by William Mark
“I know buddy. I know.”
Chapter 32
Most of the night was spent watching him sleep. The surreal feeling of seeing their son asleep in his bed gave the parents of Joshua Walker a peace they never thought would return. But now, it was real. To have him under their roof, within their reach, and sheltered by their love—it was real. It was the end of a hellish nightmare.
Curt stood silently in the doorway of Josh’s room, watching him sleep, an image he’d dreamt about for the last three years. He looked peaceful and innocent. Josh was still so small even though three years had passed. His captors had inflicted mental and emotional abuse that seemed to stunt his maturation into an adolescent because he didn’t look like an eleven year old.
Despite his chronic exhaustion, he remained awake and steadfast by the door. He was afraid that if he closed his eyes, he would wake up in another world where Josh was still missing, and this reality would be gone, or worse, another monster would grab him in the night. It wasn’t until Tracy convinced him to trust the reality of his return that he left the bedroom door and made it to bed.
As the bright morning sun shone through the slats in the blinds, Curt came out of the dream world. He shot straight up in the king-sized bed and searched his strange surroundings, trying to remember how he’d gotten there. His mind quickly caught up as he realized he was home. Tracy was gone, her side of the bed perfectly made, so he twisted around to check the clock on the dresser.
It was nearly noon. Curt had slept over twelve hours straight. He lay back down, trying to push off the grogginess. He rubbed his face attempting to wake up as a wave of panic washed over him. Where’s Josh, he thought. Was it still true?
He jumped out of bed wearing only a pair of boxers and walked out of the bedroom, but there were no signs of anyone. The panic grew. He ran down the hall to Josh’s bedroom, but he wasn’t there either. His bed was made perfectly, like it was the day before, and it had remained the same since his disappearance. Curt started to breathe heavier as the panic started to grip his insides.
The squeak of the heavy door that led into the laundry room from the garage caught his attention, and Curt’s first reaction was to become armed, but the sound of Josh’s voice followed by the sound of Tracy’s calmed him and jolted him back into the coveted reality that he had fought so hard for, it was still true.
The boy and his mother walked in from outside, and Tracy was the first to see him standing confused in the hallway in just his underwear.
“Well, good morning. Uh, you might want to put on a little more than that; there’re a lot of reporters out there asking questions, and I don’t think you want to go out there dressed like that.” She smiled at the thought of Curt dealing with the press in just boxers.
Curt exhaled; Josh was still safe and at home. They had simply walked outside to get the mail. The panic subsided and hopefully, at some point, would stay away on a permanent basis.
After eating breakfast, Curt ignored the press camped out on the street in front of his house, letting their questions go unanswered, and sat quietly on his back deck, drinking coffee from his preferred thermos with the tacky saying “Bad Cop, No Donut.” This was a luxury that he had taken for granted before Josh’s disappearance, and he wanted to take full advantage now that he had the chance. He looked out to the quiet woods behind his house as the trees swayed gently and the leaves rustled like whispers in the breeze. For once, he did not feel the urge to get up and go searching for his son. A tremendous weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and he would soon know the true meaning of relaxation.
The sun was high in its zenith, and warm rays beamed down through a clearing of tree limbs and onto Curt’s face as if aimed by God. He closed his eyes and held his face up toward the sun, feeling its warmth radiate down, giving him the serenity and peace he had exhaustively hunted for since that fateful day. He looked through the living room window where Tracy sat next to Josh, who blankly stared at the television, a sight for which he was forever grateful. He marveled at the accomplishment he had achieved, knowing that all of the exhaustive work, all those hard fought days on the road searching, all the prayers, and even all the distractions were worth this specific outcome. He was content. He closed his eyes again taking in the sun’s warmth, and before he knew it, he had fallen back asleep in the deck chair.
***
After crashing through the front door of Tobias Helton, Curt had scooped up his son and carried him away but not before kicking the pedophile kidnapper one more time with authority and handcuffing him to the dining table. Curt stood by while the Valdosta police raced to the scene. He explained who he was and that his son had gone missing three years prior out of Tallahassee. He told the officers about the tip that led him to Valdosta and to the front door of Glenn Gregory, who in turn, led him to Tobias Helton and ultimately to the recovery of his son. The officers worked the call in amazement and disbelief at the sensational story of how the dedicated father tracked down his son’s captors.
Curt hesitantly told the cops of the location where his Crown Vic and Glenn Gregory were, but a sergeant who took control of the scene came up to him explaining that they had already found the Crown Vic with Gregory inside. Curt instantly thought he was going to be joining Gregory in jail until the sergeant said they found his stolen car after it was crashed into another car trying to make an escape. Curt looked at the sergeant with a puzzled look, knowing that he had the car’s only keys. He was confident Gregory would not have been able to escape his restraints or the trunk and then manage to hotwire the car and drive away.
