Lost in the Darkness (Crusaders of the Lost Book 1) Page 9

  An hour later, their mother ran up and down the neighborhood frantically looking for the girls, but she only found their riderless bikes pushed off into the grass. Just down the street she stopped suddenly, horrified at the emptiness of the scene. Two soda cans were lying on the concrete; their contents had leaked out, staining the dry concrete wet. Half-full candy packages lay discarded on the ground just beyond the soda cans.

  The man kept the girls for days in a house somewhere in the greater Houston area, somewhere in the southwest near the Goodwin Home in Missouri City, Texas. Rachel tried to remain strong and fight the man every time he came in the room, but her young muscles were no match for his strength. She was pushed away to the ground as a mere annoyance, while he took Rhonda from the tiny dark room to elsewhere in the house. Rachel knew he was doing bad things to her sister— forbidden things Rhonda shouldn’t know about but was forced to endure. She felt powerless as the man took her sister from the room with a glint of evil lust gleaming in his eyes. He would bring her back later, but it happened several times a day. Once returned to their dark prison cell, she wouldn’t talk about what happened, only shut down and cry uncontrollably. Rachel would hug her sister tight while she cried herself to sleep, hoping never to let go.

  Armed with an idea to stop the violence to her sister, Rachel prepared herself for the next time the man came into the room. Once the heavy stomps on the wood floor neared the tiny, dark room, she hid her sister in the dark corner and stood waiting as the door opened. She could never see his face, the light from the other part of the house flooded the room, casting a dark silhouette on the man. She stood before him, offering herself in place of her fragile, broken little sister. The man contemplated the offer. Rachel, attempting to further entice the man, slid off her shirt, revealing her underdeveloped body, hoping that would steer his attention toward her and not her sister.

  She stood there half-naked and exposed for what seemed an eternity, waiting for the man to decide, but suddenly she was pushed aside while he scooped up the younger, defenseless Rhonda and took her from the room. Rachel screamed and pleaded with the man to take her instead. She begged him to take her and leave her sister alone, but her pleas went ignored. She failed.

  Rhonda reached out for her sister and their eyes locked as the man carried her out of the tiny, dark room. Rachel tried to convey hope to her sister with a look that everything was going to be alright, but she was met with a defeated and blank stare. She had given up and succumbed to the man and his evil. She mouthed the words, weakly, “It’s okay. I love you,” as she watched her being taken away. Rachel lunged after the man with every ounce of her being, but he shoved her back in the room and slammed the door. She screamed and pushed against the door, but it was in vain as he locked it, keeping her trapped inside, helpless. She beat and kicked against the door wildly, fueled with rage until she was completely exhausted.

  That was the last time she saw her.

  The girls had been missing for a total of three days when Rachel was found wandering around a neighborhood in the middle of the night, half naked, dirty, severely dehydrated, and incoherent. She was rushed to the hospital, but because of her delirious state, she was unable to help the police find the house where she and her sister had been held captive. The police covered the area but were unable to retrace the young girl’s steps to find any trace of her sister.

  While Rachel recovered in the hospital with her mother at her side, the police detectives delivered the awful and heart-breaking news that Rhonda couldn’t be located, and the search was being called off. The police searched over three square miles surrounding the spot Rachel had been found wandering, for the better part of two days, but they were unable to find any sign of her sister Rhonda.

  The violence inflicted on Rhonda as described by Rachel was unthinkable, and although countless man hours and community support went into the investigation of this heinous act, there was not much to go on. Some leads trickled in, but nothing ever seemed to stick. Rachel tried her best to provide useful details to help the detectives, but her damaged mind became easily stressed. She got confused as she was asked to relive the terrible crime over and over again by the police and psychologists. Every time she tried to picture the man, she could only recall his dark, silhouetted outline standing in the doorway—an image that would haunt her for many years.

  Rhonda was never found and was officially presumed dead.

  The man responsible for the unforgiveable crime committed against Rhonda and Rachel Goodwin was never found either. He remained a faceless, shadowy monster that loomed in the darkness. This caused Rachel problems after the fact as she felt she was always looking over her shoulder for the man to reappear and drag her back into hell. She started studying martial arts and joined several team sports to get physically strong and take her mind off the tragedy. It helped to focus her pent up anger. But it was only temporary. The anger always lurked in the shadows like a behemoth waiting to be unleashed. Moving through high school, she grew introverted and closed off, afraid to get close to anyone. The relationship with her mother soured as she felt blamed for her sister’s disappearance, and her mother never attempted to assuage her guilt. She was too ashamed to explain that she offered herself to the man to help protect her sister, but as her thoughts traveled back to that unbearable time in her life, she questioned why. Why did he choose Rhonda and not her?

  Rachel struggled with this question the most and let it eat away and break her self-esteem down to nothing as she moved into adulthood. At the age of sixteen, she started to take up high-risk behavior such as promiscuity and illegal drug use. With her mother still emotionally absent and numb to her fragile emotional state, Rachel used her sexuality to gain attention from whoever was available. This validated her need for acceptance but left her empty and hollow inside. Yet she still craved the attention and was labeled a whore behind her back. She hid the pain through alcohol and drug use and started to engage in more of a physical brand of sex…just to feel something, but it only left her feeling dead inside.

