The first terror, starting in the musty summer of a few years back, was the result of the long held kidnapping of Baby Jean. Baby was the secret of a small, middle-of-nowhere type place bearing the name of Springfield, California. Springfield, being the mundane, run-down city it was, bobbed up and down to the sea of society, cozy and tightly packaged with a silky red ribbon. It was comfortable. Safe. Boring. Home to drug dealers and money chasers alike, yet somehow slipping under the public's gaze. Until, of course, that came to an end.
With hearing that your home city had a heart of controversy, you would think that the common, (most preferable) reaction would be questioning. Questioning as to why children would come home every day with cigarettes in hand, or a face full of bruises and nose full of blood. Maybe as to why the neighbor's wife flinches when you visit, or why the blacks never dance with the whites, why boys holding hands behind bus stops end up in ditches. But no, nobody ever asks why. You see, when I say "slipping under the public's gaze," I do not mean it went unnoticed.
With this being said, some truly did not notice. These few were mostly what people would call "soccer moms." You know, the mothers that show up to P.T.O meetings with salted cantaloupe, bragging about how well behaved their brats were, or how their baseball games were going. Most of them were heavy smokers. Heavy smokers in denial. Because yeah, of course little Jimmy could do no wrong; there would be no way in hell my little angel was beating the snot out of some kid from science class. That brings us to the unfortunate Baby Jean.
Indeed, some kid from science class.
Baby went to Hillview Elementary school until 5th grade. His eyes were green, striking and intense, violently contrasting from his pale skin and blonde curly hair. He was the type of kid to frustrate over little things, like someone tapping their pencil a smidge too loud or how a classmate had fallen asleep. It was annoying, but the school dealt with it. His outbursts gradually got more intense and happened more and more often, hitting kids on the playground and screaming curse words at teachers in the middle of class. His favorite word seemed to be "dick," (as he shouted it at the principle just about every chance he got,) earning Baby Jean the unfortunate nickname of "BJ." But Hillview Elementary had too high of a reputation to actually do anything. They all assumed poor Baby had tourettes and called it a day, because "If a little sick kid killed himself, who would miss him?"
June 21st is the day he stopped coming to school.
Maybe he had gotten sick, or just skipped a day. That's all his classmates thought. He'll be back tomorrow. That day of absence drifted into a week, then two weeks, then a month. His classmates started to get antsy, antsy over the kid they called names and pushed on the playground. They began to think "maybe we pushed too far." Maybe they pushed his fingers back too hard, or called him a good-for-nothin-retard one too many times. Whatever the reason, he stopped coming to school.
Eventually, to many of the teachers' disappointment, the school called his parents to make sure everything was okay.
The secretary of the school was tasked with this job, shuffling through her papers as she brought up the Jeans' phone number and punched it in. The phone rang an annoying and drawn out tone, beeping over and over in a metallic mantra that could make any normal person go insane. But, eventually, the ringing stopped and a muffled breath slipped through the receiver.
"Hello, Mrs. Jean. This is the school calling to make sure that Baby is doing okay. No injuries or sickness going on, all that." Mrs. secretary said, speaking in a customer service type of voice.
"Uh, yeah. Right. We don't have no kid, so you can just put our number away now. Thanks."
She stumbled for a moment, having a short loss of words. She definitely had the right number.
"Why, Mrs. Jean, what would you mean by that? Your son Baby has been coming to Hillview since kindergarten." She laughed, faulting in her professional speak.
A pause rang through the phone, then a subtle grunt and a door opening.
"I-I don't know what you're talking about. Go away." The other line sounded rough and agitated, the sound of rain and heavy breath seeping through the background.
"There must be some mistake! He hasn't come to school in over a month, the staff is beginning to worry!"
Well, she may have lied a bit at that last part, but she was beginning to worry.
"Listen," the voice over the line mumbled, "We don't have no son. Baby ain't come home in a month, damn kid must've run away. But I don't wanna be blamed for it and frankly, I couldn't care less. I suggest you care just as much. We're leaving, don't call me again."
The sound of a car door slamming was followed by the end of the line, its sharp ringing leaving Mrs. secretary open mouthed and appalled. Jesus Christ, this kid's been missing for over a month and nobody's had the nerve to find him. So, she did the first thing she thought of, picking up the phone again to dial "9-1-1."
Two months passed with no leads.
