Stolen

by James Hunt

  Ken rushed over and placed his hand on the old man’s shoulder, trying to shield him from harm. But the efforts were quickly thwarted with a backhand across the face that sent him to the floor. His left cheek burned, and he lifted a hand to the growing welt.

  Scott yanked Mr. Lanks up by the collar of his shirt and flung him against the wall, where he kept him pinned. The force of the throw knocked a few pictures from the walls, causing them to shatter on the floor. “We’re done trying to hold your hand on this one, geezer. You fucking sell the property, or the next time we go after someone a little more green around the gills.” He thrust his fist into the man’s gut, and Lanks doubled over, falling to the floor. Scott picked up one of the fallen pictures. He knocked away the pieces of broken glass and pulled the paper from its frame. “How old’s your grandson now? Eight? Nine?” He thrust the picture in the old man’s face. “They grow up so fast, don’t they?” He shrugged. “Well, that’s if they grow up at all.” He tossed the picture aside, and Lanks started to cry.

  Ken was still on the floor when Scott walked past, and he kept his head down. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Scott pick up the piece of paper he had tossed at the old man’s feet, which Ken now understood was a land contract.

  Scott slammed the paper onto Lank’s chest, which heaved up and down with his sobbing. “Do yourself and your family a favor. Sign it.” Scott stepped over the old man’s body and peeled off his gloves on his exit out the door.

  Ken watched the old man cry, partly because he wanted to make sure the old timer was still breathing, but more so because he was afraid to step out that door. It might be him on that floor next, or worse, they could send that monster to his family.

  But he couldn’t escape now. He was too far down the rabbit hole. Ken stood, still cradling the wound on his cheek, and joined Scott outside. He saw Scott leaned back on his sedan’s hood with his arms crossed over his chest, staring at him.

  Ken approached wearily, mostly keeping his head down. When he stepped to the driver-side door Scott stopped him. Ken lifted his gaze from Scott’s worn black boots to his eyes. “Listen, I—”

  The pain started like a small ache in the middle of his stomach but then spread like the rippling waves of a pond when you throw a stone in its calm waters. Ken collapsed to his knees, sucking air and clutching his stomach from the heavy blow.

  “You’re not here to negotiate,” Scott said. “You’re not here to help these people pick up the pieces of their shitty lives. You’re here to make sure no one sticks a knife in my back, and to fucking drive.” He reached around to the back of his waistband and pulled a pistol that Ken didn’t even know was there until the cold steel pressed into his forehead. “You pull any shit like that again, and I will bury you out here in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Yeah,” Ken said, his voice trembling. “I got it.” After the concession the pistol was removed from his forehead, and when he opened his eyes Scott was already at the passenger-side door.

  “Let’s go. We’ve got a long day.”

  15

  30 Hours Left

  “Yes, I understand your position, Senator.” Lena pressed her left palm flush against the desk and looked over to Janine, who had the congressman on the phone. Beyond Janine’s desk was the horde of reporters that had gathered outside for her announcement, which had leaked to the press the moment Carla Knox stepped outside. Once that happened, her phone wouldn’t stop ringing. Senators, Congressmen, and fellow members of the state legislature all trying to prevent her from going public. “And I appreciated your support of the bill in my campaigning. But I won’t be changing my mind.”

  Lena slowly lowered herself into the chair, hanging up and sliding the cell phone across her desk and out of reach. She gently rubbed her temples, closing her eyes, and tried focusing on anything other than the relentless murmur of chants outside and the phone’s nonstop ringing. “Just unplug it, Janine.”

  The assistant froze in mid-reach for the next call. “Mrs. Hayes, with everything that’s going on I don’t think that—”

  “If people don’t understand why I’m doing this now, they’re not going to understand after I speak with them.” The calls had been nothing more than a distraction from the looming storm cloud that was the announcement and the repercussions that followed. But somewhere Kaley was afraid, alone, and wondering why someone had taken her and when she could go home. The repercussions could go to hell.

