Chapter 95: Chapter 9

NATE

Mandy, Sasha, and I are huddled together, anxiously awaiting news. The waiting room is slowly filling up with family members, the tension palpable. Sasha has succumbed to exhaustion, her tears drying on Mandy’s lap.

My father’s arrival breaks the monotony, and I rise to greet him.

“Any updates?” I ask.

“Nothing yet,” he replies.

He informs me that everyone is being held in the basement, but right now, the focus is on Mason. I’m pulled from my thoughts by a nudge, and my gaze lands on the doctor reentering the room. His walk says it all.

My heart sinks. I approach him, my gaze fixed on a point beyond his shoulder. He delivers the news. Mason is alive, but in critical condition.

“He lost a lot of blood, but for now, he’s stable.” The doctor promises to stay the night and keep us updated. I thank him, my mind reeling.

I’m brought back to reality by Sasha’s sobs. Mandy is trying to comfort her, but her cries are growing louder. I take Sasha’s hand and lead her to a corner, Mandy following closely.

We’re shielded by family members from prying eyes. I cup Sasha’s face, forcing her to look at me. Her eyes are filled with fear.

“Sasha, listen to me. No matter what happens, you’re still my daughter-in-law. You were Mason’s choice, and that won’t change. You and your family will stay with us. He’s a Maxwell, and it takes a lot more than this to take one of us down.”

Her tears flow freely, and I pull her into a comforting embrace, Mandy joining us. After a few moments, I spot a hotel across the street.

I hand Mandy my credit card. “Mandy, get everyone rooms at that hotel. We’ll take shifts here. That way, we can get back quickly if needed.”

She nods, leading everyone out of the emergency room. My father stays behind with me. We sit in silence, the hours ticking by slowly.

Eventually, the doctor returns with an update.

“Mason’s in recovery. He’s stable, but hasn’t woken up yet. His body is likely just taking its time. I can take you to see him, but be prepared. There are tubes everywhere, and he’s on an oxygen machine.”

We follow the doctor through a maze of hallways and up an elevator. When we reach Mason’s room, I’m at a loss for words. The sight of him, so vulnerable, triggers a flood of emotions.

“Dad, is this how it was for you and Mom? When I was hurt? The uncertainty?”

“Yes, Nate. We just prayed for a sign that you were still with us. A twitch of your hand, anything. But all we got was the steady beep of the machines.”

I pull up a chair next to Mason’s bed, watching his chest rise and fall. I take his hand, hoping for a response. My father steps out, likely to update my mom.

Alone with Mason, I let my tears fall.

“Mason, please let me know you can hear me. Why didn’t you say something?”

I wait, hoping for a sign. But there’s nothing. Exhausted, I fall asleep.

I’m awakened by a movement next to my face. Blinking against the sunlight, I see Mason’s fingers twitching. I rub my eyes, thinking I’m imagining things.

“Thank God, I can move my hand!” he exclaims.

I leap from my chair, startling my father. We stare at Mason, disbelief etched on our faces. I glance at my dad, then back at Mason.

***

“You’re a real piece of work! If you ever pull this crap again, I swear I’ll take you out myself!”

“Pipe down, Dad. You and I both know you won’t!”

My father immediately dials a number on his phone. Moments later, Sasha, Mandy, and Eva burst through the door. Sasha attempts to walk but her legs give out.

I catch her just in time, gently laying her down next to Mason. We wait as Dad goes to fetch the doctor.

Soon, we hear a page for him echo through the hospital. The doctor and a nurse arrive shortly after, beginning to disconnect some of Mason’s equipment but leaving some still attached.

“He’ll need to stay here for a few days, no exceptions, so we can monitor him,” the doctor says.

“I won’t argue with that. Can Sasha stay here with me?” I ask.

“I’m sure we can arrange something. But you need to relax. We need you to heal! I don’t want to be next on your hit list, okay!” the doctor jokes.

The room bursts into laughter, despite the doctor’s serious expression and the nurse’s visible gulp. Are we really that intimidating?

