Piercing the Darkness

INTRODUCTION

The journey you are about to embark upon is a difficult one; the subject matter is shocking, the emotions are extreme, and the reality it reflects is appalling. It was difficult to write, not because of the technical aspects of writing but because the writer rides the same emotional roller coaster as the reader and sits in the front. Regardless of the emotional difficulty in writing about such a sinister subject, the story had to be told. There is a story before the story.

As a boy I was deeply affected by the abduction of Jacob Wetterling. We were close to the same age and from the same quiet state of Minnesota. The abduction was a media event, with a picture of Jacob’s warm smile plastered all over every news broadcast. Most of the other children paid no attention to the case beyond dealing with their nervous parents, but it deeply affected me. The harsh reality of life and the threats that come with it caused me to shed the illusion of security that most children enjoy and replace it with a plan for survival.

The boy in the first chapter of this novel, David, was a rendition of my childhood: running home from school, hiding from suspicious-looking vehicles and people. I was not going to be the next boy taken from his hometown, never to be seen again. It was not all about survival, however; the thought of what became of Jacob haunted me day after day. I spent the better part of my childhood and much of my adult life pondering whether Jacob was alive and in what situation he might be; imagining the horrors he experienced. The speculation drove me to prepare for the worst.

This story is a result of years of speculation, combined with elements of the atrocities that exist all over the world. The same insidious evil that cost Jacob his life is responsible for criminal acts against children across the globe and here at home. My hope is that bringing attention to these appalling acts will help others to see the need for action. Together we can save the lives of millions of children who fall victim to exploitation every year.

CHAPTER 1

(Twenty-Four Years Ago)

His heart was pounding, sweat running down his cheeks as he hid behind a large tree in the well-manicured front yard of a brick home. He peered around the edge of the massive trunk, looking to see if the rusty old red van with blacked-out windows had turned. It had not been far behind him as he began running, the van driving slowly down the road. David’s backpack full of textbooks weighed him down, but he still ran fast for a ten-year-old. David was lean but strong, sharp and quick-witted. He knew the risks; he knew that old rusty vans with blacked-out windows—or worse yet, no windows at all—meant that he could be snatched in a heartbeat and never heard from again. David checked around the other side of the tree but saw nothing. The van must have turned at the last intersection. David never looked back as he sprinted for the large tree in the distance.

David continued on his way, wary that the van might have gone around the block only to appear in front of him. David kept an eye out for a route of escape or shelter from whatever pervert was driving that van. That’s what his mother called them, perverts, and any van like the one David saw, she referred to as a rapist van. As he walked, David’s mind wandered even though he kept watching the intersections for signs of the old rusted van.

It had been a month since the abduction of ten-year-old Joseph Alexander from the next town over. The boy was walking home from school, but he never made it. No one saw anything, and all that was left was his backpack lying in the gutter along his usual route home. While most of the kids at David’s school had stopped talking about it already, the abduction was still fresh in David’s mind. He could still see the picture of Joey on the news, a brown-haired slender boy with a broad smile and soft brown eyes. The boy looked so happy in the picture. While he and David had never met, David imagined that they would have been good friends if they had. The boy had striking charisma that could be seen even from a photo and had the look of a fun-loving, friendly kid.

David replayed the news conference in his head. His parents had been watching it the morning after the abduction. While David was sitting at the kitchen table munching cereal, half-awake and dreading the thought of another day sitting at his desk in school, his parents were watching the news, as was their morning routine. David tuned in when he heard Joey’s mother begging desperately for information about her son’s disappearance. David had stopped eating his cereal and turned to the television to see the woman break down into tears as she told her missing son how much she loved him and wanted him home safe, with the narrow hope that he might hear her somewhere out there. The scene etched itself into David’s memory, sinking in deep. David pictured his own mother making the same desperate plea for his safe return, and the reality set in that despite all of the pleas, all of the hope, Joey Alexander would likely never be seen again.

It did not help that David’s parents constantly reminded him to be careful, even before the abduction, and it was only worse afterward. Because David lived so close to the school, there was no bus service; he had to walk the four blocks to and from the school every day. One block down, two winding blocks over, and one last offset block to the school grounds was the route ingrained into David’s mind from repetition. It was not a difficult walk, but under the circumstances, it was a dangerous one—especially those two winding blocks, where someone could grab David, throw him in the back of one of those old windowless vans, and drive away without anyone ever seeing a thing. Sure, there were houses along both sides of the road the entire way, but the people who lived in them were all at work during the day; except of course for the criminals—they never worked during the day—but they were no help.