  Lena walked to the kitchen. She cradled her forehead gently with the palm of her hand, and her shoulder slammed into the doorframe of the kitchen’s entrance as she walked past. The floor wobbled unevenly, and she clutched the countertops and hung on for dear life as she felt herself sway from side to side. All of the noise from the past two hours had left her head spinning.

  A light tickle ran up the back of her skull, and she knew the one thing that would take her away from all of this, the one thing that would truly distract her from her daughter’s disappearance. One little prick of a needle in her arm. She clawed her nails into the blue plastic countertops and felt the sharp crack of one of her nails.

  Sweat broke out on her chest, neck, and forehead. Lena backed up until she felt the cool plaster of the wall behind her and focused on slowing her heart rate, and breathing. She slid to the floor and hung her head between her knees. You want the high, but you don’t need it. Bullshit. She knew she needed it. That was addiction.

  After all of the self-acceptance, forgiveness, and steps she went through in rehab, there was only ever one thing that made it really stick, and that was Gwen. Lena dove into the banks of her memory and opened the vault she kept for moments like these, moments when she knew there wasn’t anything to stop her from letting the beast take control.

  The vault’s hinges whined from the weight of the door as Lena pulled it open and peered into the darkness. She took one step forward but then quickly stopped, unsure of whether she would be able to handle seeing it again.

  Eventually, Lena leaned forward enough to stumble inside. A faint cry echoed from the depths of the memory. The deeper she walked, the more the memory sharpened. She felt her foot kick something, and when she looked down an empty bottle of vodka rolled across a carpet spotted with stains. When she glanced up she saw herself passed out on the couch on her back, her head tilted to the side and vomit dribbling down her cheek.

  More cries echoed in the memory, and she looked over to see Gwen, screaming her head off in the crib across the room. She couldn’t have been older than one at the time. Needles and empty syringes dotted the floor. Lena’s sleeve was rolled up to her shoulder, and the crook of the exposed arm was red and scabbed over. She’d be like that for hours, while Gwen cried for food, cried for her mother, cried for someone to come and take her away.

  But no one ever came. Not even Nick. She didn’t know where he was at that moment, but in a little while she would wake and see Gwen passed out in the corner, sick from a diaper rash because she had gotten too high for too long and neglected her own daughter. She examined her former self, passed out on the couch, and felt hate replace the need to use. She took one last look at her daughter’s red, tear-soaked face then left, leaving the past where it was after taking what she needed.

  The vault door to her memories slammed shut, and with it Gwen’s screaming ended. Lena opened her eyes and uncurled the fingers of her fist. Her shirt was nearly soaked in sweat, but her heart had stopped pounding out of her chest. Her knee and hips popped when she pushed herself off the floor, and when she turned the corner to step out of the kitchen she collided into Janine.

  “I’m so sorry.” Janine reached for Lena’s shoulder but then pulled it away after feeling how wet it was. “Are you okay?”

  Lena looked to the phone in Janine’s hand. “Who is it?”

  Janine slowly extended it. “The governor.”

  And a call Lena had been looking to avoid, but it was something that had to be handled sooner or later. “Thanks.” She took the phone and wa
lked to the back of the kitchen, Janine leaving so Lena could be alone. “Good afternoon, Governor.”

  “Mrs. Hayes, it’s nice to hear from you again.” The veteran politician’s tongue was just as plush as she’d heard it on the campaign trail, though he added a heavy dose of regret after the pleasantries. “I’m not sure what there is for me to say about your daughter. As a parent it’s one of the worst tragedies that could ever befall us. You have my deepest sympathies and support.”

  “Thank you, Governor.” Though with the fervor that he’d tried getting in contact with her she knew there was more to come, but the man didn’t become governor of the state without having tact. “I appreciate the call.”

