Gone, page 8
I grab the first thing I see—a pencil—and I hurl it across the room. Madness creeps in from every corner. Tightly, my jaw grinds.
He looks between us. “I recommend you don’t talk to the news. Let us handle that. Stay around the house and inside. Don’t read the papers. Don’t go online.”
“Fuck. You.” I drag Mom from the chair, throw open the door, and stalk out.
I sit on the floor of the studio, staring deliriously at Grandpa’s files while Carl stares deliriously at me. I want to throw the files across the room, but I make myself breathe, and think. A notepad is balanced on my knee. I begin jotting notes:
40 years ago, the first child was abducted.
What’s the abductor’s motivation?
Ten boys total, random timeline.
None recovered.
All middle-class, Caucasian families.
Last one taken five years ago, coinciding with Tom Lager and the cellar.
Is Evan Lager his brother? His son? Not biologically, no.
Evan is mid-thirties, possibly forty.
Could he be the first boy taken????
My pencil taps that last question.
Not too long ago, I began reading a criminology book. There were detailed cases on abductions, specifically one about a teenage girl who escaped her abductor. Unable to remember who had taken her and what had happened during her captivity, she began “playacting”—is what the author called it—where she would lock herself in a dark room, desperately trying to remember what had happened. She drove herself mad and later committed suicide, her case unsolved.
What am I suggesting here? That Evan Lager was playacting? Did he take the boys in hopes it would help him remember his own past?
Carefully, I study the picture of the boy kidnapped forty years ago. I search for Evan in his little face but don’t see it. Then again, with Evan’s fully developed adult body and beard, it’s hard to say.
I pick up Randy’s photo, scrutinizing the eyes and lines of his face. Like the last few times I’ve studied it, something does seem familiar about him.
On my phone, I bring up the photo that I took of the black-painted wall with the red lettering.
be a good boy and you can go home
“Your neighbor, Evan, is dead,” I say, showing Carl the picture.
Frowning, he considers the photo.
“‘I’m a good boy.’ You said that to me. You wouldn’t have used that terminology if you didn’t know about this wall. Your prints didn’t show up in Evan’s place. But you’ve been there. I know it.”
Silence.
Next, I show him the snapshot of the boys’ clothes. “Who took their clothes off?”
He looks away.
“Tell me where they are.”
Carl starts to cry.
It only serves to irritate me.
I look again at the photo of the words on the wall. With shaky fingers, I zoom in, noting for the first time a peace symbol lightly sketched into the o in home. So light, I wonder if Owens noticed it.
Suddenly energized, I flip through the notepad, searching for my description of the corpse I found in Father Richards’ storm cellar. He wore a peace sign around his neck. Evan and Tom Lager may not share DNA, but they share a last name and a peace sign.
The door to the soundproof room swings open.
My heart lurches to my throat. “Mom,” I breathe.
When I left her, she’d just taken a sleeping pill. She shouldn’t be driving. Wait, we only have one vehicle. How did she get here?
Clutching a paper bag, she fumbles with words, but nothing comes out.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“How did you get here?”
“Uber.”
“You took an Uber? Jesus Christ.”
“I had him drop me off a couple of blocks away. I’m not stupid.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
She takes a slow step in, peering at Carl. “I was hoping you’d taken care of him.”
Her words jab me with icy prickles. “What do you mean?”
“I grabbed all your grandpa’s pills and dumped them in this bag.” She holds it up. “Carl could overdose on them.”
For a moment, I simply stare at her.
“You started this. You’re the one who took him. You got Grace involved. Me, too. This isn’t your decision to make. I won’t have you going to jail. Or Grace. Or even me. I need to protect all of us.” She shoves the bag under her arm, trying to be brave, but starting to cry.
“I’m not giving up. They found clothes and toys. Not bodies…” They found clothes, yes, most with brand new Dollar Store tags. Only a few items belonged to Tyler and Luca. And the toys.
