Perfect Weather For a Kidnapping

 Fear is a neccessary and important emotion; a great motivator. / Courage is not the absence of fear, but our ability to act in the face of it.

Do you know how it feels when a new baby is born into the family and that first time you lay eyes on them (especially if it is your child or your new baby sibling)? That's how I looked at Scott when I first saw him...even though he was 13.
He was young, hyper, and simple. Now he's old, hyper, and simple. I digress. I recall the exact moment I saw him. After Joseph had found me, my mom allowed him to stay for the week. There was some discussion I'm sure and much to my adopted mom's (a-mom) concern, she allowed a few of the family members to come see me, including my brother Scott. They were scheduled to come on Joe's last day there and pick him up (his ride had to return home). The only condition was that we had to meet somewhere else other than my house. I could not begin to tell you why. There are a million reasons I could think of that could have been my a-mom's and I'll probably never know.
Anyway, we went to my Aunt Pam's (read the previous posts). Her house sat on a small hill. A car pulled up and my bio-aunt Robin, my bio-grandmother, and my bio-little brother got out. My brain had not caught up to everything, but I saw him and felt a feeling I had never had; the feeling of being someone's big brother.
I had a cousin who was practically my best friend. He was younger than me, but to actually HAVE these people. Scott has never talked to me about that day; what he was thinking, if he was nervous, etc.
For a moment, I felt joy.
I had this older brother who dreamed of finding me for almost 15 years. I had a younger brother to be protective of. Joe, Scott, and I were finally together.  It was strange for me to think of people I didn't know out there loving me, missing me, wanting me around. We all talked, but my memory of what is foggy. I think that my b-aunt Robin went and talked with my mom or dad...Foggy. They weren't there very long before it was time for them to leave. I, of course, got teary-eyed as I watched them load into the car.
Scott had a trapper keeper with him and as he was getting in the car, it opened and several paper clips fell to the ground. I helped him gather them up, secretly tucking one into my pocket. In my heart, I was freaking out that Joe and Scott were leaving. It was not enough time...not near enough.
Fast forward; my a-mom has passed away. I've kept in constant contact with my brothers and talked with a lot of family. One main element they expressed was that the sweet old lady that got out of the car at my a-aunt's home (the one called "BJ", my b-grandmother) was a violent and mean woman who would as soon shoot you than to say hello. She was horribly racist, had viciously beat all of her own children, and continued with Scott. I even saw a picture of Scott as a toddler, his face all bruised up. I have no proof the marks were her doing. Still... I cried so hard and so much. I had had some physical altercations with my a-mom, but never seen anything to that extreme.
These stories and images, especially the ones concerning my little brother, incubated in my mind. I was a little angry that no one had stopped her from doing that to him (I don't know if they did or not, but it is what I thought). I was fearful of her.
One time, when spending the night at her house, Scott and I started talking about mom. He told me that there was a trunk of her things locked in his closet. He said he had never looked inside and that he thought (among many things) the clothes our mom was murdered in were in there. BJ was in bed, we thought. The house was quiet. I asked Scott if he was sure we would be okay. Keep in mind we were young, curious, and dealing.
Scott pushed his bed against the door to keep her from surprising us. Then we got into the closet. We took a deep breath, staring at the trunk. Getting it open proved to be easy. On top were pictures, a letter...nothing special. So close to going further, and then...*knock knock knock*  "Scott! Why is this door locked? What are you doing?"  Her voice was no longer sweet and elderly. It was heavy and forceful.  She began to cuss as we scurried to put everything back in its place.
It was too late.
This woman was strong enough to push our baracade free. She stormed in and started yelling! If you've been reading my other posts, you'll know that I was a timid kid afraid of my own shadow. My heart was racing and I was almost in tears...that is, until she balled up her fist and started punching him in the back as he fell into a protective ball. I snapped...
I pushed myself between them and began shouting at her. "Look old woman! If you put your hands on him again, I swear to GOD you're gonna regret it!"  I must have been huffing like an angry bull, my hand now a fist. I was either going to pass out or knock her out. Never in my life had I been in this position.  She started yelling at me again and telling me to get out. 
"Scott, come on!"  I know she wanted to say something else; to tell Scott he wasn't going anywhere. But that wasn't an option. I stared her down, staying in between her and Scott until he was out of the room.
He had to go back later that night after things had calmed down, but I had decided he couldn't stay there.
It's a blur between that moment and the day our plan (Joe, me, Scott) went into action. I had obviously cleared it with my a-dad, for Scott to come stay with us. This preacher that Joe knew, and at the time I trusted, agreed to be our get-away driver. In the middle of the night, through Scott's bedroom window, he made his escape. We were so quiet.
It was at least an hour drive to Teague, Tx. The preacher didn't ask for money or anything. He drove us to my childhood home. Joe, Scott, and I were living together...as brothers...and I had committed my first criminal act. Yep, we were together, but you know this "curse" was not about to let that last.