Jeffery Deaver - Roadside Crosses

Items in Gregory Schaeffer's possession found at James Chilton's house One Sony digital camcorder One SteadyShot camera tripod Three USB cables One roll, Home Depot brand duct tape One Smith & Wesson revolver, loaded with 6 rounds of.38 Special ammunition One Baggie containing 6 extra rounds of ammunition Hertz Ford Taurus, California registration ZHG128, parked ½ block away from James Chilton's house One bottle orange-flavored Vitamin Water, half full One rental agreement, Hertz, naming Gregory Schaeffer as lessee One McDonald's Big Mac wrapper One map of Monterey County, provided by Hertz, no marked locations (infrared analysis negative) Five empty coffee cups, 7-Eleven. Only Schaeffer's fingerprints

Dance read the list twice. She couldn't be upset at the job Crime Scene had done. It was perfectly acceptable. Yet it offered no clues whatsoever as to where Travis Brigham was being held. Or where his body was buried.

Her eyes slipped out the window, and settled on the thick, barky knot, the point where two independent trees became one, then continued their separate journey toward the sky.

Oh, Travis, Kathryn Dance thought.

Unable to resist the thought that she'd let him down.

Unable, finally, to resist the tears.

Travis Brigham woke up, peed in the bucket beside the bed and washed his hands with bottled water. He adjusted the chain connecting the shackle around his ankle to a heavy bolt in the wall.

Thought once again of that stupid movie, Saw, where two men had been chained to a wall, just like this, and could escape only by sawing their legs off.

He drank some Vitamin Water, ate some granola bars and returned to his mental investigation. Trying to piece together what had happened to him, why he'd ended up here.

And who was the man who'd done this terrible thing?

He recalled the other day, those police or agents at the house. His father being a dick, his mother being all weepy-eyed and weak. Travis had grabbed his uniform and his bike and headed for his sucky job. He'd wheeled the bike a short way into the woods behind his house and then just lost it. He'd dropped his bike and sat down beside the huge oak tree and started crying his head off.

Hopeless! Everybody hated him.

Then, wiping his nose as he sat beneath the oak, a favorite spot-it reminded him of a place in Aetheria-he'd heard footsteps behind him, moving fast.

Before he could turn toward the sound, his vision went all yellow and every muscle in his body contracted at once, from neck to toe. His breath went away and he passed out. And then he woke up here in the basement, with a headache that wouldn't stop. Somebody'd hit him with a Taser, he knew. He'd seen how they work on YouTube.

The Big Fear turned out to be a false alarm. Feeling carefully-down his pants, behind-he realized nobody'd done anything to him-not that way. Though it made him all the more uneasy. Rape would've made some sense. But this…just being kidnapped, held here like in some kind of Stephen King story? What the hell was going on?

Travis now sat up on the cheap folding bed that shook every time he moved. He looked around his prison once more, the filthy basement. The place stank of mold and oil. He surveyed the food and drink left for him: mostly chips and packaged crackers and Oscar Mayer snack boxes-ham or turkey. Red Bull and Vitamin Water and Coke to drink.

A nightmare. Everything about his life this month was an unbearable nightmare.

Starting with the graduation party at that house in the hills off Highway 1. He'd only gone because some of the girls said Caitlin was hoping he'd be there. No, she really, really is! So he'd hitched all the way down the highway, past Garrapata State Park.

Then he walked inside, and to his horror he'd seen only the kewl people, none of the slackers or gamers. The Miley Cyrus crowd.

And worse, Caitlin looked at him like she didn't even recognize him. The girls who'd told him to come were giggling, along with their jock boyfriends. And everybody else was staring at him, wondering what the hell a geek like Travis Brigham was doing there.

It was all a setup, just to make fun of him.

Pure fucking hell.

But he wouldn't turn around and run. No way. He'd hung around, looked over the million CDs the family had, flipped through some channels, ate kick-ass food. Finally, sad and embarrassed, he'd decided, it was time to head back, wondering if he'd get a ride that time of night, near midnight. He'd seen Caitlin, wasted on tequila, pissed about Mike D'Angelo and Bri leaving together. She was fumbling for her keys and muttering about following the two of them and…well, she didn't know what.

Travis had thought: Be a hero. Take the keys, get her home safe. She won't care you're not a jock. She won't care if your face is all red and bumpy.

She'll know who you are on the inside…she'll love you.

But Caitlin had jumped into the driver's seat, her friends in the back. Being all, "Girlfriend, girlfriend…" Travis hadn't let it go. He'd climbed right into the car beside her and tried to talk her out of driving.

Hero…

But Caitlin had sped off, plummeting down the driveway and onto Highway 1, ignoring his pleas to let him drive.

"Like, please, Caitlin, pull over!"

But she hadn't even heard him.

"Caitlin, come on! Please!"

And then…

The car flying off the road. The sound of metal on stone, the screams-Sounds louder than anything Travis had ever heard.

And still I had to be the goddamn hero.

"Caitlin, listen to me. Can you hear me? Tell them I was driving the car. I haven't had anything to drink. I'll tell them I lost control. It won't be a big deal. If they think you were driving, you'll go to jail."

"Trish, Van?…Why aren't they saying anything?"

"Do you hear me, Cait? Get into the passenger seat. Now! The cops'll be here any minute. I was driving! You hear me?"

"Oh, shit, shit, shit."

"Caitlin!"

"Yes, yes. You were driving… Oh, Travis. Thank you!"

As she threw her arms around him, he felt a sensation like none other he'd ever experienced.

She loves me, we'll be together!

But it didn't last.

Afterward, they'd talked some, they'd gone for coffee at Starbucks, lunch at Subway. But soon the times together grew awkward. Caitlin would fall silent and start looking away from him.

Eventually she stopped returning his calls.

Caitlin became even more distant than she'd been before his good deed.

And then look what happened. Everybody on the Peninsula-no, everybody in the world -started hating him.

H8 to break it to you but [the driver] is a total fr33k and a luser…

But even then Travis couldn't give up hope. The night Tammy Foster got attacked, Monday, he'd been thinking about Caitlin and couldn't sleep, so he went to her house. To see if she was all right, though mostly thinking, in his fantasy, maybe she'd be hanging out in the backyard or on her front porch. She'd see him and say, "Oh, Travis, I'm sorry I've been so distant. I'm just getting over Trish and Van. But I do love you!"

But the house had been dark. He'd bicycled back home at 2:00 a.m.

The next day the police had shown up and asked him where he'd been that night. He'd instinctively lied and said he was at the Game Shed. Which of course they'd found out he hadn't been. And now they'd definitely think he was the one behind the attack on Tammy.

Everybody hating me…

Travis now recalled waking up here after he'd been Tasered. The big man standing over him. Who was he? One of the fathers of the girls killed in the accident?