THE ABDUCTION OF CASSANDRA

by William Melden

  The policeman grinned and squatted down, holding out his navy blue tie for Nick’s inspection. “They’re flamingos, buddy,” he said. “I’m afraid of pelicans. I think they’re really creatures from another world.” Everyone laughed.

  Dr. Hixson put his hand on the boy’s shoulder as the lieutenant stood up. “We’d really like to hear your list, son, but right now, we need to do some grown-up talking.” The child’s face fell. “Anyway, I figured you’d be busy with the new video game Lieutenant Jerry bought for you. Of course, if you don’t want it . . .”

  “New video game?” Dominic’s eyes darted around the room. “Where? What one is it? Lieutenant Jerry! You know I want it!”

  “Which one is it,” Dr. Hixson corrected. “We left it on the stairs. Why don’t you go find it before Daisy eats it?”

  The boy was gone in a flash. As the adults all began to move to the living room, his high voice could be heard as he ascended the stairs. “Lieutenant Jerry! It’s just the one I wanted! Thank you. This is so great!” The adults smiled. They knew that Nick wouldn’t be seen for a few hours.

  Mrs. Hixson motioned for everyone to sit down in the large living room. Olivia waited, and seated herself last. As everyone settled into their places, all eyes were on Dr. Hixson.

  He looked at his wife. “When you told me that Olivia was visiting, I figured she might have talked to some of the others, so I wanted her to be here. How about it, Livvie?”

  “No sir,” the girl answered. “I’ve been trying all day. I talked to Celeste Reeves and Ethan Wren and Lydia Blevins. No luck. Nobody’s heard from her. Or Chad, either.”

  Peacock spoke up. “Chad’s been busy at football practice. They’ve already started their grass drills. As far as we can tell, nobody’s heard from Cassie at all.”

  “That’s why I called Jerry,” Dr. Hixson resumed, putting his arm around his wife, who sat next to him on the sofa. “This is so unlike Cassie, I wanted to see if he’d heard anything. I was thinking about an accident, but she hasn’t been admitted to York Central. That was easy enough to check.” York Central Hospital was in the medical complex where Dr. Hixson’s practice was located. He looked at the detective. “Jerry?”

  Peacock opened his bottle of water, but didn’t drink. Replacing the cap, he shook his head. “Okay, folks, here’s the deal. This conversation has to remain private.” He looked thoughtfully at Olivia. “I don’t want to put you in a bad position, young lady. You’ll want to talk to Cassie’s friends. I think you can help us, but you can’t repeat what I say here. Is that a problem?”

  The girl thought for a moment. I don’t want to talk to her friends. I don’t want to talk to these people. I want to talk to Cassie! “Not a problem, sir. Low key. Anyway, gossip isn’t my thing at all. And my friends call me Livvie.”

  Peacock held up his hand. “Thank you, Olivia. . . . Livvie. I meant no offense. I just didn’t want to make things awkward for you.” The girl nodded. “Okay,” the lieutenant continued, looking at the Hixsons. “Cassie hasn’t shown up on any of our reports today, like accidents or unusual incidents. It hasn’t even been twelve hours, so all the shift reports from the men on duty haven’t been filed, but we can start investigating right away.”

  “You can?” asked Mrs. Hixson. “I thought you had to had to wait 48 hours or something before you could file a missing person report.”

  “No, Barbara, that’s a myth,” the detective replied. “You always hear that on TV. It drives us crazy. In real life, a report can be filed as soon as someone goes missing. The sooner the better, actually. We can start checking it out right away.”

  “That’s good to hear,” Dr. Hixson sighed. “What about an Amber Alert? Cassie’s only seventeen. . . . An Amber Alert might get a lot of attention.”

  Peacock nodded. “We’re already working on it. I’m still hoping that she’ll just turn up at the front door, but we can’t assume that she will.”

  “So what can we do, Lieutenant?” Olivia blurted out. “What if she’s not home before dark? She’s out there someplace, and she doesn’t even have her car. We can’t just sit on our hands.”

