THE ABDUCTION OF CASSANDRA

by William Melden

  He cocked his head to one side, his thoughts racing. “I don’t know. I don’t not believe in them. I don’t believe in ghosts or vampires or any of that stuff. But the whole Bible thing . . . I haven’t decided. Some of it really intrigues me, like Noah’s flood and Jonah.” He smiled. “The things that most people laugh about are the things that interest me. But I’ve read stories, from World War II, where pilots said they saw angels. . . . They talked about ‘foo fighters,’ but some of the guys swore they were angels. What do you think?”

  “They’re in the Tanakh,” she replied. “I guess I’m supposed to believe in them. I always figured they were just symbolic or something. But the Tanakh, the Bible . . . it’s not something you can just install in your mind, like the Periodic Table of Elements or a second language. If I believe that Abraham and Moses and David were real, the same book tells me about angels. What you call the Old Testament is full of angels. Thousands of ‘em. See what I’m saying?”

  “Uh-huh. But Livvie. . . I definitely believe in what we saw. And if this guy is an angel, it means that we’re not going to be alone when we go for Cassie.”

  She nodded. They sat without talking for several minutes, absorbed in their thoughts, not even conscious of the traffic sounds or the music coming from the drive-in speakers. Finally, Olivia squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. We may be smart, but we’re not this smart. Our minds can’t deal with this all at once. It’s just too much. “Okay, Ethan. We’re way over our heads, but we’re on the same page.”

  “That’s a mixed metaphor,” he grinned. “A really bad one.”

  She smiled back. “Yeah, it is. Excuse me, teacher. Anyway, we still have to stop at the shoe store. Let’s bounce.”

  * * * * *

  “What, in the name of Heaven, earth, and Hell, got into you?” Dayle screamed at Maclean. “Did I instruct you to attack the boy that way? Did I give you permission to attack him? Did you even ask permission? We were finally getting somewhere. He had actually seduced the girl, just as we wanted. And you chose that moment to vent your stupid, female emotions on him? Why? Simply because he was playing his part, pretending to be a victim, like we’ve paid him to do?” He stood up from his desk and began to pace back and forth. “You’ve become such a liability to this project that I don’t know if we’ll ever regain our advantage.”

  For the first time, Maclean didn’t feel intimidated. She had peeled off her leather jacket and was massaging her lower back with one hand through the black t-shirt. Dayle’s displeasure was a small thing compared to the pain still coursing through her body.

  “Why are you blaming me?” she snapped. “You’re the one who lost control, as I recall. When they came out of the bedroom, you simply had to taunt them, to mock them, until the girl hit you with that horrible Bible quotation. Then you started gobbling like a turkey and had to shut off the camera, so they wouldn’t see you coming unglued. You left me all alone with them. For all I knew, you were rolling on the floor, foaming at the mouth. You’re lucky I didn’t kill them both. That’s what I wanted to do. You’ve coddled them enough!”

  “Oh, yes, you were in such a good position to kill them,” he sneered. “That silly child, practically naked and without a weapon, dropped you with a single move, so that you had to crawl out of the room. You crawled!” he screamed. “Do you think they’re going to be afraid of you now?” He ground his teeth so hard that she could actually hear the sound. “If nothing else, I would have thought that an agent of the great Federal Bureau of Incompetence would have been able to defend herself. Just how did you get that job, anyway? Warming some politician’s bed?”

  “How dare you speak to me that way? I’m the one who’s done all the work, while you’ve been sitting here in your secret hideaway pretending to be God.” Dayle’s eyes flashed at the mention of the name. “Yes, that’s what I said,” she continued. “The Great God Dayle. Hiding in your office like a hermit, while I run back and forth, getting their food, taking out their garbage, even setting up that trap door, getting that razor wire in place, all those things that you gave me permission to do. And the weeks that I spent investigating the delinquents and misfits in this city, trying to find that boy for you! Why did I ever get mixed up with you in the first place? Once I get my money, I never want to think about you again. You can crawl back under your rock . . . Men!” She spat out the word.

