The Cannon (Swift Book 3)

by Leslie Pike

  “Wait! I’m coming too!” I say leaving no room for disagreements.

  “Us too,” Brick says standing and grabbing his cell from the buffet. He taps Atticus on the arm. “Come on.”

  “Text me the address. I just have to use the bathroom then I’ll head that way,” Atticus adds.

  This family. They never fail in their compassion. “Thanks, guys. The help’s appreciated. I’ll send you both the details in case we get separated.”

  “Let us know what’s happening,” my father calls.

  The streets of East Memphis are infamous for crime and other misdeeds. The thought of a ten-year-old boy wandering unsupervised is frightening. The fact he’s going to be trying to go undetected makes things one thousand times worse.

  We’ve gathered at Jude’s house to organize our search. Atticus, Brick, Jude’s parents and Sawyer and I all around the kitchen table looking at an old map the family kept. It’s easier than looking on our phones. The three other children are sitting quietly on the couch in the living room. Their world tossed and tumbled in every way.

  “What do you two think? You want us to each take a section of an eight or ten mile radius say?” Sawyer asks. I know he’s trying to let the foster parents lead. But their faces say they wish he’d tell them what to do. This is just one drama too much. They’re almost broken.

  “Yeah, that’s good,” Julie answers softly.

  The husband can barely raise his voice. He’s weaker than imagined and his illness is so apparent. But Sawyer is showing him the respect he deserves. Jude is still his charge.

  “Alright. Atticus you take this section. Brick you’ll have the north and Bristol and I will take the Elm Street side.”

  “Okay. We all have Julie’s cell number. Text if you find him,” Brick says.

  “Yes, please. Keep us posted. We’ll have our phones in our hands,” she says.

  “Here’s the police now,” Atticus says looking out the little window over the sink.

  I turn to see three black and whites approaching.

  “Thank God,” Julie adds.

  Her face is haggard at probably forty years old. The past few months have sucked the life out of her. My heart aches for what they’ve been through and what’s still to come.

  “Let’s talk outside,” she says. “Kids, you stay here with Dad.”

  There’s no argument as we all make our way out of the house. Two policemen approach.

  “I’m Officer Calhoun and this is Lieutenant Breyer. Let me tell you what’s occurred so far. A BOL has been issued across the county, stating your child is missing. Is there any indication someone may have kidnapped or taken him without your knowledge?”

  “No. Absolutely not. He left a note saying he was leaving and not to try to find…”

  Julie starts crying and I put an arm around her. The policeman sizes up the situation and takes charge.

  “Let’s move inside where we can sit.”

  A look of gratitude passes over her face.

  “There’s four other officers here and they’re going to begin to canvas the neighborhood. I’ll need Jude’s description and what he was wearing when he went missing.”

  The cop leads the way back toward the front door. We follow like cattle.

  “Do you have cameras on your residence?”

  “No.”

  “We’re going to be talking with your neighbors. Maybe someone has video of the direction the boy took off in.”

  Walking into the house is the scene from a police drama. The children are huddled together in silence. It’s a pathetic sight. They sit close to their father. He barely acknowledges the policemen.

  “Let’s sit at the dining table,” Julie says.

  “First of all, we’ll need a current picture. Do you have one?” Officer Calhoun says.

  “Christopher, bring me the album.”

  “I’ve got one on my cell. Would that do?”

  “I’ll take both. I’d like to see the note.”

  She reaches into her pocket and brings out a folded piece of paper. Handing it to Officer Calhoun who gives it a look.

  Thank you for taking care of me. Jude

  There are tears in Sawyer’s eyes. The words get me misty too.

  “What’s he talking about? What precipitated his leaving?”

  “My husband is very sick. We told the children this morning. It’s been rough here. Jude is our foster child. We had to tell him about the financial situation going forward.”

  There’s a complete breakdown now. She lays her head on the table and gives in to the horror of the new reality. I come around the table and cradle her in my arms. What else is there to do?

