Neverland Read online

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in

  any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,

  including photocopying, recording, or by any information

  storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing

  from the author, except in the case of brief quotations

  embodied in reviews.

  Publisher’s Note:

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and

  events are the work of the author’s imagination.

  Any resemblance to real persons, places, or events is

  coincidental.

  Solstice Publishing - www.solsticepublishing.com

  Copyright 2018 – Jeff Dosser

  http://www.jeffdosser.com

  Chapter 1

  Abe guided his tank across the ridgeline and aimed the muzzle at the pass a thousand yards down range. The low rumble of his engine throbbed through his headphones as he considered the situation. He was covered on the left and the right by scouts, and so far, they'd seen nothing. Which meant the enemy had to be charging the pass.

  “Abe, crate up the dog,” his mother called. “Your father will be home any minute, and I don’t want Zeke running around during dinner.”

  Puffing out his exasperation, Abe's fingers danced across the keyboard.

  Where are they, guys? The enemy was here a second ago. They can't be far.

  “Okay, Mom,” he called over his shoulder. “Let me finish this battle, then I’ll do it.” From his position on the game room floor, wedged between a worn leather couch and his dad's little-used weight bench, he heard his mother close the refrigerator and the sound of dishes clattering.

  “Abraham Boyd,” she bellowed from the top of the stairs. “You put that dog up right now, young man, or no more games for the rest of the week.” Her heels click-clacked back to the kitchen and the sound of running water indicated the conversation was at an end.

  Abe grunted out his frustration before typing in:

  Sorry guys gotta go... back in a few.

  Mom was so unfair. Dad wasn’t going to be home for another twenty minutes anyway. In five, ten minutes tops, the battle would be done. If his team won, he’d earn enough credits to buy a new gun for his tank. As it stood, not only were his teammates going to be pissed, but he stood to lose a thousand credits in order to repair the tank that would certainly be destroyed.

  “Come on, Zeke. “He slapped the rump of the lean German Shepard lying next to him and pushed to his feet. “Time to crate up.”

  Zeke, an over-eager two-year-old, sprang up and bounded excitedly down the stairs, following his nose to the aroma of simmering sauerkraut and bratwurst.

  Abe followed Zeke down the carpeted stairs and into the spacious living area where a couch, his dad’s leather recliner and a 52” TV shared the open space with his mother’s granite-topped kitchen. The shepherd paused at his master’s heels before racing into the living room and jumping up to stare out the window.

  “No, crate up, come on, Zeke, hop in.” Abe patted the top of Zeke’s wire frame cage. A low growl vibrated Zeke's chest before he turned and gave Abe a weary, soulful look

  “Come on, boy, let's go.”

  Zeke dropped from the window and slunk to his crate before plopping onto his pillow with a sigh.

  “I know exactly how you feel,” Abe said, scruffing the dog's head and latching the door.

  “What was that?” His mother asked. She squinted through a rising cloud of steam and tucked a blonde lock behind her ear. “I didn’t hear that.”

  “Nothing, Mom. Just talkin’ to Zeke.”

  She smiled and lifted the lid from a skillet, sending another cloud of steam somersaulting towards the ceiling “All right. Go play, but when you father comes home, I expect you to turn that junk off and come right down to dinner.”

  “It’s not junk, Mom.” Abe rolled his eyes and raced upstairs.

  As he expected, his tank was a smoldering hulk, the game lost. At the bottom of his screen, the flashing icon indicated he had a message. It was from his best friend, Robbie Hope.

  What up dude? You get answer to #4 on homework?

  Abe dug through his backpack and pulled out the homework sheet from Mrs. Green’s fifth-grade math. Everyone said Mrs. Green was the hardest teacher in school. Abe wasn’t sure that was true, but she was plenty hard.

  He typed in: I got 22.3

  He was waiting for a reply when the doorbell chimed and set Zeke to barking.

  “Abe, can you see who that is?” his mother called.

