“Taylor?” Walker Hanson screamed. “Where are you?”
The darkness was overwhelming. Walker felt his way through the inky blackness with no clue where he was going.
“Dad?” Taylor’s voice replied. “Is that you?”
“Taylor?”
“I’m over here Dad. Please help me. Help me Dad.”
A bright light surrounded Walker. He was in a large room with boxes piled high around him. To his right there was a tool chest and a large shelving unit filled with ancient treasures long-since tossed away. In the corner – hiding in the shadows – was a teenage boy. No, it was Taylor. His face was battered and bruised – his eyes filled with fear. His arms were raised in defense.
“Taylor!” he screamed.
A larger black mass stepped between Walker and his son. It was a man. He was holding a baseball bat and had it raised to strike Taylor.
“No!”
Whack!
The bat came down hard on Taylor. Blood stained his long, blond hair.
Walker tried to move but his feet were frozen to the floor.
Whack!
“No!”
Whack!
“Dad? Help me Dad! Please help.”
Whack!
“Taylor!”
Somewhere far away something was pulling Walker backwards. He tried to fight it – to stand his ground. But it was pulling so hard. He kept his eyes glued to Taylor – his son had crumpled to the floor, surrounded by a pool of blood.
Whack! Whack!
“Taylor!”
Walker Hanson shot up from the bed in a cold sweat. The phone was ringing. He rubbed his eyes and scrambled to catch the phone before it woke Diana up. He looked at the clock: 8:00 AM. The dream had been horrible. He shook his head hoping that the memory of it would go away. He managed to find the phone.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Hanson? This is James, the hotel manager. I’m sorry to disturb you this early but we’ve got – uh – a situation down here.”
Walker stood up and stretched. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“Well, you see Mr. Hanson, the press has invaded the lobby. They refuse to leave until you come down and make a statement.”
“What do you mean the press?”
James was silent for a moment. “I take it you haven’t seen the morning paper.”
“Well, no I haven’t.”
“You’ll find a copy outside your door. I hated to bother you with this but I’m not quite sure what to do.”
“Thanks.” Walker ran his hand through his hair. “I’ll get back with you in a few minutes.”
Walker hung up the phone and got up from the bed. He walked to the door and opened it – the newspaper was lying in the floor. He bent down, picked it up and unfolded it. On the top-right of the front page, in bold print, it read: Teen Idol Disappears.
He shut the door and made his way back to the bed. After sitting down, he managed to read the story in the newspaper’s sidebar. It wasn’t a huge article, but the damage had been done.
Teen idol, Taylor Hanson, of the pop group Hanson, disappeared yesterday evening from Candler Park, apparently the victim of a copycat kidnapping. Manchester Police and the local FBI are working frantically working to find answers to what thus far has been a baffling case. Hanson bodyguard and friend, Jason Browning, is being held under suspicion at the Manchester Police Headquarters.
The first attempt on the fifteen-year old Hanson came early Wednesday morning at the Channel Seven studios in downtown Manchester. Forty-five year old Dennis Craig, of Carver Heights, who apparently was obsessed with the young pop star, had been sending Hanson letters over a period of three months. Craig was shot and killed by studio security guard, Thomas Liberty.
Hanson is scheduled to play the historic Morris Auditorium this Saturday.
Walker Hanson threw the paper to the ground. They’d agreed NOT to talk to the press. He picked up the phone and dialed Doubleday’s room. Heads were going to roll for this one.
“Doubleday,” a voice said with a yawn on the other end of the phone.
“Inspector, do you want to tell me what the hell is going on?”
“Mr. Hanson?”
“I want to know which one of your men talked to the press.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Try looking at this morning’s Manchester Herald. You’ll find a story about my son’s kidnapping on the front page!”
“Oh, no.”
“That’s all you have to say? You arrest our bodyguard, you tackle our best friend, and you sell our story to the newspaper. What’s next, Inside Edition? You’ve got a lot of nerve.”
“Mr. Hanson, please calm down. Give me a few minutes and I’ll be over there and we’ll talk about this.”
Walker was tempted to slam the phone down but thought better of it. He didn’t want to wake up Diana.
“Walker, honey?” she asked.
Too late.
