by Bob DeMoss
From the Back Cover
One Girl. Against the mob.
This was no ordinary party.
It was the first night of the Memorial Day weekend and Kat Koffman figured she’d dance the night away at a massive, East Coast rave. She’d go to the beach in the morning with friends from school. At least that was the plan.
But when classmates Jodi Adams and Bruce Arnold found her, Kat lay unconscious on the second floor of a rat-infested warehouse. Beside her was an empty syringe—and a dead boy.
Jodi wanted answers—and justice. How did the boy die? Was Kat next? Why did the syringe look familiar to Bruce? And why did the police refuse to help? Nothing could prepare Jodi for the fact that some kids are worth more dead than alive.
And, just when she thought she’d uncovered the truth, she got more than she bargained for.
The Russian Mafia.
All The Rave
Bob DeMoss
The Soul Survivor Series
Mind Siege Project
All the Rave
The Last Dance
Black Friday
For Sienna DeMoss
You’re all the rave in my book
as you dance for the Lord
All The Rave
Copyright © 2020 Bob DeMoss. All rights reserved.
Published by Bob DeMoss. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.
Cover design by Thom Schupp.
Cover copyright ©2020 Bob DeMoss.
Scripture quotations used in this book are from The New King James Version, copyright © 1979, 1980, 1982, Thomas Nelson, Inc., Publishers.
This is a work of fiction. Apart from obvious historical references to public figures, places and events, all characters and incidents in this novel are the products of the authors’ imaginations. Any similarities to people living or dead are purely coincidental.
Printed in the United States of America
01 02 03 04 05 06 XXX 6 5 4 3 2 1
Contents
Prologue
1. Friday 4:57 PM
2. Friday 10:29 PM
3. Friday 10:46 PM
4. Friday 11:55 PM
5. Friday 11:31 PM
6. Saturday 12:02 AM
7. Saturday 12:03 AM
8. Saturday 12:21 AM
9. Saturday 12:29 AM
10. Saturday 12:33 AM
11. Saturday 12:38 AM
12. Saturday 12:44 AM
13. Saturday 12:45 AM
14. Saturday 7:45 AM
15. Saturday 10:07 AM
16. Saturday 11:16 AM
17. Saturday 11:22 AM
18. Saturday 11:31 AM
19. Saturday 11:57 AM
20. Saturday 12:19 PM
21. Saturday 1:02 PM
22. Saturday 1:15 PM
23. Saturday 1:38 PM
24. Saturday 1:58 PM
25. Saturday 2:23 PM
26. Saturday 2:36 PM
27. Saturday 2:54 PM
28. Monday 11:57 AM
The Last Dance
Prologue from The Last Dance
About the Author
Prologue
It was 10:33 PM Friday night. A seventeen-year-old girl lay curled in the fetal position on the second level of an abandoned warehouse in downtown Philadelphia. Though her eyes were slammed shut, in her mind she could see herself hovering, phantomlike, above her body.
The dark, rat-infested room where she lay crumpled on the floor spun out of control to the pulsating sounds of music she could hardly miss, yet couldn’t fully hear. A high-pitched frequency, like a carpenter bee looking for a place to drill, whirled in her right ear. She wanted to swat away the source of this annoyance, but her right arm remained unresponsive. Her legs felt numb, and she discovered that they, too, refused to respond when commanded to move.
Her throat was dry—yet somehow was as tacky as flypaper. She tried to swallow but was incapable of that simple task.
Her lungs, attempting to pull in the thick night air through her pierced nose, were greeted by a nasty mix of fumes and dust. She longed for just one full, clean breath of fresh air.
She struggled to fight back the waves of panic. What was happening to her? Why did her guts feel as if they were about to explode? Why was she perspiring when she felt so cold? Why was she remembering something about wearing pixie wings and pink sneakers?
Just then, her tongue reported something was jammed into her mouth. Her teeth clamped down on its rubbery surface and wouldn’t let go. With some effort, she forced her mind to focus. Like the headlight of an approaching car on a foggy night, a dim recognition of the object cut a path through the haze in her head.
A pacifier. How odd. She had given up using pacifiers once she turned two years old. Her mother had her toss her “binky” into a creek in the park, a ritual designed as sort of a rite of passage from baby to toddler. Why, then, was a pacifier back in her mouth now?
As she struggled to make sense of the competing sensory input, she was vaguely aware of an acidic bile traveling between her stomach and throat. The bitter, brownish-yellow fluid ejected by her liver, like hot lava pushing its way against the surface, battled for immediate release.
More than anything she wanted to vomit.
Then got her wish.
Her mind raced in slow motion, searching for an explanation. Maybe it was a touch of food poisoning.
No. No. NO!
Look what you’ve done. Face it. You screwed up, big time. What are you on? Pot? Meth? Ecstasy? She was fairly certain the voice echoing inside her head, though familiar-sounding, wasn’t her own.
Or was it? It was so difficult to tell.
