The Treehouse

by Andrew J Brandt

  “The one on Lakewood,” said Lucas. “He has a broken tail light. The passenger side. It’s fixed with red tape. We were in his bushes when he left tonight. We followed him back here but didn’t make it in time. He took off with Allison, but he threw her phone in the yard over there,” Lucas pointed out the window.

  “Is this what you boys do at night?” John Washington asked, looking at all three of them. “Play detective?”

  They held their heads down in guilt. “I’m sorry, Dad,” Tyler said.

  “I’m not happy about it, and in fact, it scares me to death,” the man said. “But I’ll be damned if you ain’t the three bravest boys on the planet.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  Friday March 21 | 1:13am

  THE MAN IN the glasses led Allison back to the tiny bedroom and motioned for her to sit on the bed. She did so, and he stood in the open doorway. “I don’t know when the next you’ll get to eat will be,” he said. “I am going to make you something.”

  Something of disgust, subliminal, must have shown across her face because he said, “Don’t worry. I’m not going to poison you or anything. Like I told you before, I’m not going to hurt you. I don’t want to do this anymore than you want to be here. But this is what we have to do. So, I’m going to make you something to eat. I’m going to lock the door. The windows are bolted shut and there are bars on the outside, so you won’t be able to escape. I’ll be back in here in twenty minutes.”

  The door closed behind him and she heard the bolt click. She breathed a heavy sigh, kicking herself now that she’d left that phone in the bathroom. Had she known she’d be alone now, she’d have more time with it. She just hoped that Lucas would know what to do.

  Allison stood up from the bed and checked the window. It was definitely bolted and barred, just as the man had said. It was eerily quiet in here now as she looked around the room. There wasn’t much to look at, however. The diminutive bedroom barely held the twin-sized bed on its metal frame. She wondered how many other girls had sat on this same bed, waiting for their fate. Waiting to be picked up and taken to Mexico where they’d be forced to give their bodies to men for money they’d never see.

  A chill ran down her spine and she tried to shake the thought from her brain. She looked under the bed to see if there was anything under it, and there was.

  Two sets of handcuffs and a chain to link them were coiled underneath, and she felt sad for the girls that were restrained in these, and somewhat selfishly relieved that she was not one of them. She left them coiled in their place and sat back on the mattress.

  This man who she was with had been more than polite to her, but something about his demeanor told her that he could be forceful if necessary, though he may not wish to be.

  Part of her, however, wanted to take him out herself. She wondered, as she stared at the closed door, if it would be possible to rush the door as he opened it with the food he was preparing for her. She tried to calculate what it would take to catch him off guard and knock him off his feet and make a dash for the front door. Would she be able to create enough force with a running start to do that?

  As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. The fear of failure took over. The man had almost more than told her that Ariana had tried to escape, and she ended up dead in the process. She just hoped that the beacon she’d sent over the phone to her brother would be enough, and that rescue was not far now.

  She heard the bolt click in the door before it opened, and the man swung it open. He was carrying a plate with a hamburger on it. He also had a bottle of water. “I had to get you something you can eat with your hands. No utensils. And I hope you like hamburgers.” He handed her the plate and the water bottle, which still had the cap snug and seal unbroken.

  She took the plate and water from his outstretched hands, looking at the dry hamburger.

  “Sorry, there aren’t any condiments. But at least it’s something,” he said.

  Se didn’t know if she could eat at the moment, with all the nerves and uneasiness coursing through her body. Even looking at the food made her stomach uneasy.

  As if he could read her mind, the man said, “I know, it may be hard to force yourself to eat right now, but you have to. I don’t know when you’ll get your next meal.”

  As he spoke, he bent down in front of her and caressed her cheek. Allison instinctively pulled away from his touch. “I am truly sorry that I have to do this to you,” he said. “I wish there was another way.”

