by Sera Trevor
Noah fumbled in his pocket and pulled it out. “When did they take her?” he asked as he dialed.
“I don’t know, I don’t know.” She wailed. “My sweet baby!”
The operator picked up. “911, what is your emergency?”
His vision swam again. When he spoke, his voice sounded far away. “My daughter’s been kidnapped.”
It seemed to take forever for the police and the paramedics to arrive, although in reality it was fifteen minutes. While Noah was on the phone with the 911 operator, Carmen had called her husband. He arrived a few minutes after the others, a wild look in his eyes. He was sitting with Carmen now as the paramedics went over her injuries and one of the officers took her statement. The paramedics were saying they wanted to take her to the hospital. She didn’t want to go.
But Noah couldn’t pay much attention to them. He had to answer the questions the officer was asking him. It was hard to concentrate. He kept seeing Bette being taken in his mind, over and over. She would have been screaming. Was she screaming still? Was she scared?
“Mr. Henderson?” The officer gave him a searching look. He looked about Noah’s age, a little on the heavy side, with thick brown hair and a surprisingly soft voice.
“Sorry,” Noah said. “What was the question?”
“Your parents’ rental car. Do you remember the make and model?”
“Honda Civic. White. The license plate started with 2XJW.” He remembered because he had made a wistful wish that it had been true—two ex-Jehovah’s Witnesses.
The officer made a note of it. “Do you know the rental company?”
He shook his head. “They picked it up at the airport.”
“When?”
Noah gave him the date, which also got scribbled down. “And do you have any idea where they might be headed?”
He started to say no, but then he remembered. His stomach sank. “They mentioned a friend in Mexico.”
“Did they say where?”
While Noah struggled to remember, Miguel came up behind him. “Mexico City,” he said. “That is where they said their friend is—Maria. But we can stop them at the border, yes?”
A shot of adrenaline rushed through Noah. “You’re right. Why are we just standing here? We need to do something!”
“You are doing something,” the officer said, his voice kind. “You’re helping us. We will do everything in our power to get your daughter back. You’ve given us a lot of leads already.” He closed his notebook. “Can I get a picture of Bette, and of your parents?”
“I have a picture,” Carmen said from across the room. She pulled out a photo album from a cabinet and brought it to Noah and the officer. “Pick one.”
There were a lot to choose from. Noah peeled out one of the most recent—she was sitting on her play mat, smiling at the camera. She smiled so much.
A wave of grief threatened to knock Noah off his feet. He handed it to the officer. “I don’t have any pictures of my parents. We’re estranged. But I can talk to my uncle. He might have one.”
The officer slipped the photo in the notebook. “Have your uncle bring it by the station as soon as possible.”
The officers stepped aside and conferred. Meanwhile, the paramedics won the fight. Carmen would go to the hospital, after all. Miguel wanted to go with her, but she shook her head. “You stay with Noah until Oscar gets here.”
“Si, amorcito.” Miguel kissed her and murmured something in Spanish.
The paramedics left with Carmen. Noah got out his phone. He called Zeke first. His own voice sounded mechanical as he related what had happened and asked for the picture. Zeke said he had one that he’d bring to the police right away.
Once that was over, it was time to call Oscar. Something in him resisted. Let him have another five minutes, or ten minutes, when his life was still intact. He sank to the sofa, paralyzed.
The couch dipped beside him. “Do you want me to call him?” Miguel asked gently.
Noah couldn’t speak. He nodded and handed the phone over. God, he was so useless.
Miguel went to the other room. Noah heard him speaking but couldn’t make out the words. He put his head in his hands and tried to breathe, but even that was hard. He couldn’t do anything.
Miguel returned and handed the phone back to him. “He’s on his way.” He put a hand on his shoulder. “We will get her back.”
He sounded so sure. Did he really believe it, or was he just saying it for Noah’s benefit?
The brown-haired officer returned. “Good job remembering the partial license. We were able to track down the rental company and get the full plate. We’ve alerted the border patrol.”
