Gabriel Terrena? “A word?” Olivia sensed that the man was real, but she had no idea how he could have snuck into the bathroom behind her. Let’s just test this out, she thought. Watching the reflection, she directed a question to the stranger in her mind, instead of speaking. Are you here to help us rescue her?
“I am a messenger. It is not my place to act, but to speak. Hear me, Olivia Mendel. As you prepare to go forth, remember Joshua and Jericho, and recall Gideon. Bring to mind their battles. Recall the shouts, and do not forget the trumpets.”
She looked at him in the mirror, an eyebrow raised. You want us to use a ram’s horn, and scream and yell?
“Speak with your friends. You may tell Ethan Wren of our meeting, but not the others, until after El Elyon, the most high God, has given you the victory.” He gave her the faintest of smiles. “Daughter of Abraham, your heart will doubt. So let this be a sign to you. This has no power in itself, but you will know that you have not dreamed a dream.” He reached into the pocket of his white Levis and pulled out a simple braided leather anklet, with a tiny silver mezuzah dangling from it. He laid it on the counter, not touching her.
She picked it up and turned it over in her hands. It’s beautiful. And it’s real. I’m not imagining all this. She wanted to put it on right away, but her legs were mostly bare, and she was afraid that the others might see it, and ask questions. She stuffed it deep in the pocket of her shorts.
She glanced up in the mirror, her eyes shining, to thank him. But he was gone.
* * * * *
Cassie laid her open Bible on her pillow, and rose from the bed, sighing in frustration. It’s such a comfort, having the words again . . . but the questions keep coming. Are these people ever gonna let us go? Can’t the police figure this out? Are things okay at home? She’d prayed and prayed until she’d run out of words. She’d prayed for her friends and her family, and even forced herself to pray for Chad and Madison. She’d prayed for Daisy. Why was I praying for Daisy? I don’t know. It seemed like the thing to do. She had just read a passage in Romans, which she’d highlighted long ago, but which never meant much to her before. “. . . the Spirit also helpeth our infirmities: for we know not what we should pray for as we ought: but the Spirit itself maketh intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered.” Well, I reached that point a long time ago. I’m not uttering much. Now it’s just “Abba, Father.” Day after day, she’d knelt by the bed crying, just repeating those words, for what seemed like hours. And I know he hears me, and he cares, and I believe that he’s gonna help me. But when?
She went in the bathroom and washed her face. And what about Brandon? I was awfully hard on him . . . but I forgave him. Didn’t I? I think I did. . . . I know I did in my head. But he’s in his room, all alone. . . . He’s probably afraid to come see me. Or ashamed. And he thinks I’m ignoring him. Drying her face, she frowned at herself. But that’s not how the Lord forgives me! When he forgives me, it’s unconditional. There’s still sowing and reaping . . . but that part’s between Brandon and God. I need to show him I forgive him.
She walked out of the bathroom, glancing down at her gym shorts and t-shirt. Yes, this is the way to dress. But I wish I had some variety. Gray on gray is pretty drab. . . . Well, I guess that would be too much to ask. At least I have more than one set.
She closed her Bible and zipped up the cover, slipping it under her pillow. Then she walked through the white room, glancing at the dark video screen, but not teasing the hidden watchers this time . . . assuming that they were watching. She opened the door and started down the hall.
As she reached Brandon’s room, she glanced down the hall and noticed something new in the dim light. One of the unused doors that Skip had pointed out on their “tour” now had a keypad. What does that mean? Oh, Lord, have they kidnapped somebody else? I’ve gotta tell Brandon.
She knocked as quietly as she could, biting her lip. When the door opened, Brandon’s face registered surprise and relief. But before he had a chance to speak, Cassie shook her head and put her finger to her lips. She motioned him into the hallway and pointed at the door with the new keypad. For a moment, they stood frozen, looking at this new addition, until Cassie grabbed his hand. She inclined her head toward the white room, and tugged at him. We’ve got to talk, she mouthed. Reading her lips, he nodded, and followed her down the hall.
