by Lorena May
Maybe what I did helped her out, after all. But what I remember from that night is the sight of her crouched in the corner of her mattress, her wide, terrified eyes staring at me. It’s an image I’ve carried with me over the past thirteen years. Alyssa awoke and immediately took over, as usual. Henry’s inert body lay on Julie’s mattress, blood seeping from his crushed head. Alyssa had to crawl by him and pick Julie up to carry her from the room, yelling at me to come with them. I stood in a frozen daze. Alyssa came back and grabbed me by the arm. She called 9-1-1. I remember the strong smell of smoke as I buried my head in our old couch. The three of us huddled there in the dark until the police came. “Can I come with her?” Alyssa asked as they took me away. But they took Alyssa and Julie somewhere else.
In my memory that night is a collage of screams, terror, sirens, paramedics, shuffling feet and the feeling of being protected, finally. Weird.
Julie, it turned out, was adopted by her new foster-parents; a loving middle-aged couple who adored her. Her parents, she calls them. They took her for intensive counselling, enrolled her in dance, swimming lessons, soccer and piano and gave her every advantage she could ever have wanted. I know that in return they got the sweetest, most appreciative daughter in the world. And now my little cousin is a young woman; accomplished, confident and absolutely lovely. She exudes a gentle goodness. It oozes from her.
My heart does a little skip just thinking about her as I putter around the house, half-heartedly tidying and gathering laundry. Ben has gone in to catch up at work, so I’ve got the day to fill with mindless tasks. I feel up to them today; Julie has been a breath of fresh air.
The phone rings. I scurry to the kitchen to answer it. “Hello?”
“Shea?” It’s a strange, robotic voice.
“Yes?”
“I know where your baby is.”
I feel myself shaking, my stomach flutters. “Where?”
“Come to me and you’ll see.”
“What?” Do you have her?”
“Come and you’ll see.”
“Where?” I feel dizzy as I reach for a pencil and the pad of paper on the island near the phone.
The caller speaks in a monotone. “I’m just outside town a few miles. Take Highway 2 to just outside the city limits. Turn left on Range Road 254 and drive south about five miles until you get to Beaver Flats Road. Turn right onto it and I’m about eight miles down that road. You’ll see a white mail-box. Turn in there. It’s a log cabin with a red roof. Come by yourself. Do not tell anyone where you are going. Do not call the police. If you follow these instructions implicitly your baby will live. Repeat that back to me.”
I read back the instructions I’ve written, adding, “I’ll come by myself and not tell anyone. I won’t call the police.”
The voice says, “Leave now. Do not leave behind the instructions you have just written. I am watching.”
I rip the top page from the pad, shove it in the pocket of my shorts, grab my purse and run to my car. For the first time since Cassandra disappeared I’m filled with hope. I drive by a school-yard with kids playing, and I know I will see her there one day. We’ll take her for walks and spend every waking moment with her and I’ll never let her out of my sight again. Happiness flows through me, as I drive, glancing now and then at the instructions.
When I see the big, white mailbox on a post I turn onto a narrow, winding, gravel road. It’s surrounded by trees and bush. Stopping in front of a small, neglected-looking, wood cabin I jump out of the car, slamming the door. Then I stand and look. There is no sign that anyone is here. Am I at the right place? The house is surrounded with wild grasses and brush. I walk up to the door, staring into the dusty windows, trying to see something; anything that will give me a clue as to what is going on. I take a deep breath and knock. The door opens immediately.
I feel like I’ve been punched by a fist under the ribs. The air is knocked out of me. My knees almost buckle.
There in the doorway stands Kyle, our roomer, with a big, silly smile on his face. Is this some kind of sick joke?
“You came!” he says, and he wraps me in his arms and picks me up from the ground, lifting me to the cabin floor. I don’t know what to think or say or do, so I just stand there, open-mouthed, staring at him. He moves around the room making a big production of popping the cork on a bottle of wine and pours two glasses.
“Time for a celebration,” he says, holding one out to me. I take it without really thinking and stand there holding it.
