First Night of Summer

First Night of Summer is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2013 by Landon Parham

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of the publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Published by Valiant Books

Dallas, Texas.

Printed in the United States of America

First Edition

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012924326

First Night of Summer / Landon Parham. – 1
^st
ed.

ISBN 978-0-9888025-1-3

ISBN 978-0-9888025-2-0 (ebook)

To Lauren, without whom, I would simply be … without
.

Author’s Note

D
isassociation from reality is the most deplorable act a society can commit. Sweep all the taboo unpleasantries of life under the rug, and there they will reside, just as dangerous, forever lurking beneath the surface.

In the United States alone, a child goes missing every forty seconds. While most are recovered alive and unharmed, many are forced to suffer the indignity and pain of abuse, often sexual.

Each year, approximately one hundred of these children are brutally murdered at the hands of their abductors. Countless others are never added to this statistic because they remain lost, never to be found or heard from again.

Prologue

Early May

J
ason Smith, a freckle-faced four-year-old, curled his bare toes against the grainy surface of his rooftop. Six inches from the edge, nothing but thin air standing in the way of a two-story plummet to the green grass below, he showed no signs of fear.

A cool spring breeze came down the Rocky Mountains and rustled his curly red hair in the New Mexico sunshine. A pair of faded black sweatpants, two sizes too small, hugged his chunky legs with a baby fat spare tire hanging over the waistband. His cape, a turquoise bath towel safety-pinned around his neck, completed the homemade superhero ensemble.

Inch by inch, gripping with his feet, he crept closer to the drop-off. One more step, and that would be it. The mid-century, Craftsman-style home had no safety features to offer once he ventured beyond the eave.

The visual of a pudgy boy wearing a heinous costume was humorous. His intentions, however, were not. The rambunctious child had recently embarked on a string of wild hair endeavors. None ended well.

The entire Ruidoso Valley floor was visible from his perch. He felt free in view of the expansive landscape. Trout streams, granite walls, aspen, and pinyon-covered mountains were spread out before him like some magical, Wild West adventure.

“Watch me fly!” he shouted for the world to hear.

He puffed up his pale, naked chest, and turned his head to face the sky. The proclamation ricocheted and echoed off the surrounding slopes.

Jason held his arms wide. Ten toes hung over the shingles, each scrunched in tightly like an eagle’s talons clutched to a limb. There had never been a braver hero—nor a more foolish one.

“I’m here to thave the day!”

The situation was serious. Otherwise, his childish lisp might have been comical. A superhero with a speech impediment was the ultimate paradox. Imagine Batman with a voice like Foghorn Leghorn. He would be impossible to take seriously.

But Jason was no Batman. He was a little boy with a wild imagination and a knack for mischief.

Before there was time to act, before anyone could threaten him with cruel and unusual punishment, his knees bent beneath the weight of his chubby body and he leapt. The ratty cape followed him on the ride down. His proud expression suddenly turned sour as imagination faded into reality.

He shrieked like a banshee, a high-pitched tone that only children are capable of, and disrupted the quiet little street. But at the last moment, before colliding with the earth, a tablecloth stretched out beneath him, saving the overzealous child from his folly.

Part One

God, forgive those whose atrocities are so great—I will not
.

Chapter One

Six Days Later

A
pepper spray canister and a .45 Heckler & Koch pistol banged against the wooden deck. Handcuffs, two extra magazines of ammunition, and an ASP tactical baton joined them.

Isaac Snow was playing a game of keep-away in the side yard with his two daughters, Caroline and Josie, when he heard the noise. He was “it” at the moment and turned to see who their company was.

“Charlie!” he greeted. “Hey, girls, look who’s here.”

Charlie Biddle, Ruidoso’s chief of police, had parked his cruiser on the curb. He hung his gun belt on the deck railing, pulled the tan shirttail from his forest green pants, and ambled out into the grass.

“Uncle Charlie!” both girls shouted in unison.

Josie made it to him first, leaped into his arms, and squeezed. He quickly had to shift her to one side because Caroline was right behind. She also jumped up and gave her best bear hug.

“Hey, kiddos!” He was all grins. It didn’t matter what kind of day he was having or what went wrong at work; the eight-year-old twins had a way of lighting him up. “Having fun?”

“We’re playing keep-away, and Dad’s it,” Josie explained.

“Well, that doesn’t sound too difficult, now does it?”

“Let’s see how you do against them.” Isaac threw a soft punch into Charlie’s rotund belly. “They’re getting faster every day.”

Both girls squirmed to be put down. Caroline grabbed his hand and gave it a tug toward the lawn. Josie got behind him and started pushing.

