Abducted Innocence (Emily Etcitty)

by Sandra Bolton

  The texture of the wall changed, and she realized she had reached another door. But the girls were not in there—their voices, though louder, were still distant. Thinking Langley might be inside as well made Emily pause.

  What if he is in the same room with the girls? I’ll find them, and I’ll wait and listen until I’m sure he’s not there. If he is with them, I’ll wait until he comes out. There are so many “what ifs.” Will, Joe, and the FBI could come back down the hallway anytime, and they will notice the opening. I can’t think about any of this. I need to reach those girls.

  As the voices became more distinct, Emily knew she was getting close. Inching her way along the wall, she felt the smooth surface of another door. The gun felt loose in her sweaty palms, so she tightened her grip. Emily wanted to tell them she was there and she would get them out, but it was too soon. She had to remain cautious, so she pressed her ear against the door and listened while her heart raced like a stampede of wild horses.

  She could hear them talking, half in Navajo and half in English. Darcy’s voice came in a forceful whisper while Lina’s reply sounded weak, like a frightened child.

  “Lina, you can’t show him fear. It’s what he wants—to break us down so we will see him as a god. We can’t let him do that to us.”

  “I’m not as brave as you. To-bah-ha-zsid, Darcy. I am afraid. If I have to stay here, I’m going to die. I want my mom and dad. I want to go home.”

  Emily thought her heart would break while she listened to the girls—both so young—one putting on a brave face while trying to comfort the other, a terrified child in need of medical attention, unable to hide her fear. Still, listening to them gave her hope. It seemed unlikely they would talk so freely if Langley were in the room, and Lina was at least conscious. She waited a few minutes longer, her mouth like a dry arroyo bed, and her stomach clenched into a tight fist.

  Emily tapped on the door with her Glock and heard the girls gasp.

  “Darcy, Lina. It’s Emily Etcitty. I’ve come to help you. Is there anyone else in the room with you?” she asked in a hushed voice.

  She waited in the ensuing silence.

  “How do we know you are who you say?” Darcy whispered.

  They don’t trust anyone, Emily thought.

  She answered them in Navajo: “My mother is Bertha Etcitty, the teacher; from the Turning Mountain People Clan. My brother, Will Etcitty, was the hataalii at Lina’s Kinaaldá. You know you can trust me. I’m a police officer. I’ve come here to bring you home.”

  “Emily?” came the tentative cry.

  “Yes. We have to be careful. Now, keep your voices low. Is there anyone else in the room?”

  “Just me and Lina,” Darcy said between sniffles. “I’m okay, but I’m scared for Lina. She’s been throwing up, and she is so weak.”

  Emily bit her lip, shifted her weapon to the hand holding the crutch, and patted the door with the other. There was no indication of a doorknob or latch. “Is the door locked from the inside?”

  A different voice responded. “Are my mom and dad here?”

  “They will be at the airport when we fly back home, Lina. They can’t wait to see you. Now, we have to be quiet and work quickly. The man who brought you here—how did he open this door?”

  “I don’t know. He had something in his hand. When he shut it and left us here, we tried to open it again, but it wouldn’t move.”

  Emily remembered she had found this passageway by accidentally pressing a spot on the wall. She used her free hand to pat all the surfaces around the door, wondering where Will and Hosteen were, knowing speed was essential if she was going to get the girls out.

  “Perhaps I can be of some assistance,” said a chilling voice behind her.

  The blood drained from Emily’s face, and the hairs on her neck prickled like a frightened animal whose hackles were up.

  “But first, you will have to put your little weapon down.”

  She slowly turned around, her Glock grasped clumsily in the hand with her crutch, and faced Langley—and the barrel of a pistol pointed squarely at her heart.

  “Drop the gun, now,” Langley repeated.

  Emily let her Glock clatter to the floor. “You can’t get away. Cops and federal agents have the place surrounded. Your best bet is to give yourself up and let these girls go. Lina needs immediate medical attention.”

  Langley sniggered, a sound like rusty gears. “You have been trouble since the first minute they brought you to my ranch, but you underestimate me. I have prepared for the possibility of someone’s meddlesome heathen intervention.”

