Pieces of Home

28. Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Jake

His phone rang at six, and the knock at his door came at almost exactly six thirty, just as he’d finished swallowing the last bite of the very last piece of toast he had in the house. A haggard-looking Wayne escorted in a group of three detectives from the Humboldt County Sheriff’s Department, who spent a good hour grilling him on the events of the last week and then another two hours exploring his property, including the beach and surrounding forest area.

Although he wasn’t happy about it, Jake decided not to join them when they headed down the stairs to the beach; he’d taken another pill that morning, and though it had helped alleviate the worst of his pain, Sue’s warning that he should take it easy and be careful stuck in his mind. In the end, he’d opted out and stayed up on the patio, watching as they’d searched and photographed what seemed like every square foot of the beach, the rocky cliffs, and the nearby forest.

They finished and left just before ten, with instructions for him to come down to the station later to sign a formal statement and talk to Roscoe from the FBI, who would be in at about ten thirty. The restful sleep Jake had gotten overnight seemed like some distant dream, and he hesitated at the cupboard for only a few seconds before opting for coffee rather than tea as his morning beverage.

Forty-five minutes later, after having showered, dressed, and driven back into town, with a brief stop at the post office to pick up his mail, including his new cell phone, Jake leaned heavily on his new cane as he stood in the entryway of the police station.

The scene was . . . chaotic.

Rachel stood off to the right side of the main room, addressing a small but rabid-looking group of reporters. Shirley Davis sat in a chair along the wall at the far back of the room, talking with another middle-aged woman with blonde hair. The two desks in the room were now covered with folders, notes, and coffee cups. An open laptop sat on one, next to a half-eaten pastry of some sort. Several other people Jake didn’t recognize milled about the room, talking quietly or working on their own laptops. And Wayne’s office door was closed, though the blinds covering the window hadn’t been shut.

A tall woman in a blue pantsuit came up and asked Jake his name, and after he introduced himself and told her why he was there, she asked him to have a seat on the bench along the wall while she went to get Wayne. He complied, although something about the whole situation bothered him. Setting his cane up against the bench, Jake closed his eyes for a moment to try to steady himself.

He’d expected all this chaos, really. Even their small town couldn’t hide from it. Yet he’d still held some sort of hope that things would stay more low-key. He’d hate if Rye—

“Oh, shit,” he mumbled, and he straightened up and glanced back toward Wayne’s office. Shirley Davis was here. That meant Rye probably was too.

But he really shouldn’t be here right now. The whole tone of the place would be too much. Harsh, demanding, busy.

Rye needed calm and quiet. Certainly not this .

Through the office window, Jake could see Wayne along with one of the detectives who had been at his house earlier and another person—a dark-haired man with a medium build wearing a button-up and slacks. Roscoe, maybe? The man sat on the edge of Wayne’s desk, frowning and waving a hand at a much smaller man sitting on a chair, his unruly blond hair falling down over his forehead and his arms wrapped protectively around himself...

Fuck. Rye certainly didn’t need that either.

“What the hell are they doing?” The words slipped out before Jake could stop them, but he honestly didn’t care much if someone had overheard him. He pushed himself to his feet, grabbed his cane, and started limping over toward Wayne’s office, concern driving him to hobble faster than he probably should.

Wayne and the woman in the blue pantsuit stepped out of the office just before Jake got there, but as the door was shutting, he got a better glimpse of Rye. The young man was hunched over himself, his arms gripping his sides, and his cheeks were red, stained with tears. He trembled and shook his head at whatever the other man said. Jake’s stomach dropped as he heard the clear frustration in the other man’s voice.

“I am trying to help you here, Ryan,” the man said.

The door shut with a loud click, and Jake could just imagine Rye flinching at the sound. He took another step forward, but Wayne’s hand stopped Jake in his tracks, pushing against the middle of his chest.

“I know, Jake. It’s not as bad as it looks, but believe me, I’m not happy either. ”

Wayne motioned to Rachel’s office, which was currently empty. And although Jake scowled and shook his head, he reluctantly followed. Wayne closed the door behind them and let out a heavy sigh.

“Have a seat, Jake.”

“How long have they been—”

“Jake, I’m not allowed to talk about it, and I think you know that,” Wayne interrupted as he collapsed into the chair on the opposite side of the desk.

