Cody Phillips

MINDFLOWER

Copyright Cody Phillips (2015)

The right of Cody Phillips to be identified as author of this work has
been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,
stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any
means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise,
without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this
publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for
damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British
Library.
ISBN 978 1 78455 720 1 (Paperback)
ISBN 978 1 78455 722 5 (Hardback)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2015)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd.
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LB

Printed and bound in Great Britain

Chapter One
One

Hey kid!
Christopher heard the rough and textured churning of the loose gravel
under the tires behind him before he heard the mans voice. The car hadnt
stopped, but had slowed considerably and was inching up on him, and would be
at his side in moments. All the childs instincts feverishly swept into his chest,
and goose bumps began to layer on his pale arms and neck. All the warnings
hed been given and all the lectures hed endured about how dangerous strangers
can be began bellowing into his mind, and he wanted to get a decent glimpse of
this man before slowing his own pace, which was not that quick to begin with.
Inside the yellow and black book bag weighing him down were large and
tedious math and history books, and two or three library books with images of
towering and ferocious reptiles prowling the covers. As he turned his head the
sun was blinding and immediate, gleaming off the silver steel of the fence
surrounding the baseball diamond and shooting directly into his line of vision.
He squinted, the blue of his eyes appearing even more illustrated and brush
stroked from the glare than ever before. They were sharp, alive, and flooded
with innocence.
His black and white worn out and loosely tied shoes made careful
backward steps as he looked at the man in the approaching car. There was no
worry about running into a stop sign or a tree, as the sidewalk was clear for
another couple blocks up. Orchard Street, where Christopher and his mother live
in a modest, affordable home, is thankfully not ten minutes from the next stop
sign.
The walk back and forth to school had been quite the topic of debate. It
was agreed upon that Christopher could, indeed, start walking to and from
school if, and only if, he kept his grades up and proved himself to be trustworthy
and helpful around the house. This meant more than simply picking up the
laundry piled in the corner and tossing it into a mesh hamper, or making sure
Pop-Tart wrappers didnt spill loose crumbs into the couch cushions, or putting
away the plastic video game cartridges into their proper shoeboxes instead of
9

hap hazard piles spread across his bedroom floor. This was more profound, and
it meant more independence; a big step in her sons growth as a boy, and not one
to be taken lightly.
Crawford Junction, Kansas is not known for its high rate of crime, no, not
by any stretch of the imagination. Is it small? It used to be much smaller, but its
grown, and is growing. And with growth comes the near certain death of small
creature comforts, such as leaving your car unlocked at the grocery store, or
leaving the front door unlocked while you sleep at night. Those things Paula
only remembers her mother doing, but shes never been that carefree or, dare
she say, nave in her own life. At least not intentionally.
There was a motherly war Paula was waging within herself over the
matter of her sons independence. Should I take him off the bus or not? Itd take
him a little under fifteen minutes to walk, so hed have to get up earlier. But
sometimes its still dark in the mornings when he leaves. In the winter, hell
freeze to death! Then, after many weeks of keeping his room spotless, bringing
home only As or Bs, andthe hardest of allstaying away from Clarissa,
Christopher won the battle. That was the worst of it! Resisting the urge to pick
up the phone and dial her number, just to see what she was watching, or how her
studying was going, proved to be torturous, but it also proved to be worth it. As
far as Clarissa goes, there isnt much in the realm of serious discussion going on
at twelve years of age for either of them, but to Christopher it was serious
business. It meant the chance to have his first girlfriend.
The two wannabe lovebirds go to school together at Jim Weston Grade
School, the school that owns the baseball diamond that Christopher is walking
away from now, and have known each other since pre-school. Only recently did
he develop this strong and lustful fascination this crush on her. Until now his
main focus has been baseball, video games, or outdoor time with his buddies.
But nownow there was something new, something curious, and something
definitely appealing.
Girls.
The G Word.
Paula knew about their nine o clock whispered conversations, two hours
after his phone curfew (and also his bedtime), but hadnt said a word so far. She
sometimes pressed her ear against his cool wooden bedroom door and listened,
fighting to hold back muffled chuckles. It was entertaining the way they spoke
to one another; the way Christopher giggled and blushed. She couldnt see him,
but she knew he was blushing. If his radio was off and the room was silent, she
could hear Clarissas faint but high-pitched voice and could sometimes make out
entire conversations.
To Paula, it was the end of an era, and she was feeling (and looking)
older. She was only thirty-two, but to her this was it. Her little boy was growing
up and soon the gray hair would reveal itself and not far after the weekend trips
to the beauty parlour for a dye job and an up-do would commence. Hed be a
teenager soon, and then the dating would begin, and oh God not now, I cant
think about that quite yet. I still want to remember him kicking the ball round
till all hours of the night, in the backyard with the dog, or making snow forts
with the neighbours and coming inside and depending on me to be there for him.
10

