STOLEN

by DAWN KOPMAN WHIDDEN

  Hope offered to clean up the mess in the kitchen, if he volunteered to give the boy a bath. If Marty knew what he was getting into, he may have offered to clean the kitchen. Let’s just say it was an experience. It didn’t take too long to realize Tristan wasn’t too fond of having his hair washed. He did seem to enjoy the blow dryer though.

  Marty got him cleaned up and handed him over to Hope, feeling guilty that he left her with another major mess, this time in the bathroom. Marty told them both goodbye, and as he went to walk out the door, the little guy ran up to him and literally shimmied up his body and hugged his neck. Marty hugged him back and set him back down. He could see the look of sadness in Hope’s eyes. Marty knew she was doing what she did best, the one thing she acknowledged she inherited from her mother: her impractical and excessive worrying. Marty leaned over and gave her a kiss and gave Tristan a quick jostle of his head full of brown curly hair before he left the house.

  Feeling less anxious, and thinking Tristan was in good hands, Shane made his way back to the cabin and stayed put for the next few days. On the third morning, he got up early and rode the bike towards town, hoping not to get caught. Hiding the Harley in a clump of pine trees and some brush, he walked the rest of the way. He purchased a few groceries at a dollar store with the few dollars he had left, and hurried back. He was running out of time and money; and with Troy still in the hospital, he was getting antsy. Somehow or another, he had to get the three of them back together again. Maybe they should just forget about the whole thing, forget what they came for, and just leave this town. After all, he pondered to himself, at this point, did it really matter? They were a family, the three musketeers. Troy, Tristan, and himself. Why did he have this need to find out if he was that kid in the newspaper article? What difference did it make? Troy didn’t seem to care, he was happy, and said it didn’t matter. Troy only came here to help him find out the truth about who he was, even though it could mean Troy was also one of those missing boys, and someone was out there looking for him too.

  He knew why he wanted it so bad. He was thrilled when he realized there was a possibility the old man wasn’t his real father. The day he found those articles hidden in the old man’s stash and realized the old man may have stolen him from his biological family and maybe he could have stolen Troy too, was probably the best day of his life.

  But now the old man was dead, and he wasn’t the least bit sorry he shot him. For the first time in his life, he felt like he did something meaningful. He just wished he’d shot him before the old bastard got off the first shot. The second he saw Troy lying there bleeding, he grabbed the pistol tucked in Troy’s waistband and aimed it at the old man’s face. The bastard just stood there laughing, saying he didn’t have the balls to pull the trigger. The laughter stopped when the bullet exploded into his face.

  Troy and Tristan were the only things that he had left in this miserable world. M’leigh was gone; and now there was no doubt the old man killed her. When they confronted him in that cabin, where they found him doing those awful things to that little girl, abusing her like he used to abuse them, he actually confessed to it. He admitted to snapping M’leigh’s neck and burying her body out in the woods. The bastard stood there with this sick grin on his face and just laughed as he told Troy how he murdered his wife. When Troy went after him, he was still grinning as he pulled the trigger on the shotgun and Troy fell back. Shane would never forget the look on Troy’s face as he fell to the ground. He didn’t think twice. He fell down to his knees and put his arm under Troy to lift him up. As he held his brother, he felt the rough metal handle of the pistol. He pulled the gun out from his brother’s waistband and laid his brother back down. He stood up and didn’t hesitate. He raised the pistol so it was even with the old man’s face and pulled the trigger once, then twice. He wanted to keep unloading the gun after he shot the old man and watched him fall, but he suddenly became aware of Tristan watching the entire scene. The only thing he regretted was the fact Tristan was there to see it. He thought the boy was asleep in the truck, but he realized he was in the room with the little girl when he heard him cry out in shock; and then before he knew it, the child ran off, taking to the woods.

