STRUGGLING FREE, I scrambled up the porch stairs. The door knob wouldn't turn. My keys?
Back against the door, I struggled to see in the shadowy darkness. My elbow slid up the doorjamb, attempting to locate the doorbell to summon Ruby. Nothing moved in the yard or driveway. Finally, I felt the button with my elbow and jabbed at it.
I waited.
Leaves rustled in the oak; I scanned the limbs for a noose, something hanging from the tree-nothing. Was it a panic attack? The specter of Mr. Sams? My heart thundered in my ears, but I couldn't pick out any sound from inside the house; no lights flicked on to indicate that Ruby heard me. I hit the doorbell several more times. I surveyed the neighborhood for other signs of life; every dark house had black lifeless windows staring at me. A glint of silver caught my attention in the driveway-my keys.
Easing my way back down the four steps of the porch, I stayed alert, ready to fight. I stopped and glanced around the darkness. A shimmer of light hit the side of the house; headlights scanned the front yard as a car came to the stop sign at the corner. It turned and drove past the driveway. The encouragement of another person so close allowed me to run for my keys. As the taillights faded in the distance, I found the door key and headed back up the porch.
With a watchful eye on the dark shrubs and trees, hiding places for evil, I fumbled with the lock. I took a deep breath and steadied my hand; the door opened and I slid in, locking the deadbolt quickly behind me.
The blinds had not been closed in the den, and the television flickered with the late-night infomercials of faded celebrities. I walked into the kitchen to find a pitcher of iced tea sweating on the counter and a plate of half-eaten chicken in the sink. The brick Ruby used as a doorstop held the dining room door open. She always closed that door when it started getting dark. I eased through it and found the front door standing open. Ruby!
I ran back to the bedroom, "Ruby!" I yelled. "Ruby!" All the blinds hung open, no lights on, and her bed still neatly made. "Ruby!"
MY HAND TREMBLED as I dialed the police. "My aunt's missing."
"How long has she been gone, sir?" a mechanical-sounding dispatcher asked. She didn't realize the urgency of my call.
"I don't know. I just got home, and she's gone."
The dispatcher sighed. "And why do you feel this is an emergency?"
"Someone is terrorizing me, and now my aunt is missing!" I yelled.
"Sir, calm down and let me get the facts. What's your name?"
"Derek Mason. My aunt, Ruby Harris, is missing. The front door was open when I got home, and her dinner dishes are still in the sink. The lights were never turned on, the blinds weren't closed, and her bed hasn't been slept in. Someone kidnapped her."
The dispatcher answered with another question. "Is there anyplace she might have gone?"
"Oh, I don't know, it's almost one o'clock in the morning, maybe she went shopping," my sarcasm smacked back at her.
"Now, sir, there's no need to get smart-"
"Someone on this phone needs to be smart. She's in danger. I came home and there's something, probably a noose, hanging from the tree at the driveway! Someone was outside the house," a cold chill hit me, "probably inside the house, too. They got Ruby."
"Stay where you are. I'm sending a patrol car over. You're at 3003 Sedgefield Road?"
"Yes." Relief swept over me for a second, but I had to find her. "How soon will they be here?"
"Soon. Turn on your outside light and watch for them."
"Thanks." I hung up the phone, hesitated, then picked it up again and dialed. "Mark? It's Derek. Something's happened to Ruby…"
THE POLICE ARRIVED a few minutes later, no lights flashing or siren shrieking, just a tall older white man and a pretty young black woman. The man appeared to be in his fifties, heavy set and in charge. The woman, in her twenties, moved with assurance beyond her age. I let them in through the den door from the driveway. After going over the story again, Officer Gloria Blevins checked the front door while her partner, Officer Jack Hartford, inspected the oak tree for the noose.
"There are no signs of forced entry to the door," Officer Blevins reported to Hartford.
He nodded and looked at me. "There's a potted fern lying in the driveway; its macramé hanger is still on the limb. Is that your noose?"
"Could be." I rubbed my chin, embarrassed by almost being killed by a hanging planter. "Did you see anything else out there?"