When they reached the door of the white room, she held his hand tight. Be cool, she mouthed carefully. He bobbed his head again. They walked through the white room as normally as ever, not talking, hand in hand. When they reached the doorway to her bedroom, she turned to him, put her arms around his neck, and kissed him, a longer kiss than they had shared before.
She saw his face flush with astonishment, but the cameras didn’t. They only saw the two teenagers standing at the door of Cassie’s bedroom, the girl clinging to the boy. Then Cassie broke the kiss and, taking his hand again, led him into her bedroom, kicking the door shut behind her.
Eldon Dayle slammed his fist against his desk in triumph as he watched the scene on the monitors. “Yes! Finally!” he cried.
* * * * *
Cassie backed away from Brandon, out of his reach, a serious look on her face. “Brandon, go sit on my bed. Just sit on it. Feet on the floor. Don’t talk yet, just do it. I’m not playing games, I promise. Please?”
He rubbed his scalp with both hands, trying to clear away the confusion and the suddenness of everything that was happening. “Um, yeah, sure,” he replied. He moved to the bed and sat down, hands gripping the edge of the mattress, and looked at her. What now? his eyes implored.
She walked to the doorway of the bathroom and leaned against the wall. She folded her arms across her chest. “Brandon, I apologize. I wasn’t trying to be a tease, or mess with your mind. You know I’m not like that, right? I mean, for real? I’m not.” He could see how uncomfortable and embarrassed she was, and nodded. “I was coming to your room because I wanted to talk to you. It was important. I figured we’d just sit in the hall like we always do. But then I saw that new keypad. Brandon, they’re using that room for something. Somebody might be in there. And whoever it is, they might have heard our conversation. See what I mean? Because we were right outside their door, almost. What if it had been the Goth, or that guy?”
“Yeah, that makes sense,” he replied, still trying to adjust to the past five minutes.
“Okay, I’m taking a big risk. We both are. I don’t mean being with you, that’s not a risk. I trust you. That’s one of the things I wanted to tell you. I mean, we’re taking a risk that they really can’t hear us in this room, like I was saying before. No mics, remember?”
“Uh-huh.” She trusts me? After everything I told her? ”So, you’re thinking this might be the only place we can talk now? The hallway’s not safe anymore?”
“That’s what I was thinking,” she agreed. “We’ve just gotta hope that they can’t hear us in here.” She raised her voice, not quite shouting, but loud enough for any microphone in the room to pick up. “Because if they can hear us, they’ll know we’re not doing anything. Brandon Fox and Cassie Hixson are not in here sucking face, and if you dried-up, stupid old fools don’t believe it, just come in here and see for yourselves. You’ll have to get your thrills another way. Do you hear me, old man? Do you hear me, you nasty Goth freak? So ugly you won’t even show your whole face. Come on and get us! Chicken? Bawk bawk bawk!” She smiled at Brandon and whispered. “Don’t yell, but help me out. Tell ‘em you’re not interested. Lay it on thick. You won’t hurt my feelings.”
He grinned. “She’s right,” he announced in a strong voice. “The deal’s off. I wouldn’t touch this little priss with a ten foot pole. What did you guys do, thump her with the ugly stick? If you stupid old clowns are so sex obsessed, you’ve got each other. You’re probably making cow eyes at each other right now. Come on and kill us if you want to. What can you do to me that hasn’t been done before? And by better people than you. My dad beat up
on me, but at least he wasn’t a pervert.”
She giggled as he ranted. When he was finished, she gave him a thumbs-up sign. “That ought to prove it once and for all, huh?”
Brandon laughed until his sides were sore. “Oh, Cassie! I . . . I never, ever know what to expect from you.”
She giggled again. “Well, it’s like when I was by myself, talking out loud about suicide. We just have to prove it. If we’re not dead in a few minutes, we’ll know we can talk in here. And it felt good, didn’t it?”
