THE ABDUCTION OF CASSANDRA

by William Melden

  “May I use the television?” Burgess asked, pulling a HDMI cable from the laptop’s carrying case.

  “Yes,” Dr. Hixson replied, “but there’s no video this time. Just a photo and a text message.”

  The agent hooked the phone up to the television. “I want to see the picture as large as possible anyway,” he explained. He adjusted the controls and brought up the latest photo, filling the big screen with Cassie’s still image.

  Once again, she stood in front of the white wall. Her hair was brushed, and the usual glow of health radiated from her face, which bore a brave smile. She was dressed in grey sweats this time, instead of her running clothes. Once again, she held up the day’s newspaper. Yesterday morning’s headlines were clearly visible on the television screen: ‘BEST ACTRESS’ ENTERS REHAB . . . 5.7 QUAKE IN PHILIPPINES . . . AIR SHOW DISASTER IN FRANCE. Burgess clicked to the new text message.

  Cassandra healthy and unharmed. Is the money ready? No more phone

  calls. Go to your email provider and open new account. Acct. name will be

  hamlet22285. Password lindbergh. Do not use acct. for any other purposes.

  Check hourly. We will contact you.

  Be smart. Message ends.

  Burgess was copying the message into his notebook. “Barbara, may we take this phone with us? It may be that we can trace the text to its source. We’ll get it back to you as soon as possible.”

  “Of course,” Mrs. Hixson replied. “It’s just a cell phone. Keep it as long you need it. I can get another one. Just find Cassie!”

  Burgess nodded. “We’re working on it, Barbara.” He disconnected the phone from the television and handed it to Maclean. “Get that to Washington ASAP, Agent Maclean. You know what to do.”

  “Yes sir,” she said, slipping it into her purse. She stood up. “Gordon, Barbara, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way. Headquarters will have it in the morning.”

  “Thank you, Agent Maclean,” Dr. Hixson muttered, rubbing the side of his head with his fingertips. Mrs. Hixson’s eyes were wet, but she kept her composure. Maclean left the room, stepping carefully past Daisy, and was out the door.

  “We came in separate cars,” Burgess explained.

  “Why are they changing the way they contact us, Agent Burgess?” Mrs. Hixson asked.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. But one thing is certain: they’re taunting us.”

  “What do you mean?” Dr. Hixson demanded. “You think they’re not being honest?”

  “Oh, I think they’re being honest enough, although we’re never sure with people like this. But they certainly know that we — the Bureau — are on the case. That password is a slap in the face.”

  “How so?” Mrs. Hixson wondered, filling the coffee mug that her husband had already drained.

  Burgess retrieved his laptop and sat back in the chair. “You’re under a lot of strain, Barbara, or you’d probably guess. The Lindbergh case, where a carpenter kidnapped Charles Lindbergh’s infant son in 1932, was called ‘The Crime of the Century.’ It’s one of the Bureau’s most tragic failures. Lindbergh was a great aviator, a national hero, like Neil Armstrong or somebody. We were just called ‘The Bureau of Investigation’ back then. We joined with local police in New Jersey, but didn’t find the child until . . . well, it was too late. The killer was executed, but that didn’t bring the baby back. These people are mocking us.”

  “What about that account name?” Dr. Hixson asked.

  “We can check that out right now,” Burgess replied. “They’re probably sending another message, or teasing us again.”

  “Why are these people so cruel?” Mrs. Hixson blurted out. Her husband moved closer to her on the couch and pulled her to himself.

  “Because they are, that’s all,” Burgess shrugged. “But they’re not stupid. And from the looks of that picture, I think Cassandra is still in good shape.” He was pecking furiously at the keyboard of the laptop.

  “‘Hamlet’ is clear enough,” Cassie’s father muttered. “Everybody’s heard of that, unless he’s talking about a small town.”

  Mrs. Hixson looked exasperated with herself. “Hamlet. Of course. Cassie studied it last year. But what does that have to do with us? Anything?”

