The Lion, the Lamb, the Hunted: A Psychological Thriller

I chose to continue living as Patrick Bannister. Nathan Kingsley seemed like a fable to me, a story I’d never read. Nathan may have been the name I was born with, but Patrick was who I had become. I stuck with what I knew.

And it seemed that Patrick Bannister was destined to become an overnight celebrity…for all the wrong reasons. Good Morning America, Dateline NBC, 48 Hours Mystery: I appeared on all of them, but even that wasn’t enough to quench the public’s insatiable thirst for the unsavory. It was hard to go anywhere without flashbulbs shooting off in my face, the tabloids constantly hounding me, the attention reaching a fevered pitch. For a while, I spent a good part of my time hiding out. Eventually, fresh new scandals hit, and the press moved on from me. I was finally able to begin my new life, assimilating it with the old—the one I’d never come to know. The real one. Nathan Kingsley never really died, and Patrick Bannister never really lived. It took me some time to come to terms with the irony, that my entire life had been nothing more than a lie. Warren and his clan of misfits had robbed me of something essential, something that most people take for granted: an identity, a sense of self—and the worst part of all, just to save his lousy career. Of course, in the end it did just the opposite.

The fact that my kidnapper was also my father would be a burden I’d have to bear. I would live with that. Seeing justice served made it a little easier. Finding out that Camilla wasn’t my mother, for some reason, didn’t seem quite as hard—maybe because she never felt like much of one to me, anyway.

I still speak to CJ often. She’s now one of my closest friends, always will be. After my story broke, I gave her the exclusive rights. My wounds were still too tender, and I wasn’t comfortable writing about them. But I wanted the story told fairly, and that’s just what she did. The book came out a year later, shot to the top of the New York Times Best Sellers List, and then the awards began piling up. She moved back to Dallas, became the star reporter for The Tribune News, and married a coworker shortly after. She’d finally paid her dues, finally got everything she deserved, and I couldn’t have been happier for her.

We met at LAX shortly after the book went to number one; she was making her way to Hollywood for a consultation with one of the major film studios. Her book was on its way to the Silver Screen. So was my life.

I barely recognized her when she got off the plane.

“My God,” I said, still locked in her hug, “you look amazing.”

She pulled back, took me in, then shook her head with a great big smile and a tear in her eye. “You don’t know how much I’ve missed you, Pat. You just don’t know.”

Then we stood there for a long time, just grinning at each other like two stupid teenagers. We couldn’t help it—we’d been through so much together.

We had dinner together and spent every minute of it laughing and catching up.

She put down her menu and gazed at me. “You look wonderful, Pat, you really do. I still can’t figure it out—as good looking as you are, as nice as you are, how come nobody’s snagged you yet?”

“Guess I’m not snaggable.”

“Nonsense,” she said, waving it off with a hand.

Just then, the waitress came over.

“Iced tea for me,” I said, “and a Tom Collins for—”

“Actually,” CJ said, placing her hand over mine, “just a soda water for me.”

“Soda water?” I asked after the waitress left.

“Well, as much I love me some Tommy…I can’t. But I’m sure I’ll be needing one about every hour after baby’s born.” Then she grinned.

I fell back in my chair, widened my eyes. “You’re kidding me...”

“Nope.” Bigger grin. “Can you believe it?”

“What…when?”

“In about seven months. We just found out.”

“Oh, man, CJ… I’m so happy for you. That’s wonderful.”

“Well, it wasn’t planned, I assure you. Guess we had a little too much fun on the honeymoon. But what the hell, right? I mean we’re doing okay financially, and we’re happy. It’ll all work out.”

It sounded like she was asking for my assurance, so I gave it to her. “I know it will.”

“But what about you?”

“What about me?”

She leaned back, crossed her arms, and deadpanned me.

“What?”

“Avoiding?” she reminded.

I looked away and grinned. This was starting to sound familiar. It was us all over again, three years ago. Just for old times sake, I did it again: “Am I?”

She sighed. “Just answer the question, smart guy, will you? How are you doing? And I mean, really doing. Don’t bother giving me the usual stuff you throw at other people, either. Got my B.S. meter turned up to high.”

“I’m okay,” I said. “You know. Not gonna say it’s been easy.”

“You’d be lying if you did...”

“But I’m making progress, I really am.”

She nodded, seemed to drift away, then came back with a serious look on her face.

“What’s wrong?”

She studied me for a moment before speaking, and then, “I need to show you something.”

“Okay…”

She opened her purse, pulled out an envelope, and handed it over while holding my eye contact. I had a hard time reading her expression. Anxious concern…or maybe something else. Inside the envelope, I found a sheet of paper—very old, yellowed by age.

As soon as I saw the first line, I knew who’d written it. I looked up at CJ. “Where did you—?”

She lifted her hand off the table and placed it on top of mine. With a sad smile, she shook her head. “Just read it.”

I did. It was a letter written the day after I was kidnapped.

July 30, 1976

My dearest Nathan,

I’m writing this note, hoping it will someday find its way to you. I honestly don’t know if it ever will, but at this point, hope is all I have. There’s so very little else left in my life. When I lost you, I lost everything.

My dear sweet boy, if you only end up knowing one thing about me, please let it be that I love you with all my heart. You became my world the minute you entered it, and you will be my world until the day I die. I never knew I had so much love to give until you came along.

And that’s why it’s so important to me that you know the truth. I didn’t give you up. I would never, ever do that. You were taken from me, literally ripped from my arms. I told them they’d have to kill me first, and I meant it. I fought like hell. But I was no match for them.

I tried so hard but couldn’t save you. My precious boy, I failed you in the worst possible way, and it’s something I live with every single day. They might as well have ripped the heart right from my chest, and in a way, I guess they did.

They say nothing is more powerful than a mother’s love. So I’m hoping that somehow, in some way, you can feel my love no matter how many miles stand between us. Remember that it’s always here for you, my love, whenever you need it, and it will never fail you.

You probably won’t remember this, but when you were a baby I used to sing to you whenever you cried. No matter how upset you were, it always seemed to bring a smile to your face. You had the most beautiful smile. I bet you still do. Oh, what I wouldn’t give to see that smile once more. How I miss it. Please think of this song whenever you’re troubled and whenever love is missing from your life. May you hear it and let it fill any voids where love is lacking. Because with it comes all the love you’ll ever need. From me.