Dan! He must have tied her up. I lunged at his body. The dagger in his back kept making him flop over onto his face, but eventually I managed to empty his pockets. I almost missed the tiny handcuff key among the pocket change.
Blinded, choking, and nearly weeping in fear, I managed to release my friend. Her head tilted, and her eyes blearily opened. “Sherman?”
Great. Now what? There wasn’t even a handle on the inside of the exit door and Dan didn’t have that key.
The flames continued to dance to the hellish tattoo, almost a solid object. Sparks showered the cavern. A few landed among the pile of boxes and ignited, burning with a legitimate red fire.
What had Saberhagen told me? The way out was where I’d least expect it? Remember what Gowen had said. Gowen was in a coma, he hadn’t said two words to me!
Charlie slid out of her chair and I was in no condition to set her back up. My eyes felt like they were soaking in chili sauce and I honestly thought my nostril hairs were burning.
Gowen did tell you something.
A lone message, across the decades. A scrawl on the back of a photograph.
The book of Job. What the hell did that mean?
I’d never been to church, not once. Desperately, I tried to remember something from the Bible story. Some guy who never gave up, never cursed God no matter how bad things got for him.
What was I supposed to do, just sit here and wait for divine intervention? Pray? I wasn’t making some connection.
Charlie began to cough and wheeze, worse than Dan had with his crushed throat. I had seconds to get her to safety and I was ready to cry with frustration. I felt abandoned and sick and hopeless.
Wait, what did Gowen’s diary say? I struggled to recall the verse.
Job threw himself on the ash heap.
Squinting through agonized eyes, the green flames danced and spun like a whirlwind, swirling through Saberhagen’s ashes. Surely not…
The last place you’d expect.
Charlie was too heavy to lift, I was forced to drag her. She cried, but was not fully awake. If it weren’t for the burning supplies in the corner I wouldn’t have been able to see through the putrid green fog. Keeping as much distance as I could, I pulled Charlie around the altar.
There, under the elevated pyre, was a small hole, about the size of a washtub. The one place in the whole cavern not filled with the noxious, green gas. As the thumping in the air grew so loud I thought my eardrums would rupture, I forced Charlie into the tiny opening. It was not an easy fit and she lost a bit of skin, but the vile air didn’t touch her. Too bad there was no room for me in there.
Sick to my soul, I wedged my body in front of the opening, leaving my back exposed. In the dark, I touched Charlie’s gritty hair.
“I’m sorry, honey.” I’d never been so sorry in all my life.
I waited for the burning, for the suffocation, for the end. I could no longer see anything. I wasn’t even sure I was conscious.
If anyone’s listening, please save Charlie. She doesn’t deserve this. And watch out for Denton…and…and…God bless Mommy and Daddy…
Had—had the beating stopped? Was the cavern dark? I dared not turn around. But—it seemed to be getting cooler in here! I could breathe! Just a little peek…
I had remembered Job, but forgotten Lot’s wife. The ball of green fire was the last thing I remembered.
Ironically, it was one of those mornings that made you glad to be alive. It must have been quite early; fog still rose off the silent river, as the sun just cleared the horizon. The dew on the grass was starting to burn away. Already, the birds were filling the air with their joyful song.
“Why should that strike me as odd?” thought Gowen. He tried to clear his head. Wasn’t it November? Distractedly, he walked along the riverbank. He had the nagging feeling that there was something he was supposed to be doing, some overwhelming responsibility that he could not remember.
As he plodded along, Gowen became aware of a figure up ahead. A fisherman, seated on a rock. Perhaps he could explain what was going on.
The angler did not turn as the reverend approached, but nonetheless seemed aware of his presence. He was dressed in a pair of patched overalls and a shirt of simple homespun cloth. His rod was a mere cane pole. On the ground next to him sat a can full of night crawlers. A fire burned a ways back from the water. The smell of roasting fish told Gowen the man had already had some success this morning.
He didn’t object when Gowen sat on a nearby log. The man was obviously a country boy. He wore no shoes and had a long, unkempt beard that hung down to his chest. His nose was prominent and his skin so dark that he might have been a Negro or a Persian.
Gowen said nothing for a long time, the cardinal rule of fishing. His companion cast and recast several times. Eventually Gowen spoke.
“I haven’t been fishing since my dad died. Maybe twenty years.”
The stranger nodded without looking over. “My dad never took me fishing. I used to go with some friends of mine, though.”
The man turned and smiled at him, and Gowen was filled with an inexplicable feeling of well-being. Didn’t he know this man? The reverend didn’t recognize him, but he looked somehow familiar.
Gowen noticed another pole on the ground. “Would you mind if I joined you?”
The stranger cast his line again and chuckled. “I’d love to have you, friend. But are you sure you have time right now?”
Again, Gowen was seized with the feeling of something important he’d left unfinished, some momentous task he’d abandoned.
“I don’t know.”
The fisherman pulled in his line, noticed his bait was gone, and placed another worm on the hook.
“Life can be like that. Always seems like there’s something more to do. Even on a lazy day like today.”
An uneasy feeling filled the minister’s gut. Just outside his waking memory, he had an image of someone—a woman?—who was depending on him for something. Something immediate and vital.
