The Sacrifice

by Sandy J Hartwick

  Cami now had a sliver of resistance to offer the enemy. Perhaps between the tools in her pockets and the ones in the diaper bag she could fight a little. She closed her eyes and began to pray.

  He secured the secret panel and shelves in the maintenance room. He wanted to leave the priest’s bag, as it was making him nauseated. No doubt it was filled with goodies that dropped people like him to their knees. He left it and followed the priest out the door and into the office area. He could see the surprise on Billy’s face. “Billy, bring some handcuffs from the security office.” He saw his hesitation. “Now!”

  Billy nodded and trotted down the hall. He was back in seconds and handed them to him. “Thank you. Now, there is a bag belonging to this ‘priest’ in the maintenance room. Take it to the security office and go through it—make a list of the items—and see if you can find out any more about our burglar.”

  “Yes, sir.” Again he hesitated for a second, then left.

  “To the elevators, Father Bob.” He gestured with the gun.

  The priest regained his color as they entered the elevator. He had stopped trembling. But now Taylor felt very ill. He thought leaving the bag would help, but it must have been the aura from the priest that was getting to him. The close quarters of the elevator made it worse. Perhaps the priest was praying silently. “Don’t you wonder where we are going, priest?”

  “I saw you push the basement button—I can only assume we are going down—to hell.”

  He laughed. “How astute of you! But you know, ‘Father Bob,’ that one man’s hell is another’s paradise. I am taking you to meet some very special friends of mine.”

  The priest remained silent, but Taylor thought the man looked a little less sure of himself.

  The elevator beeped and the doors opened; the basement before them was only lit by the safety lights, and the smell of the aquarium met them. He imagined how creepy it might seem to the uninitiated.

  “Last stop.” He again gestured with the gun and followed the priest out. Even though he liked the darkness, he switched on the overheads so the priest could get an eyeful.

  “Come on over to the glass. I want you to see my babies.” The priest, curious now, looked into the tank’s window. On cue a dark shape swam by.

  Father Bob staggered backwards. “Bulls,” he gasped.

  “Very good!” He could not keep the surprise and approval out of his voice. “I would have to say you are the first of their dinner guests that even knew their breed. That was Hecate, the female. Charon, the male, should be by any second.” A dark shape passed by before he finished his sentence. “They’re very hungry. It has been several weeks since they’ve had anyone to dinner.”

  The priest seemed to have shrunk now that he knew his fate. “You named them after the Greek ferryman of Hades and the Goddess of the Underworld.”

  “You have some knowledge of ancient Greece, I take it? Interesting. Unfortunately, I don’t think it will make much difference to the sharks.”

  “I went to Greece once, a side trip on a tour of the Holy Land.”

  “Well, at least you got to see some of the world before you died. Now climb!” He had walked the priest to the ladder on the twin tank adjoining the shark pool. It was only twenty feet high, and he followed the priest up and over. If the priest was going to try anything, now would be the time, but the priest climbed up, over and down into the dry tank, obedient as a lamb.

  “Your wrist, Father Bob.” The priest held out his left hand and he quickly put the gun in his waistband and shackled the old man’s wrist to the ladder at waist height. He stood back and surveyed the priest. “No struggle? No fight? After all you went through to get here you are going to die without trying to escape?”

  The priest smiled at him, and although he wasn’t the one shackled to the bottom of a shark tank he felt a ripple of fear and stepped backwards. The priest said nothing. Taylor’s face flushed with anger. “Today at a special memorial for Ash you will be the guest of honor. I will press a button at the beginning of the memorial and the wall separating the two tanks will slowly begin to lower and water will spill into this tank. When the water in this tank has reached your neck or so, Charon and Hecate will cross the wall and come over to meet you. Remember, they haven’t eaten for a couple of weeks. They won’t be shy.”

  The priest remained silent and stared at him. There was no begging or crying like most of the people he had dealt with, only the somber little stare. The priest had a determination he didn’t like and something else. Hope perhaps? How the priest hoped to get out of this was difficult to imagine.

  “See you at dinnertime, priest.” He climbed the ladder and stalked out of the basement and switched off the overheads. Let him sit in the gloom and think about his end. The niggling in his mind had quieted, but he felt unsettled—something still was not right. The elevator doors closed. He would talk to Billy—maybe the priest’s bag had revealed something.

  Billy was having some second thoughts about his job at the casino. It was cool to drive the limo, pack a gun and rub elbows with celebrities, even in his capacity as paid servant, but now he wondered what he was doing. He was a fallen away Catholic, a college dropout moved far from his family in New Jersey. Here in Las Vegas he was beyond his parents’ disappointment and living a new life. But as he went through the priest’s bag and listed the items he could not help wondering what Uncle was doing to the priest, what was in the basement and his place in all of it. He had heard there were sharks in the basement, which he believed was a bunch of crap, but now he wondered what was down there. If his boss did murder the man did that not make him accessory to the crime?