Walker gently set the phone down and pondered how to tell his wife that things had just gotten a whole lot worse.
Walker Hanson hadn’t been the only one awakened by the telephone. Marshall McGuire had seen the Manchester Herald and was not at all happy. He’d called Noah to give him an earful. Sarah, who was already up had taken the call. She was in the kitchen cooking breakfast for Isaac and Zac.
“I gave you a simple assignment Barnes. That should have been your story in our paper!”
“Marshall,” Noah began, “I told you I wasn’t going to do the story. I told you I wouldn’t betray their trust. It’s called integrity, Marshall. Maybe you should look it up.”
“I took a chance on you, Barnes. I gave you a break when no one else would. And this is how you repay me?”
“I know you did and I appreciate it. But I’m not going to compromise what I believe in for the sake of a story. It’s wrong, Marshall. It’s just plain wrong.”
“I don’t have time to waste on a rookie with a conscience. Your fired Barnes.”
Noah heard Marshall slam the phone down. He gently set the receiver back in its cradle and put his head in his hands. “Oh, dear Lord, what am I going to do now?”
He stood up from the bed and walked into the kitchen. Sarah was pulling raisin toast out of the toaster oven. Isaac and Zac were seated at the bar on the other side of the counter. Zac was downing yet another Coke. Noah chuckled. “Zac, I love you to death, but there’s no way I’m naming my child after you.”
Zac put the can down and let out a long belch. “How come?”
“Can you imagine how much teasing a kid named “Caffeine Boy” would get? I just can’t do that in good conscience.”
Isaac, who had been drinking orange juice, spit it to the counter laughing.
“Yeah, sure,” Zac said with a frown. “Laugh it up, Fuzzball.”
Sarah smiled as Noah kissed her gently on the mouth. She grabbed a towel and threw it to Isaac to clean up his mess. “Is everything okay, honey? Marshall sounded awful angry.”
“Pissed off is more like it,” Noah replied. “The scumbag fired me.”
Sarah dropped the plate she’d been pulling down from the cabinet. It shattered on the floor. “He did what?”
“He fired you?” Isaac asked. “For not writing a story about us?”
Sarah kneeled down and began picking up the pieces of the plate.
“I’m afraid so, guys,” Noah replied. “Sarah?”
She continued picking up the pieces.
“Sarah?”
She dropped the pieces and collapsed onto the floor, weeping.
Noah knelt down. “Sarah, honey, its going to be okay.”
“No, it’s not, Noah. You just lost your job and now I’m pregnant –“
Sarah grabbed Noah and held him tight, crying like a baby. Noah, not knowing what to say, just let her cry. He was startled by the sound of the phone ringing. “Oh, man, what now? Zac, could you get that please?”
Zac reached across the counter and picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
A pause.
“This is Zac.”
Another pause.
“Yeah, they’re on the floor hugging. Hold on.”
Noah stood up, rolled his eyes, and took the phone. Isaac slapped his brother on the back of the head.
“What?” Zac asked.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Noah.”
It was his mother, Marcie.
“Hi, Mom. What’s up?”
“I suppose you’ve heard about the whole Hanson thing.”
“Yes, we’re at the crisis epicenter right now.”
“Well, I hate to throw more on you right now but have you heard from Tracy?”
The name hit Noah hard – a name he hadn’t used in a while. Tracy was his youngest sister. She’d gotten into some trouble last fall and had been enrolled in a nine-month program at the Carver Heights Substance Abuse Treatment Center. Her struggle with heroin had nearly torn their family apart. Tracy had become the shame of the family – the one nobody talked about. Noah particularly held a grudge against her.
“No, Mom, I haven’t.” He swallowed hard the pill of bitterness known as Tracy. “I haven’t seen or talked to her since Christmas.”
Marcie sighed. Noah’s anger toward Tracy had been a sore point between she and he for quite awhile. “I just got a call from the treatment center. She’s missing.”
A touch of guilt tugged at Noah’s heart but he pushed it aside. “I’m sorry, Mom, but I’ve got more than I can handle right now.”
“She’s your sister, Noah.”
“A sister who tried to kill me. This is not a good time for me, Mom.” With that, Noah hung up the phone and fell to the floor next to his wife. His hand instinctively moved down to his right side. He could feel the scar through his T-shirt. The memory of that night last fall, came rushing back to him. It was two months before their father passed away.
