Adoption Read online

  Turning to go back into the building, the usual post-meeting questions flew at the backs of our heads from those reporters not willing to accept the fact that the news conference was over. A few of the reporters, still needing to feel as though they were doing their jobs, ran frantically up to the doors of the police station bumping into the glass and one another. As the door closed, it separated the pile of flattened journalist faces pressed against the glass from us as we stood on the inside entry way to a waiting room just off the main corridor to the front desk. I brought my middle finger up to my mouth and inserted it backward against the inside of my cheek, pulling it out quickly causing my finger to make a popping sound as it exited my mouth.

  “That, my friend, is sound of my head falling out of my ass! What a freakin’ schmuck! I let that question about the drugs completely shut me down out there! I could not believe someone actually gave that information out to the media. Who would do that knowing the families of these girls would find out? It just does not make any sense to me!”

  “You reacted just like anyone else would have at that instant,” Ken said. “Let it go. For Christ’s sake Ron, don’t get down on yourself so early in the game. Shit, this nightmare is just getting started and we don’t have a fucking clue yet who this monster is.”

  He turned and walked back out the front door, looking back briefly as if to ask if I was going to be o.k. I nodded without saying anything, turned, and started toward my office and a hot cup of coffee.

  26

  “You. Get over here right now! I thought I told you to clean up this kitchen! Look! See this? You did not put the mop away right. It belongs in the left corner of the pantry not the right corner. What are you, some kind of damned idiot?”

  “I’m sorry mother. It won’t happen again. I promise. I forgot that it goes in the left corner. Next time I WILL put it in the left corner.”

  “Shut up. I don’t want to listen to your bullshit! Get your ass upstairs and get undressed. I’ll be up in a few minutes. Get the tub ready. I’m giving you a bath to clean YOU up!”

  “But, mother…I…”

  “Don’t say another god-damned word! I don’t want to hear you say anything. Just do what I tell you to do. Now! Get up there and get ready for a bath. I’m going to teach you not to forget the things I tell you!”

  He walked up the stairs to his bedroom wondering if all twelve year old boys lived like this. It was like this every day and had been since he could remember. The only time he actually felt out of danger was when he was in the cellar closet. At least down there she would leave him alone for days at a time. He would be hungry and thirsty, but he would not be hurt.

  Within a couple of minutes he was undressed feeling completely humiliated in his nakedness. He wasn’t stupid. He knew she made him undress to humiliate and embarrass him. This was how she “controlled” him. This was how she “taught” him.

  The sound of the water filling the tub told her he was standing alone, naked, in the bathroom. A distorted smirk crossed her lips as she looked up the stairway. She took the first step up the stairway and stopped. No. She would wait a little longer before going up the stairs to give HIM his bath. She enjoyed these games she played with him every day. She relished the total power and control she had over him. Especially right now, knowing he was naked and stripped psychologically of everything he was.

  The water level reached the right height in the cast-iron and porcelain, claw-foot tub. As the sound of the water pouring into the tub stopped, he sensed her standing behind him. He did not turn around to look at her, but, instead stepped into the tub and closed his eyes as he felt the warm water encompass his legs and torso. He kept his eyes closed tightly not wanting to see her step over to the side of the tub and kneel down on the small, pink, throw rug on the floor. She reached over to a towel rack on the wall taking the terry-cloth, wash cloth in her hand. Soaking it in the tub water, she took the cloth out of the water and snapped it across his face with every ounce of her strength. His head twisted backward in reaction to the pain on the side of his face. His entire right cheek, ear and temple burned with fire from the impact. He tried not to cry out, but, he could not hold it back. His cry filled the bathroom. She reacted with immediate and total retaliation. Reaching into the water, she quickly put her hand between his legs grabbing his scrotum in her fingers. Before he could cry out again, she squeezed tightly, watching his eyes open for a split second before rolling back in his head.

