“No. At some point, things just seemed to get better. He was home more. Less distracted. He bought himself a motorcycle, and I thought, Okay, I guess it was some kind of early midlife crisis, and this stupid Harley’s what he needed for some excitement. But that must have been after she saw us together and ended the affair. The timing lines up. We were good again for the next few years. But then a truck hit him when he was riding that ridiculous death-machine. I’ll never forget the day I was called to the hospital. I sat in the emergency room, convinced I’d never see my husband again. Then I got the news that he’d be okay. He had a traumatic brain injury, but he would survive. I truly believed I’d gotten a restart on my life. That we’d go right back to the way we were.”
“How terrifying,” Marcy said. “When was this?”
“Five years ago.”
“Johnny was already two years old,” Marcy said. She had no idea at the time that another woman was out there, a stranger, her life playing out in parallel with Marcy’s, leading them both here. Their children were half siblings.
“I was absolutely devoted to taking care of him,” Roseanne said. “We found a fantastic personal injury lawyer. He got a settlement that left us financially comfortable for life. But the TBI completely altered his personality. He became paranoid, irrational, and hot-tempered.”
Her explanation of her ex-husband’s condition was clearly the product of years spent trying to understand it. According to what she had been told by doctors, a rare but real subset of patients with traumatic brain injuries develop what resembles a psychotic disorder within the first two years of their injury. Symptoms such as hallucinations, paranoia, and delusions often lead to a misdiagnosis of schizophrenia. Even more common among patients are smaller but noticeable personality changes, such as impatience, outbursts of anger, and a lack of both empathy and impulse control.
“I was miserable as a result,” she said, “but initially I felt too guilty to leave because his conduct wasn’t his fault.”
“Yet you eventually left,” Marcy noted.
“One night, he was hallucinating. He was absolutely convinced that I was fighting him with an army of soldiers. He was yelling at people who weren’t even there, and then he physically attacked me. I realized I had to leave him for my own safety and for Bella’s. After that incident, I got a restraining order to prevent him from contacting either of us. I didn’t think things could get worse, until he violated the court order. He broke into the house I had rented, armed with a knife, and accused me of brainwashing Bella against him. Bella was trembling with fear. I threw myself in front of Bella to protect her, certain that he was going to kill both of us. He raised the knife, and I begged him, sobbing, to take my life if he had to, but to spare hers. He suddenly turned around and ran from the house. After that, I finally got permission from the court to change my name and relocate with our daughter. I literally have not spoken to anyone from my former life beyond a few trusted friends until now. I want to help you, Mrs. Buckley, but I can’t let Danny find me.”
“I don’t want Danny to find you either, Roseanne, but I need to find him. He has my son, and what you’ve told me about your ex-husband makes me fear even more for his life.”
“I haven’t spoken to him for nearly four years,” Roseanne said. “We had our apartment in Washington, D.C. It’s in an old historic building that Danny absolutely cherished. He would never sell it. But, if I had to guess, he’s in Delaware, not the city. We used to have a little townhouse a quarter mile from the beach. But after the motorcycle accident, he grew more and more paranoid. He wanted more land, more privacy. He bought a place north of the main beach community, outside of Cape Henlopen State Park.”
As Roseanne recited the address, Marcy was texting the incoming information as fast as she could to Laurie, who would know how to use it.
“This is amazing, Roseanne. Thank you so much. I know it can’t be easy to realize that Daniel might be involved in all of this.”
“Okay, there’s one more thing I need to tell you. If you’re thinking about calling the local police there in Delaware? Don’t do that.”
Marcy’s brow knitted, wondering why Roseanne would advise her against calling the police. “Luckily, my husband’s family has close contacts with law enforcement. I’m sure they’ll be able to get cooperation.”
