STOLEN (16 page)

Marty
woke up the next morning with a little face and a pair of green eyes staring
down into his.

Those two green eyes were so close to his nose that it
actually looked like he was looking at one giant green ball.

“Hey, buddy, did you sleep well?”

He pointed to his mouth and gave a soft grunt.

“You hungry, pal? Is that what you’re getting at?” He
grabbed Marty’s arm and yanked.

“Easy, buddy, I get the message.”

Marty looked over at Hope. She was on her stomach with the
pillow scrunched up under her face and she was snoring softly. Her long hair
fell in waves over her shoulders outside the micro suede blanket, which
partially exposed her bare back. Marty carefully got out of bed and replaced
the blanket so she was covered. Tristan was watching every move he made; and
with the movement of a ninja, Tristan walked to the other side of the bed where
her left foot peeked outside the cover. He carefully and gently moved the
blanket so it now covered the exposed foot.

Marty placed his hand on the top of the boy’s head, full of
brown curls, and led him out the bedroom and into the kitchen.

Marty was blown away by what he saw in front of him.

Somehow, this little boy had navigated around the strange
kitchen and managed to find all the makings of a breakfast fit for a king.

Three bowls, filled to the brim with Special K and milk, sat
side by side. Five slices of rye toast sat beside the ceramic bowls, covered in
grape jelly. What was once was a brand new eight-ounce jar of the fruit
concoction now sat there empty. A tablespoon, with the remains of the sticky
substance, stood upside down in the glass. Crumbs were scattered from one end
of the kitchen to the other. For some reason, the mess did not only amuse Marty,
but he actually looked forward to the challenge of having to clean it up.

Marty saw the same smile flash across Tristan’s face that he
wore the day he tied his shoelaces.

“Well, buddy, let’s get at it. I’m starving.”

Marty pulled out the chair for Tristan to sit. He hesitated
as he kept his eyes pasted in the direction of the bedroom.

“How about we let her sleep a little bit longer?”

He appeared to ponder the idea for a while before he made
his way under Marty’s arm and onto the chair. He waited for Marty to take his
seat before he made his next move. He folded his hands, his eyes closed and his
head bent, and his lips began to move slightly, although no words came out, but
it was obvious what he was doing. He was saying grace. When he finished, he
opened his eyes and nodded to Marty as if he was giving him permission to
begin. Tristan waited for Marty to take a spoonful of cereal before he took and
swallowed his. Once Marty did, he did. Marty took another and then he would. Marty
took a bite of his toast, trying to avoid a giant blob of jelly, and watched as
he duplicated every move he made.

“There’s a tad bit too much jelly on here for me,” Marty
explained to him, as he scooped the stuff off the toast and onto the paper
towel he had laid out like napkins on the side of each cereal bowl. Marty thought
he’d hurt his feelings, because his lips turned down, so he quickly tried to
make up for his unintended offense. He patted his stomach.

“I’m on a diet, Tristan; I have to watch my waistline. I
have a tuxedo to fit into soon.”

Lucky for Marty, Hope walked in; and Tristan’s frown turned
upside down as soon as he caught sight of her.

Marty didn’t think the kitchen’s new appearance caused the
same warm and fuzzy reaction for Hope as it did for him. It must be a man thing,
he thought.

But in Hope’s defense, she kept her shock at the disarray
hidden. Without missing a beat, she joined them at the table.

“Well now, this is a surprise. Did you do this, Tristan?” She
asked, as she sat herself down.

He leaned in closer to her and put his face within a hair of
hers. His forehead touched hers, and he nodded his head yes, making her head
move in unison with his. She tried not to smile, but when Tristan started to
giggle, she was helpless.

“Okay, now sit back down and finish your cereal.” Marty instructed
him, suddenly aware he sounded exactly like his old man.

Marty turned back and faced Hope. “What do you have planned
today? I thought I would take him with me to the hospital when I go see my dad . . . .”

“Actually, Marty, I already spoke to Judy and we discussed
the situation. We agreed it would be a good idea if I bring him to Armistace
and put him through some testing. I would like to see if we can get an adequate
assessment of where he is cognitively and academically. Dr. Lloyd examined him at
the hospital and couldn’t find anything physically wrong with his vocal cords;
so I’m guessing he may fit into some level of the autistic spectrum. I would
like to at least rule out a trauma-related selective mutism.”

