It was a beautiful early autumn Saturday afternoon. At the time we lived in a small town with a population of about 1,200 people, right outside of Jonesboro, Arkansas. Most folks that lived there was born there, grew up there, and raised their children there. They are God fearing family people that loved going to Friday night football games, Saturday night drag races at the track outside of town, and Sunday afternoon picnics with family and friends at the park just down the street from the high school. Violent crimes were unheard of. These things happened in those big cities like New York and Los Angelas. You know the type of town ....... deep in the heartland of America, just like Andy Griffith's 'Mayberry', where everybody knows everybody, and if you don't, it won't be long until you do.

Our peaceful little town was abruptly invaded around 2:00 on this Saturday afternoon. I received a call from my mother, telling me through her tears, that my niece, Danielle, was gone. Gone? What did she mean, gone? First of all, the fear……... Was she dead?  My brief denial slipped away as my stomach dropped to my feet.  I knew something terrible had happened because things had been building up for awhile.

Danielle and my daughter, Cara, are only six months apart in age and are more like sisters than cousins.  They shared the same class at school, they were close and we lived only four miles apart so Danielle was frequently at our house. I was the one she and her siblings called whenever their mother wasn’t around and they needed protection or to get away.

Danielle’s mother (my sister, Michelle) and I were always close. That is, until she married John.  Although the family thanked God when they married, John seemed to resent anyone close to Michelle.   She had been a single mom for eleven years and we believed prayers were being answered.  God had sent Michelle someone to be a father to the children and to love her. When Michelle’s oldest daughter was still in diapers and she was six months pregnant with Danielle, her husband (the father of the children) walked out and slipped into several years of drug addiction. 

My sister, Michelle, was only sixteen when they got married, she dropped out of school and lacked the skills and education to provide for and raise the children alone, so our mother moved in to help raise the children.  Money was short, but love was in abundance; especially the love of God. Prayer and faith were the main substance of coping.

  John and Michelle falling in love and getting married was a manifestation of that faith, or, so we thought. Within a few months of them getting married we soon realized that many more prayers would be needed. John suffered from bi-polar/manic depression and he hated the side effects from his medication – and didn’t have insurance to help pay for it most of the time – so, he refused to take it. This frequently put John into the manic phase of his disease and he struggled to cope with his internal torment. Years before, he had found something he liked and thought he could afford…alcohol. John frequently turned to alcohol for relief.  What was left of his nice side was soon overshadowed by a very dark alcoholic, abusive side.  He managed to mask this from my sister for awhile; despite her children’s pleas she was temporarily blind to their bruises, both emotional and physical. Eventually my niece, Danielle, gave up turning to her mother and reached out to others.  She was a prime candidate for the predator that was searching for a young, innocent, and vulnerable virgin to play out his sordid adult game with.

The “game” began when Danielle was just 12 years old.  She was on the Internet, searching for someone, anyone, to listen and to connect with.  On the other side of the Internet, Vincent, was glad to oblige. When they first met, Vincent told her he was a teenager and so he quickly became her best friend. After a few months, he admitted to being older (around 30), but Danielle didn’t care. He promised to always love her and take care of her. Since Danielle yearned for this type of love and was desperately seeking a way to stop the domestic violence and abuse, she believed Vincent. At the age of 13, she believed he would fulfill his promise of getting an apartment for her and buying her a car. This was her perfect escape. The same innocence that made her the prey Vincent was looking for, also kept her from taking notice of the comments about her body and understanding the adult rules to the game.  These “rules” lead Danielle into a terror filled world that only the Grace of God was able to rescue her from.

On that fateful afternoon in September, life was going on as normal when the predator came to our world and snatched up his prey.  As soon as I heard the news, I raced from home to our small town police department, praying all the way, begging God to protect Danielle.  When we notified the local police, Chief Franks told us that since Danielle was over thirteen, it was not mandatory for something called an “Amber Alert” to be issued.  I wondered since when does being thirteen remove childhood? Chief Franks went on to explain that, with the circumstances in the home, he wasn’t convinced Danielle was not a run-a-way. Then the glitch; police don’t search for run-a-ways.  Oh, My God!  Our baby was gone and no-one was going to help us find her. 

We didn’t wait; the family went into action.  My daughter, Cara confessed everything Danielle had told her in confidence about Vincent, and Danielle’s sister went on line (she knew her sisters password) and retrieved the profile of Vincent. My brother, Sam, is a computer engineer, he researched the on line name we found with the profile.  When I saw Vincent’s picture, the intensity of my prayers increased. He looked like he was around 60 years old, posed in boxer shorts with a robe held wide open to expose his body. Any adult knew this was an insinuating sexual pose, but Danielle was too naive to understand.  Not only was this man old enough to be her grandfather, he was giving a message that an innocent, young girl might not understand. But, I understood and prayed harder that God would protect our Danielle. 

After talking to some neighbors and learning that a couple kids in the town park had heard Danielle arguing with a man that fit Vincent’s description and then heard the car speeding away, the family knew that she was not a run-a-way.

We had to convince the police that Danielle was abducted.  Our break came when we found her back pack in her room.  The backpack was filled with things a kid would take on a trip, including her allowance savings. IF Danielle had planned on running away, why didn’t she take this with her?  Michelle would never have questioned Danielle taking her backpack because Danielle often took it with her.  As a social worker, I had a professional working relationship with police Chief Franks, so I called him up.

