Adoption Page 6

  The sun was shining and it was already a heat wave at thirty-three degrees Fahrenheit. There was very little snow on the ground for this time of year, because of the unseasonably higher temperatures since the start of the fall season. Marty would save five minutes by walking through the park. These five minutes were the difference between getting a coffee before her first class at the college began, or having to wait two hours until first break. She did not like the prospect of waiting over two hours for her first cup of coffee. She was used to getting there early enough each morning, having time to sit and enjoy those first sips of hot java, and taking a few minutes to enjoy watching the people walk by in front of the coffee shop window.

  Turning off of the sidewalk, Marty started to walk on the brownish, dried, winter grass peeping thru the thin snow covering. She noticed that the ground, although frozen under foot, was still a little wet and spongy due to the temperature having been a few degrees above freezing. “I’m getting dirt all over my sneakers,” She thought. “Too late now!” she responded silently to herself as she kept pace across the park.

  She did not see anyone else in the park as she made her way up a small incline adjacent to the service road leading to the public restrooms at the center of the park. Just as she was about to reach the apex of the incline, she felt a burning sting in her left thigh. It felt as though a bee had stung her, but, she knew bees hibernated in the winter and tried to ignore the sting which now began to get warmer and burn more intensely. Marty took a few more steps before everything around her started to get blurry and unfocused. Another step and her thoughts began to get confused and disoriented. Before Marty McMaster hit the grass, full faced, she was unconscious.

  He waited behind the small outbuilding which housed the restrooms watching to see if any passerby might have seen Marty fall to the ground. “Patience,” he said to himself. “Control is the key to survival,” he thought pushing a large wheelbarrow toward her limp body lying face down on the wet, cold grass. He quickly wrapped her in dark green plastic placing her limp body into the wheelbarrow. It was a very short distance to the van parked on the service road where he effortlessly transferred her unconscious frame onto a mat on the floor in the back of the vehicle. Once Marty was deposited in the van and he climbed in, they were out of sight, and because the van had no side or rear windows, he could move unobserved as he bound her wrists and ankles using black, plastic, electrical ties. He was now in complete control of his new adoptee. Crouching down next to her he watched her breasts rise and fall slowly beneath her opened winter coat – the quieting effect of the dart he fired into her leg.

  She looked even more lovely and soft as he moved his face to within a couple of inches of her lips. He inhaled deeply to pull her fragrance as deep into his lungs as he physically was able. He felt his chest expand to its fullest and knew the adoption process had begun in earnest once again. He wanted as much of her aroma inside of his being as his lungs could hold. He would never leave her like they had left him. He would never stop loving her, never turn his back on her no matter what she said or did. That was the way an adoptive parent was supposed to treat his or her children. They were supposed to show unconditional love regardless of the fact that their adopted child was not birthed from their own loins! “Control – control and control,” He thought. “One step at a time will bring you logically to the next step.”

  Marty would sleep long enough for him to drive her to her new home. Once there, he could transfer her to her bedroom and wait for her to wake up after the effects of the drug wore off. He took another few minutes in the quiet of the van to admire her. Tipping his head very slowly to the left and then to the right, he studied the features of her face and roamed over her body with satisfied eyes. She was young and beautiful. Marty McMaster would make an excellent addition to the family. Besides, the other children were already waiting to welcome her. No one saw the van pull out of the park, turn onto the street and slowly drive away.

  16

  Marty began to move slowly. Her eyes opening with a slight flutter as the drug wore off. Her thoughts were confused and unclear, but she knew something was not right. She thought she remembered falling at the park, but could not mentally focus on anything - one thought bounced out of the way by another thought. Thoughts were random and did not stay in her conscious mind long enough for her to know exactly what the previous thought had been. She tried to rub her eyes with her hands, but they were not responding the way they should. Both hands moved at the same time, together, in unison. Her hands would not respond separately.

  Looking around the room she realized that everything was fuzzy. Nothing was clear. It was like wearing the wrong eyeglasses with a strong prescription. She could see objects, but, everything was distorted. Panic began to overtake her brain. Then, it spread like fire throughout her body, burning into her muscles and bones, making her skin bead with the sweat of fear.

  The first sounds Marty made were almost inaudible whimpers. Having heard them many times before, they were like music to his ears. He always enjoyed these first moments watching the new child begin to acclimate herself to his home - this safe environment he provided. He watched Marty become more and more cognizant of her dilemma. The whimpers, now cries of fear, intensified as she began to realize exactly what “bad” thing had happened to her. She remembered walking thru the park on her way to the coffee shop. She remembered the incline, the burning sting in her thigh, and then she could not remember anything until this moment. She recognized plastic electrical ties binding her hands and feet, understanding now why her hands could not move separately. Items in the room began to take on clear shapes and forms as she became more conscious.

  The walls of the room were purple with bright yellow trim around the windows and doors. These were same colors as HER bedroom at home. “AT HOME!” she thought. “How could I be in my bedroom at home?” Yet, there was the picture of Willie, her gray-haired sheep dog, sitting on her off-white dressing table. “What the hell?” she thought, as she recognized her lacrosse stick leaning in the corner of the room next to the closet door, with its red stain from the paint gun she accidently fired one night when checking the gun’s CO2 cartridge. “How could this be? Why would mom and dad tie me up in my own house? Am I freakin’ dreaming?” she thought, as she heard someone move, immediately aware that she was not the only person in her room.

