A Man Overboard (6 page)

Had Jack known all this, he wouldn’t have been so eager to accept Viktoriya’s offer.

But the most disturbing and frightening part was that in the wake of a committed crime, it was commonplace for the incident to be swept under the rug. One case involved a naked woman found drugged and dead in a room with four men—no conviction. The stories went on and on and on, and the more Jack read, the more pissed he got.

The man began to move, and Jack quickly closed out his window and maximized the Facebook page. He reached around the chair and placed the laptop back on the seat while the man rubbed his eyes, looking out the window.

Yeah, Jack thought as he waved down the stewardess for another drink, he would call the FBI as soon as he got home. He was sure now that absolutely nothing had been done to find either his wife or the men who had thrown them overboard.

And there was going to be hell to pay for it.

11

The empty silence coming from the Sonata’s vacant seat beside him was more haunting than what he’d endured on the plane. He was driving
their
car and approaching
their
house. But there was no
their
anymore—as the empty seat proclaimed. Just
his
. And in the quiet, he could barely make out Stacey’s faint screams as, sinking beneath the eerie darkness, she reached out for the same moonlit sky he had reached for. Only no one was there to answer her cries.

Tears failed to exorcize the lingering cries, and the repeated blows to the steering wheel only hurt his hand. What the hell was he going to say to Joseph? How were they going to get past this? And why couldn’t he get a hold of Viktoriya?

The dotted lines of I-95 continued coming at him, northeast Philly along with the next chapter of his life growing nearer. It was a chapter he wanted to curse the author for, but not while still hoping for His help.

About ten miles from the house, an internal numbness started taking over, chasing an unstable emotion from the pilot’s chair and establishing cold stoicism in its place. It was a mutiny that he knew wouldn’t last long, but for now the ability to not feel was a welcomed one.

Their house came into view as he turned down the street, and he saw that the driveway was empty. He frowned, wondering where his mother-in-law and son could be. He’d have to wait longer to deliver the news now. But maybe that was a good thing, maybe it would buy him more time to wake up.

Daddy, where’s Mommy?

Come here, buddy. There’s something I have to tell you…

As he pulled into the driveway, he decided he’d call the FBI while waiting for Joseph to get back from wherever the countess had taken him. His friend Donny was a Philadelphia cop. He could put him in contact with the FBI.

Struggling with both his bag and Stacey’s, he attempted to slip the key into the front door. But it pushed open when his bag slipped off his shoulder and swung into the door.
Are you kidding me?
He’d reminded Viki over and over again to keep all the doors locked. He crossed the threshold and stepped into a house that he knew would never feel the same again.

When he entered their bedroom, he was instantly bombarded with an endless parade of memories and the familiar feel of Stacey’s presence. For a second, everything seemed normal, that it
had
all been a bad dream. He half-expected her to walk out of the bathroom wearing a teasing smile and the pink lingerie they’d discussed the last time they were here. Like everything between then and now had taken but a fraction of an instant for him to imagine, Viktoriya still on her way, the flight yet to be caught, the ship not boarded. But she didn’t step out of the bathroom. She was floating somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic, her beautiful body now bloated and pecked at by fish.

The numbing coldness was still present, and this time the thought failed to take him to his knees. He took out his cell phone and dialed Donny. As the ringing sounded in his ear, he sat down on the bed that he’d shared with Stacey for five years, wondering where this twisted road would lead him.

* * * *

Six hours later, the sun now beginning to set over the homes across the street, Joseph still hadn’t shown up with Mother Russia. Maybe she’d taken him to Sesame Place for the day. Maybe she finally decided to “run away.” He smiled at the thought, remembering the last conversation he’d had with Joseph.

That’s silly, Daddy. Grandma can’t run. She’s too old…

Sudden movement outside the kitchen window dropped his heart into an open abyss, causing him to take a deep breath. The time had come to destroy his son’s sense of innocence…of justice and fairness, to turn everything he knew about the world upside down. The news, like a switch thrown on one of life’s twisted tracks, would send the four-year-old swerving off in a different direction and away from the balanced structure meant to stabilize him. Without a “faithful” Grandmom to rebuild his life as Jack had in the wake of his disaster, Joseph’s world would become one of pain, confusion, and uncertainty.

