by John Kess
Amy turned and looked at me. A look of terror spread across her face. Her voice was just a whisper. “I saw him.”
I looked into her eyes, those same big brown eyes that had told me she wasn’t messing around the night Hannah was taken. My breath left my body.
Amy’s head dropped face-first into my pillow and she began bawling. “It was him.” Amy’s voice shrieked in between breaths. “It was him.”
My insides tightened.
“I think he saw me,” Amy said as she began sobbing again.
I looked down at Amy in shock. It was clear to me now why she’d been getting worse. “Amy, look at me,” I said as softly as I could. “I’m not mad. I promise. I’m not mad.”
I scooped her up and held her like she was two years old again and said, “You saw the man who took Hannah?”
Amy was crying uncontrollably. “Yeah.” She moaned as her tears landed on my shirt.
“I’m right here. I’ve got you. Nothing is going to happen to you. I’ve got you.” I felt a rush of adrenaline and forced it aside. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Amy. Do you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Where did you see him?”
“At the wake.”
Her words stung. There were so many people at the wake. It was hard to draft a mental list. My insides were swelling. I let her cry, but if I didn’t ask soon, I was going to burst.
“Amy, I’m not mad at you. You did the right thing telling me this. I promise I’m not mad. Who did you see?”
Amy cried even harder. I had no choice but to hold her and wait.
When Amy calmed down, I said, “Amy, please tell me. Who is the man who took Hannah?”
Amy sniffled and hiccupped and then said, “I don’t know who he is, but he was talking to Mommy and Daddy.”
This meant the person who took Hannah wasn’t a stranger. “Did he speak to you?”
“No.”
It took all my effort to keep my anger inside. “Do you remember anything about him?”
“No.” Amy wrapped her arms around my neck. “Are you mad?”
I felt like a volcano ready to explode. “No, I’m not mad.” I reached over and grabbed the flyer with the description of the kidnapper Amy had given to the sketch artist. “Does he look like this?”
Amy glanced at it and buried her head in my chest and nodded.
“Did you see him talking to anyone else?”
“Father Whitmore. They walked in together.”
I remembered talking to Father Whitmore, but I didn’t see him with anyone. There were so many people around us. I couldn’t form a picture of the man Amy was talking about.
Amy let go and fell back facedown onto the pillow.
My whole body shook. “Amy, I’m not mad.”
“Do you believe me?” she asked.
“I believe you. You did the right thing telling me.”
I held her until she calmed down. “Dylan. Do you think he’ll come after me?”
“No, Amy. He’s not going to hurt you or this family anymore. He’s not going to hurt anyone anymore. I promise you that.”
I let her stay with me until she fell asleep. I carried her back to her room and tucked her into bed. I looked over at Molly sleeping in the spare bed and thought about the man who came into Hannah’s room and took her at gun point. Anger boiled inside me as I imagined the same man trying to do that to Amy or Molly.
My skin was on fire from the hot magma building inside me. I couldn’t stop it now. No one could. I had to leave the house and fast or it would be left in ruins. I grabbed my baseball bat and shoes and ran outside.
I ran across the highway and into the woods. I ran like the man Amy had seen was just in front of me. Two months of rage came out as I swung my bat, hitting a pine tree again and again. I screamed as I knocked off its lower branches and then attacked the trunk. Bark flew as I pictured Hannah’s kidnapper standing in front of me.
For the first time I knew how to find my enemy. Nothing could save him now!
Chapter 15
I woke early the next morning and made sure no one could hear me as I dialed Father Whitmore at home. He agreed to meet me at the church in an hour. I left the house without anyone knowing. I rode my bike to the church while rehearsing what I was going to say. I had been thinking about it ever since I finished ruining my bat last night.
The church was a collection of heavy stone, stained glass, and dark cherry wood trim. Father Whitmore’s office reminded me of a castle dungeon.
I was a mess when I knocked on his door. My hair had been shaped by my pillow and my clothes were thrown on without a hint of concern for how I looked.
“Come in,” he said.
The office walls were covered in Biblical paintings. Father Whitmore’s huge desk matched the dark interior.
“It’s good to see you, Dylan. Have a seat.”
“Thanks for seeing me.”
“It’s my pleasure.” Father Whitmore spoke slowly. His look of concern told me he was genuinely interested in me. “How are you doing?”
I shook my head. “I’m not doing so well.”
He waited for me to continue. When I didn’t he said, “You’ve been through a lot. And you’ve accomplished much more than anyone could have imagined.”
“I’m happy Hannah isn’t suffering anymore, but my family is hurting. My mom is struggling, Amy is a mess, and even my dad isn’t himself.”
“What about you?” he asked.
“I’ve been having some bad visions.”
“What do you see?”
I stared at his big desk. “I see myself chasing the man who took Hannah. I picture beating him with my bat. I can’t stop myself.”
“Anger is a normal reaction under a circumstance like this.”
“Am I crazy?”
“No. Only a sane person can ask that question.”
“Does it make me a bad person to want the murderer dead?”
