Caroline and I are Out

By Bob Jefferson

Ben Ammerle arrives home from work one evening after a long, soul searching commute from downtown Baltimore. His wife, Caroline, is nowhere to be found. His kids are happily playing at the neighbors. No one has seen or heard from Caroline since earlier in the day, and she seems to have disappeared into the air.

After a tense day of searching everywhere and asking everyone, he realizes that the clues are there, if he can only figure them out in time.
Ben embarks on a twisted Hitchcockian journey that takes him from their home in Baltimore back to Los Angeles and into the past. In order to possibly find Caroline, Ben must psychologically and physically outwit a force that he could have never even imagined. Ben finally must partake in an explosive battle to get through a dense forest and find the cabin where his wife may or may not be alive and safe.

"Caroline and I are Out" is a must-read novel that takes readers on an exciting journey of twists and turns. Bob Jefferson's masterful storytelling will keep you on edge throughout the entire book. This clever suspense novel takes you on an unforgettable journey as Ben does everything in his power to reunite with Caroline.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 3, 2021
• ISBN: 9781098373023

Book preview

Author

Monday, 4:35pm Pacific

The immense quiet disturbed him. Most times, quiet is nice, but this was the quiet that follows an explosion, a car accident, or a gunshot. It vibrated off every surface in the forest. All other noise blotted out. Heart pumping, Ben Ammerle lay in the leaves and muck at the bottom of the massive oak (Elm? Maple? Whatever…it was tall) in this dense, pristine woods, watching the log suspended above him from a thick poly rope bobble perpendicular to the tree trunk, then lazily lean over to the right. It was exquisitely rigged.

The log leaned against the tree exactly where Ben’s head had been just milliseconds ago. He could not believe he was alive, and his heart pumped harder and skipped several beats. He had been standing against the tree, trying desperately not to be hit by the next arrow flying through the forest at him. He was facing the massive tree trunk. He remembered starting to plan his next move when he heard something moving quickly through the thick leaves behind and above him. He let his legs buckle allowing his body to drop to the ground, his head clearing the tree trunk just as the suspended log made contact with it. He felt the breeze of the log brush the hairs on the top of his head, it was that close.

He tried to decide what the contact sound, log-to-tree, resembled: one SUV t-boning another? A freight train smashing into a brick wall? The crash echoed through the forest and sent dozens of birds flying in a panic of screaming and wings. It was so close, so loud, the sound travelled from the top of his head down to his feet, sending every nerve ending into a frenzy of high alert until they all hurt. He winced in pain thinking about it again. He saw that the log had cut off all the bark on the tree and left it nearly bare wood. When he thought about his head being there, he puked.

Stop thinking.

His heart skipped again. He wondered if there were something wrong with it. That would be a laugh, to die of a heart attack after all this. He checked his right tricep again, to see if the bleeding had stopped, or slowed down. He had tied a bandana around the arm to try to stanch the flow, but it was pretty soaked now. It continued to pound and burn and sent waves of pain through his whole arm. The arrow had hit low and gone right through, just to one side of one of his tattoos, thank fate. It was meant for his chest, he figured. Now he was thanking fate again. He was getting regular inputs from fate that he was supposed to live another couple of minutes, maybe even an hour.

The quiet continued. Ben had to listen hard to hear him moving around. He could be behind the next tree, or he could be a half mile away, who knows? He figured the arrow had come from about 2 o’clock, and the booby trap was probably set months ago waiting for someone to touch the right branch or push the right rock on the ground. He looked around the tree and up the hill to see the cabin. It might as well be 50 miles away for all the ground he could make without getting killed. He sighed audibly, the first sound except for birds and wind since the log smash. He wondered if Kyle heard it. He opened his mouth slightly so the air to his lungs would be silent, not making a sound as it might if he sucked it in through his nose.

The wind blew and Ben looked up to see only green. The canopy of the forest was so thick that he could only see 10 or so different shades of green leaves, whirling in the wind and slapping against one another. The blue sky peaked through every now and again, but it was strange to see so little of it. Such an odd thing, to be in this peaceful place waiting to die.

