Kidnapped

Stories to be Told

Chapter 11:

Everything quickly became a mess. An organized mess of flashing lights and barked orders, but it was enough to make my head spin. After the ambulances and four more cruisers showed up, Andrew and I were ushered out of the building. They separated us and started asking me questions about what happened in the gas station. It didn't take too long before we were both shoved into a cruiser and hauled off to the actual police station. Andrew fidgeted the whole way there. He kept looking out the window, panicked over something, and then at the floor where his foot was tirelessly tapping. We were split up again and put into different interrogation rooms. You'd think that crime dramas were exaggerating when they depicted the dull grey, two-way mirror room. It felt like I was walking onto a Law & Order set. Grey walls, grey table, grey chair. A small mic was sitting on the table and I was seated in front of it. They made me wait for almost ten minutes before a young male officer stepped in the room. Jet black hair and thick black eyebrows framed his olive face. His eyes were a soft brown and his face was sharp and angular.

"I understand that you're Ashley Jacobs, is that right?" He sat down in front of me and smiled softly.

"Uh- yes." The mic next to me made me feel uncomfortable. I glanced at it nervously.

"Don't worry about that." The officer said. "It's just here to add some color." He winked. "I'm Officer Reinhart. I want you to tell me what happened the day you were taken and everything that happened after, up until you got here. Can you do that for me?"

My heart was pounding in my chest and butterflies rioted in my stomach. The events that happened at the house were not only terrifying, but embarrassing. I couldn't bring myself to speak at first. I looked at the table for a moment, gathering myself. It seemed like years had passed since I was taken.

"Well," I swallowed hard. "My dad and I were fighting and I just got so mad that I left the house."

*****

"What's your name, son?" Officer Spick rested his elbows on the grey table. His face was round and innocent looking, but his eyes told a different story. They were hard stones that were void of any kindness.

"Andrew." I kept my eyes down. I knew what was coming, and I was determined to answer all of his questions. And then some. This was my chance to make everything right. The pulse in my neck was throbbing so hard I could feel it up to my ear. My hands were cold and sweaty and I couldn't stop tapping my foot. If confessing to the police was so hard, how could Catholics tell a priest their sins?

"Last name?" Spick prodded.

"Um- Hatch." I swallowed hard. Spick straightened out in his chair and I could feel his eyes boring holes into the top of my head. "I'm- his son. Jerry. The guy who took Ashley."

"So I can assume there's more to your story than there is to hers?"

I nodded.

"Start from the beginning then, son."

"I-" I took a shuddering breath. This was it. "I- um- Well, I was fourteen and my dad came home with a car part for the van."

I recounted the gory details to Spick and watched his rough demeanor all but crumble by the time I finished with her story. There was a silent moment between us as I wiped the tears off of my cheeks. Before he could speak I started in on the next gruesome tale.

"At first," I shuddered, "he would take his- frustrations out on me. He'd beat me, yell at me, burn me, and- do anything that would make me bleed. Then he saw a girl at the store that reminded him of my mom. He made me help him drag her into the car. She was so scared.