They were now on the main drag running through Ruidoso, and he used the straightaway to check on his family. All three of them were in the back, over his shoulder. Sarah sat along one wall with Josie lying across her lap. She was calm. A tear shimmered down her face in the fluorescent glow, and she used a hand to pat Caroline’s leg. Josie was still asleep and seemed stable. Isaac couldn’t help but wonder what she had been given and how long the effects would last.
Caroline’s head was toward the front. He was only a couple feet away and could see a red handprint on the side of her face. It was his hand and her blood. He had accidentally put it there while cradling her in the lawn. His hands, arms, and shirtless body were also covered, drenched from the wound. He willed himself not to feel sad. That would be to surrender, and he wasn’t ready. He would never be ready. There was hope as long as Caroline had some fight left. He told himself that she was not past the point of no return, but deep down, it sure felt that way.
Two techs frantically worked a length of tubing. One began inserting it down Caroline’s throat while the other hooked his end to a respiratory apparatus. They were having the same trouble Isaac had had. She was breathing, but to put enough pressure on the cut and stop the bleeding was to also close her windpipe. Blood covered the techs’ surgical gloves. A huge wad of gauze, already several layers deep, was completely soaked from her jugular. The EMT applying pressure had to ease off momentarily so the tube could be shoved down her windpipe. When he did, a scarlet curtain spilled from beneath the gauze, onto the gurney, and to the floor.
“Shit!” He immediately placed both his hands back on the gauze. “We’ve got to trache her,” he said. “I can’t take enough pressure off to get the tube down.”
The other tech in his navy blue pants and crisp, light blue shirt made no acknowledgment. He simply worked faster, trying to get air into the desperate little girl’s lungs.
Isaac felt his composure slip a notch. He looked to Sarah. She was still sitting there, unwavering, with Josie in one arm and her other hand stroking Caroline’s leg. He thought he could hear her whispering, but the siren drowned it out.
Finally, the ambulance turned into the ER parking lot. The generally calm atmosphere of the small Lincoln County emergency room was in an uproar. A team of the best medical professionals on duty had been advised of the situation and turned the facility into a hive of frenzied activity. All attention was focused on Caroline. Her body was in need of repair and replenishment.
They came to a screeching halt under the port-cochère. Two nurses awaited their arrival. They pulled out the gurney with one tech moving alongside and holding pressure on her neck. A hustling, chattering group of staff quickly went to work and passed through a set of automatic glass doors.
Josie was handled differently. With a strong pulse, regular breaths, and no immediate threat to her health, the second EMT took her from Sarah’s lap and carried her in. This was not procedure, but neither was anything else. Time was of the essence, and staff was limited.
Sarah raced after the girls. First, she tried to follow Caroline. Then she tried to stay with Josie. A nurse, Allison McFarlane, an acquaintance of Sarah’s and a high school classmate of Isaac’s, was there to restrain her.
“Let me go.” Sarah struggled against Allison. “Let me go. I have to go with them.”
“Sarah.” Allison wrapped both arms around her friend and pulled their bodies close together. “Sarah, listen to me. You can’t go with them. Not right now.”
“Please.” She tried to shake loose, but the effort was halfhearted. Her voice was low now, barely above a whisper. “They need me.” She watched them go and stopped fighting.
Allison put an arm around Sarah’s shoulders and guided her to an empty, waiting room chair. “I’m going to get Isaac.” She squatted in front of her. “Okay? Just stay here, and I’ll be right back.”
Sarah nodded, pulled her knees to her chest, and wrapped both arms around them. She tried to hold her physical self together because, on the inside, everything was busting loose.
The ambulance driver was helping Isaac out of his seat and into a wheelchair. Droplets of blood covered the floorboard towel. Fragments of broken glass protruded out the bottoms of his feet, and the pain was becoming very real. But the flesh and nerve damage on the soles of his feet was nothing compared to the helplessness and agony of defeat as he sat there, watching his family being carted into the hospital. If I can’t protect them or save them, what good am I?
Allison wheeled him to the waiting room and parked him next to Sarah. She was still there alone, wrapped up like a frightened child.
“It’s going to be okay.” Isaac reached for her hands. Tears not yet spilled filled his eyes. “It’s going to be okay.”
“Isaac, I need to get you a room so we can start working on your feet.” Allison tried to put a reassuring look on her face. These were not just people she was helping. They were her friends. “I’m going to see what’s happening and be right back.”
Time rolled on, but the progression went unnoticed. Stark walls, smooth, laminate floors, and windowless corridors blended into one, a world void of texture, color, or dimension. There was no past, no present, and no future … only the moment they were in and the wait that lasted an eternity. Allison had not come back. The night’s explosion of events and suddenly induced fear that held them prisoner was hard to fathom, hard to perceive.
From the lobby, and without realizing it, they could hear the busy laboring and muffled chatter of people performing their duties. The sound filtered through the operating room doors. They were working to save Caroline. In the noise was an unconscious peace of mind, a knowledge that the battle still raged. Then, without warning, it ceased. The silence was cold and intense.
