Hasty Resolution Page 4

  The officer gestures the farmer to step on the other side of the yellow tape as he escorts him to his truck. The farmer looks around the fields and nods his head as he listens to the officer. The farmer returns to his cab and drives away. All the workers and equipment quickly divert to another part of the field, away from us.

  "Excuse me, officer. Is there anything more you can tell me?" I ask.

  "We are treating this as a missing person case, based on what was discovered on the roadside today and from what you are telling us. We hope it doesn't result in a case of homicide. The next forty-eight hours will be crucial in finding your wife. This will be different from trying to locate a child. Your wife is an adult who can go anywhere at any time on her own. I will be quite upfront with you, Mr. Parker. You must come forward and be honest with all information about your wife. Do you understand? This is very critical. Police resources are limited. Now, we need to know more about Elizabeth. Would you like to meet with the detective at your house or at the police station?"

  "Can we meet at the police station? I'm not quite ready to tell the kids about their mother’s disappearance.”

  The officers honor my request. I solemnly follow them to the police car. I send a text to Liz's parents to let them know where I am going and add in what I am doing. I can't bring myself to talk to them in person. I utilize texting to avoid hard conversations. This is one of those times.

  It takes over three hours with the detectives to divulge everything I have known about Liz over the past twenty years.

  A police car returns me home. Family runs out to greet me: my family, her family, and our three kids. I cannot hold back my tears. The past three hours at the police station were agonizing. A part of me hopes someone has already informed the kids about Liz’s situation. To my dismay, no one took on that daunting task in my behalf.

  "Let's get some lunch and go to the park," I tell the kids. "I need to explain what is going on.”

  I turn to Liz's parents. "Can you stay here to answer the landline in case anyone calls? In addition, some officers will be coming by the house to scour the place for information. Someone needs to be here for that too, and I really don't what to be that someone. I also don’t want the kids to be at the house when the police arrive."

  "Of course," they assure me.

  I turn to my parents, who have also gathered at the house while I was with the police. "Come to the park with us. This will be my only chance to get away from the house for a while. Plus, I think I may need an alibi.” Panic flushes upon my mother's face.

  The kids know something is wrong. They know it has to do with Liz; they just don't know to what extent. All three children are old enough that I cannot make up a story and pretend nothing happened. They rely on Liz. I tell them everything I know once we arrive at the park. All three want to return immediately to the house no matter how hard I try to keep them detained at the park.

  Two police officers are standing at the end of the driveway when we arrive at the house. I motion for the kids to go inside where family awaits. I talk to the police officers alone; the kids don’t need to hear everything.

  "Mr. Parker, your facts are correct. All of your wife’s belongings are still in place. No indications show she took off on her own. A search is being conducted in a ten-mile radius as we speak.”

  They update me in detail on the status of their progress.

  "Thank you, officers."

  Liz's parents meet me on the front porch, waiting to speak privately.

  "Did you tell the police what happened with Liz five years ago?" my father-in-law inquires.

  "Yes, I did. That's why I am not publicly asking volunteers to help look for her. Moreover, I'm not demanding too much from the police. I don’t want to waste their time.”

  My father-in-law nods, approving of my choice.

  My mother-in-law adds, "Neighbors have already come by the house to ask what is going on and how they can help. Police officers have already knocked on their doors, brought dogs through their yards, searched their large garbage cans, and questioned them. What do we tell them?" she asks, eyes laden with concern.

  "Not much to tell. Liz is not here. We don't know what happened.” I rub my eyes simultaneously.

  "The police think because of Liz's job, service in the community, and close knit family ties that media coverage will become inevitable unless we decide to keep this a private family matter. I’m not sure what is best for the kids. I think they need to be the main concern at this time. Liz, well...I wish I knew," I tell them both.

  I step hesitantly through the threshold of the doorway, only to find more family, friends, and neighbors gathered in the house, waiting to console the children and me.

