Shattered Lives

by Joseph Lewis

  “I was thinking,” George said quietly, gathering his courage, “that maybe I should go to Arizona by myself. I could take a plane or bus,” George said, first looking at Jeremy, then at Jeff. “It might be safer for everyone.”

  “No!” Billy said, leaning forward towards his father. “No way!”

  Randy placed a hand on Billy’s arm to quiet him and to allow George to continue.

  “If there are men after me, I could be putting you in danger. I do not want that,” George pleaded.

  “No!” Billy repeated. “You’re not getting on a plane or a train or a bus.”

  “But-“

  “-But nothing,” Billy shouted, shaking off Randy’s hand. “We’re family. Families stick together.” He looked from Jeremy to Randy and then back to Jeremy and said, “Dad, tell him!”

  “George,” Jeremy started. “We can’t let you deal with this by yourself.”

  Frustrated, George said, “Do you not understand? These men sent someone to kill me once before. They will not stop.”

  Pete leaned forward, his forearms on his knees and said, “George, Jeremy and I have come up with a plan. We believe everyone is safe for now because no one will know where you are.”

  “For now . . . until we get to Arizona where these men will be waiting for us.”

  “George, do you trust me?” Jeremy said softly.

  “Yes, but-“

  “-Billy’s right,” Randy interrupted. “Families stick together.”

  George looked from Randy to Jeremy and then to Billy.

  “What he said,” Billy said, nodding towards Randy.

  George tried to stand up and when Billy went to help him, George shrugged himself out of his grasp, wincing at the pain on his right side. He gave up and sat back down.

  “Please listen,” George said, frantic with worry, frustrated that no one was listening to him. “I have already lost one family. I do not want to lose another.” Billy sat back down and exchanged a look with Randy. “I do not want to lose you too. Any of you,” George said looking from one to the other.

  Jeff, who had been listening quietly with interest put his arm around Danny, gave his shoulder a squeeze and both smiled at George.

  Jeremy leaned forward and said, “George, I need you to trust me.” He paused and said, “Can you do that for me?”

  George looked to be near tears, frustrated that he wasn’t being heard and embarrassed that he had lost his composure once again. No one should be able to tell what a Navajo was thinking. He felt that his grandfather would be disappointed with him because he had lost his composure far too much in one day.

  He took a deep breath and slowed his breathing down, placed his mask back in place, and looked at Jeremy intently.

  “We’re going to go on vacation. We all need one, especially after all we’ve been through,” he paused and looked at the twins and then back at George. “In, I don’t know . . . nine or ten days, we’ll be in Arizona. Our plans are pretty fluid, but when we get there, we have a plan,” nodding in the direction of Pete and Jeff.

  Jeremy looked over at Pete and then back at George.

  “Pete and our friend Detective Graff are working on protection also. George, we have a plan that will keep us all safe until we’re done in Arizona and back home in Waukesha. We . . .” indicating Randy and Billy, “hope you’ll come back home with us, but if you don’t, Pete will arrange protection for you for as long as you need it.”

  George tried to put on a brave face, but his chin trembled and his mask was in danger of slipping off.

  “I . . .” he stopped, unable or unwilling to continue.

  He cast his eyes down and shook his head solemnly.

  In the end, they left the hospital together. Pete said goodbye to each of them, hugging each of the boys and then turned around and walked back into the hospital. Billy told the group that he and George were going to ride with Jeremy, leaving Randy and Danny to ride with Jeff.

  There was as much said and felt as there was unsaid and felt by each of them.

  Jeremy figured it would all come out at some point during the trip. He just hoped that the plan he, Pete and Jeff had come up with would work.

  If not, there would be more dead bodies, his own and the twins included.

  PART TWO

  RE-ENTRY INTO THE WORLD

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Waukesha, Wisconsin

  Before leaving the hospital, Pete gave each set of parents a script to be used when the families got home in case media was staked out on their front lawns. There was little doubt that there would be because each of the other boys who had left the hospital in Chicago or in Kansas City or Long Beach experienced a media circus like none other. Most of the kids and parents had held press conferences at their local police or sheriff departments with the guidance of FBI or departmental PR people to help run interference.

  There were offers of movie deals, book deals, TV interviews, and TV specials. There were agents, PR firms and managerial firms trying to recruit them, each promising the best representation. None of the boys were interested, and their parents, taking the lead from their sons, weren’t interested either. As Brett had put it before they had left the hospital, I want to forget what happened to me. Why would I want a book or a movie to remind me? All the boys had agreed with him.

  Stephen counted six TV trucks with news crews and even recognized one or two from the Milwaukee stations he and his family watched. There were other interested folk milling about as well as photographers trying to take their pictures as they pulled up. As instructed, the Ericksons and the Baileys pulled into the back of the Waukesha Police Station and were hustled inside by a phalanx of officers where they were met by Captain Jack O’Brien and Detective Jamie Graff.

  O’Brien was a bald, fit and square-jawed fireplug of a man, stocky and chiseled. His arms bulged out of his short-sleeved navy dress uniform. His dark eyes bore deep into your soul, and that was the first and lasting impression left on Mike. Normally slow to speak, a man of few words, he was the first to shake the boys’ hands in a grip that could have easily broken fingers and knuckles with one squeeze.