  Stomping downstairs, he gazed through the frosted glass at a smiling man wearing a sports coat, blue jeans with a stain on the thigh, and long brown hair combed behind his ears.

  Abe cracked the door and peered out. “Can I help you?”

  The smile on the man’s thin lips split open like a gash revealing a row of crooked yellow teeth. “Yeah, I think you can,” he said.” Then he raised a foot and drove the door inward.

  The momentum of the heavy oak door caught Abe in the chest, tossing him into the air. He hit the hardwood floor with a hollow thud and slid headfirst into the couch. Zeke went wild, howling and gnashing at the metal bars to get out. Stunned, Abe rolled to his side, the top of his head burning, his right arm and shoulder numb. The man in the jacket rushed past and Abe heard his mother scream. A second man, taller than the first with a bald head and pockmarked face stepped in and slammed the door behind him. He raced after the first man leaving behind a musky stench of body odor and a smell like Grampa Glen’s whiskey.

  In the kitchen, plates shattered to the floor as Abe pulled himself up and peered over the couch. The jacket man had the back of his mother’s dress clutched in one hand and was dragging her out of the kitchen. She swung a skillet over her head and brought it down on the bald man’s head with a ringing thud; sauerkraut and brats flew from the skillet and scattered across the floor. Jacket man swung her in a circle and flung her into the wall. A chunk of drywall tumbled to the floor as his Mom staggered back and took another swing catching the jacket man with the skillet and knocking him sideways. As they fought, Zeke howled with rage, the cage rattling as he threw himself against the door in an attempt to get out.

  Abe stared at the scene his fingers clamped to the couch, his legs shaking with the watery looseness of fear. As he watched, the men overpowered his mom, forced the pan from her hand and knocked her to the floor. The bald man swung a leg across her hips as she let out a howl of frustration raking her fingernails across his face. He halted her resistance with a punch that bounced her head off the floor with a sound like a dropped melon. Then jacket man glanced at Abe his gaze drifting to the front door.

  “Help!” Abe cried. His voice caught in his throat, the word barely a whisper.

  For an instant, he considered freeing Zeke. But his crate was too near the bad men. Instead, he turned and dashed for the front door his legs wobbly and weak. Where was Dad? He would be here soon. Where was he? If he made it outside, the neighbors would hear. He'd scream and they'd hear. They would call the police and Dad would come. He'd beat up the bad men.

  With each step, the door grew larger. Then he was there. Like moving in a dream, he slapped a hand on the knob, swung the door open. He was going to do it. He was going to get Dad. He’d be a hero.

  A hand slammed down on his shoulder. Fingers dug painfully into his flesh, yanked him from his feet. He hit the floor … hard, fireworks exploding behind closed eyelids and for a moment, things went black.

  Abe blinked back tears and slowly sat up. There
was a whistling in his ears and a metallic taste in his mouth. “Mom?” He heard the sounds of blows, his mother’s cries of pain.

  “Mom?” He called louder and pushed to his feet.

  “Do something with that little fuck,” the big man said. “That asshole’s gonna be home any minute and we can’t be messin’ 'round.”

  “What’cha want me ta do with him?” Jacket man asked.

  “I don’t give a fuck. Just get him out of the way. But don’t kill him,” the big man said. “Once we cap Boyd, we can have us a little fun with him an’ this bitch.”

  “Yeah, I know the plan,” Jacket man said.

  Abe stumbled towards the kitchen, the world swirling around him. “Mom?” On the far side of the room, Zeke barked savagely, the crate rattling with his efforts to get out.

  When Abe rounded the couch, he saw his mother prostrate at the big man’s feet, her face pale, her eyes closed. A rivulet of blood dribbled down her forehead and across her cheek. As he watched, the big man hoisted her to his shoulders and carried her up the stairs.

  The jacket man crossed his arms and stared at Abe. He could feel the malicious heat in the man’s icy blue eyes, knew he meant to kill him, kill his mom. In a flood of humiliation, Abe’s bladder released as warmth cascaded down his leg and into his shoes, pooling on the floor beneath him.

