THE ABDUCTION OF CASSANDRA

by William Melden

  She leaned up and hugged him. “It has nothing to do with luck. You’re the only guy who’s ever interested me. Are you saying I don’t have good taste?”

  “No! I’m just . . . come on, Livvie. You know what I’m saying.” He blushed, and pulled up a nearby chair to sit with her.

  “Yeah, I know. I’ve heard it from . . . well, ignorant people. ‘You could have any guy you wanted.’ The jocks, the popular guys — I’m not saying you’re unpopular — anybody. But you know what? Those guys would be just as happy with Madison Andrews. Probably happier, because she’s such a . . . well, she’s so ‘friendly,’ you might say. Bo-ring. I’d rather become a nun than hang with those guys, except there aren’t a lot of Jewish nuns. But you’re my friend, and the way we think . . . you’re just right, Ethan.” The word soulmates came into her mind, but she thought it might be too heavy for him.

  He shifted in his chair, really a little seat from her dressing table. “You’re nothing like Madison Andrews!” He wrinkled his nose. “That girl’s so gassed she’s gonna explode. But hey, if we’re gonna talk about other people . . . what have you heard about Cassie?”

  She answered carefully, remembering the meeting with Lieutenant Peacock. “You know as much as I do. She’s been kidnapped. It’s been over a week. I don’t think the kidnappers have contacted the Hixsons again. I’m really worried. Have you heard anything?”

  He shook his head. “Huh-uh. But the last time I saw her . . . it was weird. Well, you were there.”

  “I was? When?”

  “It was a couple of days before she went missing … yeah, it was Saturday. We were at the Pavilion, remember? You and I were looking at some vids on your tablet. I think almost everybody was there that day. Remember? We saw that video with the kitten chasing the dog.”

  She thought back to the day. “Yes, I remember that . . . we were laughing about it. Celeste was with us. But I don’t remember seeing Cassie.”

  “I didn’t either, at first. But while you and Celeste were watching the vid again, I looked over, and she was way at the other end of the place. You know that one table that sits off by itself? Where people study?” Olivia nodded. “Well, Cassie was standing there. Just standing. Her back was to me. She was talking to some older guy, he looked like he was maybe twenty-five or thirty. You didn’t see this? He was sitting at the table. Dark hair, hadn’t shaved in a few days, but not scruffy like a bum. White jeans and a blue shirt. They were just chatting, but it seems like Cassie was mostly listening. I looked down at the video again, and when I looked back, they were both gone.”

  “Ethan!” Olivia’s eyes were bright. “Do you think it was the kidnapper?”

  He shook his head. “I can’t explain this, Livvie. He didn’t look like a criminal. I know that sounds dumb. But there was something about him . . . I got the feeling that he was really a good person. You think I dreamed it?”

  Olivia considered the strange description. He’s so sensitive. He picks up on things that nobody else sees. . . . But with Ethan, it’s never just his imagination. And if this guy was a threat, he would have felt it. “You could have been dreaming. But you didn’t dream the part about the video, and Celeste. The main thing is, I can’t imagine anybody just dragging Cassie off without somebody seeing it. There were what, twenty or twenty-five people there? She’d have put up a fight. And she’s way too smart to go off with a strange guy, especially an older guy . . . and Chad was there, too, come to think of it. I just don’t know, Ethan. Have you told anyone else about this?”

  “No. It sounds too weird.”

  She nodded. “I don’t think you should. It would just start rumors. Let me think about this.” And maybe we’ll talk to Lieutenant Peacock, she thought. Maybe not.

  “Okay,” he replied. “So what are you gonna do today? Hang Fifi up?”

  “No, I have to get some schoolwork out of the way. I’m almost through with this section of calculus. But maybe we can see each other tonight.” Suddenly her eyes grew watery and her nose wiggled. She grabbed a Kleenex from a nearby box and held it to her face. “Ah-cheep!” She stifled a sneeze. Wiping her nose, she smiled up at Ethan. “How’s that? Tonight, maybe?”

  He frowned. “Are your allergies bothering you again, Livvie? Anyway, tonight would be great.”

  “Sometimes I sneeze when I use this wood cement,” she replied, then laughed. “Dumb allergies! Everybody else gets ‘em in the springtime, when the pollen’s in the air, but I get mine in the summertime. I read someplace that Tennessee is the worst place in the country for summer allergies. Just my luck, huh?”

  “Well, it figures,” he smiled. “You’re unique in so many ways! You’re cute when you sneeze. When guys sneeze, it’s like our heads explode or something. Anyway, I think I might go over to the Pavilion, just to see what’s happening.” He hesitated, then leaned forward for another quick kiss.

  After he left, Olivia thought about Ethan’s experience for a long time. What does this mean? I don’t think it was the kidnapper, either. Just a feeling. If we don’t report this to Lieutenant Peacock or somebody, are we withholding important information? She shook her head. Get hold of yourself, girl. The study table isn’t that far from all the others, and it’s in plain view. Somebody besides Ethan would have seen something.

  This is so strange. . . .

