Belly Pots

Doug and Judy were enjoying their coffee and bagels at the kitchen table, sunlight streaming through the window on a bright, Miami morning. They were both looking at their phones. Judy on Pintrest, searching for holiday gift basket ideas that she could make at home, while Doug searched Google for medical advice on knee replacements.

The call came early. "Hello," Judy answered. “Yes, this is Judy Strafford,” she said. “Thank you, detective, my day is fine. What can I do for you?”

Doug watched Judy’s smile fade.

Judy placed her hand over her mouth, shock in her widening eyes. “Yes, officer, yes, yes, OH MY GOD!” she said, her face turned pale. Tears welled in her eyes. “When can we see him?” she said, crying. She thanked the man and the caller hung-up. The phone slipped from her hand and fell to the linoleum floor.

“Please, honey, what is it?” Doug said.

Judy stood, her teary eyes on Doug. “Th…they found him,” she said, bursting into heavy sobs. “They found our Tristan.”

Doug was speechless.

Judy gathered her composure. She wiped the tears from her eyes. “That was a detective on the phone,” she said. “They made a positive match to Triston’s DNA profile. It’s him!” she cried. “Honey,” she said. “They found our son.”

###

Fourteen years earlier…

It was the final days of summer, days after Tristan turned five. Judy and Doug had decided it would be fun to take Tristan to his first carnival, at the State Fair near Boston. The morning was cooler than normal for that time of year, the eastern and red maples lining the street were full canopy, speckled with yellow leaves that marked arrival of an early Fall.

As they were leaving for the fair, Judy realized Triston had forgotten his teddy bear. “Belly Pots!” he cried from the rear seat. Doug parked the car to run back inside. He came out and handed Tristan the bear. “Belly Pots!” he squealed, hugging the teddy.

The line outside the fair stretched around the block, a stream of people at the entrance gate—families, old people, co-workers, and herds of high school and college kids there to enjoy their final days of summer.

Once inside the gates, Doug and Judy took Tristan around the fairgrounds. They visited the stockyards to see the farm animals. They took him through the galleries of homemade art—partitions filled with cross-stitch, yarn creations, and model cars and airplanes. At one display, a white-haired woman became upset when Tristan dropped his snow cone on an elaborate quilt she had made. “You should watch your child more closely,” she said to Doug, who apologized, quickly shuffling Tristan to the next display.

More than anything, Tristan wanted on the rides—all of them. When he saw one of the big rides carrying its screaming passengers, he twisted and whined at the end of Doug’s arm, swatting Doug with the stuffed teddy. “Rides!” he said.

By late afternoon, the fairground teemed with new people, gathered thick through the carnival walkways. The families with younger children were starting to leave, replaced by a rowdier bunch, older teenagers and beer drinking adults.

“We should leave,” Judy said to Doug.

Doug wasn’t ready. He wanted Tristan to have just one ride before they left. Judy agreed, but on the condition that she picked out the ride, and that they would leave directly afterward.

She passed the junior rollercoaster, too old and rickety. The waterlog had too much water, and the bumper cars were too bumpy. Finally, they came upon Strawberry Shortcake, a slow-moving collection of teacups shaped like strawberries, rotating around an even bigger strawberry.

“This’ll do,” she said.

“I’ll need to buy tickets,” Judy said, looking out over an ocean of bobbing heads that separated her from the ticket booth. “Keep an eye on Tristan, please.”

As they both waited for Judy to return, Tristan became excited when saw a teacup with an ornate dragon on the side, pass by him. He pointed and jumped up and down. “Ride, daddy?” he said. “Ride! Ride! Ride!” Tristan said, each time the dragon teacup passed by.

Doug watched the crowd.

A few yards away, Doug noticed a women and man arguing, the man flailing his arms, yelling, and cursing. Another man and women, a young couple, shared a cotton candy while her young boyfriend pulled an enormous stuffed animal inconveniently through the crowd. Then he spotted a group of older teenagers leaning against the fence barrier outside the House of Mirrors. They were harassing people as they passed by, leering, and jeering at them.

