CHAPTER SIX

August, 2044


There were two groups that made up the junior art exhibit at the Bangor fairgrounds; ages 14 to 16, and ages 17-18. Wyatt was in the former group, and he had been named the winner. Joe and Tracy were pleased with their son's showing, and the head judge, Donal Simpson, walked over to congratulate them and Wyatt.

"Your boy has an enormous talent," Simpson said; "I expect him to go far in his artistic pursuits."

"We are proud of Wyatt," Joe said, feeling the same thing that Tracy had felt the day before; that he knew the judge from somewhere else. "I wish I had just a little of his talent. My wife and I encouraged it from an early age, maybe five or six years old."

"I've only seen talent like that in much older artists," said Simpson; "Wyatt truly has a gift. He should definitely look into scholarships that the Maine School of Art awards incoming freshmen. But, he's only, what 14? He's got plenty of time."

Simpson then shook Wyatt's hand and congratulated him again on his First Place prize. He then walked away. Wyatt was abuzz with excitement.

"Wow, Mom and Dad," he said excitedly; "The Maine School of Art! I'd love to be able to go there to study!"

"Keep up the good work, and we'll see about that, Wyatt," Joe said. "Mom and I are proud of you! We're going to call Winter and your sisters as soon as we get home."

Wyatt excused himself to go to the men's room. On the way, Randy stopped him and offered his congratulations. Then Wyatt went on his way.

He took care of his business and went to the sink to wash his hands. He didn't see the older man until he placed a cloth over Wyatt's nose and mouth. Wyatt strugged against the older and stronger man, but by then, it was too late.

The man called to an accomplice to help carry the now unconscious Wyatt out of the restroom and exit the exhibit hall by a fire door. Wyatt was placed in a van, his arms and legs secured with rope. The doors were shut behind him. The older man spoke into a secure phone, saying,

"I have the Donovan boy. He's going to get what's coming to him whether he likes it or not. I've waited eleven years for this kid, and I won't be denied!"


===


Winter froze in his tracks.

His Sixth Sense was alerting him to danger, but Winter didn't know why.

"Nik?"

"Yeah, Winter?" Nikky replied.

"You feel something, I don't know, weird?" asked Winter.

"Kinda, but what are you feeling?"

"That one of my siblings is in trouble."

Nikky's eyebrows shot up in shock. His Sixth Sense was telling him something was wrong, but it was just with Winter, not Winter's sisters or brother.

"Winter, let's look at this rationally," Nikky said; "Danica is still in Chicago with Sandy; Kendree is in New Hampshire; and Wyatt's with your folks. What do you think might be the trouble one of them is in?"

"I don't know, Nik, that's just it," Winter said; "I can feel it, but I can't read the signs."

"Because, dude, I am getting signs that YOU are in trouble," Nikky said.

"Me?" asked Winter.

"Yes, and there's someone staking out the house," Nikky said; "if we go back there, then all hell's going to break loose."

"Is Carissa in danger?" Winter asked.

Nikky was on the phone to his fiancee, Carissa Colasanto, to call the police about a possible stalker near their home.

"She's calling the police, and they'll come right away, just because I am who I am," Nikky said.

"The stepson of the former Director of the CIA, no doubt," Winter said.

"Yes, that," Nikky said; "but the twin brother of a CIA operative. All of a sudden, Vixen has a lot of pull in this town. Maybe on her own merits, and maybe on Mom's or Darren's."

Just then, Nikky's phone rang. It was Carissa.

"Baby," she said, "they caught someone snooping around the neighborhood. He's one of those whack jobs with that Second Occupation group. Says he was looking for an Undesirable that might be in our neighborhood. Then he gave Winter's name."

"Great," Nikky said; "did this jerk say anything else?"

"That if his uncle won the election in November, then he'd not live long enough to take the Oath of Office," Carissa said. "Then, he said that Wyatt was going to pay for his family's support of an Undesirable Presidential candidate!"

"Wyatt? He's fuckin' 14 years old!" Nikky said; "What could he have done to raise their ire?"

"Being Wyatt," Winter said angrily. Winter knew that he had to go back to Maine. If those Second Occupation asswipes hurt Wyatt, he thought, they will pay...with their lives if need be.

Nikky ended his call, then said to Winter, "Don't get any ideas about trying to off whoever it is who targetted Wyatt, Winter. You and I are going to Maine in the morning. Sandy and your sister should be back by then. I'll call Vixen and let her know what's going on. She might be able to find out something we don't know about the situation."

"Nik, you don't have to do that," Winter said. "I'd rather take care of it alone."

"Like hell you will!" Nikky said; "You're too close to it and you'll let your emotions rule. We have to be methodical and cunning. If they know you're coming, you might not have a brother after it's over."

Nik has a point, Winter thought.

"Okay, Nik, we'll do it your way, but if they hurt Wyatt, I'll kill them all."

