Wanted (9 page)

Both men are considered extremely dangerous and should not be approached under any circumstances. Any citizen with any information should contact their local authorities or FBI office.

I clicked the back button and looked over at Charlie. His expression of complete apathy made me tremble. Could I really be in the presence of a killer?

“Is that stuff true?”

He shrugged. “You can’t believe everything you read.”

“Are you a murderer?”

His eyes searched mine for the right answer. When he couldn’t decide what it was, he was honest instead. “Only when I got to be.”

My throat felt like it was closing up on me. “Are you going to kill me?”

“I thought I made it real clear I wasn’t gonna do that.”

“Why?” Why was I arguing? I had no idea but the question blurted out of me before I had time to stop it.

He seemed to enjoy my interrogation, “ ‘Cause I don’t kill girls.”

“That’s sexist.” I frowned.

He started laughing. “Are you complaining?”

“I guess not.” I couldn’t help it. His laugh made me smile. “It’s still sexist.”

“’Sides,” he said, taking the laptop, “you make me laugh.”

I wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or insult. “Um, thanks?”

“And…” He stretched out the word in an exaggerated fashion and leaned over me just slightly. I pretended to flinch away. Under normal circumstances it might appear as though we were flirting. I suppose it was entirely possible that we were, though I was leaning more toward my lack of sanity. “You can’t kill a dead girl.”

He laughed at my expression and typed something else into the search engine. “This stuff is hilarious.” Then he handed me back the computer and waited impatiently for my reaction.

“Kidnapping Victim Feared Dead”

Less than 48-hours after Adeline Battes was reported missing from a rest stop outside of Syracuse New York, FBI investigators discovered the body of auto body truck driver, Spenser Hanson in the empty cab of his vehicle. Investigators have also learned that nearly one-half of a million dollars in electronic parts being carried were now unaccounted for. From there, authorities gained descriptions of Charles Hays, who is now the prime suspect in relation to the kidnapping of Adeline Battes (see above), and is now being investigated for charges related to domestic terrorism and murder.

Early this morning, local authorities and FBI agents followed evidence that led them to an abandoned home in Staten Island, New York, where forensics teams found both the finger prints of Benjamin Walden and Charles Hays, in addition to the blood and hair follicles of Adeline Battes. Additional evidence also shows that the other individuals may have been working to create some sort of explosive device within the basement of the house.

An anonymous statement from a junior FBI agent says, “Given the amount of blood found at the scene, it is unlikely that Miss. Battes is still alive. These aren’t the kind of people to leave witnesses. We need to make the explosives a priority now before more lives are lost.”

“This is a nightmare.” I ran my fingers through my hair. Walking around and the fresh air had helped my headache, but with this new bombardment of information, I could feel the sharp sting at the back of my skull flaring up again.

“Really?” Charlie said, “I think it’s pretty funny.”

I glared at him. “Oh yeah? Do your—” I chose my words carefully, “—colleagues think it’s so funny?”

“Nah, they’re real mad. But they’ll get over it.”

I clicked out of the link and tried to open up my e-mail. Charlie had the computer out of my hands and into his own before I could hit the caps lock.

“Hey, what are you doing?”

“I have to contact my Dad. He has to be going crazy!”

He jumped up with the laptop and crossed the room, eager, it would seem, to get away. “Sorry, can’t let you do that.”

“Are you freaking kidding me?” Was this another attempt at humor? If Dad hadn’t had a heart attack by now, he almost certainly would if he didn’t hear from me before the end of six days. The fear for my family instinctually overcame the fear for my personal safety and gave me a temporary dosage of bravery. “He thinks I’m dead. You can’t do this to him. It’s cruel!” I reached for the computer, but anticipating my move, he prevented me from even coming close.

“He doesn’t think you’re dead.” He laughed as I tried to grab for it, jumping for it while he held it above his head. I dived for it when he hid it behind his back. It didn’t help that his arms were so much longer and stronger than mine, but I still shoved and kicked against him. I knew he was a killer now, they all were. It didn’t matter, I wouldn’t and couldn’t let Dad suffer like that.