  “Maybe. I’m looking.” Burgess had Googled the text, and was scrolling down rapidly. “We’ll take the numbers as they come. We start with two-two. It’s a play, so let’s try Hamlet, Act II, Scene 2.” He scrolled more slowly. Each line was numbered in the right hand margin. “Okay, try this. Hamlet, Act II, Scene 2, line 285.” He studied the words, frowning.

  “This doesn’t ring any bells. . . . no, wait. . . .” He sighed. “I think it’s from the Bible. You folks would probably know. Here’s the important part:

  ‘Hamlet. O Jephthah, judge of Israel, what a treasure hadst thou!

  ‘Polonius. What a treasure had he, my lord?

  ‘Hamlet. Why

  One fair daughter and no more,

  The which he loved passing well.’”

  Burgess looked up at Cassie’s parents. “I’m sorry, but my knowledge of the Bible is pretty spotty. What happened to Jephthah and his daughter?”

  Mrs. Hixson stared into her empty coffee mug, shaking her head. Her husband’s face sagged with weariness. “It’s from the book of Judges, Agent Burgess,” he replied. “Jephthah was a wise man, and . . . he really loved God, and he loved his daughter. But he made a mistake, and ended up painting himself into a corner. It resulted in his daughter’s death.” His voice cracked. “From the context . . . the girl was probably a teenager.” His face was desolate.

  Air hissed between Burgess’ teeth. “These people are vicious. I’m sorry, Gordon. They’re playing with all of us.”

  The room was silent for a full minute or two. Daisy padded over and laid her head on Mrs. Hixson’s lap, just as she had so many days before.

  “Okay, folks,” Burgess said, his voice low. “They’re cruel, but we think Cassandra is okay. That’s what we need to keep in mind. Let’s set up that e-mail account, and go from there.” He stood up and put his hand on Dr. Hixson’s shoulder, squeezing it, trying to encourage him.

  Cassie’s father nodded.

  * * * * *

  As usual, news of the latest communication spread quickly. This time, however, there wasn’t much room for exaggeration and gossip. Olivia, assisted by Celeste, was on hand at the Pavilion, ready to squash any falsehoods and whoppers.

  “Look at all these people!” Ethan exclaimed, glancing around the place. “It’s like they have ESP or something. Saturdays aren’t usually this busy. I mean, they’re busy. But not here. Not all the time. Isn’t that weird? I think it’s weird.”

  Olivia surveyed the crowd. “Maybe it’s unusual, maybe not so much. The police had a statement in this morning’s paper, but it was at the bottom of the page. Just a couple of paragraphs.”

  “I missed that,” Celeste said. “What did it say?” Seated across the table from the couple, she had persuaded Royal to join her at the Pavilion today, since he had a day off from his job. He gazed down at his nachos, following the conversation, but keeping quiet.

  “It just said that the Hixsons had received another message from the kidnappers,” Olivia replied. “That there was visual evidence that Cassie was alive. That progress was being made on the case, so stay tuned, so to speak.”

  “If you missed it, babe, I don’t guess many of these people caught it.” Royal said, slipping an arm around Celeste’s waist.

  “I didn’t see it either,” Ethan interjected. “But I hardly ever look at the papers. Unless there’s something I want to see. That’s when I look at them. . . . Want me to look it up? It might be on the Journal’s website.” Like most newspapers, the Yorkville Journal was gradually switching from print to Internet publication. He took out his phone and pulled up the Internet.

  “No real point in looking it up,” Olivia replied. “That’s all the story said. So we know Cassie’s okay.”

 
“Yeah. . . . Well, that’s the important thing,” Ethan murmured. “The most important thing, I mean.” He peered at his phone for a moment, then looked up at Royal. He liked Celeste’s boyfriend, but was two years younger, among other obvious differences, and somewhat intimidated by him.

  “Hey Roy,” he asked, smiling. “Do you have Twitter or Instagram or anything? I’ve tried to find you. You know, to follow your fights and stuff.”

