Chapter 1- Thomas
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“Good practice boys. See ya tomorrow,” Coach Baker announced as his whistle flopped back against his chest.
Whew! Another long day of high school has come to an end. YES! Time to go home and relax. I put my track spikes carefully into the plastic, white Nike bag they arrived in, perfectly aligning them in opposite directions. I pulled out my phone and wrote to my parents “on the way home now” and I went to my car in the cold and dark basement of my high school’s parking garage. Shoot! I forgot my hoodie on the track.
I walked back up the stairs to the track and ventured through the fierce, howling wind. As I trudged across the snow, or more accurately, the slush covered the field, I noticed dark gray clouds now covered the entire sky for as far as I could see and the dark was now replacing the sunlight. There it is. I grabbed my hoodie and after checking my name was scribbled on the size tag, I headed back towards my car. Only about 400 more meters to go. Perhaps, we shouldn’t forget our clothes again, Thomas.
I immediately put on my hoodie as I began to shiver from the cold. It’s strange that no one is here anymore. I know it took me a while to get my hoodie back but I guess I shouldn’t have assumed that even the coaches who take forever to pack their things up would have also left. I started to feel the cold water seep into my Nike Pegasus shoes. Ughhh, of course, now my feet are cold AND wet. I finally exited the gate to the track and opened the faded white door to the basement garage. I crept down the stairs as the light on my right flicked on and off. I opened my phone again and clicked on the last text to my parents and replied with “Forgot my hoodie. Leaving now.”
As I slid my phone back into my pocket, I noticed that there was a strange, white van parked to the left of my car. I heard some words being exchanged by several men in what sounded like Russian. Then, they went silent. Hmmm. That’s strange for there to be a white van next to my car; I don’t remember parking near it. AND WHY ARE THERE MULTIPLE MEN SPEAKING IN THE VAN? IN RUSSIAN? I slowly advanced to my car as if I was a soldier hesitantly approaching an explosive device in the middle of Afghanistan.
This is too weird and coincidental. I need to call someone. I yanked my phone out of my pocket and frantically dialed the number to one person I know who would answer the phone: Cody McIntyre, my best friend since middle school. I tapped his contact and clicked the call option.
Chapter 2 - Thomas
I stood there awkwardly as I wondered: Thomas, this is just a coincidence. You are going crazy from all of the movies that you are watching. There is literally no chance that they are going to harm me. What would they even want me? My car? The one that is almost as old as me and has terrible gas mileage?!!
He didn’t respond after what felt like hours of standing alone in the dark garage. Uhh, stop wasting your time and go home Thomas. But, what if I am in danger? Fine, I will leave a voice message. I waited for my phone to say “. . . this number is not available. At the beep, leave your message.”
“Hey, Cody. This is Thomas. I don’t really know why I called you but I am walking to my car and for some weird reason, there is some white van parked next to me. Oh God, it's kinda freaking me out since some men were speaking Russian or something like that in their van. I am probably just going crazy from watching too many horror movies this week. Ok, this is awkward. Just nevermind. I am going to go now,” I said and put my phone back into my pocket.
I advanced toward my car as I stared at the faded, cardboard cutouts within the van’s windows that were being used to keep their privacy. I heard the men doing their best to remain silent yet I could still hear their heavy breathing.
I clicked the “on” button to my car and as I reached for the handle for my car, I heard the worst sound I have ever heard in my life: the wheels of the van door slid along its tracks until the door slammed open. Two men dressed in camouflage pants and black balaclavas jumped down and one elbow-striked me in the face. My face flew to the side as my body crashed to the ground like a fallen tree. They squeezed my arms and dragged me into their van. I didn’t know what to say other than to shout in distress. Through the blood streaming down my face, I noticed that one of the men had a pin of some sort in the shape of a golden eagle poking out of his pocket. That’s strange. I wonder what that pin is for.
