by T. K. Chapin
He nodded and turned to leave.
Shutting the door, I ran into the kitchen and picked up the phone.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
THE POLICE CLEARED MY TRUCK after inspecting it for explosives or tampering. I called a taxi and got a ride back down to the church. I picked up my truck and headed right for Charles's house. I hoped for a clue into what the masked man was searching for. What could be so important that people had to die?
Arriving at the curb of my friend's house, I saw police tape wrapping the premises like a child's gift on Christmas morning. Glancing around at all the neighboring houses, I decided it was best to drive a bit further down the road and park out of sight. If Charles's neighbors were anything like mine, they could be watching.
I parked two blocks up and around the corner on Jefferson Street, then I hiked back to the property. Taking another quick look around as I approached, I made sure it was clear and ducked under the police tape. I quickly made it around the side of the house and to the backyard.
The door that led into the kitchen was locked.
Continuing along the back of the house, I managed to find an open bedroom window.
Falling into the room, I realized it was my late friend's bedroom. I felt sick. My eyes beheld a whirlwind of a mess, and most likely, the last scene my friend saw in his own home. Standing up, I looked around at the papers strewn throughout the room, a broken lamp on the floor by his nightstand, and then by the book shelf, a photo album, opened and laid out, pictures surrounding it, scattered about. I hadn't a clue what this man was after from Charles, but it had to be important to go through all this trouble.
My eyes soon found his most prized possession—his computer desk. It was tucked away in a corner, on the far side of the room. The computer was turned off. Crossing the hardwood floor, I sat down in his chair and hit the power button. As it powered on, my eyes peered across the pictures that hung on the wall behind the computer screen. A picture of his sister, Janice, and Charles at his college graduation. He had a lot going for him in life. It was too bad he got mixed up in all of this. My heart began to ache, and I looked to the screen, trying not to think about the fact that I had brought his life to a premature death.
A beep from the computer, and then an error flashed on the screen.
No Disk Drive.
The hard drives were gone. Standing, I continued to search the bedroom, and then I went through the rest of the house. The guest room, the living room, even the kitchen. I opened books, went through drawers, and anything that could possibly hold a clue was turned inside out. I was on my way out without any clues in hand when a clock on the wall dinged for the top of the hour. Peering over, I saw the cat clock, and as the eyes went back and forth, back and forth, I thought of his hacker call sign online—Felix. Felix the cat! Walking over to the clock, I took it from the wall, and there on the back, I found my clue.
A thumb drive taped to the back.
This has to be it.
As I pulled the thumb drive from the clock, the adhesive made a sound, and just then, I heard the front door open, then slam shut.
I froze.
Taking the clock under my arm, I continued out the back door and left quickly, being careful not to make a sound.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
GETTING BACK TO MY HOUSE, I plugged the thumb drive into my laptop as I sat on my recliner. After plugging the drive into the USB port, I discovered it was locked down tight with encryption and a password. I should've known better, I thought to myself as I rubbed my hands over my face. I felt the hope I had left unravel.
Then I thought of Detective Jackson. I knew she had somebody who could crack the thumb drive. I needed to get it to her. I just wasn’t sure how.
My front door suddenly opened, startling me. I slipped the thumb drive from the laptop and slid it into my pocket, leaving my old photo thumb drive still in another port.
"What are you doing?" Maria asked, walking into my house.
"What are you doing walking into my house?" I asked, irritated as I jumped up and put the laptop down on the coffee table. I wanted to tell her about the masked man and the church parking lot, the thumb drive, everything, but I couldn't. If I told her, I'd put her in danger too, a risk I wasn’t willing to take. I noticed my gun was missing from leaning against the wall near the front door. Someone's been here, I thought to myself as I turned.
"Hello? Ron?" Maria asked, stepping closer. "What's wrong with you? I knocked like five times before I walked in. You're as pale as a ghost. When was the last time you ate?"
I shrugged, speechless as I strained an ear to listen for an intruder’s presence in my home.