“Wayne, that poor man doesn’t need to be interrogated, he needs—”

“I know , Jake. Sit.” When Jake still didn’t move, Wayne rolled his eyes and added, “The sooner I get you set up in here to give your statement, the sooner I can get back in there and remind Roscoe about whatever sensitivity training he should have had at the academy. The man forgets sometimes that he’s talking to a victim, not a perp, I swear. I mean, I wish Ryan would talk, too, but whatever trauma he went through obviously runs pretty deep, and the way Roscoe’s handling things certainly isn’t helping.”

“Didn’t you tell him—”

Wayne sighed again, and Jake shut his mouth. “Of course. I explained what you’d said this morning, too—that Ryan only started talking a few words at a time after he felt safer. Roscoe’s just... intense. He cares, but his focus now is on getting information so he can find the bastard who did this. I know he’s always felt that he failed this case. When we weren’t able to find Ryan back then, it hit all of us hard, but maybe Roscoe hardest. He had a little boy not much older than Rye at the time, and—” Wayne groaned and shook his head. “Christ, pretend I didn’t say that, okay?” After another hesitation, he added, “We really don’t have anything new yet anyway. Not even a confirmation from Ryan that he was indeed kidnapped.”

Feeling heavier than he had a few minutes ago, before he’d entered the police station, Jake nodded and made his way across the small office to the desk. He rested his cane up against the wood and then lowered himself into the chair—the hard, uncomfortable plastic feeling unwelcome to his simmering pain. Across from him, Wayne pulled open a drawer and fished out a yellow pad of paper before sliding it across the table toward Jake, along with a plain black pen.

“Okay, so what I need is pretty much everything you told us this morning, written out as best you can. Then you’ve gotta sign it and date it for us.”

Jake nodded just as a knock came on the office door. It opened before Wayne could answer, and Rachel poked her head in, giving Jake a tight smile before turning to her dad.

“Media’s handled for now, but it’s only gonna get worse as word gets out. Craig said he’d put out an official statement and request that Ryan and his family be left alone.” She paused and let out a short sigh. “What do you need from me now?”

Wayne stood up, muttering something under his breath, and shook his head. “I dunno. Help me out in the other office, maybe? Roscoe’s being... well, Roscoe. You remember him, Rach? How he was before?”

“He’s... intense,” Rachel offered hesitantly, but her quick glance in Jake’s direction had his stomach in knots. There was that word again. Intense.

Intense was not what Rye needed.

“Hell, maybe we can get Roscoe to give Ryan a break and come in here to interview Jake for a bit. That, or...” Wayne scowled, crossing his arms over his chest. “Or maybe... maybe Ryan’ll feel better talking if you ask him to, Jake? Do you think?”

Jake frowned. “You just said you can’t really tell me anything about what’s going on, and now you want my help getting Rye to talk?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Wayne said, and he huffed out a frustrated breath as he ran a hand through his hair. “But do you think it might work?”

Rachel cleared her throat quietly. “I think it might be worth a try. If you’re up for it, Jake. I mean, you were able to convince him to let Sue check him over yesterday. Although I’m not sure...”

She glanced at Wayne, and he seemed to know where she was going.

“Yeah, Roscoe’s not going to agree to it,” Wayne finished for her, and she nodded.

“But maybe we should give it a try? See if Roscoe’ll agree. We could clear the room ’cept me or Pamela and Jake.” At Jake’s questioning look, Rachel clarified, “Pamela is one of the detectives the county sent over. She’s talking with Shirley right now. She’s real kind. Quiet, too. The, uh, opposite of Roscoe, I think.”

“Ah.”

Rachel continued. “And maybe, Jake, you can convince Ryan to try to answer my questions or Pamela’s. I wouldn’t expect him to talk to Craig or Roscoe. Ryan... reacts more fearfully to men.”

Wayne nodded. “I noticed that too. But he seems to trust you, Jake. What do you say? It’s at least worth a try? If Roscoe agrees. Unfortunately, he’s the one steering this ship, and I don’t have a whole lotta say.”

