Free Book Excerpts

George Latson returns home from a business trip to find his house empty and wife and child missing. The neighbors noticed nothing unusual. What happened?

Excerpt

1.

January sure has been cold this year, George thought, as he turned off of the busy May Avenue and entered his neighborhood. The distance from the subdivision entrance to his house was slightly less than a quarter of a mile and the street snaked downhill, which worried George because his family lived on the side of a hill when he was a boy and he remembered well the flash flood that destroyed all the homes on their block, including the Latson’s. But, this neighborhood is not built on the incline ours was, he reassured himself as he rounded the corner to his street and drove the last couple of hundred feet to his home. George smiled as he pulled unto the driveway. It was always good to get home to Mary and Allison.
George triggered the automatic door opener as he drove the short distance up his driveway to the back of the house. All of the homes in the Rolling Hills subdivision were built with the garage doors facing the back of the house, which improved the looks of the neighborhood tremendously but made it slightly inconvenient for the residents. George didn’t mind, because the absence of the double garage door in front made his already spacious house look even larger.
George made the 180-degree turn and pulled his little Honda into the wide two car garage. Because it was past 5:00 P.M. and dusky, he did not notice at first that it was empty. Only after climbing out of the little car and allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim light did he notice.
Where is everything? He asked himself, numbly. Why is the garage empty? George took no time to stand and ponder this. He was certain Mary would provide the answers.
Upon entering the house through the door that connected the garage to the utility room by the kitchen, George turned on the utility room light switch and took the few short steps into the kitchen. There, he received an even bigger shock.
The house was empty.
Standing in the kitchen, George could see into the den on one side and into the front entryway on the other side. Although the light from the kitchen lit the den only partially, he saw that it, too, was empty. Running into the den, he saw that all the furnishings had been removed, leaving only the indentions in the plush pile carpet to prove that the room had, indeed, been home to a room full of expensive Early American furniture only a short time before.
“What’s going on?” George asked himself aloud, not expecting an answer, as he dropped his briefcase and ran from room to room. ‘Ugh,” he moaned, as he hit his knee against the trim of the narrow doorway leading to the master bedroom’s bathroom. The knee would ache and throb later, but for now he quickly forgot about it. The master bathroom, as with every other room in the house, was completely empty.
At least the power is still on, he thought, as he tried mightily to retain his composure and think straight. Where are Mary and Allison? A chill ran down his back as he thought of them, and a sense of foreboding washed over him. For an instant, before he forced the terrible thought back into his subconscious, he feared he would never see them again.
“Where are they?” He asked aloud, and this time he demanded an answer, but there was no one to answer. He could not imagine that they could or would have packed up and moved without him. “But, that’s sure what it looks like.” George continued to think out loud, as this seemed to soothe and calm him. George was proud of his ability to perform under pressure.
But, as he stood in little Allison’s room, with the white-on-pink wallpaper and pink carpet being the only reminders that this was his little girl’s bedroom, George had to force down panic. Although the lights in all of the rooms worked, all of the telephones had been removed, even the wall phone in the kitchen. He supposed the line was still active, but he had no phone to plug into any of the jacks. “I wonder if this is anything like the sensory deprivation I’ve read about,” he asked himself, in a low voice. This has to be similar to it, he replied, silently. George collapsed on the carpet, feeling light-headed and needing to sit for a moment, still feeling only slightly the bad bruise on his knee.
He sat for several minutes, thinking of everything and nothing. Today was Friday, the 27th of January, and it was cold outside. The heater in the house was still on. Whoever stole his family did not bother to turn off the heater, and this caused him to chuckle a nervous, bitter chuckle. He remembered reading about an out of work thief up in Oregon a couple of years back, who would take money from his victims then apologize profusely for the fear and inconvenience he caused them. The news magazines called him the “Gentleman Bandit.” George laughed when he considered that Allison and Mary had been victimized by the “Gentleman Kidnapper.” George laughed, but it was not really funny.
But as he sat and thought, George began to think more clearly. A kidnapper would not empty the house. How would he have time, and how could you do it without being noticed? I’ve been in Tulsa most of the week. Mary had plenty of time to move everything out. The sickening reality began to sink in. “She left me. I left town on business and she left me.” George said this to himself matter-of-factly, as a math teacher would explain a difficult problem to a room full of uninterested kids.