“Come play! Come play!” they begged. “Please, Uncle Charlie.”

He looked at Isaac. “How can I resist?”

He removed his cap with “Ruidoso PD” embroidered across the front and hung it on the rail with his tactical gear. Sunlight glinted off his exposed scalp from a receding hairline.

“Should we play teams or just keep it away from your old man?”

“Teams,” Josie declared.

“Who are the captains?”

“We are,” Caroline said in a way that implied a meaning of “Duh.”

“All right but just a game or two. Your Uncle Charlie needs to take a load off.”

By the time two games were finished, he was leaning over, hands on his knees, and glazed with perspiration. This is how it had been since the sixth grade. Isaac was the tall, handsome athlete, and Charlie, the polar opposite.

“That’s it for me.” He made the timeout sign with his hands. “I’m out.”

“I told you they were getting faster.”

He nodded and headed for the porch. Through the railing, he could see a blue Igloo cooler and had high hopes that something cold and crisp was inside.

Up the steps and onto the deck, Isaac pulled two chairs from the table and faced them toward the yard. He popped the tops on two longnecks from the cooler and handed one to Charlie, who graciously accepted and wasted no time in quenching his thirst.

“Long day?” Isaac asked.

Charlie paused until he finished swallowing. “Not really, but it’s still good to be off work.”

Isaac leaned back on the chair legs and stretched his own out in front. He crossed one over the other and rested them on the railing. His tanned skin was exposed below a pair of shorts. Strong, shoeless feet were stained green from running in the lush, fescue lawn.

Josie and Caroline continued playing while everyone waited for supper to be ready. They sent a Frisbee back and forth, trying to catch it while jumping in the air. There was an endless amount of giggling and squealing. To the casual observer, they looked identical. But there were differences. Some, only Isaac and their mother, Sarah, could see, but they were still there. Caroline was a half-inch taller. Josie’s green eyes were slightly darker. Her ears were pierced, but Caroline wanted nothing to do with it. And even though they shared clothes, each had subtle ways to be an individual.

“Hey, I meant to tell you,” Charlie said. “I saw the girls on the news the other night. Pretty cool stuff.” He kept his gaze on Caroline and Josie. A stream of pride ran through him.

“Yeah, it was pretty cool.”

“How’d it go?”

“It was interesting. A Channel 6 crew came all the way down from Albuquerque and did the interview right here. Between that and the VFW giving them an award—”

“Hometown heroes.”

“We’re still not sure who called it in, but they thought the reporter was a lot of fun.”

“Oooh, yeah.” Charlie shifted in his chair. “I saw her. She as good looking in person as she is on TV?”

Isaac laughed at his bachelor buddy. “Yeah, she’s pretty, all right. But way too high maintenance. I’ll guarantee you that. Flashy, oversized hair, bright red lipstick, and the whitest teeth I’ve ever seen. That all takes work.”

“A trophy wife,” Charlie mused.

“I think we have her card in the house if you’re really interested.” He cocked an eyebrow and waited for a response.

“Nah.” A thoughtful look was on his face. “She’d probably think I work too much.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s exactly what she’d think.”

Charlie got tickled. His belly bounced up and down with laughter. “Well, good for them.” He toasted with his beer and motioned toward the neighbor’s house where the calamity had unfolded. “If they hadn’t thought of anything, that boy could be laid up with two broken legs right now.”

Isaac thought of little Jason Smith and how lucky he was that circumstances played into his favor. Charlie was right. Had it not been for Caroline and Josie, there was no telling what his condition might be. It brought back memories of when he himself was a boy.

* * *

Isaac’s childhood had been fantastic. His parents took him all over the United States, exposing his young mind to limitless possibilities. And on one of those trips, he found his dream. It happened at a Cannon Air Force Base air show in Clovis, New Mexico. Watching the fighter jet pilots go through their paces had been mesmerizing. His destiny was sealed.

Charlie, on the other hand, grew up neglected and tossed aside by parents who were only into themselves. A few times, he had even shown up at the Snow’s doorstep in the middle of the night because his mom or dad was on a bender. The people who should have cared the most cared the least.

But Isaac and his parents, Tom and Helen, had cared and were there for Charlie when no one else was. Now, at only thirty-five, Charlie was the youngest chief of police in Ruidoso history.

* * *

“So, you guys going to do anything to celebrate?”

Isaac crossed his legs the other way. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. Maybe go to Disneyland or something?”

“I’d love to, but you know how it is. My schedule is going to be hectic, at best, this summer. Hopefully we’ll have a wet year, and I’ll get some time off. I don’t know if we’ll be able to swing anything long enough for a trip like that.”