  Off in the distance, police sirens faintly sung through the night air. He stood up and looked at his watch. “They’re out looking for you now,” he said. “That didn’t take long.” He looked back at her. “Please, eat. You’ll thank me later for it.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  Friday March 21 | 12:50am

  “COME ON, TYLER. I’m taking you home,” John Washington said to his son. Tyler got up from the dining room table where he, Lucas and Elijah were still sitting. He gave each of his friends a fist bump, not knowing when he’d get to see them again. Despite his dad’s words of encouragement, Tyler knew he would probably be grounded for some time.

  “Detective Washington,” the Hispanic officer approached John. He had just ended a call on his radio. “The boy she was talking with is Brandon Murphy, a Senior at Henderson High. Here’s the thing; Officer Sullivan is at the boy’s house now. The kid went to a party earlier in the evening, but he’s been at home since. Says he hasn’t spoken to the girl in days. Looked at his phone, no messages, no outgoing calls to Ms. Beaker.”

  John Washington was perplexed at this. “He could have easily deleted them from his phone log. Have Sullivan take him to the station for now. We’ll question him down there and find out what’s going on.”

  “Yes sir,” Officer Ortega said. “But here’s the other thing. The Murphys don’t live on Lakewood Drive, and they don’t own a Ford Five Hundred.”

  The detective furrowed his eyebrows, deep lines forming in between then.

  Stephanie Beaker had appeared from the master bedroom in a pair of blue pajama pants and a sweater. She’d tried to tame her hair in a ponytail, but strands were still sticking out behind her ears. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Are you telling me it wasn’t this boy? Then who the hell took our daughter?” Her voice had gone from bewilderment to near-anger. Bobby put his arms around his wife to help calm her down.

  “I don’t know, Stephanie. But I promise you we are going to find her as quickly as possible. Bobby,” John said, turning to Lucas’s dad, “I’m going to run Tyler home. And then I’m going to check this house out on Lakewood.” He held the paper with the addresses. “Ortega will be here if anything changes.”

  Bobby Beaker let his wife go from his embrace. “Let me go with you, John. That’s my daughter out there.” John nodded his approval, and the two men, along with Tyler, left. Elijah and Lucas gazed out the window, and watched them, not knowing when they’d get to see their friend again.

  “Elijah, we should get ahold of your mother,” Stephanie said to her son’s friend. “She’s going to want you home and safe. What’s her phone number?”

  Elijah gulped and nervously recited his mother’s phone number and Mrs. Beaker called her. She answered, groggy and still half-asleep. “Hi, Crystal, it’s Stephanie Beaker, Lucas’s mother. Listen, Elijah is over here, and I need you to come get him.” A pause. “No, he’s not in trouble. We’ve got a family situation over here, and we think it would be best for him to be with you tonight.”

  Lucas felt his phone buzz, and he pulled it out of his pocket. He assumed that Tyler would be texting him, but it was a location notification. A new contact, Amilyn Davis, is sharing their location with you the bubble read. He opened up the application, which pulled up a map. He knew that name. Amilyn was his sister’s best friend, and she was a common presence in their home, but he’d never talked with her. How did she get his phone number? And why was she sharing her location?

&nbs
p; A thought sliced across his mind like a bolt of lightning in a dark sky. He couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t Amilyn. It was Allison. Why or how she had her friend’s phone he didn’t know. But staring at the location pinging on his screen, he saw that it was on the south side of town, close to the highway.

  Lucas nudged Elijah and showed him the screen. Elijah stared at the device, and then up at Lucas. He mouthed, “What is it?”

  Lucas whispered, “Come with me.”

  As they were staring at the device, Stephanie hung up the phone with Elijah’s mom.

  “Hey mom,” Lucas said, standing up from the table, “Elijah has some stuff in my bedroom that he wants to take back home. I’m going to help him get it.”

  “Yeah, sure,” she said. “Elijah, your mother will be here in about 10 minutes.”

  “Yes ma’am,” Elijah said. He, too, got up from the table and followed Lucas back to his bedroom.

  “What is that?” Elijah said, as they shut the bedroom door.

  “Bro, this is my sister! She’s sending a beacon. I don’t know how, but she has her friend’s phone. We have to go after her. I need your help.”

