The Private Reserve

PART ONE
THE VINES
I.

Ethan read the text again: “I need you to come over. It’s about Jenna.”

Light blinded him; swerving hard right, he barely avoided crashing into the car in the other lane. He refocused on the road through the sound of a blaring horn, not that Ethan could fault the other driver. He should have been paying better attention, but did not expect many people to be on the road at 3:30 in the morning.

Fighting the desire to look at the text again, he instead dialed his ex-wife’s number; after five rings, her joyful voice said, “Hi, you’ve reached Beverly’s voicemail! I’m not here…”

He broke the connection and redialed; again, he got her voicemail. He tried four more times, but she did not answer. Damnit to hell, he thought. Why isn’t she picking up?

He dialed a different number; a couple of rings later, a groggy voice said, “Hey baby.”

The muscles in his back uncoiled a bit at the sound of her voice. “Hey sweetheart. Thanks for picking up.”

Giggling, Sarah said, “You don’t have to thank your girlfriend for picking up the phone.”

“Sorry,” he replied. “Been a while since I did this dating thing.”

“Silly. You reach Bev?”

“No. I keep calling but she’s still not picking up.”

“Ugh, stupid bitch. I’m sure she sent you that text just to be dramatic.”

He wished he could disagree. “You’re probably right, but I have to make sure everything’s okay. I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I mean, it’s your daughter. Who wouldn’t freak out about a text like that? Just call me when you get there, okay?”

“Promise.”

“Figure out what's going on and then get your butt back to bed with me. Love ya.”

“Same.” After ending the call, he placed the iPhone in the cupholder and concentrated on keeping his breathing steady, as he understood panic accomplished nothing—years of litigating taught him panic did nothing but muddle the mind, and he needed to remain clear. Jenna’s okay, he thought. She’s ok. God, please let her be fine.

Thoughts of Jenna blasted his mind as he drove through the foggy wine country; he saw flashes of her birth, first steps, garbled words, and laughter. Guilt rushed through his veins; it stung him like a wasp. Guilt over the divorce that kept her from him. Guilt over working so much during the first few years of her life. Jenna called him her “hero.” She often said he was the strongest man in the world. And if something was wrong, it was important that he remain strong.

*****

Normally, the trip to his old Sonoma home could take up to two hours through the often gridlocked California highways; that evening, the drive took less than forty-five minutes, partially because of the empty roads, but he also drove like a madman. He pulled into the driveway and parked in front of the house he once lovingly referred to as his “pinot palace.” Two-story, all white with high windows throughout, the design allowed its inhabitants to appreciate fully the surroundings.

He jogged up the stairs to the front door and rang the doorbell; after a few seconds, he rang it twice. Ten seconds later, he banged on the door in a fit of frustration.

“Bev! Open the door dammit!” No response. Quickly, he pulled a set of keys from his pocket. Bev gave him explicit instructions to only use the spare key “in a big emergency;” he believed the mysterious texts about his daughter qualified.

He put the keys in the door, turned, and realized it was already unlocked. He walked inside and shuddered; his once immaculate home was a disaster. Chairs strewn around the room, dirty plates on every table, and the floors obviously had not been swept in weeks. This is no place for a child, he concluded. Once this is all over, I’m filing a motion to modify custody.

In the corner of his eye, he spotted something unusual near the living room sofa: the color red. Liquid oozed, its borders expanding slowly like a new moon. At first, he thought the liquid was spilled wine, but the consistency was too thick, the redness too bright.

“Bev?” he whispered as he stepped towards the sofa; he looked behind it and found Beverly sprawled on the floor. Tousled brunette hair covered her face and blood coated her black top and tight jeans. His eyes fixated on the handle of a large kitchen knife sticking out of her chest.

He stepped back as his vision swirled and pressure pushed against his chest. Knees wobbling, he braced himself against the couch and screamed, “Jenna! Jenna! Where are you?” He frantically looked around the room but saw no one except his dead ex-wife.

A noise startled him; it was brief, so he didn’t recognize the sound at first. It happened again, and he realized a cell phone rung near Beverly. He saw that below the knife lay a cellphone, and the caller ID read that there was an incoming call from “Jenna.”

Gritting his teeth, he grabbed the phone off of Beverly, wiped off some of the blood on his sweatshirt, and clicked ANSWER. “Jenna, where are you?” he asked.

A pleasant male voice replied, “Hello Ethan.”

“What? Who the hell is this?”

Chuckling, the man said, “My name is Jacob. And if you ever want to see Jenna again, you’ll do exactly as I say.”

“Fuck you,” Ethan replied, his calmness suffocated by the weight of his ex-wife’s body and daughter’s disappearance. “Tell me where Jenna is or I will hunt you down and cut your damn head off.”

Laughter met Ethan’s threat. “Now, now Ethan. No need for dramatics. Yelling at me isn’t going to get you any closer to Jenna.”

“Tell me where she is, goddammit!” His whole body shook as if he stood over the epicenter of an earthquake, struggling to keep from falling in.

