Noah's Rainy Day (40 page)

Papa’s cameras whirred, clicked, and flashed. He told Papa he was tired of playing, but Papa insisted he keep playing. And then when Papa told
him they only had an hour left to play the basement game, Sammy was sad. He liked playing the basement game. Except for having no friends to play with. And except for Papa’s rules about costumes and clothes.

Papa was a meanie about rules. Especially his rule that Sammy take off all his costumes before switching play areas. Everything. Papa told him this was part of the fun and that he would enjoy the game more if he followed the rules. So, he took off his clothes. He learned not to argue. If he did, Papa would spank his bare bottom, which stung. Sammy had never been spanked before. Until he went outside at lunchtime when he wasn’t supposed to. It hurt. Sammy knew he would have more fun playing the game if he could keep his clothes on. And after he ate the cookies, Papa was in a big hurry and said to forget about the clothes altogether now that they were out of time. Sammy didn’t argue. He didn’t want to be spanked again.

Sammy was cold in the basement. But each time he shivered, Papa would turn on more spotlights. Eventually it would heat up. Sammy decided to make the best of his last hour here, even if he was tired of playing make-believe.

When he got hungry earlier, Papa told him to play in the make-believe area that looked like a kitchen. He even brought Sammy real food to eat and cold milk to drink, placing it on the table just like the waiters do where Nanny Judy took him for spaghetti.

One time, Sammy cried to get more cookies. Papa didn’t get angry. Instead, he became all happy and silly. Papa told him that his crying was perfect for his pictures and—CLICK! CLICK!—his camera lit up the dark basement and hurt Sammy’s eyes. Eventually, Sammy was so tired, he curled up on a sheepskin carpet and fell asleep to the sound of clicking, imagining the flashes to be fireworks. He dreamed of playing in the grass with Nanny Judy, having a picnic on the blanket, and waiting for the sky to get dark and the fireworks to pop in the sky.

And here he was.

Shivering in the dark. Awakened by the CLOMP! CLOMP! of Papa’s big feet running around upstairs. There were no spotlights to warm his body. Sammy stood, trembling, and looked for his clothes. He groped in the shadows of the play areas, walls, toys, and props. He tried not to cry. Tried not to be scared. Tried to be a big boy. He tried not to scream
in pain when he stepped on something scattered on the floor or when he stubbed his bare toes. He found the pile of play clothes at the bottom of the basement stairs. Slipping into his comfortable, warm sweatshirt and pants, Sammy took the stairs to the warmth above, knowing he might get spanked again. But he was so cold. With each step, Sammy could feel the funny taste of the thick air growing heavier. He wanted a breath of fresh air.

The kitchen, all funny orange and green, was filled with shadows. It was still nighttime, he could tell. He wondered if Papa went to bed, was already sleeping. Or if he was still locked up in the tiny room in the basement, the one Papa called his dark room. He wondered if he could just step outside for a second to catch a breath of clean air. Or open the window above the sink. Just for a second. Maybe Papa would never know. Papa didn’t let him open the windows. Or step outside. Ever. At any time. And he didn’t want to get spanked again.

Climbing up on the kitchen counter and kneeling at the small window near the sink, Sammy stared at the mountains in the distance, wanting to breathe the air and to play out in the cold snow.

“Sammy,” Papa greeted him cheerfully.

Startled by his voice, Sammy slid off the counter into the sink. Papa laughed and lifted him from the sink, setting him gently on the floor. “Careful, boy. You almost slipped down the drain.”

Sammy didn’t smile. He had grown scared of Papa. He didn’t like Papa. He didn’t like to be spanked. He missed Nanny Judy. Papa’s face was spongy like an old washcloth. “I’m hungry. Can I have dinner, Papa?”

Sammy watched as the man bent toward him. He could see the wet, sticky stuff that was always on his white skin. It was gross. Nanny Judy would have told him he needs a bath. When Papa opened his heavy lips to answer, Sammy could smell that funny smell from the basement. It stunk.

“You didn’t like your special cookies?”

“I loved them. But my tummy is all twisty.”

Papa laughed but he didn’t think it fit his mood. He was all twitchy and sweaty like he was when the redheaded girl’s parents came by with the cookies. He looked like the cartoon cat after sticking its claw in the electric socket poking around for the mouse. BZZ! BZZ!

“You worked hard today, boy. You can have anything you want for dinner. In celebration of our success. What would you like to eat?”

