The Silent Child Boxset Read online

  The Silent Child Boxset

  Roger Hayden

  Contents

  The Missing

  The Secret Letter: The Beginning

  Secret Letter: Darkness Past

  Secret Letter: Book 2

  Copyright 2018 All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means without prior written permission, except for brief excerpts in reviews or analysis.

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  The Missing

  1

  Worst Nightmare

  Carol Owens walked downstairs into her quiet living room, ready to make breakfast for her two children and send them off to school. Her husband, Paul, was at the lab, where he had the early shift as a medical technologist. Carol was between jobs, but there was always plenty to do around the house, starting with driving her children to school. She didn't want them riding the school bus, not when a girl had disappeared while walking home after being dropped off at her corner.

  Sarah Riley had been missing for over a week now, and the community was beginning to fear the worst, despite the limitless hope that she would be found. Search parties had failed to locate the girl. Authorities had declared the case a kidnapping and were actively pursuing suspects. It was a terrible situation. The local news reported on the missing girl each day. Carol felt so bad for her and her family. Each day Sarah remained missing was one day too many.

  She stared at the burner on the stove and got the mix ready to make pancakes. A glance at the wall clock near the refrigerator indicated that it was ten past seven. She could have the kids to school by eight with little issue, even given morning traffic, but they needed to hurry up. Walking toward the stairs, she shouted for them to get ready. “Kyle! Brittany! Don't be late. I'm making pancakes.”

  Footsteps sounding from above sufficed, and she returned to the kitchen. Kyle and Brittany both attended middle school, where they were two grades apart, Kyle in eighth grade and Brittany in sixth. She couldn't believe how fast they were growing. Time had moved at a breakneck speed. Carol, herself, was a year shy of forty. Her portable stereo played from atop the kitchen counter, near the microwave. As she poured the batter into the frying pan, the news continued with a story about a broken sewer main.

  Carol and her family had lived in Melville County, Florida for the past ten years. There was crime, just like any other place, but they lived in a safe neighborhood. Neighbors were friendly, and everyone seemed to look out for each other. Sarah Riley's disappearance felt like an anomaly, something not becoming of their community. She hoped that things would get back to normal soon, beginning with Sarah's return home.

  Kyle soon came downstairs, dressed and ready, with his backpack over his shoulder. He tossed it into the foyer and walked into the kitchen, seemingly famished. “Pancakes? Awesome. Can you make some bacon too?” he asked, pulling out a chair.

  Carol ducked inside the refrigerator and grabbed a pack of bacon. “Good morning to you too.” She went to the stove and placed six strips of bacon into another frying pan.

  Kyle held up his Game Boy Advance and began playing, much to his mother's dismay. She turned from the stove and reprimanded him gently. “How many times have I told you, no games at the table?”

  His eyes remained on the screen of his device as he responded. “What's the big deal?”

  Carol crossed her arms. “Rules are the rules. Do as I say.”

  Kyle let out a long sigh as he turned the device off and put it back in his pocket.

  “That's better,” Carol said, walking past the table. “Where is your sister, anyway?” Kyle shrugged as she called out for Brittany. “Brittany, breakfast is ready!” Oddly enough, she heard no response, no footsteps.

  “I knocked on her door already,” Kyle said.

  Carol entered the living room and called out louder. “Brittany Anne, get down here right now. You're going to be late!” She whipped her head around toward the stove as the burning pancakes began to smoke. “Kyle, will you take care of that, please?”

  He glanced at the stove with a groan and then rose, skidding his chair across the tile. “Man, I gotta do everything around here.”

  Carol ignored him as her focus shifted to the second story hall, where Brittany's bedroom door was closed. Carol left the kitchen and marched up the stairs, frustrated as she could be. “She better have a good explanation,” she muttered.

  She stomped toward Brittany's door and opened it without knocking. The door flung open and Carol stuck her head inside, shocked to see no trace of her daughter. The bed was unmade. There were clothes on the floor. Her backpack lay below the foot of her bed. Everything appeared completely normal, only Brittany wasn't there.

  Carol turned to the open closet in the corner and called for her again. Clothes hung from a packed rod within, but there was no sign of her daughter. While odd, she didn't yet believe anything was too much out of the ordinary. She walked out and headed down the hall to the bathroom, where the door was open and the light was off.

  “Brittany!” she shouted, flipping the light switch on.

  The toilet seat was up, and the shower curtain was open, without any sign that Brittany had bathed or even been in the bathroom. None of it made any sense. She left the bathroom and hurried back downstairs where Kyle was seated in the kitchen.

  “Where is she?” she asked.

  Kyle looked around the kitchen, clueless, as he shrugged. “Don't know. Maybe she already left?”

  Carol stepped toward him, pointing with increasing agitation. “I told you both that I don't want you riding the bus for a while. Did you hear her leave this morning?”

  “I haven't heard or seen her this morning,” Kyle answered.

  Carol leaned against the table. “Well, go find her.”

  “Okay, okay,” Kyle said, pushing his chair back as he rose.

