Kidnapped

  Kidnapped

  J.S Donovan

  Copyright 2020 All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means without prior written permission, except for brief excerpts in reviews or analysis

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  Contents

  1. Prodigy

  2. In an Old Town

  3. On the Tracks

  4. At the Doorstep

  5. Held In Question

  6. Disqualified

  7. Left in the Woods

  8. Locked in a Basement

  9. Threatened by Death

  10. Denied Salvation

  11. Fox and Hen

  12. Arrivals

  13. Over Rushing Waters

  14. Witnesses

  15. Adversary

  16. Actor and Director

  17. Inferno

  18. Listings

  19. Below

  20. Dolente

  21. Calando

  22. Con Fuoco

  23. Inquieto

  24. Niente

  25. Da Capo

  26. Mezzoforte

  27. Crescendo

  28. Furioso

  29. Diminuendo

  About the Author

  1

  Prodigy

  Keisha’s fingers danced across the ivory keys with swift, surgical precision. She threw back her head and shut her almond eyes, giving herself to the music. Chopin's Waltz was her song tonight. A personal favorite she replayed for the twelfth time since Carnegie Hall. The young pianist allowed emotion to guide the melody. With each session, the song became more unique, more distinctively her own.

  From the chairs of the small opera house, the patrons ogled the eleven-year-old soloist. Her melody stole their hearts. Her mastery captivated their mind. In the front row, Avery and Trisha Rines held each other’s hands. They watched their daughter, still amazed at her talent after dozens of shows across the world’s greatest venues. Mr. Rines gave his wife’s hand a squeeze. She turned to him with glassy eyes and a sly, relief-inspired smile. He repaid it in kind, knowing tonight would be good.

  The show came to a close, and the crowd stood from their seats. Dressed in their finest, ladies and gentlemen clapped their hands and whistled. Keisha slid off the piano bench, pressed down her silky purple dress, and bowed. Her slinky, chocolate-brown curls bounced at the movement. Two tiny hair bells jingled and glistened in the spotlight. Keisha smiled wide and white, just as her father had taught her. Makeup painted her brown cheeks. It had been applied perfectly to keep her both elegant and innocent. Now that the concert had concluded, she wanted it off her face.

  Keisha slipped into the backstage doorway, waving a final time at the applauding audience. Most of them were older white men and their wives. They loved her more than a fresh slice of cake. When she was safe from their gazes, Keisha let her falsified smile fade. She took a deep breath, absorbing the stench of body odor in the actor’s corridor. It perplexed her how bad most of the grandiose venues smelled behind the stage. As she stretched her scrawny arms far above her head, Mom and Dad waltzed into the barren backstage area.

  Avery Rines leaned in and picked up his daughter below the armpits. “There’s my little starlet!”

  “Dad!” Keisha giggled as her father spun her in the air.

  Avery kissed her forehead and put her back on the floor. He placed his hands on his hips and sighed in accomplishment. “I thought it was a great show.”

  Trisha knelt down in front of Keisha and fixed the sleeves of the expensive purple dress. “Me too. You were fantastic, Keisha.”

  The eleven-year-old shrugged off the compliment. “You always say that.”

  “Well,” Avery started. “She was a bit off in the second measure.”

  “Avery,” Trisha gawked at him. “She’s tired.”

  “Nothing wrong with a little constructive criticism,” Avery defended himself. “I already made a note of it. We’ll work out the kinks tomorrow. ”

  “But we practice every day,” Keisha replied.

  “Yes, darling,” her father said. “We don’t want you to go dull.”

  Keisha frowned. “The tour is over.”

  “That doesn’t mean you stop playing,” Avery stated. “Now, let’s go socialize. I want to be out of here by eleven.”

  A few dozen patrons gathered outside the old opera house. Main Street was lively this Saturday night. Pedestrians rubbernecked at the semi-exclusive event. In Van Buren, Arkansas, there wasn’t much diversity among the people or new attractions. When the eleven-year-old African American soloist and her parents walked out onto the sidewalk, a few brows were raised.

