THE ABDUCTION OF CASSANDRA

by William Melden

  Daisy, lying at their feet, suddenly stirred from her canine dreams and looked at the front door. She stood up quickly, tongue lolling out of her mouth, tail wagging.

  “What is it, Daisy?” asked Dr. Hixson. “What do you hear, girl?” The dog bounded toward the door, her tail wagging with joy.

  The Hixsons glanced at the picture window, and saw the single headlight pulling into the driveway, accompanied by the familiar buzzing roar of the motorcycle. “Would you get that please, sweetie?” Mrs. Hixson asked.

  “Sure thing,” her husband replied. He walked to the door, nudged Daisy aside, and pulled it open. “Hi there, Celeste,” he smiled.

  “Evening, Dr. Hixson,” she replied. She was wearing pale blue leathers this evening, but had left her matching helmet, complete with airbrushed rose, on the seat of the bike. She held up a thermos bottle to Cassie’s father. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything, but my momma wanted me to bring this to you. It’s a special kind of tea she makes, like an old family recipe. It helps you relax, and she thought . . .” Her voice trailed off, not needing to finish the sentence. Daisy poked her nose against Celeste, demanding a caress, which she immediately received.

  “Why, thank you, and thank your mother, too.” He unscrewed the top of the thermos and inhaled some of the steam pouring from the bottle. “Aha! Do I smell some vanilla in here? Come on in, Celeste, don’t just stand there.”

  As he stepped aside, Mrs. Hixson joined them, taking the bottle, sniffing at it. “How perfectly lovely, Celeste. Your mother is very thoughtful. I’ll pour us each a cup.” She headed off toward the kitchen.

  The girl shook her head. “None for me, thank you, but y’all please help yourselves. Yes sir, Dr. Hixson, there’s some vanilla, but it’s mostly chamomile and valerian and a little bit of honey. Plus a secret ingredient that I’m not allowed to tell you, ‘cause it’s a Seminole thing from my grandma.” She tried to keep a straight face, but didn’t entirely succeed.

  Dr. Hixson looked at her with mock sternness. “Young lady, you tell me this mysterious Seminole ingredient at once. Is it something we can serve Dominic?”

  “Uh-huh, but not Daisy,” she replied as they moved into the living room. “The secret ingredient is catnip.”

  Dr. Hixson nodded. “Have a seat, Celeste,” he said, gesturing to a nearby armchair, and resuming his place on the couch. “Catnip, you say? I’m sure it’ll be very relaxing.” The strain of the past few days showed on his face. “Yes, very thoughtful. . . .”

  He was pleased that Celeste had dropped by. Her father was the owner and operator of the Reeves Funeral Home, the foremost such establishment in Yorkville’s black community. Celeste helped out around the place, often dealing with the bereaved customers, and had been exposed to grief all her life. This was probably one of the reasons for the girl’s maturity and social grace.

  “How’re y’all doing, Dr. Hixson? Getting any sleep?” She carefully avoided asking about Cassie. If there’s news, they’ll tell me, she thought to herself. I won’t need to ask. Daisy lay at her feet contentedly, head resting on the blue boots.

  Cassie’s father lifted his hands in a helpless, meaningless gesture. “You can imagine, Celeste. I’m so tired from work that I usually get by. I don’t know if Barbara ever sleeps. I haven’t seen her so heartbroken since. . . . ”

  Celeste sat quietly, not wanting to ask the obvious question. None of my business, she thought.

  Dr. Hixson sighed. In a low voice, he continued. “This is very personal, Celeste, but you’ll understand. Cassie wasn’t our first child. Barbara became pregnant very soon after we were married. But . . . she lost the baby. It was a hard time for her. For both of us. Anyway, I haven’t seen her this upset since then. She covers it very well . . . but if anything happened to Cassie. . . .”

  The girl was quiet for a long moment. “I’m so sorry, Dr. Hixson. I never knew. Bless her heart, Mrs. Hixson really does put on a good face.”

