Chapter 1 – Taken
The stranger glances side to side, eyes peeled, studying the tranquil neighborhood, searching for motion, for movement, for any sign of activity, as he glides his beige Chevy Cavalier station wagon to a stop in front of the elegant white house. He cuts the engine and with it the air conditioner as the punishing sun journeys between the sparsely positioned, comic book character clouds and endeavors to bake and blind him. Fuck this heat! And fuck these fucking sunglasses! He cracks open the window, delighted by the slight northern breeze that enters, and tosses the useless sunglasses out. Inside the car, the heat and the breeze battle but the breeze is not sufficient to the task and it surrenders its promise of refreshment while beads of sweat form and prosper on the stranger’s bald forehead. Oblivious to the near hundred degree temperature, butterflies flit and flutter among the marigolds and tulips and violets and chrysanthemums which decorate the Byzantium street. Meanwhile, high above the unfolding drama, two blue jays play a game of indefatigable tag, unintentionally mimicking the activity of two boys, ages 4 and 6, playing in their font yard below. The stranger, neatly attired in a pair of Dockers, knit shirt, and deck shoes, eases the door open just a crack. The door creaks. Damn it! I meant to put some WD-40 on that. The creaking makes him even more self-conscious and he begins to glance around nervously. Nobody stirs besides the two boys, but their frenetic running, jumping, and singing leave them oblivious to all but each other.
Relieved that the unintentional noise did not appear to arouse an investigation, the stranger continues opening the door, much slower than before and without any further sound. He leaves the door ajar as he walks to the sidewalk, searching the while for any sign of people. He scans the windows of the houses, the windows of the parked cars, the yards, the balconies, even the roofs, but other than the two boys, there is nobody at all to be seen. He invokes his most genuine smile and calls out to the bigger of the two. “Is Mr. Schobern at home?” His voice is gentle, benign, just how he had practiced over and over in preparation, masking the hatred that consumes him and threatens to expose the plan. The name, Schobern, he gathered from a stylized wreath above the door of the next house over. I hope I pronounced it right, he thinks to himself.
“I think he’s working,” Johnny, the older of the two boys, calls back. The stranger knew that Mr. Schobern would be at work. He always was at this time of the day; except weekends, of course, but who would be foolish enough to attempt this on a weekend? In a residential neighborhood no less.
“Why, thank you young man. I guess I’ll just have to stop by later then.” The stranger replies, just as he had practiced. He then turns to walk away, just as he had planned and at the last minute, pauses, and, just as he had prepared, turns back to the young boy and says, “Say, why don’t you come over here and let me give you a little gift for helping me out?” The smile on his lips is now genuine.
Johnny stands defiant, hands on hips, chin out, challenging the stranger who is foolish enough to attempt to trick him. “Umm, I’m not sposed to take nothing from strangers,” he asserts and then quickly adds, “Mom says I could get poisoned or ducted or something.”
At the mention of the boy’s Mom, the stranger’s smile begins to fade and his body stiffens. “Yes, well your mother is quite the…” He senses that his control is slipping. By sheer will, he forces himself quiet, empties his mind of emotion, and reasserts his control. I c a n’t b l o w t h i s. If I can carry this off, I will have plenty of time later to… “I mean, your mother sounds very wise. Look, why don’t I give you a dollar instead? That way you can buy whatever you want and won’t have to worry about getting poisoned or, or anything.”
The proposal sounds reasonable, not the words of someone dangerous. “Yeah, I guess that’s OK,” little Johnny replies as he walks over to where the stranger is standing and extends his hand.
The stranger glances at the other young boy, the potential witness. I wish I could take both of them, but the plan only calls for the one. He looks at Johnny and suggests, “Say, why don’t you have,” he almost calls the boy by his name, Jimmy, but catches himself and continues, “ah, your little brother over there run inside and check with your mom? Make sure that it is OK for me to give you a dollar, that way you won’t have to worry about getting in trouble.”
Johnny calls instructions out to his younger brother who turns and runs into the house. As soon as Jimmy is out of sight, the stranger removes a rag from his pocket, places it over Johnny’s mouth, and snatches him in his arms. The sweat pours liberally off of his face and hands and body as the stranger then bounds to the rear of the station wagon where the back latch had been left open. He raises the door and places the flaccid young boy on the floor, covering the unconscious body with a blanket he recovers from a backpack on the seat. At the sound of the rear door slamming, the blue jays pause in their frolicking to glance down, before continuing their playful antics.
As the stranger jumps into his car and speeds away, Jimmy skips out of the house and calls out, “Mom.” He points to where the station wagon was parked mere moments before, “The man is right over there, right by his…” He looks back and forth for the car, then for the man, and finally for his older brother Johnny. “MOM! MOM!” He shouts toward the front door. “The man’s not here. Johnny’s not here either. MOM!”
As the inflection in her son’s voice changes from youthful excitement to fear, Jenna Wilkins begins to run. She stumbles out the door, stops to grab Jimmy around the waist in her right arm, and races past the front porch and into the peaceful lawn. “Jimmy, where’s your brother?”
Jimmy squirms in his mother’s stifling grip. With frustration growing in his voice, he thrusts out his arms, fingers extended, and through clenched teeth he exclaims, “I told ya, he’s with the man, but…”
Jenna sets Jimmy on the ground, places her hands on his shoulders, and demands, “Man? Where is the man? Where is your brother?”
“Over there! Next to the car, but…”
“What car? What car are you talking about?”
“That’s what I tried to tell ya. The car is gone. The man’s gone. Johnny’s gone.”
Jenna hears Jimmy’s words but they are not registering. Johnny was just here, a few moments ago, playing and laughing in the front yard. What was it, fifteen, twenty minutes when she last checked on them? Was it longer than that? She couldn’t remember. She turns to nowhere in particular and screams, “Johnny!” There is no response so she turns in another random direction and calls out even louder, “Where are you Johnny?” She pauses to listen for the answer she fears won’t be coming. She falls to her knees and cups her hands around her mouth like a bullhorn. “This is your mother calling, Johnny!” She pauses again to listen. Her voice is strained from the screaming and the emotion and in little more than a whisper, she calls out again, “Please, Johnny,” her voice cracks, “this is your mother. You come here right now. Get over here this instant. Please.” Her heart breaks as she senses that Johnny will not be responding. The revelation slams her like a heart attack and she collapses to the ground.
