Pressure (18 page)

“Yep, you sure can!” Well, that was disappointing. I walked to one of the benches to watch the show. Only four years old (next week) and she no longer required my swinging assistance. Pretty soon she’d only need me for cosigning loans. Damn.

I watched her swing. She looked a lot like Melanie. The same blonde hair, deep blue eyes, and an almost identical smile. Not as much of a klutz, though, which made Melanie happy.

Something struck me in the back of the head.

I cursed and then automatically apologized for cursing. There was definitely going to be a lump there. I looked around and saw that I’d been hit with a baseball. A couple of kids, probably fifth or sixth graders, hurried over to collect it.

“Be more careful next time,” I told them.

“Screw you.”

I blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Screw you, old man.”

Okay, I did
not
need elementary school kids saying “screw you” to me, and I most
certainly
didn’t need to be called an old man at twenty-six years of age. “Excuse me, but you hit me with your baseball. You could really hurt somebody. There are little kids playing around here, so you need to be more careful.”

“Gimme the ball back, bitch.”

I couldn’t believe it. I wasn’t going to let this mouthy little punk talk to me like that. “Where are your parents?”

“Smoking crack with yours.”

The kids laughed and high-fived each other for such a deliciously clever retort. I wanted to hit them in the back of the head with the baseball, but somehow I didn’t think that would be mature behavior.

“You know what, get out of here,” I told them.

“I said, give the ball back, bitch.”

“It’s mine now.”

“Give it!”

“I’ll tell you what. Get your parents to come ask me for it. We’ll have a little chat.”

The kid gave me the finger.

“Get out of here before I kick your butt.”

“Ooooh, we should call the cops! He threatened us!”

“Here,” I said, tossing the ball as far as I could manage. “Go get your ball, you little creeps.”

“You throw like a bitch.”

I glanced around to see if anybody else was hearing this. My God, if Tracy Anne ever started to behave like this, I was going to blister her little—

She was no longer on the swing set.

“Tracy Anne!” I shouted. “Come back here, honey!”

It was okay. She had a short attention span and she’d gotten bored with the swings and wandered off, that was all. She was fine.

“Tracy Anne!”

I turned back to the kids. “Did you see where my daughter went? She was on the swings. She had a pink dress.”

“Screw you.”

“Come on, this is important, did you see where she went?”

The kid gave me the finger again. I hurried across the park, calling out for my daughter. She couldn’t have gotten far. I’d only been distracted for a minute.

Sometimes a minute is all it takes…

No! I wasn’t going to be one of those parents who had their children snatched away from right under their noses. She’d just wandered off, that’s all.

I frantically ran around the park. No sign of her. “Tracy Anne!”

Oh, Christ. Where was she?

Five minutes later, I pulled out my cell phone. She could be in some stranger’s car, miles away by now. How could I let those kids keep my attention away from her for so long? How could I ever tell Melanie what I’d—?

“Sir?”

A woman, the same woman who I saw walking her dog through the park on a regular basis, waved at me. She was holding Tracy by the hand.

“Oh, thank God!” I ran over to them, crouched down next to my daughter, and hugged her tightly. “Don’t ever do that again, sweetheart! You had Daddy scared out of his wits!” I looked up at the woman. “Thank you so much!”

“She was behind the trees over there,” said the woman, pointing.

“I owe you a million. I’ll walk your dog anytime you want. Or I’ll clean up after it when you walk it. Anything.”

“I’ll have a pooper-scooper specially made for you,” the woman said. She ruffled Tracy’s hair. “You stay by your daddy from now on, okay?”

Tracy nodded. The woman left.

“Promise me you’ll never do that again,” I said.

“I didn’t mean to.”

“I know you didn’t mean to, but you have to always stay where I can see you. I can’t see you when you’re behind the trees.”

“The man took me there.”

The impact of her words was like a kick to the gut. “What man?”

Tracy sniffled. “The scary man.”

“Did he hurt you? What did he do to you?” I realized that I was frightening her even more and forced myself to calm down. “Did the man do anything to you?”

She shook her head.

“Did he say anything to you?”

