Holding on to hope, I raced to the powder room. The door was wide open, but no one was inside.
I examined the keypad of the security system and discovered that it was set in “Away” mode instead of “Stay.” And making matters worse, the motion detector had been disarmed.
With overwhelming fear, I punched in the alarm code. The beeping sound reminded me of my dream, and I realized that while I slept, I’d heard an intruder, disarming the system as he’d entered and then arming it when he’d exited with Paisley in his clutches.
But no random intruder had access to the passcode of our security system. No one except Phoenix could have stealthily gotten inside our home. Paisley knew Phoenix well and she may have trusted him enough to leave without putting up a fuss.
I had to find her before he harmed her, and I didn’t have time to throw on some clothes. Barefoot and wearing pajamas, I grabbed my key ring from a kitchen drawer, disarmed the system and hurried outside to my car.
Where would he take her? Is he walking or riding his bike? Does he have a secret hiding place in the woods? I asked myself a dozen or more questions as I backed the car out of the driveway and slowly cruised down the street. There was no point in breaking speed limits since I had no idea where I was going. Turning left and then right, I drove around our neighborhood trying to get inside Phoenix’s head.
There were hundreds of miles of wilderness in our area, and he could have been anywhere. I gnawed on my middle fingernail as I pictured him luring the child into the woods. But then, I was comforted by the thought that no matter how much Paisley trusted Phoenix and no matter what kind of a story he’d concocted, she’d never willingly enter the woods at night without yelling and putting up a fight.
Needing her to be quiet, he undoubtedly took her somewhere she wouldn’t feel threatened. But where? Back to Ryan’s house? No, not there. He needed to be somewhere with complete privacy. A place where he could commit a heinous crime without being interrupted.
Time was of the essence and I implored my sluggish mind to cooperate.
Then, it hit me. Phoenix was at Matt’s grandfather, Leonard Fawcett’s, ranch. The place was in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by mountainous backwoods and over fifty acres of land. Phoenix and old man Fawcett had taken me on a tour of the place back when Phoenix had first shown an interest in horseback riding. While there, the old man confided to me that he was going blind and was headed for a nursing home if his children had their way.
The ranch had seen better days, and judging by the lack of upkeep, it appeared that Mr. Fawcett’s vision problems and advanced age were making it difficult for him to handle the responsibility of running such a large place. I noticed that quite a few isolated structures were scattered throughout the grounds. There were horse facilities that included two twelve-stall stables, a hay barn, several old sheds, an office building that was no longer in use, and a desolate-looking storehouse with a rusted lock dangling on the outside. And the diverse terrain included enormous rock formations as well as smooth riding trails.
As secluded and as rundown as Mr. Fawcett’s ranch had become, it would be viewed as a haven to someone who had something to hide.
I hit the brakes and was about to turn the car around and head out to the ranch when it occurred to me that Phoenix wouldn’t attempt a five-mile trip on a dark, rugged road with a little girl in tow.
He took her somewhere closer.
Where are you, Phoenix? Where the fuck are you?
Struck by a flash of clarity, I knew with certainty where he’d taken her.
I parked my car a couple houses away from the Westfields’ former residence. Not wanting to be noticed by neighbors, I crept to the back of the empty property, pajama-clad and barefoot. I jimmied the basement window open and slithered in.
In the pitch darkness of the empty home, I could feel my heart slamming against my chest as I felt along the walls, finding my way to the main level of the home.
Don’t let me find Paisley bloody and battered. Please, let her be all right.
The Westfields’ home was designed similar to our house and I made my way through the darkened kitchen and dining room with ease. In the vast family room, I could hear the soft murmur of a voice coming from upstairs. I crept closer to the stairwell and was able to hear the voice more clearly. It was undoubtedly Phoenix’s voice, but I didn’t detect anger and he wasn’t ranting like a lunatic. There was a rhythmic quality to his vocals, like he was reciting or reading something. A killer’s manifesto? Some sort of satanic chant?
I didn’t know what to think. Desperate to find Paisley unharmed, I raced up the stairs. The thick carpet muffled the sound of my pounding footsteps, and when I made it to the top of the landing, both Phoenix and Paisley released utterances of surprise.
But neither of them was more surprised than I when my eyes landed on a camping tent that Phoenix had set up in the middle of the empty bedroom. He and Paisley were seated inside the tent, their silhouettes illuminated by the glow of a flashlight.
“Phoenix! What the hell is going on?” The words came out breathless and in a rapid-fire staccato.
Phoenix popped his head out of the opening, and a look of astonishment appeared on his face. “What are you doing here, Pops?”
Paisley peeked out next and offered me an awkward smile.
