by RJ Griffith
“Father,” Amy finished for her. “I have to go, Mom. I’m late for work, and this conversation isn’t going anywhere I haven’t been before.”
“Amelia, don’t be like that. I need more time.”
Amy walked out the studio door. She regretted leaving like that. Her mom spoke the truth. Amy didn’t often think things through. And now she sulked against a tree in Stockholm, of all places. She sighed and brushed a fallen leaf from her drawing. She should call her mom. A gust of wind pushed against the treetops and Amy jolted.
A bald man stood before her, his lips curved in an evil grin, exposing a silver-etched tooth.
12
Archer had personally interviewed each security person to meet Mr. Lundahl’s needs after doing extensive background checks on the people he hired. The camera system needed updating to include more of the grounds, but Mr. Lundahl didn’t care for walking around the estate and preferred to stay indoors.
Archer jumped into the first available cab. I need to know she’s safe. He pulled out his cell and dialed her number. A smiling photo of Amy popped onto the screen. When did she do this? Her phone rang once before going to voicemail. He tried Mr. Lundahl’s private number but got the answering service and decided not to leave a message. He would find Amy and then inform the police of the break-in. He should have done that first, but he couldn’t get the thought of Amy being in danger out of his mind.
God, please keep Amy safe. All of Archer’s muscles tensed as if he’d been put in the ring with an invisible fighter. He reached into his jacket and touched the gun strapped behind his shoulder. Amy, Amy, Amy…don’t overthink the situation, Archer, she’s fine. She’s probably having a happy reunion with her father.
His employer made tough business decisions, culled inefficient employees, and bought out other companies without blinking. Trying to see him as a loving father…
For Amy’s sake, Archer held out hope.
The tires rolled onto the gravel.
Archer handed the driver some money and took the front steps two at a time. He stopped just short of bursting through the doors and shouting her name. Instead, he pressed the bell.
The door swung open to reveal the butler. “Hello, Mr. Stock. I’m afraid Mr. Lundahl is out.”
“I’m actually here to see Amy—Miss Bath—I mean. She has some information about a man who broke into my apartment, and I need to speak with her right away.”
“Step inside, Mr. Stock. Can I take your coat?”
Archer’s jacket could wait until he laid eyes on Amy, safe and sound.
“Have you seen Miss Amy Bath?” The butler addressed the woman carrying clean linen upstairs.
“I saw her walk toward the edge of the eastern grounds, near the grove of trees on the border of the property.”
Archer clenched his fists. “Thank you. I can take myself there.” He headed out the front door. The low crime rate, coupled with his love for the indoors, made Mr. Lundahl hesitant to build fences or even place security cameras outside the borders of the lawn. Archer was regretting his decision to go along with his employer’s wishes.
Past the house gardens, Archer broke into a run. He had to see Amy safe, unharmed. Anyone would be concerned after the break in. Yeah right. The grass grew deeper as he approached the trees. The melted frost soaked into the legs of his trousers. He pressed further into the woods. “Amy! Amy!” His calm pretense fell away. Archer searched the ground for her petite foot prints and found them leading further into the woods. “Amy,” he shouted again.
A willow warbler called from high in the birch grove.
He followed the trail to a tree. A drawing tablet smudged with dirt and colored pencils littered the forest floor. A page showed the beginnings of a drawing interrupted by a long, brown gash. A shaky scrawl was etched at the bottom. The word help was written against the tree backdrop.
The Butcher had her.
Archer dropped to his knees, pounded a fist against the dirt, and yelled Amy’s name one more time. He looked toward the sky and shot up a desperate prayer. “God, keep her safe. Don’t let him hurt her, Lord. Please, please, don’t let him hurt her.” He stilled.
A cold breeze blew past and skittered through the trees.
Think, Archer. What does this man want from you that he would be willing to kidnap a stranger for it? Now I have something you love.
