The Heart of a Dancer

Copyrightę - 2012 -- Nicholas Hall


Heart of a Dancer - Chapter 6- "Snatched"

The next morning, after Malachi and Micah left for work, Thomas and I sat at the kitchen table discussing his future and educational goals.

"I really don't care what field you choose," I began, "whether you attend a community college or a four year college or university, but you'll need something beyond high school if you want some security in your future. Once you receive an education, it's something that can never be taken away from you."

He agreed, again indicating he'd be interested in the carpentry field since, he reasoned, as long as people built houses, he'd have a job. Although his work experience was in the hardware store and he'd had no experience with a building contractor, he did know he had no desire to enter the missionary field as his father wanted and, for some reason, the carpentry field seemed to appeal. When he rose to replenish our plates with a piece of the streusel coffee cake he'd baked to compliment the shirred eggs he'd prepared for our breakfasts, it hit me! The solution to his dilemma was so simple, so obvious, and so fucking delicious!

I casually asked, once he sat back down, "You like to cook, don't you, Thomas?"

"Love it," he responded, eyes twinkling and a broad smile on his face, "the only opportunity I ever got at home was when dear old daddy was off on some "calling" and I had to stay home and take care of David. Dad felt it was "woman's work" and not for men, you know, `Wives be submissive to your husbands' and all that shit."


"Why don't we check out the Culinary Arts Program at DMACC? I hear it's a great program, opening up plenty of opportunities for those who graduate from it, and as long as people eat, you'll be employed at something you love to do."

Thomas interests peaked with the suggestion so, after we cleaned up breakfast dishes, we drove to the Campus and met with an admissions counselor. The meeting was informative, but disappointing for Thomas. With only three weeks before the beginning of Fall Term, Thomas would be too late in enrolling since the program was already full. He was informed there was also a waiting list for entering the program in the Spring Term, but his name would be added to the list. In the meantime, the counselor encouraged him to register and enroll in DMACC and begin taking the classes recommended for those students on the wait list. Those classes included "Human Relations in Business," "Business Math," and a couple of communications courses. Thomas decided to obtain an Associate of Arts degree rather than a diploma, so she encouraged him to begin that path right away.

The counselor worked us through the registration process and when it came time to pay for the tuition and fees (gulp), I was going to write a check for the amount, but Thomas took me aside, saying, "Uncle Matt, I've got some money, but not this much. Let me write a check for what I can do. I'll pay you back for what you have to spend."

Giving him a loan wasn't a problem, but it did give me an idea that he might qualify for financial aid of some sort. Requesting financial aid forms and loan papers sent us to the Financial Aids office. More paper work, but it was worth it. The Financial aid officer seemed to think Thomas would qualify for a Pell Grant and some other aid, as well as low cost student loans. Once the paper work was filled out and submitted, he'd know for certain. In the meantime, I wrote a check to secure his enrollment and classes, while being reassured, if the aid package was approved, I wouldn't have to expend much more. This was fine with me, but whatever it took to get Thomas an education would be money well spent on our part. Malachi and I helped Micah when he needed it, now we'd help Thomas also.

Thomas would have to work to help pay for his education, but we decided his job search would begin after Fall Term started and he became adjusted to college and Des Moines. I didn't think studying would be an issue, but living in a large metropolitan area would be different for him after the small city he lived in previously.

He was bubbling over with enthusiasm and energy when Malachi and Micah came home from their jobs. They were both pleased, especially Micah since it meant Thomas was here to stay, not an unpleasant outcome as far as he was concerned. We celebrated with a couple of beers before I started the burgers on the grill.

