Abducted Innocence (Emily Etcitty)

by Sandra Bolton

  For the duration of the trip, Abe could think of nothing more to say.

  Will, his face dark, appeared lost in a controlled rage. When the Toyota turned into the driveway of the sheep ranch, Patch ran out of the barn, barking at their arrival.

  Abe rubbed his knee, feeling a sharp pain. “Thanks for driving, Will,” he said after gingerly stepping down from the truck and bending to scratch Patch behind the ears.

  “Who’s the kid?” Will asked when the tall, gangly young man stepped out of the barn door and waved at them.

  “Danny Jorgenson—lives a half mile up the road. I paid him to take care of the animals today. He still has the mind of a kid, but his mother helps him, and he’s a good worker. Wonder why he’s still here.”

  “Abe!” Danny called. “You didn’t come home, so I told Mom I want to sleep in the barn and take care of Patch and the sheep. Can I stay, please? Mom said I could if it was okay with you. Please?”

  Another weary sigh slipped past Abe’s lips. “You can stay tonight, Danny. Are you sure it’s warm enough in the barn?”

  “Yeah. I’ve got my sleeping bag and a thermos of hot chocolate. All the sheep are in,” he said with a note of pride in his voice. “I took real good care of them.” Danny frowned as he got a closer look at Abe and Will. “What happened to you guys?”

  “Nothing you need to worry about, Danny,” Abe said. “I need to talk to your mom, though. Might want your help a little longer.”

  “Yes! Yes! Yes!” said Danny, raising his palm for a high five. His eyes gravitated to Will’s burn-scarred face. “Were you in an accident, like me?”

  Will nodded his head. “Yep.”

  Danny reached out and ran a finger down Will’s cheek. “Does it still hurt?”

  “Sometimes, but it is getting better,” Will said to the freckle-faced young man with tousled strawberry-blond hair.

  Danny smiled. “I’m getting better, too. I’ve got to get back to the barn now. Abe, can Patch sleep with me tonight? I already fed him, and I made him a nice soft bed in the hay.”

  “Okay, Danny. Go on, now.” Before he limped toward the main house, Abe turned to face Will. “Let yourself inside the guesthouse. I don’t have a phone in there, so I’m going into the main house to call the station and Danny’s mother.” After a moment he added, his voice filled with dread, “I know you’re going to have to break the news to Bertha, and it’s going to be tough.”

  When he returned to his place, after learning the police had no new leads and making arrangements for Danny to stay on a little longer, Abe saw that Will had lit kindling in the fireplace and was adding logs to a crackling fire. Though Abe had no appetite, something in a Crock-Pot smelled good, and the house looked cleaner than it had ever been.

  “Danny’s mother, Ellen,” Abe said, taking the lid off the pot and inhaling the aroma of Texas-style chili. A pan of corn bread sat on the counter.

  “You look like shit. Take a hot bath, and put some of this in the water. After I call Mom, we can eat something. Gotta keep our strength up,” Will said, handing Abe a handful of dried plant material.

  “What’s this?”

  “Yucca and other herbs. Soothing to the body. You’ll need it if we’re gonna find Emily and Lina. I’m making a medicinal tea—it’ll help you sleep.” Will finished feeding logs into the stove and filled the kettle. He reached into his medicine bag, pulled out a small packet, and dropped a pinch of something into the water.

  At one time, Abe would have scoffed at his friend’s cures—but no longer. He had borne witness to the power of Navajo medicine many times in the past. He only wished Will had something powerful enough to show him where Emily was being held.

  Once in the bathroom, he pulled off his sodden clothes, groaned, turned the water on as hot as he could stand it, and dropped the yucca powder under the spigot. Abe would have preferred a shower, but the foaming suds and soothing aroma provided instant relief to his knee. He submerged himself in the steaming water and felt a stinging sensation around his eye and cut lip. When Abe emerged, the water had turned a rusty brown from his mud- and blood-encrusted head. No wonder he had given Danny Jorgenson such a fright.

