The Collector Speaks (as told to Geoffrey Guthrie):
I was obsessed. I wanted something someone would miss and long for, pine for, be mad with grief over the loss of, be unable to be consoled. This missing thing needed to be alive and loved. This missing thing needed to be unable to survive without help. What was more helpless, more needy, more beloved than a baby? I knew where to get one. Right next door.
I was only ten years old when I took my first baby. I was young and, though I already knew the repercussions and dangers of harming things close to home, I was more prone to recklessness and impulsivity in those early days of collecting. I made some mistakes.
The baby boy belonged to a young couple who lived a stone's throw from my front door. The couple was ambitious for a better life, and they both worked. They left the baby with a sitter who lived across town. Though young and inexperienced, I was not stupid. I did have the sense to steal the baby from the sitter and not from right next door.
The sitter was a single mom who kept the extra baby so she could stay at home with her own baby boy. She also kept a couple of children in the summertime, but this was fall and school started back, and she only had the soon-to-be my baby and hers at the time.
I scouted the abduction site for several weeks before I took the baby. I feigned an on again, off again flu so I could spy without interruption or impunity. I knew the sitter's routine. I knew when the baby was fed and when the baby took a nap. After a few days, I formulated a plan. I was patience. I noticed the daily routine, I knew the babies went down for a nap after lunch and slept for two hours. I knew the mailman came promptly 30 minutes after the babies were asleep.
The sitter had little to entertain herself and a small amount of time to be alone each day, so naptime/mail time was her favorite part of the day. She had little family so there was seldom personal mail, but she was an avid catalog fan and received these sometimes two and three at a time. She rarely ordered anything, but this was her daily escape each day. She kept a notebook of inspiration, and she clipped and glued in ideas for her future artworks, future travels, and her future education - anything inspiring to her or moving her to be a better person and more than just a mommy or a sitter. This was her idea and inspiration book, and she worked on it everyday at naptime. She was meticulous about color and neatness and theme. She included some clippings from the newspaper that spoke to her. The idea book was a work of art. It took a lot of time for her to assemble, and I knew this because I watched her for weeks. One day when she was finished with it for the day, I took the book and perused and acknowledged the artistry and dedication, and snuck it back in when she went to bed.
I was a master at breaking and entering even at ten.
I watched and I waited. Naptime seemed like the best opportunity, but the sitter was too attentive. One day, one of the babies was sick and fretful and started to cry during naptime, and the sitter set her idea book aside and was right there. She did not take her eyes or ears off the babies.
Even at ten, I knew we all make our own fate, so I made mine. On this day, a package was delivered by the mailman. The sitter tried to explain that she did not order the package, and she could not and would not pay for it. The mailman insisted it was her package. Right there on the package was her name and address. She did not need to pay for the package, it was already paid for, no charge to her. It was free. The sitter was skeptical, nothing was ever free, unless it was "to a good home" free. The mailman hinted the package might be from an admirer. The sitter was intrigued by a package delivered to a house that never received packages. What could it be? She finally agreed to accept it and signed for it. Later, when the police asked for a description of the sender, the sitter said it was from a secret admirer, and it was a secret to her that she had an admirer.
The police were unsure if she was telling the truth.
I was in the baby room when the mail was delivered, but I knew to be patient. I waited. I got holt of some laudanum and fed both babies a little in their bottles. Not too much - I had already killed a couple of rabbits experimenting with the concoction. Weight was key, I learned. I didn't want to kill the babies, I just needed them quiet. I could hear the sitter tearing into the package in the next room.
The package was actually five boxes all duct taped, one inside the other. I could hear tearing and grumbling. I knew to be patient because I knew the sitter would peek in the room because she always did. After box two was open, she peeked inside. I was behind the door. Both babies were snoring. The sitter left to get back to the package as if transfixed.
I looked one last time at the sleeping babies and almost changed my mind. Both babies were loved and cherished, but there was something almost exotic about the sitter's baby. I was fascinated with eyes at this time in my collecting career, and the sitter's baby's eyes looked different and were not a common trait in this part of the country. I wanted those eyes, but in the end, I went with my original choice because I was collecting, not dissecting or experimenting. I took my neighbor's baby.
Here is the irony of my decision that day - if I had smothered both babies or accidently given them too much laudanum, my collection would still be intact today. Instead, years later, I was hunted down, and I hate to admit this - nearly outsmarted because of those babies. Babies, I wish now I had poked with some fancy sticks.
_______________
The next day headlines in the Mount Airy News Read:
"Missing Baby Boy: Sitter Suspected "
The police department was still at the sitter's home when the newspaper was delivered to the sitter's front door. She was visibly shaken by reading the headline and started to cry quietly. The parents of the missing baby were also there, and except for the fact that they did not suspect the sitter, their friend, in the disappearance of their child, she would have already been arrested.
By day two of no baby boy, not a shred of evidence, no ransom note, and crime-solving family and friends full of gossip and innuendo, the parents were suspicious the sitter was involved. They were pressuring the police to do something. They were beside themselves with worry that their baby was being harmed even though there was not one piece of evidence to prove this was happening. Their imaginations were running scared.
The headlines in the Mount Airy News the next morning read:
"Parents in Anguish Over Baby Boy's Disappearance"
and
"Searchers Seek: Bloodhounds Baffled"
On day three, because of the US mail connection to the case, the FBI became involved. An agent, Richard Long, out of Raleigh came to investigate. Agent Long was experienced in abductions. After interviewing the parents and the sitter, he was convinced the sitter was not involved. His experience, and more importantly his gut, told him the sitter was innocent. The sitter said her own baby slept later than usual that day and was groggy and difficult to wake up. Had the babies been drugged? No way to know now as the police did not collect the bottles. This abduction took careful planning. Agent Long did believe the baby, if not already dead, was in danger. Someone went to a lot of trouble to take the baby boy.