The championship belt. The association allowed him to keep it after the final with the Butcher of Sweden. Archer stored it away in a box when he moved to Sweden, and it still sat underneath the towel rack in the bathroom at his apartment. Could that be what the Butcher desires?
Archer dialed Mr. Lundahl’s private number. “Hello, Mr. Lundahl, we have a situation. It seems as if someone seeking revenge on me has abducted your daughter.”
“Oh, that matter is taken care of.”
Archer felt instant relief wash over him. “You found Amy?”
“No, I found her out. She is not my daughter, as I suspected. She sought my fortune and failed the moment she cut her finger. My physician discovered she is not my child. I suspect she overheard us and ran. I’m relieved she’s gone.”
Had Amy lied to them all? Had she found out about the Butcher and used the information to manipulate him into believing her?
There was the appearance of a struggle. Archer followed the broken path for a few feet. A silver glint caught his eye. He stooped and brushed the brittle leaves aside to reveal Amy’s charm bracelet. He bolted from the woods. He had to get home to find the belt. He hoped it would be enough to appease this crazy man.
13
Cold seeped into Amy’s body from the cold-stone surface. She attempted to sit up, but her hands stuck fast to an unseen object. Stiff rope bit into her skin. The thick, soupy darkness made it impossible to see. The acrid scent of old-wood smoke clung to the building. She scooted closer to feel for a knot but found nothing.
The rope gnawed at her wrists. She gave up and drew her knees against her chest. Her muscles protested, the numbness crept closer to her core. She licked her lips, tasted blood, and vaguely recalled being struck. Pressing her feet on the boiler and leaning against the rope made it give a little. She scooted close and searched the cold metal with shaking hands. She tugged again and heard a creaking noise overhead.
“God, if You’re still out there listening for me…help.” She swallowed the lump rising in her throat.
14
Archer jogged to the driveway and spotted the black sedan with yellow taxi plates. He leapt into the cab and rattled off directions to the nearest police station.
“Polisen?” The driver asked.
“Ja, snabbt.” Archer’s cell phone chirped.
“By now you have noticed you’re missing something.”
Archer clenched and unclenched his jaw. He recognized the growling voice tinged with a Swedish accent. Not that long ago the same voice told him he would die in the ring at this man’s hands. The scar across his back itched. Phantom feeling, the doctor had called it. The pieces were falling into place now. The stabbing, the break-ins, the sense that someone watched his every move.
“Where is she? What have you done with Amy?” His voice caught.
A gruff laugh exploded from the speaker. “I have simply taken her from your grasp and now possess her where you cannot find her.”
“This is about the title, the belt; it has nothing to do with Amy. I barely know her. Don’t include her in your vendetta. This is between you and me.”
The cabbie shifted in his seat. The car picked up speed.
“I saw how she felt about you. The way she spoke about you, the way you embraced each other. She is precious to you. Now you will know what it feels like to lose something precious. By the way, if you involve the polisen, she’s as good as dead.”
“Stoppa!” Archer shouted to the driver. Instinct told him to press on, involve the police, and catch the man. But he couldn’t shake the image of Amy’s limp form, broken and out of his reach. Archer
redirected the cab driver to his apartment.
“Good.” The voice on the other end of the phone snarled. “Now get the belt and meet me next to the koi pond at Hagaparken at 13:00 hours.”
“I’ll be there…hello? Hello?” Archer typed in the number for the police. He had a friend he could trust. “Brodd? This is Archer. I have a situation.”
“Take the belt there. I’ll have a team assembled and in place. He won’t see us until it’s too late.”
