Reagan
I woke up with my stomach twisting again at around three in the morning. Throwing off the blankets, I whined, “Not again.” As I ran to the bathroom, I vowed never to drink on an empty stomach for the rest of my life.
My stomach was empty, but the spasms just kept on coming as I crouched in front of the toilet dry heaving. Knowing nothing else would come up, I decided drinking some water might help. Throwing up something was better than throwing up nothing.
I’d thrown on a pair of jersey shorts and a tank top to sleep in and trod out of my room in bare feet. Just as I opened my door, I heard a strange noise coming from Skye’s room. Pushing open his door, I felt the cold wind blowing across my skin. His blue curtains fluttered in the breeze.
Not fully understanding why he’d gotten up and opened his window, I looked at the bed. My knees went weak. “Skye?” I looked around the dark room, lit only by his nightlight. A pink glow near the head of his bed showed me the empty space where he should have been. “Skye!”
Running to the window, I found it wasn’t only open, but the screen was gone too. Leaning out of it, I saw the screen lying on the ground. The sound of tires squealing drew my attention. A black car sped out of the parking area, and I knew my son had to be in that car.
In a flash, I climbed out the window screaming and ran as fast as I could to catch the car before it got away. “Stop! Skye! Someone help me! Please!”
I couldn’t see the license plate, and before I knew it, I couldn’t even see the taillights anymore as I ran down the desolate street. Stopping, I looked around and found no one I could flag down to chase the vehicle.
I had to go back inside and get my phone. Running as fast as I could, I climbed back in through Skye’s window, and then ran to get my cell out of my bedroom. Calling 911, I tried not to panic. “911, what’s your emergency?”
“This is Dr. Reagan Storey. I live in the Orchard Apartments two blocks from the hospital. My son’s been kidnapped. A black car, four-door, I think, drove off with him. I couldn’t see the license plate but it went north on First Avenue. I need help right now!” Panting, I felt like I might pass out and sat on the bed, putting my head between my legs.
“Have you given your home a thorough search, Doctor?” she asked me.
I hadn’t done that, so I got up to look everywhere. “I’m checking it out now. But listen to me—the screen on my five-year-old son’s window was off. His window was unlocked and opened. I saw the car taking off just as I leaned out the window. I will check the house, but please send police to look for that car and someone to come here too, to get prints and stuff.”
“I’ve got officers on the way.” I heard her typing and then giving directions. “Anyone in the First Avenue area, I need you to be on the lookout for a black four-door.” She asked me, “Is it a sedan or an SUV?”
“It’s a car—a sedan,” I answered as I went from room to room, finding no sign of my son. “Hurry, please.”
A knock came to my door, and I ran to answer it as the dispatcher told me, “Officers have arrived at your home. Please let them in.”
Throwing the door open, I cried, “Help me, please. My son’s been kidnapped!” And then I promptly burst into tears, sobbing uncontrollably.
The two officers came in, immediately trying to calm me down—an impossible task. One took me by the arm, leading me to take a seat on the sofa. He took the cell phone out of my hand. “Thanks, we’ll take it from here,” he told the dispatcher.
“I need to call his father,” I gasped out somehow. “I need him here with me.” I held out my hand for my phone.
“Hold on a minute,” one of the officers said. “Can you get us a picture of the missing child? We need to get this information out right away.”
Knowing I couldn’t do a thing to help find my son if I kept crying, I shook my head to clear it, then focused on what I needed to do. “Yes.” I got up and ran to my room to get the pictures out of the top of my closet where I’d stashed them. Taking the latest one, I ran to give it to them. “Here. His name is Skye Allen Storey. He’s five. What else do you need to know about him, other than someone in a black car took him?” I wiped my eyes with the backs of my hands to clear what remained of the tears I’d managed to get under control.
“How do you know for sure he was kidnapped?” one of the men asked me. “I mean, was the boy angry with you? Did he have a reason to run away? And you said you need to call his father. Is it possible he called his father because he was mad at you and his father came to pick him up without informing you?”
“No.” I shook my head as I held my hand out, needing my phone. “I’ll call him, and he’ll tell you everything. I just need him here with me, and I need you to find my son.”
Finally, the one holding my phone gave it back to me. “Get the father over here as fast as you can. Most times it’s the other parent who’s taken the child.”
