THE ABDUCTION OF CASSANDRA

by William Melden

  “I serve him myself,” she said. “I can do that without you. I have my own agenda now. Don’t interfere. I’ll be on my way to collect my money by tomorrow morning. After I’ve cleaned up your mess.”

  She turned and walked out of the office. It was time to get started.

  * * * * *

  11:05 PM EDT: Cassie went in the bathroom and closed the door. She lowered the lid on the toilet and sat down. What now, Lord? I thank you for Brandon, and for giving us the strength to stand up to these people. But it looks like things are just getting worse. Father . . . if it’s your will for me to die here, I won’t protest. I just ask you to comfort my family . . . and please, Lord, don’t let Brandon die without you. I ask that you turn our captivity, like you did with Job. But . . . thy will be done, for Jesus’ sake. Tears dripped onto her t-shirt.

  When she looked up, Gabriel Terrena was standing against the door. “Cassandra. Fear not. The hour of your deliverance is at hand. I will open the prison doors, as was done for Peter, long ago. But you must leave this place yourself. Walk in faith, doubting nothing.”

  Her mouth opened, but no words came out. How will I know when to move? She asked silently.

  He smiled, a smile of such radiance that calmness flooded her body. “The Lord himself will give you a sign. You and the boy are not alone. I will see you in Heaven, child of God, but not tonight.”

  Before she could reply, he was gone. Outside, unseen, the lightning split the night again.

  * * * * *

  11:05 PM EDT: Royal followed Olivia into the parking lot behind Temple Beth Israel. When he cut the engine and turned off the lights, the girl opened her car door and waved. In a moment, she had climbed out, holding the box containing the speaker they’d borrowed from the store. Ethan hopped out, carrying his duffel bag. He walked to the trunk of the car and, wrestling and grunting, pulled the heavier duffel bag out. Roy and Celeste got out of the van and opened the back door.

  “Are you sure it’s okay to leave your car here?” Celeste asked Olivia.

  “Better than okay, it’s safe,” she replied. “They keep the parking lot locked to keep out vandals. A few years ago some morons came around and spray-painted swastikas on the doors. My dad’s kind of a big deal here, so Rabbi Eisen lets him keep a set of keys.”

  “Great,” Royal said. “Okay, y’all get in the back. We’ll go over our checklist on the way.”

  Ethan heaved the two bags into the van. He had started to help Olivia climb into the back when she saw the bike. “Celeste! Why are we taking that with us?”

  “I just felt like it might come in handy. I’ll probably ride it home, so you guys and Cassie won’t be so cramped.”

  Ethan climbed in after her. “Um. . . . Is that a coffin lid underneath it?”

  “Yes,” Celeste laughed, a bit nervously. “It’s just to use as a ramp. Don’t worry about it.”

  They closed the doors and Roy pulled forward through the gate, then stopped. Olivia got out and carefully closed the padlock, securing the parking lot. “Let’s go,” she said, climbing back into the van.

  Roy drove at exactly the speed limit, cruising down Hillsboro Highway toward Airport Boulevard, five miles away. Ethan opened the smaller duffel and began calling out the contents.

  “Five lengths of bungee cord, six feet each. Pressure bandages and antiseptic powder. Walkie-talkies. Halogen flashlights. MP3 player with the playlist Celeste put together. Odds and ends. The skyrockets are in the big bag.”

  “I brought some stuff, too,” Royal added. “I brought us each a set of bag gloves. Show ‘em, Celeste. They protect your hands, but your fingers are free. A tube of Super Glue for each of us. And a couple bottles of adrenaline.”

  “Adrenaline? Doesn’t your body produce enough of that?” Ethan asked.

  “No, this is different,” Roy explained. “It’s called adrenaline hydro . . . hydrochloride, they call it. Boxers use it to stop the bleeding when they get cut.”

  “Oh,” Ethan said, almost wishing he hadn’t asked. “What’s the Super Glue for?”

  “Just in case,” Royal answered, as the van rolled toward its destination.

