Unseen. Part 3

"This is not the first time we have spoken," said the man in a digitally-effected voice.

It was unlike anything she had ever heard in movies or on television. The sound sent tremors of terror through her bones.

"I have told you before. You are not allowed to tape these broadcasts. You know what happens when you tape them."

Holly looked at Agent Grant with pleading eyes. "What happens when you tape them?"

Grant held her hand up. "It's okay. He's bluffing."

"Am I bluffing?" said the man on the screen.

Holly's eyes grew wide. "He can see us?!" Her hands shot toward the camera. "Shut it off! Shut it off!" She screeched.

An officer grabbed her by the arms and held her back.

"Shut it off! You're killing my son!"

Grant reached out and grabbed the camera. "All right!" she said, with an intensity Holly had not yet seen in her. "All right," she said again, with less emotion. "But you need to watch! You hear me? You need to remember. Without that camera, we only get one chance..."

"Yes," said the man on the screen, "remember."

Officers scrambled in the background, searching for the wire tap, but Holly kept her eyes rooted on the screen.

"I want you to remember," said the man in the porcelain mask, "remember who it was that saved your son's life."

Saved his life? What did that mean? Would he spare Gabe?

"I want you to see something, Holly."

Agent Grant leaned toward her. "Remember how he says your name. Watch how he walks. Study it all."

The man disappeared from view, and the camera wobbled.

"Watch and listen, Holly," said the agent, her voice almost a whisper.

An open door came into view, and just beyond was a bright room with primary colors. As the camera entered the room, terror gripped Holly's chest. In the corner Gabe was playing with action figures on the floor. Children's music played in the background.

"You see," said the man from behind the camera, "he is safe."

Holly screamed at the screen. "Gabe! Gabe!"

"He can't hear you, Holly."

"Please don't hurt him!"

"Do you see how happy he is?" A hand reached out and the door closed. "You know, I find it ironic that you are worried that I will hurt him."

Holly tried to wrap her brain around his words. Again he was implying that he would let her son live. Was her son different from the others?

The camera was returned to its original perch, and the man reappeared in the frame. "How could I possibly hurt him any more than you?" Even with the digital effect, she could hear the contempt in his voice. "What kind of life did you have planned for him, Holly? Oh, that's right, you don't have a plan. How many years will he suffer because you decided to bring him into the world? If I were to butcher him in cold blood, he would suffer less than what you have in store for him."

The words sliced at her heart like a hot knife. It was true. What kind of life was she giving him? What kind of mother was she? Gabe deserved more-but she needed him.

"Look at you, Holly. You can barely take care of yourself. What made you think you were fit to raise a child? What made you think you could be a good mother?"

Tears flooded her eyes. He was right. Everything he said was true. She had considered not having him-saving him from a life of poverty and shame. She knew what life she was bringing him into, but she chose to have him anyway.

"You had your chance to make the right choice. Now I'm going to do what you were unwilling to do, I'm going to make the choice for you."

What choice? She struggled again to unravel his riddles, but her brain was numb with panic.

"Fortunately," he said, "I will be more humane than you have been."

His words bored their way into her head like a worm, cutting through dead tissue until they found a nerve. He would do what she was unwilling to do? Kill her son! Holly lurched forward. "No! Please don't kill my son! I'll do anything you want, anything!"

But even as she said it, she realized-she had nothing to offer, and no one to turn to for help. She had burned every bridge and broken every promise she had ever made.

"Will you still be selfish? Even now? Look at yourself!" said the digitally warped voice. "Do you want me to tell the nice police officers what a fine upstanding mommy you are?"

"Please..." she whispered. "Don't." Tears poured down her nose and cheeks. He was right. Everything he said was true.

"Do you want me to tell them that you are only one hypodermic needle away from exiting this world and leaving your son alone in a filthy run down apartment, wondering when his mommy will return? How does a six-year-old recover from something like that? I'll tell you how. He doesn't!"

She quaked as his words resonated through her.

"Or better yet, maybe he'll grow up. Maybe he'll have the fun of hiding his dirty little secret from all the kids at school for fear they will discover that his mommy sells her body for drugs."

Holly's eyes pleaded with the officers in the room. "It's not true. I would never..." She could never do such a horrible thing. It would never get that bad. She would give him to the State before she ever let that happen.

"I'm not the criminal here. It's you who should be locked up for bringing this poor creature into the world. He didn't ask for this life. What did he do to deserve this life of pain?"

"Please, just let my son live. I'll find a home for him-a better home."

"Do you know how they put down sick animals?"

The imagery was more than Holly could bear. She wanted to retreat, but where could she hide? She felt the agent's hand on hers and looked up. Agent Grant's face seemed like the face of an angel in the refracting light of her tears. "I know this hurts, but you must be strong-for Gabe. Try to remember every detail."

"They stick them with a needle, and the animal drifts off to sleep. One pin p.r.i.c.k and their suffering is over. What is the greater evil? One pin p.r.i.c.k, or years of horrible suffering?"

Holly could not respond.

"I promise you, your son will not suffer. He won't even feel the p.r.i.c.k of a needle. He will simply go to sleep and never wake up."

She grabbed her ears. "Noooooo! I can't listen anymore. I can't!"

The figure stood silently staring, as if he could see Holly rocking back and forth-her eyes squeezed shut-her hands clutching her ears. He waited for her. He watched her like a lion watching its prey, waiting for the moment when it is most vulnerable.

Holly gasped for breath and slowly lifted her eyes to the screen.

"You don't have to be strong, Holly. I'll be strong for you." He leaned forward and the screen went black.