  The patrons greeted the Rines with more praise. Keisha stood sentry beside her parents as they boasted about her accomplishments, laughed at unfunny jokes, and nodded agreeably whenever someone brought up their skin color. There was always one at every venue, and Keisha noticed that the comment created discomfort in most of the other Caucasians.

  “I was unsure if we’d see you again,” a man with a spade-shaped white beard, blue eyes, and form tux said.

  “Leave Van Buren behind? That’s crazy talk,” Avery joked.

  “It’s a big world. I’m sure there are more enticing places,” the bearded man replied.

  “There’s no place like home, sheriff,” Trisha complimented as she fixed Avery’s bowtie.

  Keisha blocked out the rest of the conversation, intrigued by the closed funeral home and lively coffee shop across the street. Leaning on a distant light post, a tall man watched her as he slid his cell phone into his pocket. A cap shielded his eyes. A brown goatee circled his thin lips. Keisha felt his gaze on her. She stared back. The mysterious man crushed his cigarette butt under the heel of his boot. Sticking his hands into his tight pockets, he wandered in the opposite direction, vanishing into the Saturday night crowd.

  Keisha grew restless in her heels. She bounced from foot to foot, eager to take off the uncomfortable shoes. Her parents chatted forever. It was always politics or news, never anything interesting. She tugged at her mother’s black dress, but Trisha waved her off, laughing loudly with one of the patrons. Keisha studied her mother’s black heels, believing she had superpowers to wear them all the time.

  Eventually, they crossed the street and headed up the sidewalk, entering a large parking lot behind the adjacent strip mall. Straggling patrons followed behind them and climbed into their classy cars. About a quarter way through the lot, a plump, homely woman stopped the Rines.

  “Isn’t she just darling,” the woman exclaimed.

  “Oh, she is,” Trisha replied.

  The woman pinched Keisha’s cheek. “You are straight out of an American Girl catalog. Isn’t she? Straight out of a catalog.”

  “The bells. The dress. The look doesn’t work on everyone. She has the right structure for it,” Trisha said proudly. “You can thank Avery.”

  The woman’s eyes went wide. A smile filled her round face as she looked at Trisha. “She gets it from you, honey.”

  Keisha sighed. Here we go again.

  The BMW wasn’t far. She tugged on Avery. Her father looked down at her with piercing brown eyes rife with annoyance.

  “Can I sit in the car?” Keisha begged with puppy dog eyes.

  Avery fished the keys from his pocket. “We’ll be there soon.”

  Keisha smiled at her victory. She snatched the keys from his grasp and practically skipped to the vehicle. Her parents returned to their conversation. Keisha unlocked the door, relieved to escape the monotonous back-and-forth. Sore, she slid off her heels, feeling the cool asphalt against the soles of her feet. Keisha wiggled her toes. She turned her eyes to the not-so-far train track built on a grassy mound. Cloaked in a shadow, a figure watched h
er.

  Trisha wished the kind woman a good night and smiled until she left. Once they were alone, Trisha yawned and leaned against Avery. “What time is it?”

  Avery wrapped his arm around her, checking his watch on the opposite wrist. “Almost one.”

  Trisha snuggled up against her husband. He was a strong, tall man with clear contacts and a definitive bone structure.

  “Perhaps we should move to that townhouse in Baltimore,” Avery broke the silence as they walked to the car.

  “I thought you loved the small town,” Trisha said, surprised.

  “Maybe,” Avery said with pause. “I’m thinking of Kei. It’s already August. She’s only been back at school for one week, but I feel like she’s above her peers here. An academy more her caliber would be very beneficial.”

  Trisha froze.

  “I meant no offense to you or your hometown,” Avery stopped himself.

  A monotone ding leaked from the BMW’s open back door. Light spilled onto the asphalt and shimmered across their daughter’s abandoned purple heels.