A shout came from within the crowd. “My purse!”

Doug saw that one of the teenagers had taken the purse and was shoving his way through the thickest section of the crowd. The teenager headed straight for him.

“Stay right here, buddy,” Doug said, letting go of Tristan’s hand.

The teenager broke through a couple holding hands, directly into Doug. Doug grabbed a fist-full of the young man’s shirt. The teenager was thin but strong. They fell into a dusty heap on the ground. People gathered around, dozens holding their cell phones. Doug looked for Tristan but couldn't see him.

The teenager wriggled free, scrambling to his feet as he disappeared into the crowd. Doug let the kid go. “Tristan!” he called out. He looked where he left Tristan. Tristan was nowhere.

A woman appeared from the crowd. She found her purse on the ground where the teenager had dropped it. She inspected the contents. “Thank you,” she said, graciously. But Doug didn’t care about her or the purse; he wanted to find his son. A short distance away, he found Belly Pots lying in the dirt.

“Tristan!” he called out. Doug picked through the crowd. “Tristan! Tristan!” he said, as he grabbed at the people standing closest to him. “Have you seen my little boy?”

No one had.

Judy returned with the tickets. She heard Doug calling for her son. Something was wrong. “Doug!” she yelled. “Where’s Tristan!?”

Doug was close by, panting and wild-eyed, his shirt stretched and covered in dirt. “Where’s Tristan!” she said, frantically. “Where is he??”

Later that night, Doug and Judy sat alone in the empty parking lot. There was nowhere they hadn’t checked. They had talked to the police, who, with security, helped them to search the vast area, but with no luck.

At the end of the day, as the fair closed, Doug and Judy sat in the darkness, watching as the carnival lights switched off one-by-one. They waited as the terrible truth slowly became clear, a stranger had taken Tristan and there was nothing they could do about it. Doug was responsible, and now nothing could change it.

From the driver seat, Doug looked at his wife, her scowl, her eyes fixed on the empty acres of a moonlit parking lot. In that quiet moment, he knew things between them would never be the same, that Judy would never forgive him.

And she never did.

##

Doug and Judy were ready for their flight at sunrise. Doug had booked the earliest plane out of Miami the night before. That morning, Judy made sure to pack Belly Pots into her carry-on luggage, afraid the airline might lose it.

As they boarded the plane, Judy took a window seat, and Doug sat on the outside row. The plane lifted off the runway on its way to Los Angeles. Judy settled in for the flight, while Doug watched the people boarding the plane.

He saw a man about his age, sitting next to his teenage son. The teenager looked about Tristan's age. Doug tried to imagine what his life would look like now that they’d found Tristan. But he couldn’t. He tried to imagine the man Tristan had become. But he couldn’t. And then he thought about Tristan sitting in jail. It occurred to him that he knew nothing about his son, that every memory he had was of the five-year-old they’d lost so many years ago. He wondered if Judy thought about this—he guessed she hadn’t.

Judy never gave up hope. All those years searching, without even a clue, years with no signs that Tristan was alive, and she kept her faith that they would find him. Doug would’ve bet every cent he had that they’d never see Tristan again. Even after the detective said they’d found Tristan, Doug had trouble believing it. And now that they were so close, Doug was caught between wanting his son back, and being concerned over what he might find.

Four hours later, they arrived at LAX. Just off the plane, they found themselves in a swarm of busy people; Doug couldn’t help but be anxious in large crowds. “LA is a madhouse!” he proclaimed, as they retrieved their bags and picked up the rent-a-car.

“Miami’s just as bad,” Judy reminded him.

When they got to their room, Doug threw the luggage into a corner and plopped down on the queen-sized bed.

Judy placed her bags on the bed to phone the detective.