Bitterly, she says, “Tyler’s jeans were there.”
The toys… His jeans, wallet, and two toys—Superman and a Stormtrooper. He didn’t even like those toys. If he was going to carry an action figure on him, it would be Spider-Man.
I’m about to say as much to Mom, when she says, “What do you think is going to happen? He’s not coming back. He’s gone.” Her voice cracks. “My baby’s gone.” She falls to her knees, sobbing. “I see him. I hear him. I smell him. It has to stop.” Mom wipes the tears from her face, trying in vain to calm herself.
She fumbles with the bag, opening it and taking out a handful of pills. “Help me get them down Carl’s throat. We’ll dump his body somewhere. I don’t know where. We’ll bleach this place. Or hell, let’s burn it down.”
“Mom…” I crawl over the files and across the floor. She begins sobbing again, and I hold her. “Let me take you home.”
A scratched whisper floats across the air. “They’ll go free if they’re good boys.”
I freeze.
Mom yanks away from me. “What did he say?”
“They’ll go free if they’re good boys.”
“Where are they? How do I get to them?” I go to Carl. “It’s okay, tell me. I’ll let you free. Please just tell me.”
I wait. And wait. Tension builds in me to an excruciating level that has me visibly shaking.
Trembling, Carl’s breath quickens. Then, he giggles, slow and knowing. The sound enrages me. Abrupt darkness moves in on me. Jabbing. Prodding. Swallowing me whole.
I want to hurt him. Badly.
I breathe—in, out, in. But it’s not me who screams and launches herself at Carl. It’s Mom.
“Tell us. Tell us. TELL US!” she yells.
Lunging to my feet, I pull her off of him. She whirls on me and smacks me across the face. “You were supposed to be watching Tyler. Why weren’t you watching him?”
I’m so shocked, I don’t respond. She’s never hit me before.
She gives me a hateful look, before bursting into tears and rushing from the room.
I listen to the back door open, then slam shut. I listen to her crank the truck’s engine. I listen to the tires squeal.
I keep standing, half expecting her to come back.
But she doesn’t.
When I turn back to Carl, I see him staring at the photo of Tyler and Luca that I taped to the wall.
“Do you want to go home?” I ask.
Carl’s swollen and bruised head turns toward me. He whimpers.
“Is that a yes?”
He screams.
Calmly, I gather the files.
He thrashes, his screams turning to screeches.
I put the files into the box. I look at him, and I scream just as loudly.
His body curls and uncurls, fighting against the duct tape wrapped tightly around him. Baring his teeth, he hisses.
I hiss back.
Carl goes ballistic, trying to break free.
“Good luck with that. You’re not getting out until I want you to.”
He rolls across the floor, leaving a smear of bodily fluid in his wake. He comes to a stop at the paper bag full of pills and he starts eating the bag. Grabbing his hair, I yank him back. I tower over him, my fists clenched, staring down into his cadaver-like face. Unlike every other time I’ve looked at Carl, this time’s he’s there. His eyes have a presence.
“They won’t go free now. Evan was their only hope.” His words come clear, factual, and taunting.
My jaw clenches. “Tell me where they are. I’ll let you go. Just tell me.”
I wait.
But there’s no more. Carl’s once again gone blank.
It takes me an hour to walk home. I find the truck haphazardly parked in the front yard. But I don’t go inside, instead, I walk around to Tyler’s window. Flicking on my flashlight, I study the ground and the row of spindly bushes that will be full come spring. I note a few broken branches and kneel to look more closely at the ground. Underneath, I find a partial footprint. With the frozen weather though, I can’t tell if it’s new or old.
I snap a photo of it. Yet something else Owens should have caught.
Inside the house, I place the bag of pills Mom brought on the kitchen counter. Then I enter Tyler’s room. Carefully, I study the unopened boxes. The one labeled TOYS draws my attention. The shipping tape has been peeled and re-stuck. I was the one who packed that box, neatly stacking his toys with clothes in between. But when I open it, I find it rifled through.