  14

  Wednesday, April 11, 1990

  Women’s Compound

  Unknown Location

  The vehicle came to a stop, but Emily could see nothing from her confinement in the pitch-black interior. Curtains had been pulled across the windows, blocking any light from entering. They had stopped once earlier, but only briefly. She heard the faint murmur of men’s voices, the creak of a metal gate, and then they were moving again.

  Someone thrust the glare of a flashlight in her face, and she heard a different male voice, a West Texas twang. She felt a blindfold being tied tightly over her eyes.

  “Who the hell are you? Where are you taking us?” she yelled before a strip of tape prevented her from saying more.

  “That’s no language for a lady,” the unknown voice drawled.

  “She’s a spunky one. Older than the girl here—carried a gun, too,” the flat monotone remarked.

  “She’ll learn,” the second voice said. “Get ready. The girl’s waking up.”

  “Just in time.”

  Emily tossed her head from side to side and strained at the straps binding her wrists and ankles. She heard whimpering and a scream before Lina was also gagged. Someone released one of Emily’s arms from its constraints, and she swung it wildly in self-defense before it was quickly shackled and handcuffed to the other. The remaining straps were loosened, and Emily kicked at unseen hands before being pulled to her feet and led down a ramp. She stumbled, heard the girl’s muffled whimpers, and unconsciously twisted around to look for Lina before realizing blindfolds still covered her eyes. Her heart pounded like a war dancer’s feet on red clay, and she lost all sense of time and place. Sweat broke out on her forehead at the same time as a shudder ran up her spine.

  Where in the hell are we, and what are they going to do with us?

  She felt and heard the crunch of gravel under her feet, then something solid, like concrete. Another gate opened and clanged shut with the sound of a lock clicking in place. Emily and Lina, prodded by the two unknown men, shuffled along a cement pathway until one of the voices told them to stop.

  “Stairs up ahead. Watch your step.”

  Emily silently counted the steps. One—two—three—four. There were six in all before they paused on a flat surface and she heard knocking on a wooden door, a sound like a sliding bolt, the turning of a knob. The door opened with a whispered whoosh, a rush of warm air, and the strong smell of soap and bleach.

  “Two? I thought there was just one,” a disembodied female voice said.

  “We had to take this older one. The boss might have some use for her.”

  “Well, bring them inside,” said the woman. “Let me see what you’ve got.”

  The men shoved her through the doorway, but Emily remained blindfolded, gagged, and unable to move her hands. She sensed more than saw the change from darkness to bright light as her moccasins scraped against a rough wooden floor.

  “Are they virgins?” asked the woman.

  “The girl was having her ceremony for womanhood. She’s as pure as heaven’s snowy flake. I don’t know about the other, but she can stay on as a breeder or worker.”

  Upon hearing these words, Emily cringed, and the taste of bile began to rise in her throat. She forced herself to swallow the bitterness so she wouldn’t gag.

  “Hmm,” the woman murmured.

  “Have them washed and dressed appropriately by eight o’clock in the morning,” the banal male voice said. “The Prophet will be here for inspection and approval.”

  “Glory is to the Prophet,” the woman said just before Emily heard retreating footsteps and the closing of a door.

  Emily wanted to run, but the shackles made that impossible. And she couldn’t leave Lina. Furthermore, where would she go, blindfolded and cuffed? She was also groggy and weak
from the drug used in the dart gun.

  Best to wait for the right opportunity, find out what kind of lunatics I’m dealing with, figure out a way to get out of here or call for help, she thought.

  The woman was talking again. “Listen carefully. Do exactly as I say, and neither of you will be punished. I’m going to take off your blindfolds. If you cooperate, I’ll remove the tape from your mouths.”

  Emily blinked against the brightness. She was in a long hallway with doors on either side. The woman standing in front of her appeared middle-aged, tall and sturdy, with gray-streaked hair pinned up in an old-fashioned bun. Her plain blue dress had a rounded collar, long sleeves, and a hem reaching to the floor. Her washed-blue eyes revealed as much life as the corpse of a drunk Emily had once found in a roadside ditch. Quickly looking around for Lina, she saw the girl standing a few feet from her. Lina’s eyes had the terrified glint of a deer caught in the spotlight of a hunter. Her skin was a ghastly pale, and beads of sweat dotted her forehead. As their glances met, she saw the girl’s eyes tear up. Seconds later Lina crumpled to the floor.