A parent should never have to endure certain things. To watch your child fight for their life while you sit on the sidelines, definitively unable to assist or protect them, is one. Another is to bury a child, the vessel of which a parent pours the spark of their very life into. Bone of their bone. Flesh of their flesh. To watch that vessel, a life that has been cared for so tenderly, shatter and spill all the energy it contains, only a parent can fathom the excruciating ache of a wound so penetrating.
A door hinge squeaked, and Isaac saw a man he knew coming toward them. Allison was at his side. Dr. Pearson, a longtime resident of the Ruidoso area, had treated many of Isaac’s ailments and injuries as a child. He was typically a jolly man, fulfilled to assist in the health of a community. But as he neared them, all jovial appearances were absent. His head was bent. His face, somber.
“Sarah,” he said. “Isaac. There’s good news and bad news. Josie is fine. She’s still sleeping but fine. We’re running some tests right now. Something has her knocked out, but she’ll come around.”
The doctor took another breath and made a sideways glance at Allison, wishing he didn’t have to say any more.
“Josie,” he went on, “needs both of you.” His eyes moistened. He had children and grandchildren of his own. No matter how many times he had practiced this scenario over the years, the words were impossible to master. “We did … everything we could. Caroline lost too much blood.”
He stared down into the hopeful faces of a family. Isaac sat motionless. Sarah shook her head back and forth, tucking her lips into her mouth in an effort to hold on.
He hated himself, but he had to say it. “We couldn’t save her.”
Chapter Eight
The mood inside the van was anything but pleasant. Ricky sat in the driver’s seat, safely concealed behind his garage door. Both hands clasped the black plastic steering wheel. He shook it back and forth in rage. His body jerked with force. A pair of red ears matched his mood.
How did it happen? How did I fail? The answer was simple, and he knew it. When putting the flashlight back in the holster, he had been careless. The motion was so simple, so repetitive, that he didn’t focus on it, and the price for neglect was steep.
He struck
the steering wheel with the palm of his hand. “It’s a wonder I didn’t wake up the whole damn neighborhood!”
Up until that point, during the nine-hour drive home, he had relentlessly beaten himself up over the mistake. But the more distance he put between himself and Ruidoso, the more a larger question loomed. The oversight had actually been the first mistake.
“Why the hell was Isaac there? Why was he there?” He went another round with the steering wheel. “He was supposed to be on duty.”
For over two weeks, he watched, learned, and schemed, trying to find a reasonable way to disappear with the twins. It was difficult. Other than school, there was never a time when they were alone. But there was another possibility.
Isaac always left for work on Wednesday morning and returned Saturday night. Breaking and entering was definitely not something Ricky usually considered, but the notion was far less scary knowing the only adult in the house would be Sarah. He felt confident that, should things go awry, he could easily dominate her.
The plan was workable, minus one major component. A place to park was necessary. The street was close enough but too conspicuous. The jogging trail he used as a spy corridor was another option, but the parking lot was three-quarters of a mile through the woods. Even if he could manage to carry Josie and Caroline that far, too much time would pass. A quick escape was nonnegotiable.
Desperate for options, a break came his way. On Friday morning, during surveillance, Kenneth and Joan Howard drove from their house with suitcases loaded in their car’s trunk. The empty carport was perfect. Coupled with Isaac’s work schedule, Ricky was elated. Not only did he have a place to park, he could get out of the rain for the remainder of the day, rest, and make plans for the long night ahead.
Now, sitting in his garage with only the overhead light to see by, realization hit like a lightning bolt. Isaac came home early because it was raining. Of course. Why would he patrol for fires in the rain?
It all made perfect sense. He had checked numerous times that the twins kept their windows cracked. The Howards were gone, at least for one night. But Isaac came home early, and Ricky should have known it. Dropping the flashlight was his second mistake. Leaving, not staying to observe the house for the rest of the day, was the first. He should have been there to see Isaac come home.
The garage door light timed out and saturated the space in blackness. He tried to calm himself. Anger and frustration weren’t going to help get the twins. Cool, collected, well-thought-out planning was the only means to have his day with Caroline and Josie. No matter what, to let this be the end was not acceptable. He was an addict, and they were his heroin. No cost was too great for the high.
Curious beyond all measure, he desperately wanted to know how things had played out after the pandemonium. Am I in danger? How are the girls? I wonder what they’re doing right now. I can’t wait to see them again, every last little peachy inch.
Chapter Nine
At dawn on Tuesday morning, the eastern sky blazed to life. Soon, darkness was burned away. It was the day of the funeral, and Isaac wished for his own sun to rise, a desperate yearning to have the inescapable shadow washed away.
He began the day much as he had spent the night, awake but barely present. Daggers to the heart, the weight of a thousand tons upon his shoulders, were unrelenting. No drug, drink, words of encouragement, or prayer could take it away. No distraction was powerful enough to occupy his one-track mind. Caroline was dead. Period.
No matter how many well-wishers arrived at their quaint residence with casserole dishes, hams, desserts, and drinks, kind as they were, or how many heartfelt letters came tucked into elaborate flower arrangements, reality was reality.
The weekend had been a blur of activity. Teams of forensic experts, the FBI, state police, and local cops invaded the once-peaceful house on Valley View Lane. Yellow tape marked everything off. Only people in uniform or cheap suits with badges were allowed through.