"Nothing. I checked the front and back yards," Hartford said. "Could your aunt have gone to a neighbor's house?" He had his notepad out, writing.
"I don't know." I looked to the woman; hopefully, she would understand my concern. "Ruby wouldn't just leave the house open, her car here, the TV on, dirty dishes out."
Officer Blevins nodded. "Did you check the answering machine for messages?"
"Yes. Nothing there." Should I call Valerie and let her know? I didn't want to upset her, if there was no need.
"Do you know of family or friends who might know where she is?"
Most of the family had been at the party, and she hadn't spoken of many friends. "No," I sighed.
The doorbell rang, and Officer Hartford turned and opened the door. Mark walked in and took control.
"I'm Mark Harris. My cousin," he motioned to me, "called to tell me our aunt was missing. What's being done to find her?"
Hartford looked him straight in the eye, projecting his authority. "We're gathering information. Usually, a missing person will show up at a friend or relative's house. Since it's so late, it's probably best to wait until in the morning to start calling them." He looked at me. "You don't want to upset people in the middle of the night only to find her camped out on a neighbor's couch, do you?" The way he said this made it more a statement than a question.
Looking to Mark, then to Officer Blevins, finally back to Hartford, I said, "No, but this isn't like her. She's been gone for hours, apparently before sundown. If she were at a neighbor's, she'd be back by now. Mark?" I needed confirmation that I wasn't going crazy, that my concern was justified, that everyone should be doing more than they were doing.
Moving into the room and guiding me to sit on the couch, Mark addressed Hartford. "What more can we do? Derek is right; Aunt Ruby is in her sixties, and this isn't like her."
"Is she on any medication?" asked Officer Blevins.
Mark glanced at me for the answer.
"I don't think so." I searched my memory for images of her taking anything before meals or at bedtime. "No, no, she isn't on medication."
Hartford kept writing in his little notebook. "Any signs of Alzheimer's in the past?'' he asked. When neither Mark nor I answered, he looked up from his scribbling. "Well? Forgetfulness, losses of concentration, paranoia, mood changes, any of this ring a bell?"
"No," I defended. "I was attacked a few nights ago at the Observer Building. Tonight, a noose or something hung from that tree outside. Ruby is missing because of that, not because of Alzheimer's!"
Officer Blevins asked, still calm, "Why do you feel someone is after you?"
I glanced at Mark, but he kept his eyes on the police officers. "I don't know." I tried to gather it all into a sentence that didn't sound crazy. "There was an article in the paper this past week about me being the gay nephew of Vernon Harris."
Hartford and Blevins exchanged a glance.
"And I received a threatening phone call." Should I tell them my suspicions about Mr. Sams' death? No, I'm not sure about that yet. "The same man assaulted me at the Observer, and now this. Ruby is in danger-I know it."
Blevins asked, "Do you know who this man is?"
Taking control again, Mark spoke for me. "If we did, he would be in jail right now."
The officers stood still in front of us. Hartford snapped his notebook shut. "If you hear from her, or from anyone claiming they know where she is, contact me right away." He held out a card, and Mark got up from the couch to take it.
He followed them out to their patrol car while I sat in a haze of disbelief. Why is everyone so cool about this? Do they think I'm lying? I heard the thud of the police car's doors slam and then Mark came back in.
Closing and locking the door, he crossed the room to sit next to me. His eyes looked tired; the clock on the mantel said a quarter after two.
"Did the police say anything more?" I asked.
He leaned back and sighed. "Only that they don't think it was a kidnapping-even with Dad running for the Senate. They think she's staying overnight with a friend or-"
"But," I interrupted, "she wouldn't." The touch of a rope around my throat tightened in my mind. "How do they explain the noose hanging from the tree?"
With a gentle hand on the back of my neck, he said, "Derek, there's no noose; it was just a hanging plant. Your imagination made it into a noose."
My real concern clicked back to me. "I'm worried about Ruby."
"Me, too," he conceded. "There's not much we can do tonight." He got up, took my hand, and dragged me to my feet. "Come home with me."