  Rachel, at the age of twenty-four, was admitted into the hospital for alcohol poisoning after being left in the back alley of a bar. She was found with her tight-fitting skirt hiked up around her waist, no underwear, and lying in a pool of her own vomit. She couldn’t even tell the EMTs what day, month, or even the correct year when she was questioned. She only rambled on about her sister and that she had to find her.

  In the hospital, she lay in the bed, thinking about her sister and the pain she would never be able to shake. She overheard one of the nurses, who obviously thought she was out of earshot, say this was the eighth time Rachel had been admitted for some variation of alcohol poisoning. She hadn’t realized the number of visits she’d accrued. They snickered at her debilitating weakness and she grew angry and embarrassed. She wanted to lash out and get physical with the bitchy, judgmental women by the nurses’ station, but a vision of her sister flashed before her, calming her down. She realized, at that moment, this was her problem and it wasn’t going away on its own. She had to deal with it or let it take over. It was no way to honor her sister.

  Rachel ripped the IVs out of her arm, got dressed, and walked out of the hospital, never to return as a patient needing to be dried out from alcohol. She quickly found herself turning her life around and enrolled in college classes to finish her degree in social work from Baylor University. She began to take on weight and quit the anorexic behavior she had incorporated for so long to keep the superficial look of being thin and attractive. As the extra weight formed around her mid-section, she found herself content with it, considering how dangerous the alternative had become. She had a few relapses around the anniversary of Rhonda’s and her abduction and some shitty days in general, but they waned to nothing as the years went on. Rachel found her niche in helping the less fortunate children. She believed her personal tragedy would allow her to relate better to the children she helped. She took a job with the Department of Children and Family Servic
es out of college and didn’t look back, until the day she met Alexis Vanderhill.

  Now, she carried with her a framed photograph of her sister from a more joyful and innocent time in their lives, a memorable family trip to the Galveston Beach on the Gulf of Mexico. It reminded her of how low she had once been. Lying in the hospital bed, the vision that flashed before Rachel and pulled her out of the abyss was from that beach vacation with Rhonda.

  Rachel’s faith in God had disappeared the day she and her sister had their innocence ripped away. Although the path she forged after getting clean was arduous, she found it somewhat fateful that now she was a part of a group that might finally help her find answers about Rhonda.

  Chapter 12

  After dropping off lunch with Louis at the hotel, Curt headed back out, trying to find another locale suitable for the mission. As the day went on, the sun sat atop the western ridge of the Rockies, leaving long shadows down in the valley town. Curt had to keep moving; he had to keep searching for stolen innocence and remain the beacon of hope he desperately needed, not only for the children he sought but for his own sake.

  He moved away from the major streets and avenues of the small town and found his way snaking through back roads and neighborhood streets. Dusk took ahold of the clear mountain sky. A set of lights towered in the distance and caught Curt’s attention. As he moved along the road, the lights multiplied into many different, glowing towers, shining brightly in the night. He recognized the sight which bred in him the worst night of his life. A shiver ran through his body from the awful memory, yet he was drawn to the lights like a moth to flame.

  Curt made his way through the settling night towards the lights that beckoned. He made his way through the small neighborhood and the sight became clear. He was right. It was a sports complex with a multitude of children, parents, and complex workers moving about and around the cloverleaf of softball fields with a single structure anchoring the center, acting as both a concession stand and field office. His breathing grew rapid beyond his control as the memory came flooding back with the force of a tidal wave. The sight of fathers walking side by side with their sons was the hardest to watch.

  Cheers and sideline coaching grew louder as Curt neared the complex. Several miniature football players, clad in oversized pads and legs too short to run that fast, moved around the altered softball fields like a school of fish undulating under the sea. He found a spot to park and just watched.

  The picture wedged in the dash pulled his focus like it was calling him by name. He removed the photograph from its place as tears were already falling down both cheeks. He wondered if he would ever run out of tears, but when it came to his son, he would not run out of anything whether it be tears or hope.

  ***

  The vibration of his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He quietly stepped out of the CID conference room while the others waited patiently. He looked around and fished the phone out of his pocket. The others were waiting for a few more to join the meeting.

  “Hey,” he answered after reading his wife’s name on the caller ID.

  “Are you going to be able to make it on time tonight?”

  Curt snapped his wrist up flashing his watch. It was nearing 5:30 p.m., “Yeah, we’re meeting right now with the command staff and council chair; it shouldn’t be too long. I’ll run home and grab him, and we’ll pick up some food or something on the way.”

  “Okay, so you know, he won’t talk about anything other than watching his daddy play softball tonight!”

  “Nice. I hope I don’t disappoint.”

  “Okay, I’ll have him ready, but if you run late, I’ll just take him with me.”

  The last anticipated attendee stepped off the elevator with his assistant and Curt’s sergeant following. The well-dressed man waved at him as he looked up from his phone call, and Curt waved back. He walked into the conference room and took a seat.

  “Okay, I should be there. I gotta go babe…I love you!”

  “Love you too.”