“Hey, the neighbors will know all about it,” he half-shouted to himself, getting excited over the idea. “They’ll know. There must have been a moving truck. There had to have been.” George jumped up from the pale pink carpet of Allison’s room and ran out the utility room door to the garage. Breathing in the night air which had gotten much colder with the coming of full darkness, George realized that, while his friends on the block may have seen a moving van pack his family and furniture up, they probably would not know why they left or where they went to. People don’t normally move without letting the neighbors know ahead of time, or at least putting a For Sale sign up in the front yard to signal your intentions, he reasoned. As of Tuesday morning, scarcely 80 hours ago, the Latsons had done neither of these things.
The cold air brought George fully back to his senses. Still confused and in disbelief, at least he could think clearly, a remarkable achievement considering he arrived home a little more than half an hour ago. Walking back into the house, George glanced at his watch and it said 5:55. Although not yet 6:00, it was completely dark outside, thanks to the time of year and the gathering storm clouds over Oklahoma City, which the weather report on the radio had said would dump 1-3 inches of snow on the ground tonight.
When George first heard this report he was halfway between Oklahoma City and Tulsa, and he did not stop for his customary cup of coffee. Instead, he drove straight through, not wanting to trust the unpredictable Oklahoma weather. Once again standing in his kitchen, he figured the joke was on him. I hurried home to find this, he sighed.
George forced himself not to speculate any further until he took a closer look at the house. They may be in danger. I’ll call the police, he said to himself, silently, as he inspected each room thoroughly and carefully.
Everything in the house was gone, save for a few cheap wire hangars in the closets. There were a few paper scraps on the floor in each room, mostly by the walls in back of where chests of drawers and desks had been, and George picked up almost a dollar’s worth of coins as he inspected the house. There were several fresh scratches on the walls and door moldings, indicating the movers were not very careful moving around the large pieces of furniture. I guess you were in a hurry, whoever you were, he thought ruefully, as he knew Mary could not have accomplished this without plenty of help.
Another wave of panic washed over him as he finished his inspection. This time, he found himself standing in the guest bedroom, a spacious room which overnight visitors had used many times. The thought of having to tell family and friends that Mary and Allison had disappeared with all of the home furnishings sickened him.  I guess its time to tell somebody, he thought, as he again choked down his panic and disorientation.
George swallowed down bitter stomach bile as he further reasoned that he should call the police. There’s no phone here, so I’ll have to go next door. Wilbert and Gladys Sanders, the older couple on the west side, would be the neighbors to talk to first. Wilbert and George, separated by a 40 year age difference, nevertheless enjoyed visiting with each other during yard work breaks and got along very well. Besides, he reasoned, the retired Wilbert and sharp-eyed Gladys were certain to have noticed everything that went on while I was gone.
Feeling better that he had decided to do something, George walked the short distance to the Sander’s front door. Nervously, he rang the doorbell.
Wilbert came to the door, surprised to see him. “Hello, neighbor, how’s it going?”
“Not so good.”
“What’s the problem? You look kind of shaky.” Were he not so upset, George would have appreciated the look of concern on his neighbor’s face.
“I suppose you know that we’ve moved out,” George answered, dryly.
“No, I didn’t know that.” Wilbert made no attempt to disguise the surprise he felt.
“You didn’t see a moving van here this week?” George was getting disoriented all over again.
“No, there was no moving van.” Wilbert didn’t know what to think, other than the look on George’s face and his listless manner told him that something was not right. He asked, “Where did you move to?”
“I don’t know.”
Now Wilbert was certain something was dreadfully wrong. Carefully, he asked, “Where are Mary and Allison?” Wilbert hoped they were OK, as he was very fond of the two-year old Allison.
“I don’t know.”
The men stood in the doorway, staring stupidly at each other until Gladys arrived from the kitchen and asked, “Hello George. Everything OK?”
George sighed, “I don’t think so.”
Wilbert held the door open and told him, “I think you’d better come in.”
Wilbert led him to the den, where he and Gladys had just started to eat supper off of TV trays so they could watch weather reports of the impending storm on the big screen television. Gladys sensed that George was in trouble, but she let her husband ask the questions.
“We just started eating. Would you like something?” Wilbert asked.