Roseanne sighed on the other end of the line. “Danny’s older brother, Charlie, is the chief of the Rehoboth police. He’s in total denial about Danny’s condition, and abused his power trying to keep me from getting the court orders I needed to protect me and Bella. If it weren’t for him, Danny would have ended up in prison for breaking into my home and attacking me with a knife in front of my child. I’m so sorry, Mrs. Buckley, but I just have to warn you: if you call Charlie, he’s going to tell Danny that cops are looking for him, and if he feels cornered, I’m terrified of what Danny might do to your boy.”
Chapter 56
A half mile outside Cape Henlopen State Park, a hundred and twenty miles from his family’s home, Johnny Buckley sat at the foot of the bed inside his assigned room.
He unfolded the piece of paper that the man had given him the previous night. He read it for what must have been the twentieth time. He didn’t even need to sound out the syllables anymore. A detective named Jennifer Langland confirmed that “police are operating on the assumption that Johnny Buckley was abducted by a stranger.” But there was one sentence he could not forget: According to a law enforcement source, the missing boy was adopted by the Buckleys as a newborn.
The top of the page said it was from something called New York Crime Beat, but Johnny decided that the whole thing was a lie. This wasn’t a real newspaper or anything, just a sheet of paper from the man’s printer. Anyone who knew how to use a computer could write whatever they wanted and claim they found it on the internet. Obviously, the man had made up this fake article to be mean to Johnny.
Because that’s what the man was: mean. A mean bully who said things and did things just to hurt people.
My name is Johnny, Jonathan Alexander Buckley, he whispered to himself quietly. My parents—my real parents—are Andrew and Marcy Buckley. My name is definitely not Danny!
He fell silent as the sound of footsteps echoed down the stairs. The man’s voice. “I think I am going to tell him the truth tomorrow about who I actually am.”
It was followed by the woman’s voice. “What about me? How should I introduce myself?” This was the first time that Johnny had ever heard the woman come downstairs. He had started to wonder if perhaps she was a prisoner, like him, being kept in a separate room upstairs.
“As my wife, of course. My beautiful, loving, and loyal wife. He’s a wonderful boy, Roseanne. You’ll come to love him just as much as we love Bella.”
“I’m sorry again that I took Bella away from you.” To Johnny, there was something funny about the lady’s voice. She sounded sort of like a cartoon character. Ever since he first heard her voice, he had thought of her as the one person who might be willing to save him. Now that he could hear her more clearly, he thought she sounded nice. She definitely didn’t seem as scary as the man.
“But then you came back,” the man said. “And we’re a family again. And now we have Danny Jr., too.”
If the woman had left this awful house once before, maybe she wanted to leave now, just like him. Maybe she, too, had been pretending to like the man, because The more I know I can trust you, the more privileges I can give you. Maybe they could team up together and help each other escape.
But to do that, he needed to see her.
Johnny folded up the sheet of paper, stashed it beneath his mattress, and stepped quietly to the bedroom door. His hand shook as he reached for the knob. He would take one quick peek at the woman and see if she looked like someone he could trust.
If the man spotted him, Johnny would say he needed to go to the bathroom. The man would believe him, Johnny assured himself, because Johnny had been on perfect behavior for da
ys.
With a growing sense of terror, Johnny left his room and crept down the hallway toward the bathroom. Two more steps, and he’d be able to see around the corner into the living room, where the voices were coming from.
He craned his neck and scanned the room for the woman. For a second, he let himself hope that she might spot him and give him a reassuring wink or a smile. Instead, he saw the man sitting alone on the sofa, his back to Johnny.
And then he heard the cartoon voice, even though no one else was in the room: I love you to the moon and back, Daniel.
Johnny’s gasp of astonishment brought the man immediately to his feet. “Why are you out of your room?” he thundered. “Were you trying to leave this house?”
Johnny’s voice quivered as he forced himself to answer. “I… I have to go to the bathroom. I can’t hold it anymore.”
The man stared at him for five full seconds before sighing. “Next time, yell for me to come get you. I need to know where you are at all times. You know the rules.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We talked about this, Danny. Yes, who?”
