THE ABDUCTION OF CASSANDRA

by William Melden

  But I don’t care about her religion. She talks about it, but she doesn’t ram it down my throat. . . . She’s not one of those self-righteous types at all.

  He thought about the “typical church girls” he’d known. Can you imagine one of them taking care of my cuts as carefully as she did? Well, maybe, if they felt sorry for me. But I was almost naked, and she was embarrassed, even though she tried not to show it. And would one of them go to the fights because she had a black friend in the ring? Or roll around on the floor arm-wrestling, or make jokes, when she was scared out of her mind by these crazy people? Not hardly. . . .

  He rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes. I don’t know how they found me. Why me? I don’t even have a police record. Dad took care of that. So I’m gonna get paid five grand just to help mess this girl up. He snorted. I could make that in a couple of weeks, selling weed. And now they’ve done all this rough stuff. . . . And my face! It’ll never look right again. . . .

  “Hello, Brandon,” Dayle’s voice hissed out of the overhead speaker. “Did you and Cassandra have a nice chat in the hallway?”

  Brandon sat up and looked around. He still wasn’t used to the disembodied voice. “You knew about that? I mean, that we were out there talking?”

  “Of course I knew,” Dayle replied. “We had to give the two of you some privacy, where you’d feel free to talk. How are you supposed to seduce the girl if you don’t have some ‘alone time’ together?”

  “Oh . . . yeah, I guess. Hey, listen, is there any way I could get some cigarettes? I didn’t think about that when we made this deal. Cold turkey is kinda hard under the circumstances.”

  Dayle sniffed, loud enough for the boy to hear. “Not my problem. You should have thought about it. I don’t care if you smoke, but the girl wouldn’t like it. It would make you less attractive to her. But if the craving is distracting you, Skip can get you some of that nicotine gum. It would take the edge off.”

  “Well . . . yes sir, that would probably help. I guess.”

  Dayle’s voice became chilly. “Mr. Fox, I’m discerning something in you that I don’t like. Are you having second thoughts about our arrangement?”

  Brandon’s immediate thought was the broken nose and the razor wire. “Oh, no sir! It’s not that. This is just a little more complicated than I expected.” How can I tell him the truth? I wish I’d never gotten involved in this.

  “I suppose it is,” Dayle replied. “But you made a deal, and you’re going to keep it. In case it hadn’t occurred to you, you really are a prisoner here, just like the girl. You can’t just walk away. You’re not leaving this hangar until I release you. That part isn’t an act. So I’d suggest you go about your business, and act like a man. If you try to change your mind, there will be consequences, and they’ll be a lot worse than a little physical pain. They’ll be permanent.”

  “Yes sir, I think I under —“

  The speaker clicked as Dayle ended the conversation.

  Act like a man, Brandon thought. Maybe that’s just exactly what I need to do. . . .

  * * * * *

  Cassie returned to her room and retrieved her Bible from where she’d hidden it, underneath her small stack of clean clothes. She flopped down on the bed and began flipping through the pages. First, because she really needed it at that moment, she read the description of God’s ideal woman in Proverbs 31. I hope I live that long, she thought. Then she skipped back to Psalm 139. She’d read the verses so often, even highlighted them, but they’d never really spoken to her before. She hadn’t understood them. Lying on the mattress in this black prison, she did.

  Whither shall I go from thy spirit? or whither shall I flee from thy presence? If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there.

  She wasn’t in Hell, but she’d never been in a place like this. And she knew that she wasn’t alone.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Daisy Saves the Day

  “So, Livvie, what do you think?” Celeste asked. “Me, I’m thinking that we’re gonna have to do something ourselves. The feds just aren’t getting the job done. Neither are the police.” She fidgeted with the hem of her black tank top, the one with the silver Supergirl logo, as she sat on the edge of the little sofa in the Skellys’ living room. Royal sat next to her, his hand squeezing a small exercise ball.