  He pulled out the sheet of paper he was keeping in his back pocket. He just couldn’t believe what a coincidence it was, that the street they brought Tristan to turns out to be the same street mentioned in one of the articles. He looked at the printed out map they found on Google and stared at the big red x that Troy had marked on it. One of the kidnapped boys was taken from that very same street. Maybe it was fate. He wanted to wait for Troy to get out of the hospital, but he just couldn’t sit still. What if Troy never got better? What if they caught him and he got arrested for murder of the old man? He needed to find out the truth; and he didn’t think he could wait one more minute for the answers. He was desperate.

  After unloading the few groceries, he went back outside and straddled the Harley. Seeing that the gas gauge was still three-fourths of the way full, he decided to take a quick run over to that house the lady doctor and cop took Tristan to. Just to make sure he was okay and safe and maybe, just maybe, get some answers to all the questions he has had for all these years.

  Hope spent the day administering aptitude and psychological tests to Tristan and if there was any telltale sign in the expression of her face of how he fared on those tests, Marty couldn’t tell.

  She was standing in front of her office talking to Judy, the hospital administrator, her hand cupping Tristan’s shoulder in an effort to keep him from wandering off.

  Tristan’s attention was on something other than the conversation the two women were engaged in. His attention was riveted on the five or six other children in the hallway who were racing remote control cars a few feet away.

  Scanning the group of boys, Marty’s eyes rested on the only blond-headed one in the bunch. He hardly recognized Brad Madison; the boy he had found bloodied and traumatized and playing a video game two years ago, while the slain and brutalized bodies of his parents laid upstairs. Brad has been under Hope’s care at Armistace since that day two years ago, and had gone through extensive psychotherapy. Now the boy was twelve years old and was going through a growth spurt and his physical appearance had taken a dramatic turn.

  The newspapers at the time referred to the boy using adjectives such as cherub-like and angelic looking (making it that much harder to believe him capable of the crime he had confessed to). The angelic facade was slowly fading away. What was once a baby-face morphed into a more mature version, with a strong jawline and sharp cheekbones. What everyone once described as a sweet little boy was gradually developing into a handsome young man, his physical appearance showing signs of the onset of puberty and the coming of age into adolescent years.

  When Tristan saw him, he suddenly broke free of Hope’s hold and ran directly towards him. Marty could tell, by the speed he was running, he would blow right by him if he didn’t reach out and grab him at the waist and lift him off his feet, causing him to swing his legs in the air. By the reaction he got, a smile so wide all of his teeth showed, it was exactly what he had intended in the first place. Marty got the feeling it was something he had done on more than one occasion; and the expression on his face showed him that Tristan approved of him getting it right.

  After a second or two in his arms, Tristan wiggled enough, letting him know he wanted down and Marty obliged. Marty watched as he made his way towards the other boys, but he deliberately, and cautiously, stayed back a few feet away.

  The activity had caught Brad’s attention, and he raised his head and gave Marty a quick wave of recognition, but immediately turned away and went back to the activity of racing his car.

  Marty heard the clicking of high heels and heard Judy’s distinctive smoker’s raspy voice greeting him as she passed by.

  Marty would have replied, but by the time he got the words out of his mouth, the woman was already down the corridor, directing the young racecar drivers in anot
her direction.

  Tristan was still standing in the same spot, his face showing signs of deep disappointment at the sudden loss of entertainment, when Hope took his hand and led him back to Marty.

  “How’d we do?” Marty asked her, referring to Tristan’s day of exams.

  “We did very well, didn’t we, young man?” She let go of his hand and used hers to gently rub the top of his head.

  Marty had only been in this little boy’s company now for a few days, but he already knew how to read him. When he tried to communicate that he was happy, or agreed with you, he would let out a short high-pitched giggle. If something frustrated him, or he wasn’t happy with you, he would grunt, or if he thought you were being ridiculous, he would let out a loud snort and then smile.

  Apparently he agreed with Hope’s depiction of the day, because he let out a giggle and nodded his head to make sure there was no confusion in the translation.

  He then cupped his hand and motioned to his mouth.

  “You’re hungry, huh? Okay, buddy, we will get you something to eat.” Marty looked over at Hope.

