Authors: Paul Adan
There was a flurry of activity inside the mobile home, followed a short time later by three pairs of legs rapidly descending the stairs. Ben knew the gig was up; he was either going to be captured or killed. Briefly, he considered putting up a fight. But he quickly abandoned this idea when the business-end of a 9mm Glock poked through the opening. It was pointed directly at his face, and it came with a stern warning from Jason:
“Whoever you are, under there, you’ve got about five seconds before I start
shoot’n.”
Accepting his fate, Ben crawled out from under the mobile home. As he emerged through the opening into the sunlight, a hand reached down and grabbed his arm, twisting it behind
his back and practically pulling it out of the socket. A second or two later, a foot pressed down on his neck. Ben groaned from the applied pressure, and worried that his neck was going to snap. What followed, however, was even worse.
FOR TH
E next thirty minutes, Ben was questioned and severely beaten. On several occasions he lost consciousness, only to awaken to more questions and more beatings. During this ordeal, he spilled the beans and revealed who he was, his relationship to Megan, and why he was under the mobile home. He had no doubt that with his confession he’d just signed his death warrant – and he lamented the fact that he had possibly doomed Megan, as well. Semi-conscious when the beating was finally over, he was dragged out to the same shed where Megan was being held, and chained to the worktable. When he awoke several hours later, an angel was holding him in her arms, gently stroking his blood-stained hair.
County/City Building, Stuart Co.
30 September, 11:43 AM
ROBERT MATSON was happy – relieved, in fact – to have returned to his office, but once again the light on the answering-machine was blinking. He ignored it for a time, walked over to a little refrigerator situated in a discreet corner of the room, and grabbed his sack lunch from the middle shelf. Next, he sat down and unpacked the contents of the sack onto an unfolded napkin. He was hungry, so it didn’t take long for him to empty the sack. Once the items were spread out in front of him, he greedily reached for the ham sandwich.
This is pretty good,
he thought as he took a huge bite.
Plus – it’s probably healthy for me!
He continued to eat his lunch, while occasionally sipping from a cold can of soda-pop. When he was finally done eating, he leaned forward in his chair and pressed the “Play” button on the answering-machine.
The first message was from Megan Sunday’s mother. She was frantic and tearful: “Hello. My name is Audrey Sunday. I’m calling about my daughter, Megan, who went missing last night
.” Briefly she began to sob, then regained her composure. “I know she hasn’t been gone very long, but I’m begging you – as a mother – to please look into her disappearance.” There was more sobbing. “I got your number from Ben Tyler, her boyfriend. He said that you told him to call you if Megan didn’t turn up. My number is 555-8843. Thank you.”
Twice Robert listened to the message, while continuing to sip on his
drink. He had obviously been hoping that Ben was mistaken, and that Megan Sunday had not been kidnapped. But now, with this message from Megan’s mother, it seemed increasingly possible that something bad had happened to her. Robert made a mental note to swing by the library, and Pablo’s Mexican restaurant.
It can’t hurt,
he thought.
Maybe someone saw something or heard something.
The next message was from Arthur Klipp’s secretary. It was a routine reminder about a meeting that was scheduled for the following day. Robert breezed past this message with a sour look on his face. He didn’t even bother to look at his appointment calendar.
The third and final message was from Fred. It was a shocking message, and Robert played it back several times: “Hey, Robert, this is Fred. I’ve been meeting with Dwight Wayne for the last hour or so, going over the videos, and it looks like we’ve got the makings for a solid case against Jason Lewis. I don’t know where to begin really, but...” Fred talked for another minute or two. At the end of the message, he suggested that he m
eet with Robert as soon as he, Fred, returned from Denver.
After replaying the message for the last time, Robert leaned back in his chair to contemplate their next move. The case a
gainst Jason Lewis was now wide open, and the most pressing problem that he and Fred faced was how to tie everything together.
Should I call Arthur and get a search warrant – or an arrest warrant? Should I even bother with Megan Sunday’s disappearance? Or does her disappearance having something to do with Jason? What next?
Robert immersed himself in thought for over ten minutes, after which time he made a decision: Before Fred returned from Denver, he would make a quick trip to the library.