  “We can’t go back out there, man! Are you serious? The cops are everywhere!”

  “I know, but we have to. This is her call for help, and she sent it to me. Look,” he showed Elijah the map again, the location that Allison was sharing was pinging on the screen. “It’s less than two miles from here. We can grab the bikes outside and go after her.”

  “How are we going to rescue her? We don’t have any weapons.” Elijah said. “Let’s just give this to the officer outside and let them handle it.”

  “No, Elijah.” Lucas stood firm. “This is my fault. The man saw us in the treehouse, and he followed us, and he saw her. He’s already killed one girl. I’m going after him, whether you come with me or not.”

  Elijah sighed. “Okay, let’s do this. I don’t want to see anyone else die.”

  “Okay, my dad has a nine millimeter in his nightstand. I’m going to get it. We need to get the bikes out of the front yard.”

  “You’re taking a gun?” Elijah said incredulously. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Elijah, it’s my sister. Come on, we don’t have much time.” Lucas pulled his backpack hanging from the closet doorknob. “I’m going to put the gun in here, but I need you to carry it out. We need to leave before your mom gets here.”

  Lucas opened his bedroom door, making sure his mother couldn’t see him. She was now sitting at the dining room table, her head buried in her hands. He wished he could comfort her, but he knew that he and Elijah were on borrowed time. He crossed the hallway to his parents’ room and went to the bedside table on Bobby’s side of the bed. Opening the top drawer, he saw it. The black handgun in a nylon holster. He took it and felt the weight of the gun in his hands. It was heavier than he thought it would be. Placing it in the main pocket of his backpack, he shut the nightstand drawer and dashed back to his room.

  “Ok, I’ve got it. Let’s go.” Lucas handed the backpack to Elijah, who swung it over his shoulders.

  “Have you ever even shot a gun, Lucas?” Elijah asked.

  “Well, no. But how hard can it be? Just point and pull the trigger, right?”

  Elijah shrugged his shoulders.

  They went to the dining room. “Mom, our bicycles are still in the front yard. Is it okay if we put them in the garage? Elijah said he can come back tomorrow to get his.”

  Stephanie looked up, her eyes puffy already from crying. “Yes, that’s fine.”

  “Mom, don’t worry,” Lucas said. He put his arms around her and kissed her on the cheek. “Allison is going to be alright. I promise.”

  “I certainly hope so, baby,” she said and kissed her son on the forehead.

  “We’ll come back in through the garage door,” he said, removing himself from her embrace. Lucas and Elijah went outside to the front yard where the bicycles had been deposited earlier. They could see Officer Ortega in his patrol car, parked out front, his lights still rotating, illuminating the neighborhood. An older couple across the street stood on their front porch, silently watching the way nosey neighbors do.

  As the two boys picked up the bicycles from the ground, they gained Ortega’s attention. “My mom asked us to take these into the garage,” Lucas said, and Ortega nodded. The man went back to concentrating his attention on the computer console in his vehicle.

  Lucas and Elijah walked the bicycles to the backside of the house, away from the prying eyes of the neighbors. Lucas pulled out his phone, the beacon still pinging. “We’re going to have to go through the alleys. The cops are out looking for her.”

  The two boys mounted the bicycles, with Lucas riding Tyler’s, and they set off to the south end of town. The unpaved alleys were a much rougher ride than the smooth asphalt streets, and Lucas was glad he had Tyler’s bike, as the suspension was better than his own for navigating potholes and grooves in the dirt. He also knew he would need the pegs that his own bicycle lacked; once they found Allison, he’d need to get her back home and she’d have to ride standing on them.

  “How much further?” Elijah asked.

  Lucas looked at the phone. “About four more blocks, and then we need to turn right.”

  As they came up to their turn, blue lights flashed. “Hide!” Lucas commanded. They jumped behind a large beige dumpster and watched as a police cruiser crept by, its spotlight focused on the alleyways.

  “I wonder if they’re looking for her, or for us,” Elijah pondered.

