Dad had been mean since before the woods. It hadn’t started there. No, it had started at home. Long before the woods and the blindfold.
Something had changed. He’d been nice once. Then he’d snapped. Made Ayla hate her own house, especially the bedroom. And her parents’ room, where the endless shouting happened. Where Mom had cried for help.
Ayla should’ve done something back then. Called for help. Told a teacher. Something. Instead, she’d done nothing. Just cowered in fear, crying. Clinging to the doll until Dad had thrown it across the room and ordered her to stop being such a baby.
Then he’d screamed and broken some of her things. A trophy. Her favorite poster. A picture of Ayla and her best friend. The mirror on her headboard.
Ayla opened her eyes and screamed. The images in her mind continued. Dad swearing. Breaking things. She yelled until her throat hurt. Kept it up until the memories stopped.
The door burst open, and in ran two nurses—a guy and a lady.
Ayla kicked and hit the air to distract them. To keep them from coming near her.
It didn’t work. The woman restrained her, then the man gave her a shot.
Everything turned blurry. Her eyelids became too heavy to keep open.
Then they closed, and she lost consciousness.
Clue
Alex reached for his phone to turn off the alarm. It felt like he’d just set it and fallen asleep.
After he pressed snooze, someone started talking. But it wasn’t Zoey. And it was coming from his phone. He blinked a few times until the phone’s screen came into focus. It showed the mental hospital.
It wasn't his alarm that had woken him. It had been a phone call.
He brought it up to his ear. “Can you repeat that?”
The woman on the other end sounded frustrated. “Am I speaking to Alex Mercer? The guardian of Ayla Stevens?”
He sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Yes.”
Zoey rolled over. “What’s going on?”
Alex held up the phone to show her he was on it. “Is Ayla okay?”
The woman introduced herself as Ayla’s doctor and asked Alex some personal questions to verify his identity. Once she was finally convinced, she got to the point. “Ayla had a meltdown and the nursing staff had to sedate her.”
Alex closed his eyes. “How is she?”
“Sleeping, but it’s our policy to report these incidents to the family. Do you have any questions?”
“Yes! What led up to her meltdown?”
It sounded like she was flipping through papers. “According to the nursing staff, she was in her room alone when she started yelling. She appeared to be a danger to herself, and she certainly would’ve upset the other patients. The sedation was necessary for her safety. She also acted violently toward the nursing staff. She nearly took out the eye of one nurse. He—”
“Wait a minute! You sent in a male nurse?” Alex’s blood boiled. “We made it abundantly clear that was not to happen. She’s terrified of men!”
“Those were the only two staff available, and it was an emergency. He had to go in.”
“This is unacceptable!”
“It was unavoidable, sir.” Her tone was terse. “These things happen. I back up my staff’s decision.”
“That can’t happen again! If you can’t take proper care of her, we’ll need to find somewhere else to put her.”
“Ayla was a danger to herself.”
“You need to come up with a plan of action for when this happens again—and I guarantee it will! The first order of business needs to be to—”
“Mr. Mercer, we have—”
“Officer Mercer,” Alex corrected. “I’m a police officer.”
“I understand that. What you need to understand is that we’re doing the best we can. We have a plan in place, and we’ll do everything we can to follow it. But if she acts out like that again, we may need to bring in a male staffer if we don't have two females available. I suggest you speak with your sister about this. Perhaps she’ll be able to explain this in a manner you can understand. In the meantime, I need to check on my patients.”
“Before you go, I have another question.”
“Yes?”
“Did she say anything while she was having her meltdown?” Alex asked. “Or was it just hollering?”
More flipping of pages. “It appears she said something about her dad being a bad man.”
“Her dad?”
“Yes. That’s all they heard. Everything else was just yelling.”
“Okay. If she says anything else—anything at all—I want to be notified right away. Her parents are missing, and anything could be a clue.”
“Noted. Anything else, Officer?”
“That’s all for now.”
“Goodnight, then.”
“Goodnight.” He ended the call.
Zoey sat up. “What was that about? Ayla’s having trouble?”
Alex slammed his phone on the nightstand. “Another meltdown, and they had a male nurse go into her room.”
“What? You said they understood her needs.”
Alex clenched his fists. “That’s what they said, but the doctor told me there was no other option.”
Zoey laced her fingers through his. “Is she okay?”
“If you call being sedated with drugs okay, then yeah, she’s great.”
She sighed. “Maybe that’s what she needs. It wasn’t something we could do for her.”
“What if she’s mentally tormented, but can’t do anything about it because of the drugs? At least when she was acting out, she had a release.”
Zoey squeezed his hand. “I’m sure they know what they’re doing.”
“They’d better,” he muttered.
“Why don’t you lie down? You need your rest.”
He grabbed his phone. “First, I need to text Hoffman.”
“Who’s that?”
“The sergeant in charge of Ayla’s case in Spokane.”
“I thought you already told him she’s there.”
Alex navigated to the texting conversation. “I did, but she said something he needs to know.”
“Really? What?”
He filled her in as he texted Hoffman.
