Vanished

“My own son died years ago.” He looked up at John imploringly. “I know what it's like …why would I do that to someone else?” It didn't make sense, and in John's heart he hoped Charles hadn't done it.

John Taylor snapped handcuffs on him, and moments later he was downtown, the red pajamas carefully sealed in an envelope in Taylor's hand, and Charles Delauney was booked for kidnapping.

John called Malcolm and Marielle, and she cried when she heard they had found Teddy's pajamas.

“But where is he?” That was all that mattered.

“We don't know yet. We're going to question Delauney now. But I wanted to bring him downtown to do it. We can be rougher here.” They both knew John Taylor meant business. “I'll call you as soon as we know anything.” But this explained why there had been no real requests for ransom. Charles had done it for revenge, or out of anger, or to get Marielle and he certainly didn't need any money from them. He had the only thing he wanted: the boy. But the real question was, what had he done with him after he took him? And where was he now? And worst of all …was he still living?

Marielle looked heartbroken when John Taylor hung up, and she couldn't help wondering what Malcolm was thinking. He said not a single word to her. He simply walked upstairs, and silently closed the door to his bedroom.

When news of Charles Delauney's arrest leaked out, the press went wild, and there were ten times as many reporters outside the Patterson home the next morning. Malcolm only went out under heavy police escort. The reporters hounded John Taylor now too, and the chief of police. They wanted to know everything. This was big news and they wanted the story. The heir to one of the most important fortunes in the country had been arrested for kidnapping …more than that, it was a crime of passion, a saga of revenge …the accused had been married to another scion's wife, and held her responsible for the death of their child. Despite all of John's efforts, word had leaked out, and the scandal was full-blown and out of control by Christmas. By then, Charles had been in custody at Federal Detention Headquarters for five days, and still there was no news of Teddy. Delauney still swore he had no idea where he was and had had nothing to do with it, which led John Taylor to fear that he had killed him. Much to his own chagrin, he told Marielle and Malcolm that on Christmas night. But he felt certain now that Delauney's stubbornness about the crime meant that he had done it as revenge, and Taylor thought it more than likely that he had killed him.

“Oh my God.” Malcolm's whole body swayed when Taylor told him, but this time Marielle held firm, and put an arm around him as though to soothe him. She hadn't had a headache in days, and her whole life centered around waiting for news of Teddy.

“I can't believe that,” she said quietly in answer to Taylor's news. “I can't believe we'll never see him again. No matter what Charles did, I can't believe he would have killed him.”

“Come to your senses!” Malcolm shouted at her in front of John Taylor. “When are you going to understand that the man took him as revenge for his own child? His child is dead and so is mine….” And somehow the way he said it told her in no uncertain terms that he blamed her. John Taylor heard the implication too, but there was nothing he could say to help her. He wanted to whisper to her, “Be strong,” or hold her for a moment before he left the room. But he could say nothing. He only squeezed her hand, imperceptibly, and then he left her with Malcolm.

Christmas didn't even exist for them this year, there was no exchange of gifts, of warm thoughts or feelings. There were no decorations put up anywhere, and Teddy's room was like a little altar to all they'd lost. They both seemed to go there constantly, to renew their hope and spirit. Marielle couldn't believe she'd never hold him in her arms again, couldn't believe he was gone … it wasn't possible …Charles just couldn't do it.

She lay awake all that night after John had gone, and she knew what she had to do. The next morning when Malcolm went out, to attend to some business, she ordered the car brought around and she asked one of the policemen to drive her downtown. They seemed a little startled at first, but after consulting with the sergeant in charge, they agreed to do it. They spirited her out the servants' door, in a black dress and hat and an old fur coat of her mother's, and the car plowed through the reporters outside the house, and headed downtown as Marielle sat shaking between two policemen in the backseat. She hadn't been out of the house since the kidnapping, and it was terrifying pressing through crowds, and being driven to a police station by four policemen. But she knew that this was something she had to do. No matter what they said, she had to see him.