  “Did I hear my name?” Mrs. Hixson came into the room with two cups of tea, handing one to her husband. “This is delicious, Celeste.”

  “Thank you, ma’am, I’ll tell Momma you said so.” She smiled at the older woman. She looks like she’s ten years older than last time I was here, she thought. “Well, I’d better be going now.” This isn’t the time for small talk. “I don’t want to intrude . . .”

  “Celeste!” For once, Dominic had come down the stairs quietly, but when he saw his sister’s friend, he ran straight to her, arms out.

  “There’s my boyfriend!” Celeste exclaimed, reaching out for an embrace. Instead of a quick hug, however, he climbed into her lap. “I’m not your boyfriend,” he giggled, “Royal is your boyfriend. I’m your little brother.”

  “You sure are, baby,” she replied softly, enfolding him in her arms. An only child herself, she meant every word. And she was the only person on earth who could call the boy “baby” and get away with it.

  “Is Cassie with you? Is she here yet?” he asked, looking toward the front door.

  “No, Nick, she’s not here yet,” Celeste answered softly. “But I expect we’ll be hearing from her soon.” The elder Hixsons were silent.

  “Nobody knows where she is,” Nick muttered, his chin trembling. Celeste held him a bit tighter.

  “That’s not true, Nick. Remember what Reverend Young said that day?” A few months before, she had taken Dominic to visit her church, Calvary African Methodist Episcopal, as her guest. Everyone had made a fuss over the boy, making both him and Celeste feel very special indeed.

  He thought for a moment. “That was so cool. . . . I liked Rev’rend Young . . . um, but I don’t remember what he said. . . .”

  Celeste relaxed her embrace and looked directly in his eyes. “He said, ‘Even if you’re lost, and nobody else can find you, God’s got you right in the palm of His hand.’ And that’s where Cassie is.”

  Amen, thought Dr. Hixson.

  After a few silent moments of cuddling, Mrs. Hixson cleared her throat. “Nick? I know you’re glad to see Celeste, but you’ve had a long day. It’s time for bed.”

  “Oh, Mommm. . . .”

  “Dominic, your mother’s right,” Dr. Hixson said. “Don’t argue, son. But you know what? If you asked her very nicely, I’ll bet Celeste would listen to you say your prayers.”

  “Really?” the boy brightened. “Would you, Celeste?”

  “Sure I would,” she replied, carefully setting him on his feet. She held her hand up to the boy’s ear and whispered. “You don’t even have to brush your teeth. Just this once!”

  “Cool!” He ran across the room and threw his arms around his mother, then his father, kissing them goodnight. “C’mon, Celeste!” He grabbed her hand, tugging her up from her chair.

  She stood and smiled at his parents. They began to ascend the stairs, then Dominic let go of her hand and ran back down. “I forgot something!” He hurried over to the dog, who was now standing, and kissed the top of her head. “Good night, Daisy.” The dog reciprocated, sloppily licking the boy’s face.

  Celeste tried not to laugh, and then she and Dominic headed for his room.

  Cassie’s parents both leaned back on the sofa and relaxed, probably for the first time all day. “That girl is a godsend,” Mrs. Hixson muttered, her eyes closed in exhaustion.

  “She’s something, isn’t she?” her husband agreed.

  But their moment of tranquility was short lived. As they waited for Celeste to put Nick to bed, a new set of headlights illuminated the curtains covering the front window. Daisy trotted to the door, vigilant as ever.

  The Hixsons looked at each other. Now what?

  CHAPTER FIVE: The Video

  After looking through the peephole, Dr. Hixson swung the door open and stood aside. “Hello again, Jerry,” he said. “We weren’t expecting you, but it’s always a pleasure . . . I think. Come in.”

  “Thanks, Gordon,” the detective replied. His necktie had been discarded, a casualty of the muggy summ
er evening, and he carried his jacket folded over one arm. His other hand held a manila envelope. “I’m sorry to disturb you so late, but it’s very important.”

  “It’s only 9:00,” Gordon said, ushering his friend into the living room.

