retired.”
“I’m sorry to hear tha
t,” said the reporter. “Hopefully we have a happy ending to this story. Coming to you live on the scene of the kidnapping of six-year-old Adam Spence. We are here with the volunteers who are setting out in search of this little boy. I’m Elizabeth Pahl, and we will be keeping you updated throughout the day of any progress that is made. Back to you Sam.”
Elizabeth put the microphone down and said to Evan, “I am so sorry about your wife. When did that happen?”
Evan looked at the reporter skeptically and then looked down to Skippy. “Oh it’s been years since she was killed, but I still remember like it was yesterday.”
“Sure you do. Was the driver ever caught?” asked Elizabeth.
“Nope. Never did catch him.”
“So he’s still out there after having done this horrific crime?”
“Could be.” Evan never took his eyes off of Skippy.
Carter set off on this fast-paced mission to find his son, accompanied by Evan and Skippy. He was certainly intrigued by this man, but it was the fact that he was a retired police officer with a police dog that was the determining factor for him in this mission. He made sure to bring along one of Adam’s dirty shirts from the hamper just in case the dog needed to sniff it, and sure enough, Evan needed that scent for his dog before they set foot away from home territory. Brenda reluctantly stayed behind in case any news was called in to their house, or if in a wild turn of events, Adam just strolled in the front door.
Evan talked Carter into navigating by foot as they set out in search of Adam. When Adam disappeared into the night, there were no cars heard by Carter or Brenda, nor by any of the neighbors, and there were no tire tracks belonging to any cars other than the ones that belonged in their driveway.
“So how will you determine where we go from here?” Carter asked his navigator.
“I won’t,” Evan replied.
Carter stopped walking and Evan stopped as well. He looked at Carter, then looked down at the dog and said, “He will.”
They took a right at the end of the road and began walking the mile or so into town. Skippy had his nose sniffing loudly the entire time, but nothing sparked a burst of energy, so it was business as usual for Skippy. As noon approached and the bright sun lit up the sky with eye-squinting abandon, the trio blazed trails through town at much less than breakneck speed. This was the only drawback for Carter. He had the right crew, but at the wrong speed.
They finally got a break from the direct sunshine when they took a left-hand turn down a street thick with trees that lined both sides of the street, forming a tunnel as they connected in the middle. There were bushes to the right of them as they moved down the sidewalk, and on the other side of the bushes were front yards leading to houses.
As they continued to walk, Skippy stopped in his tracks. Carter began to ask what was going on and Evan rushed his finger to his mouth as if to say, shut up. Both sets of eyes were now on the dog as he slowly moved his head toward the bushes to his right. Skippy stared for a bit, growled, then moved slowly toward the bushes as Evan loosened the slack on the leash wound around his hand. Skippy again growled, but this time he growled lower as he put his head down, then suddenly darted into the bushes, coming out with a chipmunk in his mouth. It was squirming around in a last-ditch effort to shake itself loose.
“Drop it, Skippy! Down!” Evan yelled this loudly, and the dog immediately freed the chipmunk, which scurried away back into the bushes from where it originated. “Bad dog,” Evan reprimanded. “Not what we’re looking for. Stay focused!” Skippy put his head down in an admission of guilt, and carried on. “Sometimes he just can’t help himself,” Evan continued.
By the time they made their way into town at their slow pace, they could see the flyers already attached to telephone poles and bulletin boards. Little by little, word was getting out about a missing six-year-old boy and a vigilante community scouring the town in an attempt to bring him home safely to his family. The weather was perfect for their search.
CHAPTER FOUR
Back at home, Brenda was trying to hold it together. Her only child was missing; taken in the night, or so it seemed from the preliminary investigation. She had pain in her heart that she had never before felt. A piece of her was missing. She was exhausted from the long day, and police officers continued to come and go as the day progressed, but sadly, there were no new developments or leads to follow.
Brenda looked out at Mr. Jenkins’ house next door. It had been an abandoned property for nearly four years since his passing. Carter referred to it as a dilapidated mess. Mr. Jenkins spent the end of his time on earth pruning as his yard and gardens brought him great joy and satisfaction. That’s what he did to stay in shape, and he became an aficionado of gardening.
