"We are, you know, a full-service upscale clinic," Bruce said, playfully sticking his nose up in the air. "Bring your pooch or kitty and we'll do their hair, nails, spaying . . . you name it. Why, Dr. Blackstone even does doggy braces for some clients."
"No way!"
"Yup. Imagine that." Bruce changed lanes. "Talk about being a real entrepreneur."
"Ooh. Big word alert!" Jodi said.
Traffic picked up again. Bruce glanced at Jodi for a second and said, "Yeah, anyway, I'll probably work for him this summer. How about you? You gonna get a job—or a tan this summer?"
"Do I look that pale?" Jodi looked down at her arms.
"I think a jar of mayo has more color—" Bruce paused. "Jodi, I'm joking."
"Um, right . . . but, yeah, I thought about doing an internship at the paper."
"Cool. We get the Inquirer."
'Actually, I'm talking about the Montgomery Times. They're just a weekly rag, but I like the local feel."
"Don't they specialize in like pet obituaries and church picnics?" He flashed a cheesy grin.
"Bruce, don't make me come over there and punch you one," she said playfully "My dad says I've always had an eye for detail and, like, everybody's gotta start somewhere, right?" Jodi hooked her hair around her left ear. "I think it'll be fun. Oh, and I met the guy who'd be my boss yesterday. Seems real nice."
"Yeah, you'll do great. Speaking of bosses"—Bruce started to shake his head—"mine gets pretty ticked when things don't, like, go his way."
"Really?"
"Well, like, this week, we ran out of the usual generic syringes with the black plunger tips. Dr. Blackstone almost blew a gasket. Me? I can't see how that matters."
"Over there, on the right, three cars up. The guy's pulling out," Jodi said, pointing. "So, what were you saying?"
"Oh, it's nothing, really. Just that my boss can be a hard man to please." Bruce pulled his car into the now vacant spot and got out. "Make sure it's locked. You'll have to push the lock down and hold the button in while you close the door," Bruce said. "Pretty low-tech, but it works."
"Got it," Jodi said after the second try. They joined the flow of teens headed to the rave.
"Speaking of low-tech, what's that?" Bruce pointed to the disposable camera Jodi was carrying.
She laughed. "Yeah, I feel like such a tourist. I figured maybe we could take like a group shot, or something. Dumb idea, huh?"
"Why not?" Bruce smiled. "You just never know what might turn out."
Chapter 3 ^ Friday, 1D:46 p.m.
Christopher Columbus Boulevard ran north and south, parallel to the Delaware River. The eastern edge of the street was to the left of Jodi and Bruce. It was marked by well-worn piers, an occasional building of some ancient vintage, and idle shipyards. Jodi could hear but not see the river water lapping against the docks.
They were heading south, which bothered her. The farther south, the farther away from the safety of Perm's Landing, one of the few recently remodeled piers that sported colorful shops, plenty of outdoor lighting, and a modern transit station where she could quickly take the EL 17 elevated train back to civilization. Instead, each step of their present course took them deeper into a landscape marked by decay.
Indeed, many sections of Philadelphia, the birthplace of the nation, had died the slow death of neglect, suburban migration, poor planning, and an upswing in the criminal element. This area was about as bad as any she'd ever seen—not that she could see much. Most of the streetlights were burned or busted out, leaving the buildings they passed shrouded in darkness.
In a few instances, thanks to the headlights of the traffic, she could tell someone had gone to the trouble of boarding up the windows and plastering the doorways with tired-looking NO TRESPASSING signs. And she noticed that the only fresh paint many of these buildings displayed came from graffiti artists marking their territory.
Even though other ravers shared the sidewalk, Jodi had the creeps and wondered if Bruce felt the same.
"Boy, this place is a dump," she said, breaking the silence. "My dad would flip if he knew I was in this part of town."
"Looks like a great place to hang out—if you're Freddy Krueger," Bruce said, then nudged her with his elbow.
"Cut it out, Bruce." She let out a nervous laugh.
"Come on, Jodi. It's really not that bad."
She shot him a doubtful look.