To hand him his cup of hot chocolate, to hold and warm him, to dry his hair and
make him supper.
These were memories gone but not lost or forgotten. But the fact that they
were gone, had been sucked into the vacuum of black nothingness behind her,
never to be retrieved or witnessed again, that was enough to bring on the tears
for any woman. How quickly we age, she thought, and how short a time we
really do have together. Its a beautiful life, she knew that, but its also quite
intimidating and cruel, the lessons it teaches us. Or doesnt.
All had been well in Paulas eyes between the two until the day the
principal called her at work. They pulled her off the line when her name came
over the loud speaker, barely audible over the harsh and static grinding of
aluminium bicycles. Mr. McDaniel and Ms. Reese had been found together at
the back of the library, it seems, hidden behind the rows of heavy rolling shelves
and sitting in the corner on the green, flat carpet kissing. Clarissa, feeling quite
frail and vulnerable, and knowing the consequences coming to her, broke into
hysterics at the sight of old Ms. Lynn, the librarian, limping with her cane to the
back of the library with reference book in hand. The old lady, almost
reminiscent of a nun in the black skirt and ruffled white blouse, dropped the
thick book and shouted their names in shock, demanding them to report to the
principals office at once! Christophers video games, television, and even his
radio had been taken away for two weeks as punishment. Also, he was forbidden
from speaking with Clarissa. Paula felt a twinge of guilt about stealing that
happiness away from him, but she also realized hed proven himself still too
young and dumb to be involved with a girl in any serious manner. Give it a
couple more years, at least, she thought.
Soon shed realize how unwise and unusual her decision was, believing
hed gained enough independence and wisdom to walk to school alone, but not
enough to have a girlfriend. It seemed almost backwards, and she will no doubt
wish shed allowed him to experiment with Clarissa, even if it meant him getting
in trouble at school, in place of jeopardizing his safety, pre-teen or not.
Because the car was pulling alongside closer now, and the man was
smiling at Christopher. Again the glare from the roaring, late August sun
crashing upon the faded blue car hindered his vision. Mostly what he saw were
glaring hues of red and white as he tried to focus upon the man in the drivers
seat. The man shouting at him.
The car was long and old, and Christopher took notice of what appeared
to be a metallic peace sign stuck in between the two front grills. The ridges that
lined and shaped the car were raised and vintage looking, but rust had taken its
toll in spots here and there. He didnt know what to do but stop walking, and so
he did. It never occurred to him to ditch the backpack and run screaming
towards the nearby neighborhoods. Later it would, but now he stopped.
The car pulled into the rocks and dirt that served as the parking lot for the
ball field, the drivers window fully down and a song Christopher recognized,
Dont Fear the Reaper, played quietly in the background. The man in the front
seat was older, in his late thirties Christopher imagined, with a shaved head and
a black goatee.
11

There was something unnatural about the way he looked, the way his skin
almost seemed plastic and glossy, and the sweat on his brow added to this
packaged, faux look. He was dressed in a black button up shirt and black slacks,
and immediately Christopher spiked with unease and fear in his presence.
Hey kid! Do you know the way to 8th street?
His voice was not deep and profound as Christopher had expected, a tone
that would have matched his devilish appearance. It was not high pitched, either,
but more in-between and strange, teetering on quirky in its accent (was it an
accent?), which the boy didnt recognize.
Ive got a very sick grandmother there and Im lost as all heck.
A folded and creased map devoured the passenger side seat, and he
picked it up now, gave it a look over, and then threw it back down. His arms
went up in exasperation. Look, he said, dont be scared. Im sorry to bug
you, but I know Ive gotta be close. Ive only been here as a kid, so I dont
remember much of anything.
Christophers hands went up to clench the straps of his backpack as he
looked around, seeing no one and nothing but the dust of the field and the
metallic shimmer of the bleachers. It was still so bright. The birthmark on the
right side of his neck nearly disappeared in the glare. Hed stayed over today to
make up an exam, and usually there were flocks of kids abound at this time. But
it was Wednesday, and if only this were happening yesterday the baseball team
would be practicing until six. Then he could yell at Coach Carter for help. Then
he might have had a chance. But, that wasnt the situation, and Christopher
noticed his hands had become clammy and damp as he unclenched them from
the straps and slipped them into his pockets instead. Again he looked at the
baseball field, and still it was deserted.
He struggled to speak, unsure of whether to be matter-of-fact and putoffish, or helpful and cooperative instead. Should he smile or not? Should he
allow the stranger to smell his fear, to hone in on his youthful and taught distrust
of others the way a cobra may zero in on a quivering, terrified rat? He didnt
smile. He couldnt.
IIm not sure where 8th Street is, he replied, now looking down at his
shoes, then back up again.
He was staring into the darkest eyes. The white was scarce all around and
the pupils seemed to blend in with the surrounding darkness. The eyes didnt
change much as he spoke, regardless of demeanour or expression.
Well surely you must know of 8th Street!, he said, almost laughing at
the boy. Surely you live around here!
Raw, prickling fear once again struck in the pit of Christophers stomach
and he ever so subtly turned to walk away. He didnt like this man talking about
where he lived. Not at all.
Sorry, he replied softly, I dont know, and did start to walk off, his
hands still in his pockets and his eyes straight ahead, but his head wanted to
slouch down the way we do so often in awkward encounters. The breeze was
cool against his skin and caused his thick and curly blonde hair to lift up and
backwards as he walked. Usually now he would be able to smell the sweet scent
of the trees around him, but the car stunk; smelled like old oil and farts, he
12