  Chapter 4: Jake

  Elizabeth. Her name is Elizabeth. She goes by Liz, based on news reports online. She is a mother and a schoolteacher. People are scouring the fields, searching for her body.

  I work nonstop, unloading the truck and separating the produce. There are six piles of produce laid out in front of the main cabin: one for me, one for my friend, and four others for the neighbors surrounding the perimeter of my property. This year, I am rethinking my pile because of Liz. I don't know how long she will be staying. I definitely do not intend to starve her.

  I usually store my crates in Grandpap's old cabin, but Liz is temporarily detained in there, so instead, I stack them on a flatbed trailer for the time being. The four remaining piles are for my neighbors, which are used as peace offerings. My grandpap always made sure he divvied the produce to every neighbor in the nearby vicinity each year, claiming they would return the favor when you least expect it, so I continue with the tradition.

  I call the neighbors to come pick up their produce. I worry they will wake Liz, so I crush three more potent capsules of my sleeping medicine for her to consume before their arrival. I help neighbors load their vehicles, never taking an eye off the old cabin. I do not encourage them to stay longer than needed. The process goes faster than it has in years past, partly due to me rushing them.

  "We'll bring over part of our autumn hunt," one neighbor says.

  I call out, "I wouldn't expect anything less." I wave as they make their way back up the main road.

  I am relieved when they all leave. I walk to Grandpap’s cabin to check on Liz. I clean her face, brush her hair, fluff her pillow, and arrange her body on the blanket. I look at the rusty chain and pull on the three-inch bolt that keeps it secured to the post. I feel like a monster, chaining her like this.

  I tell her, "I'm doing this for your safety. Things will be different soon.”

  She is too incoherent to hear my words. I kiss her forehead and leave her to rest. I bolt the cabin door securely from the outside.

  I drive away from my property faster than I ever have before to deliver the produce to my friend, Doug, in Calgary. This time I do not care if anything is mangled or damaged. I do not want to be away too long from Liz.

  I pull into the medical office complex and recognize my friend's truck in the parking lot. I hurry and load the truck myself, not bothering to ask for help as I usually do. I have an urgent need bubbling inside to return to the cabin as quickly as possible. I go to start my truck. It hits me that if I don't go into the office to say hello, it would be too suspicious on my part. I have to keep the status quo.

  The girls who operate the front desk of Doug’s medical practice greet me with friendly smiles while I keep my pace walking through the access door without their permission or invitation as they require of the other visitors in the office.

  One of the girls turns to her cohort and says, "Sometimes, that guy is like the sweet high school quarterback you dream about spending the rest of your life growing old with and then other times he is a complete dick."

  I turn around on my heel, lean into their second hallway window opening, and tell them, "I heard that!”

  The two girls blush in embarrassment.

  I walk into my friend's office as he picks up the recei
ver on his desk phone.

  "Uh-huh. I will talk to him." Doug sets down the receiver and rolls his eyes.

  "Jake, you made the girls in my office cry again. Don't do that! You know they get all googley-eyed over you, so don't put them in tears. Other than that, how's it going? You look like shit. When did you last sleep?”

  I plop myself down in the leather chair in front of his desk.

  “Hi, nice to see you too!” I say dryly. "I'm not here for a check-up, doc. I just came to say hello before I went home.”

  Doug continues filling out forms on his desk as I talk to him.

  "Your truck is loaded," I add.

  Doug looks up from his paperwork. "I could have helped you! You know I appreciate it, but you're working too hard. I can tell. You look like shit.”

  “You mentioned that already.” I take in a breath. "I think things will turn around here soon."

  "Yeah? In what way?" Doug probes.

  "I don't know. Just have a feeling," I say, exasperated.

  "Do you want to grab some lunch? I'll always move my schedule around for you.”

  “Nah, I really want to get back." I rub the back of my neck.

  "Get back to get some sleep, right?" Doug states, since he is my personal physician.

