stop.
Her forced trip down memory lane began where high school left off. With Shane ready to leave the house to go off to school or whatever it was he was going to do, she and her husband of twenty- two years, Herb, were going to move up to the land near Crystal Lake that they had purchased nearly ten years prior. After all, their house was nearly paid off, and they had little other existing debt. Shane’s schooling had been taken care of for quite some time with the money that her parents had left to him for that very purpose upon their death. They were going to build a cabin right by the lake and open up a small general store. Herb would be able to sell the flies that he tied religiously to the tourists, while she would be able to run the gossip mill from behind the counter. It was something that they had talked about, dreamed of, for the last decade.
That dream had been put to rest with a single call.
The phone had rung at a quarter past seven. Herb was always home by seven. She had answered the phone with only the slightest concern in her voice, as fifteen minutes, even with Herb, wasn’t great enough cause to emote. Stirring the mashed potatoes on the stove, she had cradled the phone against her shoulder.
“Hello?” she had answered merrily.
“Annette.”
“Herb?”
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
“What? Are you running late?’
“No, not exactly,” he had said without the slightest change of inflection in his voice. “I’m leaving you.”
“Leaving me what?”
“No, no. I’m leaving you for good. I’ve fallen in love with Helen.”
“Your secretary?”
“Yes.”
“What is she, maybe twenty?”
“Twenty- eight, but that’s of no importance. I’ve thought this through…”
“Obviously you haven’t.”
“As I was saying… keep the house and the car, the money in the kid’s college account. I’m taking the deed to the land in Crystal and the remainder of the money in the personal accounts. Good luck to you, and say ‘hi’ to the boy for me.”
The conversation had been that simple, at least according to her version. And while that story had been somewhat gut wrenching, it really didn’t answer the question they had asked, “How can we get ahold of Shane?”
Scott had been as patient as he possibly could; after all she had been exceedingly nice to him growing up. She had, more often than not, brought them out cookies and lemonade while they were outside just messing around, and had always invited him to stay for dinner. She was a relic, a throwback to the fifties, a mother who thrived in that role. She only seemed contented while she was serving her family in some fashion. So he had listened to her story, truly feeling sad for her, but in his current situation, he really just wanted that one simple piece of information so he could just get the hell out of there and find Shane before it was too late.
A silver BMW had pulled into the driveway just as Scott was preparing to ask just one more time how he could find Shane.
“Oh, no!” she had exclaimed. “All this chit chat has made me run late.”
An older man, maybe in his mid fifties climbed out of the driver’s side of the Beamer, hiding the bouquet of flowers from the passenger seat behind his back. He paused at Scott’s Cherokee, almost jealously sizing up Harry as he sat in the car. Making his way up the front stairs, Scott asked just one more time.
“Please, Mrs. Corso…”
“Annette.”
“Okay.” His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. “Can you tell me how I can get in touch with Shane… tonight?”
“Oh, sure,” she said, pulling the rollers from beneath the plastic hood as she frantically tried to primp herself before the man with the flowers made it to the top of the stairs. “He’s working down at the shop right now. I’d give you the phone number there, but he tells me his boss doesn’t like him to get personal calls while on the job, but he’s always there until close to nine. Just pretend you want to buy something. That always works for me.”
“And the address?” he asked coaxingly.
“542 South Mohawk.”
“Are you sure?” He asked as all he could picture down there were a bunch of deserted looking warehouses.
“Of course I’m sure,” she said, smiling widely as she allowed her robe to open a little further. “Tell him to call his mother sometime.”
The gentleman from the car, the red roses blooming over his shoulder from behind, hopped onto the landing and swung the flowers out for her inspection.
“Oh, Jerry, they’re beautiful,” she said, snatching them from his outstretched hand.
“As are you, my dear,” he said with a slight bow.
Rolling his eyes, Scott lumbered down the stairs and to the driver’s side door of the Jeep.
“Don’t stay away so long next time!” Mrs. Corso, er, Annette, called after him as she pulled her gentleman caller inside and shut the door.
With a chuckle, he had clambered into the vehicle, which he had left running. The heater blasted full tilt directly at him, warming him thoroughly, all except for his knuckles clenched tightly to the wheel, which felt as though they might catch fire.
They rode in silence the whole way, the sun having long since set behind the mountains, though who could have known it as the sun had made but a brief appearance from behind the dark clouds that day. The forecast said that was more than they were likely to see within the next couple of days, however.
They had arrived in the small warehouse district, winding through the maze of Indian named roads until they found the address that they were looking for. 542 was a large, cement building that looked much like all of the others with the exception of the thirty or so cars parked in the lot on the side of the building. The lights in the entryway, behind the side by side glass doors, were dimmed behind the vacant receptionist’s desk.
Pulling up against the curb just across the street from the front doors of the abandoned looking building, Scott looked over to Harry who wore that same puzzled look as he stared at the building.
“What do you think they do here?” he asked. “It doesn’t look as though they provide any sort of service.”
“I’m not sure, but why don’t you wait here for me.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, knowing Shane, I don’t think he would take well to being cornered by two of us.”
“Think he’ll believe you?”
“Not a chance, but I think I’ll be able to get him to come with us regardless.”
“You’re not going to tell him, are you?”
“What does it matter if I’m able to get him somewhere that he’ll be safe.”
“I don’t think there is such a place.”
“Well,” Scott said, opening the door and hopping out into the snow that blew straight from the side. “I hope you’re wrong.”
He left the engine running so that Harry could still take full advantage of the fiery heat that gusted from the heater. Slamming the door shut, he lowered his head and raced through the blinding snow across the slick street, bounding up onto the curb in front of the warehouse. Slowing, he walked straight towards the front doors, pausing briefly to note the sign etched into the glass on the door.
“International Awards,” he read aloud, grabbing the handle and pulling it wide.
A muffled ding echoed from the back of the warehouse, behind the closed doors to the left of the secretary’s desk. Several bronze service award plaques hung from the carpeted walls as well as the company’s mission statement that was tacked to the surface in large letters: “Quality and service are the industry standards. Set the bar high.”
The door to the left side of the room opened and a man in a light pink button down shirt appeared.