thought. It puttered as it kept up with the slow gaunt of his pace, now moving
quicker than before.
Come on, the man said, putting his arm out the open window and
gesturing for the young boy to relax, to come over and talk to him. Ive got a
map heremaybe we can figure it out together! You must know more about
these neighbourhoods than I do.
Christopher looked up, and just in time to see him reach up and press his
dome light on, then offthen on againthen off again, and then for a third
time. Christophers heart was pounding in his small chest. Something was most
definitely off here; he could feel it in every ounce of his being.
He thought about running, but before he could act on it a man tackled him
from the left, gripping him with painful strength, compared to his own, around
the tops of both of his arms, embracing him with force and towards the pale blue
car. Christopher didnt know it, but the younger attacker had been watching him
from behind the tall, thick trees since hed left class.
This was a kid that tackled him, younger than the driver. Christopher
thought he was probably a teenager as he struggled against him, trying with all
his might to break loose, but this boy was simply larger than him, and too tough.
He screamed for help, as loud as hes ever screamed, and kicked in fear and fury
against the door of the car. It opened in spite of his protests and another man
looking to be the same age as the one holding him captive now arose from the
floorboard and grabbed him by his ankles. He was being both pulled and pushed
into the car. His screams echoed through the dusty, empty stadium as the door
slammed shut, the windows were rolled up, and the car drove south on Orchard
Street.
Christophers water bottle had slipped out of the hollow mesh holder and
onto the sidewalk during the struggle. It will be the only piece of evidence to
debate against the seemingly obvious, yet irrationally absurd suggestion that
Christopher simply vanished off the face of the earth. Just like that, he was gone.
And what he was being driven into, his mother wouldnt find out for years later,
and it would be nearly incomprehensible and too horrific for her to grasp. She
would wonder, looking back, if Christopher would rather have been shot dead
on the spot. Would that be more preferable? Only Christopher McDaniel knows
the answer to that question, but we can have our assumptions, and she will
assume that yes, death would have been a sheer relief compared to what lay
ahead.

13

Two

Paula opened her eyes to see the last of the days light outlining the chocolate
brown curtains hiding two marvellous living room windows; windows that
should be bursting bright white light onto her now as she lay on the couch, but
which were not. She knew something was wrong right away, and in only a way
that a mother can. She sat up and reached for her cell phone resting atop the
wide and painted dark coffee table. The plastic screen illuminated pale green
and asked her to enter a four digit code (Christophers birth year 1987). She
saw what she was looking for. The time. It was 7:43pm!
Jesus Christ, she muttered, got up, went into the kitchen, and looked at
the clock on the microwave just to be sure. It read the same. Why hadnt
Christopher woke her up for supper? Why hadnt she heard him coming in? Still
being entrapped inside that murky, slow place inside everyones mind after
rising from a settling nap, she stood there for a moment, running her long fingers
through natural curls of lush, red hair, and tried to gain perspective. She didnt
hear his footsteps upstairs. The night was closing in, she could see from the two
smaller windows in the kitchen, and the neighbourhood was quiet. It was too
quiet. Something was strange. Something was off.
Still in her work uniform, a Crayola blue pair of bib overalls, now
permanently stained with black grease and perspiration, she walked up the soft,
plush steps and to the left, towards Christophers room. A walk up the stairs was
like traveling through the future as pictures of Christopher as a small child
began at the base and then pictures of him now, at twelve, finished at the top.
Usually Paula would reach out with her left hand and gently, lovingly, slide her
finger across at least one or two of them going up, as she does while dusting.
Sometimes shell even whisper to him through the mirrored glass, telling him
how much she loves him, how proud she is to be his mother, how all the hard
times have been worth it. And then shell move on to the next. She could never
get enough.
His bedroom door was closed and her first reaction was to simply barge
in, but she didnt. She listened first, but not for long, and then slowly turned the
knob as she said his name in warning. The room was dark and her eyes first
went to his bed. There were lumps in the white sheets, but she knew even before
she turned the light on that they werent large enough to be her son.
Christopher? she asked the empty room, which was still relatively
clean, but she took no notice of those efforts in this moment.
14