“He knows you ain’t dead, okay? Just relax for a second.” He was trying to keep his voice serious, but I could hear the laughter in his words.

I stopped reaching for the laptop, but only because I wanted to hear what he had to say, not because I was actually following his instructions.

“What do you mean?”

“He gave a press release a couple of hours after that one came out. Called the cops a bunch of idiots, said there wasn’t no way you were dead and the F.B.I was incompetent if they thought that.” He laughed again. “It was great.”

In spite of myself I did feel some relief. What he was describing sounded like typical Dad behavior. I was glad he knew I was still alive somehow. And I even felt a touch of pride at his fatherly denial. But I couldn’t excuse the horror he was probably going through. He may have sensed I was alive, but he didn’t know I was well. I instantly hated the helplessness that resided there. He didn’t even have Robbie to keep him in good spirits.

“They’ll be tracing any account linked to you, so you can’t be contacting nobody.” He pulled out the small Wi-Fi card from the side of the computer and placed it in his pocket. “Sorry, but that’s how it is. Something else and I’ll try to help, if I can. Can’t do nothing ‘bout that one, though.”

“Please,” my voice was small, scrunched up from my insides. “Just—just go away.”

I didn’t know what to think when his eyes narrowed again and his shoulders tensed. I backed away as slowly as I could and slid down to the floor. The fresh air had somewhat helped my aching head, but the pain still throbbed there, my pulse beating against the base of my skull.

Charlie moved swiftly to the crate and forcefully yanked one of its drawers open. The sudden movement made the pulse ring louder in my ears and I felt myself wince at the sound. It was followed by a sort of rattling as Charlie produced a white bottle of tablets.

“Here,” he said, tossing them in my direction

I recognized the label as a popular brand of aspirin, one that we might have even had at home, but I was still reluctant to pick them up. Maybe he was trying to poison me after all.

“No, thank you,” I snapped

He opened his mouth to say something but changed his mind. Instead, he just smiled and shook his head. I couldn’t help but notice the few strands of hair that fell in front of his eyes. I had a very real urge to put them back into place or maybe run my hands through his hair once more.

I turned away, ashamed of the compulsion and yet I could feel his eyes on me, boring holes through my flesh I wanted to scream, I wanted to run. Yet I knew there was nowhere to go.

“Please,” I tried again, “leave me alone.”

After he left I waited a respectable amount of time before I let the situation sink in. I had to survive on this ship another six days. That could be easy enough, but these people had given me their word once before and that hadn’t exactly turned out well. Six days was less than a single week, about 144 hours. I could handle that, right?

I felt the self-hatred expand on my insides again. Normally I was so put together, so thought out. What in the hell had I been thinking? Or maybe more importantly, what could I have done differently to not have ended up here? I should have tried harder to escape from the abandoned house, or fought harder when I first fled from the SUV. I rubbed my temples and considered the possibilities. I could have grabbed a piece of the glass from the floor, looked for something to write on the wall with so someone might have known I had been there but then after finding my blood they had already known I was there…I shivered at the idea of what the crime scene probably looked like.

At least then I didn’t give in to the tears. My anger was too ferocious to let me cry, at least not then. I could blame myself, and I probably would for the rest of my life—regardless of how short it might be. But the true fault lay in the deviousness of my abductors. What did these people think a teenage girl could do to them, anyway? Even if I had gone to the police with what I saw, they probably wouldn’t have taken a teenager seriously.

I was gnashing my jaws together as I slid further down, adjusting myself so I was completely on the floor. Charlie was possibly the worst of them all—showing me some of what the media had to say, letting me in on the Internet access, only to deny me the smallest contact with Dad, which could be a great source of comfort to him in the days to come. Maybe it was a sick kind of game to him, a way of getting people’s hopes up and then watching them sink like so many stones into the ocean.

