Chasing Demons

Chapter Seven

Tammy pulled into a driveway that led to a beautiful little yellow brick house. She turned off the car and unfastened her seat belt.

She sat there for a few minutes. Tammy abhorred this part of her job, talking to victim's families who were literally going through the most horrific time of their lives and all she could do was say that they were doing everything they possibly could to find the individual who caused them so much pain and bring them to justice. She had to ask herself though, were they really doing everything they possibly could?

She got out of the car and walked up to the house. Tammy reached out and knocked on the door of the modest townhouse. A little woman wearing a gray sweatshirt that was at least two sizes too big and dark sweatpants answered the door. Her blonde hair looked like it hadn't been brushed in over a week, and she had dark black bags under her eyes. It was clear to Tammy she hasn't slept in over 24 hours.

"Mrs. Harris?"

The woman nodded as she wiped her nose on a tissue. Her eyes were puffy. She had been crying.

Tammy took out her credentials. "I'm Agent Walters. I'd like to ask you a few questions about your son."

The woman nodded and led Tammy into a small kitchen. A bald man was sitting at a small brown table with his head buried in his hands.

"Hunny this is Agent Walters," said the woman glancing towards Tammy.

The man lifted his head and looked at Tammy.

"Please. Call me Tammy," she said, adjusting her stance awkwardly. Tammy could tell that she wasn't wanted here, not right now.

"What are you doing to help find my son?" asked the man. Tammy could sense a bit of emotion in his voice. He was hurting.

Tammy sat down across from the man. The woman sat next to her husband.

"We put out a nationwide Amber Alert and have a search party canvassing the whole town. They've been at it all night."

"Why aren't you out searching for him?"

"I need to ask you a few questions about your son."

The man rubbed his eyes. It was pretty evident that he hasn't slept much either.

"Your son went missing yesterday afternoon?" Tammy asked.

"Yes, on his way home from school," answered the woman as she sniffled trying to choke back tears.

"Does he walk to and from school often?"

The woman nodded. "Every day. We used to walk with him, but he insisted that he walk alone."

"Does he walk the same route every day?"

"Yes," said the man, "Why does that matter?"

"It's possible that the individual who took your son watched him walk to and from school. Learned his routine."

"Are you saying that this bastard watched my son?!" yelled the man, now sitting bolt upright.

"I'm saying it's possible."

"I told you we shouldn't have let him walk alone!" the woman yelled at the man.

The man slammed the table as he stood up.

"He's eight years old for god's sake! It was barely even a block away. He wanted to be independent. We can't baby him forever!"

"Mr. Harris. Please calm down," said Tammy.

"Calm down?!" the man yelled, "My son is missing, and you expect me to just sit here and do nothing when I ought to be out there looking for my son?!" a series of emotions passed through his face: sorrow, melancholy, and rage. He seems on the verge of tears, but he regains his composure.

"It's best that you stay here," said Tammy, "In case he comes home or in case you get a ransom demand." Tammy paused. "Are you positive that he wouldn't run off with a stranger?"

"Yes," assured the woman, "He knows better than that."

"If somebody asked for help would he stop?"

"Are you implying that this is his fault because he's polite?" asked the man.

"I'm not implying anything," said Tammy.

"I understand there's another boy who was taken?" asked the woman.

"Yes. He's in the hospital," replied Tammy.

"Why can't you ask him who the son of a bitch is?" asked the man.

"He's not talking to us yet."

"Oh my god, what happened to him?!" asked the woman as she let out a little gasp and clutched her husband's hand.

"Do you by any chance have anything of your sons?" asked Tammy ignoring the woman's question, "A favorite stuffed animal? Item of clothing?"

"Why?" asked the man.

"For the search dogs," replied Tammy.

"Yeah sure," the man walked out of the kitchen and down a small hallway and came back with a brown stuffed bear a few seconds later. "He sleeps with this every night," he handed it to Tammy.

"Thank you," said Tammy, "Could I possibly have a recent picture of Nathan as well?"

The man nodded as he grabbed a framed photo of a young blond-haired bright baby blue-eyed boy off of the banister and handed it to Tammy.

"How does something like this happen?" asked the man as he sat down and put his face in his hands. "This sort of thing doesn't happen to us. It happens to other people but not us. I mean, you see it on the news every day. It comes on, you stop what you are doing for maybe ten seconds and then you carry on with what you were doing. But you never once think it could happen to you."

"You didn't answer my question," said the woman as she began to cry, "What happened to that boy?" Her whimper slowly turned into a sob.