No one but Tracy was supposed to have been home that night. Mom and Dad had gone to a birthday party for a friend. Jennifer was at one of her night classes. Noah had taken Sarah out but she’d fallen ill. He had come home early to find Tracy about shoot up in the downstairs bathroom.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Tracy, startled, dropped the needle to the floor. “Go away, Noah. Leave me alone.”
He picked her up by the arm and jerked her out of the bathroom. “So this explains why you’ve been acting like a freaking’ zombie lately. What’s the matter with you, Tracy?” He grabbed a small, white bag off the counter and thrust it into her face. “Heroin, Tracy?”
“Give that back to me, Noah!”
“No chance. Because whether or not you care about yourself, this family cares about you. And I’m not going to let you destroy your life this way.” He opened the bag and emptied the contents in the toilet and flushed.
“Damn you, Noah!” Tracy began beating on him. “I need it! You don’t understand!”
“I understand that you’re killing yourself and tearing this family apart in the process.”
He pushed her forcefully against the wall and looked straight into her eyes.
“Dammit, Tracy, I love you. Don’t you understand that?”
She stared him blankly, not saying a word. He pulled her into the living room and threw her down on the couch.
“I’m calling Mom and Dad right now, Tracy.” He walked into the kitchen.
Tracy followed. “Noah, please! Don’t tell Mom and Dad. They can’t know.”
“Better them find out from me than from some cop after you’ve overdosed and you’re lying in a ditch somewhere.” He dialed the number.
“Noah, put the phone down,” Tracy pleaded.
He turned away from her. “Mrs. Traylor? This is Noah Barnes – Marcie’s son. May I speak with her please?”
Tracy, not thinking clearly, grabbed a knife from the kitchen counter. Noah turned around just in time to see her lunging at him with it. She rammed into Noah, knocking him to the floor. The phone flew out of his hand and landed with a crash to the floor.
“Tracy, no!” Noah screamed as she jabbed the knife into his right side. “Ahhhh!”
His scream snapped her out of the trance she’d fallen under. She took one look at what she had done and began to shriek. The blood was flowing from her brother’s body and all she could do was collapse to the floor and scream his name.
“Noah?” Sarah said. “Noah.”
Noah jumped. “Huh?”
“Who was on the phone?”
“Mom.” Noah said absentmindedly. “She read about Taylor in the paper and wanted to know if I’d heard about it. I’m going to go lay down, Sarah. I’m not feeling so good.”
A tear rolled down Liz Barlow’s cheek as she stared at what remained of her Hanson CD. The cover was smashed and the insert was torn. The compact disc itself had survived the crash landing and she gingerly put it into her portable player and shut the lid. She was sitting on the third floor landing where she and Isaac had sat the night before. He seemed so close then – but now he was gone. For one moment in her life she’d felt special – Isaac Hanson had made her feel that way.
But she knew that it was only a fantasy – a fairy tale. In those stories the maidens were beautiful and fair and wanted by all the men in the village. They were loved by their peers and adored by their friends. No one called them slut or whore or freak. No one looked down on them. And they certainly didn’t lie to people about who they were.
Isn’t it hard, standing in the rain
You’re on the verge of going crazy and you’re hearts in pain
No one can hear but you’re screaming so loud
You feel like you’re all alone in a faceless crowd
Yes, she’d lied to Isaac. She’d lied to him about almost everything. She’d been afraid to tell him who she really was – afraid that he wouldn’t be able to handle the truth. She was still in rehab and her name wasn’t Elizabeth Barlows. Her name was Tracy Barnes and she was enrolled at the clinic still. She’d run away last night to try and be with Hanson – and because she couldn’t stand life at the treatment center anymore.
Tracy hadn’t planned what she was going to do after seeing Hanson. She knew she couldn’t go home after what she’d done to Noah. He didn’t even talk to her anymore. He’d come at Christmas but that was only because Mom probably had forced him to. Marcie Barnes was the only member of the family willing to cut her a break. Jennifer and Noah were so close that she was mad at Tracy, too. And Dad was gone now so that left only Mom.
