THREE
Kate's eyes popped open with a gasp. Her bedroom was pitch black save the faint glow from her alarm clock on the bedside table meaning that it was the middle of the night, or perhaps very early the following morning. She held her breath, listening intently to determine what had woken her, but she heard nothing. As she shut her eyes once more, she recalled she had not been awoken by something external, but internal—a dream; a memory.
It had happened before—several times, actually. Kate had awoken in the middle of the night when her brain had processed a missing piece of a case or thought about a clue she had not searched for. As her brain was compartmentalizing that days' activities sometimes it spit out useful things; this was one of those times.
The little boy with piercing blue eyes and floppy brown hair draped over his forehea just to the left of center. His face was plastered on MISSING posters, on milk cartons and even on mailers delivered to her parents' home. Some of the images were actually two side by side: one, the original school picture and the other an age progression done in hopes that someone would recognize him years later.
Rick.
He had been the victim of a kidnapping, but just not any kidnapping—the kidnapping; the crime of the century that had New York and most of New England thoroughly enraptured, especially once it all fell apart.
She knew—she knew he was the little boy from that case—but the details were still fuzzy. His case had been resolved while she was still in grade school, years and years before she even thought about being a cop. She remembered only bits and pieces, the case being so significant that it stayed with her even from such a young age, but she wanted to know more—she needed to know.
Knowing sleep wouldn't return to her until she had the answers, Kate flipped the blankets off her body and reached out for her robe. She shuffled out into the kitchen of her apartment and turned on the light. While waiting for her laptop to boot up, she poured water into her electric tea kettle and retrieved a mug from the cabinet.
Cradling the warm drink to her chest, Kate logged into the NYPD database and entered her search criteria: the name of the victim and the crime accused. Unfortunately "Rick Castle Kidnapping" yielded no results. She stared at the screen, momentarily stumped, until she realized her error. He was probably in the database with his legal name, so she changed her search to Richard instead of Rick. Still, there were no results.
Kate huffed out a breath and tapped her fingertips against her tea mug. This made no sense. Even if he was not the boy she was thinking of—which she doubted—he still admitted to being kidnapped, which meant he had to be in the database somewhere. If she knew the year he was kidnapped she could have narrowed down the search, but not by much. Unfortunately, many young boys were reported missing country-wide each year.
After taking a sip of tea, Kate put the mug down and dragged her teeth over her bottom lip. Perhaps it was time to turn to the internet for a little guidance. Maybe she could find an article that would give her what she needed to pull up the police reports.
Into the browser search field she typed, "Richard Castle Kidnapping." The results were strange and definitely not at all what she was looking for, so she added the world child to her search, but still did not find what she wanted. For several moments she stared down at the screen when an idea hit her. Perhaps it was the last name throwing off her search. Maybe, he had changed it. With such a high profile case, she wouldn't have blamed him for doing so. Hell, she probably would have done so herself.
Thinking this was the key to finding the right information, Kate typed, "Richard child kidnap" into her browser, but paused before hitting the go button. Perhaps that was too vague. Surely, it would yield many results. On a whim, she added, "New York," to the end of the search field before tapping the Enter key on her keyboard.
Bingo.
Richard Rodgers Found Alive After Seven Years
The article was fifteen years old, but staring right in her face was the side-by-side picture she'd dreamed about. On the left, an eleven year old boy with piercing blue eyes and flopping hair. On the right, a black and white age progression photo of what the boy would have looked like at seventeen.
"God, Rick." She sighed out as her eyes skimmed across the article. The story was actually far worse than she had remembered it.
Eighteen-year-old Richard Rodgers was found alive Wednesday when the bizarre case of Dr. Van Holtzman came to a deadly end. Reported missing seven years ago after disappearing from rural New Hampshire, Rodgers was recovered by police during a search for Hotlzman on his property. A statement from the local police said that Rodgers was in good condition, but would be taken to the hospital for precautionary observation. In addition to the boy, the bodies of Holtzman's other victims—all women in their early twenties—were found buried on the property. Police have not yet released a count of how many victims they found, but the police chief stated that the number was "staggering." A statement from the Rodgers family said that they were "stunned but relieved" at the recovery of Richard after so many years, and they are asking for privacy at this time.
With her hand covering her mouth, Kate continued to skim through the article, still hardly able to believe the case was real and that the friendly barista Rick was at the center of it—even if it had been fifteen years since he had been found.
Now having enough data to search for the police reports, Kate moved her mouse back to the database and typed in Rick's birth name as well as the year of the kidnapping. There, she was able to find many reports and files archived in the database. Setting her tea mug down once more, Kate leaned in closer to the screen and read each file with great interest.
According to what she gathered, Rick's mother, Martha, an actress, sent her son to New Hampshire to stay at the home of a friend while she went on tour with the show Pippen. On the afternoon he went missing, the eleven-year-old was last seen playing by the edge of a tree-filled area known as Hollander's Woods. When the boy did not return by dusk, the family he was staying with called the police and the search began.
For several days, both law enforcement and volunteers combed the area. No trace of the boy was left behind, but the body of a woman was found, half-buried beside a log. Her throat had been slashed and she had been sexually assaulted; it was estimated she had died three to five days prior to discovery. Though it was suspected at the time, it was not confirmed that the woman's murderer and the man who kidnapped Rick were one in the same until after the boy was discovered.
