As Keaton played, her mother noticed the breeze attempting to ruffle the edges of the blanket. She removed her shoes, placing one on each corner. She set the small cooler on the third corner and the backpack upon the fourth, believing that if she lay down, Keaton would still be viewable to her.

Turning the backpack so the metal zippers didn't irritate the back of her head, she concentrated on making herself comfortable. She watched the girl, who had discarded her sandals in order to bury her feet underneath the cool sand. The mother smiled and considered calling out, but decided not to disturb her child's play. After a few minutes, the urge to close her eyes came upon her and she began to drift off.

I watched as the mother's eyes shut, oblivious to my presence on a nearby bench, newspaper in hand. From my vantage point I enjoyed a clear view of both the daughter and the mother. I waited and watched to see if the mother's doze would continue before deciding to move toward Keaton. I had to consider the route I would take back to my car, which was two hundred yards behind me. I turned in my seat, noticing three other vehicles in the same lot, and presumed that whoever owned them were exploring other sections of the park.

I stood and walked down the path until I could see the parking lot where Keaton and her mother had entered. There I saw their Escort parked near the curb, along side two additional cars occupied by more women with children I assumed these new visitors would be occupying the playground, and I knew I would have to make my move immediately or I would have to return another day.

I crossed between two shrubberies parallel to the playground, walking closer to the sleeping woman. I stood behind her, observing the slowness of her breathing, and felt it was safe for me to continue. As I changed the angle of my direction and moved toward the sandbox, my mind calmly worked through the details. My plan was to pick up the little girl and walk away with her to my car. Except it was never that simple. Children can make quite a commotion, and I had to consider the noise factor. In a situation such as this, they often scream, and one must take precautions. I glanced back over at the woman, who showed no sign of being aware that I was approaching her child. Alert to the fact that the slightest sound might wake her, I knew the deed must be instantaneous.

I silently moved behind Keaton without the slightest pause, and bending over, I placed my left hand around her neck. My hold was firm, but not uncomfortably tight. For a second she probably thought I was her mother, because her first reaction was to look up at me and smile. As our eyes locked, I saw the sparkle quickly disappear and her mouth open in alarm.

I smiled down on her and said, "Just be good." I lodged my right hand inside her mouth. It was something I learned from Boy Scouts first aid training: a person unable to breathe can not speak. In this situation it prevented the child from warning her mother. Her tiny mouth circled the edge of my hand. I watched her eyes widen in fright as she struggled for air. Her fingers instinctively worked at prying my hand away. I lifted her up to me and I felt her baby teeth sink into my knuckles as I brought her to my chest. Working to sustain my hold, I shoved my hand even deeper. I pulled her tight against me as I continued to walk away from the mother and through the hedges, into the parking lot. Upon feeling her struggles subsiding, I was able to remove my hand. This allowed me to reposition her against my shoulder, as any father might do while carry his sleeping child.

Digging the car keys out of my pocket, I unlocked the door, and seated myself behind the steering wheel. I placed Keaton onto the passenger seat, which I earlier placed into a reclining position. I started the engine and turned on the air conditioner just as the child began to awaken. I had been worried that my method of silencing her might have also stopped her breathing, and I'd be forced to dispose of her.

She reacted as expected, bellowing, "Mama! Mama!"

Placing my thumb and forefinger on each cheek and squeezing hard, I forced her upper and low jaws open. I turned the knob on my glove compartment with my other hand and extracted a baby bottle containing 20 ounces of cherry flavored Nyquil.

"Swallow it, you little fuck!" I said, forcing the nipple between her lips.

Her limbs thrashed outward in a feeble attempt to stop me as I pressed my weight against her, holding the bottle in place. The container emptied quickly, the syrup streaming from he corners of her mouth, across her lips and down her chin.

"Yes, that's it Keaton, such a good girl," I told her.

She peered up at me with glassy eyes as she finished her feeding. Feeling less resistance, I let go of her. I placed mouth close to her ear and whispered softly; "It's okay, momma's coming, Keaton, Just be good."

I hoped to somehow silence any future commotion, believing that the Nyquil would shortly knock her out. For a moment she was still, but as I sat up I saw her face had gone pale and she showed signs of being sick. The god damn kid was about to puke in my car!

I looked into the back seat in search of some sort of container to catch the vomit, but I never eat or drink while driving, and I never dispose of garbage inside my car. My only hope was to fetch a bag from the trunk. I always kept a supply of lawn bags in there. I got out and rushed behind the Nova, watching for bystanders. I found the box and took out several bags, then hurried back to Keaton. I sat next to her, and as I placed the opening of the bag at her mouth she released most of the medicine, along with bits of a grilled cheese sandwich and three Oreo cookies. I had to clean up the mess and stow the child in a timely manner, so I unbuttoned her suspenders and pulled off her shorts, trying to soak up some of the mess. Lying back on the seat, she began crying again. I grabbed the bottom of her shirt and began to pull it up over her head. Ripping it into two pieces, I stuffed one of the halves into her mouth.

From behind the passenger seat I brought out a roll of all-purpose duct tape and, after securing her mouth, I wrapped it several times around her head, and then bound her hands and legs. With what remained of her shirt I tried to clean up the rest of her mess, but decided it would have to wait until later. I scanned the parking lot again, ensuring none of my activity had been observed, and then crawled into the back seat. I had found that transporting restrained individuals was always best done via the trunk.

Sitting behind the driver's seat, I placed both hands upon the back of the cushion directly to the rear of the girl. I pulled it forward, revealing a modification I had created, allowing me to load my trunk without getting out of the car. I reached forward, lifted her limp body, and carefully slid her into the dark confines of the trunk, then placed the rear seat back to its normal position. As I did so, I whispered once again: "Be good, Keaton, just be good."