  He then went through the living room and searched around downstairs for a bit before journeying into the backyard as he called for Brittany. Carol approached the kitchen window and looked at their freshly cut backyard. She then moved into the living room and looked outside. Parked in the driveway sat Carol's Toyota Camry. Their neighbor’s house was visible across the street. A woman passed by, walking her dog, but again Brittany wasn't around.

  With heightened fear, Carol left the kitchen and went to the garage to begin her own search. She passed by the dining room, where she saw Kyle standing outside the sliding glass door on the back porch, scanning the yard.

  She opened the garage door and flicked on the light switch. Paul's vintage Camaro was parked inside, taking up most of the garage as always. There was no sign of Brittany. Carol called out for her again as her voice echoed through the garage. She looked near the washer and dryer in the corner. No Brittany. Slamming the door behind her, she returned up the stairs for another sweep of the rooms.

  Part of her felt assured there was nothing to get worked up about, as various possible scenarios ran through her head. Brittany could have already left for school. If she wasn't at school, maybe Paul had taken her with him to work. She had mentioned joining her father at work for a few hours for an assignment. One thing Carol knew for sure was that Brittany had been in bed the previous evening. Carol had kissed her on the forehead and said goodnight. She had even turned off her light and closed the door. The only logical explanation was that Brittany had already left.

  But Carol had been up since six that morning, and she hadn't heard anything inside or outside Brittany's room. Her daughter wasn't known to sneak out. She was only eleven. Carol felt growing despair within the pit of her stomach. She hoped her intuition was wrong and that Brittany's disappearance was nothing more than a false alarm. She then thought of Paul
and rushed downstairs to call him. She pulled her cell phone out from her purse on the kitchen counter and made the call, knowing that it would most likely go to his voice mail.

  The line rang repeatedly as she paced the living room, anxious and worried. From the window, she saw that Kyle was now in the front yard. He walked to the end of the driveway and looked both ways.

  “Come on, Paul. Pick up!” she said. But it was futile. He rarely ever picked up at work. She waited for the dreaded automated message and spoke after the beep.

  “Call me back, Paul. Brittany wasn't in her room this morning. Is she with you? I need to know before I drive Kyle to school.” She paused, prepared to say more, but couldn't think clearly. She just wanted him to answer. She needed to know that everything was okay. “Call me now. I'm waiting.” She ended the call and gripped it to her side as she approached the foyer. She opened the front door and stepped outside just as her phone vibrated. Her eyes went immediately to the screen. It was Paul.

  “Hey,” she said, answering.

  “Sorry, I was in the lab. What's up?”

  Carol continued toward the driveway, phone against her ear. “Did you hear my message?”

  “No, I haven't listened to it yet,” he began.

  “Is Brittany with you?” she quickly said.

  “Brittany?” he said, clueless. “Why would she be with me?”

  Her hopes were crushed in an instant. “Did you see her this morning? Did you hear anything?”

  “No, I—”

  “She wasn't in her room this morning,” she said, frantic. “We can't find her.”

  “What do you mean, you can't find her?”

  Carol approached her car, looking up and down their suburban street, quiet homes on both sides. Headed toward their house was the big yellow school bus with the numbers 2413 above the window and on the side. Soon it passed, engine rumbling and black smoke trailing from the exhaust pipes. It was their school bus. She found herself sprinting from the driveway, trying to catch the bus, but it was too late. Curious children watched her from inside the bus as she chased after it, only to be left in the dust.

  “What the hell is going on?” Paul asked.

  Carol stumbled onto the road as the bus roared off in the distance. “I thought she might be on the bus,” she said, catching her breath. “I just missed it. Maybe she got on. I-I don't know.”

  “Start from the beginning,” Paul said. “Where's Brittany?”

  “I don't know,” Carol shouted. “That's why I called you.”

  “I'm sorry, honey. Maybe she took the bus,” he said with a distracted tone in his voice.

  Carol lowered the phone for a moment and wiped the sweat from her brow. She circled the street and looked everywhere, catching glimpses of curious neighbors watching her. “I have to go, Paul. I'll call you later,” she said, hanging up.

  She lowered the phone to her side as Kyle called to her from the lawn. Carol spun around and saw him standing in front of their house with his back to her. She marched into the yard with one of her flip-flops flying off. As she neared Kyle, a feeling of dread consumed her, as though she knew that the key to Brittany's disappearance was right in front of them.

  Kyle knelt at a window screen lying in the grass. It was bent at the bottom and looked like it had been pried off. Carol scanned the area from the screen to what appeared to be two divots in the ground. She then looked up toward Brittany's window directly above them. It was absent a screen where all the other windows had one.

  “It's Brittany's,” Kyle said, looking up. “Either she took it out, or someone else did.”

  The two different scenarios raced through Carol's head. She backed away from the screen and then rushed inside. She called for Brittany throughout the house but heard nothing in return. She climbed the staircase with increasing panic, consumed by fear. She charged into Brittany's bedroom and all the warning signs were there, lying in front of her.

  Brittany’s backpack rested next to her shoes. Her hair tie on the dresser. Brittany always made her bed in the morning before leaving, but not this time. The sheets were flung to the side, touching the floor.