  I have to stall him, keep him here until Will and Hosteen and the others come back, keep him talking, Emily thought. Where are you, big brother? I need you now.

  “If you or anyone else hasn’t harmed the girls, the law may go easier on you. Don’t make matters worse.”

  “Be quiet.” Langley pressed a series of numbers on a remote, and the door slid into the wall. “Well, there’re my little red-skinned beauties. Now, no more talking. Let’s go on in and join these young ladies.”

  A single overhead light cast ghostly shadows on the cinder-block walls. The two girls huddled on a cot in the corner, crying, arms around each other, still clothed in the now-soiled long white dresses and high-top boots, their eyes wide with terror. Lina appeared wan, barely able to lift her head. Another cot lined the opposite wall, and a curtain partitioned a small area near the back. Emily assumed it was a place the girls could relieve themselves using nothing more than a chamber pot. The room had a small vent in the door for air circulation or for looking inside, but a damp, foul odor permeated the clammy space.

  “Hurry up,” said Langley, poking Emily’s back with the barrel of the gun, causing her to drop her crutch. His voice turned cold and menacing. “Everything would have been fine if you hadn’t meddled in my affairs. A spiritual marriage with these young squaws would have pleased my Lord and master and increased the Almighty’s flock for his everlasting glory. And they would have been happy, joyous. But you had to ruin it. Now we have to leave again.”

  This monster is insane, Emily thought.

  She hopped to where the girls sat and turned around to face Langley. “I don’t know what your plans are, but take me and leave the girls. Don’t let murder be added to your crimes.” Lina and Darcy clung to her like ivy on a rock wall. “If you have any compassion at all, think of how these girls’ parents must feel. Please, let them go.”

  “Now, now.” The Prophet took a remote from his pocket and aimed it in the direction of the back wall. Another opening appeared, dark and smelling of damp earth. “After you, ladies.”

  Both girls sobbed as they cowered behind Emily.

  Emily said in a measured voice, “I can’t walk without my crutch.”

  “Well, we don’t want you slowing us down, do we girls?” Langley picked up the crutch and handed it to her.

  37

  Friday, April 20, 1990

  Heaven’s Gate Ranch

  Faith, South Dakota

  Emily felt the change. Calmness and clarity of mind settled over her like a warm embrace on a winter night. Her nerves steady now, she knew it was time to make a move, but there was no room for error. She had to be quick and decisive. When Langley handed her the crutch, she grasped it firmly with both hands and, rousing all the strength she could muster, let out a fierce yell before shoving the crutch into the pit of his stomach. Langley gasped, his hands going to his abdomen, and folded like a crumpled napkin. Acting before he could recover, Emily pulled the crutch back and brought it down on his head—not once, but twice. Langley writhed on the floor, moaning in pain. Darcy saw him lose his grip on the gun and reacted quickly, picking it up and rushing to the other side of the room. Lina made her way beside her.

  “Darcy, can you keep the gun pointed at him?” Emily said.

  The young girl nodded while Emily spoke to the other girl. “We need to get out of here as fast as we can, Lina. There are rescuers out
side. Can you walk?”

  Lina looked terrified, but she grasped Darcy’s arm and whispered, “Yes.”

  The only problem was that the door to the main hallway had closed, and Emily couldn’t open it. They were trapped in the room with Langley. She lowered herself to the floor and dug through his pockets until she found the remote, but it had a keypad, and she didn’t have the combination.

  “Help me look for a switch or lever that might open the door,” she said to the two girls. “There has to be one somewhere. Did you ever watch him when he opened it?”

  Both girls shook their heads. “He always used the remote,” Darcy said. But she put the gun down and began pounding the wall around the entrance.

  Langley stirred and moaned. “Stupid woman.” His breath came in labored gasps. “All three of you are doomed to rot in hell. God will see you whipped with a thousand lashes and buried under a volley of stones—your heathen heads crushed.”

  “Yeah, well, if I shoot you, it’ll be worth it,” Emily said. She picked up the pistol and aimed it at Langley. “Tell me the combination to the door, or I’ll blow your damn fake face off.”