"Let me make you some food." She turned and went into the kitchen. As I heard her open the fridge, I went down the hall to my bedroom to investigate more. Seeing my dresser with all its drawers pulled open, I knew for sure now that someone had been inside my house. My heart dipped and I glanced into the closet. Clothing was torn down from hooks and the entire closet left a mess. My box of keepsakes in the shoe box I kept up top lay strewn across the floor, treated like worthless pieces of garbage instead of the treasures they were from the past.
"Ron?" Maria said from behind me.
Her voice scared me. Jumping, I turned around with furrowed eyebrows. "What, Maria?"
"Wow. Okay." Shaking her head, she turned and stormed off down the hallway. "You know what? Fix your own food. I'm out of here!" I could hear her say as she was on her way out.
Hurrying down the hall, I followed her out to the front yard and grabbed her arm, stopping her in the grass. "Maria, please."
Glaring into my eyes, she said, "I know our daughter is a little messed up right now, but that doesn't give you any right to treat me—"
Letting her go, I said, "I'm afraid it's way worse than you think. She isn't just a little ‘messed up’ right now."
She shook her head. "What do you mean?"
I stepped closer. "These people, the Lighthouse community, they killed Charles because of what he knew about them. I'm pretty sure." Pulling the thumb drive from my pocket, I held it up to show her. "Because of what's on this thumb drive, Maria, Charles is dead, and I'm afraid they’re coming after me next."
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
I TOLD TELL MARIA EVERYTHING that I knew other than what could incriminate Teresa, from the research I had Charles doing a year ago all the way to Detective Jackson. Though I didn't want to tell her, it felt good to let some of it off my chest. She deserved to know anyway. It was our daughter, Emily, whose life was in jeopardy.
"What's your plan now?" she asked, crossing her legs as we sat in the grass out front in my yard.
"Get the drive to the Detective so we can figure out and expose Lighthouse for the crooks they are."
"But you're not even sure what's on there, Ronny. Don't get too ahead of yourself. It could be nothing."
Laughing, I shook my head. "You think they killed Charles for nothing, Maria? He's dead. Dead. You think they were sniffing around my truck for nothing? C'mon!" Shaking my head, I looked at her. "You can't tell me that it could be nothing after all that!"
A gunshot whizzed by my head, the sound deafening an ear. The next thing I knew, Maria tackled me to my backside. Her eyes darted every direction above me, then she pulled a pistol out from the back of her jeans. Raising an eyebrow, I was surprised but glad to see she took my advice on the gun.
She fired two shots, sending a deafening ring into my ears to accompany the first shot. Squeezing my eyes shut, I heard more shots fire from the person shooting at us. My heart raced, and I assumed death was near. Maria leaned in close to my face and said into my ear, "Crawl to the porch, Ron! Crawl!"
Opening my eyes, I crawled. She stayed close, her back toward me as she continued firing shots. At the steps of my porch, I made a frantic dash up them, and she followed, still shielding me as we went back inside the house.
Getting inside and shutting the door, I caught up to her over near the window i
n the living room as she reached over and drew the curtains. "What was that about, Maria? You know your way around a gun and how to protect?"
Pausing, she looked at me and smiled. "I may have taken some classes. You have a bug infestation, right?"
A bullet broke the glass and tore through the curtain. We both dropped down to our knees.
Seeing the white fluff coming out of my chair where a bullet had hit, I became very angered. "That's it. I'm calling the cops!"
Maria grabbed my shoulder. "Don't."
Turning, I shook my hands. "Then what do we do?"
"They probably want the thumb drive, Ron. You have to give it to them."
Pulling out the thumb drive, I looked at it as I heard feet moving up the steps of my porch. I was going to die and they’d get it, or I’d have to hand it over. This little thumb drive held the secrets that would get our daughter back to us, the secrets that would free her from dying, and now, I had to give it up to the ones who stole her away from us to begin with. Hope had dwindled to an all-time low.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
"I HAVE THE THUMB DRIVE," I said as I stood up.