I pulled loose from his grip. "No. Ruby might be back, or the kidnapper might call. I have to stay here."
"Okay, then I'm staying with you. I don't want you here alone." He picked up the phone and called Kathleen.
In the living room, I checked the door that had been left open; maybe he had forced his way in. I examined the front porch for any signs of a struggle, but the potted geraniums still lined the steps, not even the doormat had been disturbed. I stood on the bottom step looking out into the black night, wondering where Ruby was, and what was happening to her at that very moment.
MARK AND I locked up the house. He began turning off the lamps and kitchen lights; I insisted we leave the front and side porch lights on. "Just in case," I explained.
"We both need to get some rest." Mark pulled his shirt off and headed for the guest room, my room.
"Wait, that's where I sleep," I called after him.
"I won't bite," he teased. "There are only two beds. I wouldn't feel right sleeping in Ruby and Walt's bed. Would you?"
"No," I admitted. The thought of him in my bed didn't produce any sexual excitement, not after everything that had happened, but it did give me the security of having another human close to me. "Okay, you can stay." I kept my boxers on, and climbed into bed next to him.
Mark patted me on the shoulder, "Good night," and turned off the bedside lamp.
'"Night," I replied. I stared at the dark ceiling for a while. "Mark?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you think she's all right?"
Mark rolled over on his side to look at me. "She's okay. We'll find her in the morning."
"But, I feel like we need to do something now."
He put his hand on my chest as if to pet a dog. "There's not a thing we can do tonight except get some sleep. The whole family will search for her tomorrow. She could be anywhere. You know, I hadn't thought about it until the cop mentioned Alzheimer's, but that could be valid."
"Mark!" I sat up. "Doesn't anyone listen to me? It's the guy who threatened me. The man in the basement of the Observer, the scratchy-voiced man. He has Ruby!"
"If that's so, where do we find him?" He clicked the lamp back on, his stare intense. I wasn't sure if he believed me or not.
Rubbing my eyes with the heels of my hands, I said, "I don't know." Fatigue grabbed me and started to pull me down. "I can't think any more."
He clicked off the lamp again. "Get some rest."
I drifted into a reluctant sleep, with vivid dreams of strangers roaming the house, doors and windows open, Ruby yelling for help. I woke with a jolt. For a moment, I didn't know where I was. Mark slept peacefully beside me. His presence did help calm my nerves; he had been right, I couldn't have stayed in the house alone. He rolled over and his hand rested against my arm. I closed my eyes again feeling secure that he was there.
ABOUT TWO HOURS later, I woke again, but not from a nightmare, instead from the hardness of Mark's erection poking my leg and his arm draped across my chest. His steady breathing led me to believe he still slept, but knowing this ploy-Hell, having used this ploy before-I knew he had to be awake.
"No, Mark. Go back to sleep."
No answer from him in the form of movement or sound.
I wiggled a few inches away from him, but the weight of his arm kept me from moving too far. I closed my eyes again and let sleep pull me into its comforting haze.
Another few minutes and I woke to find him snuggled back up to me. This time his hand was resting on my stomach. I didn't care if he really was asleep; I pushed his shoulder to roll him over. "Keep your hands to yourself."
Groggy, he raised his head. "What?"
"Keep your hands and dick on your side of the bed."
"Sorry," he mumbled and fell back to sleep.
Damn, I can't sleep with him. I was glad he stayed, I certainly felt safer, but the same bed had been too much. Slipping from under the covers, I went into Ruby's room. Her bed sank as I climbed in; the sheets and quilts smelled of sweet roses, like her. I pulled them tight around me. Somewhere between sleep and consciousness, I decided I wanted a little more security. Over the side of the bed, I felt under it. Shoeboxes, picture frames, books- finally, I rolled out of the bed and got down on my hands and knees to look.
"Where the hell is it?" I muttered. Shoving boxes aside, I searched for the baseball bat. Shock and realization turned my skin icy. "It's gone! Ruby's Peter Beater is gone!"