“McDonald’s,” Sammy said.

They were nose to nose. Papa’s hands were on the kitchen counter touching Sammy’s thighs with his thumbs. Sammy didn’t like it. He thought Papa was going to yell at him again. Papa moved away. Sammy took a deep breath. Papa laughed. It was a weird laugh. Papa was fat. And ugly. Sammy could see up Papa’s hairy nose and in his mouth that was filled with silver things in his yellow teeth.

Sammy wasn’t so hungry anymore.

“How about if I make you a Christmas meal. You can take it with you in the car.”

“Where are we going?”

“It’s Christmas night. We’re going to a manger, just like where Jesus was born. Nanny Judy is going to pick you up there. If you’re really good. And really quiet. Can you do that?”

Sammy nodded.

“I’ll make you a peanut butter sandwich. Like a picnic. Two if you’d like. That’s even better than McDonald’s. But you deserve it since we finished. You worked hard, Sammy.”

Sammy didn’t know why Papa kept saying this. He asked, “Finished with what?”

“With our project,” Papa answered honestly. “Like I told you after the neighbors’ visit, I’m working on a special calendar to give to your parents for Christmas. For Nanny Judy, too.”

“That’s good,” Sammy said, his stomach rumbling. “Can I have chips and cookies, too? For later after my stomach stops wiggling and gurgling?”

Papa nodded. “You can. But we have to hurry now.”

Papa leaned against the kitchen table, which squeaked on the wooden floor because he was so fat. He crossed his arms over his chest. The way Papa was staring at him, Sammy got a chill. He wasn’t comfortable with some of the things Papa had asked him to do today and last night. He kept telling himself it was just that Papa had a different way of living.

That’s what his mother said about all the strange and different people he met at his house in California. She had told him that he shouldn’t
feel uncomfortable just because someone was a little different from him. He had remembered her words when Uncle Aldo treated him bad. He had remembered her words when Papa brought him here yesterday. But Sammy didn’t feel good about some of the things Papa had asked him to do while playing games.

Secretly, Sammy was glad it was over.

He didn’t want to have his picture taken. His mom did. But maybe Papa was confused. Sammy wanted to play outside with his friends and go to school. He wanted to ride his bike and play ball. He wanted to play in the ocean again and on the playground in the park. He missed all of those things. Most of all, he missed Nanny Judy. He wanted to see her again. He needed her. Sammy would even play outside with the little redheaded girl from next door for a few hours, if Papa would let him.

While Papa made sandwiches, Sammy watched out the picture window in the living room and silently counted the infrequent cars that drove by on the quiet street beyond the lit sidewalk. He wanted to run away from this house. Real bad. He wasn’t sure why. Papa had treated him okay. He had a nice quiet room, plenty to eat, and lots of toys. He just couldn’t get rid of the feeling that Nanny Judy wouldn’t like this. STRANGER DANGER! STRANGER DANGER! Maybe he should have said something when Santa Claus stopped by. Who knew Santa lived next door to Papa, had a redheaded child, a skinny Mrs. Claus, and a kid who didn’t talk? He couldn’t wait to tell Nanny Judy.

He looked out the window toward the house next door. Where that kid lives. The kid who didn’t talk. Sammy wondered if he should at least try to sneak out of the house. Run over to Santa’s house. But he was afraid the little redheaded girl wouldn’t help him. She said she didn’t want to be his friend and he remembered how she had stuck out her tongue at him when he was outside earlier. He sighed. It wouldn’t do him any good to run away from here if all he had was help from the little redheaded girl next door.

“Sammy, our picnic is ready.”

Sammy heard Papa whistling happily as he put the dishes in the sink, stuffed sandwiches in baggies and pulled chips out of the pantry.

“And cookies?”

Papa eyed him. “The cookies the neighbor brought over today are all gone. But I have some in a box.”

Sammy watched as Papa stuffed all the food into a brown paper bag.

“Lots of napkins, too?” Sammy asked, seeing Papa stuff a fistful of napkins in the bag. “Where’s Jesus’s ranger?”

“Manger. Small building for shelter,” Papa laughed. “It’s in the mountains. What do you think about that?”

“It’s snowing.”

“Sure,” Papa answered with his mouth full of something he’d eaten from the refrigerator. Nanny Judy wouldn’t like Papa. “It’s fun. Haven’t you ever gone in the mountains when it snows?”