  “You weak, ignorant fool. . . . I’m just glad you were using a digital camera. When the child sent you sprawling, it cracked like an egg, but at least we could get the image off the memory card. I’m surprised you didn’t find a way to ruin that, as well. You amateurish, bumbling pig!”

  “Look who’s talking. I’m a fool, am I? And you’re the great ‘intellectual?’ The one who has more degrees than a thermometer, but who doesn’t know the first damned thing about human beings! You lazy, yapping dog!”

  They continued to rage against each other. Standing in the corner, unseen, Gabriel Terrena smiled. The moment has come. The principalities and powers have abandoned them. Now they are alone. All they have is vanity, and vexation of spirit. The Enemy never keeps faith with his servants. With a silent word of praise, he left the room.

  * * * * *

  Olivia pulled the shoebox from the bag and handed it to Celeste. Once again, they were in the Skellys’ living room, making final preparations. “You need to start wearing those right away,” she said. “They’re not very comfortable at first. It takes a while to get used to them.”

  Celeste opened the box and removed the black low-top sneakers. “Thank you,” she said. Ethan and Olivia were already wearing theirs. “What about you, baby?” she asked Royal.

  “I already told ‘em,” he replied. “I wear steel-toed shoes at work. They’re required. So I’ve got mine. But I didn’t know they made athletic shoes with steel toes. Were they expensive?”

  “Yes and no,” Olivia smiled. “They cost more than regular sneakers. But not nearly as much as Jordans or something like that.”

  Ethan lifted a foot and examined one of his new shoes. “We’ll probably never want to wear them after this. They feel okay when you’re wearing ‘em, but when you take ‘em off, your feet start to hurt. That’s what I read somewhere, anyway.”

  “That’s how it works,” Royal agreed. “You never really get used to ‘em. But they’re worth it if you drop something heavy on your foot.”

  “Okay, Ethan,” Celeste said. “You’re the ‘weapons’ guy. What happens if I kick one of the bad guys in the shin with one of these? Will it hurt my toes?”

  “Not at all,” he replied. “But if you kick really hard, you might shatter his tibia. His shin bone. In other words, you could break his leg. I guess that’s what I just said, huh? Depends on how hard you kick. He’d definitely go down, and you might even cripple him. But, see, we shouldn’t think of these shoes as weapons. They’re for self-defense. We don’t just run in and start kicking them. But if they get close to us, to hurt us . . . well, they’re asking for it.”

  “We gotta hope they do get close to us.” Roy added. “Or we get close to them, really quick. That means they prob’ly won’t have a chance to go for their guns, if they have guns.” He paused, and shook his head. “But we can’t worry about guns. Like we said before, if they have guns in their hands, who knows what might happen? We’ve gotta think of fighting ‘em with the abilities we do have.”

  “I’ve thought about real weapons,” Ethan said. “We could get things like brass knuckles and those steel impact batons, like the cops use. I know where they’re sold. They’re not illegal in Tennessee, but Roy’s the only one old enough to actually buy them. You can even buy little tear gas dispensers, about the size of a pen. The girls could use those. . . .” He hesitated for a long minute, as if debating with himself.

  “Ethan, don’t you think —” Celeste started to speak, but Roy sensed something, and held up his hand.

  “Hear him out, okay? I don’t think he’s finished.” He nodded at the younge
r boy.

  Ethan looked back and forth among the other faces. “No, I wasn’t quite finished, thanks. I don’t understand all the Bible things you and Roy talk about,” he said, looking at Celeste. “I didn’t even understand all that Tanakh stuff that Livvie was saying. When she first said it, I mean. I understand better now . . . some of it, anyway. But we’ve been talking . . . me and Livvie . . . and I just have a feeling we shouldn’t depend on things like that. Weapons to hand, like we talked about, are okay. I’m even taking bungee cord, because it always comes in handy. It’s like a tool. But getting all fitted out with real weapons?” He shook his head. “This will sound so sketch coming from me, I know. But I think we’ll be going in there with angels on our side.” He paused for laughter. When it didn’t come, he added, blushing, “I mean real angels, for real.” Olivia reached over and took his hand, squeezing it hard.