  “You feel like going to The Liar’s Den and grabbing some dinner? Or do you just want to go home?”

  Tristan wasn’t the only one whose facial expressions and sounds Marty had no trouble reading. He saw the gleam in Hope’s eyes and heard the smack of her lips when he mentioned the restaurant.

  “Okay, then.” Marty replied, himself grateful for her answer, he could already taste the prime rib.

  “Oh, and you are going to like this. Judy just told me the judge has issued Brad Madison’s release papers. He is going to be released to the custody of his uncle in a few days. I thought you would like to know.” Her fingers grazed through Tristan’s curls as she spoke.

  Marty’s thoughts flashed back to the blond boy racing the cars just a moment ago. “Do you think he’s ready, Hope? Do you think it’s a good idea?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “Medication seems to be working, and we haven’t had any violent episodes lately. We have to trust he’s going to be alright.”

  Marty knew why she felt so skeptical. She sometimes wondered if the boy who murdered his parents so viciously was capable of doing it again. There was something about Brad Madison that left her with sleepless nights.

  Marty hoped she was right.

  He grabbed Tristan by his arms and lifted him up so he was now sitting on top of his shoulders; Marty bent his knees so Tristan wouldn’t hit his head as they headed out the door. While they walked, Hope relayed to Marty the preliminary results of the extensive testing the little boy had endured that day.

  By the time they got to The Liar’s Den, they were all famished. They continued their conversation during the meal.

  “He is very bright and intuitive. His cognitive abilities are off the charts.” Hope told Marty, keeping one eye on Tristan and another on her plate. Every few seconds, he would pretend to steal a fry from her; and it became a game between the two of them.

  “Someone has taught him to read and his math skills are way above what they should be at his age. Someone has spent a lot of time with him; and, apparently, it wasn’t done in a structured school setting. Judy asked him several times; and he undeniably insists that he has never been to school. When she asked him who taught him, he kept clamming up. I think he believes he would be betraying a trust.”

  She gently slapped the little hand of his as he snatched a fry from her plate. “Eat your own!” She growled at him, her teeth clenched, as she pretended to be angry.

  While Hope and Tristan played their game, Marty’s thoughts wandered.

  He wondered if the man lying in the hospital was responsible for Tristan’s education or if it was the other brother?

  All he knew for certain was what he was feeling at that moment.

  It just felt right. The three of them; sitting there, eating dinner, just seemed so natural. Marty knew his thinking wasn’t rational and if Troy Blakey did recover, it would only be a matter of time before he would be reunited with his son, if this really was his son. He still had his doubts.

  Marty wasn’t so sure if it was the best solution for the little boy, even if Troy was his biological father. Obviously, the man allowed the child to be in the company of a pedophile for years and maybe he was one himself. The doctors checked Tristan out and said he wasn’t abused sexually, but Marty wasn’t convinced. Something caused this child to stop speaking; and he was determined to find out just what happened to the kid that would cause him to stop communicating verbally.

  His thoughts were interrupted when his cellphone rang. It was Jean. She had spoken to Sanders, the investigator from Oregon. He was on his way to New York, and was taking a shuttle from the New York Airport to Sullivan County, and was scheduled to land in the morning. She insisted that someone would pick him up at the airport and volunteered Marty.

  “No problem,” Marty told her. He was looking forward to speaking to the Oregon investigator. If anyone had knowledge of what Tristan’s life was like before he came here, it would be him. And then Marty remembered tomorrow morning was the time his dad was scheduled to come home.

  Hope had overheard the conversation and read his mind. “I’ll pick up the Captain; you do what you have to do. Tristan and I can go to the hospital and pick up your father and get him settled in.”

  Marty leaned over and gave her a kiss. Tristan made a face. “I love you, do you know that?” Marty wiped away some gravy from the corner of her mouth.

  “Yes, I think I do.” She replied, snatching a fry from Tristan’s plate. He let out a loud snort, causing a roomful of patrons to look in their direction.