Benny! You there? the voice echoed over from the right somewhere and startled him. Yup, about 2 o’clock. How far? It sent another shot of adrenalin up his spine and his leg jerked uncontrollably, but he tried to hold it still. Stillness was his only friend right now, the only thing that might stand between him and death. If Kyle thought he were dead…

Bennn-ny… Kyle called out, slower, but definitely meant to be heard. He was closer than Ben thought, but far enough to be safe.

Ben froze even more until it hurt. He glanced down and could almost see his heart pounding under his t-shirt. He looked up the hill to the cabin. He had to get there. Everything would be OK if he could just get there. It wasn’t even that far, really, but for the parade of booby traps and Kyle’s keen eye, ears, and aim.

A squirrel ran by above about 10 feet away. The rapid movement through the thick leaf bed sent shots of adrenalin up Ben’s legs and into his chest. He thought it might be happening now, that heart attack. He willed it away. He decided he was not going to stop, not going to rest, until he got to that cabin.

He heard the arrow hissing through the air nearby. It hit the poor squirrel and Ben heard a kind of unearthly scream and then the body falling from the tree above. The carcass landed next to him and made his body levitate uncontrollably for a second, and he landed right where he had been, now next to a dead squirrel with an arrow in it, bleeding, eyes and mouth open. Like Ben’s right now.

He closed his eyes tightly and tried to drum up a prayer, a real one or anything, just to recite something in his head and settle things down before he made a break for it after playing dead for a while longer. He had been an altar boy for several years, one would think that a prayer or two would come like fog, slow but obvious.

Hail Mary

Full of grace

The lord is with thee

Blessed art thou among women

And blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus

Holy Mary, mother of God

Pray for us sinners

Now and at the hour of our…death

Amen

He wondered why he had chosen Mary to pray to at this particular moment. He thought she would be more understanding of the fact that he hadn’t prayed since…whenever. Anyway, Mary was a fitting choice: woman can do double the work in half the time. He needed his prayers answered, and answered now.

It had been so many days already, so many days since it all started. When was he driving home from work that day? Thursday? Five days. It might as well have been a year ago, the way time was slogging along. So much had passed. He was so engaged the whole time. Not a second to think or feel much. These five days were leading to right here, right now, and he looked back up the hill to the cabin. The distance didn’t seem as far now, and he rolled over onto his belly, pulled his elbows under him, then his knees, and took hold of the arrow and tossed the squirrel carcass away with something of a go to god feeling in his head.

He might as well make noise; Kyle was going to hear him now anyway. Ben was strong…he was good to do this. He painfully stood up to start the next silent leg of his journey up the hill. He had obviously created some noise doing this, and had to be ready for the next onslaught of weaponry. Run or stay?

Run.

Last Thursday, 5:35 pm Eastern

Ben held the steering wheel at the bottom. It was one of his many ways of relaxing on the agonizing drive home—and it was always agonizing at this hour. By keeping his hands and arms down, he increased the flow of blood to his fingers, leaving one less thing to think about. Efficiency is key.

Sanity came from NPR on the radio; insanity from the JFX out of downtown Baltimore to his forested burg just outside the Beltway. Crawl forward, stop, bombs in Syria. Crawl forward, stop, hurricanes (not one, but two!) forming in the Atlantic. Crawl forward, stop, a good ten minutes on the budget deficit. Well, not a good ten minutes—more like an infuriating, fear-inducing ten minutes. Even NPR couldn’t help itself sometimes. What if the budget deficit starts causing cutbacks in the medical industry? The first thing to drop would be publications, right? Downsizing at his company? Why not? He would be the first to go, right?

Stop it, right now.

Forward. Stop. NPR talks about the White House chef.