He nodded, smiling. “It felt great. We’re gonna have to do it for real one day soon.” He blushed again. “Yell at ‘em, I mean. But Cassie. . . .” he looked concerned. “I appreciate all this, but if they think we are, um, doing stuff, aren’t you worried about your reputation? Or . . . what do you Christians call it. . . .”
“My testimony?” He nodded. “Yeah, right at the moment. I don’t want to give the Lord a bad name. And I don’t want them to think they’ve won. But see, this might be a really good thing. Y’know, when I said I forgave you, I said I believed you, too, remember? Well, I still do. That was one of the things I wanted to talk about. But now, if they think we’re in here making out, they’ll think you’re doing your job. That guy won’t be suspicious of you anymore. So, it’s like insurance for you.”
“Well, thanks, I appreciate you worrying about that. . . . I was worried about it myself. But he’ll think he’s won, like you said. He’ll think he’s beaten you.”
“Oh, no,” she said, her eyes narrowing, a determined look on her face. “I promise you, Brandon. He might think he’s won, right this minute. But whether he kills me, or lets me go, he’ll find out that he hasn’t beaten me. You can believe that.”
Five minutes passed. Ten. Fifteen. And no one came.
* * * * *
Shannon Maclean stretched out in the heavy cotton hammock, staring at her bare toes. It’s not too uncomfortable. When I’m on my back, it’s not too bad at all. But I usually sleep on my side. That probably won’t work. . . . Well, I don’t think he furnished this room with comfort in mind.
She glanced around at the unpainted walls, the toilet, the tiny shower in the corner: not a stall, merely a shower with a plastic curtain on a circular rod. Just like the boy’s room, except for the private corridor to the office. But at least I have a closet and a table and a mirror. And the screen, of course. At Dayle’s instructions, she had moved one of the small video monitors from his office to her new room, installing it and hooking up the cables herself. The image switched every few seconds from the white room to Dayle’s office to the hallway. No sound, except when he uses the intercom. Oh well. There’s nothing to hear, anyway. As the pictures went through their cycle, she frowned. He should have installed external cameras, outside the building. But when I suggested it, he just laughed. He said that no one would ever find us here. He’d better be right. The National Guard could be out there, and we wouldn’t know it. Such arrogance. . . . He couldn’t even admit a simple oversight.
Her eyes fell on the open closet. One of her civilian suits, a blouse, and a pair of shoes. And the Goth outfit, of course, everything neatly arranged on wooden hangers. I can pick up a few changes of clothes when I go back to the motel. I’m glad I don’t have to wear work clothes every day any more. I can dress casually, for once . . . not that I’ll be wearing them for long. Dayle had made it an ironclad rule that she be in Goth mode, or ready to slip into Goth mode, at a moment’s notice. Including that horrible black hair gel. . . .
She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, entertaining a sudden burst of thoughts she’d pushed away before. I hate that man! The only reason I got involved in this was the money. He breaks the girl, and I get the five million. Of course, I’d be glad to see her ruined, even if I weren’t getting paid. Those kids disgust me, although the Fox boy might make something of himself one day. He’s ruthless enough. . . . But I hate Dayle. He thinks I’m so weak and foolish. He’s so paranoid, he’s probably planning to kill me when this is all over. But not with my training. I’ll get him first. I want to see the look on his face when he dies. And then, just as soon as the money’s in my hands . . . it’s the girl’s turn. Maybe her weak, simpering family, too. Why not? Gordon and Barbara can sing one of their precious hymns while they watch what I do to the child and that horrible dog. . . .
She giggled.
* * * * *
When Olivia came back to the living room, Celeste handed her a bottle of cold water. “Thanks,” she said, taking her seat next to Ethan. She uncapped the bottle and took a sip. Why am I so calm? I should be spooked or shaking or something. But I feel all relaxed and peaceful. Sitting down, she could feel the anklet pressing against her thigh through the pocket of her shorts.
“So, where were we?” Ethan asked the group.
“Roy just told you about the boxing trunks, remember?” Celeste said. “We’re getting this all planned out.”