Late that night when the boys retired to their rooms and bed, Malachi and I stayed up, watched the news, and talked about our growing family. We both agreed any sacrifices we'd have to make would be worth it. Our conversation concerning them continued after we went to bed, for a while at least, until interrupted by a sigh, a moan, and the release. There's something about coming down from an intense orgasm, lying on my back, Malachi stretched length wise on my body, his considerable prod inserted to his curlies, still pulsing, still hard, while he nibbles on my ear, kisses my neck, and tells me how much he loves me. Malachi was preparing to clean us up after our tryst, when we heard Micah began screaming, experiencing one of his nightmares.

Thomas' head poked in our bedroom door before each of us could get up.

"Uncle Matt, come quick," he urged, "something's wrong with Micah."

Poor Thomas, the third night in our house and he experienced this. The three of us headed to Micah's room and when entering, Malachi quickly pulled Micah to his arms, comforting him, awakening him.

"Oh, God, Malachi," Micah sobbed, "the shadow with the voice was back, crawling on my back. I'm so fuckin' scared it's going to get me."

"It won't, not while you're with us or anytime," Malachi crooned as he rocked him back and forth.

"What can I do, Uncle Matt?" a very anxious Thomas asked. He was almost in tears, worrying about Micah.

I thought a moment and figured what the hell! "Climb in bed with him, wrap your arms around him, and sing him back to sleep. You can sing, can't you?"

"God, yes, Uncle Matt, but I'm only wearing my boxers."

"Don't worry about it," I assured him, "Micah's nude, so crawl in."

Thomas looked at Malachi and me, viewed our naked bodies, shrugged his shoulders, dropped his shorts to the floor, and crawled in with Micah. He pulled Micah from Malachi's arms, saying softly, "It's me, Micah, and I'll stay with you," and wrapped his arms around him, bringing Micah's head to his breast as they lay down together. He began softly humming some little ditty to his frightened friend, smoothing his head in the process, as Micah settled down.

Returning to our room, Malachi raised his eyebrows, commenting, "I hope Thomas is pretty limber and flexible. Micah is longer than me and when he wakes up he's going to want to fuck that cute little ass snuggled up to him."

I shook my head in agreement and hoped for the best.

Thomas didn't walk funny the next morning, but Micah couldn't keep his hands off of him or let him out of his sight. When he left for work, he gave Thomas more than just a "goodbye" kiss. These two were definitely an item and I was happy for both of them.

The next week was spent in getting Thomas ready for classes in two weeks and becoming acquainted with the city bus routes and the city in general. He was so happy and even happier when he and Micah were together. At the end of that week, Friday evening, while I was fixing supper, the phone rang, and a young voice responded when I answered.

"Uncle Matt, its David, your nephew, Thomas' brother."

I was in the process of returning his greeting when the doorbell rang and Thomas shouted he'd get it. "How are you David?" I asked in order to start the conversation.

David quickly responded, "Uncle Matt, they're coming to get Thomas. If Dad finds out I called to warn you, he'll ship me off to that camp too," and hung up.

There were sounds of a struggle in the living room and Thomas shouted, "Uncle Matt, help me, quick."

Dropping the phone, I raced to the living room as he continued to scream for me. By the time I reached the door, two very burly, muscled men were forcing him down the sidewalk toward a waiting mini-van, side door open ready to receive its human cargo. Thomas was struggling, attempting to free himself, but he was no match for the pair hustling him along.

I grabbed Malachi's baseball bat he insisted I keep handy, "just in case," and bounded down the sidewalk in pursuit. Screaming like a banshee loosed from the bowels of hell just as the two of them were shoving Thomas into the van, I swung the bat at the closest thug and connected on his right forearm. I heard a distinct "snap" on contact and when he loosed his grip on Thomas, I swung again, this time connecting with the side of his head, dropping him like a poleaxed ox, blood dripping from the wound created by the bat. I was winding up for a crack at the thug who still had Thomas captured, when a sharp, searing, paralyzing electric shock hit me in the back, immobilizing me.

The third man, evidently the driver, quickly stepped over me and jabbed the stun gun into Thomas' side, taking all of the fight out of him as well. They quickly stuffed him into the van and then lifted the injured man in also, slammed the door, and once secured, sped away, but not before I got a good look at the license plate.