"Nooooo! My BABY!" she lunged toward the screen, but was stopped by a muscular officer. "My baby! He can't kill my baby!"

Agent Grant grabbed her firmly by the wrists and stared into her eyes. "Listen to me!" She shook hard. "Listen! He won't. You can stop him! You can do this, Holly. You're strong enough. You won't let him kill your baby, and we will help you. Do you understand me?"

Her body went slack and her voice s.h.i.+vered. "He's going to kill him. He's going to kill my son." Her eyes froze into a dead stare.

"No. He isn't. You're going to stop him. You're going to help us nail this guy."

Chapter 6.

Jake climbed the steep narrow stairs to the door of his friend Dan's apartment. It never smelled good in the small apartment house, but today a new odor offended Jake's nostrils. It smelled like a stack of diapers in the middle of a redemption center. Jake pounded on the door marked by a gold 3 that was hanging upside down on one screw. He listened.

"It's open," came Dan's voice, distant and m.u.f.fled.

Jake removed a plastic bag hanging from the handle and opened the door. Dan's collection of empty diet soda bottles lined the left side of the even steeper stairs that led up to his living room. They were not the source of the redemption center smell from the hallway, however. Dan was a strange mix of clutter bug and neat freak. He was too lazy to return the bottles, yet his obsessive compulsive disorder forced him to rinse them thoroughly and place them back into their cardboard containers.

Dan kept everything clean, even the piles of clutter that seemed to encircle every room in his apartment. He was the only person Jake had ever known who kept ordered piles of clean junk lying around on the floor. But for Dan it wasn't junk, they were milestones-shrines to past television, movie, or music conquests. To Dan-it was all treasure.

Jake crested the top of the stairs and saw Dan in the middle of his living room, bathed in the light bouncing off the wall he used to project his computer screen on. He could afford a projector screen, but he liked having one wall covered with images from his desktop, while the other walls were covered in posters.

Jake saw that he had caught him in the middle of his morning routine; he was still wearing his workout clothes, and the bar on the weight bench still had weights on it.

For the two years he had known him, it always struck Jake as odd to see Dan in his natural habitat. He was a decent looking guy, dark hair, dark complexion, muscular. He would have no trouble finding a girl, if he was interested in pursuing such a thing. Instead he was like a child who never grew up. He lived in a dumpy apartment house and every penny he made was spent on creating the most sophisticated media system on the eastern seaboard. When he wasn't working at the Sunbury Savings and Loan, he could be found in his living room surrounded by the things he loved: television, movies, music, and his weight bench.

"Here," said Jake, tossing the bag at Dan.

Dan peeked in, and an evil grin lit his face. "Oh, yeah, just in time for lunch!"

Jake plopped down in a chair next to Dan's desk. "What is it?"

Dan reached in and pulled out a post card with a picture on it. "You'll love this," he said, handing the card to Jake.

It was a photo of a fat pasty-white man with a hairlip. The inscription said, w.i.l.l.y Packard, Guitar Wizard, and there was a signature.

Jake handed the photo back, "I don't get it."

Dan laughed. "This guy's been hanging bags of bread on my door for over a week now, and leaving his calling card."

"He leaves bread on your door? Who does that?"

"w.i.l.l.y Packard, Guitar Wizard." Dan let out a full belly laugh and slid the bread out onto his desk. It had a homemade look to it, but was packaged in a plastic bag, complete with bread tie.

"Does this guy have a crush on you or something?"

Dan laughed again. "I don't even know the guy."

"Then why is he leaving bread on your door?"

"I don't know! I think he thinks I'm someone else-probably some girl he met at a club or something."

"Well, why don't you leave him a note? Let him know he has the wrong apartment?"

Dan's face went blank.

"Dan? h.e.l.lo?"

He shrugged. "It's good bread."

It was Jake's turn to laugh. "Dan... There's something seriously wrong with you."

Maintaining the same blank yet slightly comical expression, Dan ripped off a piece and held it out. "You want some?"

Jake pushed it away. "I don't want any of your ill-gotten bread."

Dan got up and went to the kitchen. "It's good bread," he said again, as if repeating it would make it less wrong.

"Yes, and I'm sure w.i.l.l.y baked it lovingly with his own two hands."

Dan appeared with a plate, some b.u.t.ter, and a knife. "He ain't much to look at, but he'll make some girl very happy some day."

"Not if you keep stealing her bread. The love of his life is probably eating some old stale bagel right now, while you devour w.i.l.l.y's freshly baked bundle of love."

"Yeah, but you're forgetting something. He's a guitar wizard. He can get any girl he wants."

Jake wanted to laugh, but he couldn't help thinking this w.i.l.l.y guy was probably head-over-heels in love with a girl who probably wouldn't give him the time of day. And to add insult to injury, some stranger was eating the bread meant for her. He was probably slow mentally and had enough struggles in life without someone making fun of him, and stealing his bread.

"Your mom would be proud seeing you make fun of the mentally handicapped."

"Really? That's the angle you want to take? You don't know he's mentally handicapped. He might actually be a guitar wizard-with a gift for baking."

"It's on you, man."

"All right, all right!" he said, raising his hands in the air. "I surrender to the moral police. But..." He bent over and coddled the loaf. "I'm keeping this one."

Jake shook his head in feigned disgust.

"So, what brings you here to oppress me with your holiness this lovely Monday morning?" he said, releasing the bread and turning his attention back to the computer screen. "I thought you had a ton of sales calls to make today."

"I would have, if Bob hadn't let me go."

Dan sat up straight in his office chair. "Oh, man. Really?"