The Beast of 1977 (Book 1)

Chapter 21

With the phone tucked securely underneath his right armpit, Mr. Mercer anxiously paced from the living room and back to the hallway, totally forgetting that the phone's cord wasn't as long as he would have wished it could have been while fussing with the police over the line.

Adorned in his all blue janitor's jumpsuit, Mercer looked at the clock that was nailed to the wall in the living room and realized that heading into work would be futile at that point in the day.

"I don't understand why no one can give me any information about my own son!" The man irately yelled. "He's out there somewhere, for God's sake!"

He dragged the phone back into the living room where he just happened to look out the front window to see a police cruiser parked right in front of the house. Without saying a simple "goodbye", Mr. Mercer hung up the phone, and with quivering knees, stepped across the floor and to the door, opening it before the detectives could even get out of their car.

He stood at the doorway watching and waiting with bated breath for the two men to make their way to him. Over and over again he kept on replaying the worst scene in his head. As cold as it was outside, his palms couldn't stop sweating. His knees were ready to collapse right where he stood; the stiff, unrelenting wind splashed into his sweaty face like a bucket of ice cold water.

Just then, the law officers opened their doors, climbed out and began their march towards the home. Mercer gritted his teeth to the point where they started to hurt the closer they approached.

"Good afternoon, sir. I'm Detective Linus—

"Is my boy dead?" Mercer impulsively jumped in.

Taken aback by the very question, both Bruin and Fitzpatrick blushed. Bruin then glanced over at his partner and then back again at Mercer who was shuddering, not from the cold air, but from

heartbreaking fear.

"Uh, sir, we aren't quite sure yet." Bruin slowly uttered. "Can we come in and talk for a moment, please?"

Steadily, Mr. Mercer moved aside to allow the men into his warm home. The moment he shut the door behind him, Mercer crossed his arms and asked, "Okay, where's my son at?"

"You are Charles Mercer, right?" Fitzpatrick questioned.

"That's me." He intolerantly sighed. "Now, where's my son?"

"Mr. Mercer, this is Detective Bruin, and I'm Detective Fitzpatrick. I don't know if you are aware of this or not, but we found the B.O.D. kidnapper this morning."

"I heard all about that, yes." Mercer said.

"Well, sir, your son Isaac was last seen taking a ride with the aforementioned person yesterday evening."

Right then, Mercer's sullen eyes opened to twice their original size. He dropped his arms to his side and slowly stuttered, "What...was he doing with that man?" Contentt bel0ngs to N0ve/lDrâ/ma.O(r)g!

"A witness at the diner where Isaac was last seen said that your car seemed to be having trouble. That was when your son accepted a ride from Cummins." Fitzpatrick clarified. "Mr. Mercer, right now we don't have a clue as to where Isaac is."

"Wha...whaddya mean you don't have a clue?" Mercer breathlessly stammered. "He went with that kidnapper, didn't he?"

"Yes, sir, but when we arrived at the residence this morning, Isaac was nowhere to be found."

"Well, maybe he escaped and went back to this diner to get the car." Mercer eagerly said.

"Sir, the car was still at the diner this morning." Fitzpatrick continued on. "Some of our people are having it brought back here, and—

"I don't give a damn about that car!" Mercer angrily hollered. "I want my boy!"

"Sir, please calm down." Fitzpatrick urged.

"Calm down?" Mercer threw up his hands. "My son is out there! He could be dead or waiting for someone to come and rescue him! And all you can talk about is my car?"

Both Bruin and Fitzpatrick turned their heads in a manner that would have suggested that they had nothing left to say at that point.

With his hands outstretched, Mr. Mercer cried, "Isaac has a son...he's two years old. He's got a fiancée. What on earth was he doing all the way out in Cuyahoga Falls to begin with?"

"Our witness mentioned that—

"Our witness informed us that Isaac was asking for directions at the diner." Linus brazenly cut right in between his partner.

"Well, Isaac never did have a good sense of direction." Mr. Mercer dropped his hands. "But that still doesn't explain why he would take a ride from a complete stranger."

"Would there be any other place Isaac would possibly go? Other places he would hide out? Because for all we know, he could be on his way back to Cypress as we speak." Linus insisted.

"If he's not at Lynn's house, then I don't have a clue."

"And who is this Lynn?" Linus questioned, taking out a pen and pad from his back pocket.

"Lynnette Glover is his fiancée. She lives at 909 West Seventh Blvd. I tried calling her a while ago, but her line was busy." Mercer exhaled before reaching over to the mantle and pulling out a photo of Isaac. "Here's his picture, if it'll help any."

"Okay, thank you, sir." Linus replied, taking the photo and slipping it into his pocket. "I assure you, Mr. Mercer, we are doing everything in our power to find your son. It's been a long, trying day for us all. Hopefully Isaac will be in a safe frame of mind when we do find him."

All of the sudden, like a door violently slamming shut, Mr. Mercer looked up at the detectives with a sadistic frown on his face. It was menacing enough to where both Bruin and Fitzpatrick actually had to take a slight step backwards in unison.

"My son isn't crazy, Detective." Mercer uttered in a foreboding murmur. "Do you hear me? Isaac is just fine. You'll do best to remember that."

"Yes, sir," Linus muttered right back while sliding his pen and pad back into his pocket. "Your car should be arriving sometime before six this evening."

At that very second, with an evil eye pointed directly at both detectives, Mercer stood still, right in the middle of the floor, while attentively watching the officers turn and walk out the door from which they entered.

From left to right, the heavy burdened man looked on as though the walls in his own home were caving in on him. He then sat down on the sofa, clasped his hands and closed his eyes. A quiet, lone tear dropped down from out of his left eye and onto his folded, hardened hands.

***

"What the hell was that all about?" Fitzpatrick blurted out while climbing into the passenger side of the cruiser.

"I don't know for sure." Linus reflected as he got in and slid the key into the ignition. "The guy looked like he was going to gun us down."

"So tell me," Fitzpatrick smirked, "what gives with the little lie back there?"

Linus put the car in drive and pulled out onto the road before replying, "Call me a cynic, but something tells me that Isaac may have been up to a little risqué business, if you know what I mean. Did you see that man's face? He was about as clueless to his son's whereabouts as we are. Isaac has a fiancée and a young son, and yet, he drove all the way out to Cuyahoga Falls, of all places, just to meet up with and argue with some mystery woman? That man inside that house is going through enough right now."

"I say that if's he's not at his fiancée's house, then we go back to Scats and get some info on this so called mystery woman he was with." Fitzpatrick said. "Who knows, maybe she has an idea where he is?"

"This oughta be fun." Linus sighed. "What time you got?"

"Uh...ten after five," Fitzpatrick looked hard at his wristwatch.

"I wonder if this day will ever end." Linus lamented.