  * * * * *

  Cassie awoke at 7:30 the next morning. She still couldn’t tell night from day, because of the absence of windows, but her inner clock was keeping her close to her normal schedule. Sitting up in bed, she tossed back the sheet and looked down at her thighs, then her arms. Just as I figured. The welts have gone down, but those bruises . . . and my wrists. . . .

  She went into the bathroom and pulled off her t-shirt, studying herself in the mirror. Sure enough, her torso was marked by the darkened, bluish-purple contusions. At least she left my face alone. She could have broken my nose or my cheekbones. I guess they didn’t want me to look too bad if they make another video. She probed one of the ugly marks on her ribcage with a fingertip. It was sore, but not terribly sensitive to the touch.

  I’d better not try the workout today. I wish I had some ice packs. That’s what I need. She tried to think of something that would help. Oh, no. . . . But it makes sense. . . If I can’t use ice, it’s the next best thing. She shook her head and sighed, resigned to the idea, and stripped off her remaining clothes. Moving to the shower stall, she turned the water to the coldest setting possible, and, taking a deep breath, stepped inside.

  She gritted her teeth as the cold water hit her, cascading over her body, chilling her to the bone. I hate cold showers! But those bruises needed it. She turned in slow circles, for perhaps five minutes, then quickly cleaned up with the soap and shampoo. Stepping out of the shower, wrapping herself in the fluffy towels, she rubbed as hard as she could without causing too much pain.

  After she was dressed, after the shivering stopped, she sat back down on the bed. What now? I haven’t heard from that man yet. . . . I wonder when my “guest” is coming? Then she remembered. The Bible! He said he’d leave a Bible for me today. Unbidden, a snippet of a verse she’d learned as a child flashed through her head. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me. That had been happening a lot since her dream about Gabriel Terrena. She’d won a dozen ribbons for Scripture memorization at church when she was younger, but she thought she’d forgotten most of the verses. It’s weird how they keep coming back.

  She hopped off the bed and ran to the door, ajar as usual. She entered the white room and looked around. She tiptoed to the nearest chest, waiting for the inevitable interruption from her captor, but the video screen remained dark. She tried the top drawer. Locked. She bent down and pulled on the bottom drawer. It opened easily.

  She almost gasped. Shoes! They got my shoes. No, not exactly . . . but this is great!

  She carried the shoebox over to the couch and sat down. Instead of returning her own shoes,
they’d bought her a new pair, identical in size, color, and brand. I wonder why? Well, I’m not complaining. She threaded the laces through the pink cross-trainers just the way she liked them, and slipped them on her feet. Perfect. But I still don’t get it . . . they can be so cruel, and then do something decent.

  She suddenly remembered: the Bible. I wonder where it is? She walked over to the other chest, flexing her feet in the new shoes. The strawberries were in the top drawer. Let’s try the bottom one. She bent and pulled it open. There it is! The black hardback book sat in the drawer, all alone. She snatched it up, pushed the drawer closed with her foot, and scampered back to the bedroom.

  She plopped down on the bed, opened the book, and her heart dropped into her stomach. The title page made it all too clear what her kidnapper had done:

  THE BIBLE FOR ATHEISTS

  A collection of “holy scriptures” for the rationalist

  Arranged by subject

  Frustrated and disappointed, she flipped over to the Table of Contents. Each section of the book contained chapters and verses on such subjects as “Mass Murder in the Bible,” “Cannibalism in the Bible,” “Rape in the Bible,” and many more. Opening to a random page, she saw that the Bible verses were quoted accurately, but totally out of context, with sarcastic and “scholarly” remarks in the margin and footnotes.

  I shouldn’t have expected anything else. This man is so sick. . . . She slammed the book shut and returned to the white room, where she stood directly in front of the dark video screen.

  “Hey!” she shouted. “Where are you?”

  The screen glowed and came to life. Eldon Dayle sat at his desk, smiling. “Why, hello there, Cassandra. Did you get a good sleep? How are you doing today?”

  She held up the book. “Is this your idea of a joke?” She dropped it to the floor and stood with her hands on her hips, glaring at the screen.

  “A joke? What do you mean, Cassandra? You asked for a Bible. I gave you one. As usual, you’re not very grateful.” He sat back and toyed with the fountain pen.

  “You know exactly what I mean.” She wanted to stamp her foot, like an angry child, but wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “That thing isn’t a Bible. It’s just a piece of propaganda by some sicko who hates the Bible. I wouldn’t be surprised if you wrote it. You’re twisted enough.”

  “‘Propaganda!’ My, what a big word.” His face hardened. “For your information, child, the Bible is propaganda. And you’re much too old to believe in it. That book I gave you is the most honest thing you’ll ever read.” He had set the pen down and was glaring into the camera. “Did you expect me to give you a nice, leather-bound King Jimmy Version — the words came out in a sneer — “like your foolish, superstitious parents probably use? Like you were raised with?” For the first time since her capture, Cassie thought she saw real hatred in the man’s face.

  “Foolish? My father writes articles for medical journals, really technical stuff. My parents are not — ” She stopped suddenly. Gabriel Terrena’s words, God’s words, came back to her. For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places. And, all at once, she understood.

  “Your parents are not what, Cassandra? Cat got your tongue?”