Every once in a while David saw someone outside doing yard work in the afternoon on his way home from school, but it was rare. He could not take any chances. David always kept an eye out for anything out of place, anything that might be dangerous. The obvious rapist van, any strange-looking person walking along the road, or anyone who might be watching him out the window were potential threats. It seemed a little extreme, even to David, but he was not going to be the next one, the next victim to whatever pervert took Joey. They were the same age and similar in appearance. David knew it could just as easily have been him who was taken on his way home from school.

Despite David’s age he knew how the world worked and knew what horrors likely had befallen Joey. He tried not to think about it, but at times it consumed his thoughts. In school was the worst. While the teacher was droning on about things that David found to be utterly useless, he stared out the window imagining what he might have done if it had been him the pervert came after, what Joey was going through as David sat in class, and if Joey was even still alive. David shuddered and then thought about what it would be like to be in the last moments, knowing that the pervert that ripped you out of your happy world was now going to end your life in a painful, violent way and that no one was coming to save you.

David was determined not to meet the same end as Joey, but what could a ten-year-old boy do to protect himself from a violent adult that has only blood in his eyes and lust in his heart? David could not carry a knife to and from school, or he might be expelled. While David was all right with the possibility, he knew his parents would be less than pleased. David thought about the Bible stories he had heard throughout his childhood. The priests and parents always tried to soften them for the children by glossing over the violent and gruesome aspects, but it only took a little reflection on David’s part to realize the violent end that even those who trusted in God sometimes experienced. After all, Jesus Christ himself was tortured and killed in a horrible bloody fashion. While it ended well for him, with the Resurrection and all, David decided he would rather not go through that. There were some, however, who were saved by God’s intercession from the furnace, or the lions, or being stoned to death. There was hope, and David knew it. He prayed every night for protection from the evils of the world.

David was still not satisfied. He felt helpless and afraid. The van had shaken him up, and he had to do something about it; he was not going to be a potential victim anymore. As he walked in the back door from school, having escaped the threat of the rapist van, David went straight to his room and planned. His parents were both at work so he had time to create his plan without anyone inquiring as to what he was doing. His parents wanted him to be careful, but their solution was to run to an adult for help or scream as loud as he could. Screaming would not work if there was no one there to hear it, and he could not trust any adult to help him—they might turn out to be perverts too. Some adults were trustworthy, but there was no guarantee they would be around when David needed them the most; after all, there was no one around for Joey. David was on his own, with only himself to trust with his protection. So he planned.

When David’s mother came in the door from work, she called out to him.

David emerged from his room to greet her. Hi, Mom, he said in a lighthearted tone. The weight of the fear had left him; he had a plan to keep himself safe.

How was school? asked his mother as she looked at him quizzically.

David responded with his standard answer, Fine, and before his mother could ask a more specific question about a subject he did not care to discuss, David continued, Can I take karate?

Are you getting bullied at school? asked David’s mother, her quizzical look turning to concern.

No, I just want to try it, replied David. His parents had always pushed him to try new things, and his father made him try all of the standard sports with mixed results. David was not a stellar athlete, but he could hold his own when he wanted to.

I don’t see why not, his mother responded, still suspicious of David’s motive. Are you sure everything is all right at school? she probed.

Everything’s fine, David insisted. He did not want to reveal the real reason he wanted to take karate classes because he did not want his parents to dismiss his plan as unnecessary.

If you say so, his mother conceded. I’ll talk to your father about it when he gets home.

Thanks, Mom! David said with a hug for his mother. His plan was starting to take shape. Once he learned how to fight, the only way a kid can, then he would have to wait to put the rest of his plan into effect. He would save the news that he planned to join the marines until the time came. After all, his grandpa was a marine, and nobody dared mess with him! The time his grandpa took him camping, he showed David some basic survival skills. David was amazed at what his grandpa could do with nothing but a knife in his pocket. David wanted to know everything his grandpa knew and to command the respect his grandpa commanded. It was not an overbearing method of command but rather a quiet aura of confidence that surrounded him. While David’s cousins were afraid of their grandpa, David loved him, respected him, and wanted to be just like him. His parents were never in the military so he was not sure how they would take the news, but by that time, David would be eighteen, and they could not stop him.