If Tristan knew they were talking about him, he didn’t show
any interest. He seemed more interested in seeing how much milk he could pour
into the bowl before the cereal started to overflow and crawl down the side of
the dish and onto the table.

Marty took the container of milk from him and put it out of
his reach. Hope got up to clean up the mess.

“If we can just get some history on him, it would be so much
better.” She grabbed a paper towel and wiped a few flakes and white liquid from
his mouth. He looked up at her like a puppy in love.

Before long, Tristan got bored of his breakfast and got off
the chair and began to wander around the house.

“Sorry about the mess, I’ll clean up.” Marty told her,
knowing full well she wasn’t too happy with his insisting that they bring
Tristan home.

She shook her head, causing one hair to get caught in
between her lips. Marty gently removed it with one of his fingers. She leaned
over and gave him a kiss, immediately easing his worries.

Marty’s hand cupped her face and he reciprocated. Out of the
corner of his eye, he saw Tristan watching them intently.

Hope offered to clean up the mess in the kitchen, if he volunteered
to give the boy a bath. If Marty knew what he was getting into, he may have
offered to clean the kitchen. Let’s just say it was an experience. It didn’t
take too long to realize Tristan wasn’t too fond of having his hair washed. He
did seem to enjoy the blow dryer though.

Marty got him cleaned up and handed him over to Hope, feeling
guilty that he left her with another major mess, this time in the bathroom. Marty
told them both goodbye, and as he went to walk out the door, the little guy ran
up to him and literally shimmied up his body and hugged his neck. Marty hugged
him back and set him back down. He could see the look of sadness in Hope’s
eyes. Marty knew she was doing what she did best, the one thing she
acknowledged she inherited from her mother: her impractical and excessive worrying.
Marty leaned over and gave her a kiss and gave Tristan a quick jostle of his
head full of brown curly hair before he left the house.

Feeling less anxious, and thinking Tristan was in good
hands, Shane made his way back to the cabin and stayed put for the next few
days. On the third morning, he got up early and rode the bike towards town,
hoping not to get caught. Hiding the Harley in a clump of pine trees and some
brush, he walked the rest of the way. He purchased a few groceries at a dollar
store with the few dollars he had left, and hurried back. He was running out of
time and money; and with Troy still in the hospital, he was getting antsy.
Somehow or another, he had to get the three of them back together again. Maybe
they should just forget about the whole thing, forget what they came for, and
just leave this town. After all, he pondered to himself, at this point, did it
really matter? They were a family, the three musketeers. Troy, Tristan, and
himself. Why did he have this need to find out if he was that kid in the
newspaper article? What difference did it make? Troy didn’t seem to care, he
was happy, and said it didn’t matter. Troy only came here to help him find out
the truth about who he was, even though it could mean Troy was also one of
those missing boys, and someone was out there looking for him too.

He knew why he wanted it so bad. He was thrilled when he
realized there was a possibility the old man wasn’t his real father. The day he
found those articles hidden in the old man’s stash and realized the old man may
have stolen him from his biological family and maybe he could have stolen Troy
too, was probably the best day of his life.

But now the old man was dead, and he wasn’t the least bit
sorry he shot him. For the first time in his life, he felt like he did
something meaningful. He just wished he’d shot him before the old bastard got
off the first shot. The second he saw Troy lying there bleeding, he grabbed the
pistol tucked in Troy’s waistband and aimed it at the old man’s face. The
bastard just stood there laughing, saying he didn’t have the balls to pull the
trigger. The laughter stopped when the bullet exploded into his face.

Troy and Tristan were the only things that he had left in
this miserable world. M’leigh was gone; and now there was no doubt the old man
killed her. When they confronted him in that cabin, where they found him doing
those awful things to that little girl, abusing her like he used to abuse them,
he actually confessed to it. He admitted to snapping M’leigh’s neck and burying
her body out in the woods. The bastard stood there with this sick grin on his
face and just laughed as he told Troy how he murdered his wife. When Troy went
after him, he was still grinning as he pulled the trigger on the shotgun and Troy
fell back. Shane would never forget the look on Troy’s face as he fell to the
ground. He didn’t think twice. He fell down to his knees and put his arm under
Troy to lift him up. As he held his brother, he felt the rough metal handle of
the pistol. He pulled the gun out from his brother’s waistband and laid his
brother back down. He stood up and didn’t hesitate. He raised the pistol so it
was even with the old man’s face and pulled the trigger once, then twice. He
wanted to keep unloading the gun after he shot the old man and watched him fall,
but he suddenly became aware of Tristan watching the entire scene. The only
thing he regretted was the fact Tristan was there to see it. He thought the boy
was asleep in the truck, but he realized he was in the room with the little
girl when he heard him cry out in shock; and then before he knew it, the child
ran off, taking to the woods.