A voice of a man on the other side of the front door replied to me. "Open the front door and hand it over."
My heart wasn't racing anymore, but it was pounding like a drum that had been hit way too many times. I had never faced a more fearful experience in my life than right in that moment. I knew I'd be at home with my savior if I died, but I hated the idea of leaving my daughter. Walking toward the door, I glanced down at Maria nearby. She held a frown on her face and looked displeased as she wept.
Reaching the door, I opened it.
The masked man stood at the door.
He held out his hand, waiting for the thumb drive.
I handed it over, placing it into the palm of his hand.
Taking the thumb drive, the man looked at the drive carefully. Then he laughed and slipped the drive into a pocket of his pants. "See? Easy.”
He turned and left to his unmarked black vehicle in my driveway. My eyes watered as I thought about how close not only myself, but Maria came to dying. He backed out and left. Thankfully, the only damage that had been done was to the porch and the large window in the living room.
Soon, Maria picked herself up off the floor and joined my side. I thought about our Emily as we made eye contact with one another. Our Ems didn't have more than a few days left until the ceremony. There wasn’t time to waste.
Pulling the real thumb drive from my pocket, I smiled at Maria.
"Wait, what?" Maria asked, confused.
We went outside and into the yard, knowing it was still bugged inside. "I slid my other thumb drive out from the laptop on the coffee table before I stood up and walked over to the door."
Maria didn't look happy. She looked worried. "Why'd you do that? He's going to figure it out and come back to kill you."
My heart pounded. "I didn't think about that."
"I have to leave. It’s not safe here, and I need to go check on Jim. I really hope you didn’t just sign our daughter’s death certificate going all hero, Ron." Maria hurried out to her car in the driveway and got in.
Brushing off the broken glass on my recliner back inside, I sat down and looked at the bullet wound on the arm. Shaking my head, I glanced up at the ceiling and began to pray. As the praying grew more intense, I slid from my chair and ended up right where I knew God did His best work—alone, and on my knees praying. I cried out for His help, His direction, His guidance. Heavenly Father, I pray for Your wisdom, insight, and guiding hand as I move forward. My heart hurts and is heavy with worry and grief, just like I know my mother had to be all those years ago when she felt responsible for Dad dying. Lord, I pray that You took her pain away when she had it, and now I pray that You protect my daughter as the days ahead are uncertain, unclear. Please, Lord, guide me, your servant, forever and ever. Amen.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
MY PRAYERS LED ME TO the conclusion that I needed to take Detective Jackson’s advice now and stay somewhere else. My home was no longer safe for me. So after dinner, I packed my suitcase, grabbed my dad’s coat, and headed into Spokane to stay at the Shilo Inn. On my way to the hotel, I stopped in and picked up a cheap pay-as-you-go phone and called Teresa. I didn't tell her where I was staying, just asked to see her.
"Can we have dinner together tonight? In town? Nothing fancy."
"Wow. Sure," she replied, surprised to hear me suggest such an idea.
"Let's meet at the Steer Inn."
"Okay. What are you up to?"
"I'm heading out to visit my dad."
"Tell him 'hi' for me." That was something Teresa always said in reply to my going out to see him.
"Thanks."
Getting out to his gravesite, my heart ached as my eyes bounced back and forth between the two headstones of my father and mother.
"It's too bad you guys are gone. I could really use some help right now."
A breeze pushed in from the west, brushing the edge of my cheek. My five o'clock shadow was turning into a ten o'clock beard now. Days had passed since I’d last shaved, too distraught from life to pay attention to facial hair.
My eyes turned to Mom's grave and tarried. "I'm sorry, Mom. You were the best mom you could be, and it was an accident. I know you didn't mean to kill Dad." Shrugging, I continued as I wiped my eyes. "It was just Dad's time to go. I get that now. Today, I might meet you guys, or tomorrow . . . who knows. I just know you're both in heaven waiting for me. I love you two a lot, but I'm not ready to see you. I have a lot more to do before I can make you guys proud." Wiping my eyes, a few stray tears managed to drip from my cheeks and land on my dad's jacket.
