Authors: Paul Adan
A little earlier she’d been happily sitting in Ben’s Truck, listening to music, when there was a tap on the window. She had, at first, thought it was Ben returning from the supermarket, but when she looked up she was suddenly jolted by the sight of a stranger standing next to the door of the truck. “Oh my Gosh!” she had screeched, as she jumped in her seat. Adrenaline surged through her body, and the hairs on her neck sprang to attention. She was scared to death, until she’d noticed that the man was holding a pair of jumper cables and appeared to be in some sort of distress. She let out an audible sigh of relief.
Relaxing her guard a little too much, Megan had rolled down the
window to speak with the man – and that’s when her terror had truly begun. Suddenly, without warning, his arm had shot inside the barely open window, while his groping hand reached for the door lock. Megan was stunned and unable to respond quickly enough to the intrusion. In an instant, the man had grabbed the lock, yanked it up, and with his other hand he began to pull open the door. In desperation, Megan had tried to resist the intrusion and keep him from opening the door, but the man was too strong. She screamed, but her scream went unanswered as she tumbled out of the truck and onto the pavement. Seconds later, before she knew what was happening, another man had appeared and grabbed her by the hair. Together, the two assailants swiftly carried her to the back of the old car – now parked next to Ben’s truck – and mercilessly tossed her into the trunk. It was here that they had taped her mouth, bound her hands and legs, and covered her head with a sack. The trunk lid had closed with a slam, and shortly thereafter the car had left the parking lot. Now, almost an hour later, Megan was still trying to come to grips with what had transpired.
As the car travelled along, Megan’s fear slowly subsided. She assessed her situation. So far, she hadn’t been hurt and she still had her wits about her. She knew that during a kidnapping it was imperative to remain calm, not panic, and look for any opportunity to flee from her captors. If such an opportunity didn’t present itself, the next best thing was to somehow alert a Good Samaritan who might help her escape. In the meantime, she should try to remember as many details as possible about her kidnappers, the location where she was being taken, and anything else that might be helpful to the police
.
Although Megan didn’t know the kidnappers, or why she’d been kidnapped, she had some strong suspicions.
One of the guys
,
she thought, looked an awful lot like Jason Lewis. Although he was older than the picture she’d seen of him in the high school yearbook, there were definite similarities. The other guy, she hadn’t seen very well – but she did notice that he hand long stringy hair and smelled of dirty laundry, or sweat. And then there was this clue: the old car she was now riding in looked a lot like the car Ben had seen out at Jason’s mobile home. Taken together, these clues ominously suggested to Megan that she’d been kidnapped by Jason and his cohorts, and that she was now being driven to his disgusting little mobile home.
Larry’s Supermarket, Stuart Co.
29 September, 11:37 PM
WHEN DETECTIVES Robert and Fred arrived at Larry’s supermarket, they immediately began their investigation. In the parking lot they found Ben sitting on the curb near his truck, legs extended out in front of him, rubbing his forehead with his right hand. Although he didn’t appear to be distraught or frantic, he did seem a little agitated. The detectives also noticed three or four people huddled together near the entrance to the store, talking amongst themselves, while a few feet away the store clerk mindlessly swept a mat. Other than that, however, not much else was happening. The detectives decided to slowly circle the parking lot before parking.
Near the far end of the lot – where, unbeknownst to them, the old beater car had been parked – Robert noticed several cigarette butts scattered on the ground. One of the cigarettes was still smoking, and had a faint glow. Robert was intrigued by this, and instructed Fr
ed to stop the car. When he got-out to investigate, his mind began to process the significance of this discovery.
Clearly,
he thought,
someone was hanging around in his car for quite some time, judging by the number of butts. But what was he waiting for? Was he waiting for his wife, or a friend, or was he waiting for Megan Sunday?
On a hunch, Robert bagged one of the cigarette butts, and then labeled the bag as potential DNA evidence.