“No, you’re not a bad person.”
“What if I want to be the one who kills him?”
“You want justice for Hannah’s death, as do the rest of us. The thing you need to know is, if you allow yourself to continue to desire this man’s death, it will begin to eat at you. Harboring anger toward this man will only make things worse. I know it isn’t easy.” He pointed toward the Bible on his desk. “The Bible says vengeance belongs to the Lord. The person who took Hannah from us will one day receive judgment for what he did. There is no escaping it. I hope, in time, that alone will comfort you. Justice will be served.”
“What can I do?”
“You need to pray. Quiet your heart and mind and know that God doesn’t want you to live a life weighed down by thoughts of rage. A life of anger will destroy what you love.” He leaned forward. “And one day, a long time from now, even if this person is never found, I pray you can do something that will help you more than anything else. It’s something extremely difficult to do, but it’s the best thing you can do so you can live your life free of this burden. Do you know what I’m talking about?”
I shook my head.
“Forgiveness.”
“You want me to forgive the man who kidnapped Hannah? Forgive the man who killed her?”
“As I said, it is an extremely difficult thing to do. Those who’ve been in similar situations have said it was the best and most freeing decision they ever made in their life. Pray about it. You might be surprised.”
I sat in silence as I contemplated his words. Finally, I said, “Thank you for seeing me. This has been helpful.”
“Anytime you want to meet, just say the word.”
I stood up and shook his hand. “Oh, I have one more question for you. At Hannah’s wake there was a man who spoke to me and my parents. I don’t know who he is. I saw him walk in with you. He has blond hair and is slightly shorter than you. He said he knew Hannah.”
Father Whitmore walked around the front of his desk, looking down like he was concentrating. �
�I apologize. I spoke with so many people. I came in and out of the funeral home a few times, but I think you may be referring to Marcus.”
“Marcus?”
“Yes, Marcus Sands from Lancaster. I know him through our sister church up there. Marcus and Father Mickelson are good friends, and he’s been volunteering at the church for several years.”
“How would he know Hannah?”
“We had a retreat up there last winter for the senior high students. I was there, along with Marcus, as a chaperone.”
“Oh.”
“I think that’s the person you’re describing.”
“Okay, thanks. That clears it up.”
Father Whitmore followed me out and told me to come and see him again anytime.
* * *
I raced home on my bike. Part of me wanted to find Marcus Sands as fast as possible and beat him to a pulp, but I had promised Molly I would tell her first. I was covered in sweat when I got home and found her.
“Hi, I need to talk to you. It’s urgent. Can you go for a walk?”
Molly agreed and we walked toward the park not far from my house. I told Molly what Amy had told me the night before and then told her about my conversation with Father Whitmore. I told her I knew the name of the man who took Hannah.
“This is great news,” Molly said, sitting across from me on a picnic table. “This is the first suspect!”
I frowned as I looked to my left at a small stream that ran into a pond nearby.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“You’re the only one who knows.”
“You didn’t tell your dad?”
“No.”
I continued to stare at the pond. The vision of me chasing Marcus returned.
“Dylan are you … you’re not thinking of—.”
“I can’t stop thinking about it.”
“Dylan—.”
“I want him dead. I want him dead for what he did.”
“I wanted the same thing for the man who killed my dad and look what happened. No good can come from what you’re talking about.”
“You weren’t there when I found her. You don’t know what I’ve heard about what he did to her. You don’t know about the rope marks they found. I know why they wouldn’t let any of my family see her body.”
“You’ll spend the rest of your life in jail. Is that what you want?”
“I want him dead.” The image of Hannah’s buried body and her bound ankles popped into my mind.
“Is that what you think Hannah would want?”
“I don’t care. He’s going to get what he deserves.”
I stood up and turned to walk away.
“You promised me you’d be there for me!” Molly shouted.
I kept walking. Anger overwhelmed me as I pictured myself chasing Marcus through the woods with my bat.
I heard footsteps behind me. I turned just as Molly lowered her shoulder and, at full speed, buried it into my stomach. We flew through the air and splashed into the pond. We landed in a few inches of soft muddy water. Molly was on top of me.
“Birthdays and holidays, remember!” Molly shouted. “You do this and you’ll break your promise!”
I struggled to my feet in the mud and Molly jumped up and grabbed my feet. I tried to pull away but fell over.
She kept shouting. “What’s life going to be like for Amy? She already has a dead sister. Do you want her to have a brother serving life in prison?”
She let go and I struggled onto the shore and stood up.
“What do you think is going to happen to Amy one day when she realizes it’s what she told you that led you to kill him? She’ll think it’s her fault. Do you want to do that to Amy?”
I froze as I thought about how I had blamed myself for Hannah’s kidnapping. I wanted Molly to be wrong about Amy blaming herself if I killed Marcus, but I knew she was right. Amy would blame herself if I went to prison, just as easily as I had blamed myself for sleeping through Hannah’s abduction.
I turned to look at her. Molly was on all fours down in the mud. I saw the same hurt look on her face as the day I found her full of bruises in my bed.