“Detective Neals?” she said. “We’re here,” Judy told him. “If we can, I’d like to see Tristan as early as possible. Yes, tomorrow at 9am would be great. Thank you,” she said, and hung up.

“The officer wants to talk to us before we see Tristan. He said it wouldn’t take long,” she said.

Judy floated over to Doug, placing her hands over both his cheeks. “We get to see our boy!” she said, patting his rosy face.

At dinner, Doug and Judy sat quietly apart at the dinner table. Doug sipped on a beer, while Judy twisted dinner napkins into paper animals and flowers. “Remember when I used to make these for Tristan?” she said, a faraway look in her eyes.

Doug’s mind was on the following day.

“I wonder what he’s in jail for?” he said.

Judy stopped folding her napkins. “What do you mean by that, Doug?”

“They don’t put people in jail for nothing. He had to do something.”

Judy thought about this for a second. She quickly tossed the thought away. “Ridiculous,” she said. “You can go to jail for not paying parking tickets.”

“That’s true,” Doug said. “But you can go to jail for a lot worse, too.”

On the way back to the hotel, they both decided it had been a busy day, and to call it an early night. Judy fell fast asleep, while Doug lay awake, staring at the hotel room ceiling.

Early the next morning, Doug was still awake. Not having slept, he lay in bed listening to the cars and trucks pass outside the room’s open window. As the morning sun brightened the room, Judy was up and eagerly planning their day. “Let’s go see our son!”

Judy removed the teddy bear from her bag and held up to the light coming through the window. “It’s been a long time since I’ve looked at you,” she said. “Hello, Belly Pots,” she giggled. She stuck the bear up to her nose and sniffed. “It still smells like him,” she said with a wide grin.

Detective Neals was waiting inside the station when Doug and Judy walked into the lobby. “Good to finally meet you,” the detective said, as he shook Doug’s hand. In the detective’s other hand, was an overstuffed manila file folder. “I hope you don’t mind me taking some of your time,” he said. He led them to a set of stainless-steel elevator doors. “Did you enjoy your flight?”

The elevator stopped on the third floor. The detective took them down a hallway of non-descript doors. At the end of the hallway, they entered a small room. “Is there anything I can bring you…coffee, tea, a bottle of water?” the detective said.

“Yes, please,” Judy said. “I’ll take some water. Thank you.”

The officer returned with the water. “Why’s Tristan in jail?” Doug said, before the detective took his seat.

“Straight to business, I see,” the detective said. He opened the folder and removed a stack of photos, placing the photos inside the desk drawer.

“What are those?” Doug asked.

“Oh, these?” the detective said. “These are photos that pertain to Tristan’s case. Trust me when I say they wouldn’t interest you.”

Doug began feeling uneasy.

The detective arranged some of the papers inside the file. “I’m happy that I had a chance to talk to you. When we discovered that Tristan was a fourteen-year-old cold case, a missing person, we were all shocked. Tristan hasn’t spoken since his arrest. He had no identification, not even a name to match him with. It was quite extraordinary we found out who he was.”

“We’re glad we could come,” Judy said. “Thank you, Mrs. Stafford. If you don’t mind, I’d like to get whatever information I can from you about Tristan, info we may not have in his file.”

Judy eagerly nodded.

“We have here the dates and times of his appearance, what he was wearing, and to our nearest guess, what happened the day he disappeared. But what I’d really like to know is if there’s anything about Tristan you can add? Was he a normal child? Did he have any unusual play habits? Any problems with anger or lashing out?”

“Not at all,” Judy said, a little offended. “Why would you ask that?”

“It gets a little complicated. On one hand, we’ve found your missing boy, several of his years unaccounted for; on the other hand, Tristan is facing some serious charges. We could use any information you can give us."