But it wasn’t Viktoriya’s big Buick pulling into the driveway, just his neighbor taking out some trash.

Jack stepped out the side door and walked to the chain-link fence separating his property from the next. “Hey, Steve,” he said over the fence.

Steve looked up from the trashcan he’d just dropped some bags in, and surprise settled on his face. “Oh, hi, Jack… What are you…I thought you were gone until next week?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, well…” He had no desire to talk about this now. “Hey, have you seen my mother-in-law or Joseph? They’re not here, and I can’t reach them on the cell.”

Steve stepped away from the trashcan, leaned against the fence. Using a middle finger to push heavy glasses back up his nose, he said, “Yeah, they left two days ago.”

Jack’s brow wrinkled. “What do you mean?”

“They loaded up the car and took off. I watched them from the window. Joseph waved to me.” He smiled. “That’s a good kid you got there, Jack.”

“Where the hell was she taking him?”

“I don’t know. She didn’t tell you guys that she was taking him?”

“No.”

“Huh.” A shadow of concern settled over his face. “They packed quite a bit, like they were gonna be gone for a week or so. I just figured she was taking him to some resort or something while you were away.”

“She left the front door open,” Jack muttered.

“And you can’t reach her on the phone?”

Jack squinted at his house, wondering what Viktoriya was doing and how Joseph might be interpreting it.
That’s silly, Daddy. Grandma can’t run. She’s too old.
“No,” he answered softly.

“That’s weird.” Steve stepped back from the fence and brushed a hand through his graying hair. “I’m sure they’re okay, though.” But what else was he going to say?

And then Jack thought of something.
Maybe she did tell someone
. “Thanks, Steve.” He retreated back inside, leaving his neighbor stranded in mid-thought.

Steve peered over the fence. “Glad you’re back,” he called out after him. “I think…”

Jack took the stairs to the second floor two at a time. He thought that maybe Viktoriya left a message for them that he’d missed, but first, he wanted to check Joseph’s room. And after opening some of the red and white drawers with the Phillies’ logo between the handles, he noticed that, indeed, most of Joseph’s clothes were gone. As were his favorite stuffed animals and toys. Jack stood there in the middle of the room and tried his hardest to keep it from spinning.
What is happening?

When no immediate reply came to him, he went into his bedroom and to Stacey’s luggage. It was still sitting on the floor at the foot of their bed.
Their
bed. He grabbed the duffle bag, unzipped it, and flipped it upside down, emptying its contents onto the covers. He was looking for her cell phone. Maybe, just maybe, Viktoriya had left a voicemail for her.

But the phone wasn’t there.

Why wouldn’t her phone be here?
She was as naked as he was when the men had come into their suite, and he knew that he hadn’t missed it when gathering her stuff to leave. Actually, he thought, he couldn’t really be certain that she’d been in the room when they came in. She could’ve gone for a walk. Unlikely? Yes. But in a court of law, there was no way he could prove that she was there in the room with him at that time.

The doorbell rang.

His heart leaped, though not in joyous strains but rather anxious dread at having to face all the implications of this wretched reality. But then again…Viktoriya wouldn’t be ringing the doorbell, would she?

He relaxed. There was a mirror on the dresser across from him, and he realized that he was staring at it. He let his eyes pull out of its depths and forced them to focus on his reflection. It wasn’t one of the better portraits the mirror had painted of him, and he wondered what must be going through Steve’s mind right now. His jaw was covered in black stubble, his hair greasy and unkempt. The clothes that he was wearing, he’d been wearing for days. He also became aware of a sweet, bitter odor clinging to him. He stared at this image of a person wrecked, an image not made so by the old clothes and the disheveled face alone—any number of innocent circumstances could find someone in such a state—but by the look in his eyes…the emptiness, the dull callousness that had replaced the sparkle that once shone forth from there. He knew that what was staring back at him had better get a grip or he would end up losing Joseph, too…one way or the other.