  Carol approached the window and looked down into the front yard where Kyle was standing, screen at his feet. She checked closer and saw that the window was unlocked. Her hands pulled up under it, lifting it quietly. An outside breeze hit her face as she backed away from the window, heart pounding. She then immediately dialed 9-1-1. The operator came on the line, and Carol struggled to not lose it completely.

  “My daughter is missing. I need help... finding her.”

  “What is your address, ma'am?” a woman's voice said.

  “I'm at 2403 Tilford Lane. I need the police here. I-I think someone broke into my daughter's room last night, and--” She suddenly stopped and brought her hands to her face, crying uncontrollably.

  Someone had taken Brittany, and she knew there was no guarantee that they'd get her back. Carol fell to the floor and retrieved the phone, apologizing to the operator as the shock turned to numbness. The reality of the situation still hadn't fully settled in. Perhaps she was overreacting. Then Carol remembered Sarah Riley, the girl who had gone missing the week prior. It seemed a terrifying pattern had emerged, closer to home than Carol could even comprehend.

  2

  The Vanishing Girl

  A group of police vehicles was parked outside, some with their emergency lights flashing. Neighbors peered from their windows. Other residents walked to the end of their driveways and stared at the house in question. Detective Charles J. Knight soon arrived on the scene in his gray 2007 four-door Dodge Charger. He parked on the street in front of the house, since the driveway was already full. Officers stood outside and inside the house, while one of them marked off the area with caution tape.

  Detective Knight had received the call about an hour ago about a missing girl. He’d been given the rundown. Brittany Owens had been reported missing that morning by her mother. She wasn't in her bedroom before school that morning, and a thorough search of the house by her mother and the police revealed nothing. She wasn't at school or at a friend’s house or anywhere else. The screen on the window of her second-story bedroom had been removed, suggesting a break-in, which made matters worse.

  Knight stepped onto the sidewalk outside his car and adjusted his tie. He needed a new suit, but he was nearing retirement and didn't see the point. He had close to four weeks left before medically retiring after twenty-five years on the force. A full pension plus benefits awaited him. He didn't feel like a retired person or someone approaching retirement. At fifty-five, he had almost a full head of graying hair, except for his troublesome receding hairline. He shaved practically every day and was looking forward to growing a beard, destined to drive his wife Bonnie crazy.

  Being a detective had meant everything to him, but he had been injured in a vehicle crash by a fleeing assailant some years prior, suffering permanent back, knee, and hip injuries. He sometimes walked with a limp as a result. He made his way toward the house on Tilford Lane, comfortable yet commanding in his gray coat and slacks. His badge was clipped onto his belt as always, and his Glock 9mm pistol was holstered at his hip, fired only twice in the line of duty.

  He approached the driveway and observed the quaint two-story suburban home before him with its lawn freshly cut. His cell phone buzzed inside his coat pocket. He retrieved it to find an AMBER Alert listed on the screen: Brittany Owens, eleven years old, four feet, five inches. Approximately eighty-five pounds. Hair: Blonde. Missing since this morning. Melville had its share of crime, but child abductions were uncommon. Until now.

  Knight saw a grieving woman through the living room window. Her head was down, and she was crying. He looked around and noticed that he was the only detective on the scene amid six police officers. An earlier call to his partner had gone unanswered. He kept to the sidewalk leading to the driveway, careful not to step onto the grass and compromise any evidence.

  There were two police
officers on the lawn taking pictures of the window screen that had been pried off from above. An ambulance parked in the street blared its alarm for a split second, startling anyone within earshot. Residents stood in the street, shielding their faces from the sun as they neared to get a better look. Tilford Lane looked like a quiet and undisturbed neighborhood tucked away from danger.

  A convoy of police cruisers outside the Owens house couldn't be ignored. Knight waved to the onlookers and continued up the driveway and inside the house. In the living room, the missing girl's mother cried with her face buried into her hands. She stood surrounded by three sympathetic officers, who were doing their best to console her. Her cries only grew louder with any word they said. Four other officers headed back outside as he stopped them along the way, asking for an update.

  “We've got teams searching for her right now within a fifty-mile radius,” Sergeant Lynch told him on his way out.

  “Nothing so far, Detective,” a clean-faced sergeant by the name of Higgins told him. “Looks like the girl was snatched right from her bed in the dead of night.”

  Knight nodded as they passed. He then turned and observed the front door for any signs of a break-in, but its frame was perfectly intact. He continued into the living room where the girl's mother stood, gripping a handkerchief.

  “Mrs. Owens, I'm Detective Knight,” he said, approaching her. She turned to him as he extended his hand. “I just want to let you know that finding your daughter is our top priority.”

  Tears streaming down her cheeks, she shook his hand and then wiped her face with a sniffle. “Call me Carol. I appreciate that, Detective. I... I just hope that we find her soon. I can't take much more of this.” She suddenly moved away from him and paced toward the window, trembling. “I need to see her now. I need to talk to her.” From the window she then spun around, her eyes open wide and livid. “Why can't any of you find her?”