Gowen stood. “I guess I should go.” He glanced longingly at the spare fishing pole, the lazy river, the amicable angler. Then he began to walk.
“David,” called the fisherman.
“Yes?”
“We’ll go fishing someday. I promise. Just not today.”
The reverend started to respond, but the man was no longer there. Neither was the river. Nothing was there, only heat and darkness and flames. Cringing from the burning, the reverend stumbled through the darkness. Where was he? That light up ahead…
He was carrying something, some heavy, inert burden. Something in his scrambled brains told him it was vitally, desperately important that he not drop it.
Were his clothes on fire? Was he breathing? Nothing registered. Just the trek towards the light. Not the light of the flames, but the light of—the sun?
He was climbing from the pit. The air was cleaner. He burden seemed lighter. Was this death? Was he about to enter the joy of the Lord?
Rough hands seized him from both sides. No! He was so close! The demons dragged him…
But not back to the pit. Strong arms half-pulled, half-lifted him and his burden into the clear air.
Gowen collapsed in the yard behind the burning Synod headquarters. Sammy forcefully removed what he’d been carrying, as Sgt. Knowles beat the minister with a wet shirt. Clanging and shouting from the front of the building gave evidence of the arrival of the fire department.
As he faded out of consciousness again, he turned to the object Sammy had laid at his side. It was alive; he could hear its labored breathing and coughing. Just before he blacked out he realized that, for the first time in his life, he’d touched a naked woman.
– Chapter Twenty-Five –
You know you’ve reached an advanced state of apathy when you wonder if you’re dead and decide you don’t care.
I couldn’t move, I couldn’t see. Perhaps I couldn’t hear as well, or maybe everything was silent. My surroundings were s
oft and the air smelled of flowers. Yep. I was dead.
Of course, I really wasn’t dead. When you’re dead, you don’t have to pee. I assume. I have no real frame of reference.
What, exactly, had happened? The back of my neck felt sunburned. Something was wrapped around my face. I irritably yanked an IV out of my arm.
“Sherman!”
I could hear. It was a familiar voice, one that instantly gave me a great feeling of comfort.
“Dad.”
I felt him grip my hand. I tried to remove the bandage from my face so I could see him, but he restrained me.
“How do you feel, Son?” The tone of his voice implied that I should feel terrible. But right now, there was something important on my mind.
“Where’s Charlie?” I lurched to a sitting position. Behind me, some kind of monitor began frantically beeping.
“Sherman, don’t get excited. I’ll call for the doctor…”
“Where is Charlie?” I screamed, fearing the worst. “The girl who was underground with me, do you know if she’s okay?”
“You mean Christine, that red-haired girl?” asked Dad, somewhat confused. “She’s fine. She’s here in the hospital. She kept leaving her room to sit with you, until her doctor made her go away.” He allowed himself a chuckle. “We talked a lot. She’s awfully concerned about you.”
I flopped down on the bed, causing pain to radiate from my scalded backside. Charlie was safe. That’s all that mattered.
Dad kept talking nervously. “Actually, a bunch of people have been trying to visit you. Your roommate and some other guys. And, um, there’s someone in the psychiatric wing that keeps calling this room.”
Denton. So everyone was accounted for. Now I could ask the question that was silently terrifying me. The one I was afraid to have answered.
“Dad…am I blind?”
“No! No, of course not.”
His denial was so emphatic I knew there was something he wasn’t telling me.
“But?”
I heard him take a deep breath. “Your…your face was burned. You’ll be okay, but you lost your right eye. At least, you won’t see out of it again.” His voice squeaked at the end, and I could tell he was choking back tears.
I waited a moment for him to calm down, then lifted the bandage from my left eye. Harsh light assaulted me. Eventually, my father came into focus. His face was coated with stubble, his eyes bloodshot. He was wearing that stupid FBI: Female Body Inspector shirt that he only slept in. He must have gotten the call in the middle of the night and rushed out here.
I let the bandage fall back into place. “You look like hell.”
“Look who’s talking. You’ve been unconscious for over a day. Let me get the doctor.”
“In a minute. Dad, did they tell you what happened?”
“No. The police just said you were in some sort of explosion, but there’s all kinds of crazy stories going around. That girl Christine says you saved her life, and your friends keep talking about you fighting some serial killer. Sherman, what was all that about?”
I attempted to snuggle into the plastic pillow. “I told you the Scholars’ program would be an enriching experience.”
“I better go get someone. You were out for a long time.”
“Thanks. Could you tell Charlie…Christine that I’m up?”
“You bet.” I heard him stand.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks. For everything.”
A doctor with an unrecognizable accent stopped by, took my pulse, and determined that I was still alive. He removed all dressings over my remaining eye, replaced my IV and advised me that the police would dearly like to get a statement from me when I was feeling better. He left me a detective’s business card.
What would I tell the police? They would have found Saberhagen’s remains. And Dan, with the knife in his back. I needed to talk to Charlie, find out what happened down there.