“He said happy birthday.”

“Is that all?”

“And he gave me a present.”

And then I realized that my daughter was holding an object with a small bow on it. A very familiar dark red pocketknife.

“Don’t worry, Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher, we
will
get him,” Officer Bradley Reitz assured me. “Your daughter’s description should be a big help. She’s a smart kid, that one.”

“Yeah, she is,” I said, tightly holding Melanie’s hand.

The “scary man” had long black hair and wore sunglasses. Tracy had pointed to one of the other officers to indicate that he had a mustache and goatee.

“And he never brushes his teeth,” Tracy said.

Officer Reitz had pulled up a picture of Darren on his computer screen and asked Tracy if that was the scary man. She said no. He did some astonishingly quick work with the mouse and keyboard, and then showed Tracy the same picture, doctored with sunglasses, longer hair, and a mustache and goatee.

She said it was him.

But of course I had no doubt. Nor was I supposed to. The pocketknife was more than enough to let me know that he was back, and now he was after my family.

We had police protection twenty-four hours a day. Melanie cried a lot, and I comforted her and told her that everything was going to be fine. I believed it. If we were cautious and alert, he couldn’t hurt us.

I truly believed that.

We sat at the dinner table. Tracy Anne took a way-too-big bite of her bread and wiped her buttery mouth off on her sleeve.

“Napkin,” said Melanie.

Tracy used the napkin to wipe off her sleeve. “Mommy, where’s my birthday present?”

“Your birthday isn’t until tomorrow, sweetie.”

“No, the one I already got.”

“That wasn’t a real birthday present, sweetie. You can’t have that one.”

Tracy Anne cried.

We put bars on the windows and upgraded our alarm system. The old alarm system had been top-of-the-line when it was installed, but now we needed more.

Tracy slept in our bed.

I personally walked her into the preschool classroom each day. I would’ve stayed in the classroom all day if I’d been able to (my finger painting skills could use some development, anyway). A cop kept watch over her day care.

I watched for Darren in every shadow, every corner, every face in the crowd. He couldn’t hide from me, and he was
not
going to get my daughter.

But you can’t live like that forever.

The police stopped their around-the-clock surveillance.

Tracy moved back to her own bed. Every time I snapped awake, which was several times a night, I’d go check on her.

I had to let Tracy run and play with other kids, even if my heart gave a jolt every time I thought they were running a bit too far.

Weeks passed.

Melanie missed her period. Tracy overheard us talking, and bounced around the house shouting happily about the little brother or sister she was going to have. As it turned out, Melanie wasn’t pregnant but stressed out to the point where it affected her body’s internal rhythms. The doctor prescribed medication. Melanie refused to fill the prescription.

Tracy finally made the bully cry. Her sand castles remained intact after that.

I threw a huge surprise birthday party for Melanie. Everybody was required to show up as a historical figure without saying who it was, and during the party there was a contest to see who could correctly guess the most. We discovered that our friends had an extremely poor grasp of historical figures, but that Tracy made an adorable Joan of Arc. That night, I made love to Melanie while wearing my Napoleon hat.

Months passed.

We bought Tracy her first pet, a goldfish. Tracy decided that she wanted a great
big
goldfish and poured the entire canister of fish food into the bowl. Goldilocks perished. We told her that the fish had gotten so very big that it grew arms and legs and walked out of the aquarium and went off to live in the ocean.

My job continued to suck.

Melanie’s parents’house in California was damaged by an earthquake, and they came to live with us for three weeks. I realized that as much as I liked her parents, three weeks was way too fucking long.

Tracy lost her first baby tooth. Unfortunately, it was a direct result of trying to swing high enough to do a loop-de-loop.

I accidentally washed Melanie’s favorite white shirt with the darks, which somehow progressed to the worst fight we’d had in our entire marriage, and which was resolved with absolutely exquisite make-up sex.

And I had a dream where Darren slept in Tracy’s blood.

It was a year later when Melanie and I lay snuggled on the couch, watching television.

“Did you make the invitations?” she asked.

“All printed out and ready to go.” I slid my hand over her clothed breast.