Why was the room swirling fast, then slow, then fast again? Was she dying? Or dead? Was this the last stop before hell? She knew she wasn’t ready to die. Certainly hadn’t planned to die.
She knew she couldn’t speak, yet a feeble voice from someplace inside whispered, Oh God . . . if you’re there, I could use a little help right about now. I . . . Jesus, I . . .
A sharp pain seared her left arm, interrupting her cry for help. The limb, which had been sandwiched between her body and the hardwood floor, throbbed and demanded to be recognized. She remembered something about a needle, a tranquilizer . . .
With a head full of unanswered questions, she passed out—again.
1
Friday 4:57 PM
“I’m not changing my mind, Heather. And that’s my final answer,” Jodi Adams said with a mock game show announcer accent. Her attempt at humor was met with an extended pause on the other end of the phone. She figured her best friend, Heather Barnes, must really be ticked.
“Why are you being such a stinker? I bet it’s because everybody thought Kat’s idea was better than yours . . .”
“As if I’m that shallow.” Jodi switched her iPhone to her other ear and then glanced at the clock on the microwave. Almost 5:00 P.M. She’d been talking for close to an hour.
“I mean,” Heather said, “I thought your idea of going to Atlantic City was cool, but I was outvoted. Why can’t you just deal with it?”
“Heather, we’ve already been over this, what, like a thousand times. I’m not interested in going to a rave. I’d rather have a stick in my eye.” She massaged her forehead with her free hand as she remembered how the whole mess started.
Two months ago, Jodi and Heather, along with six other honor students from the junior class of Fort Washington High School in Huntingdon Valley, Pennsylvania—Stan “da Man” Taylor, Kat Kauffman, Bruce Arnold, Carlos Martinez, Vanessa Johnson, and Justin Moore
—had shared an unforgettable spring break together on a houseboat as part of a social studies project.
Kat, who had the idea for this reunion of sorts, hoped everyone from the trip could make it. School was almost out and Jodi recalled how Kat couldn’t imagine anything more exciting than to lose oneself in the laser lights and sound—away from parents, away from rules, away from the mundane drill of life.
In celebration of Memorial Day, according to the flier Kat picked up at Recycled Records, this throwback tribute event would be two raves in one. A Storm Rave would be on one side featuring a DJs spinning German hardcore, hard trance, and jackhammering techno. Kat, as a seasoned raver, had explained to the group that the music at a Storm Rave pushed an insane 180 to 200 beats per minute. She admitted it was almost too fast to dance to for any length of time without, as Kat put it, “a little help.”
Jodi figured she was referring to speed.
But, Kat had been quick to point out that the other side would feature Happy House, more in line with an electronic dance music (EDM), disco vibe. Something for everybody. The hottest DJs from New York, Detroit, and San Francisco were slated to spin the tunes for this twelve-hour continuous, dual dance party in an old, abandoned warehouse in downtown Philadelphia.
So far, Justin, Vanessa, and Jodi weren’t going. Justin had a martial arts competition the next day and couldn’t compete if he stayed up all night. Vanessa was helping her dad move to Pittsburgh and couldn’t make it. But, according to Heather, Jodi didn’t have a good excuse for staying home and, for the better part of an hour, she’d been lobbying Jodi to change her mind.
“Listen, Heather,” Jodi said, “it’s not like I’m judging you. But doesn’t it bother you just a tiny bit what goes on at those parties?” She hopped off the padded barstool to rummage through the kitchen for a light snack.
“How would you know anything about raves if you’ve never been?” Heather asked.
Jodi opened the refrigerator door and glanced inside. “I read. I watch the news. I’ve heard stuff.”
“Like what?”
Jodi spotted a slice of leftover cheesecake, but decided in favor of the bag of baby carrots in the crisper. She grabbed a handful and then returned to her seat. “You know, like the way some of the guys, well, they grope you while you’re dancing and how drugs are everywhere . . .”
Heather cut in. “Doesn’t mean you have to take ’em, too. Most people go to just dance and have a good time. Besides, Kat said the raves are all about that PLUR thing.”
Jodi rolled her eyes. “Peace, Love, Unity, Respect—whatever.” She started to eat a carrot.
“Something wrong with that?”
Jodi munched on her carrot for a moment. “On the surface, nothing, Heather.”
“So what’s eating you?”
Jodi took a deep breath, then said, “All I’m saying is that Kat was making real progress in her search for God, you know, coming to Young Life with us and stuff. I just think it would send the wrong signal to her about my Christian faith if I went, that’s all.” She heard Heather clear her throat on the other end.
“I see. What you’re really saying is that I’m being a bad example by going tonight.”
Jodi cradled the phone between her left ear and shoulder. With both hands now free, she reached back to pull her blonde hair into a ponytail. “Not necessarily. That’s between you and God. But if you go and something happens to Kat, I just think you and I will, like”—she paused—“I don’t know, but it’s bound to change things between us.”
“So now I’m the bad guy?”