****
Thirst burned Amy’s throat. Her lips stung when she licked them. No matter how hard she yanked and twisted the rope, it wouldn’t budge. Fear had crept into the room hours ago and now sat firmly against her chest. “God?” she spoke aloud, her voice echoing into the darkness. “I’m sorry for everything.” Her apology felt empty, and she tried again. “I’m sorry for hating You. I know You’re real. I always knew inside my heart. I didn’t want to admit You were around watching me hurt and never doing anything about it. I still don’t understand, but I want to. Mom always says You have reasons we can’t see.” She thought of Mr. Lundahl’s reaction to her news and felt the sting of his rejection. She saw the deep rift she’d opened with her mother right before leaving for Stockholm. Even Mere had suffered her misuse. “If I die here,” she choked on a sob, “will You please take care of my mom, and Mere, and…” Amy searched her feelings. Archer would blame himself. “God, take care of Archer for me.” She lay back against the cement and let the cold seep back into her bones. Involuntary shivers wracked her small frame. She closed her eyes and concentrated on warmth. She recalled a warm summer day when her eight-year-old self sat on a stool, swinging her feet, in her mother’s studio. Amy often wondered if her mother noticed anything in the outside world when she painted.
“Paintings are memories, Amelia. People paint to remember things. Some people paint things how they want them to be, not how it truly is.”
The morning light streamed through the large picture windows. Her mother favored natural light and the building could be stifling in the summer heat.
“I used to remember things how I wanted to, and that way I felt justified for my decisions. I regret so much.” Abigail set her pallette down on the workbench “I never regretted one thing, though. I never regretted having you.” She lifted Amy into her arms and planted a kiss on her forehead.
Another memory flooded Amy’s vision. California, the waves crashing against a crowded beach. She was seventeen and pushing against anything her mother suggested. They sat in beach chairs with sketch pads. Her mother sketched a family playing in the water. Amy chose one of the surfers riding in the curl of a wave. The heat rose off the sand and distorted the air near the water, making it dance and shimmer.
“That’s promising, Amelia. What are you going to do with it?”
Amy flipped the page. “Nothing. It’s a sketch.”
“You have a talent I don’t have. You should use it. It’s a gift from God.”
“Mom, it’s a simple sketch. God didn’t give it to me.” Amy put her shades on and leaned back against the chair.
“In time you’ll understand. He has all the time in the world.”
Amy turned away from her mother.
“You need to wake up…”
15
Archer stood next to the koi tank at 12:54 PM. Out of habit he started some pre-fight wrist rolls before he noticed the odd looks he received from passersby. God, let this work. He pulled the backpack in front and felt the bag for the belt.
More children gathered, and a worker arrived to feed the koi. The echoing of the building made it impossible for him to hear anything other than the crashing of children’s voices.
The press of a sharp object jammed into his back.
“Move and you’ll feel it in your liver.”
“Butcher, I have the belt. Let’s move away from these kids, and you can tell me where Amy is. Then it’s yours.”
The man leaned his chin against Archer’s shoulder. The blade pressed deeper into his coat.
“The name’s Odin, and that’s not how it works today. I get the belt, and you wait like I had to wait.”
The tall figure of Brodd moved forward.
Archer brought the backpack to his side. “It’s in here. Take it.”
The pressure of the blade lifted and the man backed away.
Archer waited five seconds and turned. He didn’t see Odin’s bald head anywhere. He wove through the crowd of school children pressing toward the koi tank.
A scream struck a chord above the murmuring din. “He has a knife!”
Odin barreled back toward him, followed by Brodd and his team.
Clear of any children, Archer dropped into his fighter stance and waited as the man ran full tilt at him, brandishing his knife.
“You’ll never see her again!” The man yelled and plunged the knife down at him.
Archer pushed the hand holding the knife to the side and brought his other fist up squarely against the man’s jaw, dropping him to the ground. Odin rolled onto his stomach, trying to get up.
Archer placed his knee against his back and held him there.
Brodd’s team rushed forward.
“Tell me where she is!” Archer shouted, disregarding his surroundings.
“Give me the belt.” The man clawed at the ground, trying to reach the backpack.
“Tell me where she is and you can have the belt.”