Jake’s hand absently rubbed his thigh as he stared down at the yellow notepad in front of him. His stomach couldn’t settle, especially as that last glimpse he’d had of Rye jumped back into his head. “I don’t know if Rye will listen to me,” he admitted, and he frowned as he looked up at Rachel and then back at Wayne. “And I won’t push him. If he says no, he says no. But I’m willing to give it a try.”

Wayne nodded, and he and Rachel left the room. Wayne returned with the dark-haired man, Roscoe, a few minutes later. Up close, the man looked tired and much older than Jake had expected. His dark eyes were intense and fiery, but at the same time, he looked worn, exhausted, like he needed a coffee. Or a nap.

Using the chair to help him, Jake pushed himself to his feet. Then he grabbed his cane and took a step toward Wayne and Roscoe, offering out his hand.

“Mr. Wright, nice to meet you.” Roscoe reached out and shook Jake’s hand, his grip almost too firm.

Jake easily reciprocated. “Nice to meet you too.”

“Police Chief Harris hopes you might be able to get Ryan to talk to us.” It was a statement, not a question, but Jake nodded anyway.

“I don’t know, but I’d like to try.”

Roscoe frowned but then seemed to acquiesce, giving Wayne a short nod. “I need to talk to the mom anyway. Wayne, can I speak with her in here? Then Pamela can sit in with Mr. Wright and hopefully get answers from Ryan.”

After a few more short instructions, during which Roscoe showed he actually did care and apologized that he’d probably come off too harsh, Wayne led Jake out of the room. They paused for a moment outside the other office, and Wayne closed his eyes for a long second before glancing over to where Shirley sat near the back of the room, now alone.

With a small shake of his head, Wayne said in a low voice, “I’ll keep Roscoe busy until you all are done in there. Take your time.” He patted Jake lightly on the shoulder. “And thanks. I hope you’re able to help him.”

“I’ll do my best, but like I said, I won’t push him.”

“I know. And I expect that approach is just what he might need.” Wayne gave him a final nod and then left.

And Jake took a deep breath to steady himself before reaching out to open the door.

The first thing Jake noticed when he walked into the office was that there was a ceiling fan on, and it was making a low hum with a sort of rhythmic click, like it wasn’t quite balanced right.

The second thing he noticed was that Rye was no longer sitting on the chair at the desk .

Rachel was right there, however, and she frowned up at Jake and tilted her head toward the back corner of the room as he stepped slowly inside. He looked in the direction she’d indicated, and his heart sank. At some point in the last ten minutes or so, Rye had moved from the chair over into the corner, and he sat there like he had so much of the time when he’d been at Jake’s house—cowering, his knees bent up and pulled into his chest, his head low and his shoulders tight.

Jake started to close the door behind himself but then paused. “Hey, Rye,” he said gently, and he left the door about halfway open and took a small step in Rye’s direction. “Hey, it’s me, Jake.”

Rye’s body seemed to tremble for a second, as though he were letting out a shaky breath or something, and then he lifted his chin just enough so he could look up at Jake. And god, his eyes...

Jake had seen so many emotions in Rye’s deep blue eyes over the last week, but now, they were laced with fear and confusion and uncertainty. The ache in Jake’s heart almost made it hard to breathe.

He smiled as softly as he could. “Can I come in and sit with you for a bit? Would that be okay?”

His stomach twisted as he waited for Rye to answer, but he knew he couldn’t move until Rye said it was okay. The younger man’s eyes darted to Rachel and the other woman, Pamela, who stood together near Wayne’s desk, then returned to Jake, the question almost as clear as if Rye had spoken it.

“They’re here because they want to ask you some more questions,” Jake said quietly. Rye’s expression tightened as he screwed his eyes shut, and Jake shook his head gently. “For now, it’s just you and me, okay? Just you and me, and they won’t ask you anything else unless you’re ready.”

He hoped that was right; he was pretty sure Rachel would wait, but he didn’t know Pamela. He shot them a quick glance, and they both nodded but stayed silent.

“So, can I come and sit with you?” Jake asked again, and he took another small step toward Rye, leaning a bit more heavily on his cane. To his right, Rachel started to move to the door, but Jake shook his head. “Don’t shut it. Rye prefers the door to stay open. Right, Rye?”

Rye nodded almost immediately, though he didn’t look up again, and Jake blew out a relieved breath and then took another step forward.