“I didn’t say that, Heather. You’re putting words in my mouth. I happen to care deeply about Kat’s spiritual life. I’m sure you do, too. And I think she’s super close to becoming a Christian. I’d be pretty bummed if we did something to confuse her when she’s so ready.”
“Well, nice speech. But like it or not, I still plan to go. In fact, Stan’s coming by to give me a ride . . . we’re only talking the hottest guy on campus. As if I’m gonna pass hanging with him up—right.”
Jodi could hear the excitement crackling in Heather’s voice, but she didn’t say anything. How could she? What would she say? I’m so glad you’re starting to date a non-Christian football jock with a loose reputation. Hope you “make out” okay. Besides, Jodi had already voiced her feelings about Heather dating Stan.
When Jodi didn’t respond, Heather added, “Well, whatever you’re thinking, maybe I’m not good enough to be your friend. Sorry to disappoint you. Good-bye.”
The call went dead. For a long minute Jodi stared at the phone.
“Hey Mom, hey Dad.” Jodi tapped lightly on their bedroom door, which was ajar. “Can I come in?” It was 9:55 P.M. and Jodi figured her folks were reading in bed. She leaned an ear toward the door.
“Sure thing, honey.”
She pushed open the door and then walked over and sat on the edge of the bed.
“Oh, I’ve been meaning to remind you, Jodi,” her dad said, sitting upright. His back leaned against the headboard and his green terry robe, open at the chest, revealed a white T-shirt. “Mom and I will be getting home late from Grandma’s tomorrow. You’re still welcome to join us.”
Jodi shrugged off his offer.
“We might even spend Saturday night if she needs your dad to play handyman,” her mother added. “We’ll let you know.”
“Sure thing. I’ll try not to be too bored.” Jodi smiled.
“So what’s up?”
Unlike many of her friends at school, Jodi lived in a home where she and her parents maintained a pretty peaceful relationship. She enjoyed bouncing ideas off them, especially matters of faith. At one point in his life, her Dad, Jack Adams, had taken some seminary training. All Jodi knew was he had a lot of wisdom, and that’s what she needed right now.
“Something wrong?” Rebecca Adams asked, looking over the edge of her glasses.
“Well, yes and no, Mom. Remember how I told you that Kat and the others from the spring break trip were going to this all-night rave thing tonight?”
“Sure,” her dad said, adjusting his pillows. “You said you didn’t plan to go which, frankly, was a relief to us.”
Her mom added, “We weren’t big on the idea. I mean, don’t those kids’ parents care where they are at that hour?”
Jodi shrugged. “Actually, Mom, they probably figure it’s an okay place for teens. The flier says it’s an alcohol-free dance, and nobody over eighteen will be admitted. Sure beats a keg party.”
Jodi’s dad nodded. “Now, when we were in high school-”
“Oh, Jack. Let her talk,” her mom said with a friendly elbow nudge. “So, what’s on your mind?”
Jodi ran her fingers through her hair. “Well, tonight I started looking at that devotional book you gave me, Dad—”
“Refresh my memory. Which one?”
“By that C. H. guy . . .”
“Try C. H. Spurgeon. Evening by Evening,” her dad added.
“Right. Anyway, when I finished, I felt . . . well, I felt this really strong burden to pray for Kat’s safety.” She started to lean on her left arm. “And, believe it or not, I think God wants me to go after all.” She paused to gauge their reaction. Her mom spoke first.
“Isn’t it almost ten already?”
“I’d just make an appearance, make sure Kat’s all right, maybe take a group photo with my disposable camera. It still has a few pictures left on it.” Jodi got the camera as part of a White Elephant gift at Christmas. Considering she loved retro camera gear, primarily because she liked the warmer tones that film offered over digital, she got a kick out of occasionally going “old school” with the disposable camera. After taking 24 shots, she’d take the camera in for developing at a boutique film shop that specialized in old tech. “Anyway, I’ll be back by midnight. Can I?”
Her dad spoke next. “You really feel this is what God wants you to do?” When she nodded, he added, “Well, we trust your judgment, but I’d reall
y feel much better if somebody could go with you. Want me to drive?”
Jodi gave him a pained look as if to say, Thanks but no thanks.
“I get the picture.” He crossed his arms and pretended to pout.
“Come on, you know I love you, Dad.” They traded smiles.
“Hey, I’ve got an idea,” Jodi said. “Bruce is working late at the Pet Vet, you know, the one just around the corner. I think he’s planning on going. Maybe I could catch a ride with him.”
“I’m not so sure I like your being out that—” her dad started to say.
Jodi’s mom smiled. “Shh, I think it sounds like a fine plan. Just be careful, okay?”
“At least take your cellphone . . . ,” her dad added.
“Call us if you need anything,” Jodi’s mom said. “We’ll be praying for Kat, too.”
Jodi hopped off the bed. “Thanks!”
“Well dear, sounds like this’ll give us the whole house in case we get a little frisky,” her dad said with a wink toward his wife.
Jodi raised her eyebrows.
“Gro-o-oss . . . I think I’m leaving now.”