“I will, I will. You have my word. But first, I need you to do a few things for me. Then, you can have Jenna back.”

“I’m not doing shit for you.”

“I understand your hesitation.” The caller’s smile was evident in his voice as he spoke, which infuriated Ethan more. “But you must understand,” Jacob continued. “If you refuse me, I will have no more need for little Jenna here. For now, she’s useful. You wouldn’t want her to become a liability, would you? Just look at what I did to Beverly.”

“Go to hell, psycho. I’m done--”

Before Ethan could finish, a young female voice screamed, “Help me! Help me, daddy! Please, daddy, help!” The voice sounded muffled and strange, but Ethan recognized it immediately.

“Jenna!” Ethan yelled. “Jenna! Talk to me. Has he hurt you?”

“Daddy please, help! Get me out!”

“Jenna!”

Silence.

“Jenna, are you there? Jenna!”

A man’s voice instead answered, “Now, are you ready to cooperate?”

Ethan bent over and braced his hands on his knees. Vomit rose into his throat, and with a swallow he pushed it back. “Fine, fine. First, please, just tell me where she is,” Ethan pleaded, his voice cracking on nearly every word. “Where are you keeping her?”

“I’m not going to let you depose me, Ethan.”

Depose me? Ethan thought. How did he know…

“She’s in the trunk of my car,” Jacob replied flatly. “Now listen closely. You won’t have to do much, but you can’t mess up anything. I’m not kidding, Ethan, anything. One screw up and Jenna’s a goner. Capisce?”

“Yes,” Ethan replied. “Yes. I’ll do anything. I swear.”

“Good stuff!” Jacob sounded cheerful, like one guy talking to another about a big play in the big game. “Glad to have you onboard. Relax a little and you might even have some fun with what’s gonna happen next. Just give me a sec…” The line went silent for a few moments. “Can you hear me?” Jacob asked, though his voice sounded distant.

“Yeah.”

“Great. Sometimes this Bluetooth bullshit acts up. Technology’s a weird thing, man. Endless pain in the ass, but occasionally, it can really do some amazing stuff. Like, for example, I can see you right now. You still wear a sweatshirt from law school? Impressive that it still fits so well.”

Ethan instinctively looked down at grey sweatshirt with “BERKELEY LAW” written on it in large, blue font.

“Hope you’re not attached to it,” Jacob said. “Because it’s about to be ruined.”

“How can you see me?”

“The security app on Jenna’s phone. Enough chit-chat. Ready?”

Ethan closed his eyes and breathed in-and-out, in-and-out. “Ready.”

“Okay, first thing. See the knife in your ex-wife?”

Ethan fought the urge to curse. “Yes.”

“Pull it out.”

“Why?”

“No more questions. Just do it.”

“Okay.” He placed the cell phone on the sofa’s side table and walked towards Beverly body sprawled out in a pool of blood that soaked into her brunette curls and ran down her face with her mascara. Her eyes remained open; panicked and lifeless hazel irises stared up at him as he stood above her. Bending down, his first inclination was to close her eyelids, but decided to remain on task. He grabbed the thick wood handle of the knife, took a moment to think of Jenna’s face, and pulled.

The knife came out easier than he expected; he stumbled backwards, his eyes burning—he rubbed them, and when he pulled back his hands, blood dotted his fingers.

“Good job!” Jacob yelled, his voice coming from the side table. “Pick the phone back up.”

Ethan complied. “Now what?”

“The next step is easy. Just smear the blood from the knife onto your sweatshirt.”

After what he just did, Ethan felt a degree of relief about this command. He pressed the knife against his chest and carefully ran it up and down; he rotated the blade after a few strokes and repeated the process. When finished, he dropped the knife; the blood streaks on his sweatshirt had morphed a couple of the Es into backwards Bs.

“Atta boy,” Jacob said. “You’re almost there. Just two more things. After I hang up, drop this phone and throw yours across the room as hard as you can. No messing around. Throw it the moment I hang up. Then you’ll have exactly ten minutes to meet me at the first entrance to Sugarloaf Park. The one just past Landmark. You know where that one is, right?”

“Yes.” When married, he and Beverly frequented Landmark Vineyards on weekends as they loved the wine and Jenna loved their bocce ball field.

“Splendid. You’ll have ten minutes exactly. One minute longer, and I’m leaving with Jenna.”

“Okay. I understand.”

“Cool. Great talking to you, Ethan! Looking forward to seeing you in person.”

The line broke, leaving Ethan only a couple of seconds to act. He picked out the house’s security system and knew that anyone using the app could only see, not hear. After dropping Jenna's phone, he reached into his pocket and held the HOME button on his cell phone; Siri dinged as he pulled out his phone. Trying not to move his lips, he said, “Text Sarah, ‘call the police.’”

As he pulled back his arm, Siri replied, “Ready to send it.”

“Send,” Ethan said has he flung his arm forward, tossing his iPhone across the room. He looked once more at Beverly’s lifeless body and ran out the door.