“Yes… Daddy.”
“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Inside his head, Johnny was screaming, but he could see the man was delighted. He decided to take one more chance. “I thought I heard someone else out here. I got scared something was wrong.”
The man’s face went blank with sudden confusion, as if he had awoken from a daze. “No, just the TV is all.”
Once the bathroom door was closed, Johnny fell to the floor and sobbed in silence. The television wasn’t on. There was no woman.
No one is going to save me.
Chapter 57
Leo sat with Mason Rollins in a conference room at the District Attorney’s Office as the lawyers finalized the details of his cooperation agreement with the police. In exchange for the DA’s promise not to file charges, Rollins would wear a wire and contact Toby Carver. Once Carver incriminated himself for witness tampering and the murder of Clarissa DeSanto, the next step would be to convince Toby to testify against Darren Gunther.
Leo felt his cell phone buzz at his waist. It was Laurie. He signaled that he was excusing himself from the room and navigated to the hallway.
“Laurie, you always have a reporter’s instinct when something important is happening. Wait until you hear what I learned from Mason Rollins. And still, all in time to pick up Timmy from golf camp—”
“Dad, we found Johnny. Or, at least, I think we did. His name’s Daniel Turner. He’s Johnny’s biological father.” Laurie delivered the facts at a rapid-fire pace. A motorcycle accident. Head injury. Personality changes. Hallucinations and paranoia. “Marcy spoke to his ex-wife and got a last known address for him, near the Delaware Coast, in Rehoboth Beach. We just have to figure out the best way to get Johnny out of that house.”
“I can call the local police right now. Connect them to Detective Langland. If they’re a small-town force without full SWAT-level resources, they can probably pull in state police. Outlying communities like that usually have cooperation agreements with the state for major crime responses.”
“There’s a problem though, Dad. Daniel Turner’s brother is the local police chief down there.” She relayed everything they had learned from Turner’s ex-wife about the police chief’s enablement of his brother.
“I can tell you this for certain: Detective Langland won’t be able to go to Delaware without local authority. Same goes for me as far as the NYPD is concerned. And we can’t try to retrieve Johnny on our own as private citizens. It’s too dangerous.”
“Well, we can’t call this guy’s brother, either. According to his ex-wife, the brother would give Turner advance warning that the police were looking for him. If that feeds into his paranoia, who knows what he might do to Johnny.”
“The other option is the FBI,” Leo said. So far, the local field office had been leaving the investigation to Detective Langland, offering federal resources as appropriate. “One of the agents here should be able to contact the Delaware office and hopefully skip some of the red tape. I’ll call Detective Langland now.”
“Okay, but call her from the car. Brett just told me that the studio belongs to a private jet concierge service—a little secret he never bothered sharing with the rest of us. He’s booking us a charter to the regional airport closest to the beach.”
“What about Timmy?”
“Alex said he can leave the courthouse to meet him at Chelsea Piers. Batting cages and all.” She had finally convinced Alex that he would be most helpful taking care of Timmy rather than joining her in Delaware. “Hurry, Dad. We need to go now!”
Chapter 58
Marcy slowed her minivan to a steady roll as she made her way through the E-ZPass toll for the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. On a normal day, she would take a moment to appreciate the white light shimmering up from the sun’s reflection on the bright blue water, but instead, she revved the engine as soon as she saw the all-clear that her toll had been processed.
According to the GPS, she still had ninety-two miles and an hour and fifty-two minutes to go before her destination. She had raced into the car as soon as she could after getting Daniel Turner’s address from his ex-wife. Fortunately, her neighbor had been home and agreed to watch the twins.
Hold on, Johnny. Mama’s on her way.
Her cell phone rang through the car speakers. The screen in the dash identified the caller as Andrew. She hit a button on the steering wheel to answer. “Oh, thank God. I’ve been calling constantly, but your phone was off.”
