Guardian (13 page)

“Okay. That's enough.” I touch him, to break the spell. I know the rest anyway. I saw what he did to Stephanie.

His head hangs low. Tears darken the sandstone in little spots, like raindrops. “Is it wrong to want to keep people from hurting my own kid? When I got out … and I saw the home you were in. That bitch Stephanie … I wasn't going to interfere as long as the guy was there. But when he died … I didn't know if that woman would be good to you. I had to know.… I'm not evil, Hunter. I'm not. I'm not an angel or a devil. I'm just a man.”

Our shadows have uncrossed. The wind has turned cold. The temperature changes fast in the desert. Cowboy gets up and stretches. I touch my father's arm. “It's time to go.”

We drive through Quartzsite and Blythe, past the Salton Sea and the Joshua Tree National Park. Since I'm the one holding the map, I notice we're starting to run out of land.

“What are you going to do when we get to the ocean?” I ask. “Turn and go back the other way?”

He laughs. “Nope. I've decided we're going to Los Angeles. I've always wanted to live there. Isn't that cool? It's a big city, we can disappear, everyone needs landscaping work. It's perfect.”

I glance up and see the exit sign for San Bernardino. Then it hits me and I start to laugh.

“What?” He almost swerves, trying to look at me. “What?”

“Los Angeles,” I giggle, beside myself. I think I might be hysterical. “You're taking me to the city of angels!”

Chapter 13

“Hunter! Come on, man. Your breakfast is getting cold.”

I'm almost ready. Just choosing between my new Skechers and my new Lugz. I go with the Skechers.

We have a little eat-in breakfast area in our apartment in Glendale. Dad's already in his coveralls, standing over the table, staring at my scrambled eggs to keep them warm. He cooks breakfast, I cook dinner.

I sit down and savor the smell. Dad's a good cook, puts things like Parmesan cheese in the eggs. The toast is buttered perfectly, like for a photo shoot. A multivitamin lies next to my orange juice.

He starts piling dishes in the sink. “I might be late tonight—we've got that Brentwood development today.”

I laugh. He tells good stories about the fussy housekeepers in the Brentwood development and all their special instructions.

“What are you going to do?” He runs a sinkful of suds, his back to me. House arrest is technically over—after all, he can't take me to work with him or lock me in the apartment. But he asks me what I'm doing every day and certain things are off-limits. I can't talk to anyone, can't go to the library or a cybercafe (e-mail access), have to avoid police stations, and things like that. Some of this bothers me a little, but so far I play by his rules. I'm happy here. Plus, he's really good at spying.

“It's time to go to the Laundromat again,” I say. “Want anything from the store?”

He flips around, opening the fridge, takes an inventory. “Nope. Looks well-stocked to me. Unless you need anything special for dinner.”

I'm gobbling eggs. They are soooo good. “I might get some sour cream. I was thinking of beef Stroganoff.” Jessie's recipe. That part of my life is like a dream now.

“Oh, wow. That sounds good. Except, remember I could be late. Don't make something that won't hold.” He's going through his pocket-slapping routine now, ready for takeoff. Keys, ID badge, wallet. “Oh, I almost forgot. I got you a present yesterday.”

I get a lot of presents these days but I still get pretty excited. “What?”

His fishes in his wallet and takes out two tickets.

“Oh, my God!” I scream. “The WWE?”

He grins. “Read 'em and weep.”

It's not just a house show. It's not even a TV taping. It's the upcoming pay-per-view—Destruction, at the Staples Center. They've been advertising it all over town. In fact, I had already made plans to hang out there the afternoon of, because sometimes you can see the wrestlers arriving, rental cars for the undercard and big stretch limos for the main eventers. Sometimes they wave, out of charity. That's all I expected. But now I stare at these tickets and see I'm gonna be ringside. “Dad …” I read the ticket over several times and hold it to my heart. “This is, this is …”

“Big?” He grins.

“Huge.” I pass them back reverently.

“Good. I was going for huge.” He's still smiling as he walks out the door.

I sit and savor my eggs in our sunny, quiet apartment. Outside the sliding door there's a sycamore tree. It's beautiful. California is beautiful.