  “Boys, we met in the hospital. Let me say once again how happy we are to have you home safe and sound.”

  Mike and Stephen nodded tentatively.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Bailey,” he said as he shook their hands in the same manner as he did the boys. “Mr. and Mrs. Erickson.”

  After acknowledging the parents, he turned back to the boys. “Here’s how we’re going to do this.”

  The boys stood side by side to the right of the podium with their parents behind them. To the left stood the Waukesha County Sheriff, Myron Wagner. He was dark-haired, rotund and middle-aged with jowls and a neck almost covered by two chins, and next to him stood Detective Jamie Graff. Graff looked as though he’d rather be anywhere other than on the front steps under the glare of lights and media scrutiny. He scanned the crowd that had gathered below and in front of them and in particular, the people on the fringe. He knew there were two others in the crowd doing the same thing as he was.

  At the podium, Captain O’Brien thanked the police and sheriff detectives and the FBI for the operation.

  “Without this joint cooperative effort, these two boys and the other boys held in captivity wouldn’t have been freed.”

  He asked for a moment of silence to honor Police Detective Paul Gates who lost his life leaving a wife and small child behind, and then after, acknowledged Police Detective Gary Fitzpatrick and Sheriff Deputy Ronnie Desotel who had been wounded freeing the boys. He introduced Detective Jamie Graff who led the siege in Chicago. O’Brien’s smile was meant to be warm and friendly, but it came across as menacing and threatening and actually, rather scary.

  Cameras snapped while the crowd broke into applause.

  After O’Brien finished, Jennifer Erickson spoke on behalf of her husband, the boys, and the Baileys. She stepped forward, and the boys flanked her on either side. Reporters yelle
d questions or otherwise told the boys to look this way or that way. Not wanting to be there, the boys understood it was important for them to be.

  “Before any questions, I’d like to say a few words,” she stated quietly. “On behalf of my husband, Mark, and our son, Michael, and on behalf of Ted and Sarah Bailey and their son, Stephen, I want to thank the Waukesha Police Department, the Waukesha County Sheriff Department, and the FBI for rescuing not only our two boys, but the other boys held captive in Chicago, Kansas City, and Long Beach. Without their quick action, I don’t know what would have happened to Michael and Stephen and the rest of the boys. Our hearts go out to the families of Detective Paul Gates, Detective Gary Fitzpatrick, and Deputy Ronnie Desotel. No amount of words can convey what we truly feel, but we want them to know that our thoughts and prayers are with them. We also want to thank the brave young man who recognized Michael and Stephen in the Amber Alert. Without his quick thinking and his bravery, we would still be looking for our sons and the other boys instead of standing here in front of you.

  In closing, my family and the Bailey family asks that the media respect our privacy, especially the privacy of both Michael and Stephen. They went through a lot, more than any child should ever go through. We will not answer any questions about injuries or anything that took place while the boys were in captivity. Instead, we need to focus on their rescue and what we need to do as a society to make sure things like this don’t ever happen to our children. As a society, we need to keep our children safe.” She paused, scanned the crowd and said, “Thank you.”

  When she stepped away from the podium, Stephen and Michael stepped forward.

  “Were you scared?” one reporter asked.

  She was the evening anchor at one of the Milwaukee TV stations.

  Mike looked at Stephen, then stepped forward and said, “Yes.”

  “At any point, did you feel your life was in danger?” asked a good-looking man in a suit.

  Stephen recognized him from yet a different Milwaukee station.

  Stephen stepped forward and said, “Yes, but Mike and I don’t want to talk about that. What’s important is that we’re back home.”

  The questions and answers went on for ten or fifteen minutes, including a summary from Jamie Graff. He normally spoke even less than O’Brien did, though today both were front and center and uncomfortable in the spotlight.

  Graff began his career as a traffic cop and then was assigned as an SRO at North High School and became friends with Jeremy Evans and Jeff Limbach, who together formed the three Js as the three of them were called. Where one was, the other two weren’t far behind. A thick head of dark hair and dark eyes and matching complexion, he came across as Latino. Quick to smile and usually sarcastic when he had something to say, he was known for his quick mind and skill in the field. A perfect leader, who didn’t really want to be, but accepted the leadership role because he knew he should. Besides, he’d rather trust himself in charge than someone else.

  The anchor woman said, “Stephen, there are reports that the man responsible for having you abducted is still out there. Is there anything you want to say to him?”

  O’Brien stepped forward to answer, but Stephen held his arm out to prevent him from doing so.

  “The only thing I want to say is that I’ll do whatever I need to do to make sure he’s caught. And when he is, I’ll do everything I can to make sure he’s in jail for the rest of his life.”

  Again, silence. Stephen didn’t realize it, but his hands were balled into fists, and he was glaring at the woman, who shrunk from his anger.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Waukesha, Wisconsin

  The man sat on the hotel bed staring at the TV, glued to the image of the two boys next to the police captain and in front of their parents. This was his first glimpse of the boy since he had received the jpg sent by email when Stephen was in the back of the van the night he was taken. Stephen was nervous, and the man liked that.