“Nanny Judy doesn’t like the snow. We don’t even go outside.”

Papa frowned at him. “Well, that’s no fun. Let’s get going. I’ll have everything packed in no time. You go upstairs and put everything of yours in the backpack. It’s under your bed. Everything. Anything you’ve worn since you’ve been here and everything you own. Your toothbrush, hair brush, the works. Understand?”

“You … you don’t mean all the toys, do you?”

As he shoved another handful of what looked like meat in his mouth, Papa answered, “Leave the toys. Just take everything else.”

Papa was growing annoyed again. Sammy decided to obey and quit asking questions.

Sammy packed everything he could think of in the backpack. Just like Papa asked. He added a few more things, just like Nanny Judy had taught him. He stuffed a bottle of water in the backpack along with a handful of granola bars he’d snuck from the cupboard while Papa was downstairs, and the half-eaten bag of M&M’s from yesterday at the airport, the first day he’d ever met Papa, just in case he needed more snacks for later.

Still shivering from his nap in the basement, Sammy slipped on a second layer of clothing, then a third since they were going up in the mountains to a manger, before grabbing his coat, several hats, and plenty of mittens and stuffed them deep into his backpack. He did not want to get cold waiting in a manger in the snowy mountains for Nanny Judy. Sliding the straps of the backpack over his shoulders and hoisting the weight onto his small back, Sammy walked over to his window and stood on his tiptoes
to see into the window of the house next door. He looked for the quiet boy, who laid on the floor by the window.

Sammy felt a little better, peaceful and happy, when he saw the kid straining to lift his weight onto his skinny arms, stretching his head to the sky to see outside. Sammy knew the quiet kid liked the outdoors almost as much as he did. He suspected the kid had about as much difficulty convincing his mom and dad to let him play outside as he had with Papa. Every time Sammy saw the kid lying at his window, he would wave to the kid, but the kid never waved back. This made Sammy sad because he really liked the kid.

For some reason, tonight more than any other time since yesterday, Sammy needed to see the quiet kid’s dimpled smile.

Sammy’s heart sank like a stone when all he could see was the empty bedroom window.

“Sammy!”

Sammy trembled. His tummy kept flipping and flopping. Maybe it was the plateful of cookies from earlier. Or the vitamin. He lowered his eyes, looked back out at the neighbor’s window, and waved.

Sammy whispered sadly, “Bye, kid.”

When he heard the loud footsteps of Papa coming up the stairs, Sammy called, “Coming, Papa.”

JACK FINISHED HIS NOTES
and set his pad of paper aside. “We time-stamped all of it and narrowed down the tapes. We zoomed in on both the perp’s face and the time sequence of his movement with the child.”

“Did you find him?” Streeter asked.

Jack Linwood pointed to the time in the bottom right corner of the screen. “We think so. The time shows it to be almost twenty minutes after the Williams boy was last seen, fifteen minutes after the video taken at the exit I showed you earlier.”

“The one where he was disguised to look like a girl,” Chief Gates said.

Jack nodded, but I could tell the subject matter—a child abducted—was difficult for him. I suspected no one else in the office knew about him losing a six-year-old son. I sensed that Jack told me that in confidence. And with his attempts to keep his privacy, I had interpreted that as some kind of dark secret he wanted kept between him and me. There was so much I didn’t know about him, really. I didn’t even know his real name was John until I saw it on the list of passengers coming from Kansas City yesterday.

“We found correlating video at the toll exit. Long story short, the child is not seen in the video, but we retrieved a partial license number on the guy’s car.”

“A partial?” Streeter asked.

“The numbers on the plate were obscured. Frozen mud, if I had to guess,” Jack said.

“Do we have the list of sex offenders yet?” Streeter asked.

Jack nodded and handed several sheets to Streeter. “From the DPD Sex Offender Registration Unit.”

“Unit? There’s an entire department assigned to these assholes?” I asked, hoping no one noticed my swearing and reminding myself that I must start following my New Year’s resolution now that I was an FBI agent. “How many of them are there?”

“Hundreds,” Streeter said, flipping through the list.

“Thousands,” Jack corrected. “In the Greater Denver area.”

I shuddered. “I’m not in South Dakota anymore.”

“Sorry to tell you this, Dorothy, but you probably have the same problem up north, just in lower numbers.” Jack held my gaze. I knew I could believe it. He probably made it his personal mission to know these things, given his background.