Back in the sedan, the two detectives drove over to where Ben was still seated. They parked about twenty feet away from his truck, and got out of their vehicle. Robert introduced both himself, and Fred, as Ben stood up from the curb.
“Hi. You must be Ben Tyler. I’m Detective Robert Matson, and my partner here is Detective Fred Sterling.” Robert extended his hand for a handshake, and a few seconds later Fred did the same.
“Hi,” Ben replied, rather timorously, as he shook hands with both the detectives. “You must be here in response to my 911 call.”
“Yes, that is correct. We got the call about an hour ago, and we thought it would be a good idea to come down here and find out what’s going on. We also wanted to ask you a few questions about an unrelated matter – at least, we hope it’s unrelated.”
“Ok...” Ben wasn’t quite sure what to make of the last part of what Detective Matson had just said, so he waited for him to clarify.
No reason to inadvertently spill the beans on my investigation of Jason Lewis,
he thought.
Robert and Fred exchanged a knowing glance, before Robert continued. “Well, I should tell you right off the bat that we normally don’t respond to a ‘missing person’ report until three days have elapsed since the disappearance. That’s police policy. However, if there was a witnessed kidnapping, we respond right away. My understanding is that you did not witness a kidnapping. You just came out of the supermarket – and your girlfriend, Megan Sunday, was gone. Is that right?”
Ben didn’t like the way this interview was progressing, but he answered the questions nonetheless. “Yes, that is correct.”
“Are you sure she didn’t just go back to her home, or someplace else?”
“No, I’m not sure. But I am quite certain she wouldn’t do that without telling me first.” Ben replied. He was indignant that this police detective would ask such a question, but he hid his disgust.
“Where else have you been this evening?”
“We went to the library for a while, and then we went to Pablo’s Mexican restaurant.”
“Is this your truck over here?”
“Yes.”
“Do you mind if we take a look at it?”
“No. Go right ahead.”
Both Robert and Fred walked over to the truck and began to inspect it. Nothing on the exterior appeared out of the ordinary to them, so the detectives opened both doors and began to look inside. In no time at all, Fred discovered a small pocketbook on the floor of the passenger side of the truck. It was tucked in between the seat and the middle console, and was not placed there intentionally. He raised it up in the air for all to see, and then handed it over to Robert.
“Is this yours?” Robert asked.
“No. It must be Megan’s.” There was a waver in Ben’s voice as he answered.
“Do you mind if I take a quick look inside?”
“No. Go ahead.”
Robert opened the pocketbook and perused the contents. Inside there was a driver’s license, a few credit cards, and a library card.
That’s a little odd
, he thought.
Most women do not purposely leave a pocketbook behind. What reason would she have for not taking it with her?
As he pondered this question, he handed the pocketbook to Ben. There was a brief pause before Robert finally spoke.
“Alright, Ben, here’s the deal. There is a slim possibility that Megan was kidnapped, but we can’t be sure at this time. I don’t want to be running around, half-cocked, when she’s sitting at home watching TV. Right now, before we do anythin
g else, I want you to go home – and when you arrive, try giving Megan a call. It might also be a good idea to call her family or friends, just in case they’ve heard something. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes, I guess so,” Ben replied. “But what should I do if I still can’t locate her?”
“Just give us a call tomorrow, and we’ll go from there. Alright?”
“Yes – I guess. Yeah, ok.”
“Good. Now, there’s one more thing...” Robert proceeded to explain that he and Fred were fully aware that Ben had been spying on Jason Lewis. He said that he could understand why Ben would do that, given that his brother was in jail, but he warned him to cease and desist. “Listen, Ben, I don’t want you or Megan to get hurt because you’re poking around for information. Jason Lewis is not someone you want to piss off. Do you hear me? The guy is a dangerous. Leave him alone! Besides, this is police business – and if you interfere with our business, in any manner at all, we’ll charge you with obstruction of justice. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I understand,” Ben replied. But he was angry.
“Good. That’s what I wanted to hear.”
