STOLEN (23 page)

The
first thing that came to Hope’s mind almost caused her a panic attack. When the
phone rang, she glanced up at the clock on the wall. The plastic yellow clock
in the shape of a teapot displayed the time as four-thirty. It suddenly
occurred to her that her mother was scheduled to return from her cruise today,
and she hadn’t heard from her yet. She turned to Shane.

“Look, I have to pick that up. It’s probably my mother, and
if she doesn’t get an answer, she’s going to worry, and she’s just going to
come over to see why I haven’t answered my phone. Please.”

Her request didn’t appear to have any influence on the man.
He was standing in front of the Captain with his hand extended, holding a sheet
of paper.

“Honestly, you don’t know my mother. She’s a bit obsessive;
look, you don’t want her to get it into her head to come here and if that’s her
and I don’t answer that phone . . . .”

He was getting tired of her rambling. “Go on, answer it, but
make it quick.

She walked over to the telephone and wasn’t surprised to
hear his footsteps following right behind her.

She didn’t recognize the voice on the other end.

“Dr. Rubin, Hope? This is Lieutenant Sanders from Oregon. Are
you alright in there?”

“Yes. Hello, fine.”

“Hope, we believe Shane Blakey is in your home? A yes or no
is adequate.”

“Yes, Mama, I’m fine.”

“Is he armed, Hope?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Is anyone hurt?”

“Oh, no, Mom.” She looked over at Shane and smiled and rolled
her eyes as if she was speaking to her mother.

“It’s okay, Hope, I want you to tell him the truth. You can
tell him I want to talk to him. Tell him Lieutenant Sanders from Falling Rock,
Oregon wants to speak with him.”

“Okay.” She bit down on her lip and pushed a lock of hair
behind her ear. She turned around to find Shane was standing so close to that
her right breast brushed up against him.

She backed up a little and held out the phone’s receiver.

“It’s for you. He says it’s a Lieutenant Sanders, from
Oregon.”

Startled at first, when hearing the familiar name, Shane
cautiously took the phone from Hope.

His voice cracked out a “Hello?”

“Shane, this is Mike Sanders from the H.I.T.S. division of
the Oregon State Police. You remember me, right?”

Sanders held his breath, waiting for Shane to interrupt him,
but there was silence on the other end.

“I’ve been investigating the homicide of Troy’s wife,
M’leigh.”

“Yeah, I know who you are.” He nodded to Hope, indicating
for her to go back to the teenage boy, who was standing by the sink and was
making him extremely nervous. He knew the old man and girl wouldn’t be a
problem, but he wasn’t assured the kid wouldn’t try something stupid. Hope
complied immediately, even though her instinct was to stay closer so she would
be able to overhear the phone conversation.

“Shane, can you tell me if everyone is okay in there? Are
you hungry? Do you need any food? I can have a pizza delivered. I hear that New
York has the best pizza, even better then Luigi’s on Main Street. You’ve been
there, right?” He wasn’t expecting an answer and he didn’t get one. “There are
five of you, right? Four adults and one kid?”

Sanders thought he was pretty sure how many people were in
the house, but he was fishing nevertheless. He wanted to confirm all of what
they knew up till now. How many were in the house and that no one had been hurt
or in need of medical assistance.

“No, we’re not hungry. We don’t need pizza.” Shane clenched
his teeth as he replied and began pacing back and forth, holding the coiled
cord in his free hand and then in a completely different and quieter tone, he
added, “Everyone’s fine.”

“Good, that’s good, Shane. No one’s been hurt. No harm done.
So why don’t you let the family out and we can talk.”

“No, man, I can’t do that.” He kept his eyes on Dylan, who
was still standing by the sink. He didn’t trust the kid one bit. He took a deep
breath and then spoke softly into the receiver, “Sanders?”

“Yes, Shane.”

“I need to know how my brother is. He’s going to be okay,
right?” With those words spoken, he sat down at the dining table which was now
cleared of the dirty dishes, waiting for an answer.

“He’s going to be fine, Shane. I just came from the hospital
and I spoke to Troy myself and he told us exactly what happened in the cabin.
We know you were just trying to protect your family. We know what your old
man . . . we know what Archie did. We know all of it,
Shane.”

Shane was hesitant; wondered if he could trust the man, so
he questioned him. “You’re not bullshitting me, are you, Sanders? You better
not be bullshitting me!” And then as if he had an epiphany, he made a demand.
“I want to talk to my brother! You need to have Troy call me himself. I want to
speak to my brother and hear he’s okay. I want to hear it from his own mouth.”

“Look, Shane, if you come out now, I will personally take
you to him.”

Sanders turned to see the look of displeasure on Chief
Bergman’s face. The giant man’s jowls remained still, but Sanders could see the
tension in the man’s face. He knew he was stepping over the line, negotiating a
deal, but he didn’t care. He needed to get Shane out of there before the
Hostage Negotiating Team showed up, with a sniper or a S.W.A.T. team, and he
was forced to let them take over; he feared what the result would be in that case.

“I’ll think about it. I need to talk to this old man first.
Call me back in five minutes.”

Before he could say another word, Sanders heard the click of
the phone disconnecting.