  I throw my hands up in the air. "Sure, why not."

  "Seriously, when was the last time you slept for at least six to eight hours?"

  I scrunch my face. "Maybe last Wednesday; I can't remember."

  "Last Wednesday? Jake, today is Monday! Do you have enough sleep medication? Are you using it regularly?" he asks.

  "Oh, I definitely have plenty of sleeping pills. I'm using them, but not in a regular sort of way," I imply. Actually, I’ve been giving them to Liz, for her benefit.

  Doug slams his fist on the desk. "Damn it, Jake! Take my help when I give it. You know I'll do anything for you. Regular sleep is the best thing. It is for me. I know it is for you too."

  "I will go straight home and sleep. You are right. I can't think of anything else better I need to do right now." I raise my hands as if to surrender to his order.

  Doug walks around his desk to me to pull me in for a hug. "I love you, man!"

  We slap each other on the back while hugging.

  "Go rest and call me if you need anything."

  I walk to the door and then turn back to Doug, "There is something."

  "What? Anything!” Doug looks from the paperwork he resumed.

  "Does your wife have any extra clothes I can use?" I ask hesitantly.

  Doug's mouth drops to the ground. "You're kidding! Right?"

  "No, seriously; does she have any extra clothes, now that she is pregnant, that she is not using?”

  "Please tell me you are doing some charity drive because my wife's clothes will definitely not fit your broad shoulders." Doug shakes his head, completely confused.

  "Not a charity drive, you moron, and I am not dressing in drag. I'm just thinking what if, by chance, I get...someone up to..."

  "Wait. Right. There. A girlfriend? You are ill, man. I'm checking you into the hospital. You are clearly delirious! You never jump on any opportunity to be with any chick, ever. We set you up and you stand them up...over and over again...year after year. We have given up on you, man!"

  "I don't have a girlfriend, not now anyway. I'm just thinking what if I decide in the near future to have a girl over, she stays, and she needs a change of clothes. I want to have something at the cabin just in case she might need something. I don't know how to shop for that kind of stuff." I shrug my shoulders.

  "Hold on. When what? When she accidentally falls over your fishing boat? Gets elk blood on her sleeve as you are gutting one? Dude, girls don't like that kind of stuff. They like dinners, romance, and movies…things found in civilization."

  "I'm just saying, what if? I just want to be ... I don't know... prepared."

  "Oh, we're playing boy scout now," Doug says sardonically.

  "Hey, you asked."

  "True, I was the one to ask. I'll have Jennifer put a box together. She gets that sort of thing."

  "Thanks, man!" I say as I close the door to his office.

  I smile kindly to Doug's nurses and office staff as I exit. I am ecstatic to make my way home to the cabin for the first time in many years.

  Chapter 5: Liz

  I come in and out of sleep. My mouth is dry. My body is beyond stiff. There is very little light; mostly muggy darkness. My head is pounding. My entire body feels beaten and tender. I don't remember being knocked around. I try to sit up. I moan in agony. My eyes come into focus. I am lying on a thick wool blanket with a pillow. I don’t know what day of the week it is. I try to lift my arm to rub my neck, but a chain inhibits me. I yank on the heavy chain wrapped around a weight-bearing pole in the middle of a dusty shack. My eyes begin to fill with tears as I tug harder and harder. The chain is wrapped repeatedly and feels like it weighs at least twenty-five pounds. I can lift it, but not with ease. Tears stream down my cheeks as I realize the gravity of my situation.

  I try to stand, only to feel dizzy. Wearing one shoe, I hold myself with the pole, on which the rusted chain is wrapped. I am alone in an old weathered cabin in a large rectangular room with a cobwebbed window.

  Remnants of kitchen shelving remain. A filthy corroded toilet is in a corner next to a rusty sink that is hanging onto the wall by the means of a lowly pipe. I'm curious if the toilet flushes or if water, clean water, runs from the faucet.