I stared into the light blue eyes of my attacker as he shoved some wet cloth into my mouth. Please say that this isn’t drugged! God please help me!! My eyelids feel so heavy . . . I hope I don’t fall aslee . . .
Chapter 3 - Paul
“Ring-ring-ring”
Who is it now? Can a man not enjoy his sandwich in peace around here?! I grabbed my phone. Hmmm, I don’t know this phone number but I suppose I should pick it up then.
“Hello, are you Paul McGrevy, the father of Thomas McGrevy? This is the FBI. I regret to inform you that your son Thomas was found earlier this morning at 9am by a Macy's clerk in their parking lot on Maple Avenue. It appeared as if he was hit in his face by something with extreme force and was found unconscious. After bringing him to the hospital, doctors found that he was under the influence of sedation. If you would like to visit him, he is at the Harrison Hospital on 25th Avenue. Rest assured, he is in stable condition.”
“Oh . . . I . . uh,” I tried to respond. How did this happen?!! Who would want to harm my teenage son?!
“Sir, I am sure that this news is very difficult to swallow at such short notice. If you have any further concerns, please feel free to call us at this number.”
“Tha-tha-thank you,” I stuttered in shock. I clicked the hang-up button.
I grabbed my backpack, shoved my MacBook inside, and walked towards the elevator.
“Susan, tell Jim that I need to go,” I shouted to my assistant and then entered the elevator. I got into my car and started towards the hospital.
How am I going to tell my wife Elizabeth that our son is literally hospitalized?! Where were his coaches? They were supposed to be watching him!
I put the gas pedal to the floor as I raced across the freeway. I swerved off the freeway and ran right through the stop sign. No! There is no parking anywhere at this old hospital! I resorted to parking in the handicap zone and raced up the stairs.
The glass doors of the hospital slid open as I entered the modern gray lobby. The empty lobby only made me feel more isolated in my confusion and anxiety as if there was no one both physically and emotionally there to support me. My heartbeat was pounding so late in the silent hospital it seemed as if it was echoing in this large room. Why is there no clerk at the desk? Or nurses walking around?
I glanced down an empty hallway and there were some men in dark blue jackets with the yellow FBI. The four men had buzz cuts and clean shaven. They were fair skinned and had big, pointy noses. Why do they all seem to look so Eastern European? And for FBI agents, why do they have legs for arms?
“Good evening, Mr. McGrevy, it is great to see you. Your son is this way,” said one of the agents in a thick Ukrainian accent. He escorted me to a white door with the blinds down. He opened the door and there was my son laying in the bed. His bed was an island in the middle of the impeccably clean and organized room. To the left, was a door to another dark room, perhaps a bathroom and a sink to the right of the entrance. In the corner, a nurse stood there cutting his food. My son!
I ran to his side but he was facing the other way.
“Excuse me nurse, how is my son doing,” I asked.
“He is doing well. His vitals are stable,” she replied.
As I made my way, I went around the bed and moved the pillow that partially blocked his face. Whew! My son is okay and of course, he is still wearing his favorite 49ers Super Bowl hoodie.
I grabbed the pillow and moved it to his side. I looked at his face and realized he was not my son but a stranger. What is happening? Who is this?
As I stood in confusion, I felt a cold barrel against the side of my head.
“Don’t say a word or your brains will be everywhere . . . “ threatened a whisper behind me.
Chapter 4 - Thomas
Why does my head hurt so much?! I opened my eyes to a dark room with several men smoking in the kitchenette across from me. Where am I? Why am I in some random home with strange men? PLEASE SAY SOMEONE WILL COME AND HELP ME. If only this duct tape wasn't preventing me from speaking. I felt the plush, old sofa below me as my eyes swept across the large room as the glass chandelier above emitted less light than most candles.
One of the men saw me awake and said something in Russian to the other men. After a very brief conversation, a nurse walked over pushing a steel cart. Oh no please don’t hurt me. The nurse picked up a syringe and inserted it into my forearm. If I could only stay awake . . .