  “We will need names of Jude’s friends, where he’s stayed before, if he has a phone or a wallet.”

  “I’ll get that written down for you. No phone, but he does have a wallet with a twenty-dollar bill inside. He always has it with him.”

  “Officer Breyer will search the house. Bus lines, Uber and taxi companies have already been alerted. I’ll be sending this photograph so they know who to look for.”

  “Thank you. He’s a little guy for his age and he won’t know where to go. I’m so afraid for him.”

  “We’re going to do our best to locate him quickly, but sometimes these children are pretty creative as to where they’ll hide. Just stay here in case he decides to come home.”

  “We’re going to look for him on our own. If we see anything we’ll call you,” Sawyer says.

  “Okay. Let me give you the number.”

  He hands Sawyer a card with the information.

  I opted to drive, being that I know the city better than Sawyer. He’s watching every street we drive or pass. It’s been an hour looking already. Sawyer wanted to look in the dodgiest section of this part of Memphis.

  The cruisers are out tonight. Racing the street. I don’t see a sign of the police.

  “Shit, this traffic is crazy. You’d think the police would shut it down.”

  “They probably do every once in a while. It all starts again the next night. That’s how it was in Fort Worth.”

  He’s worried. And I know why. He understands the desperation of loneliness and how things can fall apart quickly.

  “Are you more worried because he’s alone? Or that he’s vulnerable to the streets?” I say.

  “Both. But what’s bothering me most is that I know what a dangerous mindset Jude could be in. People have no idea how vulnerable a kid can be. When you feel lost and unloved it can lead to dangerous thoughts. I know. I felt the same way at one time.”

  I reach across and take his hand.

  “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

  He keeps his eyes on the streets.

  “Yeah. We can’t ignore how wounded this has made him. He might be having self-destructive thoughts.”

  The words bring tears to my already tired eyes. I press my lips together trying to hold the emotions back.

  “There! He just crossed the street. On the left there! Pull over! I’ll go get him,” he says.

  Changing lanes, I pull the car to the curb. Thank God there’s two empty spaces because I came in crooked. Sawyer’s out before I have time to straighten my angle.

  “I’ll call his parents!”

  “Call the police!”

  I watch him sprint across the four-lane Main Street, dodging cars in both directions. Shit, there’s some seedy looking characters leaning against the Wig Barn. Looks like they’re both high as kites.

  Sawyer makes it to the sidewalk and heads in the direction Jude was last seen.

  I take out the card the policeman gave us and make the call. My hands are shaking.

  “Hello. This is Bristol Swift, Officer Calhoun. We located Jude. He’s walking on Main Street between Ninth and Tenth. My boyfriend is trying to catch up to him now.”

  “We’ll send a unit. Stay where you are.”

  Our conversation is over with his command. Now where did Jude go? I don’t s
ee him. Shit! Then Sawyer starts running. My eyes move ahead, scanning the scene. There, saying something to a shady looking man, is Jude.

  When Sawyer reaches them, words are exchanged. Jude looks angry. Defiant. He starts to walk away. The man puts a hand on Sawyer, in a gesture to hold him back from grabbing Jude’s arm. Oh Lord!

  As he shakes off the man’s hand, Sawyer holds on to Jude’s arm. Things are escalating. Voices are raising. Even from across the street I can make out the occasional word. Sawyer’s Stop. Please.

  Jude’s Nobody cares.

  I can’t stay in the car any longer. Maybe I can do something to help diffuse the situation. I exit and take only my key fob, locking my purse inside.

  These fucking cars. I can’t make it across like Sawyer did. The crosswalk is my best bet. There’s no sprinting in these heels, but I pick up the pace. Red light. Shit.

  I wait impatiently for the green and listen to what’s going on between Jude and Sawyer. The kid’s crying. Fuck me. He’s pulling away from Sawyer’s grasp as hard as he can.

  Green light.

  I hurriedly head for the opposite corner. As I step onto the sidewalk, Jude turns and makes eye contact with me. He’s crying and now he’s embarrassed I’ve seen it.