  Marty arrived at the airport just as Sanders’ flight landed. He had left Oregon the night before, and with the time change, he arrived at 9:00 a.m. Eastern time. Even though he never laid eyes on the man, he recognized him immediately. The man’s aura just oozed cop. He wasn’t quite as tall as Marty, but he was thick, and fairly well built. From the cheap suit he wore, to the marine-style haircut, to the black rubber soled shoes, the guy had ‘law enforcement’ written all over him. Marty must have had the same effect on him, because as soon as he caught his eye, he headed in Marty’s direction.

  “Keal?” he asked, when he got within an arm’s-length distance after walking over the security threshold and into the terminal waiting area.

  Marty held out his hand. Sanders reciprocated and they shook. The man’s grip was stronger than he expected, but friendly.

  “Did you have a good flight?” Marty asked, directing him towards the lower level where the baggage claim area was.

  “The flight from Oregon to LaGuardia was okay. It was the shuttle here that was a little rocky. I slept most of the way. How far are we from your town?”

  “Not far at all, just a quick jaunt. Do you have any luggage? Do we need to—?”

  Sanders cut Marty off.

  “No, just this.” He held up a small duffle bag. “I like to travel light, but I could use a pit stop.” He looked around, trying to spot the restroom.

  Marty pointed in the direction of the men’s lavatory.

  He nodded and wasting no time, he took off in a hurry. The minute he disappeared behind the entrance, Marty’s cell rang. Jean’s name came up on the caller I.D.; Sanders came out just as Marty disconnected the call.

  “Sorry, but I just hate those in-flight bathrooms. Got this irrational fear that I’m going to get sucked in. I know it’s crazy, but . . . .” He scratched his thick brow as he spoke.

  “No problem,” Marty told him. He held up the phone. “That was my partner Jean. We finally got some good news. It seems that Troy Blakey has regained consciousness. She just got a call from the hospital and she’s headed over there now; so we can go directly there. Unless you need to check in somewhere, get something to eat?”

  “No, I’m fine. I’m anxious to talk to him. It’s been a long time coming, and I’m hoping that I can finally get answers for this young girl’s family. I also wanted
to fill you in on what we found in the Blakey home when we executed a search warrant. One that was way long overdue.”

  Marty led him towards the parking lot and to his vehicle. They reached his ride and he fumbled around, trying to get the seat belt long enough to cover his bulk.

  Marty waited till he got himself situated and then pulled out of the spot and headed towards the exit. He got a nod that said ‘Go right through’ when he displayed his badge to the burly attendant, whom he recognized as a retired fellow officer, and exited the airport.

  “I didn’t make any motel reservations, didn’t have much time, but my assistant said that this is a resort town and it was off season, and she didn’t think I would have too much trouble finding a room.”

  Marty got onto the 17B and headed towards the hospital where Blakey had just woken up from his coma.

  The route, to Marty, was the beating heart of the Catskills and the scenery majestic, but these mountains probably looked like hills and the boulders that made up the sides of the mountains probably just looked like big rocks to his visitor from Oregon.

  Sanders was taking in the scenery as he spoke. “Never been to this part of the country, it’s nice. Always thought New York was just cement and steel.”

  Marty laughed. “No, upstate New York is a far cry from Manhattan or what we call the city. We have trees and grass in abundance, but you’re not the first to think that way. Look, there’s no reason for you to get a room. You’re more than welcome to stay with us. My house is more than big enough to accommodate one more.”

  “No, I couldn’t do that. I don’t want to put anyone out. Besides, my assistant assures me that the generous state of Oregon will foot the bill.”

  “Lieutenant—”

  “Mike,” he interrupted. “Call me Mike.”

  “Okay, Mike. If we get you a room, then you’re going to need a car rental, and we just left the airport where the only car rental place in this area is. So, I suggest you just sit back, enjoy the ride and accept the accommodations. My home once was the residence of a brood of nine children . . four of us are now brothers in blue.”