I stared at the parking lot exit. Took in the street just beyond. I could see cars whizzing by. Nothing more than streaks of light in dash form. Tapping by like Morse Code.
I sighed. Started my own engine. Halfheartedly watched the car come to a stop before turning out of the parking lot.
That was when it hit me.
One square taillight didn’t light up.
For a single heartbeat, the world stopped spinning. My pulse thrummed behind my eyes. My lungs burned with the breath I was holding.
With cold, numb fingers, I pressed the button to lower my window. Exhaled slowly. Listened.
In my mind, in my memory, the missing taillight fit together with a sound. A chatter. Like yin and yang, they were a single memory. Distinct yet inseparable.
I listened hard. Ears pricked for the sound that had haunted dreams I hadn’t remembered until that very moment.
And then I heard it.
As he accelerated out into the flow of traffic, I heard the chatter of a loose muffler.
And I knew it was him.
I’d found him.
My hands shook as I reached for the stick. Shifted into drive.
I stomped on the gas pedal. The wheels barked as I lurched forward.
I was panting. Huffing like I’d run a marathon.
I sped across the parking. Saw only the spot where the sedan disappeared.
I came to a screeching halt. Looked right, in the direction he went. Cars flooded by me. They merged into different lanes. Slowed as the traffic light ahead turned yellow. Then red.
I scanned every car’s rooftop. Checked every taillight in my line of sight. But the one I wanted to see, the only one I needed to see, was nowhere to be found.
Chapter Forty-Four
I went back the next day. I was in my position, darkening a shadowed corner of the Tallman parking lot before the sun even rose. I watched every car come. I watched every car go. I recognized most of them. But the one I was searching for never came.
I did the same thing the next day.
And the next.
And the next.
For sixteen days, I watched. I waited. I stalked the lot for the man who kidnapped me. He never returned.
On night sixteen, I drove home. Devastated.
When I walked through the door, Gabe was waiting for me. His eyes were full of sadness and worry as they raked me, taking in the clothes I’d worn the day before. I’d slept in them. Tossed and turned in them. Hadn’t bothered to change them before I went back out that morning. I’d had a mission. One mission. Nothing else mattered.
“Any luck?” His voice was hesitant. Heavy. Tired.
I shook my head. Let it hang limply toward my chest. I was suddenly too exhausted to hold it up. The weight of disappointment was nearly enough to snap my neck.
“Maybe tomorrow,” Gabe said. There was no real conviction in his tone. He was losing hope, too. He made his way to me. I hadn’t moved from the edge of the door leading in from the garage. “When was the last time you ate?”
I shrugged.
Gabe wrapped tender fingers around my upper arms. Squeezed. Ran them down to my hands. Around my waist. Squeezed again. “You’ve lost weight.”
I thought of dog food. I was once so hungry I ate dog food. But that time was past. My only hunger now was for Dalton. To find him. To bring him home. And to do…something to the man who took him. I just hadn’t figured out what yet.
“I’m tired,” I told Gabe.
“Let me fix you something to eat.”
He guided me toward the small table in our eat-in kitchen. I shuffled along beside him. Let him push me down onto a chair.
“How was work?”
“How was work?” he echoed, his tone mirroring the confusion on his face.
“Yeah,” I nodded. “That’s a normal question, right?”
“It is, but things aren’t normal anymore.”
“I know.”
“Then why pretend they are?”
I shrugged again. “I don’t know.”
I didn’t know much anymore.
“You don’t have to pretend. Not with me. You can be real with me, Shannon.” To that, I said nothing. I was just…tired. “Please don’t shut me out.”
I sighed deeply. “I’m not shutting you out. I…I’m just tired. And I feel…it all feels so hopeless. I was depending on it. It was all I had left. And without it, I…I…”
“It’s not all you have left.”
The hurt in his eyes was plain. Enough to skewer my heart. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“This isn’t the end.”
I didn’t believe him.
“How do you know that?”
“Because it can’t be. I won’t let it be.”
“But you might not be able to control that.”
“What we can control is when we give up. And as long as we don’t give up, it can’t be the end. We will never stop searching for him. Not until our last breath.”
His eyes were steely. Determined.
He knew just what I needed to hear. He’d always been like that. My champion. My cheerleader. My protector. My strength when I had none. I didn’t know how he did it; I was just grateful that he did.
“You’re right. You’re right.”
Gabe’s smile was kind and patient. “So how about some dinner? Tomorrow is another day.”
“Tomorrow is another day,” I repeated.
And, as it turned out, it was. The sun rose the next morning and, with it, my renewed purpose. I’d gotten further when I found his car than we’d gotten in weeks. Months even. That was something. It had to be.
My movements were short and sharp. I stomped to the kitchen. Poured a cup of coffee. Drank it faster than I should have. Poured another. I showered. Dressed. Draped my body in a dark shirt and jeans. Pulled a ball cap on over my shaggy blonde hair. Kissed Gabe before I grabbed my keys and headed for the door.
It was as I was walking through the garage to my car that a sledgehammer caught my eye. With it, an idea came to mind.