===

Wyatt found himself in an unfamiliar place, laying on the floor. He realized he was bound hand and foot and he knew that meant he was in some serious trouble.

Where am I? he asked himself. I was in the men's room, then that guy put something over my face, then I wake up here. But where is "here"?

"Hello, Wyatt," a vaguely familiar voice said; "I trust you slept well."

"Where am I?"

"It doesn't matter, does it?" the voice said; "You're going to die here. Your parents will never see you alive again."

"What do you want?"

"Why, Wyatt, don't you know?" the voice said, the face attached to it coming into view. Wyatt had no idea who this man was. "I ran the children's home you and your brother lived in before the Donovans adopted you. You probably don't remember, do you? You were only three when you left. I've waited eleven years to educate you properly. I know a fag when I see one."

Wyatt's eyes grew wide. He'd never told anyone how he felt about some of the guys he knew at school. How did this guy know?

"How do I know you're a fag, Wyatt?" the man asked him; "You're an artist. You're sensitive. And I've been watching you for a long time. You're going to be my bitch whether you like it or not. Then I'll have to kill you."

"I'm not gay," Wyatt said. He was terrified.

"The hell you're not!" the man cried as he started to untie the bindings that held Wyatt immobile. "I saw how you looked at some of the guys at the art show. You definitely swing that way."

Wyatt knew what was about to happen to him. Death would be a welcome option.

===

"Tracy, has Wyatt come back from the restroom?" Joe asked his wife. "He's been gone far too long."

"I was just thinking that," Tracy said, remembering that judge who made her feel uncomfortable. What was his name? she asked herself.

"I'm going to go check," Joe said; "something's not right with this."

Wyatt's in trouble,  he thought. He'd never be gone this long otherwise.

As he entered the men's room, Joe's heart sank. There had been a struggle of some sort.

Something on the floor caught Joe's attention. He looked down and saw that it was a Saint Christopher medal. Joe and Tracy had given each of the boys one when they were confirmed, and this one looked like Wyatt's.

He picked it up off the floor and turned it over.

On the back was inscribed: WAD 03-11-2038.

Wyatt Andrew Donovan. March 11, 2038 was the date he was confirmed.

"Oh dear God," Joe said aloud.

He looked further and saw one of Wyatt's sneakers in a corner of a stall. He left it there because he realized that the restroom was a crime scene.

His son had been kidnapped. What am I going to tell Tracy? he asked himself in a panic.

He left the restroom and looked to his left.

Wyatt's other sneaker was laying by a door.

Opening the door, Joe saw that it led outside. In a now empty parking space, he saw something that he didn't want to see.

His son's jeans.

Joe felt sick. Whoever took his boy was going to do something physical to him.

God, please, he prayed as he went back inside the exhibition all, whatever they do, don't let them rape my son.

===

Simpson! Tracy thought, remembering the judge's name; Donal Simpson.

She turned to see Joe heading toward her with two police officers. And she thought the worst: something bad had happened to Wyatt.

"Tracy," Joe said, "Wyatt is missing!"

"What?!"

"Mrs. Donovan," one of the officers said, "we have reason to believe your son has been kidnapped. Tell us everything you remember about your stay in Bangor."

Tracy told the officers about the judge who made her feel uneasy, and Joe said that he thought the same thing about the man. She gave them the name that had been on his badge.

"Ma'am, we found a Donal Simpson dead in his home the day before yesterday, so whomever it was you saw with that name, he was an imposter," the second officer said.

"There are two other youngsters who are missing as well," the first officer replied. "A boy named Randy, and a girl named Linda. Their parents reported them missing a short time ago. Linda is only 12, and we think at this point that she's being held against her will, as well as your son and Linda's brother Randy."

"Why my son?" Tracy asked.

"Every parent asks themselves, and us, that same question," the first officer said. "At this point, we don't know. We'll need to talk further at the station."

"Can we gather up Wyatt's paintings and gear first?" asked Joe, wondering if he looked as pale as he felt.

"Yes, as we may not be coming back here," the officer said; "You have fifteen minutes to take your son's exhibit down."

Joe took down the woodburned sign that Frank had made for Wyatt for this same art show last year, before they learned he was too young to enter. The sign only said "WYATT DONOVAN". Joe looked at the sign and hoped and prayed that it wouldn't become his son's gravemarker.

That made him angry. Wyatt had done nothing to provoke anyone.

Joe wanted, for the first time since he was 17 years old, to kill someone. If anyone hurts my boy, they better pray the cops get to them first, because I will not be responsible for what I will do to them if I catch them.

His older son and a nephew would beat them to it.

===

It was not just the one man, Wyatt discovered. It was four of them. Two of them weren't much older than Winter.

Wyatt prayed to die. Please, God, take me now!