  The man's brows took on a curious arch as his eyes drifted to the puddle forming at Abe's feet. Then he cocked his arm and took two quick steps forward. Abe raised his hands and closed his eyes but the blow smashed through his defenses and landed on his chin. He remembered flying through the air and hitting the wall... then nothing.

  When he awoke, he found himself lying amongst galoshes, coats, and gloves, a faded stream of light leaking in from beneath the closed door. His jaw throbbed with a dull heat and his head felt buzzy and light. There was a strange numbness to the top of his scalp and his fingers came away bloody when he probed it. At first, Abe didn't recognize where he was, then slowly his mind came into focus. He was in the coat closet, he knew that now. What he didn’t know was how long he’d been there.

  He tried to push past the pain in his head, tried to think. Where was momma? The bald man carried her up the stairs. Abe struggled to his knees and stood bracing himself against the wall at the sudden hammering in his head and the wave of dizziness that set his stomach churning.

  Where was daddy? He fumbled in the darkness, found the knob. It turned easily, but when he pushed, the door wouldn’t budge. Abe pressed an ear against the wood and listened. He didn’t hear Zeke. He didn’t hear anything else. There came a thud and a muffled cry. His mother’s cry.

  “Momma?”

  No answer.

  “Momma! You okay?” His shout sent a lance of pain through his temples.

  Distant laughter.

  Abe rattled the knob. He kicked the door again and again and again. Then fell to his knees and wept. Where was his father? Where?

  Chapter 2

  For robbery detective Mark Boyd, the day was supposed to end at five. He climbed behind the wheel of his seven-year-old Ford F150 and cranked up the engine, the dash clock reading ten til’ six.

  When he spoke to his wife Lisa this afternoon, she'd asked explicitly what he wanted for dinner. He’d told her sauerkraut and sausages. She didn’t much care for the dish, but it was one of his favorites. It reminded him of summer nights at his grandparent’s farm when he was a boy. If she was preparing a special meal, she was going to expect him to be on time.

  The last few weeks, he'd had problems getting out the door on time. His latest case kept preying on his mind. Easing out of the police parking lot, he merged into Alsuma’s downtown traffic and followed the creeping line of cars to the highway on-ramp.

  The criminals he was tracking were a brutal bunch; the worse he'd seen in his twenty-one years on the force. They'd already racked up twenty-three hold-ups and five home invasions, leaving in their wake a trail of rapes, murders, broken bones, and untold shattered lives. The old Ford’s engine raced as he shot onto the highway and merged into traffic. He'd worked the robbery division for quite some time, but never felt the type of anger and frustration he did towards these perps.

  Finally, the long hours and breakneck days were beginning to pay off. They were closing in on these bastards, he could taste it. Until last week, there’d been three robbers in their crew. A pair of worthless twins not worth the amniotic fluid they were birthed from and one sociopathic shithead with a laundry list of crimes extending back to the day he raped a toddler at the age of eleven.

  Their big break came last Thursday when he’d been following up on a lead and run into twin number one while the guy cased a jewelry store on 11th street. There’d been a short chase, a wrecked car and a quick exchange of gunfire. The end result had been Mark parking a .40 caliber slug in twin number one’s upper chest.

  Unfortunately, the piece of shit died before they could question him. On the plus side, they’d found the puke’s ID. With that tidbit of information, Mark was able to trace his contacts which in turn led to twin number two, Carl Brown, and their sociopathic, rapist buddy, Jaxxen Cates. The following week, several victims positively identified all three suspects in a photo lineup.

  With a sigh of relief, Mark pulled into his drive and leaned back in his seat. He’d promised Abe a game of World of Tanks but other than that, his evening was wide open. With any luck, he and Lisa could steal a little alone time before it was time to hit the sack. Strolling up the sidewalk and jabbing his key into the lock, he froze. The door was unlocked. Lisa never left the door unlocked. Never. The uncomfortable sixth sense he’d developed working the streets tugged at the edge of his mind. Something wasn’t right. Mark turned and glanced up and down the street, his eyes coming to rest on a beat-up pickup parked in front of the Johnson’s house next door. They were an old couple; both their kids were wealthy attorneys down in Dallas. It was after six. No reason for a yard guy to be working. Plus, there were no mowers or equipment in the pickup's bed. A tingle of apprehension crept along Mark’s spine as he swung open the door and stepped inside.

