part0031

Blake reached under the side table and withdrew the three bucket candles and the long butane lighter. He spaced the candles along the ledge, lighting each as he placed them. Beyond the covered porch, the last bit of light drained from the sky.

The sunset had been a spectacular one. An orange and red backdrop broken up by well-defined clouds, rimmed by purple light. There was an awful serenity to it. The universe playing out a masquerade.

In Blake’s personal universe, there was no such calm. Since leaving Newport empty-handed, his desperation had spiraled into a feeling of impotence. He fully understood Christa and Gwyn’s guilt in wasting any single minute without doing something, anything, to further the cause. But action required information. Otherwise, it was simply going through the motions.

He thought of Haeli and how much he wished she were there. Not only because of the help she could offer, which would have been considerable, but also for moral support.

She had been right, in a way. He was too invested.

Blake had never met Lucy. But under the circumstances, he considered her family. Lucas was only a recent acquaintance, but his kindness and fragility had endeared him to Blake.

But above any personal connections, justice drove him. Justice for the girl who was killed. Justice for all of them.

Pacing alone on the front porch, he wondered how Christa and Gwyn were holding up. He pictured Christa driving around aimlessly, as she no doubt was, wallowing in her own despair. He imagined Gwyn pouring herself into her work to drown out the negative thoughts.

Surely they would both be home soon. And when they returned, he would tell them the truth about everything that had happened. It was time to bring them in. No shielding, no mincing of words.

He would do the same for Lucas’s aunt if she would answer the door. After trying several times, he finally gave up. But maybe it was better that way. What would he be able to tell her?

There was no real indication that Lucas had been taken. Just as there was no hard evidence that Lucy and Zoe were victims, themselves. Even if Blake believed it to be true. And he did, with conviction.

He could have called it a hunch, but it was more than that. It was a deduction. Drawing on everything he had ever experienced.

Still, it wouldn’t serve anyone to rule out other explanations, however implausible. Lucy wasn’t with Owen, but she still could have run away. It was possible that Lucas had gotten hurt or lost. He could have gotten off at the wrong ferry stop and was still wandering around Newport. He could have fallen in the water on one of his walks and drowned, for all he knew.

Blake knew little about Lucy’s movements and less than nothing about Zoe’s. But Lucas was a walking day-planner. Tracing his steps should have been easy.

The last place Lucas would normally have been was Sheffield Cove. Blake considered taking a walk to check. But doing so would be the same as Christa and Gwyn driving around in circles. Busy work.

Then again , he thought, what would it hurt?

His decision made, Blake left the porch, cleared the bushes, and cut through Lucas’s yard toward the side street.

As he started to walk, he noticed movement in the roadway, about fifty feet ahead. There was just enough light to make out a shape.

Blake paused and waited for the animal to saunter away. Some confrontations were better avoided.

In the short time he had been there, he had seen all kinds of critters. Skunks, opossum, fox, and even coyote. As soon as the sun went down, the place became Wild Kingdom.

As he continued, two more shapes came into view. Two teenage girls. They sat in the grass in front of a bungalow style house, just off the road. Two bicycles laid on their sides next to them.

Blake listed toward the center of the road to give the teenagers a wider berth. He didn’t want to frighten them.

As he passed, the girls were engaged in what seemed to be a jovial conversation. One of the two briefly turned towards Blake, then smiled and waved before turning back to her friend.

They really did have no fear.

Where Blake was from, a large man approaching two teenage girls in the dark would have sparked at least some apprehension on their part. But not here. Here was a utopia, where nothing bad ever happened.

Blake reached the end of the paved road and turned right. Ahead, racks of kayaks and rowboats on either side of the path marked the last stretch before the water.

It was there he heard the first scream.

Blake spun in a circle, trying to get a sense of where the sound was coming from. It was distant. And somewhere behind him.

He hurried to where the dirt road met the pavement.

The screams got louder. Their source became apparent.

