Page 2 of Five
But the breakdown of what’s left of our family since Ollie disappeared had us spiraling into nothing short of a disaster. Believe me, an alcoholic and a teenage boy with anger issues don’t lead to a happy, healthy, functioning household.
Thank God, Ollie’s found during the day, when Dad was at work., He somehow manages to function well enough to hold down a job. Plus, his boss feels sorry for him, what with Mom and then Ollie. That’s probably our saving grace.
It means Dad’s sober when the cops call him. Or mostly, anyway. Anything off in his demeanor can be attributed to the emotional stress of the situation, instead of alcohol.
And he has the presence of mind to phone me, too, and give me a heads up. Our relationship isn’t the best, and we barely speak, but he knows I’ll likely be home and able to get things straight before they bring Ollie to us.
My brother is coming home.
The thought makes my brain spin. I’m skipping school, as usual, and I might only be fifteen, but I have the presence of mind to realize that the authorities are going to be crawling all over our place.
To say it resembles a pigsty is being polite, but I’ve felt guilty about my brother for years, and now that he’s been found, I’m going to look out for him; protect him the way I failed to before. No way am I going to lose him again when we’ve just gotten him back.
So, I roll up my sleeves, grab a couple of garbage bags, and start scraping off the detritus. It’s amazing how much cleaner the kitchen and living room look, just from having the pizza boxes, takeout cartons, and empty bottles removed.
It still stinks like a sweaty armpit though, so I work out how to use the vacuum, which has collected as much dust as the rest of the place, and spray some flowery shit that I find under the sink. It’s probably been there since before Ollie was lost, but it helps considerably. I use the best creation known to man –- wet wipes –- to wipe down everything else, including the bathroom.
Thankfully, my brother’s room has remained exactly as he left it, so that’s not so bad, and I hid all the evidence of dad’s drinking by dumping the empties in the neighbors’ trash can.
And then I sit and wait for my brother to arrive.
Dad brings him home hours later, and over the next few weeks, his story comes out slowly.
He was taken to what Ollie refers to as a camp for boys, situated on an island impossible to escape from. He was not the only boy. There were more than just him.
I don’t know how to feel about that.
On the one hand, I’m glad my baby brother wasn’t on his own. But on the other hand, it means a whole lot of other people are going through the same heartache we did.
It also means there’s a deranged child abductor out there with some seriously scary facilities and the means to house and feed up to a dozen boys at any one time. Ollie explained that in his time there, some of the boys would leave, and others would replace them. He wasn’t able to formulate the exact how and why, but it was very clear that Ollie had fallen into the hands of a systematic serial kidnapper–someone well organized and well-funded.
The only reason Ollie managed to escape was because he’d been taken back to the scene of the crime, so to speak, in some twisted attempt to lure another kid to the same end.
At eight, my little brother is oddly mature now–sober and quiet and watchful. He grew fast during the two years he was kept from us, and learned to be quiet, do as he was told, and instill trust in his captor by being agreeable.
I don’t know, maybe he even watched and learned. Took notice of what happened around him, so he was ready to act on it.
It’s never been clear whether it was luck or judgment that Oliver was taken back to the very same place he was snatched from, but it worked to Ollie’s advantage. He knew where he was; knew he was close to home. So, under the guise of scouting out another victim, he slipped into a visiting school tour group, chatted up some kid right under the nose of his captor, and managed to march himself all the way back to their teacher, where he was discovered during a head count.
Oliver saved two kids that day. Himself and another poor, nameless boy who would otherwise have been taken.
It was a teacher who helped get Ollie to safety.
A young, caring woman who listened to Oliver and trusted her gut enough to know that something was very wrong.
She didn’t dismiss him; she didn’t send him away from her kids and back to the wolf who had snatched him in the first place. She realized he wasn’t lying or making up stories and had the courage to stick with her conviction that he needed help. Something that was confirmed as soon as she called the police and gave them his name.
What happened to Ollie in those intervening years? Yeah, well, we don’t talk about that.
And the place Oliver was taken to, all those other incarcerated kids? They were never found. There are over 1700 islands in the Keys–over four thousand total off the state of Florida. The cops tried to find the right one, as did the Coast Guard, but the sheer number of possibilities were against them.
Some of those cops are still trying. It’s something that hangs heavy on Ollie’s mind.
I’d like to say Dad sobered up after that, but sadly, alcohol had him too far in its grip. It’s fine, though, because from that day forward, I made sure I was there for Ollie.
No matter what.
REMI