“Do you know where Cassandra is?” I ask.
“She’s safe,” he tells me. And now we can be together.” He brushes my glass with his.
I just stand there, dumbfounded. “Is she here? Where is she?”
He takes my glass and sets it on the counter. Then he moves to stand in front of me, enclosing me in his arms, clasping my buttocks in his big hands, pulling me close to him. One hand moves to the small of my back, and he kisses me hard.
I’m horrified. I pull away from him and push on his chest with both hands, almost knocking him over. “Where is my baby?” I scream.
He gives me an incredulous stare. Then his voice takes on a wheedling tone. “Baby, I did this for us. This cabin, the whole thing . . . it was so we could be together. Don’t you understand?” He takes my hands in his and leads me to a bed in the corner of the room. But I balk and he has to forcibly pull me there, yanking painfully on my arms. His eyes glimmer. He’s becoming angry.
“I just want my baby!” I cry, over and over again. My eyes are squeezed shut, and all I can see or feel is a stark red desperation. He grips my forearms painfully, and throws me onto the bed. I land with a thump, curling into a ball. I feel him standing over me.
I can hear him huffing, and I peer through half-open eyes. His hands are clenched, his chest heaving as he glares down at me. I watch him close his mouth and take deep breaths. He speaks breathlessly, attempting calm. “It’ll be okay. It’s a shock, I know. I should have told you. You’ll be okay soon.”
“Told me WHAT?” I scream at him. “Someone phoned me and told me they’d give me my baby back.”
His eyebrows furrow, and he looks at me through narrowed eyes. He runs his hands through his hair, confused Then, reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a little device, and he grins conspiratorially. “I had to disguise my voice in case you needed some in-person persuasion. And I see that you do.” He bends down, thrusting his big body on top of me. I can’t breathe. I can’t move. He kisses my neck, my cheek, his wet mouth moving around my face. I feel his hardness pressing into me. Oh my God! Help!
I twist my head away and struggle to be free of him, writhing with all my might. But he’s too heavy. I can barely move. I scream and thrash my head back and forth. Suddenly, he stops, and leans on one elbow, holding me with a leg and his other arm, looking down at me as I cry and wriggle and flail. Uselessly.
“I can see you need some time to think about things,” he says, finally. Climbing off the bed, he strolls over to the counter as if he hadn’t a care in the world. He fills a needle with an amber liquid. I sit and stare. Looking around I see a large rustic room, dirty and rough, with a wood floor, a counter and a table near the door. Two small windows face the front of the cabin. There is no escape. I would have to run past him to reach the door, and I’m no match for him. Still smirking, he approaches me, holding the needle in front of him.
“Hate to do this, my baby, but we need to calm you down for a while. I’ll give you some time to come to your senses.” I scramble to sit and huddle as far from him as I can, but he climbs onto the bed and moves toward me. I can smell sweat and soap; a mixture that sickens me now. Firmly, he grips my arm and shoves the needle in, injecting the fluid into me. Then he cups my chin in his hand, and kisses my deadened lips. “Just relax, Shea, my own little Shea. Just relax,” he purrs. I lay back, woozy and weak. I hardly notice as he binds my hands and feet and ties me to the bed posts.
I don’t know if he leaves the cabin or
just goes somewhere I can’t see, but he is gone and I lie there thinking.
He’s crazy. Some kind of psychopath. He thinks I want this. He thinks that getting rid of Cassandra paves the way for us to be together. And I remember, with horror, all the times I cried and complained to him about how tired I was of it all. How Ben was never there and I couldn’t cope with the constant screaming. About how I didn’t think I was cut out to be a mother. I shudder, remembering that I even said, once, that I wished I’d never gotten married. That all I did was drudge housework and look after a screaming baby. And hadn’t I led him to believe I was attracted to him? Hell, I WAS attracted to him. Sometimes I’d even thought, “Why am I here? Why didn’t I marry someone understanding, always there for me, non-judgemental, more like myself - like him? But I’d never told him I loved him. Except for that one kiss, we’d never been together. I’d never led him to believe I was serious about wanting out of my marriage – out of motherhood . . . Had I? Yes, I probably had.