  “Hi, Jerry,” Mrs. Hixson said. “Make yourself at home.” She scooted forward to the edge of the couch, biting her lip. “Please tell us. Is it bad news?”

  Dr. Hixson joined her on the couch, as Peacock draped his jacket over the back of an armchair and sat down. “Try to relax, Barbara,” he said, seeing the woman’s anxiety. Is this easier or harder when you’re dealing with friends? he asked himself. Probably both. “It’s bad news, and good news. First things first: Cassie is alive and seems to be unhurt.”

  “Thank God!” both parents blurted. “Where is she?” Dr. Hixson asked.

  “This is the bad part, Gordon, Barbara. There’s only one way to say this, so hold on to each other. She’s been kidnapped. But I repeat,” he added quickly, “we believe she’s alive and well.”

  Mrs. Hixson slumped against her husband. Dr. Hixson was pale. “Kidnapped? How . . . how did you find out about this, Jerry?”

  A soft voice interrupted from the bottom of the staircase. “Excuse me,” Celeste said. “I tried to be quiet.”

  Dr. Hixson beckoned the girl with his hand. “Come sit with us, Celeste.” His wife scooted closer to him, and Celeste joined them at the end of the sofa. She had unzipped her jacket halfway, revealing a dark blue tank top. “Is Dominic settled in?” his mother asked.

  “Yes ma’am,” she replied, glancing at the detective. “He saw the car, and said he wanted to come down and see . . . the officer? But I made him go to bed. He was really exhausted. He was probably asleep before I left the room.”

  “Thanks, Celeste,” Dr. Hixson said, turning to the policeman. “Jerry, this is Celeste Reeves. She’s one of the family. Celeste, this is Lieutenant Peacock of the city police, and one of our best friends. He’s here about Cassie.”

  “Nice to meet you, sir,” she said. “Um, should I leave?” Please say no please say no I want to hear!

  “No, I’d really prefer that you stayed.” He looked at Peacock. “Is that okay, Jerry?”

  “Of course it is,” the officer replied. “Nice to meet you, Celeste.” He hesitated. “Brace yourself. I was just telling the Hixsons that we’ve received word that Cassie has been . . . abducted. But we think she’s in good health.” Celeste’s mouth dropped open in silent shock.

  “What was it?” Mrs. Hixson asked. “A note? A phone call?”

  “Better than that,” Peacock replied. “We did receive a call, anonymous of course, telling us to look in a trash bin, a couple of blocks from the station. An officer went, and found Cassie’s telephone in an envelope. It had a video message.” He pulled a DVD from the manila envelope. “We copied it, and bagged the phone for evidence. It’s direct from Cassie. May I, Gordon?” He gestured to the disc player under the large television screen nearby.

  “Yes! Of course. Please,” came the reply. Mrs. Hixson and Celeste both moved up to the edge of the couch.

  As he turned on the TV and slipped in the disc, Peacock continued. “We don’t have an exact time yet, but this was recorded sometime within the last 36 hours, with Cassie’s own phone.” Without another word, he pushed a button on the remote, and after a moment of static, Cassie’s face appeared on the screen. Mrs. Hixson gasped, and started to lift her hand, as if to reach out and touch her daughter.

  Cassie looked unhurt, although obviously under a lot of strain. She stood in her running clothes, which looked clean and fresh, against a plain white wall. Her hair looked newly washed and brushed. She held up yesterday’s copy of USA TODAY to her chest. The headlines were all clearly visible.

  “Hi Dad, hi Mom,” she said, attempting to smile, but not quite succeeding. “I’m okay. I can’t say very much, but I have something to read.” Her eyes were focusing on something off-camera. “Here goes:

  “‘To the parents of Cassandra Hixson. We have your daughter. As you can see, she’s conscious and lucid. She was abducted on Monday morning. She has not been injured. We intend to hold her until our demands are met. There has been no violence, except for her actual abduction, which was swift. She has not been sexually molested. When our demands are met, and she is returned to you, a medical examination will prove this. She is being well fed and cared for. She is not being drugged. Dr. Hixson, you can probably tell from this video that she’s stable and in her right mind. We don’t want to hurt her, and we don’t want to keep her any longer than we have to.” Cassie hesitated and cleared her throat, then quickly continued reading.