  “I hope you will enjoy your room,” he said as he stood at the head of the bed just out of Marty’s peripheral vision. “I have spent time and energy creating an atmosphere for you to help with your adjustment to your new family. I want you to feel totally welcome here with us. After all, we all deserve to feel safe and secure in our own home.”

  Marty wanted to look around and see who was talking to her, but she was too afraid to move. Her common sense told her to remain motionless and quiet. Lying absolutely still on the bed, Marty listened as the man continued to speak.

  “I visited you in your bedroom a few times over the last few weeks and took some pictures. I made sure I recreated your room down to the very last detail. You will even find I have bought the correct sizes for your bras and panties, jeans, sweat shirts and sneakers. One night, I stood over you watching you sleep for a very long time. You looked so peaceful wrapped up in your comforter with one bare foot hanging off the end of the bed. I noticed you painted your toenails as well as your fingernails. You will find your red polish on the dressing table. You snored just a little bit. I remember smiling and thinking how wonderful it would be listening to you snore in your new home here with us. I almost changed my mind about adopting you that night. You looked so peaceful and serene, but I knew they would discard you eventually. I knew it was only a matter of time before you would be alone, depressed and wondering what it was you had done to be abandoned and thrown away like leftovers after supper. I don’t know how but, I just know when a child is going to need me. It is something that happens. I can’t control it, nor do I want to con
trol it. This is the gift I have been endowed with by whatever higher power exists in the world these days. I am the rescuer. I am the consummate parent and guardian. Marty, I have adopted you as my own because I do not want you to suffer the humiliation and degradation you would feel from those people who pretend to be your parents. You need to know and believe that I will ALWAYS be here for you. You are safe now. Here, you never have to fear being alone again. You are part of MY family.”

  Marty still did not move. She did not look up. But, she knew that he was waiting for some sort of response. Perhaps it was divine intervention, perhaps it was just plain old fashioned luck, but as she was about to speak, a buzzer sounded in an adjacent room. Her abductor’s retreat was immediate, leaving the room without saying anything through the door behind the bed. She heard a bolt slide into place, locking it as he left the room.

  Marty knew this was not a dream. She would not wake up from this nightmare. She would live in it. She was not a naïve person, she knew this was a life or death situation. A person does not break into your house, take pictures of a bedroom, reconstruct that exact room in detail, and abduct you, without being a seriously mentally disconnected and dangerous man. His words were spoken softly, but his tone suggested that if she were to make him angry, he would be capable of doing great harm. She felt the coldness in his words, a coldness permeating his mind and his soul. But, something sincere in his words about becoming part of HIS family suggested, that perhaps, if she played along with his agenda, she might find a way to escape.

  “How long have I been here?” she asked herself. The shade on the window was drawn, not allowing any light into the room. It could be the middle of the afternoon or the middle of the night. Marty had no way of knowing.

  “I wonder if my mom and dad know I am missing?” was the next thought to cross her mind as she continued to look around at the room she knew so well. He did, in fact, replicate her room right down to the rainbow-colored, elastic, hair-ties in a green, turtle dish on her dressing table. “What was it he said about being thrown away? Why does he think I need to be rescued from my parents? Why does he want me? Who are the “us” he mentioned?” All questions she asked while she waited for his return.

  17

  Molly Harrington moved the large UPS box away from the front door of her art store so she could unlock it and open up after closing an hour for lunch. “They must have delivered this package just after I left.” She thought. “Excellent. These are the tie-dyed skirts I ordered.”

  Molly had opened “Molly’s ARTS and THINGS” five years earlier, and the store had earned itself a great reputation within the local and surrounding communities. Molly originally started the store to supply local artists and crafts-people with materials they needed for their specific genre of art. As a painter, you could find anything you needed for oils, water base or acrylic supplies. Molly loved bead work and therefore added displays devoted to beads purchased from all over the world. If you weaved baskets, there was a section specific to all of those articles. Stained-glass supplies glittered in the early afternoon light as Molly put her back pack on top of the counter by the register. In addition to art supplies, Molly displayed her photographic works which sold out almost as quickly as she could develop a new batch. Molly graduated from The New England School of Photography in Boston seven years earlier where she met her partner, and father of their two children, Travis. Together, Molly and Travis ran the store and raised their two children Caroline and Zeak.

  Although Molly’s prices were a little higher than the larger art and craft stores found in the shopping malls, people still flocked to ARTS and THINGS because Molly was the consummate artist and loved everything and everyone involved in the art world. She was soft spoken, wore very little makeup and dressed pretty much like the 1970’s hippies you used to see at the Newport Jazz Festival or on the six o’clock news running from the police after protesting the Viet Nam conflict. One of Molly’s goals, was to own a vintage, VW bus with large, colorful flowers painted all over the outside – re-creating an era long lost to social changes.