  * * * * *

  11:15 PM EDT: Brandon, lying on the bed with his hands clasped behind his head, sat up as Cassie emerged from the bathroom. “Everything okay?”

  “Yes it is,” she replied. “Brandon. . . . I think we’re gonna get out of here. I don’t know the details yet, but we’ll find out together.” She squatted down and rummaged under the bed until her hand found what she was searching for.

  “Here,” she said, handing him the first pair of sweat pants she’d been given. “These were way too big for me, but they’ll fit you. I think we need to have a little less exposed skin right now.”

  He frowned. Girls’ pants? But I guess sweats are pretty much unisex. If they were too big for her. . . . He stood up and nodded. “Okay, I’ll go put ‘em on. What about you?”

  As he moved toward the bathroom, she answered, “You’ll see. Just don’t come out for a minute.”

  The door closed, and they both began to change. When Brandon emerged in his t-shirt and the sweatpants, which fit him perfectly, she was standing in the middle of the room, wearing identical sweats, top and bottom.“We’re ready,” she said. “Now we wait. But I need to show you something.” Cassie didn’t feel at liberty to tell her new friend about Gabriel Terrena, but this might be even better. It would encourage him.

  “What do you have to show me?” Brandon asked. “There’s not much in this room I haven’t seen.”

  “That’s what you think,” she smiled. She sat down near the head of her bed and patted the mattress. “Come sit with me.”

  He joined her, wondering what she had in mind.

  “Listen,” she said. “Awhile back, before you came, that guy was trying to buy me off with ‘goodies’ like those strawberries. I told him I wanted a Bible. So, what does he do? He gave me this horrible thing called ‘The Bible for Rationalists,’ or some such crapola. It was awful. It was just a lot of lies and attacks on the Bible, and I didn’t keep it. But I really wanted to read the Bible . . . for a Christian, it’s like food. So, I prayed that God would give me one.” She shook her head. “I didn’t really expect it to happen. But a couple of days ago, I had this feeling that I should look in one of those cabinets . . . and look what I found.”

  She reached under her pillow and produced her Bible, smiling and unzipping the cover. “Look, Brandon!” She handed him the book. “It’s mine. From home. I’ve had it for two years. Flip through it. You can see where I’ve made notes and things, before any of this happened.”

  He slowly flipped through the book, seeing her old notes, the old yellow highlights. “But Cassie . . . how is this possible? I mean, you didn’t have this with you when you got caught, did you?”

  “Of course not. I was doing my run. I just had my cell phone in my pocket. I had weights on my hands. I wasn’t carrying anything.”

  He continued to look through the book. “Then . . . how did it get here?”

  “Brandon! Come on. There are only two possibilities. That guy, or Skip, got it from my house and brought it here, which is impossible, because my dog Daisy would have eaten them — and, anyway, do you really think they’d do that for me?”

  “Not hardly,” he replied.

  “So, Brandon . . . I don’t know how or when, but God answered my prayer. You’re holding a literal answer to prayer in your hands!”

  He felt a shiver run through his body.

  “And you know what? We’re gonna see another one, I think tonight. Be ready.”

  He handed the treasured book back to her, and she slipped it back under her pillow. “I can’t believe it,” he murmured. “But I see it. . . . I think I’m ready, Cassie.”

  Brandon stood up, still astonished by the miraculous appearance of the Bible, his blood coursing through his veins at a different level of excitement than he’d ever felt before. He began to pace the room, his th
umbs hooked into the waistband of the sweatpants in back.

  Cassie smiled.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: Storms Descending

  11:15 PM EDT: “Now recapping tonight’s top story, we turn to WYRK’s Chief Meteorologist Rick McFalls. Rick?”

