charges against the unidentified child-abductor up to murder, but make things safer for him.
God would make that decision. If the cigarette-addicted female lived or died—that was up to God to decide.
On the 11 P.M. news as Daddy Love crossed into Pennsylvania on a mostly deserted interstate he heard that a “suspect” had been taken into custody by Ypsilanti police.
Witnesses had “identified”—who?
Daddy Love laughed, laughed.
In a way, this was the best part of it. This triumph, and this laughter. The child was but the means to
this
.
9
I-80 EAST PENNSYLVANIA, NEW JERSEY APRIL 15–16, 2006
Slept in the van, upright in the driver’s seat. Often in daylight and never for more than an hour.
In the back of the van, he assumed the child slept, too.
Much of the time, in this early stage, the child slept.
Several times since they’d left Detroit, Michigan, to head east on the interstate Daddy Love had stopped in deserted rest-areas to look after the child. He had to clean him, and he had to feed him. These were necessary tasks. Especially the cleaning, the child-piss and watery excrement he wished a female might take care of, but Daddy Love was a responsible daddy and did not shirk his duties. In a Detroit used-clothes shop on Labrosse he’d purchased several articles of clothing for a child including pajamas and socks. The clothes in which the child had been abducted were now very soiled and would be discarded soon.
Always there was the dread—a half-pleasurable shiver of dread!—that, when Daddy Love opened the mask, the child’sface would be slack, bloodless and lifeless: not a child but a child’s corpse.
For the first time since he’d taken him, Daddy Love removed the duct-tape and the gag inside the child’s mouth.
The gag he would need to replace, for it was soaked with spittle and nasty.
The child gasped for breath. The child’s eyes rolled in his head. Daddy Love leaned above him smiling, speaking in his soft caressing assuring voice.
“Hello, Gideon! I am your new daddy—Daddy Love.”
The child rapidly blinked. His eyes appeared to be all pupil. Though he was of
mixed race
, his skin was chalky white. He did not respond at all to Daddy Love but stared at him with the blank-terror of a trapped and paralyzed animal.
“You are Gideon, son. ‘Gideon’ is an ancient Hebrew name, of the Bible—‘brave warrior.’”
The child’s former name had been
Robbie Whitcomb.
But no more.
Daddy Love brought a morsel of food to the child’s mouth, to feed him. But the child seemed not to know what the food was, and it fell from his mouth, into the space behind his head.
“Gideon. You are hungry, and you are thirsty. You will obey me.”
He’d had to open the larger lid, and pull the child into a sitting position. Powerfully the child stank, and had to be cleaned;then, with infinite patience, Daddy Love tried again to feed him, morsels of the cheeseburger, and sips of the Coke.
He had mixed a tranquilizer into the Coke, which would help to calm the child, and ease him into sleep once they began their journey again. As if he sensed this, the child refused to drink.
It was as if the child’s mouth had locked. His jaw-muscles had locked. His spinal cord, his limbs had locked. Daddy Love would be required to coax the child out of this panic-paralysis, but not just yet, for they’d stopped at a deserted rest-stop, and intruders might pull into the parking lot at any time.
In such places, people generally mind their own business. A child being disciplined by his daddy would not draw attention. No one would dare come near the minivan with the cross on its roof, to peer inside the tinted windows. Yet, Daddy Love knew better than to take a chance.
A slightly older child, of seven or eight, Daddy Love might have half-walked half-carried into the restroom, and into a toilet-stall and washed him brusquely at the sink. The older child would understand what Daddy Love meant when he said
If
God would make that decision. If the cigarette-addicted female lived or died—that was up to God to decide.
On the 11 P.M. news as Daddy Love crossed into Pennsylvania on a mostly deserted interstate he heard that a “suspect” had been taken into custody by Ypsilanti police.
Witnesses had “identified”—who?
Daddy Love laughed, laughed.
In a way, this was the best part of it. This triumph, and this laughter. The child was but the means to
this
.
9
I-80 EAST PENNSYLVANIA, NEW JERSEY APRIL 15–16, 2006
Slept in the van, upright in the driver’s seat. Often in daylight and never for more than an hour.
In the back of the van, he assumed the child slept, too.
Much of the time, in this early stage, the child slept.
Several times since they’d left Detroit, Michigan, to head east on the interstate Daddy Love had stopped in deserted rest-areas to look after the child. He had to clean him, and he had to feed him. These were necessary tasks. Especially the cleaning, the child-piss and watery excrement he wished a female might take care of, but Daddy Love was a responsible daddy and did not shirk his duties. In a Detroit used-clothes shop on Labrosse he’d purchased several articles of clothing for a child including pajamas and socks. The clothes in which the child had been abducted were now very soiled and would be discarded soon.
Always there was the dread—a half-pleasurable shiver of dread!—that, when Daddy Love opened the mask, the child’sface would be slack, bloodless and lifeless: not a child but a child’s corpse.
For the first time since he’d taken him, Daddy Love removed the duct-tape and the gag inside the child’s mouth.
The gag he would need to replace, for it was soaked with spittle and nasty.
The child gasped for breath. The child’s eyes rolled in his head. Daddy Love leaned above him smiling, speaking in his soft caressing assuring voice.
“Hello, Gideon! I am your new daddy—Daddy Love.”
The child rapidly blinked. His eyes appeared to be all pupil. Though he was of
mixed race
, his skin was chalky white. He did not respond at all to Daddy Love but stared at him with the blank-terror of a trapped and paralyzed animal.
“You are Gideon, son. ‘Gideon’ is an ancient Hebrew name, of the Bible—‘brave warrior.’”
The child’s former name had been
Robbie Whitcomb.
But no more.
Daddy Love brought a morsel of food to the child’s mouth, to feed him. But the child seemed not to know what the food was, and it fell from his mouth, into the space behind his head.
“Gideon. You are hungry, and you are thirsty. You will obey me.”
He’d had to open the larger lid, and pull the child into a sitting position. Powerfully the child stank, and had to be cleaned;then, with infinite patience, Daddy Love tried again to feed him, morsels of the cheeseburger, and sips of the Coke.
He had mixed a tranquilizer into the Coke, which would help to calm the child, and ease him into sleep once they began their journey again. As if he sensed this, the child refused to drink.
It was as if the child’s mouth had locked. His jaw-muscles had locked. His spinal cord, his limbs had locked. Daddy Love would be required to coax the child out of this panic-paralysis, but not just yet, for they’d stopped at a deserted rest-stop, and intruders might pull into the parking lot at any time.
In such places, people generally mind their own business. A child being disciplined by his daddy would not draw attention. No one would dare come near the minivan with the cross on its roof, to peer inside the tinted windows. Yet, Daddy Love knew better than to take a chance.
A slightly older child, of seven or eight, Daddy Love might have half-walked half-carried into the restroom, and into a toilet-stall and washed him brusquely at the sink. The older child would understand what Daddy Love meant when he said
If
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