“Not this time. Just find that black car.” I finally got my fingers to work and called Arrie.
“Reagan?” a groggy voice answered. “Everything okay? It’s like three in the morning.”
“Get over here, Arrie. Someone’s taken Skye.” I ended the call before he could ask anything else. “He’s coming.”
“Can you show me to his room now?” one of them asked while the other searched the rest of the apartment.
I led the man to Skye’s room, then pointed at the window. “See, I told you. That window stays locked, so you need to see how it got unlocked. I would look from the outside, as I know my son wouldn’t unlock it for anyone.”
Shaking his head, he acted like he didn’t believe me. “You’d be surprised what kids will do. I’ve seen all kinds of things. Has your son ever sleepwalked?”
“No.” I finally noticed my skimpy attire and went to put on a robe and some house shoes. When I came back, I saw the cop fiddling with the locking mechanism. “Hey, you don’t even have gloves on.”
He looked like a deer in the headlights. “Well, I don’t need them to see how this lock works.”
“Well, there might be fingerprints on that lock.” I couldn’t wait for Arrie to come. He’d make sure these morons didn’t mess anything up. “I want you two to wait for my son’s father to get here before you do any more investigating.”
Looking sheepish, he ducked his head then went out to his patrol car, stopping only long enough to get his partner to go with him. I heard him whispering about me being an amateur sleuth that would get them into trouble if they gave me any reason to.
And the man was right.
Standing at the door, not even feeling the cold as the wind blew past me, I waited and watched for Arrie’s car to pull in. And in a few minutes, he did. Bolting out the door, I ran to him as fast as I could, needing the strength I knew his presence would give me.
Arrie caught me as he jumped out of the car, which he’d parked sideways behind the police car. “Reagan, what happened?”
I started crying as he held me. I couldn’t help it. My entire body shook; my head felt as if it would burst. “Someone took him, Arrie. Right out his bedroom window. Someone—”
Holding me tight, Arrie didn’t wait for me to say anything more as he shouted to the cops who sat in their car. “Hey, get out here.”
Looking like a couple of bumbling idiots, they came up to us. “Sir, what’s your name?”
“Dr. Arslan Dawson. Look, I saw a man sitting out here in a black, four-door Ford Taurus at fifteen minutes after midnight tonight.” Arrie looked one of the men dead in the eyes. “Listen closely; perhaps record this or write it down. This is your man, guys.” Arrie looked at me. “Tell them the name of the man who had an eight-year-old daughter—a patient of yours— that passed away waiting for a heart.”
“John Haney.” I couldn’t breathe. “Shit. He called me the other day. He was upset about Thanksgiving and his daughter not being there. I hung up on him—he shouted for me to wait, but I didn’t. I hung up. He wanted to talk, and I wouldn’t listen. This is my fault, all my fault!”
Arrie held me tight. “Hush. This isn’t your fault. And we know this man’s name, and that’s half the battle right there.” Looking back at the police, he asked, “And you’re still standing here because?”
The two looked confused. “Um, oh yeah.” One of them took a little initiative. “I’ll get on that.” He glanced at Arrie’s car, blocking them in. “If you could move that, it would help.”
I had to let Arrie go so he could move his car, and then I went back inside. I needed to get my cell and see if Haney’s number was still on it. “Officers, I think I’ve got his number on my cell. You’ll need that.”
Arrie pulled up, parking next to my car. When he got out, he came inside, where the officers had followed me. He saw me with my phone in hand. “You said he called. You’re looking up the number?”
“I am.” I searched the call history and found it. Showing it to the officers, I said, “Here.”
Arrie took out his cell. “I want that number too.”
Both officers looked at him with stern expressions. “Sir, you need to let us handle this,” one of the officers cautioned. “You don’t want to say something that might make him angry—he might hurt your son if he’s angry.”
Arrie looked irate as he slammed his fist against his palm. “Look, I want you to contact this man right now and offer him a million dollars to release our son. I want you to tell him there’ll be no charges filed against him for kidnapping if he’ll settle for the money—got it?”
I looked at Arrie and felt incredibly lucky to have him back in my life, caring for our child. Looking up, I thanked God for putting everything in place for us. “Thank you,” I whispered, not knowing exactly who I was thinking.
Arrie seemed to understand and put his arm around me. “We’re going to get him back, baby. Don’t worry.”
We have to get him back.