Trying to stand up, I heard tires squealing behind me, a car door slam, and Micah was by my side. "They snatched Thomas," I yelled, "call 911 and Malachi, now!" and gave him the license number of the vehicle.

Within minutes of Micah's call, there were two Des Moines Police Department squads and an ambulance at the house. The ambulance attendants began checking me over while one of the police officers took my statement. The other began looking around and finally called for a detective and other investigators. I gave them a description of the van, what happened, and how I'd smacked the one fellow on the arm and head. As I was doing so, I could hear, then see, Malachi's state car speeding toward the house, siren wailing, and red and blue flashers pulsing out warnings to all in his path.

Screeching to a halt behind the ambulance, he flashed his badge to the police officers, and grabbing me up in his arms, sputtering emotionally, "What in the hell happened?"

Before I could answer, Micah stepped forward, sobbing, "They grabbed Thomas, Malachi; the dirty fuckers grabbed Thomas. Find those bastards before they hurt him!" He calmed down when Malachi gripped his shoulders, replying calmly, "Micah, settle down, let me handle this."

I continued relating what happened, in response to the police officers questions, everything I could remember, except who was on the phone. I told them I thought it was a telemarketer, but I couldn't say since the commotion in the living room garnered my attention. I did remember very well, however, the whacks with the bat I gave the one thug and the piercing pain of the stun gun the other gave me.

"He's hurt and hurt bad, I think," I responded to a question. "After they gave Thomas a jab with the stun gun, the two remaining thugs loaded the one I'd thumped, in the back beside Thomas. That head injury of his is going to need some medical attention."

"Do you think the injury was serious enough to be mortal, you know, cause his death," asked a detective, who by now had arrived on the scene.

"I actually don't know, but I'd think a swat in the head by a baseball bat would cause enough damage to be on the verge of death causing. I'm not very big nor do I have all of my strength back from when I was shot, so I've no idea." Actually, I'm not very strong anyway - wiry, but not very strong. Thomas and I are built somewhat alike, but he's just a little shorter and thinner. I knew I'd hurt the son-of-a-bitch bad enough to require hospitalization or at least the attention of a doctor.

The detective confiscated the baseball bat as evidence and a source of DNA from the blood smeared on it. When we were asked for a picture of Thomas, I could only give them a description, since we didn't have one. I did give them Mark's name, suggesting they contact him for a picture, although I doubted he'd be very cooperative since he was behind the whole damned thing to begin with, yet I had no proof beyond David's call, I wasn't about to give him up for that.

I refused any further medical treatment and when the officers released me, Malachi helped me to the house. The place in my back when the stun gun impacted me hurt like the dickens. Before we made it in, an officer ran up the sidewalk and addressing Malachi, said, "Agent Stevens, we ran those plates. They were stolen three days ago from a kindergarten teacher's car in Oskaloosa."

Malachi nodded his understanding; the case would go cold fast unless there was a break of some kind. Des Moines sits at the crossroads of the Midwest, quartered by Interstate 80 running east to west and Interstate 35 north to south. Iowa's borders were five hours or less away, depending on the direction the assailants traveled and how fast. They could be in another state in a short time, beyond the jurisdiction of the State of Iowa's law enforcement. The officer told Malachi the department was activating its resources and the State theirs, pledging a strong and vigorous manhunt for the perpetrators of this attack on a fellow officers' family and home. There'd be hell to pay when they were caught.

Malachi waved Micah into the house to join us, sat me on the couch, and went to the kitchen to get us each a cold beer. Frankly, at this point in time, I needed something and I wasn't convinced beer was strong enough to calm me down. I was highly pissed and so was Micah. Once we each had a long, cool pull on the long-neck, Malachi looked at me, with a twinkle in his eye, and asked, "Now, what do I need to know that you neglected to tell the P.D.?"