Before he could ask or set the record straight, the sergeant added, “Yeah, sorry that your car is all messed up; the guy was pretty FUBAR’d too. The crash must have messed him up pretty good, cuts and bruises all over his face, so they took him off to the hospital. If I were you, I wouldn’t have left him in the back seat. Hell, I would’ve stuffed his ass in the trunk.”
Curt was stunned into silence. He let the events turn in his favor without dispute. If the truth came out later, he would take responsibility, but for now, he was only focused on getting Josh home.
He had tortured Gregory, plain and simple—however justified in his mind—and left him bound in the trunk of his car. He figured the man would explain the true nature of how he sustained his injuries and at minimum, Curt would face some type of aggravated battery charge. However, the crash gave the story a different angle to explain how Gregory got his injuries.
Curt’s phone dinged in his pocket, letting him know a text message was received. He didn’t believe it was a random text based on the timing but something to give him an understanding of his situation. He pulled out his phone and opened the message. It was from Rachel Goodwin.
It read: You are welcome.
He looked up from the phone and craned his neck over the sea of blue lights in the condo parking lot that surrounded Helton’s apartment. In the distance, he saw Rachel leaning on the side of the Mercedes Sprinter. Louis, Melinda, and Beth were watching through the open side door. She smiled at Curt, and with no particular ceremony or fanfare, she climbed in the van with the rest of the team and shut the door. A moment later the van was gone.
“Expecting someone?” the sergeant asked.
Curt turned his head back to the sergeant, keeping the team’s presence hidden from the cops on scene and asked, “Did you get his phone? It has a lot of evidence on it.”
“Yeah, my officers already have it impounded. We have this guy, Helton, on the way to the station to talk to the detectives. We’re getting a search warrant for his place as well as the other guy’s, and we’ll get warrants for both of their cars too. Anything you think we missed?”
Curt thought about the execution of a search warrant at Gregory’s apartment revealing the real story of what happened to him. He had to remain confident that he had gotten rid of all evidence of the torture before leaving.
“No, sounds like you’re good.”
“Listen…
.” The sergeant, a gray-haired man that stood a few inches taller than Curt and with a prominent belly pulled Curt in close. “I wish you would have called us before going all lone-wolf on these guys, but I get it. I’m a father too. So not only would I have gotten those pieces of shit for you, I would’a let you have some time alone, if you know what I mean.”
Curt smiled at the comment, beholden to the brotherhood, and thanked the sergeant for the empathy but explained that he just wanted to get the boy home to his mother. He completely understood and directed a nearby officer to give him and the boy a police escort all the way back to Tallahassee since the Crown Vic was totaled. Curt obliged, just so long as his son was with him.
“Helicopter isn’t available is it?”
The sergeant howled with laughter and patted his belly in relief. He caught the attention of the crime scene workers who watched in confusion.
“No, son. I’m afraid not. The patrol car is best I can do.”
***
The news of Joshua Walker’s recovery traveled fast. In a quiet office, the phone was picked up and a number dialed by memory. It rang on the other end twice before it was answered.
“He found the boy. It’s all over the news.”
“Okay.”
“What should we do now?”
“Keep tabs on him like before. We need to know how much he knows, and then we’ll deal with it like before.”
“Okay. I’ll take care of it.”
Chapter 33
Tony Mason arrived in Tallahassee with the promise that his story was finally going to make it to print. It was vindicating knowing that he was onto something big when he first learned of the missing boy who mysteriously showed back up in his Southern California home. A person friendly with the boy’s family had called, telling him of the return. He did some digging and learned that he had been held in some kind of cult in the hills of Northern California, most likely with the persons responsible for taking him. In doing research into the cult, he found that they were high-tech, powerful people who sometimes taunted the “regulars,” as they called the rest of the world. Mason came to the conclusion that whoever found and returned the child to his parents had access to a lot of money, government databases, and must be working unsanctioned. He was instantly intrigued.
Mason searched through the rungs of state law enforcement and some federal branches, hoping to uncover the identity of the entity who did the clandestine work but came up empty. It didn’t feel like government work. He assumed that they would most likely focus on something on a more threatening level, such as domestic terrorism. As he went back through his notes, he saw Alexis Vanderhill was involved. He knew her through the journalism world but through reputation only since she operated mainly on the east coast. He noticed that she was there when the boy was brought home…almost like she knew it was going to happen. He figured she was tipped off about the event and got the scoop, but when she never published anything, he grew suspicious of her presence outside of the article and went to interview the boy. That was when he got the full story of the Crusaders who managed to infiltrate the cult and sneak him out of the compound under the veil of night. It was a sensational tale that struck Pulitzer-sized stars in his head, but before he could print it, the boy recanted, and the family had their lawyer threaten to sue if the story was ever printed. Mason didn’t have proof, outside of the boy’s account, but his gut told him Vanderhill and her substantial influence persuaded the boy to recall this magnificent drama, thus creating the bitter taste in his mouth regarding the rival journalist.