I didn’t pause. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t second-guess. I detoured toward it. Grabbed the handle. Hefted the heavy head up onto my shoulder. I moved to the front of my car. Admired the sparkling paint and shiny chrome grill. And then I swung the sledgehammer into it.
With an enthusiasm that bordered on maniacal, I hammered away at the front driver’s side of my car. I hammered until my arms were weak from the weight of swinging.
I looked on, as if from a distance, as pieces of glass shattered. As metal crumpled. I didn’t mourn it. None of it. That car was a part of my former life. If I couldn’t be whole anymore, neither should it. I’d been wounded. Deeply and profoundly wounded. My wounds didn’t show on the outside of my body, but they showed on the outside of my car. I’d made it a kindred spirit. Felt the pain of every last knock and slam of the hammer. It was broken. Beaten. Nearly crippled. But it would run. It would keep going. The part that made it go hadn’t been damaged. Like me. My captor hadn’t been able to destroy what kept me moving. Kept me hunting. Kept me searching for my son. Nothing short of a sword through my heart could do that.
When I’d beat all I could beat, I turned to drag the sledgehammer back to where I found it. I saw Gabe standing in the doorway that led back into the house. His mouth was slightly agape. His eyes were pools of confusion. “Jesus,” he whispered. “Are-are you okay?” He took a step toward me. Held his hands out as if to calm. Moved slowly, like he was approaching a skittish animal. Or maybe a ticking time bomb.
I laughed. Felt freer than I had since before I’d been kidnapped. “I’m better than okay. I have a plan.”
“That involves destroying the front end of your car?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact it does.”
“Care to share?”
“I’d love to. You see, I’m going to drive to the lab today, but instead of parking in the back, I’m going to pull up to the front and I’m going to tell the guard that some
one hit my car a couple of weeks ago. I’m going to tell him that I’d watched for the car to come back, but it hadn’t. I’m going to describe it and he’s going to tell me who the driver is.”
“He is?”
I nodded. “He is. Would you like to know why?”
“I’d love to know why.”
“Because it’s time.” I squared my shoulders. Raised my chin even though it was trembling. “It’s time for the tide to change. It’s time for the tide to turn in our favor. Because our son is out there, and I can’t believe that God wouldn’t want us to find him, to bring him home. So I’m trusting in that. I’m putting all my faith in that. Because…because…” My breath felt short, choppy. My lungs not big enough to give me the air I needed. I couldn’t stand to think of the possibility that this wouldn’t work.
So I didn’t.
“You’re right,” Gabe agreed softly. “It’s time. Today is the day everything changes.”
I nodded, resolute. He did the same.
I cleared my throat. “So, I’m off to work, honey,” I said in jest. “I hope you have a good day. I’ll see you tonight when I can give you a report of success.”
“I look forward to it.” We stared at one another for a few seconds. Held fiercely to the last gossamer filament of hope. “I love you. More than my own life. You know that, right?”
His words were like a match flame to a butter heart. Melting it. Softening it. “I do. And I love you just as much.”
I knew that, on some level, Gabe worried if we would ever be the same. I knew he worried what would become of us if we didn’t get Dalton back. I wanted to tell him we would be okay. Wanted to reassure him. But I knew it wasn’t true. I knew that if we lost our son forever, I would never be the same. Neither would he. Nothing would.
But I could pretend. That was what I could do for him. That was how I could support him. That was how I could encourage him.
Even if it was all a lie.
“Everything is going to be okay.” I smiled.
He nodded. Didn’t believe a word of it. “Have fun,” he said, backing away as I moved toward the car.
I didn’t respond. My mind was already ten steps ahead. One breath closer to the man who took nearly everything from me.
I remembered nothing about the drive to Tallman Laboratories and Pharmaceuticals. It was like traveling in a fugue state. I didn’t wake up until I stepped out of the car.
When I walked up to the guard shack, my brain came back online.
For a few seconds, I regretted not rethinking my wardrobe. I looked more like a vagrant who stole a car rather than the refined owner of it. But it was too late to change anything. The moment the guard’s eyes met mine, that toothpaste was already out of the tube. No putting it back.
I smiled as I approached him. He was youngish, probably mid thirties, with a slight paunch. HIs shoulders were wide enough to make it cute rather than unattractive, though. His hair was sandy and thick. His eyes were the pale blue of a tidal pool.
I tugged the hat off my head at the last minute. Ran fluttering fingers through my hair. “Good morning…” I glanced down pointedly at the nameplate on his chest. “…Officer Monroe.”
“No ‘Officer,’ just ‘mister’.”
“Oh, sorry. Mr. Monroe,” I corrected. Tried not to feel dissuaded by my ineptitude. “How are you?”
“I’m fine, ma’am. Thank you for asking. What can I do for you today?”
I laughed lightly. Tucked a longish strand of platinum hair behind my ear. “Actually, I have sort of an odd request. You see, someone hit my car the other day when I was in the lot.” I stopped to point at the crushed front left quarter panel of my car. “I got a look at the other car, but the guy was gone before I could do anything. I hate to involve the police. I mean, they’d probably call it a hit and run, and no one needs that kind of trouble on their record, you know?” I smiled again. Grimaced slightly like my kindness was completely selfless. Not true at all, of course. “If you could just give me his name, I could contact him privately and try to work something out.”