“I think you will catch them,” Miguel said. “They’re very stupid to think we wouldn’t figure out where they were going.”
Noah bit his lip. Mexico was only a guess. Who knew what they were thinking? Or maybe they had gotten through already. They had a two-hour head start, according to Carmen.
“There’s a good chance,” the officer agreed. “We have a lot to go on. I’m going to pass this info along to the detective assigned to this case, but he’ll want to go over it with you again. The media will probably want to talk to you, too.”
The media? Noah blinked. Of course the media would pick up the story. It was just the sort of thing for the 11 o’clock news. His stomach lurched.
And that was it. The officers left. That was good. They needed to go do their job to bring Bette back. But it also left Noah feeling abandoned, especially since Miguel got on the phone to call the rest of the Lozadas. Noah sat back down on the sofa and concentrated on the only thing he could do: hold himself together.
He managed until Oscar came flying through the front door, his eyes crazed. Noah rose to meet him. Oscar’s arms enveloped him in the nick of time, because his legs gave out. Sobs racked his body.
“We’ll find her,” Oscar said, his face buried in Noah’s neck. “We’ll find h-her.” But then Oscar’s whole body shuddered, and he let out a sound somewhere between a wail and a moan, and then he was crying too. Oscar never cried.
They sank to the floor, still wrapped in each other’s arms. Noah got a blurry-eyed glance at the clock. It had only been an hour since he’d found Carmen in the closet.
How had their entire lives fallen apart in so short a time?
11
The next few hours went by in a blur. The rest of the Lozadas arrived one by one. Nikki and Stephanie got there first, followed by Alex and Chad. Sophia called. She would be there by morning.
Zeke came as well, and so did Crystal. Bette was her baby too, in a way, so Jeremy stayed home with the kids. The whole house was abuzz. Chad and Stephanie took some more pictures of Bette and set off to make posters and pass them out. Miguel and Nikki called everyone they knew to get help with the search. Carmen was released from the hospital and returned home.
Detective O’Connor, a tired-looking older man with auburn hair, came to go over Noah’s statement, but had no news. After that, the reporters started calling. Alex declared herself the media liaison. Noah was right. They did make the eleven o’clock news. He got a terrible shock when his phone blared out an Amber alert. How many times had he been annoyed by the interruption when it was someone else’s kid?
After midnight, Zeke left first to get a few hours of sleep; he would be taking care of Rebecca at the hospital for now. Noah asked him not to tell her what had happened. He hoped by the time he had to explain it, Bette would be back in his arms.
The Lozadas split up, each taking a car and heading for the border. Noah, Carmen, and Crystal stayed home to wait for any news. Time warped, seeming to stand still and fast forward at the same time. Over and over again, he imagined the abduction. His mother grabbing a screaming Bette. His father beating Carmen and tying her up.
And it was his fault. He brought his parents to California. And now Oscar and his whole family were paying for it.
Panic gave way to numbness. He sat on the sofa unmoving,
hating himself for being useless but unable to muster the energy to even think of what to do. At around eight o’clock in the morning, his phone rang. It was the detective.
Noah answered it, his heart pounding. “Hello?”
“Mr. Henderson? This is Detective O’Connor.”
“Is it the detective?” Carmen asked. “Put it on speaker!”
Noah pushed the button and set the phone on the table. “Yes. Do you have news?”
“Yes, but not good news. Your parents’ rental vehicle was found just south of the border, abandoned. We’re working with the Mexican authorities to gather witnesses. We’ll let you know as soon as we hear anything.”
The call ended. The three of them stared at the phone in silence, processing. Bette was gone. Truly gone.
Carmen let out a wail. “I should have stopped them! Why wasn’t I stronger?” She put her face in her hands and wept.
Noah put a hand on her back. “It’s not your fault.” His voice cracked. “It’s my fault. I brought them here.”
“Oh no, Noah! Don’t say such a thing!” She pulled him into a hug, and they cried together.