  He looked at the big silver gun. It was quite a weapon and would make a good hole in its target. Would a priest carry such a weapon? He also wondered about the other things in the bag—salt, water, candles, matches, a Bible and a book of prayers. It looked like the priest was ready for an exorcism, not a burglary. It didn’t make sense. And why was the man in the maintenance room? And how come it had taken his boss so long to bring him out? And hadn’t he heard something just before the two men came out? A sliding sound? A latching sound? There was more to all of this, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the whole story. It seemed he was at a crossroads—to know more was to become mired in his job at the casino forever. Forever or until he died. Billy did not consider himself religious, but he did believe in God and he didn’t consider himself to be a good or bad person, just an average Joe making a living at a job that was kind of cool. But now it seemed to him that it was urgent, that soon—today—he would have to make a decision on which direction he was going. Somehow, he knew that Uncle had not killed the man—yet—and that if the priest was to survive it would be up to him. At the very bottom of the bag Billy found the priest’s cell phone. Billy quickly turned the phone to vibrate and slipped it into his jacket pocket as he heard the elevator doors open.

  Chapter 50

  Susan flew onward, the Grand eating the miles between the little shit town of Sweetwater and Vegas. The machine was a joy to pilot and Susan appreciated this—she was operating on will now. Sweat trickled down her spine as she forced herself to concentrate on staying conscious; holding herself in this stiff, upright position was tiring, and the fact that she was in excellent physical condition was the only thing that kept her from toppling over. The woman and baby were silent and though Susan worried that she had not checked on them (she didn’t dare try to turn her neck) she felt that the woman was a breeder and not capable of fighting back. If she was a fighter would she have allowed herself to be taken? Still, with so many things gone wrong, it wouldn’t hurt to take extra precautions with these two.

  She decided to land somewhere to take a break—just a half an hour to lay flat and rest. She was almost halfway home and there was no way she could make it to Ash’s memorial anyway. It was taking every bit of will to pilot and stay conscious, and she knew she had to stop. Just a short break and then she was sure she could make it home. Just
a flat opening in the brush was all she needed, far off and in the middle of nowhere. She could land, rest and then get home with her prize. What her uncle would think and how badly she was hurt seemed small now. But to hurt the cowboy and regain her good name by returning with her revenge/prey was all she had left and all she could think about.

  Tom cursed his cell service. He wanted to talk to Father Bob, but his carrier only worked in the valley and big cities. He thought about using the radio and calling the authorities, but wondered how he would ever get anyone to believe his story. He would probably be greeted at the airport by cops and psychologists. No one knew him or his good name in Vegas. Who would they believe? One of the richest, most powerful men in the city or an unshaven cowboy with dried cowshit on his boots?

  A sort of plan—mostly crazy ideas—was starting to gel in his brain. He thought he knew how to get from the airport to the casino, but trying to find Cami and Landon (if that even was where they were taking them) was another story. He needed to talk to Father Bob. The little Cessna cut through the air, and in spite of his worries for Cami and Landon, he admired the ruggedness of the country and smiled a little, remembering his dad and his love of flying. Tom and Farley flew on across the desert, and the shadow of the little plane seemed their only companion.

  Father Bob leaned against the wall of the tank. It was surprisingly cool, and with the near darkness of the room and the occasional sound of the toothy creatures breaching the surface of the tank next to him, it was surreal. Ash’s private memorial was supposed to be later in the day, so he had a long wait ahead until the festivities started. A lot of time to think of a way out or to think about everything he screwed up or to pray … he decided to pray a bit first, though his mind was eager to tell him how stupid he had been. He prayed and this again seemed to help clear the air. Then he thought about getting away. He had been beyond foolish putting all of his goodies in his one basket—his priests’ bag. He didn’t even have a pocketknife, only his wallet and the cross around his neck. How stupid could he have been? There—with that out of the way he could commence with chastising himself for his shortsightedness, lack of planning and not having a Plan B. True, the things he had found in that room had stunned him. He had become entranced with the piles of evidence and the all too human trait of being unable to stop the horrible drive or curiosity of looking at things best unseen. He should have closed the room up and turned on his heel, perhaps taken a couple of photos from the file so he could convince the FBI that he wasn’t nuts and could lead them to one of their biggest and most impressive busts ever. He should have known he was in over his head. He should have known that everything was going way too easy and that he was pushing his luck and the grace of God. And why had he put all of his tools in his bag? Even his cell phone was in there. At last he quit beating himself up and pressed his temple against the cool ladder that he was attached to. He would try to relax; perhaps if he calmed himself he would think of something. A few yards away, the sharks circled endlessly, driven by their hunger.