Since he was sitting in traffic with nowhere to go, Ben pulled out his cellphone and brought it to life. He touched the favorites icon and saw Caroline’s face. He smiled. He touched her face and the phone dialed Caroline’s cellphone. Ben wasn’t sure where she would be sitting right about then, either working or perhaps by this time running around with the kids, so the cellphone was the safest bet. Five long rings in, and her voicemail picked up.

Hi, it’s Caroline. I can’t come to the phone right now. Leave a message after the beep and I’ll get back to you. Beeeeep. Ben paused for a second and wondered why the voicemail, then decided to talk because you never know. Hey…I’m stuck in awesome (be positive) traffic on the JFX and I’ll be there asap. Love you.

Icon off, call ended. Puzzlement remained. She always answered her phone. He held onto it for a while longer waiting for her to call back, telling him she was out of the room and left the phone on the kitchen table or something. No call.

From National Public Radio, I’m Ann Taylor…

Hence, the news began, and Ben was not yet home. By now he was usually home or at least closer than this. He might break a record for longest homeward drive today. He let out the clutch and his 12-year-old Saab crawled forward a bit more.

NPR talked about climate change while Ben and 10,000 of his trapped fellow commuters spewed tons of carbon into the Baltimore atmosphere. If he were in a train, he would not be listening to how he was polluting and killing the Earth, and all would be right with the world. But he did love listening to All Things Considered.

Some hair fell into Ben’s face. He had always enjoyed the long hair, and pulled it off in a semi-corporate setting. He almost always tied it up or back, and his team still regarded him highly despite his mother’s constant protestations. He was self-assured with his troops at work but, anticipating a reversal of his decisions at every turn from his boss, constantly keeping his guard up and his vulnerabilities in sharp focus.

So…I’m confused, Ben…why did you put the whole team’s effort toward this research piece this week? she asked, in mock, passive-aggressive confusion when she meant to say, Ben, you’re an idiot. She bit down on one side of her lower lip and looked over her fashionable black rimmed glasses at him. She wasn’t confused at all—she had probably rehearsed this discussion twice into a mirror before summoning him in.

Ben jammed his lips together for roughly the hundredth time since taking this job (but who’s counting?) and tried to formulate a response as he stood there—not his strong suit. Ben was definitely a deer in the headlights kind of guy. Go with the truth. "Ummm…you were pretty clear at the meeting last week that you considered this research piece a priority over, well…everything else we were working on this for this month’s issue. Given that, and the fact that the team had already begun their other assignments and can easily complete them in time, I figured that we should do a full-court press against the research piece, get it out of the way, and finish up our other articles in plenty of time. Does that sound wrong to you? Now I don’t understand. Where’s the problem? Ben took the extra pleasure in stating clearly that he was the one making this decision, instead of using a passive voiced it was determined" or something as she would have certainly done in the same instance.

Sheila let out another in a long series of sighs. No, I guess what’s done is done, isn’t it? I hope you’re right about this.… The implication being that either of them (well, no, Ben) would be in serious trouble should this plan fall flat at press time, as she expected (hoped?) it would. Not having all the copy for an issue ready at press time was akin to appearing at the company holiday party naked—just not ready and everyone staring at you at once. It had only happened once in Healthcare Network Publishing’s entire history, back in 1982, and some of the old timers still talked about it.

Sheila was a puzzle to Ben. She was lively and loved to sit and chat, especially with Ben. He certainly enjoyed talking to her as well. It kept him from cranking at work, but he felt he needed to be her friend if only to shield him from storms. Sheila was well known on the local party circuit always had multiple stories to tell about last night, when all Ben could come up with was the girls’ bedtime and crashing early. Sheila was bright, but there were times when clouds appeared and all was wrong with the world. Sometimes she discussed the clouds with Ben, who was all-too well versed in her various personal situations. She was always complimentary about Ben’s work, but could hit him broadside like a Mack truck with issues he never dreamed were his problem or area.

I assure you it will all come together in time for shipping, Ben said as he turned around to leave.

Don’t forget about the O’s game…I need to know, like, today, Sheila said. She had invited Ben and Caroline to the upcoming Os game against the Yankees. He really wanted to go, but forgot about asking Caroline.