Although I felt immense relief at finding her alive and apparently unharmed, I couldn’t contain my rage.
“This is crazy. What is your problem?” I yelled as he crawled out of the tent.
Wearing a mermaid pajama set and a pair of flip-flops, Paisley emerged and stood next to him.
“Are you okay?” I asked her as my eyes swept over her tiny frame, making sure there were no injuries on her body and no signs of foul play. Thankfully, she looked perfectly fine.
“Why would you lure Paisley away from the slumber party and bring her here?”
“I didn’t lure her anywhere. She was awake when I got home and she wanted me to play a video game with her. I told her I couldn’t because we’d wake everyone up. She looked like she was about to cry, and I was reminded of how scared I used to feel when I was wide awake and my parents were sound asleep. I felt sorry for her, and I offered to bring her here.”
“For what reason?”
“To read her a story and help her fall asleep. See…” He opened the tent’s flap and shined the flashlight inside, revealing a Harry Potter book that was cushioned by a blanket that he’d taken from our linen closet.
My heart still didn’t soften toward him. What he’d done was irresponsible and thoughtless, especially since there still weren’t any answers regarding Taylor Flanagan’s disappearance. No rational-thinking person would have behaved so recklessly during these sensitive times. But Phoenix was only fourteen and despite his intelligence, he occasionally did stupid things.
“How long have you been coming to the Westfields’ place? Do you realize that trespassing is a crime? You could go to jail for this, Phoenix,” I yelled.
“Calm down, Pops.” He pressed both palms downward, gesturing for me to bring down the volume.
“Don’t tell me to calm down. With everything that’s going on in the neighborhood, why would you do something so incredibly stupid?” I folded my arms, waiting for an explanation.
“I couldn’t get to sleep at Ryan’s, and so I came home and…”
“You’re lying and we both know it.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Please, stop it!” My hand shot up like a crossing guard bringing the flow of traffic to a sudden halt. I narrowed an eye. “You were never at Ryan’s house, were you?”
“I was there for a while, but then I left and came over here.”
“Why, for God’s sake?” I asked with my arms outstretched, shaking my head in disgust.
“I don’t know. I come here whenever I have a lot on my mind. It’s quiet and I can figure things out.”
I wanted to ask what kind of things did a fourteen-year-old need to figure out, but I was too exasperated to continue listening to his explanations. He always had a handy response to any question I asked him. I was getting to the point where I was questioning my own behavior. It couldn’t be normal for a father to secretly suspect that his son could possibly be a killer. Maybe I was the one who needed to be in therapy.
“You had no business bringing Paisley here.”
“Are we in trouble, Mr. Copeland?” Paisley asked in a timid voice.
I raised a hand, indicating that I didn’t want to hear from her right now. Guiltily, her eyes shot downward.
And she wasn’t exactly blameless. At ten years old, she should have known better than to leave the house in the middle of the night, no matter what Phoenix suggested.
I returned my seething gaze on Phoenix, waiting for him to make me understand his thought processes, but he didn’t offer anything more.
I let out a weary sigh. “It’s late and I’m tired. Let’s get out of here.” I waved an impatient hand, beckoning him and Paisley to follow me downstairs.
“What about my tent?” he asked, looking over his shoulder.
“Leave it!”
“But…”
“Leave the damned thing. You had no business carting it over here in the first place.”
“Man!” he uttered in annoyance, as if he’d been unfairly wronged and was fed up with being mistreated.
I yanked the flashlight from his hand and led the way.
The three of us walked in silence to my car.
Two minutes later, we arrived home, and Phoenix went straight upstairs to his room.
Yawning and stretching her arms, Paisley meandered over to her empty sleeping bag. It was on the tip of my tongue to warn her against mentioning her adventure with Phoenix to her parents. But something told me I didn’t have to worry about her volunteering information. Kids were great at keeping secrets from their parents, particularly secrets that had the potential of getting them in trouble.
Like a tired old man, I grabbed the railing for support as I slowly climbed the stairs. The only thing that could make this night any worse would be if Sasha was awake and sitting up in bed, waiting for an explanation as to why I’d gone out in the middle of the night.
I lacked Phoenix’s expertise in quickly concocting a believable story, and I had no idea what kind of lies would emerge from my mouth. When I crept inside our room, my tension lifted. Sasha was curled on her side and was sleeping like a baby.
I eased into the master bathroom and sat on the edge of the tub and carefully washed the soles of my feet. As I watched the dirt run down the drain, I wondered once again if I was nuts to think that Phoenix wasn’t as innocent as he pretended to be.
Until someone was officially charged with Taylor Flanagan’s disappearance, I would continue struggling to believe that my son was totally innocent.