“Are you sure it means anything?” Zoey asked. “She could be mixing up the abductor with her dad. Brock’s such a nice guy.”
“That’s what people usually say about killers.” Alex waited for a reply from Hoffman. When one didn’t come in, he placed his phone back on the nightstand and lay back down.
Zoey kissed his cheek. “I’m sure it’ll be okay.”
Alex closed his eyes. He doubted she was right but kept that thought to himself.
Relaxed
It was bright but not overpowering. Not like harsh lights, but more like a summer morning. But this was no normal morning. Not by a long shot.
Only Ayla couldn’t remember why. Nothing more than a feeling that something had gone wrong. Terribly wrong. But she had no idea what.
She also didn’t know where she was, and that seemed like the bigger problem. Or at least the more pressing one. She opened her eyes. A nondescript white room. She was lying on the bed. It was stiff and uncomfortable. The blankets weren’t warm enough—she was chilly.
Everything came flooding back. The yelling. Awful memories. Nurses coming in. Holding her down and giving her a shot. But there was no emotion associated with any of it. It was like watching a movie—something that happened to someone else.
Ayla didn’t try getting up, didn’t bother making herself more comfortable. She just imagined she was going through the previous night again. In her memory, she went through every detail as if reliving it, but without any of the feelings.
None.
She could remember the terror, the rage. Yet felt none of it now. There was a strange emptiness where all that had been.
And it was kind of nice.
Ayla closed her eyes and enjoyed the peace. Maybe it wasn’t really peace but jus
t a lack of all the fear and anger. Whatever it was, she would take it.
Images of her dad screaming and breaking things ran through her mind. He towered over her and called her names. Threatened her. Mocked her. Hurt her.
But none of it presently felt bad. The detachment allowed her to watch more of the memories. To take in more of the words.
She tried to remember when her dad had turned mean. Back in the days when Uncle Alex lived with them, Dad had been fun. Not as much fun as Uncle Alex, but he had been fun. And nice. Never made Ayla feel bad about herself. Never hurt her or broke anything. Never used bad words or made Mom cry.
Maybe that was why she remembered Uncle Alex after she came out of the woods. Not Dad, not Mom.
Mom… Ayla tried to picture her face. It was easier to see Dad’s. It was red and angry, with spit flying from his mouth and deep lines appearing on his forehead and around his eyes. Every detail was so clear. Yet she couldn’t see Mom.
Even so, she tried. Hard. Thought about things they probably did together—things like clothes shopping and baking. For some reason, thinking about Mom made her remember cakes, cookies, pies, and other mouth-watering foods. Happy things like that.
Ayla tried so hard to see her mother in her mind. She could picture Mom’s favorite apron. It was one they’d picked out together on the laptop—a fancy handmade one that took a month to arrive. It had ruffles and pretty multi-colored flowers. How was it she could remember all of that but not her mom’s features? Even having seen pictures at the house and on Uncle Alex’s computer, it didn't help.
Then it happened. A flash of an image. Mom’s face. Beautiful as always, especially when she smiled at Ayla.
It all disappeared as quickly as it came. All she saw was the apron shredded.
Dad had ruined it in one of his rages. He’d screamed so loud, it made her ears ring as he tore off every stitched piece. Mom and Ayla had cried and begged him to stop, but that had only added fuel to his fire. And the apron had been torn into so many pieces, there had been no hope of sewing it back together, not even with Mom’s skills.
Then she flashed to the trunk of a car. Mom speaking to her. Just like in her other memory—the one she’d had at Aunt Macy’s office. She’d been blindfolded, so she still couldn’t see Mom. But she heard her voice. Clear and strong, even though it shook as she spoke.
Ayla then saw her bedroom. Heard Dad yelling. She double-checked her hiding space in the closet. Dad had never found her there, behind the stuffed animals and clothes, but many times he got even meaner after she eventually came out. It wasn’t like she could hide forever. She had to eat and pee and go to school. And Dad worked at home, so there was no waiting for him to leave in the morning.
She always had to face his wrath. At least on school days, it only lasted so long. She couldn’t miss the bus. Even he couldn’t deny that much. The school had already started to ask questions about some of Ayla’s bruises and her jumpiness at sudden noise. But they’d always believed her stories of being clumsy and scatterbrained—two things Dad often called her. Everybody other than Mom seemed to think it was true about her.
Then came the day she couldn’t hide from him. He found her before she had time to slip into her hiding spot. Dragged her into the rec room where Mom was tied up and screamed like more of a lunatic than usual. Ayla’s bladder nearly gave out when she saw Mom like that, shaking and restrained, with tears streaming down her face.
Dad said they were ruining his life, that he couldn’t keep going with them being so disrespectful to him all the time. Said they needed to learn their places and to forget what society taught them about women being equal to men. He gave Mom a black eye. Ayla had screamed and hit him for the first time. He flung her across the room. She smashed into a wall. Hit her head so hard, her ears rang. Then he grabbed her and shoved her on the couch next to Mom, who screamed at him to stop. Dad knocked her off the couch, bound Ayla’s hands, then tied the blindfold around her too tightly. He glued it so she had no prayer of getting it off.
