I can hear my dad yelling outside that it’s him they want. He says he gives himself up—to just let his wife and son go. That we don’t know anything.
I can’t hear what the response is. Mom is pushing us deeper into the belly of the decrepit building, guided only by a thin beam from a flashlight pen.
She finds the door marked stairs, and we run down, tripping and stumbling and helping right each other. After a minute we get to the last door, which spills us into the basement.
My mom stops and looks around wildly. “There!”
Quickly, she works off an air vent panel and shines her light into the metal tunnel.
“Get in first, Ryder,” she orders.
All I can think about is Freddy Krueger’s basement and how he ripped kids apart with his metal claw hands. It feels like he must be waiting for us on the other side of this thing.
She doesn’t wait for me to act on my own and instead drops the pen, lifts me by grabbing my shirt and pants and thrusts me through the opening.
“Keep crawling deeper and don’t you dare come out! No matter what you hear . . . Do you understand me?”
It’s too dark for her to see the tears coming down my face. “Mom.”
“I love you, Ryder. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.” She’s crying. I hear it. “Now go!”
“Not without you!” I whisper.
“Where are you, little doves?” a cooing, mocking voice calls. He has an accent I’ve never heard before.
Devastation rips through my chest. It’s not my dad.
“Mommy!”
She kisses me and presses her cheek to mine. “Go. And remember, not a sound, my brave boy.”
She pushes me forward and replaces the vent grate over the opening, securing it before picking up the pen light and running into the darkness.
The sensation of her wet tears on my face makes me move deeper into the vent. I come to an angle, like a turn, and pull myself around it. I have to press myself through by crawling and slithering on my belly. The vent is smaller than I thought, and I realize my mom wouldn’t have fit inside.
The metal isn’t smooth; there are sharp, jagged pieces and shards that tear into my hands and chest, belly and legs. It hurts, but I don’t make a sound, just like my mom and dad said.
Then I hear her scream. It’s so loud—it echoes through the tunnel and pierces my eardrums.
It’s in that moment that I can’t move anymore. I think I may have even stopped breathing.
I wait to hear her voice again—to tell me it’s going to be okay, that she’s there—but there’s only silence. Loud, horrible silence.
The man with the accent shouts out for me. “I saw you in the car, child. Come out, come out wherever you are.”
Closing my eyes, I just sit and remember the feel of my mom’s skin and the moisture of her tears.
The man yells and shouts and swears. First he promises safety, then he threatens to kill me. He lies and tells me he has my mom with him and that she wants to see me, but I know better. He murdered her. I hate him and I want to kill him, but I know I’m not strong enough.
I wasn’t strong enough to protect my mom.
I wasn’t smart enough to save my parents.
My mom and dad were smart, they saved me.
So I sit quietly all through the night as the men with their accents shout and smash things, but after a while I don’t hear them anymore.
I cry quietly until my eyes close against the blackness.
“Ryder—my name is Chief, Chief Axton, and I work with the Tampa Bay Police Department. I’m here to help you, buddy, but I need your help too.”
The voice wakes me up. He doesn’t sound like the men from last night. But I’m not sure what to do.
“You hid yourself real good, but we have a dog out here named Lucy,” he says, then, “Lucy, speak.”
The dog barks and the sound travels up through the duct. They must be right in front of the vent.
“The bad guys, they didn’t have a dog, did they?” the man asks. “Lucy is a real special dog. She helps us find people who are lost or hurt. Are you hurt?”
I am. I can feel the dried sticky blood on my hands and shirt, and the cuts and scrapes sting.
“Lucy, can you tell Ryder we’re the good guys and are here to help him?”
The dog sounds off with cute howling, yipping and barking.
“Ryder, Lucy knows you’re in the vent, but I’m too big to get in there to help you get out. And I’d send Lucy in, but most of the time the sheet metal vents are made from has a lot of sharp pieces, and I don’t want her to get cut up,” Chief Axton says.
“I’m scared.” The words come out of my mouth even though I don’t want them to.
“I know you are. You were really brave to have stayed in there for such a long time.”
“Are my mom and dad . . .?” I can’t say the next word.
“We can talk about that when you come out, Ryder.”
“You know my real name.”
“I know all about you, son. That’s my job.”
“I don’t think I can do it. Come out, I mean.”
“It’s okay to be scared. I get scared too. Even cry sometimes, and I’m a retired United States Navy Seal.”