  They had gathered at Royal’s house, instead of the Pavilion, because this needed to be a very private conversation. Both of the senior Skellys were at work. Ethan, sitting in a chair next to his girlfriend, looked around the room. He wasn’t uncomfortable, but was as curious as ever, taking everything in.

  Olivia exhaled in a loud puff. “I don’t know. I think you guys might be right about that old hangar —“

  “You know they’re right,” Ethan interrupted. “It all fits together.”

  She glared at him, but squeezed his hand. “Like I was saying, I think you might be right. I really wish we could go to Lieutenant Peacock with this. He seems to be a really good guy, and he knows the city better than these FBI people. But they’re so snotty about local cops working on ‘their’ case. I’m afraid we’d just get him in trouble.”

  “Lieutenant Peacock, he is good,” Roy agreed. “He even came to one of my fights. And he really cares about Cassie. About all of us, prob’ly. He’s not like most cops.” Heads nodded around the room. “That Agent Burgess, the one who talked to me? He was cool. Really respectful, not all stuck-up and official. But here’s the thing. They’re feds. There’s gotta be thousands of missing girls out there. If Cassie, um, dies, they’ll just move on to the next thing. It’s what they do.”

  Celeste sniffed. “I sure don’t see a lot of help coming from that Maclean woman. First time I met her, at Cassie’s house, she was switching back and forth between patronizing me and being all sugary-sweet. I was all torn up that night, and didn’t think much about it. But I’ve been thinking since then. I don’t trust her.”

  Ethan turned to Olivia and punched her arm. “Hey, did you hear that? What were we saying?” He was practically bouncing on his chair.

  “Ow! You don’t have to hit me,” she replied, rubbing her arm. “Yes, I heard.”

  “Um, am I missin’ something?” Roy looked puzzled.

  “Well. . . .” Olivia seemed hesitant. “Ethan and I were talking about this. Agent Maclean interviewed both of us. Separately, of course. I think Ethan’s the only guy she interviewed — ”

  “No, she interviewed Chad, too,” Ethan said.

  “Do you have to keep interrupting me?” Now Olivia punched his arm. “She interviewed Chad, huh? There’s a combination. . . . Anyway, she was friendly, but in a really phony way. I got the impression that she was just going through her paces, checking another name off the list. But I talked to Burgess later, and he was really nice and respectful, like Roy said. He took what I said seriously. I won’t say Maclean blew me off, but I felt like she did, you know? And Ethan, who is very perceptive when he’s not hitting me, had the same impression of her.”

  The four sat in silence for a minute or two. Finally Celeste spoke. “Okay. We agree that Burgess is a good guy. Maclean’s a . . . no, I don’t like that word. Let’s just say she has fleas and chases cars.” The others laughed. “She’s seriously sus. The point is, they’re not getting the job done. We don’t know what’s happening with Cassie. I don’t even like to think what might be happening. Raping her, beating up on her. . . . I think we need to do something.”

  “You got that right,” Roy said softly. “If it was you out there, I wouldn’t wait around for no feds. Any feds, I mean. Cassie, she’s our sister.”

  “Huh?” Ethan blurted. Olivia elbowed him. “Oh yeah. Your Christian sister. I wasn’t thinking. But Cassie . . . well, she’s ours, too. Right?”

  “Right,” said Olivia. “She’s ours. Look, we can’t talk to anybody about this. I’m not even sure what we can do, but we’re not helpless. Our parents would curl up their toes and die if they heard this conver
sation. And we could even get in trouble with the law. But Cassie’s the important thing. Now we just need a plan.”

  “Right on,” cried Ethan. Celeste and Roy both burst out laughing.

  “So, let’s plan,” Olivia said.

  * * * * *

  Barbara Hixson stood at the refrigerator, studying the contents, marking down items on her grocery list. Gordon and Nick deserve something special tonight. We’ve been eating too much carry-out food. I’ve let myself get lazy. Her mouth tightened in a sad smile. Cassie would never let me get away with that. She jotted down a few vegetables and condiments.