News crews and their vans lined the curb. Caroline and Josie’s recent exposure over the Jason Smith incident had made them local celebrities. Now a tragic story replaced the happy one, and reporters were drawn like buzzards to a rancid carcass. They hovered close by, ready and waiting for an opportunity to question anyone who might know about the attempted abduction and murder. They didn’t care or bother to confirm whether the information was accurate or not before regurgitating it into a microphone and flooding the airwaves.
Time, for Isaac and Sarah, became a flurried balance between moments of anguish, sessions of questions by authorities, and making funeral arrangements.
In their quiet kitchen, a cyclone of efforts behind them, coffee was drank but not enjoyed. Isaac’s parents, Tom and Helen, were there, sitting with their steaming mugs of black liquid. They had driven from Taos to Ruidoso during the dark hours of the tragic Saturday morning. Now, back in the same house they had raised their only son in, they again played a role of support, striving to make the best of a situation that felt simply unmanageable.
The natural light of day filtered in, and everyone gathered around the sturdy, wooden table. A meaningful discussion was taking place regarding the investigation. They all found that time passed more graciously with a purposeful task.
Charlie was due to arrive any minute. The chief of police had plenty of other duties, but all were put second to his friends’ crisis. Personal ties or not, crimes like this were next to nonexistent in Ruidoso. The outrageous events were not just a priority. They were the priority.
The front door latch opened and caught everyone’s attention. Like usual, Charlie showed himself in. This time, though, he did not remove his gun belt and get comfortable. He was on duty. The belt stayed where it was.
He moved through the antiquishly modern living room and into the kitchen where everyone was seated. The sixty-year-old hardwood floors creaked beneath his weight and boots. Tom stood to shake his hand, and Helen gave the man, whom she had loved since his childhood, a tight hug. He was not their son, but he was as good as.
“Good morning, Officer,” Helen said with pride. Recognizing his accomplishments was her way of doting. She smoothly ran the inside of her hand along Charlie’s baby-faced, blushing cheek.
“Hey.” He loved the motherly affection, but he was never sure how to handle it. His own had never bestowed one morsel of positive reinforcement. He backed away and sat in an empty chair.
“What’s the latest?” asked Tom. He poured a coffee, set it down in front of Charlie, stepped back, and leaned against the counter. “Any solid leads?”
“Same things but more information,” he said matter-of-factly. “Whoever this guy is, he’s real careful. Fingerprints would have been the easiest to trace, but gloves prevented that. Other than Isaac, there are no eyewitnesses, and no one around seems to have noticed anything out of the norm.”
All eyes were intent on Charlie, hanging on every word he said.
“There hasn’t been anything like this going on here, and it would appear completely random. However, abductions rarely, if ever, are.” He held Sarah’s expressionless stare and noticed Isaac’s forced attention. “That’s why we’ve had you go over everything again and again.” He rubbed his face. The first sign of dark circles were showing up under his puppy dog eyes. “Whoever he is, he knew the Howards were gone and, more than likely, the bedroom windows were unlocked.”
“He cased the joint?” Tom asked.
“It’s a good bet. His plan was good enough that if he hadn’t made any noise—”
Isaac was paying attention, but his mind kept flashing back. What if I hadn’t gone to check on them? What if Sarah hadn’t asked me to go? From there, the imagination became a dead sea of harrowing possibilities. It was hard to fathom that their situation could be any worse, but it could. Caroline and Josie could both be gone right now, in the hands of someone who would surely kill them but only after having his way. The thought made bile rise to the back of Isaac’s mouth every time it flashed through.
Over the past three days, each had given his or her story a dozen or more times. The state detectives gave the first formal questioning; the FBI followed. Charlie and his police force had several sit-down meetings, albeit much less rigid than the others. The Ruidoso cops were more familiar with the town and used their knowledge to try to find something out of place. The state boys worked forensics, along with the FBI, and the FBI put together a profile based on specifics of the case. Information was king, and everyone scurried to collect it.
“As of right now,” Charlie explained, “the best leads we have are the description of the van, a DNA sample, and an FBI profile.”
“That’s great.” Helen sounded encouraged.
“Well, here’s where we stand.” He shifted in the chair. “The FBI ran down the tread pattern left on the Howard’s driveway. Dunlop makes the tires in question, and the van, judging by the wheelbase, is probably a Ford. That, coupled with Isaac’s account, gives a pretty firm picture of the vehicle we’re looking for. The flip side is, in New Mexico alone, there could be anywhere from several hundred to over a thousand white Ford vans. And without plates, we don’t even know if the van is from in state.”
“But the DNA,” Tom reminded. “That’s dynamite, right? I mean, isn’t that what they call undisputable evidence?”
Charlie wanted to tread lightly. The DNA was a big deal, but having a sample and nailing the guy were two different animals.
“DNA is as ironclad as it gets with a crime scene,” he assured. “The lab sent back results from all the pieces of busted glass. They found a sample of skin on one, large enough to test. It’s not Isaac’s or Caroline’s.”
First Night of Summer Page 4