  Roy and Celeste looked at each other, unable or unwilling to speak. Isn’t this just like the Lord? she thought.“Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings thou hast perfected praise.”

  Finally Roy broke the silence. “Thanks, Ethan. We’re going in the strength of the Lord, or we’re not going at all.”

  “Oh, we’re going,” Olivia replied, squeezing Ethan’s hand again. “Has everybody got their dark clothes?”

  * * * * *

  Agent Burgess sat at his desk, jacket off, necktie pulled loose, collar open. The sudden realization had caused him to break into a sweat, but years of training kept his mind from spinning off in the wrong direction, even as his body reacted. Why didn’t I see it sooner? He punched the button on the telephone.

  “Yes sir?” came the secretary’s voice.

  “Janelle, is Special Agent Ludwig in his office? I need to talk with him ASAP.”

  “I’m sorry, Agent Burgess, but he just stepped out. He said that he’d be back in thirty minutes. Shall I tell him you need to see him when he returns?”

  “Yes, thank you.” He pushed the button again and returned to his notes. His draft report on Eldon Dayle was spread out in front of him, next to his notebook. He looked back and forth between his scribbles from the latest ransom message, and the man’s profile.

  Item. Doted on daughter, Katherine Anne. Could be important! As a

  lifelong loner, his little family was his first real taste of belonging, love,

  and a sense of “normalcy” for his own sake. . . . Daughter was the only person

  in his life who ever depended on him completely and unconditionally.

  Item. After the death of wife and daughter, Dayle’s outward demeanor and behavior changed drastically. . . . Students wrote in anonymous reviews that he became

  “an anti-religious fanatic,” that “he’d interrupt his lectures and rant and rave about religion,” and that he subjected students of known religious belief to ridicule,

  insults, and “bullying.”

  Then the final ransom demand, with its seemingly unnecessary caution: “Do not go to your grave knowing that that you are responsible for your daughter’s death.”

  Burgess sat back in his chair. His fingers shuffled the papers around the desk, as if putting together a puzzle, while his mind raced. The proximity of Roanoke to Yorkville. Dayle’s unexplained absence from his home. The daughters, the daughters. . . . Was that last line an unconscious warning from one father to another?

  After a rigorous and logical investigation, Dayle had been the only “person of interest” to emerge in the case of Cassandra Hixson. But there hadn’t been enough evidence to make him an actual suspect. Was there now?

  Not evidence that would stand up in court, certainly. But evidence enough to try and detain him, for the girl’s sake, to prevent a possible murder? That was different.

  In his career, Burgess had seen all the usual motives for violent crime, as well as the irrational acts of madmen and the usual “crimes of passion.” Had the Christian-bashing Dayle kidnapped the deeply religious Cassie Hixson out of sheer, misguided grief over his own daughter’s violent death? A death that a father could easily blame on himself? Was it grief that motivated him, or revenge? Revenge against whom? There could only be one answer.

  Revenge against God. It all fit in with his personality change after his daughter’s death. That student may have been right about Dayle being an “anti-religious fanatic.” Everybody knows that religious fanatics go off on all sorts of crazy tangents: a glance at the headlines proves that. Human nature being what it is, why shouldn’t there be anti-religious fanatics, as well?

  Burgess glanced up at the wall clock. Won’t Ludwig ever get back? It’s been twenty minutes. He wanted to find Eldon Dayle, even if he had to call out the whole Southeastern Division to do it.