Oh my God. Christopher? she asked, louder now, the panic beginning

to seep in. She turned his bedroom light back off, so careless and quick that she
didnt notice the colored picture ripped off the wall ,now sailing to the floor. The
bathroom upstairs was empty, as was the guest bedroom. She went back
downstairs and checked every room in a hurried and manic fashion, just in case
he was pulling a rather cruel prank. But that wasnt Christophers style. He was
never a prankster, never one to have hiding places or not come when called.
When the realization hit her that her son was not in the house, she sank. Her
legs, tingling and feeling ever so limp, gave out on her and she rested (fell back,
more like it) onto the couch. She turned on the tall, plain lamp next to her and
light filled the room. Not plentiful light, but sufficient. Her brain was racing as
she thought aloud.
Ok, lets not panic, she told herself, fiddling with her curls again.
Lets think about this.
Except, she was starting to panic. And she had every reason to be.
Christopher didnt know many of the kids on this street, many of them being
older, so there was no one he would have slipped out to visit. His closest friend
was a ten minute car ride away and she knew that her son wouldnt want to walk
that distance, especially since it was getting dark out. And right after they had
finally come to an agreement on the walking to school ordeal! She didnt think
he would pull something like this after being granted such a privilege. Simply
put, this was out of the norm and she didnt like it one bit. She couldnt think of
a time that Christopher hadnt come home. Ever. He was a good boy.
She phoned the school, knowing she was going to get an after hours
message.
Why is there no emergency number? she belted, then began searching
through her contacts for a woman by the name of Doreen Cavell, Brices mom.
Christopher and Brice have been best friends since fourth grade, and if ever
there was a person he may have slipped out to visit with it would be Brice.
Or Clarissa.
Would he do that? she wondered, hoping to God the answer would be no,
but grasping for any reasonable explanation she could get a hold of right now.
The phone rang a few times before a womans voice came through on the
other line, immediately greeting Paula by name. She sounded ready for gossip,
ready to hear the latest on whos who of Crawford Junction. Paul cut her off.
Listen, hey Dory, sorry to be rude, but have you seen Christopher?
There was a brief moment of silence and then Paula closed her eyes and
bowed her head. Not the answer she wanted to hear.
Why? Doreen asked, Is he
Thanks, Paula said, and hung up. Fuck, she whispered as she picked
up the pack of cigarettes off the edge of the coffee table and lit one, moving the
glass ashtray towards her. She searched through her contacts looking for any
name that might ring a bell, but none popped out. None, that is, until she ran
across Allison Reese, Clarissas mom.
Hed better not be with her, she grunted, grinding her teeth as she
spoke, and pressed Send.
15

He wasnt. Allison hadnt seen him in days. Not since the last time the
two did homework together last week.
And let me reassure you, Paula, she said, a wave of motherly cockiness
rising in her voice, if he was to show up over here Id kick his ass for you!
She erupted in laughter, which slowly subsided when she realized that Paula
hadnt joined in.
Whats the matter, girl? Rough night at work?
Paula didnt answer. Not at first, anyway. But this was her best friend,
whereas Doreen she couldnt give a rats ass about. Allison was different. The
two had gone to high school together; not the best of friends, but not enemies,
either. The one thing they had in common was a shared love of partying, and
party they did. Many a nights these two spent drinking together under a
florescent blue moon sitting crouched inside the caboose at the park, or amongst
the swing sets and bobbing starfish connected to rusting, spiralling metal and
then into the ground. The caboose was really just a large, hollow, circular tube
of concrete painted black with fading reminders that at one time it had been
painted to look like a real railroad car. Now graffiti spoiled the ambience, the
two girls not innocent from creating some of their own back in their day.
Allison, Christophers gone. Hes not here.
Another pause, this one longer.
What do you mean hes gone?
I mean, hes not here! Not at home! I woke up from a nap, I slept too
long, and he should have been home before five!
She got up from the couch and began pacing in front of the windows,
back and forth, still messing with her hair. It was somewhat of a frizzled mess,
not only from the nap but also from the nervous pulling of the curls; curls that
were loose and hung a little further down from her shoulders.
Allison must have been too stunned to speak, because the line was still
quiet. Finally, frustrated and upset, Paula asked what she should do.
You need to call the police, Paula! Right now! Hang up and call them
right now! Keep me in the loop! Call me back!
Alright, she replied, and they both hung up at the same time.
To hell with fumbling through the junk drawer in search of the yellow
phone book simply to find the number to the police, she thought, and dialed 911
instead.
The woman who answered was obviously of color and spoke with a deep
Mississippi accent. She advised Paula to write this number down so that next
time she wouldnt have to dial 911. Paula wanted to tell her to go fuck herself
but didnt, and instead waited for the call to transfer. A few alien clicks and then
ringing again.
Crawford Police Department, Deputy Johnson speaking. His voice was
low and gruff, one youd envision coming out of a man smoking a fat cigar and
dressed to the nines. Maybe even in an old western.
Paula explained the situation in detail and Johnson inserted sympathetic
mmhhmms in all the appropriate places.
16