  Langley sneered at her and laughed.

  “I’ll count to three.”

  The voice of a possessed demon came from Langley’s mouth. He laughed again, a guttural rasp. “You won’t do it.”

  “One.”

  “You’ll never get out of here alive, stupid bitch.”

  “We will, but you won’t. I have the remote. Do you want it in the head or the gut, or would you rather I left you here to die slowly?”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Two. I like the idea of a head shot so no one ever has to look at your evil face again. I’ll aim at that twitching eye.” Emily pointed the pistol squarely at Langley. “Three.”

  The blood drained from Langley’s face, his twitch palpitated the corner of his mouth, and rivulets of sweat dripped from his forehead. His voice came out in a high-pitched whine. “Wait. I’ll tell you the code. Don’t shoot.”

  Emily kept the weapon trained on the man. “Keep talking.”

  “Seven—four—six—nine—zero—five.”

  With her eyes pinned on Langley, Emily handed the remote to Darcy. “Point this at the door and press these numbers.” She slowly repeated the code. “If it doesn’t work, Langley, you’re a dead man.”

  They heard a click, and the door leading to the passageway slid open. The movement made the girls gasp in joy, and Darcy led Lina to the entrance.

  Langley scooted to a corner, looked toward his imagined heaven, and beseeched God’s intervention. “My Lord,” he pleaded in a plaintive voice, “do not abandon me now in my time of need. Haven’t I been your faithful servant? Everything I have done is for your exaltation.”

  Emily narrowed her eyes and spit at him. “You miserable, slimy bastard. I have no sympathy for you—wish you would have given me the excuse to shoot. Get to your feet.”

  “I can’t. My leg . . .”

  “There’s nothing wrong with your leg, asshole.” Emily hobbled closer to Langley and jabbed him with her crutch. “Stand up and put your hands behind your head.” She heard the girls calling from the corridor and diverted her eyes for only a second.

  Langley had been watching, waiting for his moment. He made a guttural sound and sprang into action as quickly as a crouching mountain lion. He threw himself at Emily, knocking her to the floor. He wrestled the gun from her grip. “I knew the righteous and mighty Jehovah would not abandon his faithful servant. Retribution is mine, whore. An eye for an eye.” Langley stood over Emily, laughing like a madman, and slammed the crutch down on her wounded leg time after time.

  Emily screamed and grasped her leg. She thrashed on the floor, trying to escape the blows as explosions of white-hot pain shot through her body. Her cast offered little protection, and as the strikes moved from her leg to her arms and head, she struggled to remain conscious. Despite her agony, she heard the girls crying and calling her name.

  Lina. Darcy. I can’t let him take them again.

  “Wicked harlot, abomination to all that is sacred. I would shoot you now, but it might bring unwanted attention.” Langley delivered a final blow and tossed the crutch to a far corner of the room. “I don’t think you will be following me now,” he hissed.

  “No!” Emily yelled as she watched Langley grab Darcy by the arm and run out the door.

  She rolled to the wall, trying to use it as support, gritting her teeth as she tried to pull herself to a standing position. Emily swallowed the sour taste of bile as a wave of nausea swept through her body. Grimacing with pain, she dragged her body to the door just in time to see Lina on her knees holding Emily’s police-issued Glock with two shaking hands. “Lina, don’t shoot.”

  Lina’s voice sounded high and hysterical. “He’s got Darcy!” A shot rang out, echoing through the chambers of the long tunnel, and Emily saw Langley look back in disbelief before he stumbled to the floor in a pool of blood. Darcy was running back toward her, and Lina, still on her knees, held tightly to the weapon.

  Emily inched her way to the trembling girl. “Give me the gun, Lina.” She put her arms around her and held her tightly. “Don’t say anything when the police come. Let me do the talking.” She wiped the girl’s prints off the gun and glanced at Darcy. “Are you all right?” The girl gave her a barely perceptible nod and, weeping as well, hurried to Lina’s side. They sat on the floor, clutching each other. “It’s going to be okay. Don’t look at the man. Just turn your heads away.”

  You monster. What new hell have you wreaked on these children?