  Trisha ripped herself from Avery’s grasp and ran to their car. “Keisha?” She leaned into the backseat. Empty. “Keisha, baby. Come out!”

  Avery was slow to catch on, but then it hit him. He spun around, scanning the parking lot for his daughter. “Where is she?”

  “I don’t know,” Trisha shouted back and ran across the parking lot, checking beneath a nearby stationary car.

  “Come on, Keisha,” Avery marched to the other end of the parking lot. “This isn’t a game!”

  They fanned out, searching up and down the parking lot in a frantic tizzy. The sidewalks were devoid of people. It was only them and a few other vehicles. Panting, Trisha rejoined with her husband back at the car. Wide-eyed, Avery shook his head. Trisha’s world spun.

  “She’s gone,” Trisha said in disbelief. “Our baby’s gone.”

  2

  In an Old Town

  Anna Dedrick sped down the country road in her black Chevy Silverado. With a wide smile, she turned the volume dial and let the sweet Southern blues rock her cabby. Clean Arkansas air ruffled her brunette hair as the sun bounced off her tinted aviators. It felt good being back in the country. The Beckham murders, the Dade County human trafficking case, and all the other grime from Miami were miles behind, and Anna couldn’t be freer.

  Her belongings cramped the back seat and were stacked tall in the truck’s bed. I-40 carried her most of the way, but as she neared Van Buren, the thirty-four-year-old woman diverged into the back roads of her youth. She drove past flat farmland, single-story brick homes with Christian iconography, and old oak trees rife with history. Eventually, she turned into a narrow, single-lane street.

  The Silverado bumped off-road. It rolled over rocks and down a forested path, slowing to a stop next to a maroon 1995 Chevy Bronco. She kept the vehicle running as she scanned the sparkling emerald waters of Lee Creek. A single boat bobbed in its center.

  Dressed in a khaki fishing vest, Richard cast another line from the padded swivel chair speared into the back end of the boat. Gray hair curled from under his frilled-brim fishing hat while a slightly crazed smile curved above his scruffy square jaw. The line went taut. After letting the reel zip loudly, Richard tugged back the fishing rod. He leaped from his seat and planted his feet at the edge of the boat. With an arched back, he pulled. The large bass jumped from the water. Tongue sticking out the side of his mouth, Richard reeled the fish to the body of the boat. He scoured the floor with his eyes and snatched the net at his feet, using it to scoop up the largemouth bass.

  “Big fella,” he said with a victorious grin as he hoisted the catch up to eye level. He paused, letting his eyes gloss over.

  Anna stood at the edge of the water. She crossed her arms over her cobalt button-up tucked fashionably into her jeans.

  Removing pliers from his vest, Richard quickly pried the hook from the fish’s lip and tossed the fish back into the water. Wasting no more time, he rowed to Anna. The plastic bass boat rammed into the thin coast, bulldozing the mud with its flat nose.

  Anna looked over the man with a cocky grin. “We could’ve eaten that, you know.”

  Richard scrambled out of the boat, almost slipping on the rim, and greeted the tall woman with a strong, reciprocating hug. After enjoying a warm moment, he pulled himself away. “How did you find me?”

  “It’s Sunday afternoon,” Anna said matter-of-factly. “Where else would you be?”

  Smiling giddily, he looked her up and down. “Wow.”

  “What?” Anna put her hands on her hips.

  “You got a tan,” Richard replied. “You look like one of those sexy South Beach girls.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” Anna raised her brow, pleased her father’s humor hadn’t changed.

  Richard took off his hat and flattened his disheveled gray hair with his hand. “What am I saying? You must be starving. Big Jake’s?”

  “Big Jake’s.”

  Anna helped drag the boat up the bank and lift it on the trailer frame hitched to Richard’s truck. She would’ve lectured him on fishing alone this far away from the town, but the old man had heard it a thousand times. When Richard set his mind on something, Anna would have better luck negotiating with a deaf mule.

