3am

Chapter 21

Once in my car, I speed out of the neighborhood. Hitting the main road, I flip my lights and sirens. I figure Easmon would forgive it this time. I speed as fast as I dare, darting through intersections and red-lights with only the barest of glances. My only goal is making it to the campsite alive.

The old campgrounds are almost half an hour outside the city limits, on the opposite side from where Becca lives. My parents took us camping there a lot as kids. But the place closed down about twenty years ago, because of a lack of funds. The campgrounds had an old slogan, one that every kid in town knew. "Down in the meadow, fast by the stream, a little bird told me that's where to sing. Dance through the grass and jump over the creek. On the other side is where you'll find me. Down at Dizzy's Camp Creek."

What's worse is, when we finally captured Garth Tanenbaum, the place he took us to excavate the bodies was on the outer edge of the campground. Come to find out, he had been staying in an abandoned cabin just beyond the property line for decades. He would kidnap and kill his victims in the cabin and then either leave them in the field or bury them by the campgrounds.

Once I reach the dirt road that leads to the campgrounds, I cut my siren and lights. I don't want to warn him before I'm ready. I reach the campgrounds and park in the lot. I trek slowly through the trails, stopping every so often to see if I could hear James. Or if I could see in sign of him in the failing light. My gut tells me he's in the cabin, and I usually trust my gut. But I really don't want to miss something and regret it later.

Eventually, the last of the light fades from the sky, leaving me in the twilit gloom of night. I reach for my mini penlight, but hesitate to turn it on. It's only after I stumble over a tree root, and nearly knock myself out, that I flip on the tiny light. I keep the beam pointed low, to decrease the chance of someone spotting it. And I keep moving.

After what feels like forever, I see the small, one-room cabin just ahead of me. It's as old and decrepit as the rest of the area is, and some parts of the roof look close to caving in. Ivy climbs up the walls, just barely skirting the sole window in the front. I flick off the light and pull my gun from my holster. Crouching down, I slowly approach the cabin from an angle. I duck below the windowsill and very carefully raise myself up to peer inside. The window is filthy, and the cabin itself is almost a pitch-black darkness. But, as I strain to see anything, a tiny glimmer of light flickers to life in one corner. In the glow of a small lantern, I see my little boy. He is bound and gagged, slumped against a wall in the back corner of the room. I don't see anyone else in the cabin, so I take my chance.

I edge over to the door and gently give the knob a turn. The doorknob turns, albeit with a protesting squeak. I grimace and softly push open the door. James' head snaps up as I peer inside and slowly stand up and step into the doorway. James' eyes are open wide in fright and it nearly breaks my heart to see him that scared. I holster my weapon and quickly cross the room to him. As I crouch down in front of him, I sign to him it's me, your dad. I pull off the gag and am blessed to hear my son's voice. "Daddy?"

I get to work undoing the knots in the rope around James' wrists and ankles. I curse silently that I had forgotten my knife back in the car. Whoever tied up my son is a crafty son of a bitch. The ropes are tied in what appears to be a double constrictor knot, something the average Joe wouldn't necessarily know how to do. Just as I'm about to get the first knot untied, I hear a low chuckle from behind me and at the same time James yells, "Daddy, watch out!"

I pivot around with a low sweeping kick, trying to knock the assailant's legs out from under him, but obviously whoever this is, he is very skilled. He easily leaps over my kick, and taking advantage of the situation, swings the metal pipe that he holds at my head. I throw up my arm to block the swing and bite back a yelp of pain as the metal connects with bone. This guy's not the only skilled fighter in the room...

I grab the edge of the pipe before the attacker can swing again and use my lowered stance to yank him off balance. At the same time, I lash out with a fierce kick. I'm aiming for a kneecap, hoping to dislocate or disable him, but my kick is too low and I only connect with his shin. Still, it's enough to send him stumbling backwards. I jump to my feet and pull my gun from the holster. The guy regains his footing and bum-rushes me. He hits me before I have the chance to fire a single shot, knocking me to the ground and sending my gun skittering off into the blackness. My head collides with the hardwood floor with an audible CRACK! As I lie there stunned, I hear the telltale CLICK! of a pistol. I can see the assailant standing over me with a gun, but the barrel isn't pointed at me. Instead, it's aimed at James. "Don't try anything or I kill the kid," a gruff voice says. Without taking his eyes off of us, the man walks backwards toward the front of the cabin and flicks on the lights. As my eyes adjust to the blinding light, I hear him give another command. "Sit up." I do and get the shock of my life.

"Gabriel?"