I turn on the radio and hum while I go around the apartment, collecting laundry and making a short list of Stroganoff ingredients.

It's like Dad and I are playing house, acting out scenes from a sitcom. Well, that's what we have to do. That's the only place either of us has ever seen what a happy family is supposed to look like.

Glendale is cool. A huge mall, really good restaurants, and lots of kids. They bother me today. It's Saturday and they're out skateboarding and riding bikes. They all have someone to talk to. I'm hoping eventually Dad will let me enroll in school, but right now he says that's out of the question. He doesn't want any contact with any system anywhere. But I worry I'm going to fall behind and get stupid, or be even more socially warped than I was before. If I went to school, it would be Theodore Roosevelt Middle. I know where it is. I walk by there sometimes, since he hasn't put that off-limits. I wonder which kids might be my friends. No one probably. I'm better off just being grateful for what I have. I never thought I'd ever have a real parent like this. So what if there are some crazy temporary rules?

So why, on this near-perfect day, do I find my feet heading toward Harvard Street? To the library? Well, I tell myself, I should read some books so I won't get too stupid. Of course Dad would take me to Barnes & Noble and buy me anything I wanted. Okay, I'll admit it. I want to know if my old e-mail account is still there. If anyone is looking for me.

As I walk deeper and deeper into the forbidden zone, I wonder what Dad would actually do if he found out I went someplace I wasn't supposed to. I'm only two blocks from the library now, moving like I'm in some kind of trance. He's at work in Brentwood. He's not omniscient. He'll never know where I went today.

I stand across the street from the library. I watch a few people go in and out. I think about when I lived in the orphanage and they told us the story of Adam and Eve. I was always so pissed off at them. Why would you risk paradise just to eat a forbidden apple? But today, I get it—they just had to know.

I cross the street.

From:
[email protected]

To:
[email protected]

Hunter—I say a prayer for you every day. I will never forget you. I wrote a letter to America's Most Wanted but I have not heard back. We are both very happy in our new home. We still talk to Stephanie and she says the police say they will find you. I hope so.

Your friend, Jessie.

My heart pounds. Just seeing her name messes me up, reverses everything. Now that world seems like reality and my life here in Los Angeles seems like a dream. I have two other messages from her, sent earlier. With e-mail, you're always looking backward through time. I already have one extremely important piece of information. Stephanie's not dead. I can also infer that Jessie and one of my other sisters are together in a new foster home. I need a little pause, so instead of dropping down to the next e-mail from Jessie, I hit delete and drop to the next one in line, some spam from Amazon.com.

Dear Hunter—

We have new books for heart, mind, and body!

Check out
Angels, Protectors, and Spirit Guides
by Ariel Powers. If you order $25 dollars or more, your shipping is free!

This does nothing to slow down my heart rate. I've never ordered any books from Amazon in my life, much less angel books. I always did my research in the school library. Is this a sign or just a really, really big coincidence? If my father isn't playing head games with me anymore, who is? I hit delete fast.

The next one is from Jessie again, two weeks earlier.

Hunter—

The police told us that even if you were kidnapped, you might find an opportunity to check your e-mail.

Hunter, if you ran away and you don't want anyone to find you, just answer this and tell me you're okay. I worry about you all the time. Your story is all over the news but I'm afraid that the attention will die down and people will stop looking for you and assume you're dead. Hunter, even if you can't answer this, I want you to know that you were my best friend in this world and I even had kind of a crush on you, but I guess you knew that. I pray for you and hope you're okay.

I'm slamming that delete key like it's an enemy. The next e-mail is from Andrea!

Hi, Hunter—

The sheriff's office says we should e-mail you in case you have run away, to tell you to please contact us so we can all have closure. Or if you know anything about the man who attacked Stephanie. I know we've had our problems, but I really hope you're okay.

Answer if you can. Your sister, Andrea

I tremble as I hit delete, feeling the weight of all these people and their concern. My next e-mail is from Drew, obviously also sheriff-inspired.