Leaving the mirror and the bedroom, and without caring to make himself any more presentable, he descended the stairs to a
ding
-
dong
soundtrack. Pulling open the big wooden door, he peered through the screening of the next and saw a silhouette of what he guessed to be a man standing in the doorway, the sun descending just behind him and washing away all other detail.

Jack shielded his eyes against the glare. “Can I help you?”

“Special Agent Johnson with the FBI. Are you Mr. Green?”

“Yeah.”

“We have a mutual friend. Donny Rickards. He called me a little while ago, told me what happened. I’m very sorry.”

Jack nodded, a bowling ball lodging in his throat. He wiped a tear away with the back of his hand. The ice was beginning to melt.

“I’d like to see if I can help. If you’d like that,” Agent Johnson said.

“Yeah, yeah, of course. Thanks.” He pushed the door open and stepped to the side, gesturing for the FBI man to enter.

As Jack led him to the living room, he noticed the agent eyeballing his book collection. He wondered if he might be in handcuffs and leaving with the agent by the end of this friendly visit.
Jerry
… The sudden thought of never hearing that name come from Stacey’s lips again sent another fissure racing across his thawing resolve.

Agent Johnson must’ve noticed. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “You want anything to drink?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

They settled into sofas, each facing the other.

FBI was sweeping the room with his eyes, taking in photographs, pictures, and, unfortunately, his burned DVD collection from Ivan.

“It’s a free country,” Jack stated.

Agent Johnson set his dark, expressionless eyes on him and allowed a small grin to stretch his lips.

“Well,” Jack tried clarifying, “it’s supposed to be, in theory. I mean, we say it is, but—”

Johnson frowned.

“I mean, just because the TV
tells
them—”

“Mr. Green,” he interrupted, a softness seeming to glide over his demeanor, “I’m here about your missing wife.”

Jack brought a hand up to his mouth and averted his glassy eyes, shaking his head. It was so hard to talk about. To face it. As long as it was trapped in his head, it could be the product of a dream, a misunderstanding…but to lay it out in words with other people made it real. And he was discovering that he wasn’t ready to accept it yet. Thank God Joseph wasn’t here now with the FBI in the house; that would’ve been a mess.

“Tell me what happened.”

The man’s size was intimidating, but there was a gentleness that rounded the edges of his federal persona that allowed Jack thoughts of actually avoiding jail today. And though his suit and tie were stereotypical of the profession, Jack thought it made him look like a salesman. He had a similar suit in his own closet. But the government-issued pistol strapped to the agent’s waist that became visible every time he moved erased all further sense of comparison. If salesmen carried guns, Jack thought, he would be living in a much bigger house.

“Call me paranoid, but do you think I can see some ID first?”

Johnson smiled reassuringly as he reached into his jacket and pulled it out, flipping it open in classic fashion so that his picture and the three blue letters beside it could authenticate him.

“Do you guys practice doing that?”

“Sometimes.”

He sighed and sat back, once again having to fight off tears dripping from the glacier encasing his ability to feel. “I don’t know what happened.” He brought his hand up to his mouth. “We were drunk, having a good time. She was
really
drunk.” He smiled sadly, recalling their carelessness. “We ate dinner, danced, went to a show…”

“And then?”

“We went back to the suite.”

“What time was that?”

“I have no idea. Close to midnight.”

“And you fell asleep?” Agent Johnson leaned forward with genuine concern.

“Yeah, we fell asleep, and then…” He frowned.

“What?”

The timeline of events suddenly came back to him. “No,
I
went to sleep. She went to the internet café.”

“At midnight?”

“This would’ve been after midnight now.” Jack stared out the window and watched some pigeons sidestep in unison across the power lines, like some kind of line dance to a birdsong only they could hear. He chuckled a depressing sort of amusement. “She almost walked out of the room topless.”