“Behave.”

“It wasn’t me.”

She swatted my hand away. “Did you ask Mrs. Gonzalez if she could help?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“She said of course. Some people get giddy at the thought of doing traffic control in a house filled with five-year-olds.”

“Don’t be sarcastic.”

“I’m not being sarcastic. I think it’s great that Tracy wanted to invite her entire class. I’m just wondering how a pair of outcasts like us created such a social butterfly.”

“Maybe she’ll marry well and bring us riches in our old age.”

“Cool,” I said. “Do you hear her?”

Melanie listened carefully. “Is she singing?”

“Yep.”

“Maybe we should go check on her.”

“Because she’s singing?”

“She might be singing that she wants a glass of water.”

“That sounds like her. Don’t get up. I’ll be back.”

I extricated myself from the snuggle position and got off the couch. I carefully tiptoed down the hallway and listened at Tracy’s door which, as always, was open a few inches to let in just enough light to keep the monsters out.

“
Choppie choppie choppie
,” she sang quietly. “
And the head goes ploppie.
”

I pushed open her door. Tracy sat up in bed, playing with a rag doll.

“Whatcha still doing up, sweetie?” I asked.

Tracy shrugged. “Dunno.”

I sat down on the bed next to her. “It’s pretty late. You’ve got school tomorrow.”

She poked the birthmark on my chin. “Funny spot!”

I poked her chin back. “What song was that?”

Tracy raised her hand and pounded it three times against the doll’s neck, like delivering a karate chop in rhythm with the song. “
Choppie choppie choppie, and the head goes ploppie.
”

“Why are you singing that?”

“It keeps my dolls from coming alive.”

“Don’t you want your dolls to come alive? I think that would be pretty neat.”

Tracy shook her head, very slowly and very seriously. “They’ll get me.”

“You have friendly dolls. What makes you think they’d get you?”

“The man told me.”

This doesn’t mean anything is wrong she could be talking about anybody it’s just a song they could have taught it to her in kindergarten she’s not in danger…

“Which man?”

“The nice man.”

“Who’s the nice man?”

“He said he’d protect me.”

“Tracy, Mommy and I will protect you. We’ll always protect you. Is the nice man somebody from your school?”

“No.”

“Day care?”

She nodded. “Billy fell off the slide and he was crying and Mrs. Duza thought he had a ’cushun and the nice man came and talked to me.”

“And he told you about your dolls?”

“He said the song would protect me from them.” She chopped at her doll again. “
Choppie choppie choppie and the head goes ploppie.
”

“Don’t sing that anymore,” I snapped, much louder than I’d intended. “You’re supposed to always tell me when you meet a stranger. Always. You know that!”

“He protected me.”

“Damn it, Tracy, he could have hurt you!”

Tracy looked at me as if I’d slapped her. Melanie hurried into the room. “What’s wrong?”

“I think Darren is back again.”

“Oh my God.” Melanie scooped Tracy out of bed.

“Did you see him, honey? Did you see the scary man?”

Tracy shook her head.

“Do you remember what the scary man looked like?” I asked. “You saw him when you were almost four. Do you remember that?”

She shook her head again.

“It’s him,” I told Melanie. “It has to be.” I wanted to scream and kick things and hold my daughter tight. “Did the man tell you anything else?”

Tracy nodded.

“What?”

“He said that some dolls came alive still.”

“And what did he tell you to do?”

“Stab ’em with a pencil.” Tracy bared her teeth and made a stabbing motion with her fist.

“We’ll run,” I said, pacing frantically but trying to speak softly and not wake up Tracy, who was in our bed. “We’ll pack up, get the hell out of here, and move somewhere where he can never find us.”

“Why won’t he just go
away?”
asked Melanie, wiping her runny nose with a handkerchief.

“I don’t know.” The scariest part was that he was so patient. He’d waited eight years to show up again. Then another year between the pocketknife and the chopping song. Had he been spying on us all this time? Maybe he spent every day secretly watching Tracy at day care, just waiting for an opportunity like Billy falling off the slide. Or maybe this was exactly how he’d planned it.