The laughter dies down as we exchange glances, and then my father speaks up. “Trust me, Doc, you’re not on our hit list!”

“Good. Let’s keep it that way!” the doctor replies.

He makes a hasty exit with the nurse, and we all start laughing again. Even Mason joins in, which sends him into a coughing fit. We all urge him to calm down.

He takes slow, deep breaths, and we decide to leave them to rest. Sasha needs reassurance that everything will be okay. Mandy opts to stay while Dad and I decide to address our first issue.

Trent has been nothing but a thorn in our side since day one. If he’s involved, how deep does this go? Does the system even know?

I call the local child protective services, wanting to speak to his supervisor.

“Child protective services, this is Debbie. How can I assist you?”

“Hi Debbie, this is Nate Maxwell. I need to speak with the supervisor for your social worker, Trent.”

“Oh, Trent Williams? That would be Chris Tannen. I’ll transfer you, just hold on!”

The phone rings a few times before a man answers. “This is Chris. How can I assist you, Nate?”

“I think we need to have a discussion about Trent,” I say.

“Sure thing. I can meet you at the coffee shop on the corner of Main and Eston in fifteen minutes?”

“Sounds good. See you then!”

Dad and I find an SUV and head to the coffee shop. We arrive before Chris, so we grab some coffee and wait. After a few minutes, Chris walks in, gets his coffee, and sits across from us. His concern is evident.

“I know this is about Trent, but I’m a bit worried. He didn’t show up for work today. I have a feeling you’re about to fill me in.”

“Trent has been with the state for a while, but he’s gotten mixed up with some sex traffickers we know. He was caught handing over underage foster kids to them,” I explain.

My dad jots down the names and hands the list to Chris, whose face turns pale. He seems to be trying to piece together a puzzle. His face pales even more when he looks back at us, wide-eyed.

“He’s had multiple kids over the years that just disappeared. He claimed they ran away, and that he tried to find them but couldn’t. The scary part is that it wasn’t just his kids. Another worker’s kids also mysteriously disappeared. He doesn’t work for us anymore. His name was Anthony. He was young for a social worker. He had his credentials, but he was always hanging out with this guy. Oh, what was his name. It started with a D, Donny. No, that’s not it. Wait, Donald. That was his name. Dark-skinned guy. They were always together.”

I glance at my dad, then back at Chris. “Donald is the one who kidnapped my daughter-in-law. Trent kidnapped her sister and other kids. Right now, he’s tied up in our basement.”

“Take me to him!” Chris stands up, shouting.

I nod, and we all rise, leading him to our offices. We park in the lot and make our way down to the basement. We check with the guards to find out which room Trent is in.

As soon as we enter and flip on the light, he lifts his head, and the color drains from his face. Before we can say anything, Chris is across the room, grabbing his shirt.

“How many, Trent? How many kids did you hand over to those monsters?”

“What does it matter? They weren’t wanted anyway! I saved the state some money!”

My dad holds me back, seeing that I’m ready to kill him.

“We have an oath, Trent! To protect the children, and you just handed them over to who knows what! What if they were killed?”

Trent just shrugs, chuckling like it’s a joke.

“Trent, how many did you hand over?”

“In the last twenty-plus years, if I had to estimate, around six dozen.”

We watch as Chris backs up, leaning against the wall with his hands in his hair, trying to comprehend what he’s just been told. Approximately seventy-two kids have been handed over by someone sworn to protect them, to people who would use them as personal sex toys.

He slides down to the floor, staring blankly. I open the door and grab something from outside. I walk over, laying a bat on the ground in front of him. He looks at it, then up at me. I just nod.

He grabs the bat and walks over to Trent, swinging it and breaking bones. Trent’s screams echo through the room. After about ten hits, he drops the bat and turns to us.

“I need to find these kids. I don’t care what it takes!”

“We’ll help however we can,” I say.

He leaves the room, and we follow, giving strict instructions to keep Trent alive. We’ll have more fun later! Next, we’ll bring the families to deal with Donald and his friends, and try to get information out of them.