This time he did the legwork beforehand and was ready to spring it on Alexis and her team.
After learning the names of the rest of the team from the desk clerk in Vail, Mason left his hotel for the Denver airport. He was going back home to Los Angeles, and he would write the story on the plane ride. His fingers tingled with excitement.
However, as he waited for the boarding announcement, he tuned into the headline news on the television in the airport’s waiting area. One of the lead-in stories was of a Tallahassee cop who tracked down the men responsible for kidnapping his eight-year-old son, three years prior. The footage showed the man at a considerable distance, through a fleet of patrol cars and uniformed officers, kneeling down and hugging his young son. Mason was instantly mesmerized by the story but more for the fact the man was wearing a long, tan trench coat. His heart skipped a beat when the reporter provided the name of Curtis Walker.
It took Mason thirty seconds of deliberation before he got up and exchanged his ticket from LA to Tallahassee, where he was confident he would find the final piece of his story.
Now, Mason joined the crowd of reporters outside of Curtis Walker’s home, hoping to get an exclusive interview with the father who took on the investigation of his son’s kidnapping all on his own. After growing impatient at the reclusiveness of the family, Mason ignored the respect of the property boundary and walked up to the front door and knocked.
After a second knock and a persistent doorbell ring, the door cracked open. Inside stood the man in the trench coat. Mason identified himself as a reporter from Los Angeles but the door was shut in his face before he could even ask the first question. Curt told him to leave and respect the healing process. He added a threat of prosecution for trespassing if he didn’t adhere to the boundary.
Through the closed door, but not loud enough to be heard by the other reporters who watched expecting failure, Mason said matter-of-factly, “I know what happened in Colorado and about the men you killed.”
Mason let the statement simmer on the other side of the door as he waited patiently on the outside. The door cracked open, and Curt peered into his eyes, validating the fact that the reporter was at the right place, talking to the right person.
“Do you?” Curt asked skeptically. With everything surrounding the tip and Valdosta, he hadn’t thought about the drama that played out at the house in Vail. For the reporter, whose name he knew well, must have flown under the radar of Alexis Vanderhill if he was now at Curt’s home asking questions about Colorado.
“Yes. I know it was you and Rachel Goodwin who saved those girls from the traffickers and shot those men. I know about the boy your team rescued from the cult a year and a half ago, and I bet there are many, many more out there. I want to finally bring your story to life. This thing up in Georgia with your son only adds to it. You’re a hero. Whaddya say?”
Curt’s pulse quickened as he heard Rachel’s name spoken out loud by Mason. He was on point with what happened, but the integrity of the team and their anonymity was paramount, especially over glorification of their actions. He could care less about the story surrounding his son. Curt didn’t know how to respond to the sudden barrage of information and grew scared at the implications.
“I’m sorry. I can’t help you. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “Please, leave the property.”
“Melinda Dalton.…”
Curt’s head whipped back around and stared at Mason.
“Beth Young.…”
“How did you get those names?”
“I guess the new girl wasn’t so good at covering her tracks back at the hotel, huh?”
Curt looked down trying to figure out what he meant but quickly realized that Rachel Goodwin had checked everyone in that day and failed to use their alias’ instead of their real names. Mason must have swindled a look at the hotel’s guest list. His look belied his knowledge of what Mason was saying, but he kept up the silent treatment.
“Sorry, can’t help you. You need to leave now.”
Mason grew dejected but knew enough of the strong-willed cop to know that he had struck a chord and got him thinking. He wanted to leave him with one final thought.
“I’m printing the story whether you like it or not. I have enough already that Alexis won’t be able smooth talk her way out. I’m just offering you a chance to get on the record first. I hope you enjoy the view of reporters out here; it’s only going
to get worse.”
Mason turned and walked down the stairs. The reporters who were watching the interaction chuckled at the rejection, knowing this yahoo from LA wasn’t going to get any further than any of them. Mason shot a cocky look back at the crowd, knowing he had the real story.
Curt stood with his back to the door, sick with worry about the exposure of the team and the real ramifications of their methods. So many lives would be turned upside down, the children who had been returned along with their families. People, like Francine Bennett, would be allowed to walk free for their crimes if the truth was known. Not to mention, Federal charges could possibly be filed on the team. So much good work done in a dark world would be ridiculously scrutinized just because one reporter chased a story.
His imagination took off as he thought about the ramifications of exposure and hated the possible outcomes. Curt pulled out his phone and called Alexis.
After a few rings, she answered, “Hey, I’m so happy you finally found Josh. I’ve been following the story. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, but we have some real problems. Tony Mason knows about Colorado.”
Silence fell on the other end.
“How bad?” she asked.
“He seems to know pretty much everything. Knows everyone’s name too.”
“Shit.”
Curt told her everything about the exchange at his front door, including Mason’s promise to move forward with the story with or without their cooperation and quoted him back to Alexis, saying that she couldn’t smooth this over.