  Losing consciousness, his body slid down into the tub: his head slipping under the surface of the water. She held him under the water watching the bubbles rise to the surface as air escaped from his lungs. Just before the bubbles stopped and she thought he would inhale, she pulled his head out of the water exposing his face. She listened as the air rushed back into his chest knowing she pulled him up just in time. Then, as he began to regain consciousness, she would push his head back under the water and repeat the cycle over again. After she tired of this part of the game, she would make him stand while she dried him, being extra rough drying his genitals. She watched with enjoyment as his knees buckled from the pain in his groin.

  The last humiliation came before she took him back down to the cellar closet. Instead of dressing him in his clothes, she dressed him in young girl’s clothing: making him wear panties, training bra, nylons, a skirt and blouse or a dress. He was too big for her to drag down the stairs like she did when he was six or seven years old. Now, she used an old, antique, metal, rug beater to hit him with as he made his way down the cellar stairs to his wooden prison.

  He stood in the middle of his kitchen wondering why these memories were coming back with more intensity and frequency. Usually, right after an adoption process began it was the other way around - the memories faded, were less intense and less frequent. Now, it seemed, he was having flashbacks every day. The part about the flashbacks bothering him the most was his inability to control when they occurred, or to remember what he did while he was experiencing them. Standing in the kitchen, he realized that during a flashback he was totally immobilized. He was vulnerable. Exposed!

  The buzzer at the front door had brought him back to reality. He was in the kitchen and was about to look at his appointment book when the latest memory re-played in his mind. This was the beauty of his work. He made his appointments to suit his schedule not his client’s schedules. He could see one client per day or four or five clients depending on his needs and his wants, not anyone else’s. He could begin an adoption in the morning, service a couple of clients in the afternoon, and be back to his place later in the day before his new adoptee was awake. It was even better when his clients came to him at his massage parlor. It worked so perfectly. If he wanted to take a day or two off, he could do so by simply saying no when a client called to schedule a massage. It was the perfect business to own. He could even work nights and do whatever he wanted during the day. No one noticed him because he was so low key. Go to your appointment; set up the portable massage table; light the scented candle; play the “landscape earthen songs” and open the jar of warmed massage cream - rub-a-dub-dub. One or two hours later, he would be back at his place, doing whatever he wanted to do. He was a known un-known. He chuckled at the simplicity of the ruse and how people just naturally accepted him as trustworthy and an all-around nice guy. His business had grown so large over a short period of time; he was now turning down new clients. He was so good at what he did, people would not even think about calling someone else to relieve those aches and pains in their muscles and joints. Control, control, control.

  27

  Mike and Karen McMaster were unsettled as they ate breakfast. Neither one of them could put a finger on the cause of their uneasiness, but, each spoke about having upset stomachs as they pushed bacon slices around on their plate with their forks. Karen, not having heard from Marty since yesterday when she left for school, was curious as to why Marty did not call to check in with her. Marty wasn�
�t expected home the night before because she was going over to Kelsey Hebert’s house to finish a school project they were working on for their biology course.

  Karen, proud for not smothering Marty or attempting to know all of Marty’s business by asking the bazillion questions every mother wanted to ask, felt that her daughter was in college, always showed respect, continued to make honor grades, and was never in any type of trouble that a normal young person wouldn’t experience, and therefore she had earned the right to be treated as an adult. Sitting at the table with her husband, she wondered if it was time to call Kelsey’s house and ask how the girls were making out with their project. Her motherly instincts began to override her normal parental allowances. She could feel intuitively that something was wrong, and it was time to find out what that something was.

  I was sitting behind my desk savoring the hot cup of coffee I had poured right after the press conference. I purposely sat with my eyes closed, as if tasting the coffee with closed eyes made a difference, when line three on my telephone began to ring.

  “Yeah, Derek.” I said, opening my eyes watching the steam rise from the coffee cup. “What do you have for me?”

  “Chief, I just received a call from Mike McMaster over on Bourdon Road. He says his daughter Marty is missing. Says she was supposed to go over to a girlfriend’s house to sleep over last night, but she never arrived. In fact, the girlfriend said Marty never showed up for school yesterday morning.”

