Outskirts Press, INC.

Three disappearances and one man holds the key.

Three missing persons cases over a two-year period collide in this novel. The most recent person gone missing, Seth Tryton, has friends in low places that won’t let the case stand as is. Placing his freedom in peril, fugitive from the law, Gerald Hodges, returns to Minnesota to help find out what happened, A couple of associates accompany him as they roam the streets of Duluth and travel the North Shore in search of clues to his disappearance. They discover that Peter Karonen, a local man living in the small town of Finland may hold the key to all three disappearances. He is a man who has lost everything important in his life—his wife to cancer, and a daughter mired in a persistent vegetative state. His dark journey leads him on a collision course with Gerald Hodges and his crew. Complicating matters, the local police discover that Hodges is in the vicinity and pursue him with vigor. Hodges must not only find his friend, but dodge the police in the process.

Her ankle burned. It still bore the marks of leg irons. Instinctively, she rubbed it with both hands. The night was black, interrupted only by a sliver of light from the moon. Sitting on a rock, surrounded by trees, Cassie Bandleson wondered where the hell she was. The opening in the hill that she had crawled from was several hundred yards away. Which direction? She didn’t know. Perspiration dripped from her face to the sleeve of her flannel shirt. She strained to see anything that would help her decide which direction to run, because run she must. Sooner or later he would return and discover she was gone. She needed to put distance between herself and her prison. There had been no way of telling day from night, only her sleeping pat- terns helped her estimate the time. Her best guess was that she had been a prisoner of the man for four days. Cassie stood. Trying to ignore the pain, she stumbled through the dark, brush tearing at her clothes, rocks smashing into her knees, and tree branches swatting her head. My God, I’ve got to make it out of here! Run! Her legs pumped as her steeled heart ordered her body to move. She extended her arms and hands in front to protect her face from obstacles, seen and unseen. Cassie did not wonder how her body could take this punishment. When you’re running for your life, you don’t care. You just move. She pushed forward. The forest seemed to rise up against her, tearing, clutching and ripping at her clothes. And then she tumbled, slamming into trees and boulders before coming to rest at the bot- tom of a ravine. Breathing heavily, she slowly tried to move her limbs, first her arms, then her legs. She laughed. Nothing broken! Hearing the rumble of some sort of vehicle in the distance, her hopes rose. That way. She pointed with her left hand and limped toward the sound, but more carefully now. Take it slow. Following the ravine, which seemed more like a cut in the hill- side, she knew she was descending; her momentum was always downhill, even if she couldn’t see well, she could feel it. The shal- low walls of the ravine gave her a sense of being protected. She even started to believe it. Voices! She heard voices. She was sure of it. Picking her way to- ward the sound, she could tell it was from a radio talk show, playing much too loudly. Maybe it was a couple of kids parked, making out, whatever. They were going to be surprised by a beaten up, strug- gling hiker. She smiled as she worked her way closer. She stood in the shadows, looking for signs of life from the pick- up. It was getting late. The radio talk turned to jazz. No kids would be listening to jazz. She turned and melted further into the forest, sneaking a worried look back at the truck. The dome light was on. Someone had opened the door. She started moving away faster and breathing harder. It was him! Soon she was flailing at branches and running, her heart pounding so hard she thought it would burst from her chest. A tree branch caught her in the eye, causing an involuntary, mini scream to erupt from her. Tears came quickly. Hysteria was near as she realized he might have heard the cry. Now, nearly blind in one eye, lost in the night, body aching, she calmed herself as best she could and limped away... until... a flashlight beam illuminated her. Hysteria took over, and she turned the other way, screaming, crash- ing through the brush and trees with the beam of light partially showing her the way until she emerged on a gravel road. Thunderous footsteps were close behind. She screamed as loud as she could and turned to face him. She flailed her arms and struck out forcefully. The light enveloped her, and pain wracked her head as she went down, crying... and then there was darkness. Karonen dragged Cassie toward his truck. I shouldn’t have hit her so hard! Dead or relaxed weight was heavy. He knew that from experience. Lucky for him, she had made it to the road. Carefully letting Cassie down after dragging her for twenty yards, he jogged back to the truck and drove it to her. With difficulty, he partially hoisted her onto the truck bed, and holding her upper body in place, he hefted the rest of her in. After shutting the lift gate, he closed the tonneau cover, quickly returned to the driver’s seat and drove back to his home. Once she was safely in her quarters, he waited for her to wake. An hour and a half later, she still had not awakened. He tried