  Most of the time, the shot was only of the boys’ heads and shoulders, sometimes together, sometimes separately. Less time was spent on the parents, except when Jennifer Erickson spoke.

  The man focused on the boys. The questions began and the boys took turns, first the dark-haired boy, Michael, and then Stephen.

  The man liked the sound of boys’ voices. It was a musical sound, exciting for him to hear. He liked looking at Stephen’s face, his full lips and his blue eyes with long lashes. He found himself getting aroused.

  He stopped as the female reporter asked Stephen a question, something about what Stephen might want to say to the man who had him kidnapped. He had missed the exact question, because he was already into his fantasy about using Stephen.

  “The only thing I want to say is that I’ll do whatever I need to do to make sure he’s caught. And when he is, I’ll do everything I can to make sure he’s in jail for the rest of his life.”

  The man was stunned. He felt himself getting sick to his stomach again.

  He stood up, but then sat back down, his hand covering his mouth. Absentmindedly, he ran his other hand through his hair. He got up off the bed slowly, one hand still in his hair, the other still covering his mouth.

  Stephen wasn’t supposed to react this way. In his mind, Stephen wanted him, needed him, and enjoyed him. Stephen wasn’t supposed to be angry.

  The man had to think this through.

  So far, no one knew about him, though it was clear that they were looking for him. If the police knew it was him, they’d be all over it, and he’d be in custody. But a call to his neighbor verified that no one had been to his house. A call from the receptionist confirmed that no one had shown up at the office.

  So far, he was in the clear.

  That was the first and biggest hurdle. He knew he could work his charm on Stephen and then, if he played it right, Stephen and he would have a real relationship.

  A relationship.

  That was what the man had wanted all along. He had other boys, but Stephen was the boy he had really wanted.

  Stephen.

  He’d have to plan.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Chicago, Illinois

  Pete read and reread the text messages Cochrane had sent. He read over the call log, jotting down the numbers. He had already called Chet to give him the phone’s pertinent numbers and IP address, and he knew Chet was all over it.

  Pete checked the contact list in the phone, but none had matched the numbers to the text messages or the recent phone calls. He knew this group was gunning for George, Jeremy and Randy. He was less concerned about himself, but was also worried about Chet, Skip and Summer. He also wondered if his team had been compromised. Cochrane had stored the numbers of so many people involved in the hunt, including several of the kids. Jeremy’s number was listed too. Luckily Graff’s and O’Brien’s numbers were not.

  There was something else that nibbled at the back of his mind that he couldn’t put his finger on. He knew it was something important though.

  He left the conference room in search of Dr. Flasch and found him at the nurses’ station on the second floor. He asked if he had given the number of his office phone to Cochrane.

  Flasch looked somewhere in the distance as his quick mind searched for any recollection of Cochrane using his office for a phone call, if he had given his number to Cochrane, or if anyone else might have given the number to him.

  “Not that I know of, but if you need a secure line, follow me.”

  Flasch took off at a quick walk down the hallway without waiting for Pete to answer.

  Pete caught up to him and said, “Wherever you’re taking me, we have to be sure Cochrane wouldn’t have known about it.”

  Flasch didn’t say anything but continued down a flight of stairs to the main floor and walked past the Information Desk, which was now manned with two security personnel and one younger woman, who had relieved the elderly lady just after Cochrane shot the security guard during the kidnap attempt. Behind him,
Pete had noticed the thick plywood sheets covering the shattered glass in the entryway, but otherwise, didn’t see any other evidence of a shootout. The blood from the security guard had been mopped up, glass from the windows had been swept up and anyone who had showed up in the last hour or so wouldn’t have known that anything out of the ordinary had taken place. The news media was told very little, and they reported even less.

  Flasch knocked on a door, tried the doorknob and found it locked. He looked past Pete to the lobby, caught a security guard’s eye and motioned for him to come to him. Puzzled, the security guard obeyed.

  “Yes?” said the young, fit guard.

  Pete figured him to be in his late thirties, maybe early forties and had an air of ex-military about him. The 36th Air Cavalry tat on his right forearm confirmed Pete’s suspicion. He had short cropped black hair, dark eyes and shiny white teeth, but Pete wondered if the man ever smiled.

  Flasch leaned a bit forward to read the guard’s badge and said, “Mr. Stevens, this is FBI Agent Pete Kelliher. He needs to use a secure line to make a call. I know Dr. McDonough has been on vacation for the past week, so can you let him in Mac’s office to make his call?”

  “May I see some identification?” The security man said to Pete.

  Pete dug out his creds and held them out for the guard to read. Instead, the guard took the wallet-sized leather jacket from him and read it, glancing at Pete twice to confirm Pete was the guy in the photo. Satisfied, he handed it back to Pete and knocked twice on the door, listened to nothing but silence coming from the other side and then used his master key to open the door. He pushed the door open, stepped in to make sure the office was empty and then stepped aside to let Pete enter.

  “Dial 9 to get an outside line. I’ll wait down the hall for you,” Flasch said, pushing the lock button and shutting the door behind him.