  He shook his head. “Oh, we’re not, Livvie. We know two things: Cassie hasn’t been admitted to any hospital, and she hasn’t been arrested. Well, this is the secret part, the off-the-record part: every officer in town will be briefed on her disappearance as they begin their shifts. They’ll be keeping an eye out. Cassie’s really getting special treatment.”

  Olivia interrupted again. “Wait a minute. I mean, excuse me, Lieutenant. I don’t mean to be rude. But how much time will the department let you spend on this? Don’t you already have a bunch of other cases?”

  “I was wondering the same thing,” said Cassie’s mother.

  “Well, normally, my captain wouldn’t want me making this such a high priority,” the detective replied. “But the captain has a boss, too, who’s going to be very concerned if Cassie doesn’t show up.”

  Mrs. Hixson looked puzzled. “The chief? The police commissioner? Why would they care?”

  “The mayor!” Olivia exclaimed. “Cassie’s boyfriend is Mayor Walker’s son.”

  “That’s it,” Peacock nodded. “When Mayor Walker heard about this, he demanded action, for his son’s sake, if for no other reason.”

  “What about the FBI?” Dr. Hixson asked.

  The lieutenant looked like he’d bitten into a lemon. The rivalry between the Bureau and local law enforcement agencies was legendary. “Usually, they only get involved when a person has been carried across state lines. That’s a federal offense. Believe me, if the feds want to get involved, they’ll get involved: we won’t have to ask. If that’s what we need to find Cassie, we’ll take all the help we can get.”

  For the first time, Mrs. Hixson came close to breaking down. She buried her head in her husband’s shoulder, as if trying to close out the world. He pulled her close, murmuring in her ear. “Shhh, sweetheart. You know Cassie’s not alone.”

  Olivia looked away, to give them some privacy, and faced the policeman. “So, Lieutenant Peacock, exactly what did you want me here for? I mean, how can I help? I still don’t get that part.”

  He looked in Olivia’s eyes. “I have a special assignment for you. When we start our formal investigation, we’re going to be talking to everybody. Our people will interview you, and Chad, and all of Cassie’s friends. And the other home schoolers. And the people at Cassie’s church. Somebody’ll probably interview that dog over there.”

  Daisy, lying by the door, took no notice of his remark.

  “And if the FBI gets involved, they’ll do the same,” he continued. “Anyway, I want you to do everything you can to keep a lid on the gossip. Everyone will be talking about this. I want you to be the voice of reason, to keep the crazy speculation and rumors under control. People will be saying that Cassie ran away with some celebrity, or that she jumped off a cliff, or that she joined the Marines. I just want you to sit on those rumors whenever you hear them. Can you do that for me?”

  Olivia fiddled with one of her bracelets and looked back at the lieutenant, her face thoughtful but confident.

  “You bet I can do that. I try to mind my own business, but if I hear any crazy talk like that, I’ll squash it. Hard.”

  Peacock smiled. “Thank you, Livvie. I had a hunch that I could depend on you.”

  He’s a nice guy, Olivia thought, idly tugging at an earring. A good cop. But boy, that’s a tacky necktie. . . .

  CHAPTER TWO: Enter the Goth

  “Are you talking to me?”

  As soon as the words were out, Cassie felt foolish. She stared at the man on the giant screen. Of course he’s talking to you. He called you by name. But where is he?

  He sat at what appeared to be an expensive wooden desk, the camera in close focus: just the desk, the man, and the wall behind him, which seemed to be covered by a heavy, dark blue curtain. It was like seeing the President making a speech from the Oval Office. The only thing on the desk
was a frosted bottle, tapered in shape, with a tiny gold crown for a cap. Resting on a wooden coaster, the word Fillico was etched into the bottle.

  The man was about her dad’s age, maybe a few years older, with a full head of black hair, just a few signs of gray at the sides. Regular features, but a slightly sharp nose. A business suit, complete with vest. Dark red necktie with blue regimental stripes. The word that came to mind was distinguished.