Ben walked back to his office. He stared out the window at the Inner Harbor and could almost see Camden Yards if he torqued his head enough. This made him feel good. Long hair or no, he was in an office with a window and could see some pretty cool things from it. His job was challenging in and of itself, and those challenges grew every time Sheila got involved in the process.

FLEXIBLE WHEN PRESENTED WITH INCREASINGLY DIFFICULT SITUATIONS. He remembered his last performance appraisal reading something like that. He was flexible, too. He was Gumby.

Ben continued to stare, realizing that his mind was shutting down for a brief nap. He watched the stream of traffic pour down Pratt Street, and he tried to identify vehicles, then occupants. They were too far away. As if the hypnotist snapped her fingers at him, Ben was out of it and turned around to his desk. So many piles, so little interest in them.

Hi, my love, Ben said into his cellphone.

Hi, honey! What a nice surprise! Caroline said on the other end, "It is a nice surprise, right?"

Depends on your point of view, I guess. Sheila wants to give us tickets to the O’s and Yankees this Sunday to go with her and Collin.

Really? Wow, that sounds fun, but then Ben heard the accompanying sigh, which he knew was Caroline’s instantaneous realization that they had to figure out what to do with the girls while they played around at Camden Yards. They hadn’t started running out of options yet, so there was hope. I guess I’ll call Amanda—she owes me one for a couple of weekends ago. If she’s not busy, I think we’ve got a date. Yay!

Let me know asap, though. Sheila has to go to Plan B pretty quickly if we say no, and she wants to do that today.

I wonder who Plan B is.

Oh, please do not kid yourself, Ben said, We are Plan B…maybe even Plan C. I’m sure there was someone else in the queue before us.

The magazine shipped the following week in plenty of time, and no one knew there had been a massive shifting of resources in order to get the work of 10 done by a team of 4. At the next editorial board meeting, Jonathan, the publisher, used his opening remarks to commend Sheila for her foresight in shifting team resources to the research piece and still getting everything done in time. Everyone at the table clapped politely as she beamed in a way that said oh, no, please… but oh, yes in the same moment. Ben clapped lightly as well, but he was unable to fully conceal his shock and annoyance. He ultimately had to look around the room rather than at Sheila directly, and then he settled on Jonathan, so proud that he had made the right decision in promoting Sheila over many other candidates for the Executive Editor’s position, including Ben. He was under the rock again, where precious little light or information passed.

Ben thought about that as he let out his old Saab’s clutch for perhaps the 500th time this trip and lurched forward somewhat. He wasn’t using enough gas, and he gave himself a mental kick in the ass for it. Pay attention to the driving, he said to himself. Pay attention…

Then he had the bad thought.

Did he force the bad thought, or did it come all by itself? Ben made himself have it every now and then, but sometimes it appeared like curdled milk in coffee, swirling around as you wonder whether or not to throw it all out and start over. It was a hideous thought he never divulged to anyone, not even his closest friends or, even worse, to Caroline. It all started years ago when they first moved to Baltimore from LA. He saw a news report on TV about a local Baltimore County woman and her two kids whose sport utility was rammed from behind by a tractor trailer with failed brakes. Her husband was left either alone or with one small child to raise (Ben couldn’t remember which, and either way it didn’t matter because it was so wrenching). As usual, they propped the guy up on TV, on the verge of tears. All he could say was, I can’t believe this happened. I never thought in million years that something like this could happen. The guy blubbered, and Ben was pissed that the TV news had to focus a laser on this poor guy at the worst possible moment in his life, for chrissake.

Ben couldn’t stop thinking about that image and those words. I never thought in a million years that something like this could happen. He heard that sentiment just about every time something horribly sick happened; no one ever anticipated it. Ben began to think that this lack of advance mental preparation was partly responsible for the unanticipated event. His logic took him straight down the road to…preparedness.