“You’re my best friend!” She was crying now. “Are you going to throw that away, too?”
I turned away but couldn’t take another step. I leaned over and put my hands on my knees. I felt dizzy, unable to stand. My eyes watered and I couldn’t speak. I kneeled down on the grass and put my head in my hands. If I didn’t do it, I felt like I was betraying Hannah, but I knew Molly was right.
“Why did he do it?” I couldn’t stop the tears. “Why did he have to kill her?”
Molly crawled out of the mud to my side.
“What do I do?” I asked.
She put her hand on my shoulder. “Do you remember how you helped me when I came to your house the night Tony beat me?”
I nodded.
“I needed your help and you helped me.” Molly wrapped her muddy arms around me. “It’s my turn to help you.”
* * *
We walked back home, hosed off, and changed clothes.
“We need a picture of him,” Molly said.
“Why?”
“So you can show it to Amy. Once she confirms it’s him, your dad will take care of the rest.”
We searched the Internet for a picture of Marcus Sands and found nothing.
“How else could we get a picture of him?” I asked.
“Who else would know this guy?”
“Other than Father Whitmore?”
“You said Hannah met him at a retreat. Who else was at the retreat? They might have a picture of him.”
“Wait a minute.” I looked down at my computer. “Hannah knew him. I bet she took her camera to the retreat. She always took pictures at stuff like that.”
I went into Hannah’s room and pulled her laptop out from under the heavy plastic still draped over her desk.
I turned it on and found myself looking at a screen asking for a password.
“Oh, no,” I grumbled.
Molly looked at the screen. “Do you know it?”
“No.”
“Any ideas what she might have used?”
“No.”
“Did she have a favorite pet? Who was her favorite athlete? What’s the one thing she liked more than anything?”
“She really wanted her driver’s license.”
“I don’t think so. What else? You have to think like your sister.”
I smiled at Molly. “Well, there’s always Blake.”
I typed “Blake.”
“Password failed,” appeared on the screen.
I typed “Blake Weldon.”
“Password failed.”
I typed “I love Blake Weldon,” and I was in.
“You’re a genius!” Molly said, laughing.
Hannah’s well-organized picture folder made it easy to find her retreat photos. Soon Molly and I found one showing Hannah and Alyssa with a man matching the description of the kidnapper. He stood between them with his arms around both. The picture made me angry. All three were smiling.
We found two more pictures with Marcus in them, plus we found a large group photo of the retreat. Marcus was standing on the side with the adults. Hannah was in the middle of a group of teenage girls.
Molly and I were still looking through Hannah’s pictures when Mom arrived home with Amy. I called Dad on his cell phone and told him I had news about Hannah and it was urgent that he come home.
He arrived five minutes later.
“What’s this about?” he asked.
I told Mom and Dad to take a seat at the kitchen table. Molly stood in the kitchen watching as I produced Hannah’s computer and left it closed.
“What are you doing with that?” Mom asked.
“You’ll see. Here’s the deal. I’m going to ask Amy to come in here and then I’m going to ask her a few questions. I want you two to listen to what she says, but I don’t want either one of you to say a word. I
need you both to be quiet. You’ll understand in a moment.”
They gave each other confused looks.
I called Amy into the kitchen. She ran in and then stopped. We were all looking at her.
I picked her up and sat her on my lap. “Amy, do you remember when you came to my room last night? I told you I would make sure the man who took Hannah would never hurt us again. To do that, I need your help.” I flipped open Hannah’s computer, and showed Amy the group picture of everyone who had attended the winter retreat. “Do you see the man who took Hannah in this picture?”
Both of my parents froze and Amy immediately looked at them. Then she moved her face closer to the screen and nodded. She managed a very weak “Yes.”
Mom’s mouth was open with shock, and Dad sat forward in his chair.
“Can you point at him?” I asked.
Slowly she pointed to the left side of the group, at Marcus.
I flipped to the picture of him standing between Alyssa and Hannah who both had their arms around him. “Amy, here’s another picture. Is this him?”
Amy glanced at the screen and then turned to bury her head in my chest.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I promise you, he’ll never hurt us again. But I need to know. Is this him?”
Amy nodded. “Yeah.”
I spun the computer around to show my parents. “His name is Marcus Sands. He lives up in Lancaster. He was a chaperone for the church senior high winter retreat Hannah went to in January. That’s how he knew her.”
Mom choked on her words. “I met him,” she said. “I met him when I dropped off Hannah and Alyssa.”
“I recognize him,” Dad said. “He was at the wake.”
“That is where Amy saw him again.” I explained how she had come to my room. Then I told them about going to see Father Whitmore.
Dad picked up Amy, who was now crying. “You’ve made all of us very happy today,” he told her. “You did the right thing telling Dylan about seeing this man.” Dad hugged her and Mom hugged her as well. He grabbed Hannah’s computer. “I’m going to the station.”
“You’ll need the password,” Molly said, ripping a sheet of paper off a tablet and writing it down.
Dad hurried out the door.