“Oh yeah. That was . . . awesomazing. I never saw anything like that in the Bible,” the younger boy said. “Of course, I don’t read it as much as you guys do. Maybe I should.” Celeste smiled at him.
Olivia cleared her throat. “Now that you mention it. . . . This may sound funny coming from me, but I think we need to read part of it right now. I had an idea while I was in the bathroom.” She looked around the room. The others looked surprised, but not skeptical. “Roy, Celeste, can I borrow one of your Bibles? King James, if you have it. That’s closest to our Tanakh. I’m more familiar with it.”
“What’s a Tanakh?” Ethan asked.
“It’s the same as your Old Testament,” Olivia replied. “It’s our Bible.”
Celeste picked up her handbag from the floor and pulled out a small leather Bible with a snap closure. “This is the one I carry with me,” she explained. Before she could offer it to Olivia, Roy was on his feet, rummaging in a nearby bookshelf.
“Hold on a second,” he said. He pulled three regular size Bibles from the shelf and handed them to the others, keeping one for himself. “What is it you want us to read, Livvie?”
As Ethan flipped through the book at random, Olivia went directly to the Table of Contents. “Oh yeah, this is just what we need,” she said, turning to the Book of Judges. “The books are even in the same order, the ones we need, anyway.” She looked up at the others. I never expected to be reading Tanakh with a bunch of Gentiles. “Really, guys, I’m not crazy. This is going to help us with our plans.”
“Nothin’ crazy about readin’ the Bible,” Roy smiled, although he had no idea what she was doing.
She took Ethan’s Bible and quickly flipped to Judges, then handed it back to him so he wouldn’t have to search for it. “You guys look at Judges, chapter seven. We don’t need to read it aloud or anything. But check out verses sixteen through twenty-one.” She paused, to give them time to read. Then she spoke again. “See what’s going on? Gideon, this great general, is fighting the bad guys. The Midianites, in this case. The enemy has a huge army, and Gideon only has three hundred men. But look how God tells him to do it. They’re up in the hills, all spread out in a line, and the enemy hasn’t seen them yet. So all of a sudden they blow trumpets and break out all these lights. It makes their army look bigger than it is, and the enemy panics, and is way easier to defeat. See?” Heads nodded around the room.
“Okay, forget about the lights, just think about those trumpets. Now look at Joshua, I mean the Book of Joshua. Go back a few pages. Where is it. . . . Here. Joshua chapter six. Just read for awhile.” She waited several minutes, her excitement building. “You already know the story, it’s like that old song about ‘Joshua Fit the Battle of Jericho.’ But look how he fit it. Fought it, I mean. Look at verse five and verse twenty. The city fell down when Joshua’s men blew all these trumpets, and shouted. Well, what a way to win a battle!”
“What does this have to do with getting Cassie out of there?” Ethan interrupted, looking puzzled.
This time, Olivia punched his a
rm. “Forget Gideon’s lamps, and Joshua’s men shouting. Both battles were won when they sounded trumpets. That’s what the two victories have in common.”
Ethan still looked confused. “I get that. That’s really cool. But how can trumpets help us get Cassie?”
“Ethan,” Celeste said, “I think I see where Livvie’s going. You said it yourself. You said you’d love to go in there playing loud music and such, to freak the kidnappers out, right?”
“Well, yeah,” he replied. “But we agreed that doing it would just tip off the kidnappers that we were coming.”
“Maybe we agreed too fast,” Roy suggested. “If we did it just to freak ‘em out, it would be dumb. But if it was part of a plan. . . . I mean, it wasn’t dumb when Joshua and Gideon did it.”
“That’s right,” Olivia said, grabbing Ethan’s arm and looking in his eyes. “Think about it. It’s all timing, the element of surprise. We go in there and hit them with music. But not when we first get there. We turn on the music right before we, um, attack, if that’s the right word. I can tell you one very practical benefit it would have.”
THE ABDUCTION OF CASSANDRA Page 24