SHORTLY, THEREAFTER, the conversation abruptly ended with the exchange of phone numbers. Ben wasn’t happy about the instructions he’d been given, and he wasn’t about to be collared by the police at a time when Megan’s life was in danger. He walked over to his truck and climbed into the cab. After stewing in his thoughts for five or ten minutes, he started the ignition and slowly drove back to the Serenity Lane apartments.
Jason’s Property, Stuart Co.
30 September, 12:03 AM
MEGAN SUSPECTED that she was inside the garden shed; the same one that Ben had seen during his recon the previous week. There was dirt on the floor, and an oily-grassy smell in the air. Although she still had the sack over her head, and her hands were still bound, her kidnappers had removed the tape from her mouth and legs. She thought about screaming, but she knew that it would have been a futile effort; she was simply to
o far out in the countryside to be heard by anyone. Escape was also not an option: her left foot was chained to the leg of a well-built worktable, and she could move no more than a few feet.
Thirty or forty feet away from the shed, the kidnappers argued about Megan’s fate. She couldn’t hear much of what they were saying, but what she did hear was more than enough to frighten her.
One of the men wanted her dead, plain and simple. Another was wishy-washy. The third man seemed to be more humane than the other two; he suggested that they keep her in the shed for a while before making any rash decisions. Besides, he argued, they still needed to figure out her identity – and, more importantly, why her boyfriend had been spying on him. Megan pleaded to God that the opinions of this third man would settle the argument, but she worried about the methods they’d use to extract information from her.
After being in the shed for more than an hour, the men who had been arguing went away – and there was silence. Megan grew tired, so she sat down on the floor, and propped herself up against one of the walls. Every so often she could hear the hoot of an owl, and the distant howl of coyotes. Nearby, a fly or a bee buzzed about inside the shed.
Poor bugger
, she thought,
he’s trapped in here just like me
. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep.
Thoughts of Ben filled her mind until, alarmingly, she heard the sound of someone coming in through the door! Megan was terrified by this unexpected intrusion.
Who could this be?
, she thought.
Why is he here, when everyone else has gone to bed? Is he here to harm me – or rape me? Should I fight – or scream? Yes! I should scream.
Scream, Megan, scream!
But just as she was taking a big breath to scream, a hand clamped down on her mouth like a vice. A few seconds later a crushing weight settled on top of her legs, and a groping hand began pawing at her breasts.
Megan was at first stunned by this violation, and didn’t know what to do. Unable to scream, or move her legs, she felt like a helpless victim on the verge of being devoured by a
hungry lion. Her brain locked up, and her thoughts became hopelessly jumbled. Images of family and friends flitted through her mind. But then – as if from the depths of her soul – an instinctual desire to survive and triumph suddenly took hold of her.
With grim determination she thrashed, and kicked, and bucked her body up and down. Desperately, with every ounce of energy she still possessed, she savagely fought back against the attacker. In the ensuing struggle the hand came off of her mouth, and the sack on her head flew against a wall. Megan gulped for air. But as she did, the putrid scent of dirty laundry and sweat filled her nostrils and harassed her senses. She was repulsed and disgusted by the smell – but she continued to fight.
Seconds dragged into minutes, and Megan grew increasingly tired – and desperate. In her mind, she cried out to God for help. But none was forthcoming. Suddenly, as if from nowhere, a powerful fist came down from above and slammed like a sledge hammer against the head of Megan’s attacker. She was shocked by the brutality of the blow, and watched in utter amazement as the smelly wretch writhed in agony on the floor of the shed. In the darkness, there came a voice: “Get the hell out of here! And if you ever touch her again, I’m gonna break your scrawny neck.” Megan was ecstatic as her attacker got up from the floor, and scampered away through the door.
