A Captivating Coupling

Chapter Fourteen: Wounded

Anger is a wound gone mad ~ Vanna Bonta

Saturday, April 10, 1999

“We believe that they’re being held at one of Marshall’s properties in or around Bearden, Arkansas.” Carl placed a piece of paper that listed the possible addresses onto the coffee table. “The population of the town he resides in may be small, but the rural area outside of it is vast. The two furthest properties are almost three hours from one another.”

“What does that matter?” Cynthia asked.

“Other than his estate on the outskirts of Bearden and Marshall’s Grocery on the square, they cannot set up surveillance.”

“Why not?” Craig asked. “They know that Justin and Brian are in one of those places so why aren’t they covering all of them?”

“The other places Marshall owns are surrounded by dense forests and twelve foot tall privacy fences,” Carl explained. “There are cameras and guards at every property so they have to be very careful if they don’t want to tip Marshall off.”

“Why can’t the F.B.I. just raid the places all at once?” Debbie asked.

“That way they’d be sure to find them,” Michael added.

“But if they aren’t at any of those places and Marshall has them someone else, then they’ll be tipped off and might move them. Not only that, but we know that Peter is connected to Stockwell and many other politicians and officials in Pittsburgh. If they knew we were working together and with the F.B.I. you be damned sure they’d try and put a stop to it whatever way they could.”

“So what is the F.B.I. going to do to find out where they are?” Jennifer asked.

“They’re working with the local Police Chief, Lyle Anderson. Once they formulate a concrete plan, Agent Holden, the lead investigator on the case will contact me and we will discuss where we go from there.”

“More waiting,” Ted groaned mentally counting the days Brian had been missing, “great.”

“I know it doesn’t seem like the F.B.I. is doing anything but I assure you that they are. I am grateful that I was able to contact Agent Holden and convince him to work with me. It’s been slow-going, I realize that, but we have to do as the F.B.I. asks and trust that they’ll find them.”

***

Sunday, April 11, 1999

Craig looked out the front door peephole and sighed deeply, his expelled breath a mix of frustration and longing. He forced his body to stand straighter and put a false smile on his face as he opened the door. “Jennifer.”

“Good morning to you too, Craig,” Jennifer spoke sarcastically. She placed one of her hands on her hip and gave him an impatient look. “Are you going to invite me in?”

It was easier to be in the home since Jennifer had left him. He didn’t constantly find her in rooms throughout the house, doing some task that used to involve their son. He could yell and be as angry as he wanted to be and there would be no one to ask him to explain himself, to feel pity or anger toward him. Craig didn’t have to live every day worried that the kidnappers would come back for his wife and leave him alone. He’d been the one to force Jennifer out of their house and leave him alone.

“You’re always welcome here,” Craig said softly, his true feelings for his wife over-powering the fear he felt.

Jennifer snorted in disbelief and walked past Craig, through the large foyer and into the formal living room. She looked around the sparsely furnished room and shook her head, her heart dropping into her stomach for a moment. “Why haven’t you gotten new furniture?” she asked, once Craig stepped into the room behind her.

Craig wanted to tell Jennifer that he wasn’t going to waste his time replacing the furniture when he hoped that one day she’d move back and bring the furniture she’d taken to the apartment. He suspected that she already knew, but there was no way he could reveal to her something so pathetically hopeful. “It’s only me here,” he told her a nearly believable answer while pointing to a small recliner.

Jennifer nodded, accepting his answer, though just because it was a possible truth, she knew that it wasn’t. She ran her hand along the Baby Grand Piano’s top, her fingers collecting dust and leaving a shiny black trail of prints. “You need to tell Liza this needs polished next time she comes.”

“I let her go,” Craig revealed.

“But I thought you trusted her!” Craig had gone through long rigorous interviews for housekeeping staff and couldn’t believe that after years of employing her, he’d let Liza go.”

“I didn’t need her,” Craig explained, “but I kept the gardeners.”

“Well thanks for letting me know.” She had grown to be friends with Liza and had almost asked her to go with her when she’d left, but she didn’t want to put her in the position of choosing whom she was going to work. “I hope you didn’t just suddenly fire her.”

Craig shook his head. “Of course not. I let her know that she should find another job and that once she secured the job we’d part ways. Now, what did you come here for, surely it wasn’t to criticize my lack of furniture and housekeeper?”

Jennifer sat on the piano bench and gestured for Craig to sit in his recliner. Once he did, she began to explain, “We need to discuss what we’re going to do when Justin comes home.”

Craig ran his hands through his hair and counted to five, refraining himself from yelling at Jennifer. “What we’re going to do?” he asked. “Do you really think we’ll be able to follow a plan of any kind when he comes home?” Craig wasn’t sure why Jennifer’s simple, rightful questions angered him so much, but they did.