“I’m so sorry, babe. I was in court, and Judge Dickinson has a zero-tolerance policy. He had a lawyer jailed for contempt once when a phone rang during closing arguments. I got your messages. I’m on my way back to the firm now. I’ll go straight to my car and meet you in Delaware.”
“Okay, and Leo and Laurie are on their way, too, in a private plane. Detective Langland is trying to loop in the Delaware FBI to make an end run around Turner’s brother. I don’t understand what’s taking so long. A child’s missing, and we likely know where he is. They should drop everything and go get our son right now.”
“I’ll call Chuck Martin who works at the Department of Justice to see if he might be able to pull some strings, too.” Chuck was a law school friend of Andrew’s and now worked in the DOJ’s Criminal Division. “I’m probably about forty-five minutes behind you. When you get there, find a restaurant or some place to wait nearby and text me the address. Don’t go to the house by yourself. We don’t know what the layout is, and it’s possible he’d recognize the minivan if he’s been watching us.”
They didn’t know yet whether Daniel Turner had followed them to the Hamptons from Washington, D.C., or if he had already known that they were planning to go to New York for vacation. Marcy would never forgive herself for posting their vacation plans on Facebook for the entire world to see. She had never given a second thought to the privacy settings on her account and had put Johnny in danger as a result.
I’ll never do something so thoughtless again. Please, God. Just let us have our son back.
Chapter 59
Daniel Turner could feel himself smiling as he watched Danny Jr. work on his new jigsaw puzzle, a map of the United States.
He noticed that if the name of a state was legible on a piece of the puzzle, more often than not, Danny had an idea of where it belonged on the map. He himself had always had a knack for geography as a child, too. Maybe Danny would go on to develop an interest in architecture, as well. He certainly had artistic potential, based on his drawings and coloring.
He was still worried about Danny’s earlier comment about having heard a woman’s voice in the living room. He thought he had stopped having those episodes after he had finally learned the truth about Danny. He tried describing them to his neurologist last year, but he wasn’t as good at explaining things as he used to be. Plus, how do you get someone to understand what it feels like to be absolute
ly convinced that your ex-wife and daughter are with you, living with you, loving you… only to realize in the next moment that you are in the house absolutely alone?
During his most lucid moments, he understood these were the reasons he had lost Roseanne and Bella. The underlying cause may have been the damage to the temporal and frontal areas of his brain, but the end result was the same: he had made his family miserable and afraid. But during the hallucinations, everything was good again. He was in control of his choices, Roseanne loved him, and Bella would let him fly her in the air like an airplane, zooming in circles. The next second, though, they’d be gone, and he would realize how broken he was.
But then he got that shocking phone call from Michelle Carpenter. He rarely even thought of her all these years later. Maybe he had buried the memory of her, trying to bury his shame for having cheated on Roseanne, the love of his life. Until the motorcycle crash changed everything, his relationship with Michelle was the only real mistake he’d made in his marriage—and it was a terrible one. He met her in yoga class two days after Bella said her first full sentence. Me play, dada. She was a young toddler by then, but for some reason, those three little words made it real. He was daddy to a little independent person who would need him forever.
Was it the pressures of fatherhood that made him pursue Michelle? A need to prove that he was still attractive to a younger woman? He never meant for it to go on for months, or to lead to talk about a future and marriage and children. He had known he needed to break it off, but then she had been the one to end it. Nowadays, they’d call what she did “ghosting.” She simply disappeared. No return calls. No more yoga. And he certainly wasn’t going to pop into her workplace, given his wife’s regular presence there.
When she called him six months ago, she finally explained why she had cut him out of her life. She described how she had driven to his office to tell him the good news about the pregnancy, only to spot him with Roseanne, Bella, and his wedding band. Nearly eight years later, she contacted him out of the blue, after spending years as a drug addict. She swore up and down that she never told anyone the truth about the baby’s paternity—not even Daniel himself, as it turned out. It felt like she’d dropped a nuclear bomb on his world, so she could “find peace,” in her words.
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