He pulled out the sheet of paper he was keeping in his back
pocket. He just couldn’t believe what a coincidence it was, that the street
they brought Tristan to turns out to be the same street mentioned in one of the
articles. He looked at the printed out map they found on Google and stared at
the big red x that Troy had marked on it. One of the kidnapped boys was taken from
that very same street. Maybe it was fate. He wanted to wait for Troy to get out
of the hospital, but he just couldn’t sit still. What if Troy never got better?
What if they caught him and he got arrested for murder of the old man? He
needed to find out the truth; and he didn’t think he could wait one more minute
for the answers. He was desperate.

After unloading the few groceries, he went back outside and
straddled the Harley. Seeing that the gas gauge was still three-fourths of the
way full, he decided to take a quick run over to that house the lady doctor and
cop took Tristan to. Just to make sure he was okay and safe and maybe, just
maybe, get some answers to all the questions he has had for all these years.

Hope
spent the day administering aptitude and psychological tests to Tristan and if
there was any telltale sign in the expression of her face of how he fared on
those tests, Marty couldn’t tell.

She was standing in front of her office talking to Judy, the
hospital administrator, her hand cupping Tristan’s shoulder in an effort to
keep him from wandering off.

Tristan’s attention was on something other than the
conversation the two women were engaged in. His attention was riveted on the
five or six other children in the hallway who were racing remote control cars a
few feet away.

Scanning the group of boys, Marty’s eyes rested on the only
blond-headed one in the bunch. He hardly recognized Brad Madison; the boy he
had found bloodied and traumatized and playing a video game two years ago,
while the slain and brutalized bodies of his parents laid upstairs. Brad has
been under Hope’s care at Armistace since that day two years ago, and had gone
through extensive psychotherapy. Now the boy was twelve years old and was going
through a growth spurt and his physical appearance had taken a dramatic turn.

The newspapers at the time referred to the boy using
adjectives such as cherub-like and angelic looking (making it that much harder
to believe him capable of the crime he had confessed to). The angelic facade
was slowly fading away. What was once a baby-face morphed into a more mature
version, with a strong jawline and sharp cheekbones. What everyone once
described as a sweet little boy was gradually developing into a handsome young
man, his physical appearance showing signs of the onset of puberty and the
coming of age into adolescent years.

When Tristan saw him, he suddenly broke free of Hope’s hold
and ran directly towards him. Marty could tell, by the speed he was running, he
would blow right by him if he didn’t reach out and grab him at the waist and
lift him off his feet, causing him to swing his legs in the air. By the
reaction he got, a smile so wide all of his teeth showed, it was exactly what
he had intended in the first place. Marty got the feeling it was something he
had done on more than one occasion; and the expression on his face showed him that
Tristan approved of him getting it right.

After a second or two in his arms, Tristan wiggled enough,
letting him know he wanted down and Marty obliged. Marty watched as he made his
way towards the other boys, but he deliberately, and cautiously, stayed back a
few feet away.

The activity had caught Brad’s attention, and he raised his
head and gave Marty a quick wave of recognition, but immediately turned away
and went back to the activity of racing his car.

Marty heard the clicking of high heels and heard Judy’s
distinctive smoker’s raspy voice greeting him as she passed by.

Marty would have replied, but by the time he got the words
out of his mouth, the woman was already down the corridor, directing the young
racecar drivers in another direction.

Tristan was still standing in the same spot, his face
showing signs of deep disappointment at the sudden loss of entertainment, when
Hope took his hand and led him back to Marty.

“How’d we do?” Marty asked her, referring to Tristan’s day
of exams.

“We did very well, didn’t we, young man?” She let go of his
hand and used hers to gently rub the top of his head.

Marty had only been in this little boy’s company now for a
few days, but he already knew how to read him. When he tried to communicate
that he was happy, or agreed with you, he would let out a short high-pitched
giggle. If something frustrated him, or he wasn’t happy with you, he would
grunt, or if he thought you were being ridiculous, he would let out a loud snort
and then smile.