Crystal intervened after a few minutes. “Why don’t you two lie down? I’ll call everyone and let them know the news.”
She didn’t need to, for at that moment, Oscar came stumbling inside. “Any word?”
Noah opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come.
“They found the car,” Crystal said. “Abandoned just south of the border.”
Oscar swayed. Noah reached him just in time before he could collapse. He led him over to the sofa, hoping that he wouldn’t pass out. While Noah tried to bring Oscar around, Crystal leaned down and spoke quietly to Carmen, something about giving the two of them space. They left the room.
“I didn’t bring my passport,” Oscar said. “I’m such a fucking idiot! If I could have gotten across the border, maybe I would have spotted them. But I had to turn around.” He met Noah’s gaze. “What are we gonna do?” And then he was sobbing, his whole body heaving.
Noah put his arms around Oscar as he cried, trying to comfort him. But what could he say? He didn’t know how to deal with this. Oscar was the strong one. He was the one who handled everything.
Crystal returned. “Come on, you two. You need to get some sleep.”
Oscar stopped crying long enough to glare at her. “How the fuck am I going to go to sleep? My daughter is gone.”
“Then lie down, at least. You aren’t any good to her if you can’t function. I’ll update the others.”
She had a point. He and Oscar went to the guest bedroom. Noah decided to take a shower. He hoped that Oscar would be asleep by the time he was done. He couldn’t bear his sorrow. But Oscar was still awake, lying flat on his back on the bed with his phone held above him, the blue light casting an eerie light on his face.
“Do you know how many kidnappings there are in Mexico every year?” Oscar asked. “Over a thousand last year. Do you know how many kidnappers they catch?”
Noah rubbed his face. “Oscar—”
“One percent. That’s it.” Oscar threw his phone on the bed and curled on his side, his eyes shut. “Fuck. Fuck!”
Noah sat down beside him. “I’m sorry.”
Oscar pushed himself up to his elbows. “Why the fuck are you sorry?” He sounded more perplexed than accusatory.
Still, Noah flinched. “I don’t know. It’s just—none of this would have happened if I hadn’t called my parents. I should have known better.”
Oscar sat all the way up. “Christ, Noah—do you even hear yourself? They kidnapped Bette, not you. Stop letting them off the hook for their shitty behavior!”
It was like a slap. “I’m not letting them off the hook,” he said when he’d recovered.
“Then why do you keep saying sorry? Every time they do something horrible, you’re the one who’s sorry.” Oscar pointed at him. “And if the next words out of your mouth are an apology, I am going to scream.”
Noah opened his mouth and shut it again. “What do you want me to say?”
“I want you to say, ‘fuck them.’“
Noah swallowed. “Fuck them,” he said weakly.
“Louder.”
Noah clenched his fists. “Fuck them!” he shouted. It felt good.
“That’s right—fuck them. Fuck every last thing that they have ever done to you, and your sister, and your uncle. Fuck them for hurting my mom and fuck them for stealing my daughter!” His voice broke off in a choked sob.
They lay down together and wrapped their arms around each other, Oscar’s head on Noah’s chest, Noah’s chin tucked over his head. “I feel so helpless,” Oscar said. “The Mexican police aren’t going to give two shits about some random American baby.”
Noah pulled back and made Oscar look at him. “If I can’t apologize, then you can’t be bitter. Deal?”
Oscar sighed. “Fair enough.” He leaned on Noah’s chest again. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Within a few minutes, Oscar drifted off to sleep. He always was able to sleep whenever and wherever. Noah joked that it was a superpower. He, on the other hand, often had trouble. Exhaustion pulsed through him, but he’d be surprised if he slept at all.
He extracted himself from Oscar’s embrace and sat by the window, aimlessly scrolling through his phone as his mind wandered. Oscar was right. He was always taking the blame for his parents. Because if it was his fault, then that meant it was in his power to fix it. All his life, he had placated them, apologized, done everything except confront them. A part of him believed that if he did everything right, he could make them change. Or at the very least, get them to stop hurting him.