Shortly, thereafter, t
he hulking form of a man loomed large over Megan. When he spoke, his words were soft and strangely muffled. “It’s ok, Miss,” he said. “He won’t hurt you anymore.” She was intrigued because his voice was one that she hadn’t heard before; earlier, she had thought there were only three kidnappers, but now it seemed there were actually four. Even more intriguing, however, the man did not appear to open his mouth when he spoke. Megan was confused.
Who is this guy?
, she thought.
And what is the deal with his mouth?
And then, as if in answer to her first question, the man introduced himself.
“My name is Oscar. What’s your name?”
FOR THE next half an hour, Megan poured her heart out to Oscar. She was practically in tears as she spoke,
recklessly revealing information she should have kept to herself. She explained to him that she knew his identity, and that she had seen his photograph in the Turnbuckle yearbook only a few days prior. She further explained why she and Ben had been spying on Jason, and that they had only been trying to discover the truth behind the murder of Joey Jones. Oscar listened intently to everything she had to say. Occasionally, he nodded his head and coaxed her along with questions. When he asked a few questions about Josh, she willingly divulged additional information.
After a while, Megan began to fear that maybe she had said too much. She didn’t know Oscar, and just because he had saved her from the smelly rapist, it didn’t mean she could trust him. And then a more sinister thought crossed her mind:
What if the attempted rape – and Oscar’s subsequent intervention – was all part of a carefully orchestrated plan to extract information from her?
A sinking feeling came over her. She felt nauseous as her thoughts ran riot:
Did I just betray Ben? Have I put him, and Josh, and his friends, in danger? What have you done, Megan? Why weren’t you thinking? Why couldn’t you keep your mouth shut?
Megan decided to say no more, and began to answer Oscar’s questions in an evasive manner. Sensing her reticence, he encouraged her to be strong and not worry; everything would turn out alright if
she didn’t do anything stupid – like trying to escape. A few seconds later, he said goodbye and walked out the door.
Once again, except for the critters making noises in the surrounding woods, the night was silent. Megan leaned back against the wall of the shed, and ruminated on all that had transpired. Exhausted, in mind and in body, she eventually fell asleep.
Serenity Lane Apartments, #205
30 September, 4:38 AM
WHEN BEN had arrived back at his apartment, his nerves were frazzled. He recalled how the officer had instructed him to make a few phone calls to Megan’s family and friends, and then patiently wait for her to reappear. Ben had done exactly as he was told, but there had been no breakthrough; Megan was still missing. Now, several hours after having talked to the police, he tossed and turned in his bed as he relived the horrifying events of the previous evening.
For two or three minutes, he stared upward at the spinning blades of the ceiling fan – and then made a fateful decision. Rather than wait around for three days doing nothing, while Megan suffered unimaginable trauma, he would drive out to Jason’s place to look for her. “If I leave while it’s still dark,” he said to himself, “I might be able to approach the mobile home without being seen. I might even be able to locate Megan – or, better yet, rescue her.” He got up from his bed, put on his clothes, and grabbed his binoculars.
Jason’s Property, Stuart Co.
30 September, 6:10 AM
IT WAS the opening act of a beautiful morning, and nature was busy setting the stage. The lighting was perfect as the sun slowly peaked above the horizon, warming the cool air, and illuminating the landscape in a soft yellow glow. On the grass, hanging on the tips of every blade like tiny Christmas ornaments, droplets of dew glistened in the early morning light. Higher up – and also coated with dew – perfectly symmetrical spider webs hung from bushes and fence posts, adorning the landscape like masterfully-crafted sculptures in a Parisian art gallery. Here and there, soaking up the first rays of light, the little architects of these wonders could be seen patiently waiting for their first meal of the day. Water was everywhere; and as the air warmed, moist vapors – like smoke – rose from posts and railings in thin silvery ribbons. All around, celebratory choirs of birds welcomed the new day with glorious song. The world was coming alive, and Ben marveled at the beauty. But he was afraid.
