The One I Trust (30 page)

“I don’t know,” I admitted, turning to Emily, who still had her eyes closed. “Emily, who’d you have change the locks?”

There was no answer.

“Emily?”

She was sound asleep.

I roused Emily enough to get her to go into the guest bedroom with me. We crawled under the covers, I wrapped my arms around her, and we both fell sound asleep.

When we woke up that afternoon, we talked to the locksmith who had changed the locks. He assured us that he had given keys to no one except for Emily.

Tori—handcuffed to her hospital bed—refused to tell us how she got into the house or anything else.

She denied everything.

She denied being Tori Reid. She denied being Noah’s mother. She denied having done anything to him. She denied knowing where he was.

A gray Honda Civic was found in the neighborhood behind our house, parked along the curb not too far from where Emily had parked
her
Honda Civic the night Tori had made her reappearance. It was only a year older than Emily’s model and it bore Emily’s license plate. Neither Emily nor I had ever noticed that her plate was missing, since Tori had apparently replaced it with one that she’d stolen from who knows where.

While we’d been sleeping, an Amber Alert had gone out with various images of Tori and Noah and a number to call if viewers recognized either one of them. The media went crazy and I was besieged with requests for interviews. That evening, I granted two.

One was actually a press conference and it was Sheriff Stuart who talked me into doing it, promising me that getting word out was my best shot at finding Noah—if he was indeed out there somewhere. Tori’s mother joined me and before the press conference started, one of the reporters recommended that we try to appear upset.

“
Try
to appear upset?” I asked, incredulous.

Completely oblivious, they responded, “Yeah. It makes the public more sympathetic.”

Oh, well by all means then, I’ll see what I can do . . .

Tori’s mother spoke first, pleading with viewers to call authorities if they had any idea where her grandson might be. When it was my turn, my voice cracked more than once and my eyes were brimming with tears the entire time I talked. The worst part was when I talked directly to Noah himself, just in case he was out there somewhere listening.

“Noah . . . if you can hear me, I want you to know that Grandma and I are doing everything we can to find you. You’re a smart young man and if you can figure out a way to let somebody know where you are, then I want you to do that. All I want is to have you with me, Noah. I love you so much.”

I couldn’t talk at all after that because I broke down and sobbed. Hopefully that came across as upset enough.

The interview went much better. I agreed to meet with a freelance reporter named Leo Hutchinson. The last time my face was plastered all across the news, Leo had been the only reporter to even consider that I might possibly be innocent. His coverage had been thorough and fair, and he hadn’t jumped on every new revelation without a lot of thought. It was almost as if he believed I was a real person with real feelings who deserved a chance and that belief seemed to trump any desire he may have had to get a good story.

His past treatment of me—combined with the fact that he had developed quite a following and his pieces were often picked up by major outlets across the country—made me agree to sit down with him for a formal interview. We had never met before, but I liked him immediately. The care and concern I’d seen in his previous articles were now obvious as we talked. When we finished, Leo shook my hand and told me that the article would be ready the next day.

“Hopefully he’ll have already been found safe and sound by then,” he said, giving my hand an extra squeeze, and I could tell he meant it.

BY SATURDAY, WHEN all of the Amber Alerts and news reports had yielded nothing of substance, I asked if I could talk to Tori by myself.

As soon as we were alone she gave me a sly smile.

“Tori,” I said. “Where is he? Just tell me where he is.”

“Tick, tock,” she said in that sing-song voice. Her nose was swollen and there were dark bruises under her eyes from Emily’s boot.

Tori kept the smile on her face though. “Time’s running out. His water’s probably gone by now. How long do they say it is before the kidneys start shutting down? Three days?”

“Why are you doing this, Tori?” I asked, shaking my head at her. “It’s
over
. You’ve been caught red-handed. This isn’t doing you any good. Where is he?”

“He had enough to get through Thursday,” she mused, ignoring my question. “So let’s see, Friday, Saturday, Sunday. That’s tomorrow, isn’t it?”

