The Lonely Mile

by Allan Leverone

  CHAPTER 29

  BILL WANDERED THE AISLES of his Stockton store, ostensibly looking for customers to assist, but in reality pondering the significance of the awful dreams that continued to interfere with his attempts to get a decent night’s sleep. When his cell phone rang and he recognized the number as Agent Canfield’s, he knew immediately something was wrong.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Bill? It’s Angie—Agent Canfield.”

  “Angie. What’s going on?”

  “It’s about Carli. Something’s happened, and you need to get to her mother’s home as soon as possible, she—”

  “What happened? Is she hurt?”

  “As far as we know, she’s okay, Bill. Just get to Sandra’s home and we’ll go over everything we know.”

  An icy dread settled in Bill Ferguson’s gut as he raced past the registers at the front door, slowing only marginally to let his assistant manager know he was leaving, then leaping down the stairs and sprinting to his van. He flipped on his emergency flashers and broke every rule of safe driving, taking ten minutes to make the twenty-minute drive to Sandra’s home, screeching to a halt behind an impossibly long line of emergency vehicles, all of which seemed to have been abandoned in front of the Mitchell home in a more or less random pattern. One was parked with its entire left side on the front lawn. His heart in his throat, Bill pulled into a space on the lawn, leapt out of his van, and sprinted to the house, entering through the front door without knocking.

  Inside the air was palpably tense. To the left of the door, Sandra sat on the living room couch, weeping, a damp towel pressed to her forehead by her husband. A police officer stood nearby, uncomfortable and clearly unsure of what to do next. In the kitchen, Agent Canfield stood with a mobile phone pressed to her ear in the center of a cluster of officers and plainclothes people Bill assumed must be other FBI agents. He walked down the hallway, and no one paid him any attention.

  Bill shouldered his way through the group of people surrounding Canfield. “What happened? Where’s Carli?”

  Canfield mumbled something into her cell phone and snapped it shut. She turned her dark eyes on Bill, and he knew.

  “Oh no,” he said.

  “We’ll find her.”

  “How did he get her?”

  “He stole a school bus and impersonated the driver, drove it away from the school grounds filled with kids, then abducted Carli.”

  Bill stared at her in disbelief. “He stole an entire school bus? Filled with kids? He was parked right outside her school? How is that even possible? Where is the real driver?”

  “Slow down,” she said, holding up her hands. “We sent a squad car to the home of the bus driver a little while ago, so the officers should be reporting back soon, but beyond that, yes, it appears he waited outside the high school in the line of buses. After it was fully loaded, he simply drove away with the bus full of kids.”

  “Is anyone else missing?”

  “No. When he got about a mile away from the school, he pulled into a parking lot and took Carli off the bus at gunpoint. He hustled her into what we assume was a stolen vehicle and drove her away. No one else was hurt.”

  “You! This is all your fault!”

  Bill looked toward the sound of anguish and pain and saw Sandra standing in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room. She held the damp towel in front of her with two hands like a weapon and stared accusingly at the knot of people in the center of the kitchen. Twin streaks of tears ran down her cheeks, and her face was flushed and angry. She advanced on him like an avenging angel.

  “This is your fault,” she declared again with slightly less volume but even more conviction.

  Agent Canfield turned and faced the distraught woman, prepared to take the onslaught. She stood tall, looking Sandra in the eyes as she approached. “I understand you’re upset,” she said. “So are we. We’re shocked that we didn’t see this coming. I never imagined this man would be so bold and break so completely out of the pattern he has established over nearly four years of kidnappings. But I promise you, Mrs. Mitchell, we will leave no stone unturned in the search for Carli. We are going to devote as much of our considerable resources as possible to this search and will not rest until we find your daughter.”