Jumping forward seven years, the police received an anonymous tip about suspicious activity surrounding the disappearance of a twenty-one-year-old woman. That tip lead them to Holtzman's New Hampshire property where Rick was found, less than a dozen miles from where he was taken from. Rick was found shackled in a dilapidated barn on the property and appeared well fed and without physical injury. He was able to detail the horrors of what he'd witnessed to police, including the violent murder of over two dozen women over the seven year period, and lead them to their burial sites tucked around the property.
Rick's kidnapping reports led her to examine the report on Holtzman, a psychologist who up until the point of his arrest, had been well respected in his field. As it turned out, his true personality could not have been any further from what it seemed. He was a sick, twisted individual who tortured for enjoyment. Adding that on top of the innumerable murders he committed, and the mere thought of such a man caused Kate to feel sick in her stomach.
After bouncing back and forth between police reports and articles from the internet, Kate pushed herself back from the counter on which her computer sat and sighed. The more she read about it, the clearer her memory of the case became. In fact, it was quite vivid—one conversation, anyway.
She was around twelve years old and approached her parents with a newspaper article about Rick's discovery in her petite hands. She asked why they had not found him sooner; her parents said they didn't know. Clearly the kidnapper had done well covering his tracks with the murders, so it made sense the kidnapping was covered up equally as well. When Kate asked if the young boy would be okay, she recalled that her mother sat her down and tried her best to explain.
"He'll face a lot of challenges, Katie; that's for sure." Her mother had told her. "He'll need to be acclimated to the world again slowly—even to his family. He'll need therapy and schooling for sure; it will be a difficult road for him."
"But will he be okay?" She had repeated her question.
Her mother had smiled, reached out and stroked her hair. "I hope so, sweetie; I really do."
The memory brought a tear to Kate's eye and she reached up with her right index finger to quickly brush it away. It wasn't the recollection of a conversation with her mother that caused her emotion (though that certainly didn't help) but the fact that she had great concern over a young man she had never met who turned out to be a kind, thoughtful individual.
Gazing down at the photo of the eleven-year-old boy on her screen, her heart broke for him once again. He had missed so much. Seven years at any point in one's life would be a sizable chunk, but from eleven to eighteen? He missed the end of the innocent of childhood, awkward early teen years, and all of high school. He missed first kisses, first dates, and school dances. He didn't go to any football games or participate in any school plays. He had no summer vacations or lazy afternoons out on Coney Island; none of it.
Her tea now forgotten and cold, Kate began pacing her tight kitchen area as she thought about the things her mother said about Rick's recovery. He mentioned a therapist, which presumably meant he was attending presently, but had he gone regularly for the prior decade and a half? Given the disturbing scenario surrounding his disappearance, it would not have been shocking. As she did not detect anything juvenile or simple about his behavior, she also assumed he'd obtained at least some level of schooling.
The more she thought about it, the more only one conclusion became clear: Rick was extraordinary. Had he not mentioned the kidnapping, she never would have known that his childhood was any different than anyone else's. He was extremely impressive and she looked forward to getting to know him a bit better.
Monday morning Kate paused before entering Starbucks. It was her first shift since finding out the truth about Rick's past which meant it was the first time she was seeing him. Through the glass doors she could just barely see him busy at the espresso machine behind the counter. Grazing her teeth over her bottom lip, she observed him silently.
For the prior twenty-four hours Kate had thought of little else other than Rick and the case that forever altered his childhood. She did not want it to affect the way she saw him, her friend, but it was almost impossible for it not too; the knowledge was just too earthshattering.
The more she thought about what he went through, the more impressed with him she was. Sure, he had been nervous and awkward in the way he asked her out initially, but given what had happened it made perfect sense. He spent the majority of his formative years shackled in a barn as a hostage with his only interaction being with a psychopathic killer. He had every right to be one hundred percent abnormal, but yet he was not.
In that moment, Kate decided once and for all that she would not reveal what she knew about him. If he told her on his own—great. She would happily listen to any part of the story he wanted to tell. Otherwise, she would not call him out on it. She would not want anyone dredging up memories of her mother's murder without her permission and thus she would pay him the same courtesy.
Stepping into the Starbucks, Kate walked up to the cashier and ordered her usual drink. As there was no one in front of her, Rick smiled at her and she smiled back before making her way over to the pickup counter. "Thanks again for coming to the 5K on Saturday." She called out to him.
"No problem at all; it was nice. Actually, um." He paused while steaming the milk as the loud noise would have made it quite difficult to speak over. Once it was finished, he poured the milk into her drink and continued. "I don't know what kind of movies you like, but there's a classic sci-fi marathon on Thursday night."
She arched a curious eyebrow at him. "Classic sci fi meaning cheesy?"
Nervousness flitted across his expression. "Well-"
She chuckled, not wanting to tease him too much. "The cheesier the better, actually."
His expression brightened. "You wanna go?"
"I'm on shift until eight."
"That's okay; I think there's a nine pm showing. I'll look it up and call you."
As they had exchanged numbers after the race two days prior, she nodded and agreement. "Sounds good; I'll see you then if not before."
"Absolutely; have a great day, Kate."
She told him to do the same before taking her drink and walking out the door. Rick Rodgers, kidnapping victim, disappeared from her mind for the first time in over a day as she thought happily about her movie get-together with Rick Castle, Starbucks barista.