"Okay, so I wouldn't want to build a summer house here. You wanna head back?"
Jodi couldn't shake the feeling that they had to get to Kat. For what reason, she was unsure. It didn't really matter. Earlier she had prayed about it and felt God wanted her to go. She wasn't about to pull a Jonah and run from what she'd been led to do. "No," she said, "not as long as you promise to stay with me. Deal?"
"Hmm. Let me think about it . . ." Bruce tilted his head to one side, pretending to be wrestling with his answer. "Okay, deal."
Still, the handful of strip joints, tattoo parlors, and men leaning against the hollow, vacant buildings intensified her anxiety. She quickened her steps.
"Hey, where's the fire?" Bruce reached forward and grabbed her arm to slow her down.
"Sorry. Guess I'm a little jumpy," Jodi said.
"What could go wrong... besides some psycho jumping us from one of those buildings?"
She punched him in the shoulder.
* * *
It was 11:00 P.M. when the dark outline of the warehouse came into view. As they approached, they discovered that the enormous blood-red-brick building was situated on the river side of the street. Most of the windowpanes were shattered or missing. A rusted chain-link fence, topped with twisted strands of razor-tipped barbed wire, surrounded the warehouse.
1 6 ^ LaHaye and DeMdss
They were within one block of the rave. From this position, the building took on an ominous air as laser lights from within reflected off the remaining shards of glass in the busted-out windows. Jodi thought it looked about as inviting as a medieval castle.
Hundreds of teens, she guessed, hovered outside. Some danced in place to the bass-heavy thumping of music, now more pronounced, which spilled into the street. Others, wearing surgical masks, hung on to each other as they staggered along like drunken sailors.
"Somebody's gonna have fun cleaning up this mess in the morning," Jodi said as they walked through discarded rave fliers and ditched cigarette butts littering the ground.
"Looks like a job for the Molly Maid Service," Bruce said, giving a kick to a beer can. "Hey, over there." He pointed to the left of the parking lot. "Looks like that's the way in."
"Through the fence?"
"You got a better idea?" Bruce said with a pull on her arm as he walked toward it. "See, everybody's going through there. It's already been sorta peeled back." He yanked her arm again.
"I'm coming already."
A moment later they stepped through the fence and, a short distance away, spotted four burly men at a makeshift wooden stand checking I.D.'s, collecting money, and hand-stamping those who paid as if they had just purchased a day pass to Disneyland. Beyond them, four more stood immediately in front of an oversize door with hand scanners, similar to the ones used at an airport security checkpoint, body-checking people before admitting them into the building.
Jodi and Bruce paid the ten bucks, got the security treatment, then walked through the door into a dark sea of pulsating, sweaty bodies. Overhead, laser lights spasmodically sliced the darkness, hammering the crowd with short, intense blasts of color. White gloves, worn by some of the ravers, reflected the laser pulses, while others waved Glo-Sticks in the air as they danced. Some had smeared neon paint on their faces and chests, like witch doctors, further amplifying the surreal scene.
ALL THE RAVE ^ 1 7
They stood temporarily mesmerized, paralyzed by the barrage of audio and visual input. Bruce tapped on Jodi's shoulder. She leaned over to hear him above the near-deafening music.
"Dorothy, looks like we're not in Kansas a
nymore."
"You can say that again," Jodi shouted back. "What a zoo!"
They moved away from the entrance and walked along the back wall. As far as she could see, the room was about the size of a football field. Thick timber posts, each spaced about a car's length apart, ran the length of the building. She observed how each post supported rough-hewn beams on which the wood ceiling rested some fifteen feet overhead. Between the bursts of light she thought she saw portions of the ceiling sagging.
Bruce yelled in her ear. "Have you ever seen so many speakers?"
"What?" Jodi yelled back, now looking at him.
Bruce pointed at the sound system. The speakers were stacked almost to the ceiling on either side of the DJ, who, spinning vinyl records on matching turntables, was perched on scaffolding seven feet above the crowd. The DJ platform was bathed in flashing red, blue, and purple lights suspended from an overhead lighting rig.
"The speakers ..."