Apparently he agreed with Hope’s depiction of the day,
because he let out a giggle and nodded his head to make sure there was no
confusion in the translation.

He then cupped his hand and motioned to his mouth.

“You’re hungry, huh? Okay, buddy, we will get you something
to eat.” Marty looked over at Hope.

“You feel like going to The Liar’s Den and grabbing some
dinner? Or do you just want to go home?”

Tristan wasn’t the only one whose facial expressions and
sounds Marty had no trouble reading. He saw the gleam in Hope’s eyes and heard
the smack of her lips when he mentioned the restaurant.

“Okay, then.” Marty replied, himself grateful for her
answer, he could already taste the prime rib.

“Oh, and you are going to like this. Judy just told me the
judge has issued Brad Madison’s release papers. He is going to be released to
the custody of his uncle in a few days. I thought you would like to know.” Her
fingers grazed through Tristan’s curls as she spoke.

Marty’s thoughts flashed back to the blond boy racing the
cars just a moment ago. “Do you think he’s ready, Hope? Do you think it’s a
good idea?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Medication seems to be working,
and we haven’t had any violent episodes lately. We have to trust he’s going to
be alright.”

Marty knew why she felt so skeptical. She sometimes wondered
if the boy who murdered his parents so viciously was capable of doing it again.
There was something about Brad Madison that left her with sleepless nights.

Marty hoped she was right.

He grabbed Tristan by his arms and lifted him up so he was
now sitting on top of his shoulders; Marty bent his knees so Tristan wouldn’t
hit his head as they headed out the door. While they walked, Hope relayed to Marty
the preliminary results of the extensive testing the little boy had endured
that day.

By the time they got to The Liar’s Den, they were all
famished. They continued their conversation during the meal.

“He is very bright and intuitive. His cognitive abilities
are off the charts.” Hope told Marty, keeping one eye on Tristan and another on
her plate. Every few seconds, he would pretend to steal a fry from her; and it
became a game between the two of them.

“Someone has taught him to read and his math skills are way
above what they should be at his age. Someone has spent a lot of time with him;
and, apparently, it wasn’t done in a structured school setting. Judy asked him
several times; and he undeniably insists that he has never been to school. When
she asked him who taught him, he kept clamming up. I think he believes he would
be betraying a trust.”

She gently slapped the little hand of his as he snatched a
fry from her plate. “Eat your own!” She growled at him, her teeth clenched, as
she pretended to be angry.

While Hope and Tristan played their game, Marty’s thoughts
wondered.

He wondered if the man lying in the hospital was responsible
for Tristan’s education or if it was the other brother?

All he knew for certain was what he was feeling at that
moment.

It just felt right. The three of them; sitting there, eating
dinner, just seemed so natural. Marty knew his thinking wasn’t rational and if
Troy Blakey did recover, it would only be a matter of time before he would be
reunited with his son, if this really was his son. He still had his doubts.

Marty wasn’t so sure if it was the best solution for the
little boy, even if Troy was his biological father. Obviously, the man allowed
the child to be in the company of a pedophile for years and maybe he was one
himself. The doctors checked Tristan out and said he wasn’t abused sexually,
but Marty wasn’t convinced. Something caused this child to stop speaking; and he
was determined to find out just what happened to the kid that would cause him
to stop communicating verbally.

His thoughts were interrupted when his cellphone rang. It
was Jean. She had spoken to Sanders, the investigator from Oregon. He was on
his way to New York, and was taking a shuttle from the New York Airport to
Sullivan County, and was scheduled to land in the morning. She insisted that
someone would pick him up at the airport and volunteered Marty.

“No problem,” Marty told her. He was looking forward to
speaking to the Oregon investigator. If anyone had knowledge of what Tristan’s
life was like before he came here, it would be him. And then Marty remembered tomorrow
morning was the time his dad was scheduled to come home.

Hope had overheard the conversation and read his mind. “I’ll
pick up the Captain; you do what you have to do. Tristan and I can go to the
hospital and pick up your father and get him settled in.”

Marty leaned over and gave her a kiss. Tristan made a face. “I
love you, do you know that?” Marty wiped away some gravy from the corner of her
mouth.

“Yes, I think I do.” She replied, snatching a fry from
Tristan’s plate. He let out a loud snort, causing a roomful of patrons to look
in their direction.