shaking her, yelling her name; nothing worked. Karonen paced inside her cell. This would not do. It had been stupid of him to let her escape in the first place. Now, what do I have to work with? It was an experiment gone bad. He had only wanted to study her reactions, her emotions, and then glean information from her after recapture. Cassie stirred, then moaned. Karonen’s hopes jumped. She’s going to make it! A smile ap- peared on his desperate looking face. He went to her, feverishly arranging her on the bed as she continued to moan. She’ll be okay. She’ll be okay. He didn’t need another companion gone bad. Six months prior to chancing upon Miss Bandleson on the Superior Hiking Trail, he had made the mistake of taking Tom Hecimovich, a younger man than he, who was strong and deter- mined. Eventually, Mr. Hecimovich needed to be dealt with in a most severe manner. His body would never be found. Karonen was sure of that. The fisherman had been an error. He faulted his judg- ment for taking him in the first place. The palpable relief he now felt released all emotion from him. He sat on the folding chair he kept in Bandleson’s room, and breathed deeply, burying his face in his hands. Five minutes later, he walked over to Bandleson. She opened her eyes and stared at him. “Welcome back, Cassie,” he said warmly. She closed her eyes again and turned her face away. He patted her arm and left. Pausing at the opening of her chamber, he glanced back, as if he wasn’t quite sure she was all right. Karonen was satisfied when he observed her move to her side. He latched the gate and locked it. “Good night, Cassie,” he said. Ten hours later, Cassie opened her eyes again. She moved from her side to her back. The bed she lay in was comfortable, to the point of annoyance. She didn’t want to be comfortable in her pris- on. Anger and despair filled her head as she ruminated about her lost opportunity for escape. Thinking of escape again, she took stock of her functioning body parts; she moved her arms, legs, fingers, and toes. Everything worked, although her ankle and head still hurt. Cassie also noted she was not chained in any way. She was surprised, but happy for that circumstance. Her room was a rock and timber chamber with a bed, a small bookcase filled with classic literature, a round wooden table, a mir- ror, a thick area rug covering half the floor, a chandelier hanging from a massive timber in the center, a portable toilet, and a wash basin. A bucket of fresh water was always provided. At least it al- ways seemed fresh. If she thought of the room as a bedroom, it was much larger than anything she had ever possessed. It was probably thirty feet by fifteen with a ceiling height of ten. She could put a children’s basketball court in here, or a wine rack. She was disgusted with herself. Don’t start thinking of this place as a home. It’s a prison! While staring at the walls, Cassie stood, walked to the nearest one, and ran a hand along it until she had circled the room. Why isn’t it damp? It should be at least a little wet. She pondered the question, but didn’t resolve it. It doesn’t matter. What difference would it make? She sat on the bed and sighed deeply, holding her face in her hands. I can’t believe I ran right into him! Idiot. Next time, I won’t make the same mistake. She heard the familiar sound of footsteps and readied herself for the appearance of Mr. Karonen. “Good, you’re awake. You had a rough night so I brought you croissants, cheese, and meats. The cheese is a nice Blue Castello. It has a soft, buttery, tangy taste. I’m sure you’ll love it,” Karonen said. “And the meats are fresh from the tourist trap down the highway. The water is from my tap. It’s good Lake Superior water.” He smiled, and placed the tray he had meticulously arranged on the table near her bed. The tourist trap down the road? She filed another note in her head. Cassie said nothing, but stared at Karonen, who looked like a jovial grandfather. What was wrong with this man? Karonen seemed to wait for her to speak, so finally, she said it without emotion. “What is wrong with you? Why are you doing this to me?” He flinched a little before he said, “The croissant is warm and you will want to spread the cheese on it before it gets cold. Please enjoy your meal, and we’ll talk later.” “Mr. Karonen, we need to talk now.” Again, she said it evenly, which seemed to take him off guard. He stared at her. She stared back... waiting for him to speak. “I collected you.” “You collected me.” He looked away, as if he was searching for something on the wall to her left. She turned to where he gazed. On the wall was the photo she had noticed before, but never given much thought. It was a young woman, not pretty, but pleasant looking. He continued to stare at the photo as if he were immersing himself in every fine detail and extracting every scintilla of emotion he could from it. “Who is she?” She finally asked. “Methodist is her name,” he said. “Do I remind you of her?” She asked. He smiled wryly. “No,” he shook his head. The action seemed to relieve him of his absorption with the photo. “No, you’re noth- ing like Methodist.” He paused before he backed from the cell and latched the gate. “I’ll come back for your plate later.” Cassie looked down. She suddenly realized how famished she was, and plucked a croissant from the tray. She spread a thick mass of the Blue Castello cheese on it, and then took a large bite of heaven.