And there she was. She stood in the doorway, my father behind her, over a head taller. It was impossible for her to look gaunt, though she was pale as hell, her freckles standing out darkly against her white skin. She showed her teeth, half-heartedly.
“So you finally decided to wake up.”
I smiled in return. “Had to. I didn’t want to deal with a catheter.”
Two seconds later, she had her head buried in my chest and we were both sobbing. “I was so worried about you, Sherman,” she gasped.
I kissed the top of her head. “It’s okay,” I choked. “It’s all over.”
After a few minutes, I happened to look up and see Dad, still standing in the doorway. The worry hadn’t totally left his face, but he now wore a smug grin.
Yes, Father, it took battling a living corpse and losing an eye, but your son finally has a girlfriend.
“Dad, could you give us a moment?”
“I’ll be in the lounge.”
“Actually, why don’t you find a motel room and get some rest? I don’t think I’m going anywhere for a bit.”
He started to walk into my room. “I don’t need to do that. I can sleep in that chair.”
I subtly gestured at Charlie. “Seriously. Get some sleep. You need it. I’ll call you later.”
He nodded. “Okay. I’m going over to your uncle’s place. Just a couple of hours.” With a sly wink and a wave, he was gone.
Charlie sniffled, and sat up. “You know, he went through hell yesterday.”
I brushed some hair out of her eye. “You talked to him?”
“When they wouldn’t let me see you. He came over to my room for a while. God, he’s a nervous talker.”
“And a pacer.”
“Sherman…that guy Dan and some woman grabbed me in front of my house. And drugged me. I don’t remember anything after that. They say there was some kind of explosion…that you shielded me with your body.”
I suddenly felt exhausted. “Just paying you back, Charlie.”
“What happened down there?” She looked at me intently. I recalled desperately trying to hustle her out the door…Saberhagen lighting himself on fire…and something green and filthy.
“I can’t talk about it now. Maybe someday. But not now.”
And she left it at that.
I slept. She slept. When I awoke, three grim faces were staring down at me.
I smiled. “Hey, guys.”
“I guess he’s not dead,” said L.J, with a big grin. Beside him, Aaron and John shuffled uncomfortably. Charlie, who’d been dozing in a chair, woke with a snort.
L.J. plopped down on the empty bed next to mine. The other guys continued to stand.
“Glad to see you all made it out alive.”
“Kind of dicey there at the end,” said Aaron. “The cops took forever to show up, and right when they were about to go down that shaft, there was some kind of explosion. We thought your ticket had been punched for sure.” He looked over at Charlie. “Both of you.”
“How’s Denton?”
“He’s okay. But they have him up in the nut ward. When you’re feeling better, you should probably have a word with his doctor.”
I struggled to sit up. “And the police? What do they know?”
“Just what’s on the news.” L.J. flipped on the room’s TV and turned it to the news channel. After a few minutes, he realized it wasn’t going to conveniently show the story he wanted right that second, so he left the room and returned with a day-old Missourian. He indicated an article.
Kidnapping, Death in Columbia
Kidnapper dies in explosion, ‘person of interest’ in Stephanie Lane slaying
At 7:35 PM last night, Columbia police responded to a 911 call in the 1600 block of Ciego Drive. The caller, Denton Dubbs, 39, of Fulton called to report an acquaintance being held at gunpoint by an unknown female. Upon arriving at the scene, officers found Mr. Dubbs suffering from a severe neck injury which, according to a witness, he received while disarming the woman. The suspect had fled the scene.
Mr. Dubbs was transported by ambulance to the Columbia Regional Hospital, where he is listed in serious condition.
A witness informed the officers that another suspect was possibly holding a woman hostage in a subterranean maintenance shaft, and that three men had gone underground to investigate. As the police attempted to follow, an explosion of unknown origin shook the area. Dr. Markus Lennon, of the MU School of Geology, states that…
I skipped ahead.
Injured in the blast were Christine Tyler, 18, of Columbia, and a man whose name has not been released. They were both transported to Columbia Regional Hospital. Tyler was treated and released. The man remains in the hospital, listed in stable condition. The police recovered the body of a male, apparently the kidnapper, who perished in the blast.
The article went on to mention that the kidnapper, Dan Cooper (possibly an alias), was a suspect in Steph’s murder. The police were still searching for his lady friend.
I put down the paper, impressed at how accurate the article was. Of course, they had left out a rather major player. I looked at my friends. “Anything else?”
John shook his head. “Do you really think that’s the guy who…killed Steph?”
I paused, then nodded. “John, could I talk to L.J and Aaron alone for a moment?” He looked at me quizzically, but left. I immediately cranked up the volume on the TV.
“What about Saberhagen? Why wasn’t he mentioned?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing,” replied Aaron. “What happened down there?”
“Have you guys given a statement to the police yet?”
L.J. and Charlie glanced at each other. “No. We kind of bugged out when they took you guys away in the ambulance. We were going downtown today, but wanted to see you first.”
I motioned for everyone to lean in. “Listen everyone. Saberhagen is dead. And this can all blow over if you do one thing for me. Don’t mention him to anyone. Not the cops, not any reporters, no one.”
“But if he’s dead—” began L.J.
Everyone Dies in the End Page 22