Agent Long paid particular attention to what was in the package sent to the sitter. It was a necklace. A necklace with a charm of the state of North Carolina. It was sterling silver. It was a nice, solid necklace on the higher end of the price tag for a souvenir. If sent by the kidnapper, why had the abductor bothered at all? The package may as well have been empty. The ruse was the time needed to open it, not the contents.
The charm necklace was sold all over the state in state parks and tourist locations. It was mailed from Raleigh. It was a clue.
The next day, the Mount Airy News Headlines read:
"FBI Agent Finds Clue in Disappearance of Baby"
and
"Sitter Innocent?"
Agent Long changed the course of the investigation. His opinion was valued in the police community. Two things happened because of his involvement. One was that the focus shifted off the sitter and onto an unknown abductor. And secondly, with no one watching the sitter's house, it was easy to return the baby. That is what happened at naptime of the tenth missing baby boy day. The sitter went to check on her baby, and laying in the crib next to her baby was the no longer missing baby. She scooped them both up and ran next door screaming and crying.
The next day the Mount Airy News headline read:
"Baby Found Safe: Grateful Parents Thank Kidnapper"
The grateful parents of the missing baby were quoted:
"Thank you for returning our baby. We don't care who you are. We will not try to find you. We are so happy to have our son back. Our prayers are answered. "
The police were not so forgiving of the abductor. The baby had bruises on its little arms and legs like someone pinched it. It looked half starved. There was a baby tooth missing. It left a gaping hole and looked like it had been wrenched out of the baby's mouth. The kidnapper did not take good care of the baby no matter how grateful the parents were for the baby's return.
"We will not give up our search for the kidnapper," said the police chief.
They did not give up, they just lost interest after the fair came to town. There were no more clues and the fair, always good for some mayhem and mischief and petty crime, distracted them.
The investigation continued for the next month or so but remained unsolved. Agent Long returned to Raleigh, but before he did, he went to see the sitter. He took her a necklace; it was a replica of the necklace sent by the secret admirer.
"Why on earth would I want this?" asked the sitter.
Agent Long replied, "This is not the necklace, only an exact copy. And you want it because it is the reason I knew you were innocent. No woman would buy that necklace for herself, even if it were a decoy. It also does not seem to be something any adult would purchase. It is more like something a child would purchase. Very odd. But, it is the reason I know you had nothing to do with this, and I will tell anyone willing to listen that you are innocent."
"Thank you for all your help," said the sitter, "and I hope we never meet again."
The baby disappearance became a kind of novelty story told for generations, a way to scare misbehaving children. The sitter still had her doubters and, understandably, not fewer children to keep, but no baby to keep other than her own. She left town and did not return until her baby was grown and off to college and her dad died and left her a house.
____________________
The Collector Speaks (as told to Geoffrey Guthrie)
That damn baby almost killed me. If you have ever read O. Henry's "The Ransom of Red Chief" you will know what I mean. In the story, the kidnappers are practically begging the parents to take the rotten kid back.
My goal with this acquisition was to collect and then raise a baby in captivity to adulthood, though I had no experience in raising so much as a chicken. For the baby, I was not planning on quick or slow death. Except in necessary circumstances, and the occasional dalliance with death for death's sake, I was mostly finished with this stage of my development. I will say it was tempting. That baby cried non-stop and always seemed to need something. I could not get a moment's peace. He was too young to threaten. He did not understand fear. Even when I pinched him or poked him or jumped out and scared him, all he did was cry. He could not be coerced. That damn baby was a selfish little creature. So selfish. All he thought about was himself and his own needs. It was obvious I needed some more experience with an infant before I took on this project. I was ill-prepared and needed to recruit some help before I took on this task again.
I was already thinking of maybe getting rid of the baby by quick death and starting over later when I was more mature and older when the FBI showed up and turned up the heat. They were unconvinced the babysitter was to blame. They were looking for another suspect and, according to the papers, they had a big break in the case and a clue. Fortunately for me, this was long before video surveillance was on every street corner and DNA was not yet a game changer.
I did not think I could be connected to this baby napping, but I was worried about the clue. That Agent Long seemed tenacious. I believed harming the baby would up the ante. There could be no disposal of this baby. Though I could definitely hide it where no one would ever find it, I was sure they would never stop looking. It would be easy to look right next door. I was not quite the actor or liar I am today. I had not yet mastered the art of misdirection and pretend pathos and empathy. I was sure to be found out if anyone questioned the neighbors. I decided to return the baby.
An unexpected bonus of returning the baby was that the parents were grateful. They actually thanked me in the paper. You're welcome, I thought. I enjoyed my newly discovered benevolence. I pardoned the baby for its transgressions.
Two days after the return of the baby my mother asked me, "Well, darling are you feeling any better?"
My dad said, "Sure he is. Didn't you notice the skip in his step today?"
I was feeling proud of myself. This is what it feels like to be a hero, I thought - to run into the burning building and save the sleeping children. I liked being the one who decided who lived, who died. I liked granting pardons. I liked being in control. I felt like God.
As my collection grew over the years, I became God, giver of life and death. Sometimes I was New Testament God - loving and gracious and concerned about my people. Sometimes I was Old Testament God - ready to turn you to salt or strike you down with a plague. Either way, I demanded obedience and adoration. And that is what I mostly got.