It was hard not having my parents around, and it was hard feeling so much guilt over how I’d treated my mother before her death, but I knew with time, God could heal me. With time, God would restore me fully. Right now, I needed to focus on Emily and getting her out of that wicked place. I had to figure out a plan to get the thumb drive to the detective.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
AT THE STEER INN, THE fast food joint I told Teresa to meet me at, I saw a news story come on the television set that hung in the lobby. It was muted, but I recognized the building on the screen and then the large gates out front. It was Lighthouse.
My throat closed, and I choked for a second as I sat in the booth across from Teresa. I took a drink of soda quickly and kept my eyes glued to the TV.
The reporter, Sarah Gonzales, stood in front of a strand of police tape wrapped around the main gate in front of Lighthouse. My stomach flipped, and I slipped from our booth without a word.
Teresa joined me as I reached up and turned the volume to a level I could hear.
Clasping onto my arm noticing the TV, Teresa watched intently with me. Was she nervous about Emily being hurt or thinking of something else entirely? I didn't know, and I hated that.
The reporter turned her body, opening the view behind her of the gates and the compound that lay just beyond them. The reporter spoke. "Now Vanessa Sinclair was a more recent recruit of Lighthouse, but staff had their concerns when she came on board." An image flashed on the screen, but it wasn't some unknown woman I didn't know. It was the detective, Gloria Jackson. My knees weakened, and the air from my lungs left quickly as I dropped to the floor.
"What's wrong?" Teresa asked, grabbing my arm to help me upright. She glanced at the TV and then back at me. "Did you know her? That woman?"
I wanted to say 'yes', but I couldn't, not to Teresa.
"How many more people have to die for that criminal to get locked up?" I asked aloud. Then I saw him, Henry, come on the screen. His face and his curly blonde curls were plastered across the pixels as he conveyed a showtime performance of fake sorrow and grief for the loss. My stomach somersaulted.
"I have to get out of here."
Teresa followed me out to the parking lot, trying to stop me with words, and then she grabbed onto my coat, ripping it at a
seam in the arm. My anger boiled. "Get away from me, Teresa!"
She recoiled. "What did I do to you, Ron?"
My lips tightened. I wanted rip into her right there in the parking lot, but I didn't. I turned and thought of Gloria. How did they figure it out? Then I turned and saw her, Teresa. Turning around, I went back over to her and got right in her face, my jaw clenched.
"You've been spying on me, haven't you? Just admit it. The neighbors saw you at my house the other day."
"Yeah, looking for you. What are you talking about, Ron?" She was convincing. She looked confused and bewildered by my words. It was a good act. She should've been in Hollywood, maybe Broadway.
"C'mon, Teresa. Give it up. I know you were one of them. The Sandrosa. Getting ready for that big killing, are you? How many girls does he plan to kill this time?" Through my teeth, I said, “Tell me.”
She shook her head. "I’m not in that cult anymore, Ron. How did you even know I was in it?"
Stepping closer, I grabbed onto her arms. "Tell me how they knew about Gloria. It was you, just say it." Shaking her, I said, "Did you tell them?"
She began to cry. "I don't know what you're talking about, Ron, but you’re scaring me!" Then passersby began to stare. Letting her go, I walked away and got into my truck. Without the detective alive, I had no way of unlocking the secrets of the thumb drive. I was lost in a sea of problems without a paddle in sight.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
IT ONLY TOOK MINUTES FOR the guilt to weigh so heavily on my shoulders that I was sure I’d dead by nightfall from it. Hightailing it to downtown Spokane, I went to go see Maria at her shop. She was quickly turning into the one constant in my life I knew I could trust, that I could count on. Parking alongside the road, I went over to the window and waved her out.
"I thought you'd be dead by now after that stunt you pulled yesterday." She laughed as she walked out, letting the door shut behind her.