Dear Hunter

Hi Hunter. Are you okay? Did you run away from home? Please come back. I got adopted and I have a cat named Picky. You can pet her if you want. Only if you come back. I love you. You are still my best brother. XOXOXOXOXO Drew.

My delete hand freezes. I watch the cursor blink over Drew's X's and O's. I put my head down to stop from passing out. I feel the same way I felt when I had my tonsils out at six, coming out of anesthesia. My last e-mail—actually my first—is from Jessie again.

Hunter—

I hope you get this message. Everything has been so scary and I'm so scared for you. The whole thing was on the news. Stephanie says a man broke in and tried to kill her. When the social worker got there she was on the floor unconscious and you were gone. They say they don't know if you were abducted, or if you ran away with the man who attacked her, or if you just ran away period. I can't sleep at nights, thinking that a bad man has you and is hurting you. If you can answer this, please, please tell me you're okay. I'll keep any secrets you want, but I don't want to go forever not knowing how you are. The publicity has helped us all. There's a family that wants to adopt Drew and another one that will take me and Andrea on “lease purchase”—you know the drill—but maybe we'll finally have a real home. Stephanie is kind of messed up but I think she will be okay. She's all alone now. I think about you every day, Hunter, and say a prayer that you are safe and someday I'll see you again. Your friend, Jessie.

This time, because all my other chances are deleted, I hit reply. I watch the cursor flash. Can I tell her I'm safe but to keep my secret and leave me alone? Jessie's a good person, but she does blow the whistle when she thinks it's for your own good. I've learned that the hard way over and over.

Then I wonder if there's some way the police would know I'm checking these e-mails right now, and maybe trace them to this computer here? I really don't know how this stuff works. I don't want my dad to go back to jail and me to go back to that system I know all too well.

I never should have looked at these. It's pulling at me now, my old life. It's touching to me that my sisters (and I still do think of them like that) care about me. And even more, it's amazing to me that the sheriffs seem to care about me too. I always thought I was completely invisible to everyone.

The cursor is blinking away, like it's impatient with my indecision.

My father has done so much to make this happen. This is my life now and I deserve it, after all I've been through. Dad's saving up his money. He's going to buy his own landscaping business someday and we'll be partners.

The damned cursor makes me want to scream. I see my father in Phoenix, unpacking our picnic. I see him throwing Stephanie against a wall. He manipulated me, spied on me. But he was desperate. He loves me. But he's also the guy who killed my mother.

I hit delete. Do you really want to delete this message? my server asks. I hit delete again.

I know what I have to do. But I have to do it by myself.

Hands shaking, I call up the
Sun Sentinel
Web site and input my own name. Six articles come up, dating from the day after I was kidnapped. I'm a celebrity. I choose the oldest article, figuring that will be the one with the most information. I realize there's something very specific that I'm looking for.

LOCAL BOY ABDUCTED

FOSTER MOTHER IN CRITICAL CONDITION

I'm really glad nobody thought I hurt Stephanie and ran away. I already know she's okay, so I scroll quickly through the story. Apparently Stephanie was able to tell them a man beat her up and snatched me. At the very end of the story, it says,
Police are looking into a possible connection with LaSalle's natural father, Gabriel Salvatore, who also disappeared around the same time. Police confirm that Salvatore is a person of interest and believe he may have vital information about the abduction
.

That's a nice way to put it. The story ends with a description of my dad's van and the license number. If all this weren't one day late, I think to myself, they might have caught us before we got out of Florida. But this article doesn't give me what I'm looking for. I go to the next one.

FATHER SOUGHT IN BOY'S DISAPPEARANCE

Police confirmed today that Gabriel Salvatore, 30, is now the primary suspect in the disappearance of Hunter LaSalle, 13, who was taken from his Coral Springs home Saturday after his foster mother, Stephanie O'Brien, was brutally assaulted. Salvatore was on probation for the murder of Courtney Driscoll, the boy's biological mother, nine years ago. The murder was apparently the result of a custody dispute. Sources close to the Broward Sheriff's Office tell us that surveillance equipment was found in Hunter's room and that the police are working on the theory that Salvatore stalked his son with the intention of kidnapping him.