Every 40 Seconds…

Raindrops beat away on my windshield. The rhythm of their pitter patter hypnotizes me, and brings me back to that night. I take another long burning swig from the Vodka filled thermos with a single tear snaking down my eye.

I’ve been here every Sunday since that gut wrenching night, but tonight feels different. Tonight I can taste something special in the air, the rain and the rusty moon even seem to have that same snickering glare.

If I didn’t know better I’d say it all seemed to mimic the night that forever changed my life. Maybe today is my own personal groundhog day. Maybe today I can find him and make things right.

It was over a year ago, around this same time in April. Things were good then. Bobby was my world and he snored like a whimsical cartoon character in the passenger seat. He had fallen asleep to the scary stories that we would play on YouTube whenever we made these long late night road trips.

Maybe the story was boring, or maybe it was the rains lullaby under the moons soft hue that put Bobby into that deep slumber. The old diesel Mercedes needed gas, and I reckoned the old truck stop was the last gas station for many miles out.

It was only going to be a few quick minutes, and the diesel pumps were all the way in the back of the stop, separate from the rest. It must have been about 3am or so. For a moment I thought about waking him up, oh God how I wish I woke him up.

The faint voices in my head argued with me in a whisper. *Wake him up, bring him with you!” “No it’s late, let the boy sleep he’s going to catch a cold.” Snapped the second voice in harsh retort.”

I swear I locked the door. “Sure you did.” Said the second voice sarcastically. I mean if it was left unlocked it wasn’t entire my fault, sometimes the lock on the door would jam and remain open.

Then I also had to press unlock to open the gas panel, so maybe I didn’t lock it. It was only supposed to be a few minutes, surely he would be ok. I reasoned with myself some more, trying to free the heavy curtain of guilt that hangs over me like a hunters net over its prey.

I mean what parent hasn’t left their child alone for a few minutes while they pumped gas.

The uneasy feeling that befell me when I first saw the strange old crow working the front counter told me that perhaps I should have listened to that first voice.

Her wrinkles were deep chasms in flesh. Her eyes beady black cauldrons that almost made me feel ill. She was a strange one indeed.

The whole dream like night should have been a dead giveaway that something was wrong. Exhausted from driving I found myself walking in a slow, almost trance like methodical gate as the rain water showered down upon me and drenched me like a baptism.

My interaction with the woman had been brief. I handed her a fifty, and made way back to the car. “You have a good night sir, be safe out there that rains coming hard.”

Her words a murmur as I exited the gas station. In minutes I was back looking at Bobby and trying to pump gas. All should have been fine. But no, that old bat did something wrong cause the pump wasn’t on, and now I had to go back.

It’s strange how intuitive we are. How we can get a weird ominous feeling in the pit of our stomach before tragedy or bad news. This was one of the moments. My first thought is that maybe the fifty dollar bill had raised some suspicion. Fifties where rare, and some of these cheap mom and pop shops would sometimes give passerby’s a hard time, but when I see the look on the old bats face I know it’s not that.

“The pumps not working.” I bark. The old lady looks confused for a moment than around, and hits some keys. “Oh your on the diesel, I put it on the regular front pumps, let me fix it.” She hits some keys in a slow and lethargic fashion. “There, all set, you’ll be good now.” I nod as her words trail off, it all still feels like a dream.

Outside the rains still falling persistently. I walk slow, why was I walking so slow. Each boot crunching in the muddy gravel, almost waiting for me to mentally command the other to step forward. It’s like I’m wading through some sort of invisible sea. The pit of my stomach is queasy, and I know something’s wrong before I even get to the car. But when I do walk around the side to pump Gas the full realization strikes me, like a wrecker hitting a building.

Bobby’s door, it’s open wide open and he’s gone. First that one stupid little voice in my head tries to calm me. “Relax he’s probably just taking a pee somewhere.” Oh that voice I wish I never listened to it.

“Bobby, Bobby!!!!” The world shakes and blurs through rain and panic. “Bobby.” I blare out again at the top of my lungs, but no reply, only silence and raindrops. No footsteps or rustling, just rain smacking on gravel.

Then moments later I hear it; the large truck at the front side of the gas station. It’s already pulling out the front, and I barely catch a glimpse at the side of its front cab. Its large menacing spiked hubcap stares out at me. It’s dark black paint glistens in the rain, as the ominous cowboy hat wearing driver rides off.

He’s pulling out at breakneck speed. The tires spew gravel like some wild ravenous beast. I break into action slamming Bobbie’s door, it flings back at me violently, until I manually fix the jammed lock, then it concedes and shuts. I race to the other side of the car slipping over crunching gravel, as I make my way to the drivers seat.

I fumble with the keys, until I finally find the right one and it slips inside. At the first even my car seems in on this plot against me, as it stutters and refuses to go, then finally with a roar it starts up. I slam on the gas consuming the little precious fuel I have left, and gravel kicks up from the all wheel drive like a sand storm.

I skid as I round the corner and leave in pursuit of the big black truck cab. I see it now in the distance, but with no trailer attached it’s flying even faster than the typical lunatic truck drivers in these parts. My old car and eyes aren’t what they used to be, but I do my best to cut through the dark road and catch up. Up ahead there’s cars on the road now. “Fuck just my luck there’s cars now.” I think to myself, as I’m forced to slam on the breaks and swerve to avoid hitting someone changing lanes. It cost me the little progress I made.

In the end it’s not the near miss, or speed that cost me the pursuit though. No in every bitter bit of irony I curse and I cry, as I feel the gas pedal go limp, and the car resign into a coast. The needles all the way past E now. I shout out an obscenity, and fall on the steering wheel, tears streaming down my face. I taste their salty droplets, and feel all my innards die at once.