  “Thank you, Jeff,” the man replied, standing in his shirtsleeves in front of the constantly changing weather map. “As we’ve been reporting all evening, a Severe Thunderstorm Warning is in effect for York and surrounding counties. The National Weather Service has also issued a Tornado Watch for Coffee and Bedford counties. Golf ball sized hail has been seen in Scott County to the south, and a funnel cloud has been sighted in northern Bedford County, although no significant damage has been reported. Here in Yorkville, there’s been lightning in the last hour, but the York Regional Airport reports no measurable rainfall. Residents are advised to stay indoors, however, because this situation could change at any time. Jeff, we should remind viewers that even without rain, lightning strikes can cause serious damage to power lines and trees. Turning to our Doppler Radar map, we can see that. . . .”

  * * * * *

  11:35 PM EDT: Maclean hummed an old rock song from her school days as she sat at the table in her room, checking and double-checking the action on the little .25 semi-automatic pistol. She was looking forward to the next few hours. She was even enjoying the planning and preparation.

  First Dayle, she thought. Get him out of the way once and for all. It would be fun to do it slowly, but I have places to go and people to meet. She giggled. Just the look in his eyes before I pull the trigger will have to be enough. Then the brats. Oh, how I’d like to kneecap the Hixson girl, for what she did to me! But then I’d just have to carry her home. One quick round to the shoulder, maybe, so she doesn’t interfere when I kill the boy. ‘I might even become a Christian,’ he says. No, I’m afraid not, you snotty little traitor. . . . Then handcuff the girl and drive her home. A deal’s a deal, right? They paid the ransom, they get their daughter back. That damned dog goes first, of course. But don’t kill her right away. Just cripple her, and let the family watch her suffer. Then do the brother, quickly. If mom and dad try to interfere, a gut shot will slow them down, and they can still watch while I shoot their daughter in a few crucial spots. While she’s bleeding out, the parents die. Then I can go home and get rid of this horrible costume, and on to Toronto!

  She stood up and held her hips, bending backwards, flexing her spine. Time to loosen up. She raised a foot and laid it on the bed, no easy task in the leather suit, and began her stretching exercises. Holding her calf, she bent forward until her face almost touched her knee. The pistol and the extra clips, twenty-five bullets in all, still lay on the table.

  * * * * *

  11:40 PM, EDT: Celeste hopped back into the van after locking the rusty gate at the edge of the old airfield. She turned to Royal as she pulled the door closed. “Are you sure you can find the place without the headlights, Roy? I could lead you in with the bike. If I had it in a low gear, it wouldn’t make much noise.”

  “No thanks,” he replied. “I’ll go slow, and keep the parking lights on. It’s not far to the runway, and then it’ll be a lot easier.” A sudden flash of lightning, followed shortly by a roar of thunder, seemed to punctuate his words. “How about that? Looks like we might be gettin’ some help.”

  “This storm is right on top of us,” Olivia observed. “Why isn’t it raining? I haven’t seen a drop.” Ethan shrugged. No one replied.

  Roy put the van back in gear and started moving down the dirt road, keeping his speed to about twenty miles per hour. The lightning was a mixed blessing. Every time Roy’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, enabling him to see a bit more, another flash would come, lighting up the road for a fraction of an instant. By now, the lightning and thunder were arriving simultaneously. Sensing Roy’s need to concentrate, the others sat quietly.

  “Keep it slow,” Celeste said as they felt the van’s wheels roll onto Runway 20C. “It’s only about a mile.” Perhaps fifteen seconds later, the abandoned maintenance hangar suddenly loomed up on their right, about fifty feet away. Its floodlight had burned out, giving it a dark and sinister appearance.

  Celeste toyed with one of her sleeves, breathing deeply. Don’t let your imagination get hold of you, girl. She glanced at Roy. Reflected in the dashboard lights, his face was set and calm, his eyes neither wide nor squinting. I’ve seen that face before, she thought. Like he’s all alone, or not there at all. Just like when he’s going to the ring. Totally focused, but ready for anything. She wanted to pat his knee or touch his arm, but knew better than to distract him.

  A few seconds later, the runway ahead was illuminated by the floodlight in front of the old Crimmins Freight and Cargo hangar. A hundred feet beyond lay Hangar Thirteen, and Cassie.