Stuart Co. Jail, Tank 3North B
30 September, 12:16 PM
FOLLOWING THE “Poopy-Picasso” episode earlier that morning, Edward was transferred to a cell on the lower level of the tank. Strangely, upon arriving at his new home, he had quickly adapted; even to the point where he no longer seemed insane. Some of the officers immediately suspected that he had put on a show simply because he wanted to be moved to a different cell. Other officers, however, weren’t so sure. In any event, regardless of which group of officers was correct, Edward had been so relaxed after the move that it didn’t take long at all before he fell asleep. Once again, he slipped into the mysterious world of his dreams...
♦ ♦ ♦
HE WAS walking along a pathway narrowly-cut into the side of a steep cliff. Far below, near crashing waves topped with jade-green foam, jagged rocks poked into the air like countless sharp knives. He was scared, and every so often, he tripped; sometimes on a root, and sometimes on a stone. Each time, he regained his balance at the last possible second, narrowly avoiding a plunge to a painful death. Although he wasn’t sure where he was going, or even where he had come from, he continued to walk. All the while, he became increasingly frustrated – and terrified.
In the far
distance he saw a light. He couldn’t tell if it was the sun, or something else, but it gave him a reason for going in the direction he was going. It didn’t shine very brightly, but it was enough – barely enough – to help him navigate the pathway. For a few seconds, he was infused with hope and happiness. But then he saw something odd and intriguing against the backdrop of the light; it was a black dot, almost like a speck of dirt. “That’s unusual,” he said to himself. He watched with increasing interest as the speck grew larger and larger until it almost obscured the light. And that’s when it hit him: It was a flock of birds!
As the birds approached, Edward studied them closely. Much like crows, they were black all over and flew in one huge concentrated mass – so much so that from a distance, the flock appeared to be a moving puff of black smoke. But as they got closer, Edward could see individual birds and individual features. Oddly, he noticed, their wings were extremely long and pointed; and when flapped upward and downward, there was a loud “swooshing” noise. He was entranced by the sound, and stared in amazement as the flock flew overhead. Suddenly, however, he spotted something disturbing – even frightening – about their features that he ha
dn’t noticed a little earlier: Huge dagger-shaped teeth, dripping with blood, protruded out from their beaks in all directions.
Slowly, instinctively, Edward lowered himself to the ground in
order to avoid being noticed. But by now, he was too late. Already, an exceptionally large bird had peeled-off from the flock and was headed in his direction. A few seconds later, numerous other birds also began to break formation. Edward was terrified. He knew he was doomed, and watched in horror as they came closer and closer. In a last ditch effort to save himself, just as the big bird arrived, he covered his head with his arms.
He could feel the birds land on his body, and a moment later he felt the pain as they tore into his flesh with their razor-sharp teeth. Desperately, he flailed his arms in a vain attempt to scare them away. But they were not easily dissuaded from their gruesome task. Edward soon realized that h
e must make a dreadful choice: He could either allow the birds to slowly rip him apart, or he could throw himself off of the cliff and onto the jagged rocks below. Either way, he was dead. Without hesitation, he chose the latter of the two options.
♦ ♦ ♦
WHEN EDWARD awoke, he was exhausted. He couldn’t remember much about the dream, but he did remember falling and falling and falling. For a minute or two he sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor. Eventually, after gathering his energy, he walked over to the sink for a sip of brown water. Here he lingered for a moment, only once looking into the toilet. And then, in the absence of anything better to do, he went back to his bed.
Public Library, Stuart Co.
30 September, 1:19 PM
UPON ARRIVING at the library, Robert approached the librarian and introduced himself with a smile. Her name was Susan. She was busy sorting a stack of books, but she didn’t appear to be annoyed by the interruption. She did, however, seem a little concerned when Robert mentioned that he was a police detective. It wasn’t every day, she explained, that a policeman came into the library on “official” police business. Robert assured her that there wasn’t anything to worry about; he just wanted to know if she’d seen Ben and Megan there at the library the previous evening.
