Jordan didn’t want Moira and Leo involved in this. Once he had Meeker in a secure location, he planned to pack their bags and set them out by the car. When Leo and Moira returned from their woodland walk, he’d insist they take his car and drive home. He’d claim he needed to be alone or pretend he was pissed off at them. Whatever it took, he’d get rid of them.
The skies had turned slightly overcast again. Jordan felt a chilly wind against his back as he stood by the car. In one hand, he had the car keys with the automatic opening device for the door and trunk. In the other hand he held Allen Meeker’s gun.
“I’m the only one around for about a mile,” Jordan announced over the incessant banging. Meeker wouldn’t stop hammering and kicking the inside of the trunk’s lid. “No one else can hear you, so you might as well stop all that noise and shit. Here, in case you don’t believe me…” Jordan yelled out:
“I’VE GOT A MAN BOUND AND GAGGED IN THE TRUNK OF MY CAR! WON’T SOMEONE PLEASE COME HELP HIM?”
The banging and pounding stopped.
“See what I mean?” Jordan asked, staring down at the small trunk. “So like I told you, I’m going to pop the trunk now, and I don’t want you making any sudden movements.”
He paused a moment to let that sink in.
“I have your gun,” he continued. “And I won’t hesitate to shoot you or hit you over the head with it if you try anything. Got that? You want to get hit over the head again? I’m figuring you don’t. Tap once if you understand me.”
Jordan waited. A solitary thump came from the trunk.
“Okay, I’m going to open her up now,” he said. He pressed the button on the key-ring device. The trunk popped open a few inches—and stayed there.
Jordan shoved the keys in his pocket. His palm was sweating against the gun handle in his other hand. With a cautious step toward the back of the car, he pushed open the trunk’s lid all the way.
Curled up in the cramped space, Allen Meeker lay on his side. His face was crimson, and wet with perspiration and tears. The gag still filled his mouth, and his eyes seemed to plead with Jordan. Shifting a bit, he let out a sad, sickly moan. The jacket Jordan had used to tie his ankles together had come unraveled. Jordan couldn’t see if Meeker’s hands were still tied in back of him.
“Roll over on your other side,” he said, pointing the gun at him. “I see you freed your legs. I need to check if you managed to untie your hands, too.”
Nonplussed, Allen Meeker just stared back at him and blinked.
“Roll over!” Jordan barked.
Meeker nodded obediently, then turned to one side, contorting his body within the confines of the small trunk. He was trembling and looked so vulnerable in that awkward position. Jordan could see the twine, still taut around his wrists. His hands were red and slightly swollen.
Jordan put the gun to his head. “The last time I saw you was ten years ago,” he said quietly. “Remember, you said you had car trouble? Funny, isn’t it? That’s how I got to you today. I gave you car trouble. Do you remember, Allen? Do you recall waving at my mother and me?”
Jordan remembered all of it. His mother hadn’t slept well the night before, and her attempt to make pancakes in the shape of bunny heads was an utter disaster. She had never been much of a cook, and now kept burning the pancakes or screwing up the rabbit’s profile. She was trying so hard to make this mother-son weekend something special. Jordan ate her fourth attempt at a pancake and pretended it was scrumptious, even though it was a bit runny inside and one of the bunny ears had fallen off going from the spatula to his plate.
After breakfast, it was kayaking time—finally. Jordan had been looking forward to this since talking to his mother last week, when she’d said she’d bought a junior-size kayak for him. Jordan had been on sailboats and canoes before, but he’d never taken to the water on a kayak all by himself. This had promised to be a real adventure. The previous day, before their hike in the woods, she’d let him climb inside the small, yellow craft with the bucket seat—just to get the feel of it. He’d been disappointed he couldn’t take the kayak out on the bay, but—at least in his mother’s opinion—the water was too choppy.
The bay didn’t look much better that morning. The grey sky gave the water a dull slate color—except for the ripples of small, whitecapped waves. Roped to the dock, the yellow kayak teetered on the water. His mother made him put on the orange helmet and life vest, which was okay. But he was disappointed when she insisted he practice paddling while still roped to the dock. He couldn’t wait to take the kayak out on his own—on the open water. But she told him, “Just a little practice, kiddo, a few more minutes so you get the feel of it.”