  Curt snapped the phone shut and joined the meeting, hoping to get all the issues ironed out quickly so that he could keep the appointment with his son. Josh loved to be the batboy for his father and his buddies as they played.

  The meeting was scheduled amidst the on-going investigation into a serial rapist who was now responsible for six reported sexual batteries, all occurring on the eastside of Tallahassee. Each one was more brutal than the last. The media quickly compared the seriousness of the crimes to the carnage left behind by the renowned serial killer Ted Bundy, who plagued a Florida State University sorority back in the seventies. The unknown suspect was targeting women who were at home alone. He silently stalked them for a bit and then would stealthily break into the house, ambush the women, tie them up, and blindfold them before repeatedly raping them. He left the scene seemingly without a trace, keeping the women’s underwear as a trophy of sorts. Curt caught the cases and had been working them non-stop for the last few weeks, trying to stop the sick animal responsible for these atrocious crimes.

  The focus of the meeting was to update the higher-ups in command staff and the appointed chairman of the newly formed council on public safety, City Councilman Thomas Pittman. Pittman was selected for this position for his tough-on-crime stance and eagerness to help the police department get the resources they needed along with the city’s support. He gained popularity and status in the community by speaking out against the gangs, drug dealers, and thieves of the city. Tallahassee Police Chief Harrison sat next to him at the head of the conference table as Curt walked around the room giving out all the necessary details of the case. He advised them on how they were going to proceed with the investigation.

  Pittman was brought in on this case specifically for his willingness to get the resources needed to bring these heinous crimes to a successful resolution. He was also up for re-election the following year, so it wouldn’t hurt to help the police bring down a serial rapist.

  “In going back and talking with the victims, we were able to determine at least three were members of the same gym, Tallahassee Gym Works on the parkway—something we missed initially. The others were pretty fit and exercised in some way or another outside of the gym. Obviously, this guy has an eye for the athletic type. So based on the normal workout times of the three gym members, we think the suspect is following them home after their work outs, breaking in, tying them up, and raping them after blindfolding them.”

  Curt signaled his squad-mate, who was sitting in front of a computer in the corner, to activate the projector in the ceiling. After doing so, a wall-sized map of east Tallahassee lit up the screen behind the Chief. The map was marked with six, red pinpoints, one for each of the women’s houses and locations of the rapes. He was sticking to a few square miles of territory on the eastside, but unfortunately, the geographic location was home to, or was easily accessed by, nearly a third of Tallahassee’s population. The area had been developed rather quickly over the last decade and had grown quite popular.

  Curt continued on with the cases providing a brief overview of each attack and any outstanding factors from the case, like if there were witnesses or physical evidence, which were scarce amongst all of the cases. However, once they revisited with each victim and learned of the obvious connection, they were moving fast with follow-up.

  “The gym has a good video system, so we’re going to explore that first thing tomorrow as well as set up a surveillance operation that is being devised as we speak using the VICE unit. We don’t want to move too fast, for our working theory is that the suspect could be an employee of the gym or even a member. So we’ve requested all member and employee records through the corporate office, which unfortunately is much slower, but we don’t want to expose ourselves by going in heavy handed. This guy has proven to be careful. Also, two of the victims said they regularly run or bike up and down Goose Pond Trail, so we’re deploying roving units throughout the trail to see if our guy shows up.”

  Chief Harrison s
at back in his chair, pleased with how the investigation was moving forward, but he was eager for it to move forward to a positive outcome and an arrest. He looked over at the councilman, who also had a pleased look.

  “So, Chief, what do you need from the council? Name it, and it’s yours.”

  “Well, the overtime budget is getting thin, so honestly, that’s what we need to get this resolved. We have the people who are capable; we just need them out there working and getting paid for it.”

  “Done! Anything else?”

  The Chief shot a look at Curt and then over to his sergeant looking for help answering Pittman’s question. They responded with blank looks, obviously content with the expanded overtime allowance.

  “No, but if something comes up, we’ll be sure to contact your office.”

  “Yes, please do.”

  Pittman’s assistant leaned over and spoke into his ear, causing him to look at his watch and realize something. He addressed the Chief and excused himself from the meeting for another appointment. The meeting adjourned, and while Curt erased his notes on the dry erase board, Pittman approached him.

  “Good work detective; are y’all heading out tonight on surveillance? I mean, I have this meeting, but it shouldn’t run too late, and I’ve always wanted to go on a real police stake-out, if that wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

  “Uh, no sir. I actually have plans of my own tonight. I’m taking my son to a softball game. He loves being the batboy. Plus, I haven’t been home much lately, as you can tell, so I’m going to take the night off and pick it up in the morning. Hopefully, we’ll have the member and employee list by the morning.”

  “Oh, nice. Good for you. Okay, well let me know about the stake-out. Maybe some other time?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Curt left the division and made a hasty exit for his unmarked car, a black Ford Crown Victoria. He ran down the stairs and out the back door to the parking lot, wrestling with putting on his trench coat, carrying his case files and his bag of clothes to change into at the ball field. Curt shot a quick call to his wife, giving her an ETA to pick up his son and headed to the game.