Without even consciously trying, Ben would find himself thinking about the unthinkable. Caroline and the kids in a fatal car accident. Caroline and the kids in a store when it’s held up and everyone inside is shot to death. Sometimes Caroline was alone or with just one kid when these horrific things happened, but the devastating outcome was always the same—Ben would be left alone and afraid, virtually unable to cope with a normal life again. He was comforted only by the thought that once he revived from this sick reverie, everything was relatively perfect. It was the best and cheapest insurance policy in the world. His family was healthy and happy, and he had tricked fate by thinking the worst so that the worst would never happen to them. It was taxing on his psyche, but well worth the effort every time he got home and saw their smiling faces…well, even their not-so-smiling faces…whatever. In his own way, he was periodically saving his wife and children from the outside world, and what better thing could a father do?

Still, it was a little sick. He wondered how it would play out in the wild if it ever did get out. He could imagine Ira Glass doing a whole This American Life segment about him.

This is Ira Glass, with This American Life. Ben Ammerle is a loving husband and father. Except when he isn’t. He and his family live in the Baltimore area, and almost on a weekly basis, Ben plans the violent end of one member or all of his family. That’s right, he imagines shootings, massive car accidents, and conflagrations in which his wife, Caroline, and one or more of their two girls, Katie and Blythe, die. He says he does this in order to remove the possibility of any of this actually happening. We’ll talk more about this line of logic, after the news.

Forget it. It’ll never happen. He would never even tell Bucky about this, and Bucky is his best friend in Maryland. Home, he just wanted to get home. Crawl forward. Stop.

Ben thought it would be safer to call Caroline and see how she was, to make sure she was home and safe and all was relatively well. He pulled out his cellphone touched her face again.

Thoughts of getting home always made Ben feel good, much like the breathing thing. Blythe would scream something unintelligible and wrap her arms around his legs while Katie bounded up to him shouting Daddy! Daddy! as she leapt up into his arms, just missing her sister’s head (sometimes). After a few minutes of revelrous leg squeezing and ponytail pulling, the kids calmed down and returned to whatever it was they were doing when he walked in--Spongebob, coloring, the computer, the dollhouse, or all of the above.

Then it was Caroline’s turn. You’d be proud of me--two hours today. She was talking about working in their spare office-cum-guest room. Caroline kept the books for several small businesses in town that couldn’t afford a full time accountant but didn’t mind shelling out whatever ridiculous hourly rate she was charging. That rate got considerably less ridiculous after taxes, but it did help keep their heads above water. I’m proud of you every day, he said.

Oh! Caroline would say as if she had just thought of something. She smiled and laid her lips on Ben’s, most times putting her hands on the back of his neck, over the hair. He took her waist in his hands, and started to feel that sensation drop through his gut to its inevitable end.

He pulled her closer.

Mommy! Katie yelled from the other room.

As always, sensation gone, reality back. Caroline would always smile that smile that said not with kids around, honey. Dinner’s ready, she’d say as she walked away.

So many evenings such as this, so warm and enveloping. Other evenings, problems poked their snakelike heads into their cozy home and bit hard.

Ben opened the door one evening without the familiar kid screams rushing at him as he stepped inside. With one light on in the living room, the house was winter dark and his eyes had to adjust in order to see. He stuck his head around the wall that separated the hall from the kitchen, and Caroline was sitting with her back to him and her head down on a pile of papers.

Hello? Ben said, wondering if she were asleep perhaps.

Hello… Caroline returned, not moving her head or arms. Ben wondered if she was crying, but her voice was flat and listless.

He tentatively stepped over to her and carefully laid a hand on her back. She did not move a muscle, as if all the energy was drained out of her body and she couldn’t even respond to his touch. He was trying to decide whether or not to talk again, but moved his hand around instead.

I just can’t stand it anymore, Caroline finally said, and now he could hear the tears welling up in her voice. He leaned over to see her eyes, and they were welling too.

What? Ben asked, inserting as much concern into his voice as possible, considering he had no idea what was wrong.