He remembered her standing on that dock, in a pale blue pullover and khakis. Her blond hair was all windblown. When she took off her sunglasses, Jordan could see from her eyes that indeed she hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before. Yet she still looked beautiful—especially when she smiled at him.
“Okay, kiddo, I’m letting you go,” she said, at last. She moved toward the rope securing the kayak and started to untie it from the dock cleats. “Stay close to the dock. And the minute I wave you in, you paddle back. Understand?”
“Yeah, Mom, I will,” he said. He would have agreed to anything at that moment. He just wanted to be out on the water.
Once he was on his own, it was a bit scary. The current quickly carried him away from the dock, and the small boat rocked back and forth. Biting his lip, he worked the paddle from side to side until he got a rhythm going and the craft moved more steadily.
“That’s it, kiddo! You’re doing great!” his mother cheered him on.
He risked taking one hand off the paddle to wave at her. The kayak teetered for just a few seconds, but he got it balanced again. Gliding farther away from the dock, Jordan watched his mom become smaller and smaller in the distance. Again, he took one hand off the paddle, just so he could look at his mother and pretend to hold her between his finger and his thumb. He had done that before, looking at people in the distance; and he often pretended to squish them. But he didn’t squish his mom. He just laughed, then starting working the paddle with both hands once more.
The cool wind whipped at him, and Jordan loved it. He glanced over his shoulder at the open bay. Out on his own like this, he felt so grown-up and powerful.
“You’re getting too far out now, kiddo!” his mother called. “Come on back a little….”
Jordan turned to look at her. That was when he saw the dark-haired man coming around from the driveway side of the house. He wore sunglasses, a black V-neck sweater, and jeans. He walked very quickly—as if at any minute, he might break into a sprint.
Jordan immediately thought of the elusive stranger who had been spying on them the previous afternoon and all through the night. Jordan had never really seen him, but his mother had. At first, she’d been so sure their stalker was a spy for his dad, and she’d been angry about it. But later, she’d just seemed scared.
“Mom!” he screamed, “Behind you!” He took one hand off the paddle again—so he could point to the stranger. He kept stabbing his finger in the air, but she didn’t seem to understand. She didn’t turn around.
“Come on in, Jordan! That’s too far!” She waved him in.
All the while, her back was to the man. Jordan could see him, heading down the sloped yard with that strange, determined, brisk gate. He moved so fast, his face was just a blur.
Waves jostled the kayak, and Jordan started paddling again—toward his mother. “Mom, look out behind you!” he yelled.
She must have heard him that time, because she suddenly swiveled around.
The man waved at her—and then at Jordan, out on the water. “Sorry to bother you folks!” he called in a friendly tone, advancing toward the dock. “Maybe you could help me. I have some car trouble….”
Even from a distance, Jordan could see his mother’s body become rigid and tense. She took a step back as the stranger approached her. He was saying something to her, but Jordan couldn’t hear it. But he saw the man’s charming smile, and the way his mother seemed to relax a little. Jordan kept paddling toward them. “Mom?” he called. “Mom, what’s going on?”
She turned to look at him, a smile on her face.
Jordan noticed something in the man’s hand, but he was too far away to see what it was. The man hauled back—almost like a pitcher about to throw a fastball.
“Mom!” Jordan screamed.
She spun around in time to ward off the blow. But he hit her arm with that thing he had. It might have been a blackjack, Jordan wasn’t sure. His mom let out a stunned cry.
For a moment, Jordan couldn’t move. Trembling, he gripped the paddle, but held it against his lap. The brisk, cool wind kicked up around him, and the kayak started to teeter. But he was paralyzed—until he felt the front of his pants grow warm and wet. Then he was like a little kid, suddenly waking up once he’d wet the bed. Jordan started screaming, and he paddled furiously toward the dock. “Mom, hold on!”
But she was so far away. “Please, no, wait—wait,” she cried, recoiling from the man. She was holding on to her arm. Jordan could tell she was hurt. “If you want money,” she said. “My purse is in the house—please—”
Tears in his eyes, Jordan kept paddling. The kayak rocked violently as it surged toward the dock. Cold water from the bay splashed him and sluiced inside the craft’s bucket seat. But he was still too far away.