  Sandra looked past the FBI agent as if she didn’t exist and trained her gaze on Bill. “This is your fault,” she said for the third time, her voice now low and cold and hard. “You had to be a hero. You had to interfere with that monster a few days ago at the rest area. You focused his attention on this family, and now my little girl is missing. She’s gone, Bill. She’s gone and this is all. Your. Fault. Working eighty hours a week and breaking this family apart, that wasn’t enough for you—oh, no. Now you’ve put our daughter in danger. That psychopath has her now. That monster wouldn’t have known she existed if it weren’t for you! What’s happened to her now? Has he hurt her? Raped her? Is she even still alive? What’s the poor girl going through now, Bill? I’ll never forgive you for this.” She hit him several times in the chest, then burst into tears again.

  Bill stood mutely, shocked at her words. They were identical to the thoughts that had raced through his mind when Canfield told him something had happened to Carli. Sandra was right. It was his fault. He had no response to her onslaught because she was right.

  Howard walked over and wrapped his arm protectively around his wife, steering her back into the living room. Bill watched their backs until they disappeared. What could he say? He had protected a stranger, a young girl who was now safe and sound in the arms of her parents, and, meanwhile, he had led the monster directly to the door of his own child. His own teenage daughter was now out there somewhere, lost and alone and afraid. Assuming she was even still alive.

  Agent Canfield spoke softly, seemingly fearful she might disturb Sandra in the living room and provoke another ugly scene. “There is no evidence to support the notion that Carli is not still alive. We have every reason to believe he has not harmed her at all. We can get her back, Bill—you need to focus on that.”

  Bill opened his mouth but didn’t get the chance to say anything, because Agent Canfield’s cell phone rang, the tone shrill and brittle-sounding, and somehow offensive in the live-wire tension of the kitchen. She flipped it open. “Go.” The person at the other end of the connection talked for maybe a minute and then she made a face and said, “Okay, keep me advised.”

  The FBI agent flipped her phone shut and addressed not just Bill, but the entire roomful of law enforcement personnel. “That was one of the officers sent to the home of the school bus driver, Mrs. Leona Bengston. They found a significant spill of blood in her front yard and then located her after a short search. She’s dead. The suspect cut her throat, nearly decapitating her in the process, and then stuffed her body in the trunk of a stolen car before stealing her bus. We need to get this guy soon. He’s coming apart at the seams.”

  CHAPTER 30

  MARTIN TURNED THE STOLEN Toyota into his dusty gravel and dirt driveway and glanced across the front seat at Carli. His angel’s head was turned away from him, and she stared out the side window, sobbing. That was okay, it was to be expected. Martin knew it would take some time—probably a lot more than the scant seven days available—before she grew to accept him in her life. It would be nice, though, if she were at least to acknowledge him. He had gone to a lot of trouble to unite the two of them, and she didn’t seem to appreciate his efforts at all.

  “We’re here,” he said softly, reaching out and stroking his angel’s long blonde hair. She cringed and shrank toward the window with a cat-like mewl of fear and disgust as the car rolled to a stop.

  “Why are you doing this?” She asked so softly, it was barely more than a whisper. Still, at least his angel had decided to talk to him; the words were the first she had spoken since begging him not to hurt anyone as he was kidnapping her. Martin viewed this as a step in the right direction.

  “Why am I doing this?” he repeated as if not und
erstanding the question. “Are you serious? Why did Romeo need Juliet? Why did Richard Burton need Elizabeth Taylor? It’s fate, my angel. We’re meant to be together.”

  “Is that why you held a gun to Jimmy Morrison’s head? Fate told you to do that? You could’ve killed him!” Her voice was a little louder now as her anger flashed.

  “He tried to make a move on me. He wanted to be some sort of hero,” Martin snarled, “and I couldn’t let that happen.” Carli faced him now, fear in her eyes, and Martin felt a surge of excitement. Besides,” he said with his most charming smile, “I didn’t shoot him, did I? I didn’t even hurt him.”