Judy took a breath, “There was nothing wrong with our Tristan," she said. "He was a perfect child from the day I gave birth to him. He never fussed more than a baby has right to." Judy went on to explain how smart he was, and funny, and playful, and how he loved his teddy bear. She took the bear out of a paper sack and placed it on the desk. The detective smiled.

“You still haven't told us what he's here for,” Doug said.

“It’s not easy for me to say, Mr. Stafford. Your son is here because either he, or someone he knows, is involved with several disappearances in the LA area. We have reason to believe Tristan is involved.”

“Disappearances?” Doug said. “What kind of disappearances? Who?”

The detective was dismissive. “I think it’s better, Mr. Stafford, if we save details of the case until after you’ve seen Tristan. Some of the facts are hard to take in.”

Doug looked at Judy for her reaction. “Are you getting all of this, honey?” he said.

Judy took Doug’s hand and pressed it to her cheek. “I am fine, Doug,” she said, calmly. “Everything will be fine,” she assured him. “Tristan is here and soon we’ll see him, and sit with him, and I can tell him, as sure as I’m telling you now, how much I’ve always loved him and how we never gave up hope. And I can whisper to him how very much I missed him. Don’t you see, Doug?” she said, her eyes now dark and serious. “What matters is our son. That’s all that matters.”

“l can't imagine what you two have been through,” the detective said.

The detective turned to consult Doug. “Mr. Stafford?” he said. “Have you ever heard mentioned the name Grendel?”

Doug hadn’t. “Why?”

“Without going into detail, it was a word we found in a number of places where we discovered him, scratched into the walls and, uh,” he paused, as if collecting the right words, “…and other things at the crime scene.”

Doug was visibly upset.

“I have to be honest with both of you,” the detective said, “Tristan is not going to be what you probably expect. From what I can see, he’s endured years of physical trauma at someone’s hand, not to mention the conditions we found him living in.”

“You can’t tell us anymore than that?” Doug said.

“Again, I think the details will be easier to explain once you've seen him," the detective said. "At that time, we can go over anything you’d like to discuss about Tristan."

The detective reassembled the papers in the file. He opened the desk drawer and returned the photos to the manila folder. “If there’s nothing else, I suppose you’re ready to see him,” the detective said.

“One last thing," Doug said, as the detective phished the photos from the drawer and returned them to the file. “Will there be a problem giving him his teddy bear?”

The detective looked at the bear. “I don’t see why not,” he said. “Now if you will, follow me.”

Doug and Judy followed the detective through a complex path of corridors. They turned left and right down long hallways. Doug was still thinking about what the detective had told them. “Excuse me,” Doug said to the detective, “How exactly did you found him, detective?"

"That was a bit of a miracle, too,” the detective said. “Utility workers found evidence of someone living within the complex grid of sewer tunnels beneath the city. It wasn’t until they found…”

They stopped at a security door. On the other side of the protection glass, a guard sat. The detective signaled the guard. There was a loud buzz and the door popped open with a loud clank.

Inside the secured area, there were three more doors, each leading to a separate cell. “This is a special confinement area,” the detective explained. “Due to safety concerns, we can only let one of you in the cell at a time,” he said. “But I’ll be just outside this door if you need assistance.”

“I’ll go first,” Judy said, teddy bear in hand.

“I just have some precautions to go over with you,” the detective said. “For safety concerns, we ask that you stay at a safe distance. That means no hugging,” he said, looking specifically at Judy. “Please, no sharp objects, including pens or paperclips. We don’t know enough about Tristan to say he’s a danger while in confinement, so it’s better to keep a safe distance,” the detective said. “Do you have any more questions for me?”

Judy shook her head.

With another loud buzz, the cell door unlocked. The detective opened it slowly. “So dark,” Judy said, peering into the room. She stepped inside. “Triston?”

Within the room, a man sat center at the metal table, details of his face hidden by shadows.

“I can’t see you, honey,” Judy said.

The man’s hands and feet cuffed to a chair. He rocked silently back and forth, his shackles clinking quietly against the chair's metal arms.