And why hadn’t they just dumped me overboard when they had the chance? My family didn’t have any money; they must know that by now. I was still somewhat confident that my body was safe, but my mind couldn’t formulate reasons why they would bother keeping me alive at all if I wasn’t any use to them. I considered what Charlie said about a murder conviction and trembled at the thought. I pictured Dad on the steps of some courthouse demanding justice for a dead daughter. So they hadn’t killed me for any sort of morality, but merely for practicality’s sake.

None of them wanted to go back to prison.

I closed my eyes and listened to the sounds of the ship. The nausea had receded and for that I was grateful. I had hoped this meant I neither had a concussion nor seasickness, though time would tell.

The coolness of the floor felt good against my scalp. And though my body begged for more sleep, the little switch of common sense in my mind told me to keep vigilant, reminding me I was not in a safe place. I opened my eyes again and stared at the dim light of the desk lamp. Though it didn’t offer much, I deemed it efficient for the little room.

I sat up slowly and pulled the lamp up to the bed. I reached for the piles of papers and notebooks. I knew I shouldn’t look through them, after all, what if they were some intimate correspondence and reading them guaranteed my death? Still, reason hadn’t exactly been my forte in the last 24 hours. Yet I felt entitled to this. If they held information that could give me insight into my abductor, I had a right to them, didn’t I?

So even though I could feel myself biting my lip, a sign that something was amiss, I reached for one. I did take a second and third glance at the door to assure myself no one would come raging in as I curled up with a notebooks. As I opened the front cover and my hand explored the thin paper, I understood it was actually a sketchbook.

Inside, nearly every page was full of some image or another. It seemed strangely intimate looking through those drawings—almost like seeing someone without their clothes on. The first was the intricate drawing of a sunrise, the ripples of the ocean were shadowed with whitecaps and some kind of bird was flying in the distance. The one that followed was a field of trees that looked like they were just coming into bloom, then there was an antique car, an empty dock…

I traced my index finger just above the lines of each sketch and tried to imagine the picture in my head. I attempted to think about the artist and the great pride and detail he had put into every sketch. Or how he might have agonized over which line to make as a figure was shaped. It was better than thinking about how he must have been parted from his artwork.

I had to figure Charlie had probably stolen these from a poor struggling artist on some other smuggling adventure. For some reason, the idea pained me terribly. But it was only too easy to see him taking something he wanted for wanting’s sake. In the pit of me, I felt a pain rise at the knowledge. It was a shame beyond shame to claim something so lovely just for himself, to not share it with others. It made me angry; another offense to add to his list.

But then I scolded myself. I thought perhaps maybe I was being too harsh. I turned over the back of the sketchbook and looked for a price tag or an artist’s label, anything that would suggest someone had given it willingly. There was nothing but a few smudges of lead.

I continued to look through the sketches; some of them appeared unfinished or erased beyond the point of no return, but no less loved in their loveliness. One in particular that struck me was a view of a ship’s deck with pouring down rain during the night. There were no people in the sketch, no animals or objects, just the dark and the rain. I adored how the edges of the drawing were curled from being wet and some spots of lead had clearly been smudged by the drops of water. Looking at it, I could almost feel the cold of the night the water on my face.

After awhile, I picked up another sketchbook and examined those sketches as well. I saw a variety of landscapes and abstract designs, what I thought might have been Reid face down on a table of cards, a baby wearing sunglasses and chewing a building block…

I looked at them over and over again, hypnotized by every point the pencil made and each specific aspect of the pictures. I stared at each one until my eyes hurt.

Then I blinked, rubbed my eyes, and studied them more.

I was looking through the fourth sketchbook when I saw the first one. I must have been in the deep throes of unconsciousness, as my eyes appeared fastened shut by the dark shadows he’d drawn. My hair was matted like fine pieces of string into the pillow beneath it. He must have sketched it from the all too recent events. The sketch that came after it was similar, only he had shaded in the background beyond my lifeless form, making it just as dark there as it had been when I first awoke in Charlie’s room.