One of the two young girls was running toward him, screaming at the top of her lungs. Behind her, the silhouette of a man was hoisting the petite frame of what Blake assumed was the other girl over his shoulder.

Blake sprinted past the first girl, mustering enough breath to say, “Don’t stop. Keep running.”

The man took off toward the north. His unruly cargo encumbering him just enough that Blake was able to begin closing the gap.

Blake called out, “Stop.” It was no surprise that his command was not obeyed.

Reaching the wooded lot at the corner, the man darted between the trees and disappeared.

Blake kept his eyes trained on the spot where the man entered the woods. He pushed his legs until he could no longer feel them. Until he seemed to be floating above the pavement.

He didn’t slow as he approached the wood line. He ran headlong into the brush. Branches scraped at his face, some snapping clean off, others bending and bouncing back behind him.

It was darker inside the quarter acre of forest. Much darker. At the far edge, the lights from homes across Narragansett Avenue shone through the gaps between trees. It served as the only source of orientation.

Blake stopped for a moment. He could hear footsteps. And then the panicked voice of a young girl.

“Help,” she said. “Somebody, please.”

The chilling words sent Blake barreling through the brush once again.

As he swerved to avoid smashing into the trunk of a tree, he nearly collided with flesh and bone. It was the young girl. And she was alone.

She swung, striking him in the shoulder. She swung again. Blake caught her wrist.

“It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you,” Blake said. “You’re safe.”

The girl dropped to her knees and began bawling.

“Where is he?” Blake said.

“He dropped me on the ground and kept going,” she blubbered.

Blake scanned the tree line. There, silhouetted by the faint light that outlined the edge of the woods, Blake could see the man emerging toward the street. He was running west, down the hill toward the marina.

“Go home,” Blake said. “Run.”

The girl began pushing through the woods. Blake did the same, in the opposite direction. He popped out onto the street and sprinted down the hill.

In the distance, the lights of the marina reflected off the faceted surface of the parking lot. Its white color provided contrast, allowing all other objects to stand out. Like watching a film negative, Blake could see his shadow streak across the landing.

He’s trapped. There’s nowhere for him to go.

Blake sprinted down the hill, all the while keeping sight of the dark figure.

The man darted to the left, leaving the illumination of the lot and breaking Blake’s visual contact.

Did he jump in the water?

Blake’s lungs burned. With every breath, his determination became stronger.

Feet away from where the man had disappeared, and a few seconds from finally getting his hands on him, he heard it. The sound of the motor, roaring to life.

Blake banked to the left toward the edge of the pier. His muscles tensed as he came to a stop just before careening over the side.

Ten feet away, the boat slid out of its slot in the line of outhauls. Fifteen feet. Twenty.

Blake thought about jumping. Maybe he could have made it if he hadn’t hesitated. But now it was too late.

As the boat turned to face the direction of the channel, Blake could almost make out the man’s profile. He was wider, heavier than the thin man he had seen in Newport.

He wore a white hat, but not a baseball cap. It was the hat of a naval officer.

Blake looked around to make sure he hadn’t mistaken the pilot of the boat for the man he had been chasing. There was no one else but him.

Blake pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed 911.

“Jamestown Police, what’s your emergency?” the operator said.

“I’m calling to report an attempted kidnapping,” Blake said.

“We’ve received the complaint. Officers are en route, sir.”

Blake spoke quickly, “The suspect is traveling west in a small boat from the West Ferry. You’ve got to get someone out there right now.”

“Where are you, sir?”

“I’m at the marina, the suspect fled a minute ago, there’s still time to intercept him.”

“Sit tight, sir. I’ll have an officer come and speak with you.”

He should have known. The protocols by which the dispatcher and police officers operated were too slow to be of any use to him. Short of commandeering a boat of his own, what he needed was the Coast Guard. If they could only stop the suspect before he left the bay, this would all be over.

He opened the recent call list. Hopkins had called him while they were in Newport. His number was first on the list.