  “Jude! It’s alright. Let’s talk!”

  But instead he pulls away from Sawyer’s grip with all his might. One step off the curb and he’s in the street dodging the oncoming cars. Horns blast and more than one angry voice yells an expletive. Tires screech.

  “Jude!” Sawyer yells.

  He goes after him.

  Oh my God! My heart is racing with the realization of what is happening. I raise my arms in the air attempting to get the attention of the drivers.

  “Stop! Stop!”

  “Just let me die!” Jude cries.

  Just as Sawyer reaches Jude’s side, a car full of teenagers change lanes. They didn’t see the two figures weaving through the traffic.

  Time slows. I watch it all as if in a dream. Sawyer sees the oncoming Honda. In an act of desperation his fingers latch onto Jude’s shirt in a death grip.

  He pushes the boy out of the path of two thousand pounds of metal. The car skids into a one hundred and eighty degree turn and clips Sawyer’s outstretched arm, knocking him hard into a parked car.

  Chapter 21

  Sawyer

  My pitching arm. Fuck. The memory of the impact, the sense of the shift in my destiny, all plays in my mind on a constant loop. Fantasies of walking onto the mound on opening day to the cheers of the fans evaporates into the ether.

  Laying in this too short hospital bed leaves me time to think about it all. Isn’t necessary for the doctor to deliver the news. Actually he hasn’t said it yet. I imagine the test results will confirm the worst. But I knew the moment it happened.

  The Cannon has shot its last blast. This will be the shortest-lived MLB career, which lasted one season. All my greatest days took place in the future. I may be the most unfulfilled expectation of talent any fan has ever known.

  Can’t help the tears that are gathering in my closed eyes. Don’t want Bristol to see me cry. I hear her talking with Brick in the hallway. The sounds of their conversation muffled and there’s no making out the words. But it’s done in whispers and that tells me they’re on the same page I am. There are no false hopes here.

  Do I wish I had done something different though? Should I have left the child to fend for himself? He wanted to die. And it was no empty threat. I remember the feeling well. You’re on the edge of a cliff and one stiff breeze can push you over. But I also remember wishing just one person would figure out I was feeling that way.

  Could I have lived with myself if I didn’t try to protect Jude? No. It was the right thing to do. Moral. Loving. Ethical. I’m paying a big price for my choices, but there’s no denying it was the only one I could have made.

  Think the worst part so far is the look in people’s eyes. The five hours I’ve been here has seen visitors come and go. Team members, coaches, Grandpa Davis and Grandma Birdie. Other than Bristol some remain. Brick, Atticus and Charlotte, Boone and Lucinda.

  What I’ve done to deserve their steady affection I don’t know. But it’s rock solid, as if I’m already part of the Swift family. Wonder how this injury will change things.

  “Sawyer. The doctor is heading this way,” Bristol says entering the room.

  Brick follows.

  “I’d like to hear what he has to say. Mind if I stay?” he says.

  Opening my eyes slowly I catch their worried looks.

  “No. Stay. We might as well hear the bad news together.”

  Neither of them contradict me or my pessimistic view. Why blow smoke up my ass?

  Dr. Spellman walks in minus any sort of smile or upbeat expression. The guy’s serious as shit.

  “We have the results of your MRI back, Mr.Tom,” he says sliding the MRI images into the light box on the wall. Now we can all see the different angles. But only he knows how to read what they reveal.

  What’s that solid white mass? Maybe it’s swelling around a break.

  “Did I break it?”

  “You have a hairline fracture of the right Ulna.”

  “Hairline. That’s good,” Brick says placing a hand on Bristol’s shoulder.

  “Not career ending?” I say feeling a little hope.

  Bristol comes to my side and takes my hand in hers.

  “Oh baby, this is great.”

  “We found something else,” Dr. Spellman adds.

  It seems like the air in the room is sucked out. Bristol’s nails dig in my flesh and my grip tightens around hers.