Slamming the phone’s receiver on the metal hook, Shane
walked back to where the Captain was sitting. “I asked you a question, old man.
Do you know this kid?”

Getting more and more frustrated with his medical condition
and his inability to take control and disarm the man; the Captain fought hard
to hold back tears. For the first time in the man’s life, he was experiencing a
feeling of helplessness. Suddenly, he was feeling old and frail. The man who
spent two years in the Marines and fought during the Korean War, and then went
on to spend the next thirty years as a guard in a maximum security penitentiary
in the State of New York, was embarrassed and ashamed. Brain tumor or not, he
felt he should be able to take advantage of the man’s obvious nervousness.

“I asked you a question, old man, answer me. You know this
kid, right?” He held up the photograph of T.J. Kolakowski again.

“Yes.” The Captain debated with himself just how much
information he should tell the man standing across from him holding the gun. He
was still unsure of what the man was looking for or even why was asking about
the missing child.

Shane pulled out the chair across from the Captain and sat
down, his legs spread apart, his knee shaking uncontrollably. He placed his
elbows on the table and leaned over so he was directly looking into the
Captain’s watery eyes.

“Is this me?” He held the paper up so it was touching his
cheek and the face of the missing child in the article was adjacent to his own.

The question hit the Captain like a bolt of lightning. The
tiny grey hairs stood up on the back of his neck and arms. His gut felt like
someone slammed a fist into it.

He looked into Shane’s eyes. Only one had remained opened
completely. The man’s left eye was almost completely shut. The Captain
carefully and quite deliberately answered. “No, son, that’s not you.”

“Are you positive? Look again!”

“No, son, I’m positive. I knew that little boy and he isn’t
you.” His anger with the man was started to recede as his curiosity
intensified.

Frustrated and unhappy with the Captain’s answer, Shane
spoke again. “It was a long time ago; maybe he changed. Maybe he looks
different now.”

It felt to the Captain as if the man was pleading with him,
hoping for a different outcome.

“I’m sorry, son, but the little boy in that photograph, it’s
not you. I would know that child as if he was one of my own kids. I’m telling
you, that little boy, it’s not you.”

The sudden squeal coming from the television room startled
all of them.

“Dirteee!!” Tristan hollered out as he pointed to the large
flat screen television set attached to the wall.

Tristan turned on the television and Marilyn Tams, the five
o’clock news reporter, was updating the medical status of the man police now
identified as Troy Blakey. The wind was blowing and the reporter was having
trouble keeping her long blonde hair from flying in her face. She was standing
outside the main entrance of the hospital, microphone in hand.

“Police have identified the man hunters found shot in the
same cabin where kidnapped victim Michaelah Sandburg was discovered as Troy
Blakey.” Blakey’s name and face flashed across the screen.

“Marty, please tell me what in the world is going on?”

Marty shifted his weight around so that he was facing the
woman. His fingers tapped nervously on the vinyl headrest. He was nervous and
he wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

“Mrs. K, the man in the hospital, the one on the
news . . . .” He felt himself stammering.

“Marty, for God’s sake, just tell me what’s going on here.
Who is that man at your house? What does he want?”

Jean was driving erratically through traffic and swerved in
order to avoid a collision. If Mrs. K was frightened, she didn’t let on.

Marty took a long and drawn out deep breath and then
exhaled. “Mrs. K, the man in the hospital, the one we are going to see now, we
believe is your nephew T.J.”

Her hand flew to her mouth, covering a loud gasp. Her eyes
shut in disbelief. Marty was afraid she was going to pass out.

A few seconds passed before she opened her eyes. The car
came to a sudden stop and it jolted them both. She watched, as if in a trance,
as Jean unbuckled her seat belt, exited the vehicle and opened the door for
her. Marty ran around the other side of the vehicle and put out his hand to
assist her. Without a word, she clutched her fingers around the palm of Marty’s
hand and he saw a flood of tears running down her cheeks, which were now
crimson in color.

It was a relief. Marty wanted to be the one to have this
conversation with the woman who was such a big part of his life and who filled
a role so desperately needed by the loss of his mother. She became such a
strong influence on Marty’s sister Mary, his seven brothers, and himself. If it
was not for the strength of this lady, so tiny in stature, yet so strong in
confidence, Marty may not have been able to survive that part of his life. She
had lost her sister-in-law in a tragic car accident and then she suffered
something he considered immeasurable pain, the disappearance of her
three-year-old nephew and the suicide of her only brother. Looking at her,
Marty realized how she possessed a good deal of the same qualities he loved and
admired so much in Hope. He wanted to be the one to tell her the news.

She didn’t say a word as they walked into the hospital
lobby. It was just as well, because his thoughts now were somewhere else. Marty
didn’t know why but, at the moment, he was incredibly calm. He was upset that
he was persuaded to leave; but he knew he would not be allowed to be involved
in any negotiations or action required to get his family out safely. He had
this uncanny sense that everything was going to be alright. Maybe it was his
police training; maybe it is just how he reacted to his own fears. Or maybe he
was just in shock. He was walking with Jean and Mrs. K, but his mind was ten
miles away; and then just before they entered Troy Blakey’s room, Marty closed
his eyes and he prayed.