Judy approached slowly and took her seat. “Tristan?”

She strained to see his features; his eyes hidden behind greasy strands of long hair that hung over his dark face.

“Tristan?” she said. “Do you remember me? I’m your mom.”

The man stopped rocking in his chair.

“I brought you something, honey,” she said. Judy placed the stuffed bear on the table. “It’s Belly Pots.”

The man peeked from beneath his greasy hair. He reached for the bear; his cuffs stopping him short of touching it. Judy leaned forward, pushing the bear closer.

He took the bear into his hand, turning it over, a confused look on his face. The man began squeezing the bear, and then lightly pulled at its arms and legs.

“I kept it all these years, baby,” Judy said, fighting back her tears.

The man smiled, his teeth black and broken. With a cracked voice, he spoke. “Belly Pots?”

“Yes, honey, Belly Pots. You remember Belly Pots?”

The man ran his fingers over the tattered fur. He then pulled on the single, button eye, popping it off in his hand. “Belly Pots,” he grumbled, tossing the button eye onto the floor. He pulled at the bear's seams. “Belly Pots!” he said with a ghoulish smile.

Judy was nervous. “Your dad is waiting for you outside,” she said.

The man flung his stringy hair over one shoulder, looking closer at Judy. For the first time, Judy saw his eyes, jaundice yellow and scarred. damaged. The man looked at her, then the bear, and then her again. He held the bear up with a toothy grin. “Belly Pots,” he said.

Judy noticed the man’s hand was resting on the tabletop. She felt a sudden urge to touch him, to allow him to feel her love, her sympathy. She didn’t care about the detective’s rules. She reached across the table for his hand.

“I just want to touch you,” she whispered. “Just once.”

Bony and covered in scars, his skin was colorless, his nails, long and dirty. “Dear God,” Judy said, “What did they do to you? What did they do to my baby?”

Judy started crying.

The man looked back at the bear, and again at Judy. His grip tightened around the stuffed animal; his lips curled up. “BELLY POTS!” he growled.

He dug into the bear with his nails, tearing open the fragile fabric. He pulled the stuffing, dropping the fluff onto the cold floor. He ripped off an arm and then a leg. “BELLY POTS!” he yelled.

The man gripped the bear by the neck, removing the head from its body. “BELLY POTS!” he cried, louder. He bounced the head across the table into Judy’s lap, pulling taut against his shackles. “BELLY POTS! BELLY POTS!! BELLY POTS!!!” he yelled, rocking violently in the chair.

Outside the room, Doug and the detective heard the noise. The detective spun around to enter the room. The folder he held, slipped from his grasp, exploding the room with paperwork and loose photos, as the contents spilled across the floor.

Unsure at first what he was looking at, Doug stooped to see the photos. Puzzled at first, he finally realized what he was looking at. It was a photo of a child’s single arm, covered in human bite marks. The room closed in around him, a sickness rising in his throat.

“Mr. Stafford, please don’t….” the detective said, grabbing for the photos. It was too late.

A mutilated ribcage. A severed leg with the sock still on. A pile of dirty shoes. The detective tried to wrestle the photos from Doug’s hand. One photo, taken in dim light, was of a stuffed bear perched on a pile of filthy clothes. Above its head, scrawled in dark letters on a damp sewer wall, was the word: Grendel

Judy burst from the cell door, tears running down her red face. She fled past Doug to the security door, pounding on it to let her out.

“BELLY POTS!” came the scream from within.

Judy pounded on the door, crying hysterically.

From within the cell, the man screamed even louder. With one resonant howl, Doug felt the chill of a tortured soul—Tristan’s story of untold torments, of shattered memories, of terror, beyond imagination. And with that, Tristan gave his answer—what Doug wouldn’t admit, but always feared—their son was dead.

“BELLY POTS!!!” Grendel screamed.