  Sitting up quickly, my swivel chair lurched forward as I awkwardly placed the coffee cup down on my desk, spilling my coffee and splattering most of it onto my paperwork. Reaching for a paper towel and cursing silently, I said to Derek, “Get Kim in here on the double. I want her to go out to the McMaster’s house with me!” After a few more expletives, I hung up, continuing to wipe up the spilled coffee while feeling a new wave of apprehension filling my thoughts. Although, the McMaster girl’s disappearance could be as innocent as sneaking off with a boyfriend for a night, I knew in the pit of my stomach that she was the latest victim.

  It only took Kim two minutes to make it to my office. Derek filled her in on the missing McMaster girl and she knew why I wanted her along. She stood in the doorway to my office allowing me to stand sullenly staring out of my office window, looking across the street at the white gazebo in the center of the town common. I did not move in recognition of her presence. She did not have to ask what was going through my mind. She understood the pressure that was mounting with each new surprise and revelation. But, because Kim knew me so well, she knew that my personal commitment to finding the killer of these young women was more important to me than what my professional responsibilities were demanding. I was a police officer because destiny had scheduled this journey for me. The ticket was purchased and stamped by a higher power and there was nothing I could have done to change the itinerary.

  After three or four minutes, I turned away from the window, saw Kim standing patiently waiting and said: “Sorry, Kim. I was just thinking…”

  Kim cut me off in mid-sentence saying, “Chief, I know what you must be going through right now. What do you say we get over to the McMaster’s house and catch us a bad guy? We can talk in the car if you need to do a little venting outside of these office walls.”

  I appreciated Kim’s direct nature. It was one of the things that made her one of my best officers. She had a clarity and ability that helped her to cut through a lot of the “gray” in a given situation and make decisions quickly when it counted the most.

  On the drive over to the McMaster’s, I let Kim do most of the talking. My thoughts were constantly changing and crowding my brain while we drove through the quite, country-like streets. I was not paying attention to anyone or anything, even though I was looking right out the windshield of the cruiser. As Kim pulled into the McMaster’s driveway and shut off the engine to the cruiser I continued to stare out of the windshield.

  “Chief, we’re here.” Kim said quietly afraid to jolt me out of my trance like state. “We’re at the McMaster’s house. Chief.” She said hesitatingly while gently touching my left arm. My entire body reacted with a jerking motion at her touch.

  “Holy shit,” I said shaking my head, beginning to focus. “Sorry. I was thinking about the time frame we are working with. Marty was probably taken on her way to class yesterday. I’m thinking that our killer has taken her. The fact that she is the same age as the other girls and is a college student leads me to think this is not a situation where there has been a miscommunication between parents and daughter, which means she has been in his control for over twenty-four hours. With no concrete leads to follow, we are going to have to beat the bushes to find someone who might have seen something odd, or someone acting suspicious whose behavior was out of the norm. As soon as we talk with Mr. and Mrs. McMaster, we’ll know what route Marty takes to school and we can have our people retrace her steps to try to find someone who might have seen something.”

  Standing beside the cruiser, I looked over at Kim and said, “Twenty-four hours already Kim. Twenty-four hours and I don’t have a freaking clue how I am going to help this girl.”

  28

  Peggy stood outside on the front steps of the old Baker Building waiting for Christopher to come and open the faded, double, oak doors. The Baker Building was a town landmark on the outskirts of the town. Hidden away from the main streets by large Catalpa trees running alongside the grey building on both sides, it is barely visible until you drive right up to the front steps. Although a dozen or so small, privately-owned businesses - from a printing company to a health spa - occupied the building at some time over the past 10 years, today, “Soft Touch Massage” is the only business keeping the pulse of the antique structure beating. Originally, the Baker Building was a department store that sold everything from women’s clothing to specialty Christmas decorations imported from Europe. Today, most of the offices and open floor space sit vacant, collecting dust and dirt that magically materializes and covers everything from ceiling to floor over years of non-use and neglect.