She nodded. "It's crazy. I think I'm going totally deaf!" Jodi covered her ears to make the point. "How are we gonna find the others?"
"I know Must be like a couple thousand people here," Bruce said. "Maybe I should jump onstage and make an announcement." He grinned.
"Sure thing, Tarzan," Jodi said. "Hey, wait a minute. Isn't that Carlos?" Carlos Martinez was one of the eight junior class students who had been on the houseboat with them over spring break.
"Where?" Bruce tried to follow Jodi's gaze.
"See that table . . . over there ... the one with the balloons?" Jodi said. She pointed to their left about thirty feet farther along the back wall.
"Hard to say I'm with you."
1 a ^ LaHaye and DeMdss
They worked their way through the crowd and approached the table. Jodi suddenly stopped. She shouted, "Rats. False alarm."
"That's not him?"
"Not unless he shrank six inches and got an earring since yesterday at school."
A girl wearing baggy jeans and a tie-dyed shirt waved to them from behind the table. Beside her stood several others who, like her, were selling balloons to other ravers. She held out a balloon and shouted, "Five bucks."
"For what?" Bruce shouted back.
"Whip-its."
"For a balloon?" Jodi asked.
"No, no. A Whip-it."
Bruce and Jodi just gave her blank a stare.
"See, you put it to your mouth and you inhale it. You go—" She gave a mock demonstration without inhaling. "You suck in the air as many times as possible."
"What for?" Jodi asked, puzzled. "To talk like Mickey Mouse?"
"For a thirty-second knockout. You know, like, the world stops spinning. It's really cool. Come on, come on. It's fun."
"I'll pass," Jodi said, waving her off.
She turned to leave when Bruce said, "So tell me how it works. What's in it?"
Jodi whipped her head around. "You can't be serious?"
"I'm just curious, that's all," he said, raising a hand, palm out as if to say, Trust me, I know what I'm doing.
She shook her head in disbelief
Another worker behind the table leaned toward them. "Okay, let me tell 'em. It's just nitrous oxide—you know, it's like the laughing gas dentists use, only different. So when you inhale it, your lungs fill and it cuts off the oxygen to your head."
"That's supposed to feel good?" Bruce asked, his left eyebrow shooting up.
The girl with the tie-dyed shirt cut in. "Dude, then everything blacks out for like half a minute. It's totally out there. Try it. Come on, do it for me," she said with a mock pout. She held out a yellow-filled balloon for him to take.
Jodi tugged at Bruce's arm. "We're wasting time."
"Better not . . . Mama's calling," Bruce said with a laugh, then turned to leave with Jodi.
The girl called after him, 'Are you sure? It's good stuff!"
Bruce pointed at Jodi then threw up his hands. "Sorry, gotta go."
Jodi was about to blast him for the Mama comment when a kid wearing a smiley-face T-shirt turned around, blocking their path. He took the pacifier out of his mouth and shouted, "You rolling?"
'Are we what?" Jodi asked.
"Rolling . . . are you, you know, trippin'?"
Jodi's face registered surprise.
"I'm on E right now, just took my second pill," he said, holding up two fingers, then added, "and I'm very, very happy." He took a step closer—a little too close for comfort. "That's my buddy," he said, pointing over his shoulder. "He's on four. Come on, let's party." He reached out to embrace Jodi's waist.
"Bruce!"
Bruce must have seen the panic written on her face. He pulled her to his side. "Hey, back off, pal," he said firmly.
The smiley-face kid staggered backward as if hit with a gust of wind. "Dude, what's with the negative energy ... where's the love?" He waved them off in disgust, and then went to his friend for a prolonged kiss.
Jodi winced. She turned away and faced Bruce. "Guess anything goes around here," she said, cupping her hand to his ear. "Thanks for stepping in."
"Sure thing. You know, I thought we could split up to look for the others, but after Mr. Liplock"—Bruce nodded in the direction of the boys behind her—"that's a lousy idea."
2D ^ LaHaye and DeMdss
'Tm with you," Jodi said, relieved.