When did you say you last saw him? he asked, fidgeting on his
cluttered desk to find a pen and pad of paper.
When he left for school this morning. Around 6:30!
And he should have been home a little before 4:30, correct?
Yes. The walk home from school doesnt even take twenty minutes, and
he left school at four. He stayed over an hour today to make up a test.
I see. And you awoke atapproximately 7:40pm to realize that he
wasnt at home yet?
Right.
And again, youre absolutely sure youve called all his friends houses to
make sure one of them isnt missing, too? Wouldnt surprise me. We get that all
the time, kids takin off together, the parents in a panic
Im sure, she said, her eyes closed in a grimace. Hes nowhere.
Alright. Maam, heres what Id like you to do for me now. Write down
a thorough description of your boy, and I mean everything. Weight, height, any
scars he might have, hair color, what you last saw him wearing. Everything. Oh,
write down, too, if he has any medications he takes, and if so---
No, she interrupted, he doesnt.
Okay. And get me some photographs. Just a couple will do. Then write
down everything that you just told me about when he left for school this
morning, your nap, when he should have been home, all of it. Then bring it
down to the station. Again, this is Deputy Drew Johnson. Bring it to me.
The thought of leaving the house worried her. What if Christopher
showed back up right as she left? Thatd be her luck, and there was no sense in
risking it.
Cant an officer come to my house? I really dont want to leave right
now, Christopher and all
A pause, as if he were considering it, then a long exhale of muffled air
into the receiver.
Yeah, we could do that for ya. Its probably a good idea to stay put at
least through the night, anyway."
Thank you, officer.
Well find your boy. We always do. His voice was soft now, reassuring
and pleasant. This isnt New York City, maam, nor do we have the street
crime like they do, thank the Lord. We get tons of these calls in here, and ninety
nine percent of them end up being, like I said, kids that sneak out and hook up
with each other, maybe in the park or downtown somewhere. Try not to get too
upset. Ill see ya soon.
She thanked him again and hung up, and for the first time, tears came.
Realization that her son, her only child, was soon to be declared officially
missing by the police department, it was almost too much to bear. There were
knots in her stomach, knots made of rusty metal chains and acid, and they tore at
her all of a sudden. She doubled over, grasping the kitchen counter for balance,
and tried not to lose it entirely. She had work to do.
But, oh God, Christopher! Where is my baby!
Where are you, baby? she asked aloud, muffled through sobs which
seemed to have no end. Again the strong, yearning desire filled her to get in the
17

car and roam the streets, to search for her son in these, the most recent moments
of disappearance. To even get out and walk, perhaps, in his footsteps to and
from the school. To shout his name into the lonely and dark night, and long to
hear a response. Even to find him with Clarissa or whoever else would be
preferable to the not knowing.
But a cop would be coming soon. How soon, there would be no telling.
Slowly, composure starting settling back into her figure, so full and tall, but now
beaming sadness and panic into the air around her. Even in this, arguably the
most terrifying event known to mothers worldwide, she couldnt allow herself to
jump off the deep end, because if the hysterics began and she allowed her mind
to wander towards gruesome implications, well she just may never come back
from that. The police were coming, and that was the best thing right now, she
thought, but it did little to silence the alarm blaring inside her head an alarm
that was screaming at her to get up and do something!
She did get up, walked a few steps to the junk drawer, pulled out a thin
notebook, dug for a pen, then sat at the kitchen table and began writing.

18

Three

The unmistakable smell of coffee invigorated the small kitchen as they sat
together and drank. She had recanted everything again, not because Johnson had
asked her to, but because she couldnt help it. It took everything she had to
simply sit in the chair and politely speak to the man. Her mind was pacing the
floors, and at times she did get up to do just that, and at other times she sobbed
so hard she could barely speak, then at others the words and thoughts came out
of her mouth so quick they couldnt be understood.
He sat in the chair beside her, his freshly filled cup of coffee resting on a
napkin on top an oval oak table, the wood so light it appeared almost yellow. A
plastic black ashtray stayed close to Paula as she smoked and talked, then
smoked and listened. All the while tissues were piling up in front of her.
Ive got everything I need from you, he said, and she noticed how dark
and long his eyelashes were under the kitchen light; a bleak light casting
shadows against both their faces. He was grizzled, and hadnt shaved in perhaps
two or three days. She guessed him to be in his early thirties, much her age, by
the crows feet starting to line his eyes and the touch of gray showing in his
short, dark hair. His belt protruded outwards only slightly. Like myself, she
thought: not overweight, but not incredibly thin, either.
So now listen to me. I want to explain to you whats going to happen.
He took a sip of coffee, cringed from the heat burning his belly, and then began
again.
Ive got officers out now, already driving through town, going through
not only your neighborhood, but others, too. I sent a couple guys to do a walkthrough starting at the school and leading back here.
Hearing those words soothed the tight pain in her chest. It was exactly
what she wanted to be doing herself. But she knew, too, that it was work best
left to the police. He was right. The best thing she could do was stick around
home for a while. She would need to call in tomorrow.
Dont think like that! she scolded herself. Hes going to show up tonight!
He is. He has to! I know it.
If they find anything theyll, of course, quarantine the area. A crime
scene, essentially. He watched her as he said this, knowing the reaction it
would cause. The same reaction it had caused in many mothers before.
Heartbreak.
She reached for another tissue as he continued.
19