Mom appears in the doorway, her face puffy and flushed from lack of sleep. I look and feel the same way. “I’m sorry,” she says, her voice groggy. “About earlier. I’m sorry I slapped you.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Pulling the box over, I sit down on Tyler’s bed.
“It does matter. I’m sorry.”
“Okay.”
“What are you doing?” She moves closer.
“Did you open this?”
“No.”
“Tyler wouldn’t have had Superman and a Stormtrooper on him. He didn’t even like those toys.” I point to the box I just opened. “I think Evan Lager broke in and took them. There’s a partial footprint outside the window.”
“That footprint could be from anyone.”
“Or it could be Evan’s.”
“Are you saying he came in here and took… trophies?”
“No. Evan bought them clothes from the Dollar Store. He washed the ones they were wearing. He broke in here and took Tyler’s toys. I think Evan planned on keeping them, not killing them.” Carl said Evan was their only hope, I want to say but don’t. The last thing I need is her running back over to the studio. “Mom, I think Evan took Tyler’s things to make him feel more at home. I think Evan was one of the missing boys Grandpa investigated. I think he was playacting, trying to remember his past. They’re alive. I know it.”
She sighs. “Stop it. I can’t do this anymore. Let it go. Just let it go.” Fresh tears fill her eyes. She opens her mouth to say more, but nothing comes. Instead, she leaves the room.
He said his name was Tom Lager, but I think he gave me a fake name. Said he’d taken some boys, right in broad daylight. Did bad things to them. Even buried them on his property after they died.
Come day-break, I’m going straight to Evan Lager’s place. The cops should be cleared out by then. I’ll have the whole place to myself. The boys are there. I know it.
THIRTEEN
Friday, 4 a.m.
Curled on a mattress and lying on the floor, Tyler opened his eyes. In the dark, he saw Luca sleeping beside him. Other than the mattress they were both on, the room had no furniture, no windows. How long had they been down there?
Days, he thought.
On the black-painted wall, the red letters gloomed.
be a good boy and you can go home
What did that mean? They’d both been good boys. They did whatever they were told. Why couldn’t they go home?
Tyler started to stand up. His vision distorted. He struggled to steady himself. Things normalized just enough to note the hatch above them was open.
Was the bearded man about to come down? Every time he did, he gave them things: fresh clothes and food, toys and books, like they were going to be there a while. He even brought Tyler Wally, his stuffed hamster. The man liked Tyler’s Spider-Man wallet. That’s why Tyler gave it to him.
The man talked to them, too. Until the voice outside told him to close and lock the hatch.
It’d been a while since the bearded man came though. Tyler missed him. Sort of.
He didn’t miss the other one, the one with the thick glasses who drove the station wagon with all the bumper stickers. That man was mean. He poked them and giggled when they cried. He would sit up there and just watch them.
It’d been a while since Tyler had seen that man, too.
Tyler moved over to the stairwell leading up. They were strange steps—long and wide, but also shallow and not many, making them easy to climb. He crawled up them. At the top, he peered over the edge. He saw a kitchen with two plates on the counter and two glasses of milk. Was it already time to eat again?
He didn’t want to eat again. He didn’t like the way the food made him feel.
Footsteps shuffled. A door opened. A cold blast of air came in. It was a door to the outside. Someone whistled. A moment later the door closed. A small shadow moved. Tyler ducked. Overhead, the sound of water ran.
He slid more than crawled back down the steps. He shook Luca. “Wake up,” he whispered.
Luca did, slowly. Pointing up to the open hatch, Tyler pulled Luca from the mattress. He was sleepy and heavy, but Tyler supported him as he helped him up the shallow steps. He peered out again. Now the plates had apples and biscuits on them. Any second now, the person would bring them that food.