  Roy pulled into the old Crimmins parking lot, close to the building itself, and killed the parking lights and engine. The cargo hangar shielded the van from anyone who might be lurking around Hangar Thirteen. Roy turned on the dome light and turned around in his seat to face the others. “Got the stuff, Ethan?” he asked.

  “Uh-huh, right here,” the boy replied, rummaging in his duffel bag. He pulled out four round plastic tubes, marked in stencil: FACE PAINT, BLACK and FACE PAINT, GRAY. He handed a tube of each to Celeste, and kept two tubes himself. “Okay, guys, here’s how we do this, ‘cause you’ve never used it.” He uncapped a lid. “It’s like solid deodorant, see? Now, I’m gonna fix Roy, and he’s gonna fix me. Celeste, you and Livvie help each other. But watch me, first.” Both girls were already pinning their hair back. “Here we go, Roy.”

  Roy leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his face immobile. Nobody was even tempted to laugh at the situation. Ethan quickly used the larger of the two sticks to blacken Roy’s face and neck. “Don’t forget the ears,” he warned everyone. “I’ll try not to tickle.” He dabbed the dull, light-absorbing gunk onto his friend’s ears. “That’s the base,” he announced. “Now for some contrast.” He opened the smaller tube and applied irregular dark gray stripes on top of the base. “Nothing fancy,” he added. “Ordinarily we’d do the hands too, but we have the bag gloves, so we don’t need it.” When he was finished, Roy looked in the rear view mirror and nodded. Then Ethan moved forward, and let Roy repeat the process on his pink skin. “You girls go ahead and start,” Ethan said. “We want to do this in five minutes.”

  It didn’t take that long. By the time the tubes were half empty, all four had their faces, ears, and necks darkened. “Now we just put on the headgear.” They’d already decided against ski masks, because they didn’t want to frighten Cassie or look too menacing if any police arrived. The four donned their black woolen stocking caps.

  They sat back in their seats, pulling on the bag gloves and fastening them with Velcro straps. The lightweight gloves covered their hands from the wrist to the middle knuckle, leaving their fingers mostly bare. “All set?” Roy asked. When the others nodded, he started the engine, but left the lights off. The van moved out and cruised toward Hangar Thirteen as lightning rent the sky again.

  * * * * *

  11:40 PM EDT: Brandon continued to pace. I thought I’d seen it all, he thought. From the way it was at home, all that ‘respectability’ right alongside all the booze and drugs and beatings . . . then to the streets, and the way folks survive there . . . I’d given up on the world. I took this job with these . . . these people . . . because I just didn’t care anymore. Law of the jungle: me first, you next. But everything that’s happened here, this girl and these things I can’t explain, like that Bible. . . . I hadn’t seen half of what’s real.

  Cassie sat on the bed, her legs extended and crossed, head leaning against the wall. “Penny for your thoughts,” she said. “Except I don’t have a penny.”

  The boy turned to face her, and forced a tight smile, pushing away the deep thoughts. “I was just wondering what they’re gonna do now. And when they’re gonna do it.”

  “Brandon, I d
on’t know what he thinks he’s gonna do,” she said. “He always claimed that he wasn’t going to kill any teenagers. Like it was a big sacred principle of his, or something. But we’ve made him so mad now. . . .” She surprised the boy by giggling. “I’m sorry, it’s just so funny to see him get angry like that. It used to scare me. But now that I know God’s gonna protect us, it’s different.”

  Brandon stood at the foot of the bed staring at her. “Oh, Cassie . . . I so, so hope you’re right. You’ve told me things I never knew about before. And that Bible. . . . I don’t want to call it a miracle. That’s just so foreign to everything I’ve ever known. Maybe I’ll just call it ‘the M word.’ I’m trying to believe, but . . . it’s like my head keeps getting in the way.”

  She stared at her toes for a minute, thinking, trying to find the words. “Brandon . . . I could say so much right now. But this isn’t the time for a big logical discussion.” She sat up, and patted the bed beside her. “Come sit with me?”