I look at the rope binding me, and I realize if I don’t go along with what he wants, he will kill me. A man that is crazy enough to kidnap a baby, lure me out here – to a place he’s bought for me? If I don’t come around soon he’ll kill me. I saw the look in his eye.
Chapter 23
Kyle, September 16, 2018
The ungrateful little bitch! Does she have any idea what I’ve gone through for her? For how long I’ve protected her? Loved her? My fucking patience is wearing thin.
I still remember the day I first saw her. At the Amberley Juvenile Detention Centre. She looked so small and scared. Big dark, purple eyes, vicious, unkempt; a tough, defiant little broad. There she was, stiff-legged, arms crossed in front of her, dragging her feet when the officers hauled her in.
Does she have any idea how many times I cracked the ribs of other kids who picked on her? Kicked the shit out of those who bullied her?
I was the one who listened to her. Watched over her. Then she didn’t even remember me when I showed up looking to rent their basement suite last year! True, I’d lost the glasses and the dark hair, but couldn’t she see that I was that guy who sat with her after she’d been beaten up? The guy who listened to her fuckin’ woes? The one who was always there for her?
I let her go for a while. Biggest fucking mistake of my life. (But I didn’t need a pedophile rap.) Then, when I found her again she was hooked up with that rich ass-hole. I knew that couldn’t last. Knew she’d be bored out of her skull in no time. What in the hell did she see in him? Money, I guess. So I didn’t interfere. We can all use some extra bread. I had to hand it to her. He, with all the money, married her! All the better to divorce you with, big, bad wolf!
Time for me to step back into her life. And it couldn’t have been more perfect. As soon as the marriage glow wore off and the baby was born she was miserable as hell. No shit! I thought. And I was the trusted confidante. I built her up, played the compassionate sap. Not my favorite role. But it’s worked. She’s crazy about me now. Not so crazy about him. I’m the good guy who understands her. Who doesn’t take her for granted and expect her to dote over a screaming kid.
She’ll come around. She’ll recognize the trouble I’ve gone to finding a good home for that baby. (And getting paid for it!) Buying her this cabin, hanging around waiting for her most of my fucking life . . . I know she loves me. That we’re meant for each other, even though it’s been a long, rocky road getting here.
I must admit I thought she’d be more grateful. More understanding of the situation. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to sedate her; tie her up. I was hoping she’d recognize things for what they are. I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt. For now.
Chapter 24
September 16, 2018
Darby is scanning phone records when she receives the call. “Detective Greer speaking,” she says absently. Her voice is mechanical; distracted.
“Darby Greer?” the man’s voice is filled with panic.
“Yes. Who am I speaking to?” Now her attention is on the desperate-sounding voice.
“Darby, Shea’s gone.” It’s Ben Anderson.
“Gone? Has she left you?”
“No, she’s disappeared. Abducted maybe . . . I don’t know. I had some work to do so I went to the office for a couple of hours. She had no plans to go anywhere. When I came home she was gone. I thought maybe she’d run to the store or something, but it’s been seven hours now and she hasn’t come back. I’ve called everyone I can think of . . .”
Could the same sick fuck that took her baby have taken her now? Darby felt a prickling on the back of her neck. “We’ll be right there.”
*
Ben meets them at the door. Every fibre of his body buzzing.
Darby places her hands on his shoulders as if to steady him. “Okay, Ben, sit down. We’ve got some good news.”
A gush of breath escapes his lips and he follows her to the couch, staring anxiously. Mel sits in the chair opposite.
He leans toward the anxious husband, his voice calm. “We’ve uncovered some deleted emails that your tenant, Kyle, sent. He was in touch with a couple desperate for a child, and it looks like they have paid him for your baby. Totally illegal. For some reason, unknown to us at this time, they have been unable to legally adopt so they answered his ad. He told them that he was convincing his girl-friend to give up their baby. That she’d given birth without anyone knowing about it, and that they couldn’t care for the baby. In his emails to them he said that as soon as she agreed he’d deliver the baby to them.”