  “What?”

  Dr. Spellman points to the foggy white spot I was questioning.

  “Here, in your deltoid muscle, near your shoulder. It looks like a sarcoma. A small tumor. It needs to come out.”

  “A sarcoma?” I’m stunned.

  “It’s a cancerous growth that will have to be staged and graded. It looks small, so that’s encouraging.”

  We’re stunned silent for a few beats.

  “What about my pitching?”

  The doctor speaks with authority. “The odds of you facing a batter again are slim.”

  My shoulders sink with his words. Brick’s face looks like mine. Defeated.

  “It’s definitely cancerous?” Bristol says with a catch in her throat.

  “Looks like it. The edges are irregular and poorly defined.”

  “I assume there will be a biopsy to confirm.”

  “Yes.”

  Tears start streaming down Bristol’s face. I’m too afraid to cry. Brick looks like he’s having a private conversation with himself. His head is shaking back and forth and he’s pacing.

  “What’s my odds of survival?”

  “If it’s stage one it means it’s small and the cancer hasn’t spread. You can be cured. It’s a less aggressive tumor and hasn’t traveled to other soft tissue like the lungs. Then we remove it surgically and that’s it.”

  “What’s the other outcome?”

  “If it’s an aggressive tumor it will move quickly. But let’s not go there now. I’m going to consult with my colleagues Dr. Smith a surgical oncologist and Dr. Weinstein an orthopedic oncologist. We’ll gather our team, including Dr. Dennis an eminent Pathologist.”

  I’m shocked silent. Out of left field came this unexpected horror that has taken away my ability to think straight.

  “You’re a very lucky man, Mr. Tom,” the doctor says, turning off the light box and pulling down the report.

  “How do you figure?” I say slightly disgusted with his opinion.

  The doctor walks to my bedside and points a finger at me.

  “This could have hidden in your muscle for a few more months until it became so big you’d have symptoms. And along with a growth in size it would be more aggressive.”

  Five minutes ago I thought a broken arm was the end of things. I was wrong.

  As he makes his way ou
t of the room, he drops a final comment.

  “I’m going to schedule your surgery as soon as possible. You’ll be here for at least three more days.”

  And then we’re alone. No one knows what to say first. I’m so locked inside my head right now. Bristol is still squeezing my hand and Brick’s taking his phone from his pocket.

  “Who do you want me to call? Your sister?”

  “No. Don’t tell anyone till the surgery is over. I don’t want anyone to worry if they don’t have to. If it’s bad, then we’ll fill them in.”

  “I want my family to know,” Bristol says. “Prayers. You need their prayers. Besides, they love you. Like I do.”

  The last word fades as her tears come harder. I open my arm and take her in a half embrace. She climbs onto the bed, being careful to avoid my right side.

  “I’ll call Mom and Dad and tell them to keep it to themselves until you give me the go ahead,” Brick says.

  He walks out, leaving Bristol and I to ourselves. Like two lone survivors of a terrorist attack. We just hold on to each other and cry.

  “It’s going to be alright. I’m sure of it.”

  But I know she’s never been so unsure of anything. I begin to gather my thoughts.

  “I want you to call Jude as soon as you think the family is up. Let him know his running away saved my life. Tell him it’s a secret he needs to keep, and I’ll call him as soon as the surgery is over. I want him to come visit me.”

  Her nodding head nestled in my neck is Bristol’s only answer.

  Life is strange. Rarely have I been able to count on consistency. Not in my personal life and not in my professional life. The one thing that reoccurs is the unknown.

  Having to adapt is a theme for me. I’m good at it by now, but this twist puts my talent to the test. Can I cope? What if it’s the worst? How will I bear the realization that my dream of making a family with Bristol will never come true?

  The picture of us growing old together was so clear in my mind. There was never a doubt. My confidence in that coming true was sharp.

  And what of the other quiet fantasy that’s been getting louder in my head? The one that included Jude. Oh God.