  Emily instinctively made a move to help her, but at the same time, the fish-eyed woman blew a whistle attached to a chain around her neck. A half dozen women, dressed and coiffed in the same puritanical manner, emerged from their rooms and surrounded the two Navajos.

  “Take the girl to the shower room, and remove her heathen clothing and devil’s adornments. Make sure she is scrubbed clean and dressed in a fresh muslin gown, and confine her to her room.”

  Two of the women reached down and picked up Lina, grasped her by the legs and armpits, and carried her down the hallway. The woman who appeared to be in charge turned and fixed her eyes on Emily. “There is soap, a towel, and a shower in your room. Your bedclothes and tomorrow’s dress will be laid out. We will pray Satan releases his hold, and you will be prepared to serve our Lord and Prophet. You are blessed you have been chosen as one of the few.” She reached her rawboned hands toward Emily’s face. “I am removing the tape from your mouth now, and I want you to be still and quiet.”

  Emily flinched as the sticky adhesive was ripped from her lips, but instead of heeding the warning, she began protesting. “Listen, I am a Navajo police officer. There are a lot of people looking for us right now. If you don’t want to spend the rest of your sorry life in a prison cell, let the girl and me go free or—”

  A solid slap across the face stopped her in midsentence and rocked her backward.

  You crazy witch, she thought to herself. What kind of madhouse have they taken us to, and why? I’ve got to be quiet and patient until I can figure out a way to get out of here.

  “Take this one to the holding room at the end of the hall. Get her a nightgown and new clothing. Make sure the door is padlocked before you leave,” the woman said to the remaining four, who stood impassively by her side. The speaker turned to Emily. “I will check on you in half an hour. If you are not bathed and dressed appropriately, someone will assist you—by force, if necessary.”

  Late that night when Abe emerged from the bathroom dressed in clean clothing and feeling stronger, he looked around for Emily’s brother. “Will?” he called from the open door. Puzzled, he checked the truck and noticed the motorcycle was missing. He had not heard the rumble of the engine starting up.

  Will must have left while I was running the bathwater, he thought. Maybe he wanted to talk to his mother in person.

  Abe knew Bertha Etcitty would take the news of her daughter hard. He decided to go inside, try to eat something, and drink the cup of tea Will had brewed while he waited. Afterward, feeling exhausted, he collapsed on the couch, put his feet up, and felt his eyelids drop.

  His eyes flew open with a start; sweat dripped down his face and back. He had fallen asleep and dreamed a recurring nightmare. Fiery demons were chasing him, and his legs were so heavy and leaden he could barely move. Emily had been calling him, her arms outstretched but beyond his reach. The fire in the kiva had died down to embers, but the house felt overly warm. Abe rubbed his eyes and looked at the clock on the mantel. One thirty.

  Where’s Will? Has he gone to his mother’s house and decided to stay there, or is he out looking for Emily on his own? Abe paced around the small room. I won’t be able to sleep now. I’ll call Bertha Etcitty and find out what’s going on.

  He made his way back to the main house and dialed the familiar number, hoping he wasn’t waking anyone.

  As soon as it rang, someone picked up the receiver and answered in an anxious voice.

  “Hello? Will, is that you?”

  “Bertha, it’s Abe. I thought Will might be there with you.”

  Bertha Etcitty typically presented herself as a formidable pillar of strength, but at this moment she sounded to Abe like any desperate, heartbroken mother when one of her children faced danger. For her, it was both her daughter and son. Abe could tell by the crack in her voice that Will had told her about Emily’s disappearance and had taken off on his own.

  “No, he left right after telling me about Emily and Lina. Abe, Will didn’t know this before, but Lina is diabetic. She needs her insulin. When I told him, his face turned to stone.” She sniffled. “I thought he might have gone back to your place. I just hope he didn’t go drinking again. He was so upset. He said the Nez family refused to speak to him after . . . after their girl was taken. They never told him about her diabetes. He thinks they blame him for what happened, and now he blames himself.”