“They’ve got Cassandra?” Ben gasps. “So she’s alive.” He sinks into the couch.
“We think so. We have an address and phone number, and were just about to contact you when they called. A unit of specially trained officers has been sent to their house. Your baby will be safely returned to you.”
“Ohmygod! Thank-you!” Ben stares at them through eyes brilliant with tears and hope.
Darby and Mel wait a moment for him to compose himself. There are other more urgent matters at hand now.
“But your wife is another matter,” Mel says. Darby is already peering here and there, looking for some clue as to where Shea could be. Ben sits, limp; overwhelmed as the two detectives comb his house.
“Hey! Look at this!” Darby calls from the kitchen. “She’s written instructions on the pad of paper here. The imprint is not too bad.” Mel and Ben race to the kitchen to see her rubbing a pencil across the page. “Voila!” she cries, waving the paper triumphantly. “Got it! We found a deed of sale on Kyle’s computer. Sounds like this is the place.” Winking at Ben she cries, “For such a little girl she’s got a heavy hand! Thank Christ!”
Chapter 25
Shea, September 16, 2018
I doze and sleep and think and remember for what may be hours. Finally, I open my eyes and see his silhouette standing over me, the light from the setting sun streaming in behind him.
How did I not see it? He thinks I’ve wanted this. He thinks we can be together now. I feel the cords digging into my wrists and ankles. My only way out is to play along. I look up and give him a small smile. “Hi, Kyle,” I murmur.
He kneels by the bed, overcome with relief to see me looking kindly at him. “Oh, Shea, you make me so happy.” And he nuzzles his head into my breast, snuffling away. “I knew you’d come around after the initial shock. He looks at me with tear-filled eyes. “I knew you’d realize I did it for us.”
I taste bile. My stomach is revolting, but I force my lips upward and close my eyes a moment. I feel him untying my hands, and I reach up to touch his cheek. “I’m sorry,” I say. My voice sounds groggy. It’s as if I’m looking down on myself playing this phony game. “How’d you get away with it?”
He studies me a moment, as if to determine whether or not I’m sincere. “I’m not sure what you mean,” he says.
“I didn’t know . . .,” I begin.
“No,” he says soothingly. “I knew what you wanted. I knew you wanted us.
But you’re too fuckin’ honorable. I had to do it.”
What did you do? Fear twists my gut. Did you kill my baby? I force myself to appear tranquil. “What did you do, then, Kyle?” I wait impatiently for his answer, my eyes closed. I can’t bear to look at him.
“I came home from work after an appointment and the baby was crying. I searched the house for you and you were nowhere to be found. That was my chance.” His voice sounds jubilant. As if he’d performed a magnificent feat.
“Where did you take her?” I rub his arm lovingly, prodding him on.
“I was in touch with some rich dudes online. They wanted a baby but for one reason or another couldn’t get one. They offered $100 000 for her. Paid on delivery. So, Honey, we’re rich!” He looks at me, his eyes sparkling and holds his palm up. I high-five him and force a bubbly laugh. He’s really into his story now. So proud of what he’s done for us.
She’s alive! My breath catches. I’m playing for both Cassandra and myself now.
He continues, a wicked gleam in his eye. Why did I never see that before? “So I took her down to my suite and phoned them. They were thrilled. They said they’d come immediately. I met them at the gas station around the corner and the deed was done!”
My mind is clicking away. “And you wore a green trench coat?” I asked, giving him an aha look.
“I did!” he chuckles. “And later I took Diane’s key and placed the coat in her closet.” He snorts loudly.
“Smart man! I’ll bet they drove a cream and burgundy Lincoln,” I say, winking at him.
He gives me another high-five. “You got it, Sister!”
“And the bracelet?” I ask. “When did you put it in Ben’s car?”
His eyes are twinkling. “The next day. I had those cops so confused they didn’t know their ass from a hole in the ground.”
“Is that why you sent the note and the picture?” I ask. “To confuse them?”.