Butchances are, they wont. But you never know. My guess, Paula,
he said, his hand now reaching out to hers, not to hold, but to rest on top of. The
comfort of another human being, something she so desperately needed right
now. She looked at the clock. It was 8:30. My guess is that theyll find him at
the park. Thats the usual hang out, escape route, whatever you wanna call it,
that these kids run to.
She tried to smile, wiping the tears and smearing mascara below her eye.
Thats where I ran to.
Me too, he admitted, one corner of his mouth rising in a half-smile.
When I get back to the station what Im going to do is wait on the word of my
officers out right now. If I have nothing in two hours Ill be filing a Missing
Persons Report with not only the Crawford Police Department, but the
Department of Justice, as well. Therell also be a report sent to the Attorney
General. So we can get a case number. This is all typical. Unlike everything you
see on TV, we dont have to wait 24 or 48 hours to take this seriously.
She was trembling and obsessively peeking out the windows as he spoke,
pulling her hair behind her ears, drinking coffee and smoking like a fiend. He
took notice of her crazed movements.
Now, this is allwhat-ifs, I guess youd say. This is all if they dont
find him. Realize that.
She nodded in agreement. He could have gone on could have described
what happens after ten days, then after 30 days, or 45 but he didnt.
Sometimes, on an obvious case of kidnapping involving the parents, hell rattle
out the entire process, if for nothing else than to scare them. This was clearly not
that kind of case. There were no known enemies of the twelve year old, no
bullying going on at school, no jealous or vicious ex-wives or husbands. No
father at all, actually.
Having only been on the force a mere ten years, he knew enough to know
that if Christopher hadnt run away and wasnt found tonight, this could get
tricky. There were no obvious accusers, and worst of all, no witnesses. That they
knew of, anyway.
Better to stay positive, he thought, and got up to leave.
He had no idea just how tricky this would all become. If he did if he
had the foresight to realize the ramifications this case would bring aboutthe
results that it would later have on his life he wouldnt have pursued it. He
would have avoided it like a plague of a million locusts and ran the other
direction.
But he didnt.

20

Four

Paula was on the phone with Allison within seconds of his departure. The phone
call served as a refusal to her frail and unnerved brain; a non-compliance to sit
here and sob, break down and think the worst. No, she wouldnt, or couldnt,
stand it. Too many scenarios and images would come to mind if she sat alone
and dwelled, in frenzy, waiting on the phone to ring.
Hed promised to call in two hours, which would be 10:45. They would
know then, wouldnt they? It would be clear whether or not she would see
Christopher tonight; whether she would be holding her baby or whether she
would, instead, be plunged into a nightmare world beyond her current
comprehension. It was that black cancer in the back of her brain that hissed
behind the pale faade of hopefulness and tried forcing her to imagine the
thought of her son not returning home tonight. Or tomorrow, or the next day,
or
She gnawed and licked at freshly manicured nails, red so dark and
blended with other hues its shadow was almost brown. She was on the couch
again, and had turned on the light above, which also began circulating the dusty,
white fan. Still she smoked, the only thing she had the least bit of interest in
doing right now. All other things, worldly activities and bothers, seemed so far
away and dim.
They didnt exist.
Nothing existed but the fear and sadness within her, which was growing
at an ever-increasing pace. So she sat in silence, minus her own grief-ridden
sobs, and chain smoked. Fifteen minutes passed and there was a knock at the
door. It was Allison. Her straight blonde hair still glistened even though no sun
was shining upon it as she stood at the stoop. She was met with an
instantaneous, full-on embrace. Paulas limp body, wailing on her friends
shoulder, could do nothing but grab hold of the woman, shorter than she, until
she nearly fell to her knees in anguish.
Oh, honey, Allison whispered, blowing quiet shhhs in her ear, holding
her. Feeling helpless. Tears were now streaming down her face, and she pulled a
Kleenex out of her jeans to wipe them off her cheeks, then did the same to
Paulas.
Wheres my son?! Paula shouted suddenly. Wheres my son?!
WHERE IS HE?! Allison!

21

It was the panicked surge of unknowing that was greeting her now,
kissing her and sending her further into a manic state.
Shhh, she was all she could think to say in return. Not a kind or
soothing word really, but thats all she had, and she hoped it was enough: even if
for a brief moment.
Here, hon, lets sit.
They walked over to the couch together, as if Paula were a drunk in need
of sleep.
Can you please go get the wine? Paula asked, Theres a box in the
fridge.
The wine was bittersweet, and Paula drank half the framed and slender
glass-full in one heaving gulp. She coughed afterwards, nearly spitting it back
up.
Where could he be, Ally? she asked, over and over again. Her voice
was utterly miserable, lost, and betrayed; a voice that reflected a soul on the
outer edges of some explosive distant universe.
I dont know, she replied in earnest. I dont know.
She was petting her hair now, so soft and usually full of fluff, the curls
now flat and deflated.
But, were not going to jump to conclusions, Paula. It hasnt even been a
full five hours yet. Think of it, she said, sitting very close to the fragile woman
and rubbing her upper thigh. He could be down at the field playing football
with the boys, or at the ballpark, or---
If he was at the ballpark I would have gotten a call by now. The cops are
searching there.
Allison didnt respond, only thought of what it would be like if Clarissa
came up missing one day if she didnt come home from school and her mind
stopped her, like there was an automatic shut-off valve installed for protection
against sordid and unfathomable thoughts about your own children. She wanted
to sympathize, to be able to look Paula in the eyes and assure her that it would
be okay, that this would be just a bad dream come daybreak tomorrow. But she
just didnt know. She knew for sure that there was no way to understand the
emotions involved when a child goes missing, even if for just a short time. She
prayed that this would be like that, just a fleeting and transient suffering of souls
and nothing more.
Youre right, she said at last, after careful consideration, Oh, honey.
They sat in silence for a moment, and then she asked, Have you called your
folks yet?
A head shake, but no words.
Oh God, Jim, watch over him, wherever he is, Paula said, looking
upwards towards the heavens.
He is, Allison offered, petting her head again. You know he is.
Paula and Jim had been married eight years. Christopher was two when
he died, so he never even knew the man who was his father. Jim had been coowner of Brice & McDaniel Agriculture Supply, a smaller, local business that
22

