Background
Brandon McCann vanishes from the baggage reclaim area while en route to visit his grandparents in Orlando, Florida. So, why are dead corpses suddenly popping up in three states?
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Last Time: Suddenly the door to the stall burst wide open! Rickie Wolford stood there with a sparkle in his eyes and evil on his mind. The boy screamed at the top of his lungs. To no avail. Nobody heard his wretched cries.
"Hello, handsome. You're so-o-o-o-o cute! Wanna play?" Wolford haughtily asked the boy. He turned and locked the stall door behind him.
The bane for the preadolescent began. The knife in Wolford's hand eviscerated the sprout. He knew dessert was about to be served.
Word Count: 1,315
Member Cents: 88
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Groggy, Brandon McCann slowly aroused. He reached up and felt the large lump on the top of his blond head. It hurt ...badly! He wondered if he had a concussion? He'd never had one before.
Brandon did not have any idea where he was. Nor could he guess how he'd arrived there. Immediately, he realized he was in pitch-blackness and thought he might be inside a hot, humid, mineshaft. Perhaps something similar, maybe even a well?
Slowly, he shook his head from side to side in an effort to clear the cobwebs from his mind. He could feel his brain rattle. The last memory Brandon recalled was waiting for his suitcase at the carousel in the airport.
"Ah-ha! At last, Sleeping Beauty finally emerges," Brandon heard an unfamiliar sounding voice say.
Startled, Brandon attempted to pick up on the accent. He couldn't quite make it out. Brandon decided it was possibly Alabaman? He wasn't sure. Quickly, Brandon examined what he could see, which wasn't much.
"Who are you?" Brandon courageously demanded.
"Uh-uh, clever boy. My name is not information you need to be concerned about at this time," came the callous response.
"Why are you doing this to me?" Brandon wondered, warning, "I'm supposed to be visiting my grandparents. When I don't show up they'll have the police come looking for me! Then you'll be sorry!"
As a result of Brandon's bravado, a slight chuckle was heard.
"Let them come, Brandon. They'll never find you out here in the middle of nowhere. And, if they happen to get real lucky, and come too close to where you are, you'll be transferred to another location before anyone can do anything about it," he was told.
"Why are you doing this to me?" Brandon once again demanded.
"Money by the pound, Cowboy," came the reply, "it's all about the dinero. You know, the big bucks. I'm being paid a lot of money to keep you here for a very long time."
"Why? By Who?" Brandon rapidly blazed his next two questions.
"You are a mighty inquisitive little mouse, aren't you, Brandon?" he was asked, "Why? Because I can. By who? Well, I'm afraid for that question I am not at liberty to divulge an answer to you, Squirrel."
The nickname caught Brandon's attention. Back in his hometown of Bangor, Maine he was known by all his friends as "Squirrel". A name that was given to him because of his non-stop, constant, chattering.
'How did this person know that about me?' Brandon wondered to himself.
"However, Brandon," he heard the unknown speaker tell him, "I very strongly suggest you put all thoughts you may have about trying to escape from me as far out of your mind as you possibly can. We all know how mule-headed you can be."
"Or what?" Brandon defiantly questioned.
"Don't stone the messenger, Brandon. You just be a good little tyke and do what I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it , and how I tell you to do it. Because if you don't, I will have to cage you, my little chickadee," he was informed.
The voice continued by saying, "It is not my intention to harm you, Brandon. Nor do I want to chain you. That would be most uncomfortable. But, I will if you force me to. As I said, it is my sole responsibility in the grand scheme of life to keep you safely and securely tucked away for a very long time. What condition that is in is entirely up to how you behave. Remember, Brandon, I'm watching every move you make."
"I want to leave ...now!" Brandon angrily retorted.
Stone cold silence.
Enraged, he demanded again, "Did you hear me? I said I want to leave ...now!"
Silence was all that responded.
Steadily, Brandon clambered to his feet. He decided if no one was there any longer then all he had to do was walk out of wherever he was. He took three steps. The path was clear. So far, so good. Unable to see because of the blackness encircling him, Brandon reached out with his hands to grope his surroundings. On the fourth step he took he walked headfirst into a barrier.
"Ouch! That hurt!" he loudly yelped.
Brandon turned around and walked eight steps back to another unseen barrier. He attempted the other two directions as well. The same results occurred. Brandon reasoned in his mind that he was interned inside a ten foot long, and eight foot wide, confinement space. The little mathematician unceremoniously plopped down on the ground in deep contemplation. Deafening silence echoed around him.
Known to pull rabbits out of his hat in difficult situations, Brandon seldom became unraveled by any tough circumstances he found himself in the middle of. He reached into his pocket for his cellphone. It was gone, along with his wallet, and everything else that would identify who he was.
The notion crossed his mind, and he asked himself, 'Who would want to kidnap the nobody son of a small town surgeon from Bangor, Maine? And, more importantly, why? My Dad ain't got no money.'
As creative as he was known to be, Brandon wished he had his computer video games to occupy his time until he was rescued, or better yet, could design an escape route out of this peculiar predicament he'd become entrapped in. Departing this hole, or whatever it was that held him a captured prisoner, became Brandon's only priority.
'Maybe I can dig my way to China?' he thought out loud to himself.
Brandon flexed his muscles and roared like the Incredible Hulk. Then, the boy quickly metamorphosed back into the scrawny weakling he'd always been. His adrenaline rush swiftly dissipated.
Realizing the futility of that Herculean effort, Brandon said, 'With your two wimpy hands? Give me a break!'
Resigned to his fate, he told himself, 'Get a grip on reality, Brandon. That's the only way you're going to wiggle out of this pickle.'
Cast of Characters:
Brandon McCann - Thirteen-year-old boy from Bangor, Maine. Vanished at the baggage reclaim area of the Orlando International Airport.
David Brewster - Introduced in Chapter 4, David Brewster is a Special Investigator with the Orange County Sheriff's Office Missing Persons Unit. Foregoes retirement to help find the missing Brandon McCann.
Rickie Wolford - Introduced in Chapter 5, Rickie Wolford is a pedophile. Eviscerated a boy in the men's room at the Orlando International Airport.
Unknown Voice - Informed Brandon he was kidnapped.
Author Notes
A REVIEW I RECEIVED:
"First, you gave us Cody Schroder in Astatula. He will always be my most favorite character of all. Now along comes Brandon McCann, a delightfully engaging story. It is just that good and that much fun to read. Brandon McCann has all the action any reader could possibly want. There are good men-none any better than David Brewster, and there are bad men, too-think Rickie Wolford. A deftly and honestly rendered book with an extravagance of well written dialogue in every chapter. SUPERB! Highly visual, original, deeply affecting, amply imagined, and crisply written. Now I have two favorite characters created by you. Can not wait for each chapter to unfold. Do write on!"
Am I proud of this review? Of course I am. I did not realize my writing touched readers so deeply!
Evan is growing up, by Lilibug6, selected to complement this chapter of my book.
So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with this chapter of my book.,
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