Noah Barnes sat quietly at his computer.
It was late in the evening and he was working on a story for the paper. The Manchester Journal had hired him shortly before Christmas the previous year and he’d made a lot of progress since first starting.
He’d began as most newspaper journalist do, writing “fluff” pieces. His stories were the “hard-hitting” ones about a Boy Scout troop’s camping trip that would appear on the back page buried underneath an ad for a local Toyota dealership. But his editor, Marshall McGuire, had seen something in him and would occasionally test his skills by giving him a more serious story to “cut his teeth on.” Thus far Marshall had been pleased with the results and was very vocal about how impressed he was.
Perhaps the most important thing about Marshall McGuire, however, was his willingness to work with Noah’s depression. Marshall’s own wife was a depression victim so he knew how crippling it could be. He allowed Noah to occasionally work at home and download his stories through the Internet. Today was one of those days. He’d been working non-stop all day on a one of the serious assignments Marshall threw his way. He was almost done, taking that extra moment to proofread his work.
He jumped as the Instant Messenger message tone sounded. He always logged on to the Internet while working in case he had to do any research. At least that’s what he said. He really just enjoyed talking to people while working. It offered a distraction from working that some writers thrive on.
He clicked on the flashing box to bring up the message. It was his “cyber-buddy” Marco from New York.
Marco49: What’s up, Scoop?
NOAZRK: Not much. Working on a story for the paper.
Marco49: You have the TV on?
NOAZRK: No. Why?
Marco49: Turn it on CNN.
NOAZRK: Hold on.
Noah grabbed the remote and flipped on the television. He wasn’t surprised to find the channel already set to CNN -- the life of a newspaper journalist. The picture slowly came into view as the words he heard chilled Noah to the bone.
“--Channel Seven news studio in Manchester, the scene this morning of a botched kidnapping attempt against Taylor Hanson, lead singer of teen pop music sensation, Hanson.”
The scene switched from the rear of the studio to several young girls huddled together. The girl in the middle, identified as “Macy -- A Hanson Fan” spoke. “We were standing next to Taylor when it happened. This guy like grabbed him and put a gun to his head.”
A CNN reporter appeared. She was standing outside the Channel Seven studio. “This is where Taylor Hanson was standing when the assailant grabbed him. He then dragged young Taylor toward a nearby van threatening to shoot.. He might have gotten away had it not been for security guard turned local hero, Thomas Liberty.”
A young man appeared dressed in a security uniform. “I was standing at the east corner of the building when I heard the commotion. I called for the man to drop his weapon, which startled him into letting go of the victim and spinning around with his gun. I had a clear shot and I took it.”
“Do you consider yourself a hero?”
He shook his head. “No, ma’am. I was just in the right place at the right time.”
“The assailant, who died at the scene, is said to be the same man who had been sending threatening messages to Taylor Hanson over the last few months. This kidnap attempt comes at the height of a recent Hanson media frenzy. Their concert here in Manchester at the Morris Auditorium sold out three hours after tickets went on sale. Martha Chang, CNN Headline news.”
Noah flipped off the TV and turned back to his computer. He typed a message to Marco.
NOAZRK: Wow!
Marco49: You hadn’t heard?
NOAZRK: No.
Marco49: I thought you were like their adopted big brother. I didn’t think they took a crap without you knowing about it. :o)
NOAZRK: Bite me! :o) I gotta go.
Noah logged off the computer after sending his document to the newspaper.
Wow!
He was completely blown away. Noah had grown close to Hanson after they’d literally saved him from an attempted suicide late last year. They kept in touch through e-mail every few weeks or so and they would periodically call Noah to make sure he was okay. They’d even sent him two free tickets and backstage passes to their concert this weekend.
He jumped when he heard the phone ring.
“Hello?”
“Hey, babe!”
It was Sarah -- his lovely wife of three months.
“Did you see the news?” she asked.
“Yeah, sure did. Pretty scary, huh?”
“Creepy. Hey, listen, I’ll be getting off work soon.” Sarah worked as an RN at the Manchester Community Hospital. “Is pizza okay?”
“Yeah, great -- lots of pep --”
His pager interrupted him. He pulled it from his waist and looked at the number. It was Marshall McGuire.
“Damn, honey, I gotta go. Marshall just paged me.”
“Okay, sweetie, I’ll be home soon. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Noah disconnected and dialed the paper.
A gruff voice answered. “McGuire.”
“Marshall, its Noah.”
“Oh, Barnes. I have a story for you.”
Noah picked up a pad and pencil.
“I’m sure you’ve heard about this Hanson thing.”
“Yeah, just heard about it on CNN.”
“Well, rumor has it had it that there’s something else going. on. I want you to get over the their hotel and find out.”
Noah was shocked. “Why me?”
“They’re not letting any reporters in. They trust you, Barnes, after that angel thing.”
Noah had shared his story about Hanson and the angels when the paper was doing a human-interest piece on angelic encounters. The result of which had earned him the nickname “MMMBop” around the office. Besides the fact that several people thought he was loony after claiming to have seen and talked to angels.
“Marshall, with all due respect, I can’t betray their confidence like that.”
“Dammit, Barnes, I’m giving you what could be a big story -- a BIG story. They’re staying at the Hyatt downtown. Don’t disappoint me Barnes.”
Noah heard a click. Marshall had hung up on him. “Marshall? Marshall?” he said in vain. He slammed the phone down. “Damn!”