thrived during peak farming seasons and struggled otherwise. There were more
than a handful of other places in town and the surrounding areas that were very
similar, and some quite a bit cheaper, especially the popular chains whose prices
seemed forever unbeatable.
Theyd almost closed the place more than once, but had somehow always
found a way back up to their feet, whether it be by the grace of God or by Jims
creativity, pure skill, and rugged work ethic. Jim didnt just sell what was
offered in the shop, Lord no. There were colorful, glossy cardboard signs
plastered to the windows offering a variety of other useful services, such as yard
mowing, fence repair, landscaping, auto detailing, and the back breaking list of
jobs went on. With these random, yet appealing, ventures, their business stood
out and made a few extra bucks here and there. Enough, anyway. Just enough.
One day an old farmer, Jonah Hamerick, walked in and asked Jim if hed
be interested in coming over to his farm, now old and mostly unused, to clean up
his hay-loft. According to the old man it was a hell of a mess. Rat turds all over,
stale and damp hay stinking on the floor and piled in the corners, maybe even a
dead chicken or two. Throw in a barn cat for good measure, hed said, still with
wit and good humor even at such an old age. Jim had agreed and found that the
farmer wasnt lying. The place was a disaster, an all-day affair. But, when one
considers the lofty sum he was being paid to do the gracious and strenuous
work, it somehow seemed less obscene.
A few hours in, Jim stepped on a rotted board and fell straight through.
The drop was the better part of thirty-feet onto a cold, hay-ridden concrete slab
below.
Paula, naturally, has never been quite the same since. Raising a two year
old by oneself is a challenge for anyone, let alone a widow. But throughout
Christophers entire childhood, just when she would believe she couldnt go on,
it was he who would pull her back up from the gloomy slums and into his ever
affectionate eyes and smiling, laughing face. He was a happy baby, that there
was no denying. Never cried much, either, which she was eternally grateful for.
Picky eater, though. And now, waiting for the phone to ring and faced with the
prospect of having lost her son, as well as her husbandshe felt like vomiting.
The two women discussed every plausible scenario regarding
Christophers disappearance to pass the time, making sure to go over every
possible what-if or well, maybe. Paula also re-called all the mothers shed
spoken to before, just to be sure he hadnt showed up.
He hadnt.
She even got out his yearbooks and thumbed through his class picture,
scanning for recognizable faces, and even calling a couple of their parents.
Then, after tireless time on the phone she had, upon Allys request, bathed and
changed out of her work uniform and into a pair of casual jeans and a
comfortable teal top.
It was ten oclock.
I need some fresh air, she said, opening the screeching screen door and
out onto the small white porch. Allison came up behind her as she smoked and
stared into the night. Did she notice that she was peering inside all of the
neighbors windows, alight from small table lamps and television sets? What
23

was she looking for? Christopher? Did she expect to see him? She didnt know.
She was just looking. The urge came to shout his name into the street. To
scream it. He may be on his way home now, walking up the road there, in that
patch still swallowed in darkness from the heavy, sagging trees lining the
sidewalks, and he would appear at any time now. He would walk out of the
darkness, with his skateboard in hand, maybe, and she would run to him and
hold him, no matter how much trouble hed be in later. Shed be with him now.
Her corrosive thoughts on his whereabouts could cease and pure love could fill
her heart again as she felt him and smelled his familiar scent. Nothing could
bring her more joy.
Howd your parents handle it? Allison asked, sipping on her third glass
of wine, sick to her stomach with anxiety, as well.
Theyre upset, of course, she replied, and cant believe it. They feel
guilty.
Guilty? Why?
They cant come. They want to. I told them no, that theyre jumping the
gun, that he hasnt even been missing a full day yet, to just sit tight for now. But
they want to come right away. It breaks my heart. Id love for them to be here.
Even for just now! Sometimes I wished they lived right down the road still.
There was a long pause, interrupted only by the incessant crickets and
their prickly legs.
But, she said, sipping on another glass herself, mom can barely walk
on her knee anymore, and for dad to sit in a car for nine hourshell, either of
them, thats not going to happen. They cant do it anymore.
The two women both stared off the porch now, their elbows propped on
the thin chipped railing, along with their wineglasses. They both looked a
thousand miles away.
Hey, Allison said suddenly, turning, you remember that time in fifth
grade when we ran away?
They both laughed, though Paulas seemed forced and polite. Or was she
really trying to take her mind out of the spiraling moment she was stuck in?
Why wont that damn phone ring?!
I remember.
Before your parents moved and you guys all lived together in that big
white farm house out in the middle of nowhere. We only had whatone bag
between us and a jar full of change! And somehow we thought we were walking
all the way to Tennessee!
But why would Christopher want to run off? she intercepted, giving no
time for pause.
The same reason we did! Because we could! And we wanted to! Nothing
more. It was something cool to do, ya know.
Yeah, I remember.
But that didnt feel right to her, not with Christopher. Not with her son.
They were too close. No way would he pull something like that. She looked as if
she were about to speak but didnt.
24