  Her inventory was interrupted by the doorbell. Even as she let the refrigerator close, she heard Daisy galloping to the door. She put down her pencil and notepad and walked to the front door, where the dog stood tense and bristling.

  “Oh, hello, Agent Maclean,” she said as she opened the door. “Daisy, slack!”

  “Hi there, Barbara,” Maclean smiled, eyeing the dog. “You know, I’m starting to think that Daisy doesn’t like me. Anyway, I just wanted to touch base with you.”

  Mrs. Hixson ushered her into the living room, where they both sat down. “Is there any progress? Where’s Agent Burgess?” Daisy padded into the room and sat down again, her eyes still on the agent.

  “Yes, we think there’s progress,” Maclean replied. “Agent Burgess is out of town, following up on a lead. He should be back late this evening. He went by plane, one of the Bureau jets. You see, we’re putting all our resources into finding Cassie.”

  “Where did he go?” Cassie’s mother asked.

  “Well, Barbara, I can’t really discuss the details. In fact, he didn’t even tell me where he was going. We’ve been working different ends of the case: he’s doing most of the actual investigation, and I’ve been interviewing people. But I wanted you to know that there are leads, and that we’re following up on them. For example, one of our agents was tracing Cassie’s route the morning she was taken, and he found a pink baseball cap, with some blonde hairs in it, in some bushes near the roadside. Does Cassie have a cap like that?”

  “Yes! And she wears it when she goes running! Do you have it with you? Could I see it?”

  “No, Barbara, I’m sorry. It’s been sent to the lab. If the hairs match Cassie’s DNA, we’ll know it was hers. And that’ll give us a very good idea of exactly where she was abducted. We can do our search in circles from that point. And although it was dirty, there were no bloodstains on it. You see? It’s not much, but it’s helpful. Now, tell me. Have you heard from the kidnappers?”

  “No, of course not,” Mrs. Hixson replied, wishing she could at least hold the cap in her hands. “We’d have contacted you right away.”

  “Yes, that’s what I assumed. But I had to ask. We don’t know why they’re dragging this out, but we have every reason to believe that the deal is still on. Let me be blunt, Barbara. The kidnappers would have nothing to gain by just abandoning all their efforts and getting rid of your daughter. They have a lot to gain by following the plan. I have no doubt that you’ll have Cassie back safely. . . . Oh! Who’s this handsome young man?”

  Nick had appeared at the bottom of the stairs, and was looking at the woman, his head cocked to one side. Who’s she?

  His mother turned and saw him. “Nick? It’s not polite to stare. Come meet Agent Maclean. She’s helping us find Cassie.”

  The boy walked across the room and extended his hand. “I’m Dominic Gary Hixson,” he said, his face solemn.

  Maclean took his hand and shook it, smiling. “And I’m Shannon Amber Maclean,” she said. “My friends call me Sam.”

  Nick giggled, solemnity gone. “Sam is a boy’s name!”

  “Yes, but it’s my initials, see?”

  “Uh-huh. Are you like a girl policeman?”

  “Agent Maclean is with the FBI, Nick,” his mother corrected.

  “Oh, cool.” He’d heard talk of FBI people, but always seemed to be asleep when they visited. “Can I call you Sam? Mom, can I call her Sam, even if she’s a grown-up?”

  Mrs. Hixson nodded. “If she wants you to, you can.”

  Nick shook the agent’s hand again, more enthusiastically this time. He craned his head, managing to peek inside her jacket. “Hey, Sam. You’ve even got a gun, like Lieutenant Jerry. Do you have a special FBI car?”

  “Nick,” his mother warned, “Don’t be a pest. Agent Maclean is here to talk about Cassie.”

  “It’s okay, Barbara,” Maclean said. “As I said, I just wanted to touch base.” She smiled back down at the boy. “Yes, I have an FBI car, but it’s not very special. Lieutenant Jerry’s is probably much nicer.” She looked at his mother. “I’ll tell you what. I’m on my lunch hour. I’ll even take you for a ride around the block in it.”

