Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
“Your real name,” Michelle said. “What do other people call you?”
“Arrow.”
She leaned against the crook between the window and door and stared. Based on Fletch’s expression and body language, she’d guess he was telling her the truth. “Why Arrow? Are you like the male version of Katniss from Hunger Games?”
“I shoot straight.” He turned toward her and winked. “I hit my target.”
“Come on, there’s more to the story.”
“You’re the one who makes up stories,” Fletch said. “Why do you think people call me Arrow?”
“Because that’s the name you’ve given them, or they’ve heard others use it, and you never corrected them because you do whatever it is you do. You don’t want to get close to anyone enough to tell them your real name.”
“And here I thought you had a pre-law degree not psychology.”
“I took psychology classes. I think the workings of the human brain are fascinating.”
Fletch turned down the radio as they followed the red ribbon of taillights. “Tell me about your childhood.”
Looking down, she picked at the frayed material of her blue jeans.
There was nothing wrong with Michelle’s childhood memories.
It was that she wasn’t sure if she could talk about them without breaking down at the loss of her father.
Instead, she decided to give a short answer.
“It was normal and boring.” She looked up. “What about yours?”
“Not normal nor boring. So, I can’t relate.” He turned briefly, his eyes meeting hers. “You can give a long-winded answer to a question about the color of the sky, but your childhood gets five words. Did you ever want siblings?”
“I had an older sister. Her name was Sarah.”
Fletch’s lips pressed together. “Denny never mentioned her.”
“He wouldn’t. Sarah passed away before I was born. I didn’t know anything about her until I was in high school. She was only four years old.”
“What happened?”
“Mom said it was a tragedy. Dad said it was an accident.” Michelle sighed.
“Sarah was the only topic my parents wouldn’t discuss.
” She lifted her cheeks. “It’s funny. When I was little, my mom said I had an imaginary friend, and I called her Sarah.
She asked me how I came up with that name, and I apparently shrugged. I honestly don’t remember any of that.”
“Maybe you overheard your parents talking.”
“Maybe. It’s hard to understand what a child thinks. I’d forgotten about my imaginary friend until I learned about the real Sarah. It’s one of those memories that seems real and at the same time you can’t quite reach. It’s fuzzy.” She turned toward Fletch. “How about you, siblings?”
“One brother. My story isn’t as tragic. We lost touch in the foster system. He was a year younger than me. He got adopted. I didn’t.”
The winter night felt suddenly cooler.
“What happened to your parents?” Michelle asked.
“From the records I’ve found, no name was listed for the man who helped make me.
The woman who birthed me wanted her heroin or other drugs more than she wanted to be our mother.
It’s like you said, I can’t remember the specifics.
I don’t even have memories of what she looked like.
I’ve seen her picture, but when I do, it’s like looking at a stranger. ”
Michelle reached over to his arm. “You weren’t kidding when you said your childhood wasn’t normal or boring. I’m sorry.”
Fletch pressed his lips together and shook his head. “Don’t be. I learned from a young age who I could trust. That lesson made me the man I am today.”
“A man who would save someone he barely knew.”
Fletch looked Michelle’s direction and quirked his lips. “I knew who I was saving.” He relaxed his shoulders. “You’re not officially safe yet.”
“I’m alive. That says a lot.” She paused, staring out at the passing scenery before turning back. “Sheriff Perkins sent a deputy to kidnap me.”
Fletch nodded.
“What if he doesn’t give up?”
He turned and met her gaze. “He won’t find you where we’re going.”
“Which is…?”
“For now, just think of it as my home base.”
“Your house?”
“I have an apartment.”
“How many women have you saved and taken away to your place?” Michelle meant for the question to be funny, but by Fletch’s expression, he didn’t hear her humor.
“I’ve never taken a woman to my place.”
“Never?” She remembered what he’d said a few moments ago. “Is that because you don’t trust anyone?”
“There are a few people who I trust. The list is comfortably short. I’m good with keeping it that way.”
At the next gas stop, Fletch changed from streaming country music to the Crime Daily Podcast. He began today’s earlier broadcast from the beginning.
Michelle wasn’t the lead story. Instead, it was about a child who disappeared last Sunday from an NFL game in Foxborough, Massachusetts. The little boy was eight years old, Caucasian, four feet, two inches tall, weighing about fifty-five pounds.
