Taken From The Nest

Chapter II

I pulled up to the White Oak Preschool with an abrupt stop. We had made it with two minutes to spare. I turned around to look at Isla, who was nibbling quietly on a banana muffin that I had given her before we left the house.
"Honey," I say hurriedly. "Please give me the muffin, we have to go inside now."
She glared at me mid-bite.
"But I want to finish!" She whined, revealing unchewed pastry in her mouth.
I glanced at the clock on the clock on the dashboard:
8:59
"Oh crap," I cursed under my breath. Quickly, I opened the car door and scrambled out. Isla watched as I pulled open the passenger door and yanked her butterfly-printed backpack out of the car.
"Sweetie, please c'mon. We don't want to be late again."
"Fine," she huffed with annoyance. She handed me her half-eaten muffin as she slipped out of the car. I brushed the crumbs off of her chest, discarding them onto the ground. Isla's hair was sticking in all directions now, despite me brushing it only minutes before. I combed through her hair with my fingers and repositioned her bow. Then she put on her backpack as we walked swiftly into the building.

"Isla cannot be late one more time, Mrs. Davis."
I stood at the front desk in the preschool lobby, trying my best not to look at the receptionist, Ms. McCarthy, in the eye. Instead I stare at the rainbow mural that curved its way around the corner of the hallway entrance. Again, Isla was late to school and received another tardy slip.
I hear her sarcastically cough, and I look in her direction. She held up a plastic bag containing many pink pieces of paper. I cringe.
Ms. McCarthy stared at me with a frustrated look on her face. This was the fifth time this month that we had waltzed in after school had started.
"I apologize Ms. McCarthy, Isla's been under the weather a lot lately."
"I doubt that; it's the same excuse you've used since January," She sighed. "Look, I know that it's hard for you to take care of Isla considering you're a single mother. But I really need you to make sure she's here on time, or else she is going to have to come during spring break."
"Yes, I apologize and I'll try to get her here early next week," I mutter. She doesn't understand the struggle of waking up a toddler, especially one that hates being woken by other people.
"That's good," she concludes, her vibe giving of satisfaction. "Today's tardy would've counted as her fifth absence, but we'll pretend that today's tardy never existed."
The receptionist smiled as she dropped one of the passes into the trash can behind her desk. She leaned over the counter.
"This is just between you and me," she whispered softly in my ear.
I smile warmly back. "Thank you so much. I promise you I will make sure she's never late again."
"From now on, you can just call me by my first name, Lily."
"Will do!" I agree.

Ms. McCarthy waved as I walk out into the parking lot. As soon as I stepped outside, I let out a huge sigh of relief. At least Isla doesn't have to come during spring break.
It will be her fourth birthday, with Bryan's death anniversary the next day.
I hate to admit it, but I don't like celebrating birthdays as much anymore, especially Isla's. When I told that to my mother, she practically screamed at me to get over Bryan's death and to have fun at my own daughter's birthday celebration.
Fortunately for her, she hasn't experienced the grief and the mental pain of gruesome death. She will never understand.
"Abigail!"
I whipped my head around as I am wrenched back from my thoughts. Ms. McCarthy was standing on the drop off curb.
She walks a little bit closer. "I wanted to say to be careful; there have been two cases in the last few days of kidnappings. Both of little children," she says in a whisper shout, as if avoiding being heard.
"Thanks," I reply back. I wave and turn back to my car.