As he trudged along the periphery of Jason’s property, he grappled with self-doubt. Yes, he wanted to somehow look into the mobile home and various sheds to see whether or not Megan was being held captive. But then what? What would he do if he found her? Would he call the police, or try to rescue her on his own? What if she wasn’t even there or he didn’t see her? Where else should he look? Should he – or could he – simply go back to his apartment and wait? “Not likely,” he whispered aloud to himself. He decided to call Megan’s family again, later in the day, and also to call Detective Matson. In the meantime, he had a job to do.
After five or ten minutes of walking through woods and pasture, Jason’s mobile home came into view. Ben lowered himself to the ground and slowly, methodically, inched his way towards the horse shed. He thought that the shed would afford him a reasonably good location from which to observe the home, and plan his next move. He glanced down and noticed that his clothes were completely soaked through with dew.
Geez Luiz
, he thought,
the next time I decide to crawl around on the ground, I should probably do a little preparation beforehand – like bring an extra shirt.
He ignored the wetness and continued to crawl.
Upon arriving at the back of the shed, and seeing nothing of significance, Ben climbed up onto the gently sloping roof. He was happy that the horse was away, busily grazing in the nearby pasture. The last thing he needed right now was the sound of a thundering hooves. With minimal effort, he crawled to the highest point of the roof and lay down in the prone position. From the perspective of an observer in the mobile home, only Ben’s head projected above the crest; the rest of his body was hidden from view.
He withdrew his binoculars and observed the mobile home. Most of the window blinds were raised about two-thirds of the way, and three of the sliding windows were open a slit. Except for the porch light, all the other lights were out. Inside, the only movement to be seen was the spinning ceiling fan in the dining room. So far, it didn’t appear as if anyone was awake. In fact, at first glance, Ben wasn’t able to determine if there were people inside the home. He guessed that there were because of the parked cars outside. But, he wasn’t sure.
Ben grew tired – in spite of his cold, damp clothing – and by 7 AM he had fallen asleep. Suddenly, the sound of a car engine being cranked jolted him awake. Briefly forgetting where he was, he lifted his head in order to identify the source of the noise. As he did he caught a glimpse of a man behind the wheel of a car. The man was backing out of the parking lot, his head facing towards the rear of the car. As a result, Ben wasn’t able to get a good look at the man. He did notice, however, that the man was wearing a baseball cap. He suspected that this was the same guy he’d seen during his previous visit to Jason’s place. Ben reached for his binoculars and watched as the car disappeared down the long gravel road leading to SR55.
Shortly thereafter, Ben diverted his gaze to the mobile home. In the kitchen, a light had been turned on, and a dark silhouette was visible moving about in the dining room. He watched the activity for several minutes, hoping against hope that he would see Megan. As he watched and waited, he realized that he was too far away to eavesdrop on conversations. A bold plan popped into his mind:
Maybe, while they’re still waking-up, I can sneak a little closer to the house – under a window perhaps – and then I’ll be able to hear whatever is being said.
He wished that he’d thought of this plan a little earlier, when everyone was definitely asleep.
Oh well
, he thought
, that’s the breaks. You win some, you lose some.
Carefully, he climbed down from the roof.
As he crawled towards the backside of the house, Ben zeroed-in on a missing panel in the plastic skirting surrounding the foundation. The opening was six to twelve inches in height, five or six feet in length, and right next to the ground. Although it would be a squeeze – height wise – Ben was confident he could fit his body through the opening. Once he was under the house, he would then be able to hear everything that was said directly above him. It was the perfect hiding place – or so he thought.
Stuart Co. Jail, Tank 3North B
30 September, 7:22 AM
SLOWLY, EDWARD got out of bed and walked over to the stainless steel sink. His eyes still burned, and whenever he touched his hands to his mouth, he could taste the lingering residue of pepper spray. He had already spent a considerable amount of time cleaning-up, washing his head and body, and the officers had even given him a new jail uniform to wear. But the spray continued to work its dreadful magic.
Stink’n dogs
, he thought.
They think they own me. They think I’m not worthy of respect. I’ll show them!