She looked at me for a moment and then said, “That’s not much time to find him, is it?”

“So what do you want, Tori?” I asked. “What can I do so that you’ll tell me?”

“It’s too late now. I told you not to turn me in but you didn’t listen. You listened to her instead . . . I guess you’ll just have to live with that decision.”

“I know you love him,” I said, “and I know you don’t want anything to happen to him.”

“If that’s really what you think,” she said after watching me for another long moment, “then you don’t know me at all.”

And with that she turned away and refused to say another word.

If Noah really was alive, Tori’s best chance of helping herself was to fully cooperate with authorities . . . she
had
to have known that. So the fact that she wouldn’t help us find him could only mean . . .

Emily and I went to church the next day. It was the same church I’d gone to many times with Hale, but it was the first time I’d been in a long time. It was also the first time I’d been since my encounter with God.

With my new perspective on things it should have been a really awesome experience, but there was no enjoying anything right then. They had a special prayer for Noah. Everyone joined hands with the people next to them or in front of them or behind them in the pews, and the pastor prayed just for Noah, and then he prayed for me.

If news crews had been around, I would have gotten lots of public sympathy.

I sat around all day Monday flipping back and forth between news shows and searching the Internet. Leo’s story had picked up a decent number of views, but I only saw one Amber Alert all day—Noah was quickly becoming old news. Two teens who had been exploring an abandoned quarry in southwestern Virginia were trapped by an unexpected landslide. Media focus shifted to the frantic rescue efforts that were being made to free them.

Early Tuesday morning, the teens were reunited with their families. Video of rescuers cheering as they were brought out into the sunlight played repeatedly on every news station. The teens—along with their parents—spoke tearfully to a crowd of reporters. Noah was not mentioned once.

Wednesday I went back to work.

I went back to work because sitting at home obsessing over the news was helping nothing. If I had a clue where to go to search for Noah I would have done it instantly, but I had no idea where to even start. At work I could concentrate on pointing my scanner at barcodes and try to forget that it had been one week since Tori had reappeared, and one week since she said his water would have run out.

THE CALL CAME just after lunchtime on Thursday. My phone vibrated. I looked at the screen and saw that it was Sheriff Stuart.

“Hi, Stu.”

“Hey, Reid. You driving?”

That was the first indication I had that this wasn’t just a “checking in” phone call. They don’t want you driving when they tell you a body’s been found.

“No,” I said.

“Can you, uh . . . can you come down to the department?”

Not the morgue . . . he didn’t say to come down to the morgue.

I set my scanner down on a shelf.

“What’s going on?”

“I’ll tell you when you get down here.”

“No,” I said. “Tell me now. Right now.”

There was a pause.

“I think we found him.”

Everything stopped. There was nothing in the world except me and Stu’s voice on the other end of the phone.

I could hardly breathe. It seemed like forever before I was finally able to ask, in a strangled voice, “Alive?”

“Yeah . . .”

“He’s okay?”

“Yeah, but . . .”

“But what?”

“We’re not a hundred percent sure
it’s him.”

“I’ll be right there.”

I marched up to Ray.

“I need your car.”

He looked at me for a moment and asked, “You okay?”

“I think so. I think they found Noah.”

He handed me his keys without another question.

“I’ll get it back here by four,” I promised, and he waved me away.

It took me thirty minutes to get to the sheriff’s department—my mind racing the entire way. While I drove, I called Emily and I called Hale. When I got close to the station I parked in the first spot on the street I could find and didn’t bother with the meter. I raced down the block and bolted up the stairs two at a time. Hale was waiting for me just outside the door.

“Is Emily here yet?” I asked breathlessly.

“I haven’t seen her.”

“Let’s go,” I said, pulling open the door, and he followed me inside.

I asked them to let Sheriff Stuart know that I was there and in less than one minute he was striding across the lobby toward me.