Every month, it’s the same thing, she said. I’m a month behind in pre-school tuition and now I’m going to be two months behind. We’re late with the Visa payment…again. I thought I was going to be able to catch up this month with that extra check from Mr. Saunderson, but it’s gone already. We have a week to go until you get another paycheck, and I’m afraid we’re going to go under in the checking account.

Ben let out a sigh, and knew he could never think of anything to get over this right now. She was inconsolable at this point, and he would have to wait until the right moment to speak or say anything about money.

What?? She said, exasperated.

What do you mean? he asked.

Nothing? No response? We’re sinking financially and you can’t think of anything to say?

Yes, but I know you’re not going to like it, so I stand here, silently, rubbing your back and waiting for the right moment to speak. I haven’t felt the moment yet.

She moved sideways to get his hand off her back, Well, please stop the rubbing, it’s annoying right now.

He moved away and took off his coat. He quietly sat down on the chair next to hers so they were finally face to face again. I know we’re going to get through this. We have before and we will again. I’m just as frustrated about our financial state as you are, but you’re upset enough for both of us, and I feel like we need to take a breath, step back, and plan how not to let this happen.

She smiled her most sarcastic smile. Gee, honey, I feel so much better. Suddenly, my money worries have melted away. Let’s work on my mothering skills now—I was so frantic about money that I yelled at the girls for no good reason. They were driving me crazy with their fighting and I just exploded and sent them upstairs and told them not to say another word. Since then, I’ve been sitting here, sinking.

"You’re a great mother, he said, adding emphasis. You’re the best. What’s wrong with exposing your frustrated self now and again? You’re human. They should see that once in a while, for chrissake."

Thanks, honey. Caroline said with a slight smile and without much emotion, but heading in the right direction. She touched his face. Ben now started feeling the full effect of the financial meltdown that brought this on. He forced down the feeling of vomit and for the millionth time started thinking about what he could do to bring in more cash. He thought about bartending, as he always did at times like these.

He must have had that look on his face again, because his reverie was broken by Caroline kissing him on the lips. You’re sweet to be freaking out about this in your own, silent way, she said. And no, I don’t think it’s a good idea to get a bartending job.

Why not? he asked, slightly indignant because he thought it might be a good idea, sort of.

Because we want you here at night, she said, The girls miss you when you’re gone and, you know, me too. And then there’s all those women who like to hook up with bartenders. She winked, got up, and started for the stairs.

What women? Did you hook up with bartenders? he asked, smiling.

Only one, she said, smiling back at him and motioning him to follow her upstairs to do damage control with the kids.

Yeah, but he wasn’t a bartender when you met him. You never saw him in action, Ben said.

Caroline looked back as she stepped up, You know what I always say, once a bartender, always a bartender.

"When have you ever said that?" he asked, following her.

They walked upstairs, flicking on lights as they went. The lights going on were hopeful, pushing away the dark and signaling that everything was going to be all right for them. If they worked at it, perhaps it would be.

OK, I see how this is going to go, Caroline whispered. Don’t jump in there and play good cop. I’ve got this.

Thursday, 6:20 pm Eastern

Ben drove slowly into his court. He got close to his house, and there was Caroline’s car parked right out front. That was a comforting sight like no other. The front door was shut, which was odd for this time of day when it was sunny and warm. Usually she left it open so the kids could see him drive in.

Ben parked next to Caroline’s car and sat for a second. Complete quiet. He often gave himself this minute-long quiet time before walking into the house and starting the frenzy of kids and dinner and playing and baths and bed and collapsing amid iPads and phones. He blinked. Just a minute more...

The door is shut. The door is shut?

They must be downstairs watching a movie. On a sunny day like this? No way. Ahh…They’re at the park? Thus, he was unsurprised when he walked into silence, making the required amount of noise so he wouldn’t scare anyone in case they were there.

He-ey! he yelled in a sing-song in no particular direction. Silence. The mail dish was empty, so Ben had the privilege of getting the mail today. He saw the light on the answering machine blinking one message and tripped the lever to hear it. He wondered