After he learned all there was to know about surviving in a violent world, David would implement the final part to his plan. David decided that when he finished learning what he could in the marines, he was going to become a police officer. David wanted to be the one who hunted down the perverts that took little boys from their homes, and he wanted to make sure that other children did not have to run home from school, hiding behind trees and looking over their shoulders. David was determined to change the world, even if it was only his small part of it, so that other children could enjoy their childhoods in ignorant bliss and be free from the decisions he had to make. All because of the disappearance of one boy, like David, in a town like his own.

CHAPTER 2

(Twenty-Four Years Ago)

The room was dimly lit from a small light bulb enshrouded in a metal cage, emanating an orange glow like a distant fire. He sat huddled in a corner, pressed against the cold metal walls, riveted together in an uncaring mechanical way. These walls offered no comfort, no support, and no escape. He whimpered softly to himself, at what he had lost and what he was going to lose. Thoughts of the past entered into his mind. It suddenly seemed so long ago as his thoughts spanned a great chasm that separated past from present.

One minute everything was normal. A normal day at school, a normal walk home with thoughts about the upcoming weekend and playing with his friends. Then everything changed. He had heard a van roll slowly along next to him, the sliding door opened, and suddenly he was inside the van, being held down by men he never saw before. No matter how hard he struggled, there was no escape from their iron grip. The van drove on for what seemed like hours, then came the wait. Then, under the cover of darkness, the men carried him onto a large, old, metal ship at the edge of what looked like the ocean. There was no way they could have driven to the ocean, but from the quick glimpse he had, the expanse of water seemed like it went on forever, just like the ocean.

Thoughts of his mother danced in his head, how she used to run her fingers through his hair as he snuggled with her to watch a movie, the comfort of her arms around him, keeping him safe from the world. It was peaceful contentment. Where were her arms to protect him now? Where was the warmth of her smile or the soft kiss on his forehead that she gave him as he drifted off to sleep? There was no soft kiss, no warm smile in this place. Drifting off to sleep was no longer peaceful contentment but was simply out of sheer exhaustion; when he awoke, reality set in a little deeper.

The walls of his metallic prison were heaving in unison, and the motion made him sick. Confusion surrounded him, having been driven around for hours and thrown into this room with no view of the outside world and no hope of escape. He looked around the room to reassess his situation. In one corner was a beat-up mattress with indistinct discoloration and a foul odor that was unrecognizable. In the opposite corner was a bucket, like the kind his dad used when he had to paint the whole house, and then later he used it to store the hockey sticks in the garage. There was no paint or hockey sticks in this bucket, only the stench of his own urine and feces; he could not escape the stink in such a small space. In the middle of the room sat a tray with small portions of food that some rough-looking man left for him before slamming the door on his way out.

He was hungry, very hungry, but when he tried the food, all he could taste was the stench from the bucket. It overwhelmed the senses and made him gag. Plugging his nose and forcing tasteless food down seemed to work. He no longer could taste the stench, but eating was only to fill his stomach. And then another memory flashed in his mind. His mother’s cooking was more than food to fill his stomach; it was an experience. Even the simplest meals that every parent made were somehow better at home. He was still not sure what meat loaf was made from, but his mother’s meat loaf was cooked perfectly, and she always served it with mashed potatoes and gravy that smothered both the potatoes and the meat loaf. There was always a vegetable on the plate, but with enough butter mixed with gravy, even those went down easy.

Dinner was something he always enjoyed, but no more. Now dinner was nothing more than quieting the sharp pangs of hunger that pierced his sides and doubled him over at the waist. It was no use trying to enjoy the food anyway, not with the bucket there. How he longed for running water, good food, and a comfortable bed. The simple pleasures that he took for granted all his life escaped him now. He suddenly felt remorse for complaining to his dad about having to go to baseball practice, sitting up straight in church, and a myriad of other trivial complaints.

His dad had always pushed him to be the best that he could be at everything. Whether it was baseball or schoolwork, his dad would say, It’s not worth doing unless it’s done right. The words echoed in his head. What would his dad do in this situation? His dad was consistently trying to teach him how to be a man but at the same time protect him from what his dad thought was a harsh world. His dad was right. The harsh world got through the defenses, and he was not ready for it. Nothing prepared him for this.