  She pulled herself to a standing position, and despite the throbbing pain in her leg, hopped to where Langley had fallen and felt for a pulse. He was alive. The bullet had passed through the left side of his chest but appeared to have missed vital organs. The sound of the shot must have alerted the search party, because Emily heard thundering footsteps running down the corridor in her direction.

  Will was the first to reach her, followed by Hosteen.

  “Is he dead?” asked Will as he knelt beside Emily. He checked Langley’s wrist and showed relief after finding a pulse.

  The Navajo have strong aversions to touching the dead, believing the evil in a person stays with the physical body. It is deemed bad luck—even worse if the dead man is a bilagáana.

  “No, it’s a clean wound, no organs—losing lots of blood. There’re blankets and a towel in the room where the girls were kept,” Emily said.

  “What happened, Emily?”

  “Later, Will. Joe, call it in. It’s the perp. He needs an ambulance.”

  Hosteen already had his handheld out and had keyed in the code. “I have a 10-53, man down. It’s a 10-72. Victim is Rupert Langley. Send in the medics for Lina Nez.” He gave his location, checked Langley’s wound, and tried to curtail the bleeding by applying pressure.

  Will entered the small enclosure where the girls had been and came out with a towel and two wool blankets. He handed the towel to Hosteen, who placed it over the wound, then covered Langley with one blanket and put the other under his head.

  “She tried to kill me,” Langley hissed through clenched teeth. He began to shake convulsively, and his breathing came rapid and shallow.

  “Don’t talk,” said Hosteen. He shot Emily a questioning look, but her face revealed nothing. His eyes traveled to the two Navajo girls, who crouched in the shadows against the wall, their hands hiding their eyes. “How’d it happen, Emily?”

  Lina had fired at Langley’s back while he tried to flee, dragging Darcy with him. He had fallen facedown, never knowing who pulled the trigger. The fact Hosteen thought it was Emily who fired was the way she wanted it. “It’ll be in my report, Joe. I want to get these girls out of here.”

  “What shape is Lina in?” Hosteen said.

  Emily frowned. “Lina is holding on, but she’s frail and in a dazed condition. I don’t think she would have lasted much longer. We need to get her to a
hospital right away.” Will knelt beside Lina and Darcy, speaking to them in soft, reassuring tones. “Will, would you get my crutches? One is in the room, and the other is around here somewhere.”

  After Will helped her to her feet and handed her the crutches, Emily made her way to the girls. “Let’s go. There’s nothing to be afraid of now.”

  Will picked up Lina and carried her to the approaching medical-team stretcher.

  38

  Friday, April 20, 1990

  Mattie Simmons’s Sheep Ranch

  Bloomfield, New Mexico

  Abe awoke to sunshine streaming through the bedroom window and realized he had overslept. He had lain awake the night before, working out a strategy for dealing with Mattie Simmons. His suspicion the ranch owner was cheating Navajo rug makers out of their fair share of the selling price had been fomenting for some time, but he had no proof—just rumors and grumblings from Churro sheep raisers and weavers. But if Emily could somehow gain access to Simmons’s sales records and bank accounts, they’d have substantial evidence, and he could move ahead with the second part of his plan.

  He stretched, feeling rested, secure in the knowledge that Emily would be back soon. It had been his first decent night’s sleep in a week. Abe pulled on his jeans, put the coffee on, let Patch out, and saw the open barn door. He could have sworn he had closed it after he checked the livestock the evening before.

  “Damn,” he muttered. “What’s this about?” After putting on his shoes, Abe walked toward the barn—and met Danny Ferguson as he herded the sheep out to pasture.

  “Danny, what’re you doing here? You didn’t have to come to work today.”

  “I wanted to, Abe. I like taking care of them. You don’t have to pay me anything. Can I stay? Please.”

  Abe scratched his head. “Sure, you can stay. I’ll help you, though, as soon as I grab some coffee.”

  The smile spreading across Danny Ferguson’s face gave no doubt the young man with the intellect of a boy loved the sheep. And the animals responded to his quiet voice and manner of dealing with them. “Thanks, Abe. You can drink your coffee and eat breakfast, too.”