Rene Gutteridge - Listen

Grayson looked excitable and relieved. His face was trying to tell some sort of story, perhaps favorable if Damien was being granted a wish or two. “We’re releasing you.”

“You are?”

Grayson’s smile spoke first. “We have new evidence that someone else is behind this.” His smile dropped. “What’s the matter?”

“What kind of evidence?”

“A post just showed up on the Web site. Whoever is doing this says he plans to reveal himself out on Old Morgan.”

“Old Morgan? There’s nothing out there but an abandoned factory.”

“You’re not off the hook yet, okay? Your credit card is still involved, though it may have been stolen. But there is stronger evidence now pointing to you not being the person we’re looking for. Whoever this guy is, it looks like he wants to be caught. Our intention is to bring him in tonight, peacefully and without resistance.” Grayson’s radio crackled with a voice, and he turned it down. “Of course, this whole thing could be a setup. We don’t want to have a suicide-by-cop incident, either.”

Damien’s nerves sizzled with panic. Suicide by cop?

“We’re not taking any chances. We have no idea what kind of person we’re dealing with. But the good news is that you get to go home to your family tonight.” Grayson started to walk away.

“Wait! Please! Unlock the door!”

Grayson turned back toward Damien. “Calm down. There’s a procedure we have to go through. Like every good government establishment, there’s mile-high paperwork. You’ll be out of here by this evening, though.”

“Lou! Wait! Please!”

Grayson looked irritated. He rejoined Damien at the bars, his voice low. “Let me give you a piece of advice. I realize this whole thing could be a potentially big story for you. Your reporter instincts are going crazy. You want to be there when the news breaks. But as a family man myself, my advice to you is to go home, be with your family. I say this with deep conviction: your family’s the most important thing you’ve got on this green earth. Focus on that tonight, all right?” He turned and marched straight into a group of deputies waiting near the front entrance.

Damien grabbed at the bars, wanting to scream, but all he could do was helplessly watch. What’s Hunter doing?

Through a nearby crackling radio, Damien heard the words SWAT team.

“Sir, there’s paperwork. We’re waiting for a fax from the DA’s office.” The plump woman behind the desk turned at the sound of a fax machine nearby. “Don’t have a cow. I’ll go look.”

Damien watched her take her sweet time as she wove around three desks to get to it. She pulled the paper off the machine, took a long look at it, and then nodded. She ambled back over, accompanied by a skinny man and his superlarge key chain. Without much effort, he picked the right key and unlocked the cell door.

Damien’s heart raced as if he’d been running for miles, except all he’d been doing was standing at the bars, gripping them as though he might be able to break through. His ears burned bright red. His fingertips tingled.

The woman gestured. “Right this way, sir. We need you to fill out-”

“Where’s my stuff?”

The woman made no attempt to hide her annoyance. “Sir, just sit down here. We’re working as fast as we can. This isn’t the Marriott.” She headed toward some file drawers but got sidetracked by a fellow jailer. She stopped to chat.

Damien realized what he was about to do was probably the stupidest thing he’d ever done, but at the moment he seemed incapable of being rational. Suicide by cop, SWAT team, be with your family-the words throbbed and pulsed like a bad headache.

It was almost like watching himself in a movie. He bolted from his seat and ran toward the front door, half-expecting a group of people to pounce on him. He was a free man, but was it before or after the paperwork?

He heard the woman shouting, “Sir! Sir!”

He shoved the front doors open and rushed down the irritatingly long front steps of the police station, his feet moving like he was running tires at football practice.

Old Morgan Road was at least five miles from the police station. He didn’t have a car or his wallet. He didn’t even have a coat. He was going to have to hitch a ride. Squeezed into his half-baked plan to get to his son was a frantic prayer to God, with no real words able to express what he needed. Still, he was pretty sure it was coming in loud and clear.

He glanced behind him. Nobody was coming out of the police station after him. He turned and headed south toward Old Morgan Road.

Kay tried one more time to text Jenna. She pushed Send, then stared at her phone. She’d tried calling minutes before, but there was no answer. Now she was unable to get ahold of a single person in her family.

“I’m so afraid,” Kay said between the sobs. “I feel like something is really wrong.”

Jill stretched her hand across the car and grabbed Kay’s. “I know. But it’s going to be okay. We have to trust God that-”

“Damien!” Kay gasped. “Jill, slow down!” She unsnapped her seat belt and leaned toward the dash of the car, peering out into the cold, black night. Someone was running toward them on the side of the road. When the car’s headlights bounced off him, she swore it looked like Damien.

Jill pulled to the curb. Kay opened her door.

“Kay!” Jill yelled.

But Kay ignored her, hurrying toward the dark figure approaching them. She could tell it was a man and his hand was now in front of his eyes, shielding them from the headlights.

“Damien!” Kay rushed into his arms, crying. “Where have you been?” She backed away from him and looked him over. His somber expression terrified Kay instantly.

“The kids? Where are they?”

“I don’t know,” Kay cried. “I thought maybe Hunter was with you. I went to pick him up after school, and he wasn’t there. The teacher said there was no science fair project going on.”

“Get in the car!” Jill yelled. “It’s freezing!”

Damien held up a finger to Jill and looked at Kay, his thumbs stroking her cold, wet cheeks. “They arrested me tonight. I’ve been in jail.”

Kay was nodding but not really understanding.

“They just released me because the person doing this said he’d reveal himself tonight on Old Morgan.”

“I know. What does that have to do with us?”

“I don’t know how to say this, so I’m just going to have to say it, okay?”

“Okay.” The strength that Kay had felt only moments ago upon seeing Damien now slid right out the bottom of her feet. She was pretty sure all that held her up were Damien’s hands, now holding each of her elbows.

“Hunter is the person behind the Web site.”

Kay was nodding again, not because she understood, but because she was trying to digest it while thanking God Damien hadn’t just told her one of their children was dead. Yet as the words sank in and as Damien looked deeply into her eyes, the gravity of what was spoken hit her hard. “Hunter…”

“We have to get to Old Morgan Road. I don’t know what Hunter’s planning.”

“You’re sure it’s Hunter?”

Damien took her by the shoulders and helped her into the car. He climbed into the backseat. Jill had the heat cranked but Kay couldn’t feel her hands or feet, and she didn’t think it was because of the cold.

Kay turned to Damien. She didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. They stared at each other until Jill said, “Damien, I’m so glad you’re-”

“Take us to Old Morgan Road. And hurry.”

“The whole town showed up,” Damien whispered as they pulled to the side of the road. The abandoned factory, which looked more like a warehouse, glowed in the darkness from all the car lights shining on it. It seemed hundreds of cars surrounded the warehouse.