  That’s what this is all about. This man doesn’t need Dad’s money. That’s just an excuse. He’s playing with my mind. He really is trying to brainwash me. He wants me to give up. On God. On Jesus. On everything I believe in. He wants me to turn my back on all of it. But why? Why should he even care?

  “Not answering, girl? What’s the problem? If you don’t like the Bible I gave you, tear it into a million pieces. Have another tantrum. You could burn it, if you had matches. I assure you, it doesn’t matter to me.”

  Cassie bent over and picked up the hated book. She walked over to the chest and put it back in the drawer, then looked up at her tormentor.

  “I’m not into burning books, or destroying books. You can have it back. I’ll do just fine without it.”

  “Suit yourself,” Dayle replied. “By the way, you’re welcome for the new shoes.” He sighed. “Ingratitude. . . .”

  “Thank you for the shoes,” she said, looking up at him. “Just out of curiosity, why did you buy new ones? The old ones were okay.”

  He played with his pen. “I’m afraid they weren’t. The left shoe was badly stained by some oil or grease in that car trunk. But your question is typical. So curious about shoes and clothes, but too frightened to question the really important issues of life. So shallow. . . .”

  She looked up at him and smiled. “You think you know everything about me, and I don’t even know your name. But I’m not as dumb as you think, Mr. Jones. Or Mr. Smith. Or Mister . . . Legion?”

  Dayle’s face showed a flicker of surprise.

  “Do your worst,” she continued. “I see what’s going on. Dear God, I’m glad I’m not your daughter!”

  She turned and walked back to the bedroom, not seeing the stricken, anguished look on his face.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN: At the Bad Wolf Boxing Gym

  Splursh. Royal dipped the mop head in the yellow bucket and rinsed off the dirt, then lowered it into the wringer and pulled back the lever, squeezing out the excess water. He was almost finished with the floor of the abandoned gym. The only sounds in the place came from the industrial dryer, where the day’s laundry was tumbling and thumping. Almost through. For tonight, anyway. Then I can go home. He frowned, remembering. No, not yet. Still gotta talk to the man. Again.

  In his office, Cyrus Williams leaned back from his desk, hands clasped behind his head, as he chatted with the visitor. “I appreciate you coming out so late, Agent Burgess. When you called, I didn’t want you droppin’ in during business hours. Some of the boys might not have understood. They’d just bother Roy with a lot of questions. He doesn’t need that. And in this neighborhood, everybody sees everything. No offense, but you’d stick out like a sore thumb. And I don’t need that.” He chuckled. It was 10:00 PM.

  “I understand, Mr. Williams,” the agent replied. “This is just a routine interview, but people would wonder. By the way, I parked in back. Less conspicuous.”

  “I thank you. That was a good idea. When Lieutenant Peacock talked to Roy, he went to his house. But this is just fine.”

  “Does Roy work here every night?” Burgess asked, ignoring the mention of the detective.

  “No, just three nights a week. See, I don’t charge him the usual gym fees. But he’s proud, so I let him clean up around the place, to work it off.”

  A moment later, Roy appeared in the doorway. “I’m finished, Boss.”

  “Hey Roy, come on in.” Williams heaved himself out of his chair and stepped out from behind his desk. “Agent Burgess, this is Royal Skelly. He’s our pride and joy. Roy, this is Agent Burgess of the FBI, the gentleman I told you about.”

  Roy nodded to the man. “Evening, Mister Burgess. Um, Agent Burgess.” They shook hands. Very loose handshake, the agent thought. He’s protecting his hands. Not squeezing. He’s got nothing to prove.

  “I’ll just leave you two men to your business,” Williams said, moving to the door. “Agent Burgess, you can use my desk if you like.”

  “No thanks, Mr. Williams, this will be fine. Have a seat, Roy.” He nodded to the wooden chair next to his own. Roy sat down carefully. The old folding chairs could fall apart at any minute. The gym owner patted Roy’s shoulder on his way out the door.

  Burgess moved his chair so that he’d be facing the young boxer. “Okay, Royal, this shouldn’t take long. Do you prefer ‘Royal’ or ‘Roy?’”

  “Roy’s fine, sir.” His voice was soft and a bit weary. He sat up straight, his left leg extended outward, unbending.

  “Okay, Roy. You know that we’re interviewing all of Cassandra Hixson’s friends. Tonight it’s your turn. Just relax. I’m not recording our conversation, and I’m only interested
in Cassandra’s case. You can speak freely.” He pulled the notebook and pen from inside his jacket.

  “Yes sir. I hope I can help.” But I don’t know how. This guy knows a lot more than I do. Never thought I’d be talkin’ to the FBI. . . .

  “My partner, Agent Maclean, has already talked to Celeste. Maybe she mentioned that to you?”

  “Yes sir, she sure did, but she didn’t tell me what they said. She was at the Hixsons’ house when they talked.”

  “That’s right. The way I understand it, Celeste is pretty much Cassandra’s best friend. Would you say that’s accurate?”

  Royal considered it, but only for a moment. “Yes sir. They both have lots of friends. But Cassie and Celeste are just really tight. Been that way since they were maybe twelve or thirteen.”