  Royal smiled, swallowing a nacho. “Nope,” he replied. “I don’t get into all that business. I don’t care about tweets and toots and all. But since Celeste got me this phone, lemme show you what I do have.” He pulled his iPhone from the pocket of his cargo shorts and tapped the screen a few times, then held it up for the younger boy to see. “It’s called Fight News.” The screen crawled with headlines and photographs from the world of boxing.

  Ethan smiled. “That’s too cool! I mean, I don’t follow sports very much, but that looks perfect for you.” The ice had been broken.

  “Yup, thanks,” Roy responded, putting the phone away.

  As the boys talked, the girls looked around the busy Pavilion, taking in all the familiar faces. Suddenly Olivia’s eyes narrowed, her lips tightening.

  “Hey, what’s the matter?” Ethan asked, noting her expression, but not following her gaze.

  “It’s pretty obvious that certain people aren’t exactly in mourning,” she said.

  Across the Pavilion sat Chad Walker and Madison Andrews.

  Chad’s hands were on the table, playing with his keychain. Madison covered them with her own. “This has been so hard on you, Chad. I wish there were something I could do. . . .”

  “It’s okay,” he replied, looking up into her eyes. “It was real hard at first. . . . I mean, I didn’t know whether I was coming or going. I’m not real close to Cassie’s friends, and the guys at school don’t understand the whole home school thing. They never really knew Cassie. But they’ve been cool, I guess.” He shrugged, not moving his hands, secretly reveling in the girl’s touch.

  He’s talking as if she’s already dead, Madison thought. I think he’s ready. “I understand. I’m home schooled too, and I know there’s not a lot of contact with regular school people. Cassie’s friends are so sweet, but I’ve never been very close to them . . . I know just what you mean.” Her hands squeezed his. “We have a lot in common, huh?”

  He nodded. “Y’know, we really do. I guess I never saw it before. But you know what? I had a talk with that woman from the FBI, and she really helped me. I mean, that’s not her job. But she made me think about things a little differently.”

  “Agent Maclean? She talked to me, too. She seems very understanding. That is, for a woman who’s so much older.” Chad didn’t notice her slight emphasis on the last three words.

  She pulled the keychain from his grip, and held both of his hands, her thumb rubbing the top of a knuckle. “I’ll bet you haven’t been getting out much during this whole terrible time, have you?”

  “Not hardly,” he snorted. “I’m home every night. It’s driving me crazy. I just surf the Net, listen to tunes, watch TV. . . . Not much of a life.”

  “I have an idea. I’ve been so busy with schoolwork, and the Platinum Cookie thing. . . . Maybe we could talk, um, more privately sometime?” She smiled at him, holding her breath. Was that too much?

  Chad tried to conceal the excitement he felt. “I’d really like that, Madison. If there were someplace private. . . .”

  She dipped her head and looked up at him, as if they were hatching a conspiracy. “Well, as a matter of fact, my parents are out of town this weekend. They went to visit my aunt in Atlanta. I have a cousin who’s getting married, but I really didn’t want to go. I hate weddings. If you wanted to drop by the house. . . . I mean, it’s just an idea.”

  Chad looked worried, but only so she wouldn’t see his eagerness. “Well, yeah, I mean, if it would be okay with your parents. . . .”

  “It would be okay, silly. If your parents didn’t mind.”

  “They’d probably be glad to see me taking an interest in things. I don’t have to tell ‘em where I’m going.” He gave her his sheepish smile.

  Yes! I’m gonna have to throw cold water on him in a minute. “Okay, tonight or tomorrow night? We can order a pizza or something.” She released his hands.

  “Tonight. How’s that?”

  “Sure, Chad. This is just what we both needed.”

  He shifted a bit uncomfortably on the bench. “Right now, I think we need a drink. C’mon, let’s go get one.” They both stood and headed for the snack wagon, arm in arm.

  Across the Pavilion, three sets of eyes followed them. Royal studied his nachos.

  “I’m gonna puke,” Olivia announced.