Jennifer straightened her posture and tried to appear unaffected by Craig’s outburst. “Well I’m guessing that you’ll want him to come and live here… with you.”

“That isn’t a guess,” Craig replied. “You know that is what will happen.”

Jennifer rolled her eyes, though she did nod her head in agreement. “Justin will need to be someplace familiar. But Molly and I will be living here too it’s just that I… I don’t want Justin to know about our split.”

“He’s an adult now, Jen. He may want to live on his own.”

“He’s only 17 now, he’s not an adult. I doubt that after seven years without his family he’s going to want to live on his own.”

Craig thought about that and a grim reality passed through him. “We don’t even know his condition yet. He might be malnourished, or….” he let the rest of his sentence hang in the air for a moment. “Justin may not want to live with us and we’ll have to prepare ourselves for that. I’ve dreamed of him running into my arms, but I also know that it may not happen. He may not want to have anything to do with me.”

“He may not because of what you have done.”

Craig shook his head. “Do you really think that what I did was just cause for these psychos to do what they’ve done to him and Brian? Do you really Jen? Really?”

“No,” Jennifer admitted. “I… don’t. But there’s a good chance that when Justin finds out what happened he may not want to be around you.”

“I’ve come to that conclusion myself, but he may not want to be around either one of us. He may not even remember us. We have no idea what they’ve done to him.”

Jennifer shivered and dropped her head in her hands. “They said they’d keep him safe,” she whispered.

“And we’ve been hoping that it’s true. But he may not resemble anything of the little boy we love.” Craig stood from his recliner and crossed over toward Jennifer. He knelt before her and put a comforting hand on her leg. “It won’t matter who he is when he comes back, Jennifer. We’ll love him no matter who he is and we’ll be at peace for the first time in almost eight years just because we’ll really know that he’s safe.”

Jennifer looked up at Craig, leaned forward and wrapper her arms around his neck. She hugged him tightly and cried against his shoulder, “He’ll be home soon. Right? He’ll be home soon?”

Craig squeezed Jennifer back, taking a step outside of his guilt, grief and fear and accepted the comfort and love she gave him. “Yes, he’ll be home soon.”

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Moments in Captivity

Chapter 14: Keep Hoping

In all things it is better to hope than to despair ~ von Goethe

Sunday, April 11, 1999

“Justin, look she’s going!”

I turn quickly and see Beatha is on her hands and knees, quickly crawling toward Duchess. “Oh my god!”

“Get the kitty,” Brian encourages from behind the video camera.

Duchess makes a run for it down the hallway; Beatha stops, looks up at me and starts whimpering. “Don’t cry, big girl.” I bend down slowly and pick her up. “You almost caught her.”

Brian shuts off the camera and places it on the bar top. “You did so good,” he tells Beatha. “And you made sure Dada had his camera out and ready to get it on film, didn’t you?”

Beatha starts babbling gibberish and I think she might have said ‘Da’ somewhere in there, but it was most likely an accident. She absolutely loves when Brian talks to her, he can be saying anything at all and to Beatha, it’s the funniest thing in the world. She starts wiggling around in my arms, babbling right back at Brian.

“Bah Waa!” Bevyn yells from the playpen.

“Oh you want in on the conversation too?” I ask, walking toward his playpen.

“Wait, wait, wait. I’ll get him,” Brian says, stopping me. “You can’t be carrying them both around anymore. It’s not good for you. Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m okay,” I assure, walking into the kitchen. “You ready to eat?” I ask Beatha.

Beatha immediately starts smacking her lips as I place her into her highchair.

“What’s on the menu?” Brian asks, placing Bevyn in his highchair beside Beatha.

I grab the two bowls from the microwave I was in the middle of heating up when Brian brought my attention to Beatha crawling. “It’s oatmeal mixed with peas and turkey.”

“Sounds delicious,” Brian jokes.

The babies start babbling to one another, probably talking about how they wish we’d hurry up with the feeding.

It actually smells good, but it tastes horrible. “Well they certainly think so.” I place the two bowls on the bar and grab a dining chair.

“Let me feed them today,” Brian says in a stern tone while putting bibs on the babies.

“Brian, it was just a little shortness of breath. It’s perfectly normal at this stage in pregnancy. I can sit down and feed my kids.”

Brian kisses my forehead. “I know, but so can I.”

“But you already took care of breakfast.”

“And you’re taking care of our baby,” he whispers, placing his hand on my belly. “Get yourself something to eat and go relax in the bedroom.”

How can I say no to him when he looks at me the way he is now? “Okay,” I relent, standing on my tiptoes to give him an appreciative deep kiss.