  “Oh, Agent Maclean, please don’t let Nick monopolize your attention. . . .”

  “Please, Mom? It’ll just be a minute!” The boy’s eyes pleaded with his mother.

  “It’ll just be a minute, Barbara,” Maclean echoed, winking at her. “I really don’t mind.”

  “Oh, whatever,” Mrs. Hixson forced a smile, holding up her hands in surrender. She’s young. She reminds him of Cassie. “Anyway, Agent Maclean, I appreciate your visit. It was encouraging. Now, one trip around the block, and then Nick and I are going to the grocery store.”

  “That’s a deal,” Maclean said, standing up, pulling her keys out of her pocket. Nick was beaming. The agent put her hand on the boy’s shoulder and started to move toward the door.

  Instantly, without even so much as a growl, Daisy lunged across the room and knocked Nick off his feet, then whirled around and took Maclean’s wrist in her powerful jaws, dragging her arm down, but not biting.

  “Nick!” the boy’s mother cried, rushing to his side, pulling him up, embracing him. He was too stunned to cry, but that would soon change. “Daisy! Slack!”

  Maclean froze in position, thinking of her Academy training with the K-9 Division. Stay perfectly immobile. Offer no resistance, and she won’t bite.

  Mrs. Hixson took the dog’s collar in both hands and tugged. “Daisy! Fetch!” Growling deep in her chest, the dog released the agent’s wrist and backed away, keeping herself between the woman and Nick. The boy was safe.

  “I’m so sorry, Agent Maclean,” his mother said, her voice terse. “I think you’d better go now.”

  “I — I understand, Barbara.” Shaken, she left the room.

  What was that all about? Mrs. Hixson wondered, hugging her son, soothing him, as the front door slammed behind the departing agent.

  * * * * *

  Cassie stood under the hot shower, her hands against the walls of the little stall, trying to focus her mind. I’m gonna turn into a prune, she thought. But this is the only place where I really feel alone . . . and anyway, I’m dirty. Or I was. The sawdust and grime from the hallway floor had swirled down the drain five minutes ago, but she wasn’t ready to turn off the water. She was thinking about Brandon.

  I just thought I was confused after that arm-wrestling match yesterday. That first kiss. Then he demanded a rematch today. I almost let him win. He seemed so determined, and he really was cute. Not hot-cute, but sweet-cute. Yesterday, I was showing off, proving myself. But I wanted him to have his moment of victory, too.

  At the last minute, though, her body had gone on autopilot, and she’d smashed his hand back for a second time. He had actually looked a little crestfallen. And this time, she’d slipped forward and kissed him. Not a long kiss, maybe three seconds, but longer than yesterday.

  Not that kissing was anything new. She and Chad had spent hours at it. And, after the first month or so with Chad, as she’d gotten to know him, the kisses became about as meaningful as biting her fingernails. No, come to think of it, they weren’t even that meaningful. When I bite my nails, I can think about something other than Chad trying to paw at me.

  But those two brief kisses with Brandon had meant the world. Is it just because we’re both victim
s of these crazy people, and that misery loves company? Or is it something more?

  Ahh, I’ve got it. She smiled into the cloud of steam. When Brandon said that he was a “marvel of human engineering,” he was laughing at himself. If Chad Walker ever said that, he’d mean it, and believe it. Why did I ever waste my time with him?

  Finally, she turned off the water and stepped out of the stall. Her mind still racing, she dried off and donned fresh underwear, gym shorts, and t-shirt. I could learn to like dressing this way. It’s simple, like when I do my schoolwork in my pajamas. She stepped out of the bathroom into the bedroom.

  There, on the other side of the bed, stood Gabriel Terrena.

  She simply stared, the steam rolling out of the bathroom behind her. Without speaking, not wanting to ruin the moment, she moved her hand to her leg, and pinched one of the bruises on her thigh. Ouch. This is no dream. . . . But she felt the same sense of peace, of total calm and well-being, that she’d felt when she “saw” him before.