Everything became a dark blur of yelling and hitting until Mom got quiet.
That scared her more than anything else.
At some point, Dad carried them to the garage, threw them into the trunk. He told them if either one tried to get away, he’d kill the other.
Mom whispered to her to stay brave. But she’d never been more scared.
“What’s he going to do to us?” Ayla scooted closer to Mom. “Is he really going to kill us?”
“No, he won’t. I won’t let him. I don’t know what he has planned, if anything, but we’re going to get away. Listen to what I say. Don’t forget any of it. Promise?”
Ayla nodded, breathing hard. Her head bumped against Mom’s, so she knew Mom knew what she meant.
“No matter what happens, get away. Don’t worry about me. I don’t want you thinking about his threat. I won’t let him kill me. Do you understand?”
Ayla struggled to breathe normally. Tears soaked the blindfold.
“I’m serious, Ayla. I want you to escape. Run as far as you can. Don’t stop. Find the police and get help. Can you do that?”
She nodded.
“Good. He won’t kill me. You get help.”
“Where will I tell them to find you?”
“Chances are, he’s taking us to his favorite camping spot. He loves it because it’s hidden away. He says nobody else knows about it, but I do. I’m going to tell you exactly where it is and how to get there. Nobody will find it without instructions, and you won’t be able to find your way without them. Are you going to be able to remember all of this?”
Ayla took a deep breath. “I’ll memorize it. I promise.”
Mom gave her complicated instructions and had Ayla repeat them back to her until she got it right three times in a row.
Ayla’s eyes flew open, bringing her back to the hospital room. She tried to sit up. To call for a nurse. To tell them where to find her mom.
But she couldn’t move or speak.
Stalker
Alex glanced in Nick’s office as he headed back to his desk with a fresh cup of coffee. His friend still hadn't shown up for work. Or answered Alex’s texts.
The previous night, Genevieve had mentioned that he and Parker were doing well and that Parker had promised to stop running off. Maybe Nick had just decided to stay home and spend some time with Parker, or maybe they were at an early counseling session.
Everything was probably fine, but he couldn’t help worrying that something had gone wrong between the time he’d spoken with Genevieve about Ayla and now. Parker was more emotional than Alex had ever seen him—not that he could blame the kid. Hopefully, he hadn’t done anything dumb.
Once back at his desk, Alex sent Nick another text then decided that’d be the last one. Nick would let him know what was going on when he could.
He got busy with paperwork until a call came in about a home invasion. Mackey and Garcia left to take care of that. Alex would take the next one. He really needed to stretch his legs and stop staring at small print. It was giving him a headache.
His phone’s alarm rang, letting him know it was time for his morning break. Finally. Mornings like this made him wish he worked for a department in a bigger city. Although, in reality, he knew he’d never walk away from his hometown precinct. Not when his best friend was captain and he was able to make a difference in a place that he cared about more than any other.
He refilled his coffee, went out back behind the parking lot, and walked along a grassy field, taking in the warm sun as he sipped and checked his blog for comments. He’d fallen behind on posts and had several requests from parents of missing kids who wanted him to help spread the word. Guilt stung, but a man had his limits, and he was pretty close to his.
Alex was about to head inside when a comment in moderation caught his attention. It was from someone called Stalker420, which was odd. People usually replied with a name not a user ID. And if a commenter did use one, it wasn't like that
one. It was along the lines of MissingMyKid.
The commenter used what looked like a fake email address. His message was short and to the point:
Watch your back, Alex Mercer. Not everyone thinks you’re a hero. Some people don’t appreciate what you’re trying to do—exposing their business. Get out of lives that don’t concern you, or you’ll pay. Maybe with your life. Or one of your three kids.
Alex’s heart raced faster with each word he read. He re-read the comment several times. It wasn’t the first death threat he’d received, and it probably wouldn’t be the last, but it was the first time his kids had been brought into it.
He rarely mentioned his children on the blog. Not when the focus was on helping to find missing kids. It had started when Ariana was missing, but that had been so long ago. He also had only mentioned having the twins briefly in one post—not even saying he’d had a boy and a girl. Especially with Zander’s unique situation, Alex was especially careful to keep them out of the spotlight. If he did make mention of them, he would simply say ‘my son’ or ‘my daughter.’
That was what made the threat even more jarring than most. Was he stalking Alex? Could that be why he’d used that username? Or was it someone close enough to him to know he had three kids?
He checked the time and saw that he was late returning from his break. His heart and mind raced as he made his way across the employee parking lot then to his desk inside.
Who had sent that, and what exactly did he want? Alex wouldn’t take down his blog. Not when it was a major resource for finding kids in danger. People knew to turn to him. He’d made a name for himself in the space—not that he was looking for fame. Just felt a calling to help other parents on the worst day of their lives. He knew that feeling all too well.
And now a coward hiding behind an immature username thought he was going to scare him into stopping? If anything, the comment made him want to get the new posts up even faster. Maybe on his lunch break. It wasn’t like he’d be eating with Nick.
Take On Me Page 15