To add to my fear and frustration, my emotions turned to anger.  I asked Chief Black what we had to do to get help finding Danielle and he, again, explained that she had to be listed as abducted.  I lost it! After listening to an emotionally frantic female for several minutes, Chief Franks relented and agreed to call the state police. If the state police agreed it was abduction, then they could call the FBI and request help searching for the missing child.  On the second day that Danielle was missing, the state police classified her as being abducted.  The television and radio stations broadcast the story and agreed to air the amber alert as well as a hot line number for sighting reports. Hundreds of tips came in. One was solid enough that the State Police investigated it, thinking that they were on the track to rescue Danielle.  Chief Franks came to tell the family and we waited, praying, with baited breath for the police to rescue Danielle from her captor.  It was a mistaken identity. As the calls kept coming in, they reported sightings of Danielle in numerous different places at the same time. The police had no idea where to look for her.

Three days now. No phone call –nothing from Danielle.  It was as if she was dead. We are told that the first few hours are crucial after a child is abducted and those hours were burned away trying to convince the police this WAS abduction. Everything seemed against us, and our chances were becoming very slim for finding Danielle. We looked to God as our hope; we prayed hard to find her alive and well.  The family found solace knowing God has the power to lead us in the right direction.  The National Center for Missing and Exploited Children called and offered to help get fliers circulated. 

My brother Sam continued researching her captor’s on line activities, and had already learned some very disturbing things about him. Sam investigated it from the point of view of a predator and the least of what he learned was that Danielle’s captor was into sordid adult sex games with children. Chief Franks went through a transformation, after knowing a predator had taken a child from his town, and became a workaholic whom refused to rest until they had a lead on Danielle. Working with severe sleep deprivation, Chief Franks came to inform the family of the awful news. As we gathered together and the Chief respectfully took off his hat and began talking in a soft voice, I felt horror and grief.

Chief Franks explained that the police didn’t know who had taken Danielle. All they found out was Danielle’s predator had numerous aliases - all of which were from different states with criminal histories “as long as his leg”. Frankly, the police didn’t know who he was or which direction to look. It appeared that all of the aliases were from the south east region of the US, so the FBI was concentrating on that area.  I told Chief Franks that my brother had learned the predator –whatever his real name might be -was involved with numerous sex clubs, one of which was for child and teen porn, and he had numerous foreign contacts. Chief Franks agreed to pass the information along to the other police forces involved with finding Danielle. As the Chief left, he promised to keep the family updated on anything they learned. He went on to caution us that the more time that passed, the less our chances were of finding her alive and well.

Danielle had been missing for four days.  The family was taking turns staying by the phone, hoping that Danielle could somehow escape her captor and call home.  Nothing, yet.  We were told that it could take months, even years to find Danielle; IF she was ever found.  We were told to go back to our life, “as normal”. Those of us who were employed went back to work. Or, at least we tried to.

The despair was overtaking me and I often had to find a quiet spot to cry and beg God to please lead the FBI into Danielle’s path.  All this in the shadow of the disaster of 9-11.  Maybe, somehow with the planes grounded, the high level of security now in America and with God’s help, Danielle could somehow be found before it was too late.  The thought of what this man was likely doing to our baby was overwhelming; I turned to God with my helplessness and pleas.  I was able to find some peace and hope knowing the community already had a prayer vigil service for her and many people remained in constant prayer.

Five days had now passed. It seemed like forever.  By this time, the family was exhausted. I found myself falling to my knees – spiritually and emotionally- more often than I was standing.  The Chief had stopped coming by and the hot line was practically dead. I had resigned myself that Danielle may not be found, so I turned my prayers in the direction of begging God to not let her suffer too much.

On the sixth day of Danielle missing, I was cooking dinner for my family when I received the call from my mother.  I could barely understand her, past the crying and utterance of “Praise God, Becky!” OK, Mom, what am I praising Him for?  She explained that the FBI received a tip from someone in North Carolina whom believed they recognized Vincent. This time, the tip was good and the FBI was able to orchestrate Danielle’s rescue. We were truly blessed by the miracle of her being rescued and returned home; prayers had been answered and she was alive!

After Danielle returned home, we learned she had been apprehensive about Vincent and didn’t want to leave with him on that fateful September afternoon, but was coerced into it. He, of course, didn’t fulfill his promise of returning her home and shortly after she was his captive, the real game filled with abuse began. During the six days she was his captive, the only food and drink she was allowed was bread and water while he repeatedly raped and assaulted her –physically, emotionally, and mentally.

Two years later, on her fifteenth birthday, a brave Danielle sat in a court room and testified against her predator.  The FBI had discovered evidence that indicated Danielle’s predator was involved with an organized pedophile ring. The after effect of 9-11, with limited public transportation and security, may in fact have kept Danielle within the United States.– Vincent and his buddies didn’t have the transportation means to get her out of the country. The DA prosecuting the case decided that, since Vincent was already 60 years old, the conviction of crimes against Danielle would put him away long enough, so they concentrated on this.

They were right. The jury found Vincent guilty and sentenced him to serve a minimum of 68 years in prison; a life sentence for him.  He would never be free to hunt young prey again.  However, Danielle was also given a life sentence of trauma and healing because of his sick adult game.  

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My name is Danielle Blair. I am now 24 years old. 11 years ago my life felt like a living hell, but it was nothing compared to what I experienced during my thirteenth year of life when I became the survivor of this story.  After I returned home, almost two years passed and I was trying to get back to some kind of normal, even planned on going to a rock concert on my fifteenth birthday. Instead I ended up spending, my birthday and several more days, testifying against Vincent; this was the hardest thing I have ever done. I hated Vincent, yet I also felt a bond – at the time what I thought was “love”- for him. I realize now that he did such a good job seducing me that – nearly two years after my rescue- I was still confused. I knew he had hurt me, but when he wasn’t abusing me, he had this way of making me feel very special and cared for. Since I have grown older, more memories (I believe he was drugging me during my captivity) are surfacing and I have a much better understanding of the horror I experienced as a young girl.  By telling my story, my hope is that I can stop this from happening to other kids.