After the game was over, Timothy Wells told his mother he needed to use the restroom.
According to Mrs. Wells, she would normally take him with her, but the line to the ladies’ room was extra-long.
He went inside the men’s bathroom, and his mother waited outside.
There were a lot of people coming and going, yet she never saw her son exit.
After seeing men come and go, Mrs. Wells sent another man in the bathroom to find her son.
He returned with the news she didn’t want to hear—Timothy wasn’t in the restroom.
Mrs. Wells immediately contacted the stadium’s security.
All exit doors were closed, and the remainder of the fans were required to pass through security checkpoints before leaving. Timothy wasn’t found.
The nab happened too fast.
Security cameras later identified a person of interest, a man wearing a Patriots hoodie, carrying a sleeping child in his arms. The man kept his head down, not allowing a clear view from the cameras.
While the child’s face was also well hidden from the cameras, Mrs. Wells confirmed that the shoes the child wore matched her son’s.
The man with the sleeping child left the stadium before the security was notified of the missing boy. The Foxborough Police Department and the Massachusetts State Police have reached out to the FBI for help in finding Timothy.
He’s the fourth child to be reported missing in New England in the last six weeks.
As Kenzi and Ali spoke about the leads, Fletch’s grip of the steering wheel tightened. His fingers blanched beneath the grip.
When the podcast went to commercial break, Fletch mumbled, “Professional.”
“Professional what?”
“Kidnapper, probably child trafficker.”
In the illumination of the dashboard, Michelle saw the strain in his clenched jaw. “What do you think has happened to the boy?”
Fletch hit the steering wheel with the butt of his hand. “If he’s lucky, he’s in some other country adopted by someone who could pay for the child they wanted.”
“If he’s not lucky?” Michelle asked, her stomach twisting.
“If he’s not lucky, he wishes he was dead.”
“Welcome back,” Kenzi’s voice came through the speakers as she and Ali continued the most recent broadcast of Crime Daily Podcast. “Remember the author we spoke about yesterday, D. Valentine.”
“Michelle Holdcraft,” Ali corrected.
“I wish they’d stop saying that,” Michelle said.
“Right. Well, Ali, I wanted to lead with the Timothy Wells story because things are getting even more interesting. Yesterday it came to our attention that a man with the same last name—”
“Holdcraft.”
“Right. Dennis Holdcraft was identified as the victim of a house fire in Iron Falls, Massachusetts. Tell our listeners what we’ve learned about Mr. Holdcraft.”
“He served in the Indianapolis Metropolitan Police Department for over thirty years with many commendations. After the death of his wife, he retired and moved to Iron Falls. Get this…his wife died in a house explosion eight years ago.”
“Whoa, that seems like a coincidence.”
“It gets more interesting with their only daughter’s home exploding. On top of that, Iron Falls is two and a half hours from Foxborough.”
Michelle gasped. “They can’t possibly be insinuating my father had anything to do with that boy’s kidnapping.” Her comment made them miss a little of the podcast.
“…happening in Massachusetts?”
“And Indiana, Kenzi. That was where Ms. Holdcraft lived. The Iron Falls sheriff, Ralph Perkins, told sources that Ms. Holdcraft was seen in Iron Falls prior to her father’s demise.
When the sheriff couldn’t locate her, he contacted IMPD to notify Ms. Holdcraft of her father’s passing and request she contact him. ”
“Contact him?”
“Yeah, IMPD made a statement that Sheriff Perkins wanted to talk to Ms. Holdcraft about possible involvement in her father’s death.”
“You don’t think Michelle is involved in her father’s death?” Kenzi asked.
“I don’t know, but she’s missing, and her mother and now her father perish in house fires- slash-explosions.”
Kenzi inhaled. “Three fires.”
“I think we need to take a trip to Iron Falls.”
Kenzi laughed. “It’s like you can read my mind. I hear it’s cold, so pack some boots and a warm coat.”
“We’ll be back after a word from our sponsor.”
Fletch turned down the volume. “Fuck, that took a turn I wasn’t expecting.”
“Are they saying…? Is Ralph Perkins insinuating I was involved in my father’s death? Are the podcasters?” Her voice rose an octave. “There’s no way my father was involved in a kidnapping or child trafficking. Is there any way the two events could be connected?”
Fletch inhaled.