  His office door swung open. “Donald?” His old mentor looked concerned. “You needed to see me? What’s going on?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: Love and Defiance

  9:30 PM, Eastern Daylight Time: Olivia and Ethan laughed and smiled as they came down the stairs from her bedroom, both wearing black cargo pants and sweatshirts, along with the new black sneakers. One of Ethan’s hands gripped the strap of the black duffel bag that hung from his shoulder. They had placed an identical bag, slightly larger, in the trunk of Olivia’s car earlier.

  “Well, we’re heading out,” Olivia announced to her parents as they entered the living room, where the Mendels sat on the couch, watching an old movie on television.

  “Aren’t you a sight!” Mrs. Mendel exclaimed. “You both look like bank robbers. Or guerilla fighters. Or . . . I don’t know what.” She laughed. Her husband had already told her about their plans for a paintball game.

  “It’s what you need for a night battle,” Olivia giggled. “I still can’t believe Ethan talked me into this.” She playfully elbowed him in the side. “But it’ll be fun.”

  “What are y’all watching?” Ethan asked, ever curious. “Is that John Wayne? My dad likes his movies.”

  “What?” Olivia’s father replied, feigning amazement. “You’ve never seen The Searchers? You’ve missed a classic, son. This is a DVD, so you can borrow it any time.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Mendel, I’d like that.”

  “Well, you kids have fun,” Mrs. Mendel smiled. “And Olivia? Be careful. Both of you. They say there’s a nasty storm coming. I really wish you’d stay home, but. . . . ”

  “Don’t worry, Mom. We’ve got some of those fold-up rain slickers in the car. And half the time those predictions are wrong, anyway.” She blew a kiss at her parents and shoved Ethan out the front door.

  “Hey, what’s the big hurry?” he protested as they walked to the car. “We don’t have to meet them for a couple of hours.”

  She hooked her arm in his. “I just wanted to have some private time first. Can we go to a restaurant? The walk-in kind? We don’t know what’s gonna happen tonight. I just want to sit and look at you for awhile.”

  He nodded, not knowing how to respond, but his heart overflowing. Once they were in the car, he started the engine and looked in her eyes. “I love you so much, Livvie.”

  They rode in silence to Darras’ restaurant on Oak Terrace. The first pizza parlor to open in Yorkville, in the 1930s, it looked like a large wooden cabin at the top of a small hill, until you walked inside. Then, suddenly, you were in Italy, surrounded by aged photographs of Neapolitan opera stars and famous Italian athletes. Each table had a wine bottle covered in tallow, holding candles that burned constantly. Perhaps a hundred other empty wine bottles hung from the ceiling. As soon as Ethan and Olivia sat down at one of the small tables, complete with a red and white checkered tablecloth, Sam Darras, son of the founder, hurried up to take their order. Balding, always quick with a friendly wisecrack, he was a perfect proprietor, and reminded Olivia of her dad. This wasn’t a popular high school hangout, so Sam appreciated his few youthful customers. Ethan never understood why a Greek family from Brooklyn had started an Italian restaurant in Yorkville, but the place was special to him and Olivia.

 
; As they waited for their order, they held hands on the table. “This place is so romantic,” Olivia smiled. “I’m glad we came here.”

  “If it’s romantic, it’s where we belong,” Ethan said. He didn’t mention the other reason he’d chosen the place. If anything went wrong, and this was their last evening together, he wanted it to be special.

  They didn’t talk much. The coming hours weighed heavily on both of them. Halfway through the meal, Ethan’s brow furrowed, and he stopped chewing for a moment.

  “What’s wrong?” Olivia asked.

  He held up a hand and finished chewing. “I know we’re doing the right thing. I’m really glad we’re doing it. I just . . . I didn’t like having to, um, lie to your folks about where we were going.”

  She smiled. “Well, you kinda started that, when you talked about paintball in the store.” He started to protest, but she took one of his hands in hers. “Ethan, look at us. Carrying all that gear, dressed this way, we couldn’t have told them the truth. And we never actually said we were going paintballing. We just gave them that impression.”