  “To the police and agents of the FBI: We do not represent a terrorist group or a religious cult. If you fools want to investigate along those lines, have fun. You’ll be wasting your time, but you’re good at that.’” Cassie blushed, as though she were ashamed to be reading the words. “‘Dr. Hixson, we are aware of your financial situation, including your share of the radiology practice, your investments, and your Dun and Bradstreet rating. You will put together a sum of five million dollars, and deliver it at a time and place of our choosing. We will contact you again when it suits our purposes. If you dawdle or play games with us, your daughter will suffer. Cooperate, and she’ll be fine. Cassandra will now be allowed a few words of her own.’”

  She looked off-camera, apparently received some sort of instructions, and dropped the newspaper to the floor. Now her entire body in her running gear was visible. The paper hadn’t been hiding anything, such as a bullet hole or a bloodstain.

  “Mom, Dad, I’m so, so sorry!” Her voice cracked and several tears trickled down her face. “That thing I just read? The part about them treating me good was true. I’m not allowed to tell you what they’ve been feeding me, but it’s okay. Just regular food. I don’t know anything else. I don’t know where I am. Please don’t show Nick this message. And Dad?” She swallowed hard before she could get out the last few words. “Can Daisy sleep with Nick for awhile? On his bed? I know it’s against the rules, but . . . I love you. I love you so much! I’m praying for you!” The screen went black. Silently, Peacock ejected the DVD and replaced it in the envelope.

  Mrs. Hixson buried her head on her husband’s shoulder. “She’s praying for us!” Her body shook.

  “I know, honey. It’s almost too much. But she looked and sounded like herself. Her eyes were clear, so they probably haven’t drugged her, like she said. Like they said. This answers a lot of questions.” He glanced up at Peacock, his face set in anger and determination. Celeste sat with her face in her hands, elbows on her knees, softly crying.

  The detective noticed a box of Kleenex in an embroidered holder on a table, and went to retrieve it, handing it to Mrs. Hixson. He sat down again, not speaking, allowing his friends their moment of shock. Daisy padded over and laid her head on the woman’s lap, looking up at her, a snuffling sigh escaping her black nose. Wiping away the tears with a tissue, Mrs. Hixson gently stroked the dog’s head.

  This is so bad, Celeste thought. What in the world are they ever gonna do? Cassie could be anywhere. . . . Five million dollars? Where will they get that?

  Peacock cleared his throat. “Whenever you folks feel like talking. . . .”

  “I feel like it right now,” snapped Dr. Hixson, his eyes flashing. “Who are these people? Why did they go after our daughter? And what are you doing about it? We saw the Amber Alert on TV, but. . . .” He seemed to deflate. “I’m sorry, Jerry, I didn’t mean to jump on you. It’s just. . . .”

  “Gordon, don’t apologize,” Peacock interrupted. “Buddy, I can’t even imagine how you feel. But believe me, we’re putting all the resources of the department into this. I’ve already met with the chief, and he’s assigned me to head up the investigation. We can’t make promises, but you know how hard we’ll be working on this.”

  “I’m glad you’re in charge,” Dr. Hixson replied. “You know Cassie, and you care. . . . W
hy were they talking about the FBI? Are they involved?”

  The lieutenant sighed. “Not yet. But I’m sure they will be. In the first place, Cassie’s been kidnapped, which is a federal offense. Besides that, the ransom video was made on Cassie’s cell phone, which makes any communication a matter of ‘interstate commerce.’ So the feds will jump on the case.” He hesitated, not wanting to say anything unprofessional. “If they get involved, of course, they’ll have assets that we simply don’t have, which is good. The more resources we can put into getting Cassie back, the better.”