  Clothing of all colors hung in racks at the rear of the store. The tie-dye skirts UPS just delivered would be a nice addition. As Molly held one of the skirts up to inspect it and enjoy the brightly, colored pattern, she heard the door to the store open and close behind her. Thinking it was Travis stopping by with the kids, Molly turned with a ballerina swirl, arms reaching toward the ceiling, on her tip toes, ready to give Caroline and Zeak a big smile and a warm, good afternoon hug.

  “Oh!” she said with a startle in her voice. “I thought you were my partner Travis and our children. I didn’t mean…”

  “That’s all right.” he said, interrupting her as she stood flat-footed on the floor, a little red faced and embarrassed. Molly noticed right away that the man’s voice and words were coldly flat. He was not the usual customer who came in effervescing and bright. Instead, there was an aura of soul-chilling dread making her turn her eyes away from his and look down at the old hardwood, pine floor. “I am looking for a very specific item for one of my children, and I am hoping that you will be able to help me find it. It is a replica of the three monkeys sitting together in line with their hands over their ears, eyes and mouth representing hearing, seeing and speaking no evil. Would you happen to have something like this, or perhaps, know where I could purchase one?”

  “I’m sorry, we don’t sell anything like that here, but, let me jump on-line and see what I can find for you. It will just take me a second to boot up because I’ve just arrived myself.”

  Molly was thankful to turn away from this man and open up her lap top. The distraction took her mind off of the unsettled feeling he was creating in her spirit. She typed in the information and was able to locate a gift shop within a half hour of her store which sold the item the man was looking for. During the four or five minutes it took Molly to locate the item, she realized the man did not move, but stood staring at her as her fingers moved over the keyboard. He never shifted his weight, looked at any other items in the store or looked out the window as people walked by. He just stood completely motionless and stared.

  Realizing his grey eyes were extremely focused and boring into her psyche, Molly hurriedly wrote the name and address of the store on a piece of paper, saying, “I’ve found a store in Worcester that sells an item like the one you are looking for. It retails for twenty-four dollars without the six percent sales tax. It says they have them in stock. I have jotted down the phone number and address for you so that you can call in advance. I hope this will be helpful for you,” she said as she hesitatingly held the paper out for him to take from her hand. The thought of him touching her sent a nauseous chill through her body.

  “Thank you for taking the time to look this up for me. I do very much appreciate your help,” he said as he purposely brushed Molly’s fingers, taking the paper in his own.

  Molly tried not to show how uncomfortable she was in his presence. But, as he brushed his fingers against hers, he looked into her eyes, a small smile breaking the straightness of his lips, giving away the pleasure he was feeling at that instant. Molly pulled away instinctively backing up a couple of steps as the front door opened, Caroline and Zeak running into the store with Travis close on their heels.

  “Mommy! Mommy!” Caroline shouted running up to Molly and grabbing her around her leg. “Daddy bought us a chocolate covered doughnut! Look at Zeak. He has chocolate over his nose!”

  Before Molly could say anything else to the man, he vanished. It was as if he never stood there in the first place, as if he never walked out of the store, but just disappeared. Molly watched the front door for a few minutes feeling the darkness he left lingering in the air.

  18

  Driving back from Worcester, after purchasing the figurine of the three monkeys from the gift shop, he thought about his brief encounter with Molly. The feeling of absolute control welled up inside of his chest as he reme
mbered how Molly looked down at the floor refusing to look into his eyes, how she’d stepped back after he brushed her long, slender fingers, and the smell of her fear permeating the air between them. Yes, he took a chance looking to purchase the monkeys close to home. But, what of it! No one knew anything. All of his children were safely sheltered out at the pond. No one would bother them out there.

  Glancing at the three monkeys sitting on the passenger seat next to him, with their respective hands over ears, eyes and mouth, his mind was thrown back into the dark, cellar closet in his past. He fought mentally to maintain control over the steering wheel of the car, knowing that within the twisted torment of that closet he was powerless. There was no avoiding the memories. They would flood into his thoughts without warning, relentless, without remorse. There was no escaping the memory of the silence, of the solitude and loneliness. And the darkness.

  “No, Ma,” he said, cowering in the corner of the kitchen with his legs drawn up as close to his chest as he could physically pull them. “No, I’ll be good. I promise. I’ll be good. I won’t take a cookie again without asking! Please! I don’t want to go to the cellar. Not again! Please!”

  But she did not hear the words he was yelling at her - pleading to her with tears streaming down his eight-year-old face. She only knew he did not ask HER permission to take and eat the chocolate-chip cookie. She also knew he must be punished harshly for not asking. Rightly so, it wasn’t his cookie. It was HER cookie. She was the one who worked for it. She was the one who put food on the table every day since that rotten bastard of a husband took up and left her and the kid alone to fend for themselves. She never wanted to adopt him in the first place. She was forced to work as a house cleaner days and then work four nights a week as a kitchen helper washing dishes and cleaning up other people’s friggin garbage. All he did was whine and cry. Why they adopted this piss ant she could not remember. He was one large pain in her ass from day one, but, now, he was really pissing her off.