Robert was happy to learn that she did, in fact, remember the pair. She couldn’t tell him much, but she was able to provide a very brief description of what they looked like. She also said that
she was a little annoyed at Ben, because he had arrived shortly before the library was scheduled to close. When Robert asked if she knew why they were there at the library, she said that they had been using the micro-fiche machine to view the archives of the Turnbuckle News Tribune. Other than that, she didn’t have any idea what Ben and Megan had been doing.
Robert thanked Susan for what she’d told him already, and then indicated that he no longer required her assistance. After she left, presumably to continue sorting books, Robert sat down on a little bench for a few minutes. Mostly, he was just tired from standing, but he also took advantage of the time to meticulously observe the surroundings. From years of experience as a police detective, he had learned the value of “immersing” himself in a crime scene – or potential crime scene – in order develop a mental picture of what a suspect was feeling or thinking at the time that they were there. In this particular case, however, Robert didn’t learn anything new
. He got up from the bench and headed for the door.
After saying goodbye to Susan, and exiting the library, Robert casually ambled out to his car. The weather was gorgeous, as it had been for weeks, and he was enjoying every detail of the beautiful day. In the distance he noticed
a flock of geese flying south, while all around he noted the leaves turning various shades of pink and orange. There was also a subtle change in the air; the temperature was cooler, and an ever-so-slight breeze was blowing from the north. Robert was loath to get back into his dirty, smelly car.
As he approached the side of his car and reluctantly withdrew the keys from his jacket pocket, Robert was suddenly distracted by a flash of color in an unexpected place. Near the parking lot, in the bushes, he spotted a red reflector poking out into the sunlight.
That’s odd,
he thought.
Somebody must have dumped a bike or something here – behind the bushes.
Ever curious, he parted the branches with a swoop of both arms. He then stepped into the foliage.
And that’s when he saw it. There behind the bushes was the same little bicycle he’d seen Jason riding the day before. It was also the same bicycle that he and Fred had seen when they had visited Jason’s mobile home. Robert was stunned. Suddenly, a chill ran up his spine, and he knew that Ben had been correct in his assumption: Megan had been kidnapped!
Quickly, Robert returned to his car and retrieved a camera, along with a brand new pair of rubber gloves. After photographing the bicycle from numerous angles, he carefully loaded it into the trunk of his car. In order to preserve evidence, he used a few spare gloves to cover the grips on the handlebars. A series of thoughts ran through his mind:
I’ll betcha those cigarettes at Larry’s Supermarket can also be tied to Jason. I should probably call Dwight Wayne, at the Forensics lab – let him know we’ve got a few more items to process for DNA. Somehow, too, we’ll have to figure out if this little bicycle was purchased on stolen...
As he drove away ten to fifteen minutes later, Robert was still deeply absorbed in thought.
Jason’s Property, Stuart Co.
30 September, 1:22 PM
THROUGHOUT THE morning, Ben had drifted in and out of consciousness. Each time he awoke, Megan was there to comfort and soothe him. He had been only vaguely aware of her presence, but as the day wore on he became increasingly lucid. This had been a huge relief for Megan. She was also thankful that most of his physical injuries appeared to be scrapes and bruises, and not something more serious like a broken bone or an internal injury. Shortly after 1PM, Ben had finally come to his senses, and the two friends had joyfully embraced and kissed.
Now, five to ten minutes later, they were busily plotting how to get out of their current predicament. Ben explained, in detail, the topography of Jason’s property, and where they were being held in relation to SR55. He also reviewed with Megan the location of each building, and the approximate distances between them. When he began describing the kidnappers, and the fact that one of them had already left, Megan interjected with her amazing story about the attempted rape. Ben was furious with the kidnappers, his rage palpable. But he was also thunderstruck to learn that Oscar, of all people, had intervened and saved his girlfriend from harm. For that, he was grateful.
A plan began to emerge. Thankfully, when Ben had been dragged out from beneath the mobile home, his truck keys – which had been in his jacket pocket – had fallen out. He knew exactly where they had fallen, and he assumed they were still under the home. For whatever reason, it had never occurred to the kidnappers that Ben must have driven to Jason’s property in his own vehicle. As a result of this oversight, during the interrogation, they had failed to properly search him. Although they had discovered his wallet and pocketknife, and even found his binoculars, the subject of his missing keys was never mentioned.