  “This is a time where we need to band together as a community and a state. We need each other more than ever right now.” A silence lingered, and Lena felt him struggle to keep up the act. “You know that I’ve publicly supported you on this bill.” His voice dropped an octave, the smooth political tone disappearing with it. “And if you give in to these demands, then you’ll be putting me in quite the predicament. That’s not something either of us want.”

  “Governor, I appreciate your concern, but—”

  “Oh, we’re far beyond concern, Mrs. Hayes.” He enunciated her name harshly. “You ran an entire campaign against the exploitation of our state by the oil companies tearing it apart, and in that campaign you received very large donations from a variety of parties. Including me.”

  If there was one thing that translated into all aspects of her life that stemmed from her recovery in rehab, then it was the fact that every single person, no matter who they were—their race, economic background, religious beliefs—was an addict. Every person had something in their life that they craved above all else. And in politics, power was the drug of choice, and public opinion was the method of injection. “The press conference is happening, Governor. And there isn’t anything you or the rest of the politicians in this state can do to stop me.”

  That should have been it. Nothing else. Lena knew there wasn’t anything that they had on her. The public already knew about her addiction after she made the announcement at the town hall, and besides her ex-husband, who wasn’t much of a story to begin with, there wasn’t anything left for them to use as blackmail. But she should have known better than to think that an addict wouldn’t try every last door until they got what they wanted. “And how is your oldest daughter handling all of this? Gwen, isn’t it?”

  Heat flushed Lena’s cheeks red, and she tightened her grip on the phone. “This doesn’t have anything to do with my daughters. It never did. Not with Kaley, and not with Gwen. If I hear you even whisper my daughter’s name again public opinion will be the least of your worries.” She slammed the phone on the floor.

  The screen shattered, and Lena kicked it away. Gwen’s screaming in the crib returned. She clenched her fists and shook her head, trying to rid herself of the memory. But ghosts never really leave you—they wait. And then a moment finally comes where they can hurt you again. Lena just never realized that pain would transfer to her daughters.

  It took nearly an hour of hiding out in her room before she could take off, but the moment her mom and Mark had left for town, Gwen ducked out of her window and sprinted at least a mile before she felt comfortable walking. The deputies that were stationed in front of her house were too busy on their phones to notice she’d gone, and by the time they did she’d already made it to Lauren’s house.

  Thin lines of smoke drifted toward the ceiling of the back porch, where the joint was being passed around. Gwen sat in the corner, a red solo cup of orange juice and vodka in her hand, which she’d barely touched. The six girls that were on the porch all went to the same high school, and Gwen was surprised to have gotten the invitation from Lauren at all, considering how the two had gotten in a fight just a few days ago. But in high school there was one thing that trumped even the most deeply hated circles, and that was celebrity. And with the amount of attention Gwen’s family had received in the media she was the talk of the school.

  “Did you see the body?” Lauren asked, her voice a higher pitch from the quick toke, her lips pursed as she held in the smoke and then finally released a cloud that wafted in front of her face and drifted across the porch like a fog.

  “No.” Gwen pressed the rim of the cup to her lips and feigned a sip. “They took it away before I got home.” An elbow nudged her arm. The joint had finally made it to her. She pinched her fingers around the end and then took a long inhale. She held it as long as she could, but her chest and throat tickled, and snickering soon replaced the talk of gossip.

  “Damn, Gwen, you hit that like you’ve never done it before.” Lauren leaned back in her seat and picked up her own red cup that she’d placed on the floor. “Didn’t your mom make you smoke when you were a kid or something?”

  The comment triggered a few more sniggers, which Gwen ignored, and she picked up her cup, shrugging her shoulders. “She got high enough for the both of us when I was a kid.”

  Raucous laughter and squeals erupted. Gwen cracked a half smile, but inside she felt a light rumble of her conscience, beckoning her to stop before she started down a path that she’d regret. But the hazy cloud of adolescent prevented her from seeing the destination of her choices, and she plowed forward unabashedly. “I don’t think there’s anything more embarrassing than a six-year-old who has to drive their mom home from the bar.” She placed her hands on an imaginary steering wheel, jerking the fake car left and right as she swung her body from side to side trying to reach the pedals.

