The Perfect Solution-A Suspense of Choices

• Title Page
  
• Chapter 1-INTENTIONS
  
• Chapter 2- CONVERSATIONS
  
• CHAPTER 3- FRUSTRATION
  
• CHAPTER 4- REVELATION
  
• CHAPTER 5-DETERMINATION
  
• CHAPTER 8-THE REUNION
  
• ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  
• CHAPTER 1 kerplunk
  

"I placed the most precious thing in my life in your hands and you people did not take your job seriously."

Ey Wade on Smashwords

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Wade-In Publishing

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Nothing about the handcuffed bound woman sitting on the floor radiated acceptance of her situation. From the constant flicking to remove her braids from her face, to the angry squint eyed gaze directed at the couple and the small child standing across the room, resentment emanated.

She watched as the policewoman near her administered aid to the teenager lying on the floor and without warning she kicked out and landed a terrific blow into the female police detective’s kneecap which caused the officer to bend over in surprise and pain. Squirming into a kneeling position, the shackled woman continued her struggle for freedom by elbowing the officer as hard as she could in the face. The cracking cartilage of the policewoman's nose was clearly heard.

Determinedly wrestling with the injured detective, she manages to get into a standing position. Victorious in her efforts, she runs at break neck speed towards the nearest giant pane of glass.

Holding her head down and never pausing in her stride, she breaks through the pane causing flying shards of the splintered glass to cut at her face, dragging relentlessly deep gauges down her cheeks. Fragments of the glass rained on her head like the drops falling from the skies and sticking in her hair.

"Stop or I'll shoot." Detective Serge, the other officer in the room ordered. "Damn." He shouted when he realized the pane she had chosen to run towards was much too close to the heads of the man and the small child he was holding. "Damn," He repeated. "That heifer is smart." He muttered in unabashed admiration.

Landing on the ground in a tuck and roll position, Mona got to her feet as quickly as possible, running across the parking lot and into the middle of the four-lanes of traffic, zigging and zagging through the cars to avoid being hit.

Detective Serge ran to the glass and fired shots at the woman's retreating back. Missing his mark he ran to the rear of the building and out of the unlocked door.

"Uh uh, that's it.” The man still holding the child wrapped his free arm around the woman at his side and shook his head in disbelief. “I’ve had enough. I think it’s time for us to leave. How in hell did we get in this situation anyway?"

Six Months Earlier…

Linda slowly scanned over the words typed on the single sheet of yellowing paper her mother had just handed her. It was an advertisement for a child care center. She read the words aloud.

“Make the right choice in child care. Saturday, May 20th 9a.m.-5p.m.You are invited to the grand opening of: The Perfect Solution & After the Perfect Solution Day Care Centers. 500 Pavilion Rd.--(409) 890-2375. Day care hours: 6 a.m.-6p.m. and 2:30 p.m.-6 a.m. anything you could want in care for your child is at: The Perfect Solution Day Care Centers.”

Clicking her tongue in irritation at the date on the page she tried to give the paper back to her mom.

“Mom," she sighed, “Why did you give this to me? This article is five years old. I need something now. I want to be able to show Ms. Catrine a good solution and have Brhin settled somewhere before I start school.”

"I know." Raising both hands in the air in refusal of custody of the paper Synthia Brason continued talking. “You keep it. I made that copy when you were about twelve because I started to enroll you there. The childcare center is still in the same area. Still looks nice on the outside. Sounds like a great place for Brhin to go.”

Scanning the words in the ad for the second time, Linda agreed.

"Yes, like a perfect solution."

They both laughed.

"Maybe you should check it out."

"I will. I guess nothing could go wrong by me just checking out the place and then telling his mom about it."

“
Austin”

Yanking his coat from the back of the wood slated chair and practically tipping it over with the momentum of his movements, Austin Sanchez practically ran out of the detective's office. Outside of the door, he angrily pushed his arms into the sleeves of his smoke gray leather jacket and jabbed the 'down' button of the elevator.

"Doctor Sanchez." The detective poked his head out of his door. "Don't forget that you have to remain in town. Until your son is found, you are unfortunately considered a suspect."

"I'm not about to forget that too soon." Austin answered in a flat furious tone. He stepped into the elevator and stalled the door's closing by putting his foot in the doorway. "Just keep my name and number close at hand; you may want to put it on your list as a murder suspect before the night is over."

"Listen, Doctor Sanchez, don't do anything you’ll be sorry about," Warned the detective, pointing his pen towards Austin. "You'll find yourself right back up here and not sitting comfortably in my little office."

"Never fear, if I do anything, I can guarantee you I won’t be sorry." He jabbed his finger into the button that closed the door.

Shaking his head as the doors closed, the detective empathized with Austin's feelings. What a hell of a way to find out you’re a father. He had seen and heard a lot of things during his years as police detective, but this was a new one. To never know that you are a parent and then to get the knowledge when your child is missing had to be a horrendous blow to both your ego and your sense of righteousness.

Remembering the shocked look on Austin Sanchez's face, he had no doubts that the man knew nothing about the child's whereabouts. As a matter of fact, he had been afraid he would have to call the paramedics. The poor guy had looked like he was about to have a stroke.

"Man, what way to find out you are a father," The detective repeated out loud. Slipping his arms into the sleeves of his coat, he too left the building.

Unknowingly echoing the detective's thoughts, Austin stepped from the elevator and walked out of the police station. He was so pissed, the words swirled around in his head at such a rapid pace, he could barely think. If it hadn't been for the fact he was dead tired from spending the past eighteen hours between two different surgeries, he felt as if he could drive straight to Catrine's apartment and beat the life out of her. But then again, he was really tired. He needed a shower, a bottle of extra strength aspirin and a cup of coffee.

From the moment he had gotten home from work and heard the message on his answering machine telling him to report to the detective's office or face the possibility of being arrested, Austin had thought that there was nothing left in the day to shock him. Finding out he was a father and being accused of that child's abduction, had definitely taken him on a trip to another dimension. He recalled each step of the visit with each step he took towards his car.

"Come in Doctor Sanchez."

The detective ushered Austin into the cramped little room and directed him to a slate backed chair at a long wooden table. Shutting the door, he sat opposite of Austin with his arms folded, rocking back and forth on the rear legs of the chair. He studied Austin as if he were staring at a specimen under a microscope. Then, without uttering a word, the detective let the chair fall back on all four of its legs, the sudden thud startling in the quiet room. Tapping the unsharpened end of his pencil on the table as he studied the notes in front of him, the detective repeatedly hummed a couple of tuneless notes.

Austin, assuming that this was another form of police psychological torture, nervously glanced around the small room. It was a mess. The clutter made him fill slightly claustrophobic. Shelves, floor, and table were packed with files, office equipment, and other office paraphernalia. There was barely enough room for him to move. Breathing slowly, Austin strove to put on the face of extreme confidence. After all, he had done nothing wrong. He had stolen nothing. No one had died on the operating table while in his hands and he owed no one any money. So what was the problem? Why had he been called here? He could feel himself slipping into the Black man's sense of injustice and fear. No matter how professional a Black man became, the idea of dealing with the law could put mortal fear into his soul.