Abraham Lake sat on the sofa in his living room nursing a bottle of Jack Daniels. He was hoping to chase the pain away by drinking but it didn’t seem to be working. The rage seething deep within his soul was topped only by the sorrow that he felt. He looked to a picture of his late wife on the table next to the couch.
Oh, Karen. I miss you so much.
Karen Lake had been dead for five years. She had died of a broken heart. She’d seen everything she’d ever wanted and hoped for crumble around her like a house of cards. Karen had deserved everything in the world and Abraham had tried to give it to her. But the cruel hand of fate had had other ideas.
Abraham smiled as his mind wandered back to the happier times they had shared. They had been high school sweethearts, marrying directly out of college. Their son, Jesse, had been born not long after. Abraham had gotten a job with Helmerich & Payne, Inc., an international oil drilling and gas exploration company based in Tulsa.
They had also managed to buy a small house. Their lives were turning into everything they had ever dreamed of. A new job, a new home, and a new baby had brought them the happiness they so desperately sought. They didn’t have all that much, but they were content.
But as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end. The job was gone and his wife was gone. All he had left was Jesse and soon he would be gone too. He’d been accepted at the University of Oklahoma in Tulsa.
Abraham had just one person to thank for the misery in his life. A man who’d blown in like an Oklahoma dust storm and ruined everything for him. A man whose life had since become what Abraham’s should have been -- a man by the name of Walker Hanson.
He thought for a moment. He’d never really intended on taking Taylor Hanson. But when he’d seen the report on the afternoon news, an idea began formulating in his head. He was rather proud of himself for managing this on such short notice.
A few favors were called in to friends working for a local limo service to find out which hotel they were staying at. Abraham had simply gone to the hotel and waited for an opportunity to present itself. When he’d seen Taylor leave with the bodyguard, he knew he had to try something. It had all made sense at the time. But now he was scared – terrified that he’d made a huge mistake. He’d past the point of no return, crossed the Rubicon. The kid was now tied up in his basement. And it wasn’t as if he could just give him back.
They must be half-crazy by now.
He heard screaming from the basement. An evil smile formed on his lips.
Screw the fear!
It would be worth getting caught to have caused Walker Hanson this much pain and heartache. He put the bottle to his lips and pushed back the last of the whiskey. He threw the bottle to the floor – it shattered on the hard wood – and got up from the couch. Grabbing a baseball bat (the one he’d hit the bodyguard with) from the coffee table, he made his way to the basement door.
The darkness, the hunger, and the fear had finally gotten to Taylor. He righted himself once again and screamed for all he was worth.
“Help!”
It had been quiet upstairs for what seemed like hours.
“Help!”
The silence was broken by the sound of glass shattering. He began to tremble uncontrollably as he heard a sound like a lock disengaging. Somewhere behind him a door opened. He turned only to be blinded by a brilliant light. A huge black figure in the shape of a man stepped in and began descending a flight of stairs. Taylor’s eyes tried desperately to adjust but they were only able to make out the blackness – no features. He cowered back to the wall, staring in fear.
The mysterious shadow spoke in a drunken, hate-filled voice. “Shut up, dammit!”
Taylor tried to speak with confidence, but the words came out in a meek and feeble tone. “Where – where am I? Why are you doing this to me?”
The figure made it to the bottom of the stairs and stopped. “I told you to shut up, you little shit!”
It was now that Taylor noticed the figure was wielding a baseball bat. The man said nothing as he approached Taylor with the weapon raised in the air.
Whack!
Taylor collapsed onto the floor in pain, trying desperately to regain his breath, which had been knocked out of him. The bat had connected with his stomach, sending sharp bolts of agony like lightning through his body.
“What are you? Some – kind of animal,” he managed while gasping for air.
Whack!
The blow was to Tay’s head this time. He could see the pain -- it revealed itself in bright colors and shapes that seemed to swim around in circles. Taylor curled himself into a fetal position, rolling his back towards the attacker.
“You don’t get it, do you?” The voice said. “You really just don’t get it.”
Whack!
The bat connected with his back. Taylor couldn’t breathe. Tears rushed to his eyes.
“Everything has been handed to you your whole life! Well, it’s about time that someone took something away from you, dammit!”
The drunken man reached down and picked Taylor up, holding him close to his face. Taylor could smell the booze on the guy. He tried desperately to hold back the tears, but couldn’t.
“Yeah, go ahead and cry, you little fairy! Go ahead and let it all out. It’s time you felt the pain my family has felt as a result of what your father did to me. Every time I see you damn Hansons on television, the knife in my back takes another quarter turn.”
Anger and frustration got the better of Taylor. Suddenly he didn’t care if the guy beat him until he was dead. With all the anger and hatred he could muster, Taylor spit directly in the man’s face.
“You little shit!” He threw Taylor across the room.
Taylor dropped with a grunt to the cold, hard concrete -- the wind once again knocked out of him.
“You keep that up and I’ll kill you.”
The attacker turned and made his way up the steps, stopping at the landing.
“Sweet dreams.”
Hearing the door slam, Taylor curled himself into a ball and tried hard to wish the pain away. Tears streamed uncontrollably down his face. Fear gripped his tiny body as he trembled from the fear and the cold. He looked upward into the darkness and cried out. “God, help me. Please help me.”
Chapter Four
Chapter Two
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