  Abe exhaled a long breath. News of Lina’s diabetes added increased urgency to the case. “It’s not his fault, Bertha. He was there doing his job. I feel like I should have . . .” He let the words hang without saying what he truly believed. He should have watched her more carefully.

  Abe heard Bertha catch her breath and let out a sob.

  “I don’t know what to do—my daughter and that little girl. I need Will here to help me find Emily. I can’t handle this alone.”

  “You’re not alone, Bertha. I’ll locate him and bring him home, then we’ll work on getting Emily. I promise you. Do you have any idea where he might have gone?”

  “Thanks, Abe.” Bertha sniffled. “There’s a couple of places he used to hang out. Wait for me. We’ll go together. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  “There’s no need for you to come here. Just tell me where to look,” he said, but his words were lost in the click and dial tone at the other end.

  He had learned long ago there was no point in arguing with Emily’s mother.

  Grabbing his wallet and keys, Abe went out to wait in his truck. The rain had ceased, and the clouds parted, opening the curtain on a star-studded sky. In any other circumstance, he would have marveled at the beauty, but tonight he was barely aware of it. He could only think about finding Emily—and now her brother.

  You sure picked the wrong time to screw up, Will.

  The Etcitty house wasn’t far, and in less than ten minutes he saw the headlights of Bertha’s Honda Civic coming down the road. She pulled in beside Abe’s truck and climbed out. Her mouth was creased in a grim line of determination. “We’ll take your truck,” she said, and slid onto the seat behind him. When she saw Abe’s cut lip and swollen, bruised eye, her eyes widened, and she gasped. “What happened to you? Did Will . . . ?”

  “No, of course not. It’s a long story and isn’t important right now. Where are we headed?”

  Bertha shook her head. “Smokey’s, on the corner of Third and Broadway, right here in Bloomfield.”

  They didn’t speak again until they reached the vicinity of Smokey’s Saloon, a dimly lit dive preparing to shut down for the night.

  “Drive around to the back, and keep looking for Will’s motorcycle,” Bertha said.

  After circling the block, Abe turned into the alley. “Doesn’t appear as he’s here. Where else do you think he might have gone?”

  “Bernie’s,” she said without hesitation. It occurred to Abe that Bertha must have conducted this search herself many t
imes in the past. “It’s a little ways out of town, on Highway 550. Lots of Navajos go there.”

  A fifteen-minute drive brought them to a rundown building on a dirt lot. The lights were out, and there were no cars in the parking lot, but it wasn’t hard to spot Will’s motorcycle parked at an angle in front of the Quonset-hut-turned-beer-joint. A rumpled, stooped man sat leaning against a side wall, a shabby black hat pulled down to hide his face.

  “That’s him,” said Bertha. “Bil naakʹaiʹ. He’s passed out. Help me get him into the truck.”

  The smell of stale whiskey and vomit permeated the interior of the cab as soon as they situated Will’s unresponsive body on the seat. Abe rolled the passenger window down and told Bertha to drive the truck back to his house—that he would take the motorcycle. Riding Will’s old bike for the second time that night, he felt even more troubled than before. Abe needed Will; Bertha needed Will. The Navajo people needed him as well—his songs and prayers would help sustain them until they found Emily and the missing girls. After Abe reached his house and parked the motorcycle beside Bertha’s car, he continued to sit, brooding, not knowing what to say to comfort Emily’s mother.

  “Let’s bring him inside,” he said after a few minutes. “He can sleep it off on my couch.”

  Bertha shook her head. “No. Put him in my car. I’ll take him home, get him cleaned up, and we’ll be back early in the morning.”

  Abe raised his eyebrows, forming two furrows in his brow, and gave Bertha a questioning look. She was a determined, thickset woman without an ounce of fat on her, but Will stood a head taller than his mother. “I don’t think you can manage him alone. I’ll follow you.”

  “No,” said Bertha, shaking her head again. “I’ve done this before. You go on, get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning, at seven. I’m coming with you to find Emily. I’ll call the school and take emergency leave.”

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Bertha. Maybe you should stay close to home. What if Emily tries to call you?”

  But the woman was adamant. “We will search for my daughter together. The more people, the better chance we have of finding her. I’ll have my niece stay at the house.”