  Lucas’s phone dinged with a text message. He opened it. It was from his mom. Elijah’s mother is here. You better get back here now.

  “I think I know the answer,” Lucas said, showing the screen to his friend.

  Lucas opened up his text messages and swiftly typed out and sent a message to his mom. I’m sorry mom. We are going to rescue Allison. I love you.

  PART THREE

  THE RESCUE

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  Friday March 21 | 1:35am

  THE MAN IN the glasses unlocked the door and came back in to the bedroom. Allison stiffened up, still sitting on the bed where he’d left her.

  “They’re going to be here any minute. I’m here to collect your trash,” he said to her, approaching the bed. He took up the plate, a few crumbs were all that was left of the hamburger he’d fed her. “Good to see you finally ate. And the water?”

  She showed him the bottle, an ounce of fluid still in the bottom. “Go ahead and finish that as well. You’ll be glad you did tomorrow.”

  Allison unscrewed the cap, her eyes locked on the man’s, and downed the last of the water. She handed him the empty bottle and turned to leave the room.

  And just then, something primal inside Allison snapped.

  Without even thinking, she rushed the man, his back turned to her, and wrapped her arms around him in a tackle. Through the open door, he hit the wall of the hallway opposite of the bedroom. Her left arm was caught between the man and the wall and she felt the bone in her forearm crack.

  The pain made her see stars for a sliver of a second, yet she maintained composure enough to lift her knee in between the man’s legs and, with as much force as she could muster, kneed him in the groin.

  He yelled profanities and slumped to the floor, grabbing his crotch. Allison clutched her left arm close to her chest and ran down the hallway of the small apartment and frantically searched for a way out.

  The hallway spilled out to an open kitchen and living room, both of which were as sparsely decorated as the bedroom she’d been held captive in. There was no couch, no television hanging on the wall, no sign that this place was something lived in. It was a transit station. A place to transfer girls like her, no telling how many had come before, from one person to another. Seller to buyer.

  She saw the door, a plain white door with a small rectangular window near the top. She bolted for it and fumbled at the lock on the round silver handle with her
one good hand. She quickly realized there were multiple locks to the door, including a sliding chain. Panicking, she slipped the chain, but couldn’t get it to release from its saddle.

  Her head snapped backward, and she felt several hairs ripped from her scalp. The man was behind her and he pulled her to him and threw her to the ground. Allison kicked and screamed clawed at him as he held her down.

  His fist met her eye socket and the back of her head bounced off the vinyl plank flooring from the force. She tried lifting her legs but he was sitting on them, his full weight on top of her.

  With her one good arm, Allison reached up and was able to tear the man’s glasses from his face and she scraped at the man’s eyes with her fingernails. She felt the flesh tear through her fingers and he screamed in agony again.

  She tried to wriggle free from his grip but he was too strong. She screamed again, words unintelligible. This guttural, desperate sound pouring from her lungs and throat echoed through the whole apartment.

  The man, his face bleeding from her fingernails, headbutted her right on the bridge of her nose and blood immediately gushed from it. Laying on her back, she couldn’t breathe and she finally gave up her struggle. The man picked her up from the hair and dragged her back into the bedroom.

  “I tried being nice to you,” he said in a manner too calmly. “I tried to do this the easy way, to show you mercy.” His voice was still pleasant and cool, like they were having a conversation during dinner. He tossed her onto the floor of the bedroom and she collapsed in a mess of hair and blood and tears.

  “I liked you, Allison,” he continued, and he crouched down on the floor in front of her. He ran his hand through her hair and tucked a collection of strands behind her ear. “I made this easy for you because I liked you. Look at me.” She looked up at him through her swelling right eye. Her hair fell over her face and was matted with blood from her nose, which still was dripping. He continued, “I wanted this to be easy for you, but you apparently didn’t want that. So, when you’re in Mexico, being passed from man to man, their sweat and bodies all over you, and there are so many that you can’t even feel your womanly parts anymore, just remember that it’s your own fault. This is how you wanted it. And remember that it was me who tried to make this easy for you.”