  Christopher Bradford wanted the building just the way it was – unoccupied, with the exception of his massage parlor and tanning salon. He purchased the building from the Baker family three years before for about fifty cents on the dollar. He was fortunate the real estate market was in a tail spin just when he was looking for a new home to share with his adopted children. During the purchase process, he spoke with the town planning board about his plans to initially open the massage parlor and tanning spa, with expectations of renting or leasing out the remaining square footage to local entrepreneurs. The town fathers were immediately relieved that someone was going to maintain the old building and try to bring new business into the town. The town fathers actually facilitated the purchase of the building by writing a letter to the bank’s loan officer supporting Christopher’s request for financing. However, other than remodeling for the massage parlor, tanning salon and his six room apartment, no renovations had taken place as far as anyone in the outside world could see. Though some renovations took place quietly on an as needed basis - Marty’s bedroom being the latest project just completed.

  After a little over three years, no one in town seemed to mind that additional space was not rented or leased. Everyone loved the way Christopher’s fingers glided over their bodies releasing all of their pent up tension and anxiety as he meticulously massaged every spot where the tightness might be hidden away. Peggy Kosciak was no exception. As Peggy stood waiting for Christopher to come to the door, in her mind, she was already relaxing on his massage table feeling the wonderful effects of his magic hands rubbing away the pain left from years of dealing with fibro-myalgia. She knew the immediate relief she would feel in her aching muscles and pained joints as soon as he applied the warmed massage cream to her arms, legs and especially the back of her neck. She was getting a little impatient feeling the urge to knock on the door instead of ringing the bell when she sa
w Chris’s familiar face approaching from down the hallway to let her in for her monthly appointment.

  “Peggy. Good morning. It’s nice to see you again. Has it been a month already?” hesaid, opening the door, and stepping aside to let her enter the foyer.

  “Yes, it has Christopher, and I could not wait to get here. My fibro has been acting up the last few days. It seems like a bazillion years since the last time I was here.”

  “Well, you just come right down the hallway and we’ll get to work giving you some relief. I wouldn’t want you going around town telling people I have lost my touch.” he said, with a quiet chuckle Peggy could barely hear. “After all, you are one of my best clients and I brag about you to everyone who comes in and complains about minor aches and pains. They have no idea what kind of pain you live with every day of your life. And, I don’t mean your husband the Chief!” A laugh rolled out of his throat. Peggy rolled her eyes and laughed out loud acknowledging his play on words.

  “Yeah, he can be a real pain some days!” she replied, removing her coat as they walked side by side down the hallway to the massage parlor. “It would take a lot more than a massage to get rid of that pain! That pain is almost always in my butt!” They both laughed as Christopher gave Peggy a gracious bow inviting her into the massage room.

  Peggy liked the way Christopher decorated the room. The massage table was set up in the center of the room, which measured about twenty feet by twenty feet. On one wall there was a sound system already playing soothing, seasonal music – CD’s for every mood stacked perfectly in piles next to the player. A large tapestry with a woven, life sized, garden scene of fountains, blue hydrangeas, azaleas, yellow and orange tiger lilies, red bee balm, purple butterfly bushes and a variety of other flowers and shrubs, hung ceiling to floor on an adjacent wall giving the room a feeling of both depth and openness. As you walk into the room you feel as though you could keep walking right into the tapestry and touch the crocuses along the walkway. A long table fit against the third wall, and on the table were Christopher’s oils, creams, lotions, hot stones and towel heater used for the massage. The fourth wall, the wall Peggy loved the most, was full of different sized and colored candles placed on off-set, small shelves giving off the only light in the room. Approximately fifty candles, with their flickering flames dancing on the ceiling, walls and floor created a relaxing movement. There were no windows to violate the serenity and peace of this anatomical sanctuary. This was the perfect place to indulge one’ self and hide from the hectic life cycle of the outside world.