The sound of feet treaded through the house, away from them. Tyler pulled Luca up through the open hatch and into the kitchen. Everything spun and distorted, but Tyler saw a door right beside the sink. He didn’t remember crossing over to it, yet his hand connected with the knob. He turned it.
The door opened. He moved out into the dark cold with Luca beside him. An exterior light blasted on and straight into his eyes. It blinded him. It hurt. He squinted. His eyes adjusted enough to note a line of trees looming ahead.
Where were they?
He blinked hard.
The sound of footsteps hurried through the house. Their captor knew. Luca moaned, becoming more alert. Tyler held him. Together, they ran.
The world warped and blurred. Tyler fell. Luca plowed ahead, gaining ground. Tyler reached for him. Luca looked back, just as the dark trees swallowed him whole.
Tyler tried to get up.
That’s when their captor reached him. “That’s not being a very good boy,” the voice said right before sticking a needle in his arm.
Tyler’s world went black.
FOURTEEN
Friday, 7 a.m.
One stuffed hamster named Wally. That’s the only other item I noted missing from Tyler’s things. Wherever my brother is, Wally has to be with him. That brings me a tiny bit of comfort. That stuffed hamster is one of his favorites.
I’m sliding into my coat, about to go search Evan’s property, when my phone rings. “Grace?” I answer.
“Luca’s been found. We’re at the hospital. Get here now.”
“Tyler?” I ask, barely able to get the one word out.
“No, just Luca. Get here.” She hangs up.
My heart bangs hard inside my chest. I race down the hall and straight into Mom’s room only to find it empty.
“Mom?” I yell, moving through the house, finding the place vacant.
A glance out the back shows the shed doors closed and locked. I dial her number. It goes to voice mail.
“I don’t know where you are, but meet me at the hospital. They found Luca.”
People crowd the hospital hallway—cops, nurses, doctors, onlookers—but I don’t see Olivia and Grace.
A woman dressed in jeans and a thick sweater is saying, “He was running along the road. I was heading into town, and there he was. No coat. Just in his pants and shirt, dripping sweat and sprinting at full speed. I stopped to ask him if he was lost, and he took off like he thought I was going to abduct him. That’s when I called nine-one-one. I can’t believe he’s the boy everyone’s been looking for.”
“There are two of them.” I push through. “Did you see the other?”
“No, just the one.”
A cop stops me. “Nobody gets beyond this point.”
“What road?” I ask right as Grace appears past the cop’s shoulder.
“It’s okay,” she says, reaching for me. “Let her through.” She hugs me hard and together we walk down the hall and into a room.
Matthew stands next to Olivia who sits beside a hospital bed, holding Luca’s hand while two nurses tend to him. She looks up as I enter. Her voice comes softly, “They’re going to find Tyler. I know it.”
Idly, I nod, mesmerized by the sight of Luca lying there sleeping.
“Where’s your mom?” Olivia asks. “We’ve been calling.”
“I don’t know.” Slowly, I approach. “Luca, can you hear me? Where’s Tyler?”
One of the nurses intercedes. “Miss, he won’t respond. We’ve given him a sedative to calm him down. The sheriff will be right back.”
“Just tell us if Tyler’s alive,” I whisper. “Can you nod?”
Luca remains quiet, resting.
Grace looks at me, trying to hold back her tears.
I step closer, touching his little hand. His lashes flutter open. His gaze meets mine. Everyone sees. The room quiets.
“You were there,” Luca says.
My eyes widen. “Where?”
“I heard you through the ticking.”
Everyone looks at me.
I stare at Luca, something building inside of me. His eyes close. His breathing deepens. The drugs fully kick in.
Out in the hall, I hear Sheriff Owens’ voice. “I said the family only.”
My eyes meet his when I step from the room. But I don’t tell him what Luca just said. I walk in the opposite direction toward the stairwell.
“Nell!” I hear Grace yell. “Where are you going?”