  Richard insisted on leading the caravan to Big Jake’s Cattle Co., and they pulled into the atmospheric restaurant at sunset. The exterior had a black, dry wood look about it and a rectangular shape akin to an old Western saloon. The font and glowing red lettering matched that of a casino, and it bore the sigil of a horned bull’s skull.

  Boring locals dressed in their Sunday clothes filled the booths and square tables of the dimly lit but homely establishment. Most drove in from the many Pentecostal churches around town, and like communion, Big Jake’s was a Sunday ritual. Nonetheless, Anna remembered the place to be packed all seven days of the week. After getting a few off-kilter gazes from the locals, the waiter seated Anna and her father by the window. For dinner, Richard ordered the almond-crusted catfish covered with squeezed lemon juice while Anna got the country-style cheeseburger. She took a joyful bite, glad that some things never changed.

  “So what’s next for the famous Anna Dedrick?” Richard said with a toothy grin.

  Anna shifted in her seat. “I’m staying here.”

  Her father’s eyes went big, and he looked back and forth at the other patrons with Christmas morning excitement. “Where are you going to stay? Do you have a home? Do we need to find you one?”

  Anna fidgeted under the table. “I’m staying with you.”

  Richard crinkled his brow and cocked his head slightly.

  Anna put down her burger. “We talked about this over the phone.”

  Her father nodded slowly with a confused expression on his face. “Right, yeah, I remember.”

  He didn’t, Anna knew. She munched on a fry, making a mental note to remind her father about the conversational journal they’d discussed. Richard’s memory had started going a few years back. The beginnings of early-onset Alzheimer's, the doctors said. Sad because he was only sixty-four, fit as a fiddle, and used to be a helluva detective.

  “I got a phone number and website set up. Rented an office space down on 7th, too.” Anna said with a mouthful. “I was wondering if you could give me a hand setting it up?”

  “Absolutely. When?” Richard asked.

  “Tomorrow.” Anna pushed her finished plate aside. “If you’re up for it, I wouldn’t mind visiting Mom.”

  Richard’s welcoming blue eyes watered. “She’d like that.”

  When the check came, Richard insisted on paying and left behind a fat tip for the pretty waitress. They caravanned down western Arkansas's flat roads and came to a stop at the cemetery parking lot. Anna grabbed a flashlight from the dashboard console and rejoined her father at the graveyard’s gate. Catching a gust of cool autumn wind, they walked among the tombs. Ashley Dedrick’s headstone was a simple stone slab amidst a row of fading grav
estones. Anna held the light on the engraved name. Fourteen years ago, and her passing still felt like it happened yesterday. After a moment of silence, they were ready to go.

  “She’d be proud of you,” Richard said when they reached the parking lot. “You were her favorite.”

  Evan came to mind. Anna hadn’t seen her brother for many years. She chose to avoid that topic tonight. No use shattering her father’s mood.

  Anna followed Richard back to his simple house on the outskirts of town. The building was a single story with a short dirt driveway and a grassy front yard a few weeks un-mowed. Upon entering, Richard sank into his worn recliner and flipped on the classic movie channel. Anna went to the last bedroom at the end of the hall. The posters from her youth were still tacked onto the walls. School yearbooks and required reading filled her bookshelves. Even the sheets were the same color as they had been in her early twenties. Struggling to get over the surreal feeling, Anna unpacked a few suitcases and filled the drawers with her folded clothes.

  Richard was snoring when she filled a glass with water at the kitchen sink. She took a sip, glancing at the family photos magnetized to the refrigerator. With a mouthful of braces and crooked teeth, Anna’s eleven-year-old self held up a tiny bluegill dangling from a hook. Evan, seven at the time with a mop of brown hair and dressed in a faded Mickey Mouse T-shirt, stood beside her and smiled at something off camera. It was a good night of fishing, Anna remembered. One of the last times Evan had smiled.