  “How can it be fate if you’ve never even met me? You don’t know anything about me.” The anger had dissipated and now she was whispering. Martin loved the sound of her delicate voice; it was like the breeze rustling the tree branches outside his window at night.

  “I know I can’t live without you. I knew that the moment I laid eyes on you—it was fate. I knew that second how special you are.”

  Carli shook her head, tears running silently down her face and dripping onto her t-shirt, but holding her head a bit higher. “That’s bull,” she said. “I know what this is really all about. I’m not stupid. My dad saved that other girl from you and now you’re trying to get even with him.”

  A flash of anger bubbled inside Martin’s chest and he grabbed her t-shirt at the neck, pulling her toward him. She resisted, and he slapped the side of her face, hard.

  The insolent little brat cried out and touched her cheek, opening her mouth as if to respond before thinking better of it.

  How dare she question his motives! Who the hell did she think she was talking to? He shoved her against the passenger side door and sat perfectly still, breathing slowly in and out through his mouth until he managed to get his emotions under control. The little bitch was going to have to learn to keep her insolent mouth shut. But there was time for that.

  He thought for a moment about how he wanted to answer her. She may have angered him, but her assumption was a reasonable one. He kept his hands at his sides and finally said, “Yes, I was angry with your father for interfering in a situation that was none of his business, for sticking his nose where he had no good reason to put it. I’m not going to lie to you, my angel—I will never lie to you—yes, I hope this hits him right in the gut and teaches him a lesson about minding his own business. That’s something he really should have learned by now, and, I have to tell you, I don’t mind being the one to teach it to him.

  “But that is an entirely separate issue from you and me. In fact, if anything, I should probably thank him. He stopped me from making a very big mistake. Because, if he hadn’t interfered, I would never have looked into his background and I would never have learned of your existence. So don’t tell me what my motives may or may not be, Carli Ferguson, because you have no idea.

  “Anyway, my point is this: removing you from that school bus this afternoon combines my main goal—to enjoy your company —with a very pleasant secondary goal, which is to teach your father an important and obviously long-overdue lesson. Do you understand?”

  Carli’s shoulders were shaking and he knew she had graduated from sobbing to crying, although she still refused to face him. “Anyway,” he said, opening the driver’s side door of the stolen vehicle, “let’s go inside and get out of this heat.” He left the car parked nose-in to the closed door of the single-stall garage which was already hiding his box truck, the vehicle the police would be searching for. Leaving the Toyota in plain sight was risky, but there were no neighbors within a mile in any direction, and this end of the long, winding driveway could not be seen clearly from the road, so Martin was confident it would not pose a problem.

  “We are destined to be together, my angel, you’ll see.” He opened Carli’s door like a gallant suitor trying to impress his girl on their first date. She stepped out of the car slowly, reluctantly, and Martin wrapped an arm around her waist. He could feel her entire slim frame shaking like a leaf, and she continued to cry quietly. Martin walked his angel up the front steps and into her temporary home.

  CHAPTER 31

  CARLI FELT AS IF her heart was about to explode in her chest. Her face throbbed where her kidnapper had slapped it, and she was having trouble catching her breath as she tried to stop sobbing and get control of herself. Ahead, the house loomed, creaky and silent. Siding rotted away in places, and long strips of peeling white paint hung from the window frames. The creepy guy’s arm slithered around her waist like some disgusting snake as he led her up the steps to his front door. She wished someone would drive past on the country road just around the corner at the end of the driveway. If she heard a car she would wrench away from her captor and scream her head off and sprint toward the road and she would be saved and—

  And the man turned a key in a lock, pushed the front door open, and then shoved her inside immediately after. He stepped through right behind her and slammed the door closed with his foot, then turned and inserted another key in an interior lock on the door. A deadbolt slid into place. And just like that, it didn’t matter if anyone drove by.

  He grabbed her again, his hand resting on her butt for just a second before sliding back to its previous location at the small of her back. She tried to be strong but allowed a whimper to escape as the man led her down a dark hallway. He didn’t seem to notice.