As he wallowed in his misery, sounds started to seep into his consciousness. They were there all along, he realized, but he was so focused on his prison and thoughts of what he had left behind that he had not heard them. As he strained to listen, he heard the sound of other boys like himself crying and longing for their homes. The sounds seemed to vibrate through the metal walls. Although the walls dampened the sound, the pleas for help could be heard over the noises of the ship creaking and groaning. He thought the other boys must miss the gentle touch of their mothers too, since they were calling out to them in desperate wails; their cries echoed through the hollow metal structure that imprisoned them all.

He wondered how they got there. No other boys were with him in the van, yet they were sharing the same prison and the same grief he felt. They could not see each other, but he could hear them, and just maybe they could hear him too. He called out to them, quietly at first and then louder. One boy finally answered.

Who’s there? the boy asked tentatively.

I’m locked in this place too, just like you, he responded.

My name is Josh. What’s your name? the boy asked as if he were introducing himself to the new kid who just moved into the neighborhood.

My name is Joey, he began, but he heard footsteps and stopped.

He’s coming, Josh said with a terrified quiver in his voice.

Joey heard a metal clank and Josh crying. He heard a man’s voice talking in a growl, but he could not make out what the man was saying. Confusion and fear entered his mind. Was he next? What was going to happen to him? The more he thought, the more terrified he became. How he wished his parents were here to protect him and reassure him that everything would be all right.

When Joey was younger and would wake up in terror from nightmares, his mom would come into his room, sit with him, and comfort him. She would tell him that God was watching out for him and that he should pray for peaceful dreams before he went to sleep. When he remembered to say them, the prayers always worked. Maybe they would work for this nightmare too. So he prayed. He prayed that God would protect him and keep him safe from whatever was on the other side of his prison walls. The prayers calmed him and made him feel better, but he knew that this was not just a bad dream. He was uncertain whether the prayers would work in this place, but he had no choice; there was nothing else he could do. His helplessness was overwhelming, and all he could do was beg for God’s help.

Joey awoke with a start. In his exhaustion he must have fallen asleep while praying. How long had he been sleeping? He rubbed his eyes and listened. Josh had stopped crying, and the man had stopped growling. Everything was eerily quiet. No other boys were crying or making any noise at all. Had the man gone? He waited and heard nothing, so he tried again.

Josh. Are you there? Joey whispered loudly. There was no response. He tried again, this time without whispering. Josh, can you hear me? Are you still there? All was quiet.

Then he heard a noise, faint at first but growing louder. It was footsteps, heavy footsteps. The footsteps continued to grow louder until they sounded like they were outside his cell door. Then came the clank, and the door to his cell swung open.

A man stood in the doorway with darkness behind him, lit up like an apparition. It looked as though the man had not showered in a month and shaved only on special occasions. The man’s face was expressionless, but his eyes burned with anger. Entering the room with a fury, he took hold of an arm and ripped Joey off the floor like a tornado sucking him toward the sky. The man was tall and burly, with a grip that was crushing his arm.

No talking, snarled the man.

I was just … Joey started in a defensive tone.

And no excuses! the man yelled as he threw Joey down on the mattress.

Joey was shaking with fear, one arm up with a palm out toward the man who was looming over him, now silhouetted by the dim light.

You’ll learn, said the man. The corner of his mouth turned up in a sinister smirk that was more terrifying than the growl of his voice. The punishment that followed was almost more than Joey could bear.

When the man finally left, Joey curled up in the corner, clutched his knees to his chest, and sobbed uncontrollably. The nightmare was reality.

CHAPTER 3

(Present Day)

It was 3:00 a.m., and David was in the middle of another dream about work. He felt pressured with his new assignment as a detective, and now he was on call. If anything happened that was beyond the patrol officer’s ability to handle the situation, David would be called in to take charge, and everyone would be dependent upon him for direction. As a patrol officer, David took charge many times. He was comfortable with tense situations and often thrived in them, but this was different. David knew that the stakes were higher; he could no longer hold the scene until someone else showed up to take responsibility. Now he was the one the officers were waiting for to hand off responsibility to and the one whom the administration would look to for results. The cases he would be called in for were not simple crimes; they would be homicide investigations, abductions, rapes, and bloody assaults. The thought of his first call made David lose sleep, and when he was sleeping all he dreamed about was work. Afraid he was going to miss a call, David had the ringer volume turned up as high as it would go.

Suddenly the phone rang and jolted David out of his restless sleep. David jumped off his bed at the deafening ring that he thought must have been heard by the neighbors down the street. His wife sat up, also startled by the ring.

Why did you set that so loud? she asked before lying back down in the bed. David was too focused on the ringing of his work cell phone to answer his wife’s somewhat rhetorical question.