  But what startled Cassie most were the man’s eyes. Even through the camera and the screen, his piercing, emerald-green eyes seemed to look straight into her soul. She bit her lip to conceal her surprise, then cleared her mind. He’s probably wearing contacts, like Madison Andrews.

  “It’s not polite to stare, Cassandra. Didn’t your parents ever teach you that?”

  Her body tensed and her mouth dropped open for a moment. He can see me. But how? Where are the cameras? She glanced around the room again, but saw none.

  “Yes, child, there are cameras, even if you don’t see any little red lights. I can see you as well as you see me. Better, in fact, because there are cameras all over the room. I can see you from every angle.”

  “Who are you? What am I doing here? Is this a joke?” Oh, God, let it be a joke. Or a nightmare.

  The man smiled. He had produced an expensive-looking silver pen from his jacket, and was twirling it between the fingers of one hand. “Tell me, Cassandra, does that bump on your head feel like a joke? You can ask me as many questions as you like, but I already answered you: you’ve been kidnapped. You don’t seriously expect me to tell you my name, do you?”

  Her body began to tremble slightly, and she felt a little weak in the knees. No! You’re gonna be brave, for once. You’re not gonna let this guy see how scared you are. If there was one thing she could control right now, it was her body. She took a deep breath through her nose and willed herself to stand up straight.

  “I don’t care about your name. I just meant . . . why am I here? Why me? Kidnapped? That’s crazy. And where are my clothes?” Her eyes grew wide. “Are you the one who changed my clothes and bandaged my head?”

  “Oh, Cassandra.” The man clucked his tongue. “Of course I didn’t take your clothes. You have a dirty mind, little girl. I have a female assistant who’ll be tending to your needs. I wouldn’t invade your privacy that way.”

  “I . . . am . . . not . . . a . . . little . . . girl.” She straightened her back and put her hands on her hips. Fake it. Don’t fall to pieces. That’s probably just what he wants. Without changing her posture, another part of her mind kicked in: No! Don’t make him mad. He’s gonna hurt you! Think of those chains on the walls! She struggled with herself, fear fighting against pride. Her hands remained on her hips, her face defiant. “But if it makes you feel like a big man to say that, go right ahead.”

  The man laughed and actually clapped his hands, never losing his grip on the fountain pen. “You have quite a mouth, don’t you, Cassandra? I suppose your parents never taught you to respect your elders. It seems you have a lot to learn.”

  Is it possible to be so scared, and so angry at the same time? “Can we just say this was a mistake? You can let me go now, and nobody will know anything.” The man didn’t answer.

  “You can give me my clothes back first, and keep these sweats. They’re the wrong size, anyway. I’ll just figure you made a mistake, and won’t tell anybody.”

  His smile faded, but not entirely. He wasn’t playing any more, although he continued to flip the pen back and forth between the fingers of one hand, rolling it over the knuckles, momentarily balanced on a fingertip. Is he trying to hypnotize me?

  “You might go home, Cassandra, but it won’t be any time soon. A lot depends on your parents. A lot depends on you. Mostly you. And tough talk isn’t going to impress me. As for your precious clothes, they’re being washed, and you’ll have them back very soon. They were rather dirty after your accident.”

  “Accident?” She blurted out the word. “Was that your ‘female assistant’ who knocked me out? No, wait a minute , that lady was pregnant . . . wasn’t she?” She gnawed her lip for a moment. “Anyway, what time is it? How long was I unconscious? Why don’t you let me go home?”

  “I have several assistants,” the man replied, and left it at that. He unscrewed the cap from the fancy bottle and took a sip. Replacing the top, he licked his lips. “Best drinking water on earth,” he commented. “Imported from Kobe, Japan. One of my very few weaknesses.” He reached down, off-camera, and brought out a calfskin folder. He flipped through the pages inside the folder, and began to read aloud. “Cassandra Sue Hixson, age seventeen, daughter of Dr. Gordon Hixson and his lovely wife Barbara. Street address 509 Shawhan Terrace, Yorkville. Home schooled.” The last two words came out in a sneer.