Helplessly, he watched his mother struggle with her attacker. The man knocked her down with one blow. Her sunglasses flew off her face. Jordan heard a thud as she collapsed on the dock. But she got up again and began to pummel the man with her fists.
“Goddamn it, bitch, that’s enough!” the man yelled. He grabbed her by the injured arm and yanked her toward him. She shrieked in pain.
Jordan continued to paddle frantically—though his shoulders and back ached from all the effort. The dock seemed just out of reach. He was still too far away to save his mother. All he could do was scream as loudly as possible—anything to distract or delay this stranger who now had his mother in a choke hold. He raised the blackjack above his head again.
“Jordan, help—”
Those were the last words he heard his mother say. The man brought the bludgeon down on Jordan’s mother’s skull, and she suddenly went limp. He caught her before she crashed down on the dock’s wooden planks.
“No, no, no, no!” Jordan shouted. But the man didn’t even glance his way. He pulled something out from the back of his sweater and casually tossed it on the dock. Then he lifted Jordan’s mother in his arms, turned, and carried her up the back lawn toward the driveway at the side of the house. He looked like a groom, carrying his limp bride toward a threshold. They disappeared behind the hedges bordering the driveway.
Jordan was crying. He was so close to the dock, but not quite there yet.
By the time the kayak rammed into the dock pilings, he heard a car revving up and tires screeching. There was no time to secure the small craft. The kayak almost tipped over as Jordan jumped out of it. Staggering onto the dock, he shed the helmet and life vest. He spotted his mother’s sunglasses on the wooden planks and, beside them, something the man had left: a rubbery old Kewpie doll of a smiling sailor boy.
Jordan snatched up his mother’s sunglasses. There was something inside him that thought he might be able to give them back to her.
He ran up the sloped backyard as fast as he could, toward the driveway at the side of the house. But the only car he saw there was his mother’s.
Racing inside the house, he went for the phone in the kitchen, the same one his mother had used the night before to call the police. But when he took the receiver off its cradle, there was no dial tone. He cried out in frustration, then bolted upstairs to her bedroom and tried the phone on her nightstand. It was dead, too.
Panic-stricken, Jordan scurried back down the stairs and flung the front door open. Rushing outside, he saw the phone line at the side of the house was cut.
The cabin on Cedar Crest Way had no phone. Their neighbor on the bay was actually closer, but not by any paved road or path. It was a mile through a muddy, overgrown forest on the water’s edge. Jordan didn’t even know if they had a phone. But he had to try.
He plunged into the thicket, hoping to find a path, but it was as if no one had ever ventured through those dense woods before. Jordan kept looking through the trees at the bay to get his sense of direction. He tried to run along the water’s edge, but it was just sludge that swallowed up his feet—up to his ankles. Racing through those impenetrable, muddy woods, he thought he might never find the neighbor’s house. All the while, he couldn’t stop crying. He couldn’t stop thinking about what that horrible man might be doing to his mother.
It seemed like forever, but eventually, the ground beneath his feet became harder, and the forest thinned out. Jordan stumbled upon a gravel road and followed it to a frame-style house with big picture windows and a deck across the second floor. Sitting on a hill, surrounded by trees, it looked out at the bay. Jordan didn’t see a car in the carport by the house. Staggering up to the front door, he banged on it. His face and hands were riddled with scratches. Bay water, mud, and his own urine soiled his pants.
No one came to the door. He started screaming and pounding harder and harder.
The rest was a blur. Jordan didn’t remember cutting his hand when he broke a window in the back of the house and climbed inside. He had no recollection of phoning the police. And he could only take their word for it when they said they found him on the front stoop of the empty house. They said he was sobbing, half-covered in mud, and in his bleeding hand he held a pair of sunglasses.
They found his mother thirty-six hours later.
The casket remained closed at her wake. So Jordan’s last glimpse of his mother had been from a distance, when he’d watched her executioner carrying her away.
And despite some false alarms, he never saw that man again—until today.
“Do you remember my mother, Allen?” Jordan asked, pressing the gun against his silver-grey temple. “Or have you forgotten her, after all the others you’ve killed?”