Detective Silver, David said into the phone.

This is Officer Kline. We responded to a call of a missing child, and it looks like abduction, said the voice on the other end.

What info do you have so far? asked David.

Officer Kline began the briefing. The child is an eight-year-old boy who lives with his grandparents and was asleep in his room at 11:00 p.m. last night when the grandparents went to bed. The grandpa heard a noise, at about 2:30 a.m., but he thought it was the rain. This prompted David to notice the steady rain that was tapping his bedroom window.

Officer Kline continued. After about five minutes, he got up to use the bathroom and saw that the door on his grandson’s room was open. He walked out to the kitchen and saw that the back door was open as well.

Is there any chance the boy wandered off? asked David, hoping that it was not what he knew it to be.

That was my first thought as well, but there were wet footprints on the kitchen floor from an adult-size shoe, responded Officer Kline.

David’s mind went into overdrive. Get a canine for a track, the crime scene technicians to process the house for evidence, and have dispatch send out a notice to the area police departments with the boy’s description, advising them of a possible abduction. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.

I’m on it, Officer Kline said confidently as they ended the phone call.

David turned to his wife. Although he could not tell if she was sleeping, he said, I have to go to work and don’t know when I’ll be back.

His wife mumbled, I figured that out already. Call me when you can and let me know when to expect you.

David threw on some clothes. He normally wore a suit to work in his new position, but given the hour and the urgency, he put on his tan pants with the cargo pockets and a collared shirt that had the police department logo on it. After donning his gun and badge, David grabbed his key and ran out the door.

As he drove to the scene, David knew that there was little hope. Children abducted by strangers are the most likely of all missing children to be found in a shallow grave or not found at all. His thoughts reverted back to the day Joey Alexander disappeared from his neighboring town. That boy was never found again, without any clues as to where he may have gone. Speculation was all anyone had as to the boy’s fate, but David knew more than most that Joey was almost certainly dead. David had attended the police training courses; he knew that more than 76 percent of children who are abducted and murdered by strangers are dead within seventy-two hours. It had been twenty-four years since the disappearance of Joseph Alexander. Even Joey’s parents had accepted long ago that he was dead, and during the occasional news special, they only asked for closure. Barring a miracle, this boy was destined for the same end as Joey.

As David arrived at the grandparents’ home, he was met by a patrol officer who was obviously outside his comfort zone. The officer was almost panicked when he approached David, which was not normal for patrol officers. They have seen enough horror to become accustomed and as a result remain in control under the worst circumstances. This was entirely different. Two loving grandparents were in despair because their adorable grandson had been taken from their home while they slept, and they could only imagine what unspeakable horrors awaited the innocent boy. The officer had little training and no experience with this type of tragedy; the same horrors were going through his mind, and with three small children of his own, all he could think about was what he would feel like if it were his son who was abducted, and it made him sick.

Fortunately David thrived in situations like these. The anticipation of them made David sick with stress, but once he was in the action, he exuded confidence and had an instinct for doing just the right thing at just the right time.

Am I glad to see you! exclaimed Officer Johansson as David got out of his unmarked police car. Kline is inside with the grandparents.

David looked around to see that the press were already there, trying to get any morsel of information to broadcast the dramatic story, like a dog eager to be fed. David never had much time for the press since they were always a nuisance and rarely got the facts of the story correct. In this case, however, they might be useful in finding the missing boy, if he was still in transit.

Officer Johansson went on to give David the update. We’ve checked the house to make sure Charlie, that’s the missing boy’s name, isn’t hiding inside somewhere. We had the canine attempt a track, but the handler said the steady rain washed away the scent. Then the press started arriving, so we set up the crime scene tape to keep them out, but they have been trying to sneak in and have been shouting questions every time we walk by. The grandparents said that there is no one they can think of who would take Charlie. His parents are on a mission trip outside the country and will not be back for three weeks, his other grandparents live in California, and there is no other family. I don’t know what else to do, said the officer with a sigh. He went on, Our crime scene techs are on their way, but it will take days to get any results, if there is even anything to get!

David could tell that Johansson was getting frustrated as the officer continued, I can’t bring myself to tell Ed and Sally, those are the grandparents, that Charlie is probably dead or will be soon. They are already distraught at the idea Charlie has been abducted by some stranger who broke into their house.

It is better to remain positive and give them some hope. You don’t have to tell them that their grandson might be dead; they already know, explained