  “Here we are, my angel,” he said breezily. “Your new home, at least for the time being. You may not be here long, but I will do my best to make your stay as comfortable as possible as you begin the process of learning to please a man.” Carli hoped he wasn’t waiting for a response, because she didn’t think she could form a single word without breaking down.

  At the end of a hallway was a kitchen, which resembled her mother’s only in that it contained a sink, stove, table and refrigerator. Her mom’s kitchen was bright and airy, with a floor so clean you could practically see your reflection in it. This one was dark like the hallway, with dirty dishes everywhere and a grimy floor.

  “I’m not much of a housekeeper,” her captor was saying, “but I’ve tried to tidy up a bit in anticipation of you joining me. I hope you like what you see.” Carli looked around in amazement, wondering what in the world he could possibly have done to tidy up, and then the man forced her to turn right. He opened a door and led her down a creaky set of stairs to the basement.

  If the kitchen was dirty, the basement was just plain creepy. It was mid-afternoon, but the late-May sunshine barely managed to penetrate the dirty windows. A single, dangling light bulb only emphasized the general gloominess of the place. It felt cool and damp after the warmth outside, and Carli shivered.

  “This is where you’ll stay,” the man said, pointing to a small bed set up in one corner of the basement. It had an iron headboard and a mattress so thin it might as well have been a sheet of cardboard. Carli felt a sense of doom settle over her. She wondered whether this was the last place she would ever see.

  She stifled a sob and realized the man was talking to her. “You remember I told you how special you are?”

  Carli nodded. She wondered where he was going with this and whether being “special” in his eyes was a good thing or a bad thing.

  “Well,” he continued, “in honor of your arrival, I have provided you with clean sheets on your freshly made bed!” He said it proudly, nodding in the direction of the bed like some demented hotel bellboy.

  Carli knew he was waiting for a response but had absolutely no idea what to say. Instead she just nodded again.

  “That’s it?” he said. “A nod? You have nothing to say? I open up my heart to you, let you know I see you as my special angel, and you have no response at all?”

  “I—um—thank you?”

  The man’s face flushed, and he shoved her hard. She stumbled backward, striking the backs of her calves on the bed and tumbling onto the mattress. The back of her head impacted the iron headboard. A bright flash lit up the room, and she fell on
to her side, cradling her head in her hands. She wasn’t sure when she had started to cry again but the tears ran down her face, dripping onto the clean sheets the kidnapper was so proud of.

  “You’ve got a lot to learn,” the creepy man said, his voice low and shaking with anger. “Since we’re just getting to know each other, I’m going to overlook your lack of enthusiasm for my efforts. I know you’ll try harder from here on out.”

  Carli looked up at him.

  “Well?” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “Yes what?”

  “Yes…um…I’ll try harder?”

  The monster smiled. “I’m glad we understand each other. Now, what do you like to eat?”

  She shook her head, not sure she had heard him correctly. “Eat?”

  “Yes, eat,” he said, spreading his arms in annoyance. “I want to give you something special. What do you like to eat?”

  Carli tried to think, desperate not to anger him again, but the last thing she wanted to think about right now was food. All she wanted was to see her mom and dad again and hug them, and be back home in her room texting Lauren and doing her homework. “Uh…pizza?”

  “Pizza.” The man laughed. “Typical teenager. Okay, we’ll have pizza. What would you like on it?”

  Carli tried to answer, not having any idea what she was going to say, but instead of words, the tears came again with a vengeance. She flinched as her captor lowered himself to the bed next to her, expecting to be hit again or worse. And it was worse. He wrapped his slimy arms around her and held her tightly, like she was his girlfriend or something.

  “If you’d rather,” he said gently, “we can start with your training now and eat dinner afterward. You know, if you’re not hungry yet. I’m certainly anxious to begin your training, and once we get into it, I bet you’ll even start to like it, too. “