When I get home, I go to the fridge and pull out ingredients to make breakfast. I also brew some coffee. Ever since I got promoted at work, I've been able to edit my written articles from home. It's been a luxury.
I work at a small newspaper company that covers events that have happened in the small town. Part time I am a reporter, but most of the time I revise and edit my coworker's articles. Usually the topic of my articles include political and economic issues.
But lately I've been assigned to write about a lot of crime issues.
The first odd event occurred when just a month ago, the mayor's house was broken into. At first the mayor and his family didn't know it happened, until his five-year-old daughter, Lucina, found three pairs of muddy footprints in her bedroom. Along with that, all of the jewelry owned by the mayor's wife was gone.
The community has experienced less crime than what's normal, and it's been like that for a few years. But ever since the break-in, no one dares to keep their doors and windows unlocked.
I grab the TV remote and flip on the news. Listening in on the news reporter, I beat eggs and other ingredients together. Even on a morning like this, it's very rare that I can make myself a good meal to eat. Today is the perfect morning for a homemade omelet.
As I pour my egg mixture into the pan, I listen to the male reporter ramble on.
"It's been two weeks since eight-year-old Samantha Palmer disappeared from the local park, and only six days since five-year old Anthony Vargas was separated from his mother at the supermarket and never seen since. Authorities have been working to bring the children back to their parents, but so far unsuccessful with leads.
"We'll be back after the short break."
Poor children, I think to myself. It must be so hard on their parents.
I flip the omelet in the pan, then press down with my spatula. After I place the omelet on a plate, I take my breakfast into the living room to watch the rest of the daily news. Maybe my boss would want an article over the missing cases. I take a bite of my breakfast and then another, in awe of how delicious the cheesy omelet was. I haven't had something this tasty in a while.
As I hear the familiar jingle from the news, I turn my attention away from the food to turn up the volume.
"Were back, with female reporter Juliana Fleming," the male reporter says, referring to the slender woman next to him.
Huh, I think while furrowing my eyebrows. I've never seen her before.
"Thank you, Carlos," she says and smiles back with the whitest teeth I've ever seen. She turns her direction back to the camera.
I gently blow the steam away from my coffee before taking a sip.
"Welcome back to the Lynchburg News! I'm the city's newest assistant crime reporter, Juliana. We're back to discuss the topic of the few children that have mysteriously vanished in the past week. Unfortunately during the commercial break, we learned that another child had been abducted just yesterday."
I nearly spit my coffee out. Another child? That's three in two weeks!
"Two-year-old Bailee Myers was taken during the night from her own bed and has not been seen since then. Police investigators found evidence of a break-in. Upon looking at the evidence collected at both the Myer's home and Mayor Holland's home, they have come to the conclusion that both the break-in and kidnappings are being committed by the same group of people."
Goosebumps start to form on my skin. I glance around nervously, suddenly wanting to barricade everything. I hate that the news can have that effect on you. I slowly pick up my coffee mug and let the warm liquid slide down my throat. The bitter taste has started to make me less drowsy.
"Police advise everyone to double-check all entrances to your homes and make sure that all children are safe and secure. No child should be left alone during this time and be extra cautious in public. I'm Juliana Fleming, with Lynchburg's daily news."
A fast food commercial starts blasting as I turn the TV off. Millions of thoughts have gathered themselves in my brain and it was starting to give me a headache. I've lived in Lynchburg my whole life, and nothing like this has ever happened before. But besides that, the main thing I was thinking about was Isla.
Is she safe?

All day leading up to picking Isla up at school was stressful. I couldn't focus on work and I couldn't bring myself to clean the house. Even when I had my favorite country music on full blast, my thoughts drowned the sound out almost completely. The only thing I could think about was her safety. Could she be kidnapped at school? At recess?
How safe is the White Oak Preschool really?
After a couple hours I start to drive back towards the central part of town to pick Isla up for school. Watching the news had spooked me. It made me wonder whether schools are going to be shut down. It would make sense, half of the kids in Isla's class have quit coming to school because of the kidnappings. By the time I pull up to the school, lots of cars are crammed into the tiny parking lot. I haven't even pulled into the area, but I can tell there are no vacant spots left.
I find a space to park on the curb in front of the old church and make my way across the patch of land to the preschool. Apparently, while I was working, there was a light rain shower. I silently listened to my feet crunching on the grass as I walked. When the grass turned into the chalk-colored concrete, I looked up.
Immediately I was knocked over by a mass of people at the door.