He'd never been in so much pain, never felt so sick. The men called him every dirty name they could think of as they assaulted him. The oldest of them, the man who had drugged him and brought him to this place, was the worst. He kept asking Wyatt if he liked what was being done to him. Not that he could answer, because they stuffed his mouth with his own underwear.

One of the younger men kicked Wyatt in the ribs so hard that he heard them crack. Before the guy could do any more damage, the older man said they were leaving; that Wyatt would die there, then they'd dispose of his remains.

Wyatt willed himself to stay alive long enough to tell his parents goodbye. He removed his shorts from his mouth and attempted to put them on. It was painful, but he managed. He also discovered that he was covered in blood.

I have to get out of here! he thought. I am not going to die here!

He stood, painfully, because at least three ribs were broken. He made his way to the door and opened it.

Outside, it was dark. He realized that he was still at the fairgrounds, just in a different exhibition hall. He needed to get back to his parents car. He knew he needed a doctor.

He walked in a great deal of pain. He was feeling lightheaded, and all he could think of was getting back to his mom and dad. I haven't even met Kendra yet, he thought. I want to go home and die.

Wyatt saw people up ahead, and all he could do is call out, "Help me! Someone, please..."

A woman saw him and he watched as she grew pale. "My God, what happened?!"

Knowing he was going to pass out, he said to her, "My name is Wyatt Donovan, please find my parents. My dad's name is Joseph, and my mom's is Tracy Kay. I'm going to die."

He felt someone catch him as he fell, but by that time, he didn't care. He just hoped that Grandpa Frank would be there to meet him, wherever he was.

===

Joe and Tracy had been at the police station for what seemed to them like an eternity. Each was lost in their own thoughts. Tracy wondered if anyone was even looking for Wyatt.

Joe was plotting revenge. He and Tracy had just learned that the man who Tracy met named Donal Simpson was actually a man named Carl Hardwicke. Hardwicke was a known pedaphile. He was dismissed from the children's home that they adopted Wyatt and Winter from shortly after their adoption became final because he abused the children in his care. Joe was determined to find this Hardwicke and give him a taste of Joe's brand of justice.

Tracy prayed that the police would find Wyatt alive. She could not imagine burying her father and her son within six months. She held on to the St. Christopher medal that Joe had found in the men's room where Wyatt's shoe was found. Please, Lord, just bring my son back to me, she prayed.

"Joey..." she said to her husband, "I'm scared."

Joe pulled Tracy as close to him as the uncomfortable police station chairs would allow and said, "I am, too."

They dozed off for about ten minutes before an officer came to them to tell them that Wyatt had been found, and was in a local hospital undergoing surgery.

"Surgery?" Tracy asked.

"Mrs. Donovan, Wyatt has four broken ribs and major damage to his anus," the officer said; "He lost a lot of blood. The docs at the hospital were barely able to stop the bleeding."

"That means that whoever took my son raped him," Joe said, angry. "They meant to kill him."

"Mr. Donovan, we don't know for sure that..."

"God dammit," Joe said; "You said 'major damage to his anus'. To me that means someone sexually assaulted and/or sodomized my 14 year old son long enough to cause damage that almost proved fatal. Are you even looking for the people responsible for this? Or do mixed race teenage boys get sodomized here regularly and you just don't give a fuck? Or, something more sinister than that, like the fact that my brother is running for President of the United States and someone wants him to drop out of the race by killing an old man and raping a teenage boy? You want to answer that for me, Officer?"

The officer looked blankly at Joe. Donovan's stare demanded answers that the officer didn't have. "We are looking for the people responsible, Mr. Donovan!" he stammered.

"Well, while you're looking for them, why doesn't someone take me and my wife to the hospital to see our son!" Joe said.

===

A 16 year old girl who was about seven months pregnant got off the bus at the station in Halifax, Nova Scotia. Relatives of her biological father, whom she never knew, were waiting for her.

"Gwendolyn," her aunt said, "welcome to Halifax. I've waited your whole life to meet you. I'm so sorry it had to be under these circumstances."

"Please," the girl said, "call me Wendy. Only my mother calls me Gwendolyn."

"Why is that?" her uncle asked; "Wendy is a fine name."

"Because her husband told her to," Wendy said; "His word is law. He's an abusive, sick jerk. Because of him, I can never go home and rescue my baby sister from his sick habits."

The uncle became angry. Said he, "Is he the reason you're pregnant? Did he rape you?"

Wendy looked at the floor in shame. "He didn't rape me, but he allowed another man to because he gave my stepfather money to do so."

Wendy's aunt looked like she was going to be ill.

"We'll take care of you and your baby," the aunt said; "We'll adopt him or her if you'd like."

"It's a little girl, and yes, if you want to adopt her, I will allow it."

"Let's go home and get you settled, then," the aunt said; "I'm your father's sister, and I'll answer any questions about him that you have."

They got into the car and drove off. Wendy would not return to Kittery, Maine for nearly four years. When she did return, it would to be to find the boy she had grown fond of.

===