Micah looked at him like he was out of his mind. After all, Micah had been there the whole time I was being questioned and he thought I told them everything. "You know me too well, Love," I responded with a smile.

"I know you well enough to know that was no telemarketer on the phone and whoever it was gave you enough warning to grab my baseball bat and take off after the bastards. You're too damned smart for your own good sometimes," he responded with a grin.

I nodded, "Yeah, you do. It was my nephew, David, Thomas' brother. He called to warn Thomas and me that someone was going to grab him, but his father would ship him off, if he found out, to God knows where, possibly to Indonesia with my sister Esther or to one of those re-education camps these right-wing Christians seem so fond of.

I stopped, "That's it; he's being taken to one of those fucking camps like Dad threatened to send me to years ago. Mark knows where they are, but you'll never get that out of him. Let me think about this and maybe I can come up with some ideas."

"Could we find out from David?" piped up Micah, suddenly hopeful.

"I doubt it; the minute a law enforcement officer questions him, Mark will get suspicious and David will be in deep shit," I muttered, rising and beginning to pace the floor, scratching my head in thought. Slowly nodding my head, as if to confirm my own unspoken conclusions I pondered aloud to Malachi and Micah, "I think it was in southern Illinois or Kentucky. There are some pockets of right-wing fundamentalists in that country, but exactly where, I don't remember."

"That's a start," Malachi announced. "I'm going to request an agent from B.C.I. question your brother, however. He's a prime suspect, no matter what, but we can still make an initial contact since he's Thomas' father. We'll go on the pretext of just seeking information and a picture so we can begin our manhunt in earnest. It just might shake him up enough we could pick up something useful. I think the three of us know he was behind the whole damn thing, but it could be difficult to prove, so let's just play it by ear."

Malachi was going to be like a dog with a bone on this case. He'd promised Thomas a safe place to live and felt he failed him. He'd move heaven and earth to find him. Even if the perpetrators were out of state and beyond the reach of Iowa law, they wouldn't be beyond Malachi's reach. No way!

It was a long night for the Stevens family. Neither Malachi, Micah, nor I slept much, kept awake by the anxiety we felt for Thomas and waiting for the telephone to ring with good news -- or bad. Malachi would check in with dispatch every couple of hours, but return with no news. It's often said no news is good news. Well, I'm here to tell you folks, that's bullshit.

I was perplexed wondering what would cause a father to possess such religious zealousness to have his own son kidnapped and subjected to a mind destroying "re-programming" in hopes of making a homosexual into a heterosexual when it's just not going to happen. Were Mark's beliefs so twisted, tunneled, and fanatical that he'd destroy his own flesh and blood? My answer to that had to be "yes." He's no different than Daddy or anyone else in my twisted, perverted family. I was angry, very angry, wishing to seek revenge, but it would do no good, only place me in harm's way. No, we'd have to expose that fucker to the light of day and let the law take its course.

My anger turned to firm resolve, determined to expose them as the bullies they are, once Thomas was back home and safe. It'd be my turn to turn up the heat, if we got him home safe. God, I hated to think we wouldn't but...

To be continued.


Thank you for reading Chapter 6 -- "Snatched" from "The Heart of a Dancer."  I hope you enjoyed it and invite you to follow "The Heart of a Dancer" to its eventual conclusion.  Other stories of mine can be found at:

Nifty- Beginnings - "Table Number Five" -- January 18, 2012

Nifty- Beginnings -"The Carpenter and the Piano Man" -- January 24, 2012

Nifty-Beginnings -- "Gillie" -- January 31, 2012

Nifty-High School - Sheldon's Nutshuckers

                                    "The Stinky Pinky" -- February 14, 2012.

                                    "The Head of Medusa" -- March 8, 2012

Nifty- Beginnings --"Last House on the Left" -- February 21, 2012

Nifty-College -- "First of May" -- February 29, 2012

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