It never worked. And now came this, the worst blow yet. It was as if his parents had hurled him off a cliff when he was a child, and he had only now landed and shattered on the hard ground. But there was something strangely freeing about it. They literally couldn’t hurt him any worse.
Now he had two choices. He could either lie there in the hole they had thrown him in—or he could climb his way out.
The police station was cold. Noah folded his arms around himself and shivered. Exhaustion kept threatening to take him, even after his third cup of stale coffee. Beside him, Oscar was a ball of barely suppressed energy. His jaw was clenched, his shoulders hunched. He looked ready to fight, as usual.
Noah was feeling ready to fight himself. They’d been called into the station to answer more questions and meet with the FBI agent, but they’d been waiting for over an hour. All around them, the station buzzed, but not with the kind of excitement that you’d expect from TV shows. It was more of a drone.
At last, they were shown into a back room. Noah looked around—an interrogation room? Nothing but a table and chairs. The florescent lights washed out any color.
A few moments later, Detective O’Connor entered the room accompanied by a man in a suit, carrying a cup of coffee. His black hair was streaked with white, but a splash of freckles on his face made him seem younger. “Sorry to make you wait,” O’Connor said, shaking both of their hands. “This is Agent Caldwell with the FBI. Since this is an international case, the FBI will be helping to coordinate the investigation.”
They took a seat. “First of all,” Caldwell said. “I want to express my condolences for what you’re going through—”
“What are you doing to get our daughter back?” Oscar interrupted.
Caldwell inclined his head. “Agents in our facility in the American embassy are coordinating with Mexican authorities to be on the lookout for your daughter.”
Oscar narrowed his eyes. “What does that mean, ‘be on the lookout’? Are they conducting searches? Gathering leads?”
“We are all working to the best of our ability to ensure the safe return of your daughter,” Caldwell said.
“That’s not an answer.” Oscar hit the table. “Tell me what, in detail, you are doing to bring my daughter home!”
Noah
put his hand on Oscar’s arm. “Oscar,” he said quietly before turning to Caldwell. “I’m sorry, this has been hard on us.”
“I completely understand,” Caldwell said. “This is a heartbreaking case.”
Oscar scowled. “We don’t need your sympathy. We need you to do your jobs!”
The detective and the agent exchanged looks. This time, O’Connor spoke. “We don’t have any jurisdiction in Mexico. Neither does the FBI. As Agent Caldwell said, we are working with the Mexican authorities—”
“—who have a one percent success rate in solving kidnappings!” Oscar was almost shouting now.
Noah put his hand on Oscar’s shoulder and leaned in to speak in his ear. “Not helping,” he murmured. Oscar shut his eyes and took in a breath. His tension eased, but only a little.
“Most of the kidnappings in Mexico are related to the drug cartels,” Caldwell pointed out. “Your case is different. We know who took her, and you’ve given us some good leads where they’re headed. Every effort is being made.”
“I know it’s hard,” O’Connor added. “I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re going through. Both myself and Agent Caldwell will be in contact. You will know everything the moment that we do.”
“And so we’re, what? Supposed to just do nothing?” Oscar asked.
Noah shared his frustration. The idea of going back to normal life was unfathomable. Although Noah’s life hadn’t been normal for weeks now. He didn’t even have a job to distract him.
A thought came to him. “Could we go to Mexico?”
Oscar perked up. “That’s a great idea!”
O’Connor raised his eyebrows. “If you have passports, I can’t stop you. But I’d be careful putting yourselves in harm’s way. That won’t help your daughter.”
“And Mexico is a big country,” Caldwell added. “We don’t know where they are.”
“They’re going to Mexico City,” Noah said. “I’m sure of it.”
“I’ll agree that it seems likely,” O’Connor admitted. “But we can’t be totally sure. And you won’t endear yourself to local law enforcement by making demands.” He gave Oscar a pointed look.