“She’s in a building near the bay,” he wheezed. “She’s tied to the boiler. It’s abandoned right now. The whole place is being renovated for the tourists,” he spat. “She’s fine. Give me the belt.”
“Tell me the address.”
“Archer, we can take it from here.”
Brodd’s hand clamped down on his shoulder. Archer let the security team pull Odin to his feet.
“I never meant to hurt anyone. I only wanted what I deserved.” Odin hung his head as he was cuffed. But then the Butcher of Sweden grimaced, hate burning in his eyes. He threw himself at Archer and screamed, “This is all your fault!”
Two of the police pulled him back.
“If you had stayed in the fighting circuit, the world could have seen that I am the better fighter.” He pulled once more against the men; the veins in his neck bulged. The policemen pulled him away.
“We’ll get your statement after we bring him in for questioning. This didn’t go well. Children could have been hurt. I should have cleared the building of visitors.” Brodd mopped the sweat from his brow. “If it weren’t for his felony records…as for the woman, we will soon know her exact location. I feel confident our team can persuade him to talk.”
“Thanks, Brodd.” Archer had no intention of waiting for the team to discover the exact location; he would search every building under construction that sat near the bay.
Amy would be found
16
Wake up.
Amy rolled onto her other side. Her body felt numb, but at least she couldn’t feel the cold seeping up from the cement. A warmth seemed to spread through her limbs, and her eyes fell shut again.
Archer is such a kind man. Why didn’t I notice before? I can’t really tell if the burn on my arm hurts. It doesn’t matter now. Everything solid seemed hazy, as if she stared down at herself from above. She remembered the spontaneous kiss she gave him on the cheek. Did I embarrass him? I can’t remember. Coherent thought slipped into the darkness surrounding her. I wonder what it would be like to really kiss him.
****
Searching through all the buildings surrounding the bay seemed impossible, but Archer had to do something. He couldn’t sit at home and wait for Brodd to call. Keep her alive, Lord. Archer leaned forward to the cab driver. “Take me around the waterfront to a building being renovated.”
“Do you know what building?” The driver laughed. “This could be an expensive ride.”
”I’ll pay for it. Do you know of any large-scale renovations going on?”
“The building on Beckholme
n is scheduled for it. They’ve put up the fences and moved the equipment in. I don’t know what the historical society is doing, probably something for tourism. The word is, renovations are on hold for a while.”
Archer gripped the man’s seat. “Take me there.” God, You know I want You to keep her safe. Please, let her be safe. He propped his elbows on his knees and rested his head against his folded hands. The story of Ruth surfaced in his mind. Boaz trusted God to provide Ruth as his wife, even though another man had a rightful claim to her. God knew Boaz’s desire.
The cab pulled up alongside a building. “This is the place.”
Archer paid the man and stepped from the cab. Where could she be? The chill of the autumn air deepened. He needed to find her before night fell. It could be bitterly cold near the water. He wandered around the painted-red buildings and looked past the heavy fences. He ventured a shout, “Amy!” The stillness responded with nothing more than an echo of his own voice.
The Butcher of Sweden fought tricky and dirty. Odin was the kind of guy who hid his abilities until his opponent felt false confidence. The results weren’t pretty.
With that in mind, Archer tried to think like the other man. He turned a circle and spotted an outbuilding. He ignored the sharp pains in his knees and hips as he ran full tilt to the little shack. A lock hung broken from the door. He tugged the door open. The afternoon light gave way to the evening, and he couldn’t see very well. The building contained odds and ends. Dark, oily parts littered the floor space.
She’s not here.
He couldn’t shake the feeling he’d missed something crucial. He flicked on the penlight attached to his keyring and shined it into the darkness. A large broiler cast huge shadows against the wall.
He shoved to widen the gap in the door. The broiler had a rope wrapped around it several times. They must be getting ready to haul this old thing away. Archer pulled the door shut. The air had gotten colder. His breathing produced little clouds. He walked around and searched the area to no avail.