F Wilson - Deep as the Marrow

Finally he forced himself to think, to focus. He had to pull himself together and come up with cover stories for his mother as to why he’d left his office early and why she wouldn’t be picking up Katie from the bus stop this afternoon. They had to be damn good. One look at him and his mother would know something was wrong.

By the time he pulled into the driveway, he had an explanation for why he was home. But as for Katie’s whereabouts…

If only he could think!

Nana hit him with questions as soon as he walked in. She stood in the door to her bedroom dressed in her yoga outfit—he would never get used to the sight of his mother in a black leotard and white tights.

“John? You’re home? Is something wrong?”

He rubbed his stomach. “A little gastroenteritis. It’s a bug that’s been going through the whole department. Hit me just after I got in.”

“You look terrible,” she said, her dark eyes searching his face.

“Believe me, I feel worse than I look.”

“Can I get you anything? Some soup?”

“Thanks, but I couldn’t eat a thing.” That at least was true. “I think I’ll just sip some V8 and lie down.”

“You go upstairs. I’ll bring you some.”

“That’s okay. I’ll bring it up with me.” He went to the kitchen and poured himself half a glass from the two-liter bottle in the refrigerator. His mother hovered over him every step of the way.

“I’ll be fine, Ma. These things only last about twenty four hours; then they’re gone like they never were.” He left her standing at the bottom of the stairs, staring up after him, anxiously rubbing her hands together.

“I know some yoga positions that might help,” she said.

“That’s okay, Mom.” What was he going to tell her about Katie? She was no dummy. Having her around to help with Katie every day had been such a blessing. Now he wished she were back in Atlanta.

A thought occurred to him. He turned at the top of the stairs.

“I think I’ll lie down on the couch in the study,” he told her. “There’s this Senate hearing I want to follow and I can catch it on C-SPAN.”

“I hope you’ll be all right,” she said, still rubbing her hands together.

“I’ll be fine, Ma.” John closed the door to the study and went directly to his computer. His old Dell 486 was no longer up to the minute in speed and power but was still more than adequate for his needs at home.

Soon after assuming his post at HHS, he’d arranged for a remote link to the department’s network so he could access his files from home. He hadn’t used it much, but now it would be a godsend.

As soon his machine was up and running, he logged into HHS, plugged in his ID number, and waited for the e-mail icon to appear.

No e-mail.

Just as well. He’d thought of a number of things he hadn’t included in his first message.

For cover, he turned on the TV and, switched it to C-SPAN; then he began typing.

What he needed most was proof that Katie was alive. Devastating enough that she was gone, but the fear that she might be dead… that was crippling him.

He had to know. And the only way was to speak to her. How hard could that be to arrange? Get her to a phone, have her speak a few words, and that was that. He’d know she was alive and then he could concentrate on getting her back.

He decided on a tough, businesslike tone.

Snake— Addendum to previous e-mail: I must have proof that Katie’s alive. You say you want a “service” from me, fine. But in return for that service I want my daughter back—alive and well. For all I know right now, she could be dead and buried somewhere.

He had to lean back and take a deep, shuddering breath. Please, God, don’t let that be true.

I will perform =no= service of any sort unless I have conclusive proof that my daughter is alive. If you cannot supply that proof I will have to assume that you’ve murdered Katie. I will go immediately to the FBI.

He wanted to add that he would drop everything else in his life and personally pursue whoever was behind this to the ends of time and space, but that would be too provocative.

It was a fact, though.

He had to soften his tone now, and try again to humanize Katie to this monster.

But if Katie is alive and well as you say, please treat her gently.

She’s a fussy eater but likes Lucky Charms cereal and Doritos and McDonald’s cheeseburgers. You can imagine what an awful experience this is for her. I know she’s terrified. Please don’t be angry if she cries a lot. She didn’t ask to be kidnapped. Be gentle. =Please= be gentle.

That was it. That was all he could write without breaking down again. He forwarded the e-mail to Snake’s return address.

If only he could call the FBI. He wondered if they could trace the e-mail back to Snake’s hole in the ground.

But he didn’t dare. If Snake had access to his phone line, what else did he know? He might have somebody watching him. He couldn’t risk it… not with Katie’s life at stake.

He stood at his window and stared out at his quiet neighborhood, at people going out for lunch, coming back from shopping, walking their dogs, playing with their toddlers, going about their normal, everyday lives while his had been turned upside down and ripped inside out.

Don’t they know? Can’t they sense it? Katie is gone!

She’s all right, he told himself over and over in a prayerful litany. She has to be all right.

Behind him, as C-SPAN broadcast the current doings in Congress, John stayed at the window, trying to numb his feelings, trying to think, trying to keep from screaming.

24

“You hear that?” Poppy said.

She sat across the kitchen table from Paulie, the remains of a turkey sub between them. She was still furious at him, but also wishing he’d shave off his beard and dye his hair back to black, so he’d start looking like his old self again.

“Hear what?” Paulie said.

“Shhh!” She got up and turned off the TV. “Listen.” She heard it, softly, coming through the front room from the master bedroom. The sound she’d known would come, the sound she’d dreaded hearing.

Muffled crying.

“The kid’s awake.”

“Better go check on her,” Paulie said.

“Why me? This was your idea.”

“C’mon, Poppy,” he said. “You’re not gonna be like this the whole gig, are you?”

“I’m not taking care of no kid,” she told him. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“Fine,” he said. “We’ll let her cry.” He took a bite of his sub and started flipping through the copy of Blue Blood he’d brought along.

If that was the way he wanted to be, she’d do the same. She picked up The Star and opened it. She tried to concentrate on the page-three continuation of the cover story on Sharon Stone but gave up after reading the same paragraph half a dozen times.

The muffled sobs filled her brain.

“Damn it!” she said. She stood and threw the paper across the table at Paulie. “And damn you.” Paulie looked up at her and smiled but said nothing.

Poppy stomped out of the kitchen and went straight to the master bedroom. She retrieved the Roseanne mask from the couch and slipped it over her face.

But she hesitated at the door. A crying kid. What was she like going to do with a frightened, crying kid? More than Paulie, that was for sure, but that wasn’t saying much.

Oh, hell. Let’s get this over with. She pushed the door open and poked her head inside.

The kid was lying on her back on the bed, both hands tied to the bed frame above her head. The blindfold and gag were in place, but her beret had fallen off and she’d kicked off the blanket.

What skinny little legs she had.

And she was crying. This totally sucked, frightening a little kid like this.