“Oh, no,” George replied, flatly. Eating was the last thing he was interested in now. He could still taste the bile which continued to churn in the pit of his stomach.
“Well, OK, Wilbert said.” He was not a man to beat around the bush. Quickly but cautiously he asked George, “Did I understand you to say that you’ve moved, but you don’t know where to?”
“Yeah, I guess so. I’d better explain.” George realized his behavior toward Wilbert was most bizarre. Still, he couldn’t help babbling. Weakly, he started, “I got home from Tulsa about an hour ago. Everything is gone. When I went in the house, everything’s gone. Mary and Allison and everything gone.”
Wilbert began to feel confusion of his own. He and Gladys had noticed no activity of any kind at the Latsons this week; absolutely none and he said so. “It has been dead over there all week. In fact, we were just talking this afternoon that we hoped Mary and the little one were OK. It’s been so cold and you’ve been gone.”
“Yeah, I know,” George responded, not intending to be rude.
“So, it comes as quite a surprise when you tell us that your house is empty and your family is gone,” Wilbert said, slowly, studying George’s blank face.
“Believe me, I know it’s quite a surprise,” George answered. “I wonder if anybody else on the block saw or heard anything. How can a house full of furniture and two people move out and nobody notice anything?”
George had become animated, startling Gladys. Wilbert decided he needed to take a look next door. He said, “Before we sit down, let’s go over and let me see for myself.”
“You don’t believe me?” George asked, hurt creeping into his voice.
“Of course I believe you,” Wilbert quickly added, “But it’s incredible to me that Mary could have packed up and moved out right from under our noses and we not even notice it.”
Settling down again, George sighed, “Yeah, it’s incredible, all right.”
Wilbert managed a fatherly smile. “Well, let’s go take a look.” He tried to sound reassuring, but doubted he did so.
While touring the house, Wilbert commented that all the lights worked and the heater was on.
“Yeah, I noticed that, too. People don’t usually move without turning stuff off. Makes me wonder just what the hell is going on, as if I needed another reason.”
Wilbert couldn’t stifle a nervous chuckle, and George laughed with him. It was a much needed tension breaker for both of them.
“I’m sorry George, but that struck me as funny.”
“Don’t worry about it. I guess I needed a laugh, too.” George smiled a thin smile as he said this, pleasing his neighbor, who was now in as much shock over the situation as George was.
“I don’t suppose you have any idea at all about this?” Wilbert asked, a hint of pleading creeping into his voice. He still did not want to believe that this could have happened right under his nose and he and Gladys not know it.
“No idea at all,” George answered, sadly. “This is a complete and total shock. We have not been arguing nor having marital trouble. I can’t imagine Mary doing this. I still believe I should call the police.”
“That’s a good idea. Maybe they can find them for you.” Wilbert paused, and George offered nothing in reply. The men stood in the kitchen of George’s empty home thinking quietly.
After a couple of minutes, which seemed longer than they actually were, Wilbert asked, “You’ve looked all over for a note or message?”
“Yeah,” George answered, impatiently, “you’ve walked around with me. Did you see any note?”
“No.”
“Well, then,” George said, feeling sheepish that he could think of nothing else to say.
“Have you checked your mailbox?”
George’s eyes lit up with that question, and he seemed more alive than he had at any time since ringing Wilbert’s doorbell. “No! I haven’t!”
The men walked briskly to the mailbox, an expensive one which was located by the street on a fancy ornate mail post. The box contained three days worth of mail; bills, circulars and one letter which was addressed to the former occupant who now lived in Kansas City. But, it contained no clue at all as the where his family and possessions were. George, alive and excited a moment ago, returned to his brooding and sullen demeanor.
Wilbert tried to be conciliatory. “I’m sure the police can get to the bottom of this. Let’s go back inside and call them. It’s starting to snow out here. I bet you could use something to eat and maybe a stiff drink,” he added, slyly. Wilbert was known to have a bottle of good bourbon on hand at all times.
“I’m not really hungry but I could use the stiff drink. But, let’s call them first.”
“Good idea. Let’s go on in.” Wilbert patted his younger friend on the back and followed him to his front door. Upon entering the brightly lit kitchen, he said to his wife, “We’re going to call the police.” He looked at her for a long moment, as George studied both of them under the inset florescent light, and asked, “Are you certain you didn’t notice anything next door this week? Anything at all? I sure didn’t, but maybe I’m getting old.”