  Taylor strode into Billy’s office and held his hand out for the piece of paper Billy had just finished writing on. “Anything interesting?”

  Billy started to push the satchel across the desk to his boss, but he held up his hand in the halt gesture.

  “He’s got one helluva peacemaker in there.”

  He read down the list. No wonder he felt sick—the priest was outfitted for an exorcism. “No wallet? No ID? He said he had people who would miss him—I guess I should look into that before they do miss him.” Billy was looking at him solemnly. “What’s the matter, Billy? Squeamish?” Billy looked down at the desktop. “You’ve managed to mind your own business here at the casino, Billy, and I respect that. But now you are in too deep. You are part of the Taylor family now.”

  Billy sat back and studied his boss’ face, still silent.

  “Don’t look so down. With Weasel and Steve out of the picture you’re on the fast track to the top … how does a fifty K increase in pay sound?”

  Billy couldn’t help the greed in him from rising to the surface, and his eyes widened and he smiled broadly. “Sounds good, boss.”

  “That’s right.” Uncle patted Billy’s shoulder. “Now go to registration and see if they have had any priests check in this week. If not, pull up every ‘Bob’ or ‘Robert’ and the corresponding addresses. We need to see where this character is from.”

  “Couldn’t we make him tell us?” Billy asked.

  This surprised and pleased him. “We could. But I’m feeling civil today. We’ll exhaust all channels before we move to violence. After all, he is a man of God.” He winked at Billy. “Now work on that and hide that.” He gestured at the priest’s bag. “And I will see you later—I’ve got to get back to my guests at the memorial.”

  Billy waited until he heard the elevator doors close, then he got up and walked through the entire floor, even checking the bathrooms. No one should be back for half an hour at least. He went in the maintenance room and tapped the walls. In a few seconds he determined that the back wall was hollow. Pushing, pulling, trying to find the mechanism was tougher. After five minutes he trotted out and called registration and put them to work on the priest’s identity and told them to email him the results. He went back to the little room and this time, pushed lightly to the right on the shelves and they rolled back like a curtain. He pressed on the wall. It opened, with a light automatically coming on.

  The room was cold and there was some kind of odor—a preservative smell that reminded him of high school science lab and fetal pigs. Bleached skulls with empty eye sockets stared out at him from a tall cabinet. His reluctance to enter the room intensified. He had the crazy feeling that someone was standing behind him. He whirled on his heel and reached for his gun, realizing at that second that Uncle still had it. There was no one there, but even so, the feeling of being watched persisted and he began to sweat. He saw the photos strewn on the floor and he stepped forward, grabbing a small stack of ten or so and put them in his pocket. Standing in the room made him nauseated and the feeling of a presence overwhelmed him. He closed the panel, rolled the shelves back and ran back to his desk. He tried to force himself to focus on the registration email that had already come back from the front desk, but his mind bubbled with what he was doing and what his plan was. He didn’t know the answers to those questions, but deep inside he knew that he had already chosen sides.

  His mind had taken in the knowledge that some of the trussed children in the photos were very probably the bleached skulls that filled the cabinet in the secret room, and that all those cabinets and files and drawers were doubtless slithering with other things that would give him nightmares for the rest of his life. This knowledge was like an alarm going off in the back of his head. He didn’t go there, because it would screw him up. Like a tightrope walker, he needed to focus on his next step and his final goal—coming out of this alive at the end of the rope. He pulled the priest’s cell phone from his pocket and began to dial.

  Susan was getting angry and this sudden anger made her alert. She wasn’t sure where it had come from so quickly, but she was glad, because the hatred made her heart beat stronger and she could feel it pulsing in the veins of her wrists. She fed it with every slight and insult she had ever received, along with her uncle’s partiality towards Ash, Weasel and Steve screwing her plan, the cow that trampled her in the dirt, the woman whose bitch children had led her into the cow’s pen, and of course the cowboy, the bastard that had put her downfall into motion. But he wasn’t here, was he? She did have two people he dearly loved though, and the idea of hurting the cowboy by torturing his family flamed in her mind—a delight even in her injured state that she would not miss. Vegas seemed not so far away, and her thought to stop and rest vanished with the renewed desire of hurting the cowboy. She pushed the craft onward towards Vegas.

  In the hospital, Weasel slipped in and out of consciousness. One of the guards watched for a moment and when Weasel’s eye
s remained open he called the FBI agent away from the nurses’ station where he was asking questions. “Williams! I think he’s back.”

  Williams rolled his eyes and stepped into the room. “Yeah, but for how long? They’ve got him on more dope than a busload of hippies.” Still he had to try. So far the man had only made convincing statements about a giant gray rat with red eyes that liked to gnaw on human flesh. “Mr. Wendel, can you hear me?” He hesitated and then used the name surveillance said he went by. “Weasel, are you with me?”