  I want to walk around and explore my surroundings, but hesitate as I examine the multitude of rough splinters sticking out from the floorboards. I breathe in defeat and retreat to sitting with my legs crisscrossed instead of lugging a monstrous chain to curb my sense of curiosity.

  I sit propped against the weight-bearing pole and cry. Floods of tears run down my cheeks and snot drips like a faucet from my nose. I was deceived, big time. I cannot believe I allowed this to happen. I've watched abduction scenarios on the news, read reports, but I was never going to be one of those girls. Now I am one of those girls, one of those girls lured into a car by a serial killer, rapist, or a crazy lunatic that does not fit into society. Those girls are runaways, prostitutes, loners, or extremely young and can be easily manipulated; not me.

  I’m not just a girl; I’m a woman. I am the mother who lectures my sons about staying away from creepy men. I take my daughter to Tai Kwon Do classes so she is able to protect herself when I am not around for her. You never want your child to be abducted and chained up in a rustic cabin as I am now. I teach stranger resiliency skills to all the students who are in my classes so they won't be abducted. This should not have happened to me!

  I wipe the watery mess on my face and notice a shadowy figure outside the cabin window. I want to yell, scream, and throw my one shoe at the window. I sniffle as the figure disappears as quickly as it emerged.

  The longer I sit, the greater the urge is to pee. I weigh my options of getting a urinary tract infection, to contracting an unidentifiable disease from that thing situated in the corner that loosely resembles a toilet, or sitting in my own urine for an unpredictable amount of time. I choose the gross imitation of a toilet. I stand and pull my chain along my side. This is the hardest trek to the toilet I have made thus far in my life. I fear what may come erupting out of the pipes if I try to flush the handle, so I leave it untouched.

  I return to the blanket. This is when I notice bruises up and down my arms and legs. I roll my T-shirt to find more on my stomach and around my hips and as far as I can see on my backside. I am as sore as if given a communal stoning and I have the marks to show for something, but what? I bruise easily, so purple, yellowing, blackish marks do not surprise me. However, the amount on my body is alarming. I sit in silence, chained like an animal in an eerie cabin, waiting for a sound, any sound.

  The muggy cabin naturally warms with the summer daylight as a million questions formulate in my head. I want to run, but I cannot. I suddenly have a strange feeling
that urges me to stay put, to stay silent, to listen, be smart about this situation, and act when it is time to act.

  Amid the silence, the door to the cabin squeaks opens slowly. A man cautiously takes a step through the doorway, carrying two large pouches. He holds one in his right hand, in the air, and says to me, "Food.” He places it on a hook by the door. He places a second satchel on the same hook and says, "Water."

  The man steps over my chain to make his way to the toilet. He yanks down the handle. "This flushes to a septic tank.”

  He shuts the cabin door behind him. The bolt clicks. I hear footsteps leading him away from the cabin. The man didn't give me the opportunity to utter a single word. I wanted to say, "Hey you're the guy from the field! Why am I here? What's going on? What do you want with me?”

  Now I know who brought me here. I can scratch that question off the mental list I keep adding in my mind. I'm pretty sure he is the one who chained me, based on his size and physique. Broad shoulders, bulky biceps, large hands dangling as he walked past in his flannel shirt, denim, and outdoorsman boots. Yet, I noticed the doorjamb wasn't particularly high and he had plenty of clearance as he walked out. I also don't remember his stance overpowering me like a giant when I was standing next to his truck, talking to him in the field.

  He was so nice to me that day. I talked to him so I wouldn’t appear vulnerable. I wish his truck had a state license plate so I could have some clue of where I am. I start recalling details in my mind, hoping to make a connection. This stranger was not a man of many words. I can't remember telling him my name; did he tell me his? I don't recall our conversation in detail. This all seems like a cowardly act with no reasonable decision. More like a failure of nerve. I have too much time on my hands. I stay put. The bondage brings me feelings of extreme anxiety.