“And I can sit with you?” When Rye didn’t respond, Jake added very, very softly, “Remember, you can always say no.”

He’d just started to back up a step, worried he’d already messed up somehow, when Rye coughed and then nodded.

“You . . . can.”

Hearing Rye’s voice was a special, precious thing, even with his obvious hesitation, and Jake felt a tug at his heart that was almost becoming familiar.

He smiled and said, “Thank you, Rye.” Then, still moving slowly, Jake hobbled the rest of the way over to where Rye sat against the wall and carefully lowered himself to the ground, relying heavily on his cane. It wasn’t elegant, and he managed to not make any embarrassing sounds that would show his discomfort, but he couldn’t help feeling the tiniest bit self-conscious with Rachel and Pamela watching him.

Once he settled, sitting against the wall a foot or so away from Rye, he rested his cane down on the floor and glanced at the man next to him. Rye had turned his head slightly in Jake’s direction, and he met Jake’s gaze almost immediately, his eyes still holding onto that fear and uncertainty Jake had seen in them earlier.

Jake gave him a gentle half-smile, hoping it might ease some of whatever he was feeling. And by some miracle, Rye seemed to try to smile back. It was one of those small, tight smiles, and it disappeared into a frown almost immediately.

“I... can’t do wh-what they want. And that m-made that man... m-mad,” Rye said, his words stuttering and slow. He buried his head back into his knees, and his body trembled again. This time, Jake was close enough that he could hear Rye’s shuddering breath.

He simultaneously wanted to cry for Rye—the heartbreak in his words was just too much—and cheer for him at the full, complete sentences he’d spoken. But he did neither.

“I’m sorry, Rye,” he said softly, even as his chest tightened. “It’s just us here now, okay? You’re safe, and it’s okay if you’re not ready.”

Rye didn’t respond, but Jake hadn’t really expected him to. He shifted a tiny bit to straighten his bad leg and looked up across the room at Rachel and Pamela. They’d moved quietly to sit in the two chairs—one on either side of Wayne’s desk—and they were both watching him silently. Jake gave them a nod before focusing back on Rye.

God, he wished he knew exactly what to say. More than that, though, he wished Rye hadn’t been put in this situation in the first place.

“I saw two more dolphins this morning,” Jake said finally, after a long pause. “I was out on the patio, and they were swimming south. They were bottlenose dolphins, not Pacific white-sided dolphins. I don’t see those ones as much. I think they tend to stay a bit farther south, so it was neat.”

Rye had turned his head to look at Jake again, and Jake smiled.

“Can you see the ocean from your house?” he asked, hoping the question was innocuous enough.

Rye blinked and seemed to be thinking, then he shook his head slightly .

“Ahh, too bad. Are there too many trees?”

A nod this time, and Rye looked like he wanted to say something, so Jake waited. But then Rye closed his eyes and rested his forehead back on his knees.

Jake took a breath and let the silence settle for a moment. Realistically, he knew they didn’t have too much time, but he also knew deep down that Rye wasn’t really going to be able to talk. Not today at least. Even though he’d managed a few words to Jake just now, which was impressive enough in itself, the most Jake really expected would be a nod or a shake of his head once Rachel or Pamela started talking to him.

It was too much for him right now, and at minimum , that should have been recognized much sooner. But since Jake couldn’t turn back the clock—and god, how he wanted to; turn it back fifteen years and fix all the wrongs before they’d even happened—he had to just do the best he could now.

He looked up at Rachel and gave her a tight smile. Her expression reflected his, as did Pamela’s, and he was glad that the tone in the room had changed enough for Rye to have felt comfortable saying the few words he had.

Jake turned back to Rye.

“I’m sorry that other man who was trying to talk to you seemed mad,” Jake said quietly. “I’m sorry you were put in that situation.”

It was the truth, even though Jake hadn’t had any part in it, and it hurt even more when he saw Rye’s shoulders tighten.

“He... scared me,” Rye mumbled into his knees.

“I know, and I’m sorry. You’re so brave to be here, though, Rye.”

“I don’t . . . feel brave.”

“You are. You’re much braver than anyone I know.”

Rye let out another of those long, shuddering breaths, but didn’t otherwise respond. And because Jake didn’t know what else to say or how else to proceed, he lifted his eyes to the two women sitting on the other side of the room. He swallowed and nodded to Pamela, who was closer. He only hoped Rachel’s assessment of Pamela’s character had been right.