  Most of the girls were clutching their sides, though from the number of times the joint had been passed around Gwen knew that the laughs were most likely from the weed. Lauren took a few sips of her drink and then set it down. “If I’d known you were this funny I would have invited you over a long time ago.”

  The laughter died down, and Gwen stared into the orange liquid in her cup, the weed making her feel more hollow than happy. She brought the rim of the cup to her lips and this time took three long gulps.

  “You think Kaley’s still alive?” Rebecca, her eyes bloodshot red, slumped in her chair with her head resting on her shoulder. “Whoever took her was pissed about what your mom was doing, so she’s gotta be in danger, right?” She lifted her head and then poked Gwen’s arm. “So? You think your sister’s dead or alive?”

  The porch had grown quiet. Half-baked and glazed eyes examined her, waiting for a response. “She’s not my real sister. The only thing that connects us is my druggie mother. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s dead.” She quickly took another sip of alcohol and then downed the rest of the liquid. She reached for the vodka in the middle of the chairs and noticed that there was no laughter, and most of the girls looked away, except for Lauren, who locked eyes with her once she wrapped her fingers around the bottle’s neck.

  “That’s cold, Gwen.” Lauren leaned forward, keeping her head low between her shoulders. “And I’d be careful what you wish for.”

  The silence that lingered in the air was short lived as one of the girls snorted and then burst out laughing. “Sorry,” Sarah said. “I just remembered this video of a squirrel on YouTube.” Her eyes were half-closed, and she barely had control over her motor functions as she slumped lazily in her chair. “It was hilarious.” Laughter quickly replaced the awkward silence, and the joint was passed around for another hit.

  The sliding glass door of the porch opened, and a young girl, around Kaley’s age, Gwen noticed, stood on the edge of the tiny step with a bike helmet already strapped to her head. “Lauren, will you come out front with me?”

  “Not now, Emily. Go back inside.” Lauren reached for the vodka once Gwen had finished and waved her younger sister off.

  “But you promised you would!” Emily stomped her foot in defiance, which tilted the bike helmet on her head forward. She puffed out her lower lip and crossed her arms over her chest.

  Lauren sighed. “All right. I’ll be out t
here in a minute.”

  The young girl squealed with delight and bolted toward the front door, which opened and closed in a blur as Emily burst outside.

  “You girls mind if we move the party out front?” Lauren asked, grabbing the liquor and rising to her feet. No objections were had, and everyone gathered their chairs and cups, some a little slower than others, but Gwen remained on the porch. “Hey,” Lauren called out. “You coming?”

  The booze and weed had started to make Gwen’s head dizzy. She stared at the vodka in her solo cup and nodded. “Yeah. I’m coming.” She joined the girls on their trek through the house, most of the conversation nothing more than how hungry they were, and a detour to the kitchen was immediately recommended and unanimously agreed upon.

  Gwen had just opened a bag of chips when a scream echoed from outside, followed by the rev of a car engine. Every girl froze, the paranoia of the drugs taking over.

  “What the hell was that?”

  “Is it the cops?”

  “I thought your parents were in town for that press conference.”

  But it was Lauren who stumbled to the front door, screaming her sister’s name. “Emily?”

  Gwen followed, the hollow feeling in her stomach intensified. When she stepped outside into the sunlight Lauren hovered over a girl’s bike with training wheels that had been knocked over. The front wheel spun slowly, and down the road she saw taillights, but the vehicle was too far away for her to identify the make and model.

  “Lauren, what is it?” Sarah asked as the rest of the girls stepped out of the house.

  Gwen watched Lauren reach for something in the dirt that had been stuffed between the bike’s wheel spokes. It could have been shock, or a delayed reaction from the drugs and liquor, but the scream that came out of Lauren’s mouth started slow and then built into a deafening crash of fear and pain. When she turned around the note was crumpled in her fist and her face was beet red.