  “Younger brother, Dominic, age ten,” he continued. He pulled out an eight-by-ten black and white picture of Nick, apparently blown up from a snapshot, and held it up for her to see. “Maybe I should have taken him instead? He probably wouldn’t be so impudent. . . . Anyway: despite home schooling, did very well on both the SAT and ACT tests. Active member of Shiloh Community Church. My, my: a pious little Christian. Well, you’ll outgrow that soon enough,” he added, taking another sip from the bottle.

  He closed the folder and looked up at the camera. “Sound familiar? Did I get the wrong girl? If you’re not Cassandra Hixson, you can leave right now. Walk out the door, scot-free. But I’ll have Dominic before you can find your way home.”

  Cassie felt herself weave, almost losing her balance. All the fight had gone out of her. He knows me . . . he knows about me, anyway . . . and Nick. . . . The moment he’d mentioned her brother’s name, spoken of going after him, she felt like she’d been punched in the stomach.

  “You know who I am,” she muttered. Looking up at the screen, she asked, “But how? Why me? We’re not rich. Why . . . I mean, have we met someplace? Do you know my parents?”

  The man settled back into his chair and looked at her. “No, we haven’t met someplace, and no, I’ve never met your parents. But despite your lack of a real education, you’re not totally ignorant. Last year you won First Place in the Statewide Essay Contest, remember? Your article about ‘Ecological Challenges Facing Tennessee in the Next Decade.’ That was quite an accomplishment for a home schooler.” As before, his lip twisted in distaste at the words. “The newspapers really played it up, as I’m sure you recall.” He was twirling the pen again, like a tiny majorette’s baton. “And I read a lot of newspapers. That’s how you came to my attention, if you must know.”

  Cassie was dumbfounded. “The Essay Contest? Why would you care about that? What made you — ”

  “That’ll be enough questions for now, Cassandra. And although your family isn’t ‘rich,’ you’re far from poor. I know your father’s net worth better than you do. But right now, we have other matters to attend to.”

  “What kind of . . . matters?”

  “You’re about to make your grand entrance, Cassandra. You’ll get your clothes back, nice and clean, and we’re going to make a special video message to your parents. It’ll be so much more personal than a ransom note, don’t you think?”

  “Ransom note? Video message?” He’s not kidding. What am I gonna do? “Are you serious?”

  “I think that you’re beginning to learn how serious I am. Now, before my assistant — my female assistant — comes to return your clothes, let’s get some housekeeping items out of the way. Are you listening? The proper answer is ‘Yes sir.’”

  This can’t get much worse, she thought. Well, yes it can. It can get way worse. He might rape me, or kill me, or . . . but no way am I gonna call this man “sir!”

  “I’m listening,” she replied.

  He noticed her choice of words, but didn’t react, except to finally lay the pen down on the desktop, and fold his hands. “Very well. You might as well know the facts about your situation, so I’ll tell you. You can believe me, or not. It won’t change things, eith
er way. But I happen to be telling you the truth.

  “First: That black chamber with the bed? That’s your new room. You probably didn’t notice it, but there’s a bathroom in there: the door is recessed into the wall. You have a toilet and a sink and a shower and even fresh towels. There are no cameras or microphones in that room, or the bathroom: as I said before, I respect your privacy. Just a speaker in the ceiling, so I can call you. Once you go in there, I can’t see or hear you. Oh, but don’t ever run in there simply to get away from me when we’re talking. I can lock and unlock that door by remote control.”

  He uncapped the bottle and took another sip. “You’ll be fed, mostly fast food, take-out food. I’m not interested in . . . molesting you. My assistant will take care of whatever personal needs you might have, toiletries and such. And now that we know your sizes, you’ll even have new clothes, although nothing of your own choosing.