More tears came as the picture of Noah surrounded by blood invaded her mind. Those images usually waited until she was asleep to fill her head. The nightmares were the worst. Coming down off of heroin had been hard – it had almost killed her. As bad as that experience had been for her, she’d rather go through it again instead of the nightmares. She woke up screaming every night now. She hated herself for what she’d done – for destroying her family and making them ashamed of her.
When did everything go wrong? How do I get myself into these messes?
She was alone, downtown, with no money and no place to go – she’d slept in the stairwell. How was she ever going to get out this mess? Nobody would care at the treatment center. That’s the way they dealt with runaways. She couldn’t call her mother or her brother. So she did the only thing she could think of. She made her way to the Hanson’s hotel room.
Jesse Lake awoke with a sharp pain in his back. He was laying on something. He moved his hand around to remove it. Exploring it with his hand, he determined it was a Rollerblade. He couldn’t help but snicker as he pulled it out from under his body and tossed it to the side. He looked around and tried to see something – anything. The darkness made it impossible. Off to his left, he heard someone with a bad case of the sniffles. Actually, it sounded like they were crying.
“Taylor?”
It was quiet for a moment.
“Yeah?”
“Are you okay?”
Another sniff. “Not really.”
Jesse tried to stand and after several attempts actually succeeded. He moved a few inches towards Taylor’s crying and stumbled across something. He reached down and felt of it – another Rollerblade. “Damn this darkness. Are these your skates?”
“Yeah.”
“They’ve about killed me twice now. You should really be more careful.”
He heard Taylor snicker. It was a start.
“There used to be a bunch of flashlights lying around here somewhere.” He slowly inched his way to the right until he bumped into his dad’s workbench. Feeling his way around the top of the table, he finally found what felt like a flashlight. He flipped the switch and was surprised to see that it actually worked. He shined the light towards the corner and saw Taylor put his hands to his eyes.
“Hey, watch it!”
Jesse moved the light toward the floor. “Sorry.” He made his way to the corner and sat down next to Taylor. “Did you sleep?”
“About as well one could under the circumstances.”
Jesse sighed. “Taylor, I am so sorry about all of this.” He shined the flashlight around the room, making eerie shadows by putting his hand over the beam.
“Sorry about what?”
“Sorry that my old man did this to you. I’m sorry that I can’t get you out of it. I guess old Abraham has a point – maybe I am a screw-up.”
“This isn’t your fault, Jesse. And as far as trying to get me out of it – well, you tried.”
“Yeah, and got the shit kicked out of me.”
“Well, that’s more than most people would do.”
“Yeah, well,” Jesse began.
“He had a baseball bat, for crying out loud!”
Jesse laughed. “That’s my old bat. I played high school ball with that bat.” He smiled. “Carver Heights Wolverines. I hit the homerun that made us tri-county champions with that bat. He was so damn proud of me. Now look at him.”
“What happened?”
“Jeez, where do I start? Uh, well, my dad lost his job at Helmerich & Payne after your dad got promoted over him. He was pissed about that. We moved to Manchester because my Uncle offered Dad a job. When that didn’t work out, Mom had to go to work. She couldn’t handle all the pressure – the bills staring her in the face, the man she loved falling to pieces before here very eyes. She died of a broken heart. She suffered from depression.
“That’s when Dad started drinking. He died the day she did. For five years I’ve lived with that monster. I’ve put up with the beatings, the name-calling because I knew that one day I’d get my chance. I moved out as soon as I could after graduation but that wasn’t enough. I couldn’t stand to be in the same city with him. I got a good-paying job and worked my tail off for two years, saving every penny I could. And now, next week I’m moving away from him forever. I’m going home – to Tulsa. I’ve been accepted at the University of Oklahoma. That is if I ever get out of this damn dungeon.”
“So, let me get this straight. I’m here because your old man is pissed that my Dad was promoted over him?”
“Yeah, well, that and the fact that he blames your Dad for all his woes. To hear him talk you’d think your old man pulled out a gun and shot my Mom. I know it doesn’t make any sense, Taylor. I’m so sorry. And I’m going to get you out of here if it kills me.”
As he said the words, Jesse realized the haunting truth behind them. It might just kill him.
Chapter Eight
Chapter Six
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