Gladys quickly replied, “No, sure didn’t. If you’re getting old, then I am too.” She turned to the bewildered George and was reminded of the pain he was feeling. She asked, “Are you sure you wouldn’t like something to eat?”
“No thanks, but I appreciate the offer. We’d better make that call.”
“Let me make it for you,” Wilbert offered. “They’ll send somebody by and you can talk to them then.”
“Thanks, Wilbert. Go ahead.” He remembered he had not used the restroom since leaving Tulsa, even though he had needed to for quite some time. “Can I use the bathroom?”
Gladys responded, “You certainly can. You know where it is.” Before George could thank her and head down the hall, she asked, “Where are you going to stay tonight? Would you like to stay here?”
George hadn’t thought about where he would sleep this night, but he quickly answered, “Yes, I would like to spend the night here, if it is not too inconvenient.”
“No inconvenience. You and Wilbert take care of business and I’ll get you settled in. Where are your things?”
“Next door in the car. There’s not much.” All George had was what he brought back from Tulsa. Dirty laundry and a shaving kit.
Gladys was halfway out the door when she hollered over her shoulder. “I’ll get your things. Be right back.”
“Thanks,” he replied, but she was already out the door and George doubted she heard him.
George took several minutes in the bathroom. Often queasy when emotionally upset, he felt better after spitting up the contents of his stomach. George felt even better after relieving his bladder and washing his face, although he now noticed the throbbing knee pain. Looking in the mirror, he thought, this is the first time I’ve seen myself since arriving home. I’m still alive. George chuckled silently at this preposterous thought. I guess I do have a case of nerves. I’d better get back to Wilbert. The police will be here soon.
Because the report involved missing persons, the police were there ringing the doorbell almost before George exited the bathroom. My God, those guys are fast! he marveled to himself, as Wilbert invited them in.
The two police officers entered as Wilbert held the door open for them. Officers Joe Alley and Melba Caliano introduced themselves and Wilbert introduced Gladys and George to them. After taking seats in the den, the officers quickly got down to business.
Officer Alley asked, “You say you arrived home from Tulsa a short time ago and found the house empty and your family gone?”
“That’s right. Pardon me, but I’m still in shock.”
“That’s understandable,” Officer Alley responded. “According to the dispatcher’s report, you live in the house next door?”
“Yes sir, to the east.”
“And everything is gone? Nothing is left over there?” Officer Caliano asked.
“Yes, everything but some old hangars and debris on the carpets.” George was tired of reiterating this.
“Who are the members of your family, and do you have any idea where they may be?” Melba Caliano took notes and watched George closely as her partner continued questioning.
“My wife Mary and our daughter. She is two years old and her name is Allison. I have no idea where they are. None at all.”
Gladys saw the despair in George’s eyes, and her heart ached for him. She had always liked the Latsons.
“Does Mary have relatives near here?”
Joe Alley’s eyes bored into George, causing him to get frustrated and angry. George answered, his voice rising slightly, “Yes. Her parents live here. So do mine. But that doesn’t explain what’s going on.”
“No need to get upset, Mr. Latson, Officer Caliano, said, smiling, “We have to ask questions to find out where we stand.”
“I’m sorry. My nerves are on edge,” George said, sheepishly.
“Of course they are,” Melba Caliano replied, soothingly, “No need to apologize.”
This woman is deceivingly smooth, Gladys thought, as Officer Caliano noticed the older woman watching her. Both women were astute observers and had quickly become wary of each other.
“Mr. Latson, we need to go over and look through the house,” Officer Alley stated.
George sighed, “OK, but I guess I need to call Mary’s folks. And mine. I’ve been so upset and this has all happened so fast, I just haven’t done that yet.”
“Why don’t you call them before we go over? If, by chance, Mary and Allison are at her parents, or yours, we won’t need to inspect the house.” Joe Alley was trying to stay low key and keep George calm.
Suddenly, George was very weary, and felt as though he hadn’t slept in a week. Weakly, he turned to Officer Caliano and answered “Sounds OK to me, but if she’s with them, why did she move everything out, and why hasn’t she called?”
The five occupants of the Sanders den stared at each other and said nothing.
What was there to say?

Copyright 2010 Tom Fowler. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.