Pocketknife before her fourth birthday.

Scary song before her fifth birthday.

Would he wait another year before he tried something else?

It didn’t matter. We were moving. We’d move across the country, or go to Mexico, or go to fucking Antarctica if we had to. Anything to get away from that maniac.

“I can’t live like this,” said Melanie. “I can’t be scared all the time.”

“We won’t be.”

“We
will
be! As long as he’s out there, no matter where we go we’ll always be scared. What kind of life will Tracy have?”

“The police will catch him.”

“They haven’t caught him in nine years! Why would they catch him now?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what to do, Melanie! He’s insane and he’s fixated on me—!”

“On
Tracy.
”

“—on Tracy, and I don’t know how to handle the situation except to put a bullet through his brain. Which I’ll do if I ever see the son of a bitch! But until then, we just need to get out of here. I’ll quit my job, we’ll pull Tracy out of kindergarten, we’ll pack up, and we’ll leave! We’ll change our identity! We’ll do whatever it takes!”

I could feel myself losing it. And this was probably exactly what Darren wanted. Why kidnap our daughter now, when he could make us fear for her safety for the next year? For the next ten years. For the rest of our lives.

The next day I quit my job. I’d wanted to do this since the day I started, but Darren had stolen the joy from this moment. Instead I felt sick to my stomach and depressed as I typed my e-mail of resignation. I’d fantasized about doing this hundreds of times, and even had a lengthy mental list of unflattering adjectives for Mr. Grove, but instead the e-mail was brief and regretful.

Melanie was absolutely heartsick over dropping out of school, but there was no choice. Most of her credits would transfer.

We had enough savings to sustain us for…well, not long at all, and that was if we cut into Tracy’s college fund. That idea wounded Melanie more than anything else, but I swore that we’d replace it.

The plan was simple. We were going to get in our car and drive away. Darren couldn’t find us if even we didn’t know where we were going. We’d pack only what we could fit in the trunk of our car and drive off to a new future.

In a way, it was almost romantic.

It was also unnecessary, because as I sat in a booth at the local fast food burger joint, eating a flavorless lunch as I took a break from tying up the crucial loose ends of our life here, Darren joined me.

“Howdy,” he said.

He looked horrible. He’d cut his hair short and the mustache and goatee that Tracy had reported were no longer there. But his face had a sunken look, as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks, and his complexion was pale and sickly. He smiled at me, revealing rotted teeth.

“I’ve got cops following me everywhere I go,” I told him. “You’re fucked.”

He shook his head. “No you don’t. Your daughter does but you don’t. Damn budget cuts.” He chuckled. “By the way, I’ve got a gun. You cause me trouble and I’ll start shooting people at random.”

“Let me see the gun.”

“Oooh, lost some of our trusting nature, huh?” He opened his leather jacket, revealing the handle of a pistol protruding from an inside pocket. He closed it up but kept his hand inside.

“You stay the fuck away from my daughter,” I told him.

“No.”

“If you touch her, I’ll kill you.”

“Maybe that’s what I want. Can I have some fries?”

“Fuck you. They’re mine.”

“You get feistier every time we meet, Alex. I think Melanie is really good for you. I was pretty hurt that I didn’t get invited to the wedding, though. Did you get the salad shooter I sent?”

I took a tasteless bite of my hamburger and didn’t respond.

“You’re actin’pretty brave there, buddy. Of course, you know that I’m not here to shoot you. If I wanted to do that, I’ve had hundreds of opportunities, and I’m speaking literally. Did Tracy sing you her song?”

Just lean over, you son of a bitch,
I thought. If he got close enough for me to reach out and grab him, I’d slam the sick bastard against the table and bash him until his skull split open.

I might not even stop then.

“This is too public,” said Darren. “Let’s go for a drive.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

He nodded at a booth behind me. “See that baby in the high seat? One shot and her head will look like the food they’re trying to get her to eat. Then I’ll shoot the mother, and then I’ll shoot you. Then I’ll slip out that door right there”—he pointed behind me again—“and flee the scene. I’ll lay low for a year, maybe two, and then I’ll find your wife and daughter. Do you like your daughter’s fingers, Alex? They’d make a beautiful necklace, don’t you think?”