“So here’s what we got,” he said, extending his hand first to me and then to Hale for a quick shake as he talked. “We received a call from the Lillington Police Department this morning. A seventy-four-year-old woman brought him in . . . said his name is Colby. Said she babysits him on a regular basis whenever the mom has to work, but the mom brought him over eight days ago and she hasn’t heard from her since.”

“And she’s just
now
contacting the police?”

I suddenly noticed Emily by my side. She took my hand and squeezed.

“Apparently it wasn’t unusual for the mom to leave him for several days at a time and she always got paid good whenever she did, so she didn’t think too much about it. But when she didn’t hear anything for so long, she started to get worried, plus she’s supposed to drive down to South Carolina tomorrow for her daughter’s birthday, so . . .”

“Didn’t she see the Amber Alerts?”

“She did,” Stu said, nodding, “but he really doesn’t look the same and she said the pictures we put out of Tori didn’t look like his mom either.”

“He doesn’t look the same?”

“I saw him when he got here,” Stu said. “Bleached-blonde hair. Buzz cut. Glasses.”

“He’s here?”

“Yeah.” Stu nodded. “He won’t say one word.”

“Do you think it’s him?” I asked quietly.

He surveyed me quietly for a moment and then nodded again. “Yes.”

“Can I see him?”

“Let’s go.” Stu motioned for me to follow. Hale and Emily waited in the lobby.

The walk through the door and down the hall was slow and quick, all at the same time. One moment it would seem that my heart was going to burst out of my chest before we would ever get there and the next I would find myself unable to believe that I only had seconds to wait. We came to a window and Stu stopped. I looked through the glass and into a room where I could see a little boy sitting on the floor, playing with a fire truck. He had his back to me, but I knew instantly.

“It’s him,” I whispered, pressing my forehead against the window and staring in disbelief. I couldn’t take my eyes away. “It’s him.”

Stu took a few more steps and opened the door to the room. When he did, Noah turned around to face him.

“Hey there, young man,” Stu said. “Got someone here that wants to talk to you.”

I stepped into the doorway and Noah looked up at me. He studied me for a moment with a puzzled look on his face and then he said, “Daddy?”

I nodded and rushed past Stu, dropping to my knees as Noah stood up and ran into my arms. “Daddy!”

“Noah,” I said wrapping myself around him and burying my face in the crook of his neck. “Oh, Noah.”

He hugged me for a minute and then pulled away.

“Mommy said that’s not my name anymore. She said my name’s Colby.”

I nodded, pressing my lips together and blinking away tears.

“And she said I’m not supposed to talk to the police.”

“I love you so much,” I said.

“I love you, too.”

“I’m so glad to see you.”

“Mommy told me you were dead,” he said. “She told me that you and Grandma were dead.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Grandma and I are fine.”

“Where’s Grandma?”

“She doesn’t know that you’re here,” I explained. “As soon as she finds out, she’ll want to come see you.”

“Where’s Mommy?” he asked. “She took me over to Aunt Millie’s house and then she never came back.”

I hesitated.

“Mommy can’t see you right now,” I said carefully. “She did something she wasn’t supposed to do and she got in trouble.”

He thought about this for a moment.

“Is she in jail?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yes. They’re taking very good care of her, but she is in jail.”

“What did she do?”

“She lied,” I told him. “She wasn’t supposed to tell you that Grandma and I were dead.”

He looked at me.

“And she told me that
you
were dead,” I explained. “She wasn’t supposed to do that, either.”

“I’m not dead,” he said, as if that was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard.

I smiled at him. “No,” I said, running my hand across the top of his pale buzzed hair. “I know you’re not, but I thought you were.”

I studied his face. In some ways he seemed exactly as I remembered him, but in other ways he had changed so much that I hardly recognized him. In addition to the hair and the glasses, his face was different, too—leaner somehow . . . more mature. His two front baby teeth were gone and one of his permanent teeth was already halfway in.

I shook my head as tears welled up in my eyes again and I embraced him in another tight hug.

“Don’t cry, Daddy.”

“I’m crying because I’m happy,” I explained, pulling back to look at him once more. “I’m so happy to see you.”