***

After finishing my lunch, I decide to get out Beatha and Bevyn’s baby books and update them on their progress. Finally, they are nearly the same in terms of development and it brings me so much peace to be able to mark down the Beatha can finally crawl just as her younger brother has been doing for the last two weeks.

I’ve been so scared that Beatha wasn’t growing properly. She has been behind on meeting all of her milestones. Bevyn only weighs one pound less than she does and he’s much more active and talkative than she is. Until today, I was worried that there might be something wrong with her motor skills. I know he crawled early, but Beatha is nearly two months older and according to all the baby books, she should have been doing all the things Bevyn has been doing, first.

I’m terrified that living here like this has restricted their growth. I know that it has damaged me. I had seen and felt the sun, breathed fresh air and knew what it was like to leave my house and experience the world. If we ever leave here, it’ll be a shock to Brian, and me but it’ll be even worse for babies. Now that I am pregnant with another baby who we are estimating is due in mid-July, it makes the need of being rescued even greater. I no longer have to imagine what my children will be missing, I’ve now seen it first hand and I it breaks my heart. I want so much more for them, yet at the same time, I’m petrified of what the world outside of here is like.

Speaking of the outside world, my ears immediately tune into the sound of the outer door opening. I stupidly wait for a moment, wait and hope that a policeman, an F.B.I. agent or my father and mother will come through the door. A few moments pass and no one has come through our door and no one’s voice calls out to me. I hear the metal door close, hear locks click and another minute later I hear our door open.

“Justin, there’s a letter!” Even though I was listening, Brian’s voice startles me. Or maybe, it’s Brian’s words, because I know that letters from them, are never good.

***

“It could mean that they’re taking us home,” Brian suggests, hopeful where I am not.

I can’t show him that I don’t think he’s right, if I do, he’ll think I’ve given up hope of ever being rescued. I haven’t, but after years of hoping that ‘today will be the day’, I am hesitant to believe they’ll just let us go. I can tell there is a part of Brian that believes this too, but he wants me to join him in his positive perspective, so I must try to.

“We only have six weeks to pack.” Brian stretches out on our bed, the letter in his hand. He keeps re-reading it as if it’ll help him find some clue as to where exactly we’ll be going.

“Well at least it says that they will be moving the beds, tables and chairs themselves,” I say, crawling into bed beside him. “I think we can manage the other stuff rather quickly.”

“I don’t want you to have to run around this house though. I heard you get short of breath when you were feeding Duchess this morning.”

“I won’t over-work myself, I promise.” There’s no way I’m leaving Brian to pack everything.

“Do you think kitchen items include the new microwave we got last month?”

“I’m sure they’ll get it.”

“Well I think I’m going to make a list of all the things they need to be sure come with us.”

I slide closer to Brian and take the papers out of his hands. “We can worry about this later,” I say, rocking my crotch against his thigh. “Both babies are taking a nap at once and I really think we should take advantage of that.”

Brian’s eyes turn from worried to mischievous in a second flat. “You do?”

I throw the paper onto to the floor and kiss his shoulder. “Get me a condom.”

My stomach is nowhere near as big as I was when I was 26 weeks along with Beatha, but I’m more uncomfortable inside. The only way Brian and I can comfortably have sex is if I’m making love to him. He doesn’t seem to mind, but I do miss having him inside of me. I hate not being able to take advantage of having sex without a condom. If we were out there, he’d be able to be on birth control again. This is just another choice they have taken from us.

I knew I was pregnant this time right away. The first time Brian made love to me after Beatha and Bevyn were born; I swear that the next morning I knew I was going to have his baby again. I was due to go through my HOC only a few days after that, and when I didn’t, it confirmed it to me. I ordered an AccuHome test that could detect very low HCG levels and within two weeks, my predictions were correct. Brian and I were both thrilled and even though I had conflicting thoughts about raising another child here, the need to have a baby on my own terms trumped everything else.

I know that doctors recommend waiting longer in between pregnancies. Someone else determined both of my other pregnancies forcing it upon me and Brian’s pregnancy was a scary, possibly life-and-death accident. Before they could send us condoms and demand that I wear them, which they did once they realized I was pregnant, I wanted to Brian to get me pregnant for our reasons alone. I know the logic in this is probably a bit selfish and silly but I don’t regret the decision. I’m happy and Brian is happy that we’re going to have another baby and I could care less what ‘they’ think of it.

Brian slides the condom on my dick, slathers it in lube and rolls onto his arms and knees. “Stop thinking and fuck me,” he teases, swaying his ass back and forth.

I line my cock up to Brian’s hole, push inside and all thoughts that aren’t about here, with me inside Brian at this moment, leave me mind.

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