“You rehearsed that, didn’t you?”

“I don’t get the feeling that you’re taking me seriously,” said Darren, pulling the gun out of his jacket. “Let’s rectify that.”

“No!”

He quickly hid the gun under the table. “I hate threatening babies,” he said. “Don’t make me do it again.”

“Where do you want to take me?” I asked.

“It’s a surprise.”

“I’ve seen your surprises.”

“You sure have. How often do you think about that hatchet going into her neck? I bet it made a great sound, didn’t it? Think she could see when you carried her head around?” He shifted in his seat. “Get up from the table slowly. Take the rest of the fries with you; I’m starving.”

I gathered up the fries and put them back in the bag. Then, slowly as instructed, I slid out of the booth.

“Go out the back door.”

I walked toward the back door, watching the baby happily coo as its mother teased it with a slice of pickle. I wondered if Darren really would have shot the baby first.

Yeah, he would have.

I pushed open the door and walked outside the restaurant. Darren stepped up right behind me and shoved the barrel of the gun into my back. “Let’s pick up the pace,” he said, as we moved across the parking lot.

I looked around for a cop, a security guard, anybody who could help me, but the only other occupants of the parking lot were a group of teenagers lost in their individual cell phone conversations.
Somebody
had to notice that he had a gun in my back, right?

“It’s the blue one,” Darren said, prodding me again. “It’s unlocked. Get in the passenger side.”

I opened the passenger door of the blue sedan and got inside. Keeping the gun pointed at me, Darren got in the driver’s side. He switched gun hands, dug a set of keys out of his pocket, and started the car.

We pulled out of the parking lot, and then immediately into the parking lot of the grocery store next door. He drove around the back of it, next to a Dumpster, and then put the car into park.

“Get out,” he said, waving the gun at me.

“You’re letting me go?”

“Of course not. You’re just switching seats. Get out.”

I opened the door and got out. I considered making a run for it, but he could easily put a bullet into my back before I got anywhere close to safety. He reached down, pulled a lever, and the trunk popped open.

“I figured somebody at the restaurant would think it was suspicious if they saw you get in the trunk,” he said, getting out of the car. “Gotta think of these things, you know. If anybody sees us, they’re dead, so get in there quick.”

I climbed into the trunk.

Darren slammed the lid shut.

I had a wristwatch that lit up when I pressed on the face. 1:37. 2:15. 3:19.

The car stopped at 3:44. I heard sounds that I was pretty sure were Darren refueling the vehicle. He didn’t acknowledge my presence in the trunk with even a friendly tap on the lid.

We started off again. At 6:15 we stopped a second time, but I didn’t hear any refueling. Probably a stretch and pee break. I wanted to pound on the lid, to scream for help, but I also didn’t want to get anybody killed.

He refueled again at 7:42.

At 9:59, the car stopped. I heard something that sounded like an electric garage door opener, and then the car moved forward again and the engine shut off. I heard the garage door close, and a moment later Darren threw open the lid of the trunk. I blinked and shielded my eyes from the blinding light.

“Sorry about the ride,” said Darren with no trace of sarcasm. “I couldn’t risk anybody seeing you.” He extended his hand. “C’mon, I’ll help you out.”

Though I would’ve liked to attempt some sort of amazing escape, my body was so cramped up after all those hours in the trunk that I simply took his hand and accepted his assistance. I promptly collapsed onto the cement floor.

The garage was tidy and nondescript, but I didn’t like seeing the screwdrivers, pliers, hacksaws, and other tools mounted on the wall. I struggled to get back to my feet but my legs weren’t working yet.

“Don’t strain yourself,” said Darren. “We’re in no rush. We’ll have ourselves a nice, relaxing evening, okay?”

“They’ll be looking for me,” I told him.

“C’mon, don’t insult my intelligence. I know they’re looking for you. It’s not like you’re some vagrant I yanked off the street. Melanie has gotta be heartsick right now. It kills me to do this to her, but you left me no choice.”

