Rachelle McCalla - Twin Threat Christmas

* * *

Alert!

Abducted children in danger!

Eric stopped flipping through the channels on the cabin’s relic of a television as the screen flashed pictures of two little girls and a baby. A boy. Samuel.

The reporter rattled off the details in a matter-of-fact voice. “The Nelson children are believed to be with their mother. Their father’s body was found this evening. Authorities at this time are assuming he was shot by his wife, who took the children following a domestic dispute.”

“So what’s the forecast?” Debbi, Eric’s younger sister, bounded into the room behind him, then stopped short. “Oh, no.”

“They are believed to be traveling in a brown Toyota Sequoia, which may have front-end damage. Authorities believe the woman drove through the back wall of the garage as she left.”

The scene on the screen switched from the children’s faces to a picture of an SUV superimposed over footage of splintered two-by-fours and the busted-out back wall of a garage.

The reporter turned to a man standing in front of a black Land Rover. “This is Chicago businessman Virgil Greenwood, who discovered the body of Jeffrey Nelson at Mr. Nelson’s Barrington home this evening. Mr. Greenwood, can you tell us what happened?”

Virgil Greenwood, a middle-aged man in a business suit, nodded soberly. “Mr. Nelson and I were supposed to have a business dinner together today. I had made arrangements to pick him up, but when I arrived, no one answered the door. I could see the living room through the window and thought I saw Mr. Nelson there, but when I looked closer, I could see he’d been shot. The front door was unlocked. I let myself in. Of course, my first thought was for his family. I knew he had a wife and kids. So I called out, ‘Hello, is anyone home?’ something like that—and then I heard the crash.”

“That’s when Mrs. Nelson drove through the garage?” the reporter confirmed.

“Yes, yes, the sound came from that direction. I ran to see, but the vehicle was already gone. But you can see the ruts.”

“Let’s get another look at those ruts,” the reporter requested, and the screen image shifted again.

“Eric?” Debbi touched his arm. “You don’t have to watch this.”

“I know.” Eric’s fingers twitched over the buttons on the remote, but he couldn’t bring himself to switch the channel. “They said the kids might be in danger. I have to hear what they think happened.”

“It’s okay. The forecast can wait. I can look outside. It was warm today, but the evening will be cooler. Typical October in Illinois.” Debbi spoke softly, almost as though she was afraid to disturb him.

She’d been that way eight years ago, too, when Vanessa first disappeared, and every time an unexpected memory or a missing-child report would trigger flashbacks. Being here at the cabin where he and Vanessa had spent so much time together both as kids and teens, the memories were closer to the surface, more real and harder to suppress.

Virgil’s voice continued as the camera panned in for a close-up of the tire tracks that cut jagged lines through an otherwise picturesque backyard. “What kind of crazy person would drive through the garage wall? And with the kids in the car? At least, I hope she had her kids with her. Who knows what she might have done with them if she did this to Jeff?”

The reporter, instead of shushing the man’s musings, encouraged them. “You mentioned you might know what could have prompted her to act, isn’t that right, Mr. Greenwood?”

“Oh, Jeff said he thought his wife was having an affair. I suppose she decided to leave him. Maybe they fought about it, I don’t know. It’s just crazy, isn’t it? They need to find those kids before she does anything to them. It’s getting dark out.”

“And here is a picture of the mother, Madison Nelson, who is believed to have abducted her own children after shooting their father dead.” A woman’s face appeared on the screen—blond curly hair, tired eyes, a wan smile.

“What kind of crazy woman does a thing like that?” Debbi muttered behind him.

But Eric was too distracted by the image to attempt to answer her question. “She almost looks like Vanessa.”

“Vanessa had brown hair, not blond,” Debbi corrected quickly. “And she’s too young to have a seven-year-old.”

“She was seventeen when she disappeared eight years ago.”

“She was declared legally dead.”

“Doesn’t mean she is dead.”

“Vanessa wouldn’t shoot her husband and leave him for another guy.”

“That is true. What kind of woman would do a thing like that?” Eric gripped the remote, finally winning the battle to change channels as the reporter intoned about the importance of viewers reporting any sign of the vehicle, the children or their mother—and speculations about the man she may have run away to join. “And what kind of guy would get involved with such a crazy person?”

* * *

Sammy was asleep when Vanessa placed his car seat in the concrete manger of the life-size nativity scene in front of her sister’s house. She felt a pang of doubt. Was she right to leave the baby with her sister? It was going to be difficult enough to run with the girls. Sammy needed frequent feedings and diaper changes. The girls, at least, could stay quiet when they needed to.

He’d be safer with Alyssa. Wouldn’t he? Vanessa looked at the concrete sculptures of Mary and Joseph, poised protectively over the manger. Mary’s expression of love and concern seemed to say she’d look over the child.

Vanessa knew she didn’t dare linger, no matter how much she wished she could see her sister. If Alyssa saw her, she’d have to take the time to explain, and that would endanger them all. Virgil’s men might catch up to her at any time, and Sammy would only be safe if the men who were after her didn’t know where she’d left him.

Swallowing back the emotion that tightened her throat and blurred her vision, she ran to the Sequoia, parked almost out of sight down the street. She’d spotted Alyssa going into the house as she pulled up, and suspected, based on the open door to the workshop, her sister would be coming out again soon.

Sure enough, once she was inside the vehicle, she and the girls watched through the windows as Alyssa stepped outside the front door, headed toward the baby.

Sammy would be safe. Safer, at least, than he would be on the run with her, and that was all that mattered.

Vanessa put the car in gear and drove off into the setting sun. It was dark, and the girls were asleep by the time she turned off the highway to the gravel road that led to the cabin.

She hadn’t been there in over eight years, but she’d reviewed the route in her head a hundred thousand times, promising herself that if she ever got a chance to escape, she’d flee to the cabin, the one place she’d never told Jeff about.

Forgotten landmarks leaped into sight like old friends eager to welcome her home as the headlights pierced the night in front of her.

A lump welled up in her throat, but Vanessa swallowed it down. No, she couldn’t get emotional, not yet, no matter how many times she’d comforted herself with the hope she might someday see this place again. There was still far too much she had to do.

The Sequoia rolled to a stop in the parking spot in front of the garage. The fishing cabin was just as she remembered it, if a little spooky in the darkness. It was her cabin, or would be someday if her grandfather was still alive. Grandpa had always promised he’d will it to her and her sister.

With a backward glance to be certain the girls were still sleeping peacefully, Vanessa quietly opened the door and hurried to the rock border of the flower bed near the porch. Would the key still be there? Anything could have happened to it in the years since she’d last tucked it away in its hiding spot.