The guard frowned. “How could I give you his name when I didn’t see the accident?”
“Hmmmm, that’s a good question. What if I described the car?” I didn’t wait for an answer before I started describing the car. I told him it was a male driver. Gave him the date the run-in supposedly happened, which was the night I’d seen him leaving the parking lot. “I thought maybe you’d have a log of those who come and go or something. Even non-employees. I’m not even positive he actually works here, because I’ve been looking for him and can’t find him. Anything you could do to help me, I’d appreciate.”
Mr. Monroe paused. Frowned.
I panicked. Pressed my advantage. If I even had one.
I gestured to my car. “I mean, clearly this isn’t a small fix. Even if he could split it with me, that would help me so much.” I leaned in. Wrinkled my nose. Took on a sheepish expression. “I was parked a little crooked in my space, so it wasn’t one hundred percent his fault.”
His sea-colored eyes narrowed on me. “Were you signed in? I don’t remember you.”
My throat tightened. Palms started to sweat. Ruthless and determined, I kept my smile in place. “No, I was, uh…” I dropped my gaze nervously. Pulled one corner of my lower lip between my teeth. “I was, uh, meeting someone here. After hours. I was a few minutes early, so I sat in my car and went through my email.” I laid my hand on his arm. “Please don’t think badly of me. We dated in college, and, well, we bumped into each other at a conference a couple months ago, and…” I trailed off, the elaborate and humiliating lie singeing my cheeks with heat, which probably only helped my case.
I watched the guard’s gaze flicker over my face. I held on to my lie with both hands. Held on with every ounce of my being. I fiddled with the hem of my shirt. Fluttered my lashes at him. Prayed for divine intervention.
Finally, much to my relief, he asked, “What was that date again?”
I exhaled slowly. Smiled. Gave him the date. Didn’t breathe again until he came back out of the guard shack.
He handed me a piece of paper. I looked down at it. Stared for the longest time.
I had a name.
But the name started with the wrong letter.
Chapter Forty-Five
I heard Gabe step into Dalton’s room. I was standing at the window. As I always was. And I was lost. As I always was. Lost in questions that had no answers. Where my son was. How he was being treated. If he cried for me. If he’d stopped crying altogether.
It was a torturous loop. A cycle I couldn’t break. The questions would start. When no answers came, my imagination would fill in blanks. Horrific imagery would play through my mind. I couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t control it. Then, after sometimes hours, I would reach a sort of breaking point. I just couldn’t take the anguish of wondering. So I’d pray. I’d pray and pray and pray. Pray for Dalton’s health. For his safe return. Pray that he wasn’t in a padded room. That he wasn’t being fed dog food. That he didn’t have to lick water off a dirty concrete floor.
I closed my eyes. Leaned my forehead against the glass. Forced those agonizing visualizations down. Down, down, down until it stopped feeling like I couldn’t breathe. Like I’d never breathe again. I would be of no use to Dalton if I couldn’t function. So I did what I had to do to survive.
When I opened my eyes again, Gabe was beside me. Staring out the window, too. I couldn’t help wondering what he thought of as he gazed out. I decided his thoughts were probably similar to mine. I doubted any parent in this situation could help it. The only difference was that most hadn’t lived the nightmare themselves. Hadn’t experienced every terrifying, humiliating, soul crushing moment.
But that wasn’t the case with me. Knowing it so intimately, and then imagining it all happening to your child…
It was indescribable.
“Just got off the phone with Grace,” Gabe announced.
“Your sis
ter, Grace?”
“Yeah. Do we know another?”
We didn’t.
“What did she want?”
“She wanted to know what’s going on. Said Garrett is worried about us. He told her we’d come to him with some strange requests, but wouldn’t give him much explanation.”
I turned to face him. “What did you tell her?”
“I didn’t get a chance to tell her much. The minute I started to put her off, she said she was coming over and hung up.”
“Great.” My tone was as exasperated as his expression.
“I don’t know what to do,” he confessed.
“We can’t tell her. We can’t tell anyone. If he found out…”
“It’s not like Grace is in law enforcement. She’s a stay-at-home mom. Who would she even tell?”
“It doesn’t matter. He said—”
“She’s family.”
“So you think we should tell her?”
Gabe sighed. Scrubbed his fingers over his eyes. “Christ, I don’t know. I don’t know much of anything anymore. I can’t… I can’t even think.”
I reached out. Rubbed a soothing hand down his back. “I know how that feels. I thought getting a name would be the key, but… It’s the wrong name. I never… I never expected that. I didn’t plan for it.”
“You couldn’t have known.”
“I was just…I was so sure that was him.”
“I still think it’s him. Or at least a road that leads to him. Don’t start doubting yourself now.”
“But you know what they say about victim memories—they’re extremely unreliable.”
“Did what you felt and saw in that moment, when you saw his taillight and when you heard that muffler rattling, feel unreliable?”
“No, not at the time.”
“Then just go with that. We have a lead. We just need to figure out what to do with it.”
Right Next Door Page 26