For the next half-hour she tolerated comforting small talk and empathetic
nudges, the whole time her mind transfixed on nothing but her Christopher. Her
makeup had become embarrassingly smudged and worn bare from the torrents
of maddening release. Small freckles popped out from underneath the feminine
paint, dotted around the frame of her nose and under both eyes. This was her
natural form now, stripped raw with emotion but enjoying a cool breeze passing
through as she gently rocked on the porch. Allison was on the phone with her
husband, pacing along the edges of the driveway and giving updates (not that
there were any to give) and predicted arrival time home (I dont know, honey. It
may be a while. I may even end up staying the night, who knows whats gonna
happen.), when the phone rang inside.

25

Five

Paula didnt bother to carefully rest her glass of wine on the unfinished wooden
crate sitting in between the rockers. Half of the bottom of the light, fragile glass
found hold on the rough wood and half did not. It shattered as it hit the porch
and left what seemed hundreds of microscopic slivers glittering in the moonlight
scattered about, but also a couple larger shards lefts waiting for an unsuspecting
victim to slice or stab in the middle of the night.
Why is he calling the house phone, she wondered, thinking of Deputy
Johnson. It was irritating that she had to rush up and into the kitchen when her
cell had been by her side the whole time. She knew who it was it had to be him
(or was it Christopher himself?) and suddenly she was afraid that she wouldnt
get there in time, that time would come to a crawl and it would be like slow
motion darting for the phone, and then it would stop ringing.
If it does, she thought in those few seconds, Ill have to call him back. I
have to know.
The caller ID signified that it was the Crawford Police Department
calling. As she answered an immediate, hot stream of nausea hit deep and hard,
a combination of anticipation and dread, like the moments before either the plus
or minus sign appears on a birth control test.
Yes? she answered, and then held the phone out in front of her to make
sure it was on. Yes? This is Paula!
The clock on the microwave read 10:55.
She knew it was Johnson before he even introduced himself.
How are you holding up? he asked, his voice professional yet tender.
Did you find Christopher? Did you find my son?!
Allison had heard the phone and slipped back inside, eagerly awaiting the
look Paulas face would take now the look that would tell her everything.
Well, he replied, Ill tell ya---
DID YOU FIND MY SON?!
Two seconds may have passed before he answered, but to Paula it felt
like a torturous eternity. But who was she kidding. She already knew his answer.
If they had found Christopher he would be here, with her now.
She knew.
No, maam, he answered at last, words she foresaw but that also twisted
her insides and paled her complexion even more. Im afraid not.
Screams.
26

Screams and somber sobbing echoed through the room at the sound of
that one tiny, yet now life-altering word. No.
Paula felt like she was about to faint and took hold of the kitchen sink for
leverage. The tips of her hair skirted the stainless steel of the sink as her head
dropped in utter grief and defeat. Ally closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of
her nose. No way this is happening, she thought. No way.
Deputy Johnsons voice was faint and unintelligible as he attempted to
speak over the chaos his news had brought. Paula had the phone at her side now,
barely able to hold on. Just when Ally was about to intervene (Lord knows she
didnt want to), when she was going to take the phone herself, Paula found the
strength (and courage) to put it back up to her ear.
Maam? Paula? He was trying to speak louder now to get her attention.
Im here. Im here.
I know how difficult this is. Icant even imagine, so I sympathize. But
let me just explain what we did find."
Paula cupped the speaking end of the phone and whispered to Allison that
something had been found, then realized it would be much simpler to put the
Deputy on speaker phone, and so she did.
Approximately 80 foot from the ball field we found a half-empty water
bottle lying on the sidewalk. Do you know if Christopher had a bottle of water
with him by any chance?
She didnt know what to say. She was trying to remember, but her
thoughts were going too fast.
II dont know. He could have! They sell them at his school. He didnt
take one with him this morning, though, no.
Well, the only way well know for sure is through DNA. Is there
something of your sons you could bring in? A toothbrush would be perfect.
Yes, I could do that, she replied, and Ally took a pen out of her purse
and scribbled the word toothbrush on the back of a grocery receipt.
Very good. Now, there were also some tire tracks in the same vicinity as
the bottle. Granted, thats a parking area, but those are fresh tracks. There hasnt
been a game since last Friday night. And besides, these tracks werent aligned
verticallyyou know, as if someone pulled in to park. These were horizontal
facing the field, of course like they pulled up beside someone walking on the
sidewalk.
The two women looked at each other intensely and were holding hands.
Oh my God, Paula said softly, not directly into the phone. Someones
got my son, dont they? Someones got him!
Now, the Deputy said quickly, trying to hold off another breakdown.
Dont rush to conclusions, Paula. At this time this is all conjecture. We have no
idea if that water bottle belongs to Christopher, or who made those tracks, or
why. What we do know is that we have size six and a half Nike shoe prints in
the dirt there.
Thats his size! Those are Christophers!
Ally squeezed her hand and pushed her cigarettes and ashtray towards her
on the table. No thanks needed to be given.
27