  “Get in line,” Celeste muttered, disgust on her face.

  “Livvie! Are you okay? Do you need to lie down or something? I mean, you can’t lie down, but do you need a drink? Are you sick?” Ethan peered at her face, forgetting Chad and Madison, worried.

  Olivia shook her head. “No, Ethan, I was just saying. I’m okay.”

  “Ohhh. You guys were talking about . . . I see.” He blushed. “She’s such a thot. . . . Anyway, you scared me. I need a drink. Can I get anybody anything?”

  Royal dug in his pocket and handed him a dollar bill. “If you’d get me a bottle of water I’d sure appreciate it, Ethan. If it’s no trouble.”

  “Sure!” He took the bill eagerly. “No trouble at all! I’ll be right back.” He scurried off toward the snack wagon. As Celeste and Olivia discussed what they’d just seen, Royal eased around, his back to the table, watching Ethan.

  Chad and Madison stood at the counter, waiting for their drinks. Ethan rushed up and smiled at the old man who was serving them. “Hi there! Can I have a Coke and a bottle of water, please? When you get a chance?”

  Madison was leaning on Chad, her hands clasped on his shoulder. “Hey, kid,” he snapped. “We were here first.” He gave Ethan a rough shove, causing him to stumble backwards a few steps.

  Ethan quickly regained his balance and stepped back up to Chad. “What’s your problem?” he squeaked. “I was gonna wait. Don’t push me!” Setting his jaw, he pushed back at Chad with both hands.

  Madison giggled. Chad grabbed the smaller boy’s shirt, twisting it. “I’ll do as I please. Why don’t you go back to your Jew girlfriend and mind your own business?”

  Even before Chad had spoken, Royal had started to move. Olivia looked on, horrified. “Oh Jesus, you gave him strength, now give him grace,” Celeste whispered.

  “What did you say?” Ethan demanded, his face red, jerking himself free from Chad. “What did you say?” His small fists were balled.

  He felt a firm hand on his shoulder from behind. “You’re in the wrong division, Ethan,” Royal said, his voice calm, moving the boy away. “Mr. Walker looks like a light heavyweight. Give yourself some time.” He moved closer to Chad and locked eyes with him, relaxed, breathing evenly. Madison backed away a step, glancing around as a crowd gathered.

  Chad’s mouth was suddenly dry. “Mind your own business, Skelly. Unless you’re looking for a fight,” he added, trying to save face.

  Royal moved closer. The two were close enough to feel each other’s breath. “That kind of fightin’s for punks,” the young boxer replied. “Spoiled brat punks who never got a bloody nose. But if you want to pick on somebody your own size, come down to my gym. We’ll put on the gloves and you can show everybody how tough you are.”

  Suddenly, it was too much for the Mayor’s son. The lack of privacy. The second-rate school. A prude of a girlfriend who didn’t respect him enough to put out. The coach who kept him at running back. And now, when he might have something going with Madison, these people had to humiliate him. It’s not fair. I’m sick of life being so unfair. I deserve better than this! Snarling out an obscenity, he backhanded Royal across the face with all his might.

  The tendons in Royal’s neck stood out, but his head never m
oved. He didn’t flinch. He brought up one hand and felt his burning cheek. Then he smiled, a terrible, victorious smile like Chad had never seen before. He turned his head. “Feel good? Try the other side.”

  Chad backhanded Royal across the other cheek. “Damn hood rat. . . .”

  Tasting the blood in his mouth, Royal nodded. “Just what I thought, church boy. Youth group boy. I’ve got more religion in one side of my face than you have in your whole body.”

  Chad shook with anger and confusion, but was speechless. Madison returned to his side, laying her hand on his arm.

  Royal turned and pushed two dollar bills across the counter, deliberately giving Chad the opportunity to strike from behind. He didn’t. Roy picked up his water. “Get your Coke, Ethan. Let’s get away from this trash.” When they got back to the table, the girls stood and embraced them, relieved and proud and triumphant.