“Rye, have you met Pamela?” Without looking up, Rye shook his head, which was the answer Jake had expected. Jake continued. “Pamela is from the county sheriff’s department, and she’s really nice. Would it be okay with you if she sat here and talked with us?”

This time, Rye did look up and across the room. Pamela offered him a kind smile and a little wave.

“Hi, Rye. Nice to meet you,” she said, and Jake almost breathed a sigh of relief at the softness and kindness of her tone. Even if Rye couldn’t talk to her, at least she probably wouldn’t make him more upset than he already was. “I’d love to ask you a few questions, if you’re up for it.”

Rye bit his lip and screwed his eyes shut, then seemed to force a nod before burying his head in his knees once more.

“Pamela, come sit here with us. I think that helps. Right, Rye?”

At Rye’s nod again, Pamela came over and lowered herself down to sit facing Jake and Rye. Rachel stayed where she was.

And very gently, Pamela started talking. She told Rye who she was and mentioned that she’d seen an entire massive pod of short-beaked common dolphins when she’d gone whale watching last year. He’d looked up again, his eyes a bit wide, when she’d mentioned there were hundreds of dolphins in the pod and that they’d been swimming right alongside the boat.

The difference between her and Roscoe was like night and day, and Jake was hopeful. Until she changed the subject, that was.

“I know it’s hard to think about and talk about, Rye,” she started, her tone still careful and kind, “but I’d really like to ask you a few questions so we can figure out what happened when you disappeared and where you’ve been all this time. If someone did this to you, we want to find them so we can put them in jail and make sure they never hurt anyone ever again.”

The curiosity that had been in Rye’s eyes while she’d been talking about dolphins and whale watching tightened into fear and uncertainty. And yet, even as he visibly shrunk back against the wall a little more, Rye nodded.

Jake inhaled a sharp breath and tried to ignore the heaviness that settled on his chest. He’s not ready. The words repeated several times in his head in quick succession. He’s not ready. He’s not ready. He’s not ready. And Rye almost seemed to be fighting against himself as well, his breathing forced into an unnaturally steady rhythm and his jaw tight as he kept his eyes on Pamela.

“We can stop at any time, okay?”

Rye nodded, but Jake saw his fingers tighten around his legs.

“Do you remember the day you disappeared, Rye?”

Another nod, though Rye closed his eyes.

“Do you remember how old you were?”

Rye’s breath seemed to catch, and he nodded again. He buried his head against his knees but released his legs long enough to lift up eight fingers.

“That’s right, Rye,” Pamela said, and she blinked and glanced at Jake, her gentle smile faltering for a second. “I want to ask you a more difficult question now. But it’s okay to say no... Rye, do you remember what happened that day?”

This time, Rye nodded just once, but it was immediate and strong and... awful. Because he also started shaking again. And Jake noticed his shoes pressing into the carpet as though he were trying to push himself back against the wall harder.

“I’m so sorry to have to ask these questions, Rye. I know they’re hard. Can you tell me anything about it? About what happened?” With obvious reluctance, Pamela added, “Did someone take you that day, Rye?”

Jake’s heart hurt as he watched Rye struggle to find an answer, first nodding and then shaking his head and then reaching up to cover his head with both hands.

And Jake couldn’t not react. He couldn’t sit there and do nothing. So he scooted closer to Rye by a few inches and softly murmured, “It’s okay, Rye. It’s okay.” Then he lifted his hand and set it lightly on Rye’s upper back, as he had several times now. When he rubbed gently, Rye let out a quiet sob. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. You’re safe now.”

He could feel each of Rye’s shaky breaths, each uncertain tremble, each shudder, and it hurt his heart. Again.

“I think we should be done now, Jake,” Pamela suggested, her voice low, and Jake couldn’t agree more.

He nodded and rubbed Rye’s back again. “Did you hear that, Rye? All done for today, okay? You did great. You did great.”

Quietly, Pamela got up and moved away, and then she and Rachel left the room, promising to be back with Rye’s mom in a few minutes, after they spoke to Wayne and Roscoe.

Then the room was silent again, except for the low hum and click of the ceiling fan.