"I've got it," Bruce said. "Let's cut through the middle of the room to find the others. I'll look left; you look right. But let's stay together."
Jodi gave him a thumbs-up. Bruce turned and started to make his way through the mass of bobbing bodies. Jodi reached forward to rest her hand lightly on Bruce's back as he led the way.
They had gone twenty steps when a guy without a shirt, his bottom lip pierced with what appeared to be a fishhook, stopped Bruce and shouted something in his ear. Bruce shook his head no, then said something in return.
When the guy turned to another raver, Jodi tapped Bruce on the shoulder. "What'd he want?"
"He asked if I wanted some Special K. I told him we already had breakfast," Bruce said with a smile.
"What's Special K?"
"Beats me. Probably some kinda drug." He turned to go.
Jodi took several steps to follow when a pair of strong, slightly rough hands reached around her. One hand covered her eyes, the other wrapped around her waist. Together, the hands yanked her backward and didn't let go.
She couldn't see. Stunned, she tossed and squirmed, and bucked like a trapped animal. Even with her best effort, she found she couldn't break free. Who was this guy? What did he want with her? Was this some kind of joke? Her legs kicked as he dragged her away. She struggled to resist the arms that held her captive.
As she wrestled to get free, she had a flashback to the time she was ten, when her cousin Harry dunked her in the pool. His strong arms held her underwater until she thought her lungs would explode—just like now.
She gasped for air, and then shrieked— "BRUCE!"
Jodi hoped he heard her over the pandemonium in the room.
Chapter A ^ Friday, 1 1 : l d p
M
Dr. Julius Blackstone stood perfectly still. His steel-gray eyes peered into a specially designed, glass terrarium, home to his collection of prized tarantulas. He was completely focused on the drama unfolding before him. A dim, incandescent black lamp emitted just enough light for him to study their movements in the darkness.
When he drafted the plans for this terrarium, a unit measuring three feet wide, six feet long, and three feet tall, he envisioned a space to house three different varieties of tarantulas: his Usumbura Orange Baboon, an extremely aggressive, bright orange spider from eastern Africa that would strike if agitated in the slightest way; his King Baboon, an eight-inch African tarantula that, when peeved, reared up on its back legs to hiss; and, his personal favorite, the Goliath Bird Eater—the largest spider in the world with an eleven-inch leg span.
This somewhat hairy, orange king-size spider weighed, as he liked to tell children, "more than a McDon
ald's quarter pounder with cheese." Unlike the others in his collection, Goliath came from South America. When provoked, it would attack with its inch-long fangs.
He liked that.
He wondered how long Goliath would tolerate the little white mouse who scrounged around the feet of the spider, displaying no signs of fear. An instant later, Goliath was having supper.
Satisfied, he checked his watch. 11:15 p.m.
He closed and locked the door to his personal office, walked
22 ^ LaHaye and DeMoss
down a narrow hallway, and then followed the back staircase down to the basement. He punched in the alarm code for this restricted area, opened the door, and stepped into the lower-level operation suite. The only other access to this space came from an exterior door that, when opened, led to the back parking lot.
Dr. Blackstone graduated from Harvard with a master's degree in medicine. After Harvard, he pursued further education and training in the field of veterinary medicine. Now, fifteen years later, his Pet Vet Wellness Center, located in the heart of Huntingdon Valley, enjoyed a stellar reputation.
This two-story state-of-the art facility sat on a gentle hillside surrounded by tall, mature pine trees. A level parking lot for clients, edged with colorful flower beds, was situated in front. To the right of the glass-and-stone structure, the driveway sloped downward as it wrapped around the building to provide employee parking and basement access.
Inside, five associates, three receptionists, and several interns processed the daily batch of pet owners who kept his waiting room constantly full.
None had any idea what took place after hours in the basement.
Dr. Blackstone stuffed the small, padded earpiece of his cell phone back into his left ear. The body of the phone was clipped to his belt. A three-inch microphone followed his jawbone, extending from the earpiece to his mouth. He spoke two words: Reverend Bud. The voice-activated cell phone dialed the number. It was answered on the second ring.
All the rave Page 2