I pull out my phone and call 911. It’s an awkward conversation spoken through sobs, and before the local hillbilly police show up I already know my Bobbie’s gone.

They go through the formalities and check the cameras, but don’t get much. The trucks out of site, but a man in a cowboy hat does grab Bobby from my car, but these cheap cameras don’t make out much on this dark rainy night. They tell me they will be in touch, but that’s all they can do.

Every 40 seconds a child goes missing. That means every 40 seconds a parents reality is shattered. That’s 2100 a day, and 800,000 per year, and that’s only the reported cases. Apparently there’s about 500,000 unreported cases, maybe these are from parents who aren’t typical good citizens. The numbers are staggering, and every day since that night I ask myself what’s worse the torture of not knowing what’s become of my precious boy or the closure of knowing he’s passed on.

I mean nothing can prepare you for the trauma of a lost child. You don’t heal from that sort of hurt, it just sort of eats away at you each day. The best you can do is cover it up, and lock it away.

I don’t do that anymore though. No almost two years to the day, and I still give into that feeling of hope. It’s brought me here today, and every Sunday since.

I sit and I wait hoping for a lead or sign. Sometimes you just know something will happen if you don’t give up. Like those people who play the lotto every day religiously, and then finally win.

It’s like that for me today. A perfect replica of the tragic Sunday my Bobby was taken. I’d say it was almost too perfect, but life has a way of being humorously ironic like that. When I see that black truck cab with spiked hubcaps my gut feelings are confirmed, and it feels like I’m being slapped in the face by a cold wet hand.

When I see the old hag from the gas station get in the truck I feel my heart sink, and that whisper in my head goes off again. “Told you so, I told you these two were in cahoots from the start. You should have came and snatched her up long ago, maybe you’d already have him back, now it maybe too late.”

In my head I’m shouting at myself to shut up. My hearts racing, breaths short like I just ran a marathon, I’m not shaking, but I might as well be, because I’m fighting jitters and my every movement is rapid and short.

It’s almost like a dejavu, I’m fighting the blurry highway and rain, following behind the truck cab again. The spiked hubcaps still glaring at me menacingly. There’s less traffic this time and my suv is almost on full. I’m following behind at a good pace now. Not to close as to alarm them, but not to far as to lose them.

Time seems to drag on, or the adrenaline coursing through me just has things feeling different. The next two exits seem to stretch out into eternity, but finally his blinker goes on, and he exits some 3 exits up from the truck stop. I follow behind and up the road.

He goes about a mile up to the driveway of an old large house. I assume he’s getting alarmed now and can tell I’m following him, but he’s cocky, and it’s too late, I’ve already followed him here.

The next few minutes play out in a flash. I reach in my glove compartment and pull out the small revolver, and as I jump out the white Benz truck I see him reaching behind the seat. He’s pulling out a large shot gun.

My muscles tense and ache. I’m on autopilot now. That second little voice in my head has fully taken over. “Don’t think, shoot him! He’ll kill you!” I don’t second guess it this time, I just react, I run, my feet move fluid this time gliding over dirt and rain.

It’s like an out of body experience, as I’m already upon him firing the first shot into his skull while he still fumbles with the long shotgun. I close my eyes, as I squeeze a second shot into his skull. Warm droplets of sticky blood shower down upon me, contrasting the cold rain.

Her shriek and yell rings out into the vast void of blackness that is the night. She fumbles the door open falling to the ground with a soft thud. She’s trying to run towards the house now, but that voice sounds off again cutting her run short. “Don’t let her get the jump on you! Shoot her!” Again I don’t think, I just react mechanically like a robot. I lift my heavy arm, and squeeze off another 3 shots.

Her body falls with a soft thump, and crimson red blood glistens and flows down the driveway. I’m devoid of emotion now. The scene is playing out like a movie I’m watching. Am I even in control? I just need to find Bobby, he has to be inside that house.

My heart starts racing again, as I rapidly walk up the long dirt drive way towards the house not knowing what I’ll find. I clutch the revolver tight knowing I only have one shot left. Hopefully I won’t need it.

As I approach the old worn and dilapidated home, emotions come stirring back. I’m fighting tears now, not knowing how things will play out. I just need to find Bobby, then everything will be alright.

Approaching the front door a soft smile spreads over my face. Cartoons are playing in the front room. I can hear them ringing out loudly and seem them through cracks in the blinds. What I see next sends tears streaming and relief washeing over me. I see the shadow of a boy around the same size as Bobby, it has to be him.

I kick in the door with full force expecting to see Bobbie’s soft face, instead I see a frightened and terrified blond freckled face child. He shrieks “‘Mammma, Pappy!” His cries echo out, as he runs from the house in his tight Pokemon pajamas.

I’m numb now, almost broken. I pace through the dark empty house softly calling out. “Bobby, Bobby..” but theres’s nothing, just a dark empty worn home. I stumble back to the front of the house in fear. Stepping outside my heart shatters, as I watch the boy frantic and hysterically rush over to the old woman’s lifeless body. Screaming and crying he claws at her, as if to wake her from death.

“Who is this boy? What happened to Bobby? What have I done? Was it them all along? Did I make a mistake? What happens now?” Question surge my mind like a shock from an electrical short. I’m frozen, broken, and lost, not knowing what to do next or how to find my Bobby. That’s when I hear it again. That voice, it’s more distinct, and clearly not my own. “You still have one bullet left…” It whispers.