The plot was a forgotten piece of property as far as the town was concerned. The garden was out of control and the shrubbery had taken over the house. Winter would calm it down a bit, but springtime is when it would start up again and come alive as if on steroids, until the intervention of the following winter. Carter found it so strange when he looked out that window at what used to be a well-pruned landscape.
There were times when Carter’s mind created activity inside the home. One time, Carter thought he saw a shadowy profile of an old man in the house, and the shape was the same one that Mr. Jenkins used to have. That really disturbed Carter. He knew that Mr. Jenkins was truly gone, but the shadow cast doubt and thankfully only appeared once.
Mr. Jenkins was a good man whom Carter considered family. He took the loss very hard, and Mr. Jenkins had no other living relatives, so Carter took the lead with the funeral arrangements. Luckily, his estate had enough money to cover the expenses, but it was a very quick service with nobody attending.
Carter felt bad about this, but Mr. Jenkins had outlived his wife by 20 years, and even outlived his entire circle of friends and relatives. As a recluse for the duration of his life, his death was a lonely event. His body was discovered thanks to a wellness check called in by the paper boy, who noticed the newspapers piling up in the driveway.
. . .
“Okay listen up!” Detective Norton shouted to the group of police officers who were preparing to search for Adam. “The first 24 hours are the most crucial in finding the subject alive. However, we need to treat this case as if we are never past that point.” Detective Norton paused to read the faces of his crew. There were twelve of them sitting before him in the meeting room. “The flyers are out there, and we will be following up on the small tips that we have already received…as inconsequential as they may be. Get out there and find Adam. Let’s not waste another minute because the last thing I want to find is a deceased subject.”
When the detective paused the second time, his crew of twelve knew what they needed to do. They rose in uniform to get out and find this child. He watched as the room quickly emptied, and then he set off to hit the road himself. This case was on his watch, and he needed to search just as hard as his crew.
As the detective in charge was driving through town, he passed Carter, Evan and Skippy, and slowed to a stop.
“How’s it going?” he asked them.
“Nothing new,” Carter replied.
“I’m gonna take him through another part of town,” Evan replied. “Nothing but a chipmunk…right Skippy?” The dog barked twice.
“Okay then,” the detective replied. “I’ve just dispatched my crew to search as well. Let’s bring him home today.”
Carter looked at the detective. “Thank you, sir.” Then he watched as the detective drove off into town.
Evan watched as well. “They’re doing their best, but sometimes that’s not good enough. It takes many hands and feet and eyeballs for a mission like this. That’s why I took matters into my own hands with my
wife. Nobody really had a vested interest more than I did.”
Carter looked at the enigma before him. There was trouble behind his eyes. He stood there with the assistance of a walking stick, a leash with a dog at the end of it, and an I don’t give a fuck attitude. It was this attitude which Carter admired, and again, his four-legged friend did not hurt his case.
They began walking down a side street with shrubbery on both sides of the road and no houses for a while, and suddenly heard a loud car flying down the road behind them. It was one of those cars that sounded like it had an exhaust leak. As the car approached them from behind, a bunch of guys passed and one of them stuck his head out the window and screamed. Evan immediately reacted by jerking his walking stick out toward the street, and in doing so, he slashed the guy in the mouth. The car had slowed enough for Carter to turn and see the cane and the slashed lip, and he actually heard the dull thud of the impact and the scream that followed.
The driver slammed on the brakes, and Carter got nervous. They looked like teenage punks, but perhaps with a gun. It seemed that the only reason for their drive was to cause trouble. The driver remained in the car and the other two jumped out and started walking towards them without a care in the world. The injured one was bleeding down his chin, but it didn’t stop him from releasing smartass comments.
“Hey old man,” he said. “Let’s see what you’re gonna do now. Rock, paper, scissors. My knife beats your stick.” He pulled out a knife from his sheath. Carter gasped and took a step back. He looked at Evan, who put his hand back as a gesture for Carter to stay back and let him handle it. They continued to come toward Evan, who yelled “Stop!” They did not, so he said, “You better get back in your car before you never again see the light of day.”
The two guys stopped for a second and looked at Evan curiously. Then they looked at each other and laughed, and the one with the torn lip said, “Fuck you, grandpa! You’re going down yourself.” He came at Evan with the knife raised.
Desert Son Trilogy: Desert Son, Wayward Soul, Spiritual Intervention (Books 1-3) Page 49