Page 35 of Dying to Meet You

My son didn’t wander away. He was taken.

Weston was kidnapped.

“What did he find?” I pivot to go inside, and Harrison follows me. “Jesus fucking Christ, I can’t believe this is happening.” I say the last bit to myself, but he hears me anyway.

“I know.” Harrison claps a hand down on my shoulder. “I know, Matt. We’ll get him back.”

I lose some of my hope when Harrison says, “When Hutton accessed the videos, all cameras south-facing, where the road is, were blacked out at 8:16 a.m. A complicated code, designed by Hutton, overrode them. They don’t go back online until 8:55.”

“What the fuck do you mean designed by Hutton?” This makes no sense.

Shrugging a shoulder with a grimace Harrison replies, “I don’t understand computer shit. He said a code he developed, originally for the FBI, not only appears to be hi-jacked, but they’ve altered it enough he can’t tell where it is coming from. He said it’s nearly fool proof.”

“Nearly?”God, please help me here, I’m trying like hell to keep it together.

“Yeah, nearly. He said he’ll do it, but it could take too long.”

We walk into Hutton’s office, which is crowded with people. I immediately note a hole in his wall that wasn’t there a couple days ago, a dented trash can on its side near a wall with a litter of garbage around it, and a smashed monitor lying near the desk. Looks about right. I’ve seen his rage…This would unlock that like nothing else, other than losing Eden.

Blaine says, “Sure. Looks like you’re doing a lot and nothing at the same time.” The uniformed officer’s face reddens at his snide comment. “Have you talked to the nutcase next door yet?” He stands up taller with his arms across his chest. “All you’ve managed to do is stand here asking us the same questions over and over again.”

I know I should intercede when Blaine gets started. He tends to let his mouth get him in trouble, but I’m more focused on finding Hutton in the throng of people huddled around his desk.

When Blaine spots Harrison and I, he abandons the officer to start in on us. “I see just how important having your agents here was. Couldn’t even keep our six-year-old safe. Good plan.” His eyes are reddened, drying tears on his cheeks. He pushes past me before I say a word. “I’m joining the search party. Fuck this pointless standing around with our thumbs up our asses. Fucking morons.”

There’s no sense trying to stop him.

I’d rather be combing the area with as many people as possible. I shout at him, “Make sure everyone has Wes’s picture.”

“That’s already done,” he yells at me, giving me his middle finger behind his back.

“...no, it doesn’t. Cuts out, going black at 8:16 a.m., then back online at 8:55 a.m.,” I hear Hutton explaining to a plain-clothes detective with gray hair. A county badge hangs off his belt. “The cameras were effectively shut down, and there is no getting back footage the cameras didn’t capture.” His tone is flat, steady.

We make eye contact, and I see the agony. He’s holding himself together carefully to get things done, but I recognize his pain. I feel his fucking pain.

“We have a timeline then,” I add, coming to stand next to Hutton. “I’m one of Wes’s dads…Matt Scholl.” I shake the man’s hand.

“Agent Scholl?” he asks, giving me a strong shake back. “We briefly met a few years ago on the Martinetto case. I’m sorry we’re meeting again under these circumstances. I’m Detective Sam Nealy.”

There isn’t much to go on.

Bristow and Harrison can vouch for our wack job neighbor, they were with him over the property damage. The vet clinic to the south of our property, off the same road, doesn’t open until mid-morning today. There were no staff there. They have an old camera that is grainy at best but is pointing toward the ground doing a great job of recording the gravel lot near the building.

His description is given: six years old, Caucasian male with dark brown hair, blue eyes, dimples, wearing a blue sweatshirt with light-blue stripes, black jeans, and one redPaw Patrolsneaker…the other recovered on our property. His picture is messaged to the search group’s phones. We have neighbors, volunteers of the sheriff’s department, family, and friends, a group of sixty-three people and two search dogs, all combing the surrounding five miles.

In my heart, I know he’s not going to be found close by. If he’s been taken by the person threatening Eden, they’ll be long gone.

Our kids. I stop listening to Nealy’s rundown of a press conference to turn away. We need to tell the rest of the kids. But first…I need to see Eden.

“Has anyone seen Eden?”

Harrison speaks up. “Not since she went into the woods. Keir was only a few minutes behind her though.”

I keep dialing each of them rushing to the backside of our property. I need to get to Eden. In every missing child case, I’ve ever had the misfortune of being involved in, it’s the mother who is struggling the most. And for Eden this is going to bring back her brother’s disappearance.

Pocketing my phone since my calls are all going unanswered, I start to yell her name. “Eden?!”

Close to losing my voice from all the shouting, first to Eden and then Wes, I stop. I pick up the pace past the treehouse, where Weston used one of my ties to hang an action figure. The tears spill. I can’t keep it in anymore.

---