“You have every choice in the world! You don’t have to do any of this!” I used the rear bumper of the car to brace myself as I pulled myself to my feet. “You’re the one who’s always talking about controlling your own life.”

“Okay, okay, I know what you’re trying to do. ‘A’ for effort, buddy. Let’s get inside. I’m sure you could use a drink.”

Still unsteady, I walked with him inside the house. The living room was sparsely but tastefully decorated, with a pair of sofas, a recliner, and a small television. A large brown rug filled most of the center of the room. “Have a seat,” Darren told me.

I plopped down on the recliner. My muscles were in absolute agony, but I tried to hide it as much as I could.

“I hate to seem untrusting, but there’s a pair of handcuffs mounted to the side of that chair,” Darren said. “Latch one bracelet around your wrist, please.”

I did as I was told, snapping the bracelet shut over my left wrist.

“That’s just temporary,” Darren assured me. “I’ve got much better accommodations waiting for you. What do you think of the house?”

“Lovely.”

“Two stories. Nice quiet neighborhood. And upstairs is my Gallery of Horrors. You’ll get a kick out of it. Back in a second.”

He disappeared into the kitchen. I tugged on the handcuffs, hoping that they might just pop free, but they held firm. Though I was scared shitless for myself, I at least knew that Melanie and Tracy Anne were safe for the time being.

Darren returned, balancing a tray with two tall glasses of iced tea, complete with lemon wedges. As he presented it to me, I grabbed the closest glass and gulped down the liquid as fast as I could, letting it run down the sides of my mouth.

Then I threw the glass at him.

Though I’d desperately hoped for a direct hit to his face, Darren moved out of the way in time. The glass merely nicked his ear and shattered against the tile floor. He stared at me as if shocked by my poor behavior in his home, gently set the tray down on top of the television, and then punched me in the jaw so hard that it brought tears to my eyes.

“Don’t
make
me get ugly!” he shouted, furious. “I will
fuck you up
if I have to! There are some really unpleasant times coming up in your life, so don’t make them worse!”

I spat out some blood. “I figured you’d be more pissed if I didn’t try to escape.”

“No, see, this isn’t about you anymore, Alex. That time is long gone. Right now this is about me. It’s about me doing whatever I want to you. How about I show you?”

He stormed off into the kitchen. I yanked on the handcuffs, more frantically now, but he returned seconds later with a butcher knife.

“How about I give you a little slice on the cheek, huh, Alex? How does that sound? Sound good?”

“Okay, you’ve made your point.”

“I don’t think I have.” He slashed the tip of the blade across my cheek. I winced and felt a warm trickle as he cut my other cheek even deeper. “You like that? Huh? C’mon, asshole, fight back! Try to kick me. See what I do.”

“I said okay, you’ve made your point! Now get that knife out of my face!”

Darren stepped away. He looked a trifle embarrassed as he wiped the blade off on his pants leg and set it on the couch. “Just remember who’s in control here,” he said, softly.

“I won’t forget.”

“And don’t patronize me.” He sat down on the couch. “I don’t even remember what I was saying. Oh, yeah, this isn’t about you. It’s about me. And pretty soon it’ll be about Tracy Anne.”

I stiffened.

“She’s got what you had, you know. I can see it when I look at her. I could always sense it before, but I could never really
see
it before, y’know? It’s beautiful. Just look into her eyes.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You always fought it. I don’t think she will.”

“My daughter is not a killer.”

“Not your choice. You can see it if you look. It’s like a black fog. A beautiful black fog. You ever see it?”

“There’s nothing to see.”

He leaned back on the couch. “You’re just not looking. Doesn’t surprise me. Where do you think Melanie and Tracy Anne are right now?”

“Somewhere safe.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure they are. But I can wait. That’s where I screwed up with you. I was way too impatient. I thought that you’d see what you really were after you murdered whatever-her-name-was, but I messed that all up by rushing it. The fog wasn’t completely there yet, not like it is with your daughter. I bet you it’ll be even thicker the next time I see her. Hmmmm, I wonder when that will be?”