  “Lisa?”

  No answer.

  The hearty aroma of their meal hung in the air but the house was silent as a grave. Mark cocked his head and listened. A rhythmic thumping originated from the coat closet in the hall. He stepped closer his eyes narrowing in confusion. Why was a chair wedged beneath the coat closet handle?

  Mark’s hand drifted to his hip and he slid the Glock 27 from its holster. Moving silently to the chair, he slid it aside and eased the door open. His son, Abe, sat crouched in a pile of coats. His bloodshot eyes wide as saucers, a dark bruise rising on his cheek and a slash of crusted blood across his forehead.

  “Daddy!” Abe leapt into Mark’s arms, tears streaming down his face. “They’ve got mom,” he said through his sobs. “The men… they took …mom…I ...I ...couldn’t help.’ The boy buried his face into Mark’s chest and wept. Mark held his son tight as the yellow smell of fear and urine engulfed him.

  “Shhh. I need you to be quiet,” Mark said. He dropped to a knee and grabbed Abe’s shoulders, pressed him back. Mark’s eyes drifted to the kitchen, the stairs, then fell again on Abe. “I need you to be brave, son. Can you do that for me?”

  The boy swiped an arm across his nose and nodded.

  “Okay, that’s good.” Mark’s eyes moved about the house, flitting from one passageway to the next. The bastards could be anywhere. “Do you know where Mom is?”

  Abe pointed a shaking finger towards the stairs. “They took her up there.”

  “Who was it, son? Can you tell me what they looked like?”

  Abe nodded, a trail of snot dribbling down his chin. “There were two of em’. One man…he was...he was bald…” Abe’s eyes watered again as a tear broke loose and streamed down his cheek. He cast a terrified look over his shoulder.

  “Abe!” Mark turned his son's chin so their eyes met. “You don’t have to be afraid. I’m h
ere now.” Rage at the intruders tempted to boil over. Mark knew he couldn’t rush upstairs, guns blazing. He needed intel. He needed to know what he was up against.

  “We both have to be brave so we can save Mom. Do you understand me?”

  Abe sniffled and went on. “The bald man was the one that took mom upstairs. He was big.”

  “Was there anyone else? Was it just the bald man?” Mark asked.

  Abe shook his head. “Nnn…no,” he stammered. “There…there was another. Hhhhe…had long hair and a nice coat.”

  Mark’s eyes glittered with fiery heat. It was the fuckers he’d been chasing. Twin number two and his psychopath pal. They’d broken in and taken Lisa.

  Mark pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911. “Abe?” The boy looked up, his face pale. “Can you tell me our address?”

  Abe nodded but didn’t speak.

  “Emergency 911,” a voice said over the receiver. “What’s the nature of your emergency? Police, Fire, or Ambulance?”

  “This is Detective Mark Boyd. There's been a break-in at my home. I need units here immediately."

  “One moment please,” the operator said.

  “Tell me our address, son.”

  “Fff…five five five East Eighteenth street,” Abe said.

  “Good. That’s real good.” Time was of the essence and he could feel his opportunity to save Lisa slipping away. But Abe was here, right now. He wasn’t going to lose his boy. Mark pulled Abe to his feet and escorted him to the front door.

  “I want you to go to the Johnson’s house and knock on their door,” Mark said. “But talk to the woman on the phone too.” He shoved the phone into Abe’s hand and bent the receiver to his ear. “Can you do that, Abe? It’s important.”

  Abe nodded.

  “Okay. Off you go.” He ushered the boy out the door, pointing towards the neighbor’s house so there was no question as to his destination. “I’m going inside to help your Mom.”