He took a few more steps. Nah, she’s always been afraid of the dark. Why would she go down here? Michael climbed back up the stairway, convinced that she must be somewhere upstairs.
Michael ran back into the main part of the church. He spotted Father Dennis chatting with some parishioners. “Hey, Father, did Elizabeth come up here? Have you seen her?”
Father Dennis turned around and shook his head. “I haven’t seen her up here.” He noticed the book sticking out of Michael’s pocket. “What’s that?”
“What, Father?”
The priest pointed. “That book in your back pocket. Let me see it.”
Michael pulled it out and handed it to him. Father Dennis started paging through it.
Michael grew impatient. “I’ve got to go find Elizabeth.”
The priest looked concerned as he scanned through an entry before placing the book in his back pocket. “Michael, I’m going to hold on to this. I’ve never seen it before and yet there are reflections from many of the previous pastors of this old church.”
“That’s nice, Father . . . but about my daughter: do you know where she is?”
“Maybe she went outside with her friends?”
“I don’t think so.” Quickly he ran to the open front door and looked up and down the street. There was no sign of her.
Michael ran back to the basement stairs. He reached the trapdoor and called again. “Elizabeth? Are you down there?”
He started descending the stairs now at a rapid clip. He could feel panic beginning to set in. What if she’s fallen and hurt herself? He was so far down into the subbasement that he wasn’t sure anyone would be able to hear him from above if he needed to call for help.
Suddenly, his feet hit solid ground. He stretched out his right arm and felt a concrete wall. Leaning slightly to the left, he reached out and touched another wall. They were about six feet apart, creating a tunnel, although he could only see complete blackness ahead.
“Elizabeth!”
Still no answer.
Michael shuffled slowly forward. As he took each step, he kept the fingertips of his right hand against one wall while his left balanced him upright on the other. Every five steps or so, he took a deep breath. The air felt cold and damp in his lungs.
“Elizabeth, I’m really getting worried now,” Michael said, trying to sound calm and rational. “Come back and we’ll talk. I’m sorry if I upset you upstairs.”
Michael tentatively took more steps, trying not to think about the assortment of rodents that must live down here. After traveling about thirty more feet, he stopped when he felt the floor underneath him shake slightly. “What was that? Did you feel that?” he called out, trying to remain calm and hoping that Elizabeth would respond.
The ground underneath his feet felt different. Has the floor changed to sand under me, or is that my imagination?
“Elizabeth, you are going to be grounded! Yeah, I know you’re fourteen, but I can still ground you! You can even kiss your iPhone good-bye for at least a month!”
He paused. “She won’t care. She’s a teenager. Yeah, I’ll chill out. Hear that, Liz ? I said I’m going to chill out !”
While he was wondering why he kept expecting Elizabeth to respond to the word chill, he felt the floor shake again; this time it had a more defined feel, more intense.
“Great! Thank you, Elizabeth. Thank you for making this lovely experience at the church even longer, and much more fun.”
He stopped walking when a gust of warm air hit him. “Oh, God, please let her be okay.”
The shaking under his feet became more frequent. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and in the distance he could now see what looked like the beam from a miniature flashlight. The light remained steady, like a beacon drawing him near.
“Elizabeth!” Michael shouted, stumbling toward the light. “Is that you up there?”
Suddenly his head struck the ceiling. He winced and ducked, realizing the tunnel was narrowing. He heard a muffled sound in the distance, then felt the floor shake more violently.
“What is that?”
“Dad!” cried a voice faintly.
Michael’s heart raced. “Elizabeth?”
There was no answer.
Michael moved more quickly now, hands skimming over the walls, stumbling a few times as he tried to reach the light. “Elizabeth, can you hear me?”
The ground shook again and the muffled sounds became more discernible.
“Dad?”
Even though he could hear her, Michael still couldn’t see her. “Where are you?”
“Over here, Dad!”
The ground shook again and Michael could make out a small figure in front of him. She was partially blocking the light coming from above, and seeing her silhouette was a relief.
“Elizabeth!”
“Dad!”
“What were you thinking?”
“Shh!” she whispered. “Shh!” She reached out and grabbed his back. “Dad! Oh, Dad!”
“Why did you come down here? I said not to. You could’ve been hurt, you could’ve—”
“Look!” Elizabeth pointed, cutting him off. “Look! Look at this!”
Michael shielded his eyes and gazed through what appeared to be a sewer grate at the end of the tunnel. Beyond it, he could see dirt bouncing up from the churning wheels of carts and the sandaled feet of men running past them.
“Where are we?”
2
MEETING A MURDERER
Michael and Elizabeth stared up through the grate, startled by what they saw. Just above them soldiers wearing metal helmets and chest plates were mounted on horses. They jogged by in two-by-two formation, carrying long, narrow spears in their hands.
They could see other soldiers lining the street, pushing back a large crowd that had gathered. The men and women were strangely dressed in floor-length tunics and veils, some wearing tattered sandals. Michael couldn’t help but notice that their hair looked unwashed.
“Elizabeth, did you hear anything in school about an Easter play going on in town?” Michael whispered.
“No, Dad. I wonder if we’re in East Northport or maybe even Kings Park?”
Michael thought he had walked for a considerable distance inside the dark tunnel before finding Elizabeth. Maybe they were in one of the neighboring towns. But then again, maybe it had just felt that long. He tried to calculate the distance and the direction in his head.
Could we have gone farther than I thought?
“I’m not sure where we are, but we could be in Huntington,” Michael whispered back, trying to think of anything that could help him rationalize what he was seeing. “But I don’t know what’s going on there. That town always has something going on.”
The uncertainty of everything made him grow angry again at Elizabeth. Turning to her, he whispered, “Why didn’t you listen to me? Why did you go in this forsaken tunnel and scare me? Do you know what my life would be like without you? Do you?”
“I’m sorry!” she exclaimed. “I wanted to see what was down here. There were all sorts of great drawings all along the tunnel.” To make her point, she shone the light on the side of the wall, illuminating pictures of men being pulled in chariots.
“Interesting.”
“Interesting? I thought you loved history. Look at this one.” Elizabeth turned toward the other side and sprayed the wall with her penlight.
Michael bent down to get a closer look. “It looks like a soldier putting a spear through a man’s heart,” he said, revolted.
“That’s what I thought.”
Michael rubbed his hand along the wall. “That’s odd. This feels like it was drawn recently.” He looked up again to the street. “It looks so real.” Then he turned and looked back at the darkness of the tunnel behind them. “We should go back.”
But his attention was drawn to the crowd above them. They could hear gasping and shouts as a man was dragged by a soldier through the streets. The man’s robe was bloodie
d and torn, and he had shackles around his ankles. He was badly bruised, with a large, bleeding gash in his right shoulder.
Michael was a big fan of history. It was probably the only subject in school that he had really enjoyed. He was always fascinated by famous people and events from the past. It showed in his schoolwork—it was the one subject he didn’t have to worry about repeating in summer school. He stared in awe.
“Wow, Elizabeth. Look at the metal spears. They look so real. These guys totally look like they’re Roman soldiers from those documentaries I watch.”
Elizabeth was unimpressed. She was more interested in the clothes. “How could kids back then enjoy these clothes?” she asked, shaking her head. “I bet these guys will probably be happy to get home and change. And look at the girls. Their faces are all covered up.”
“They’re just veils.” Michael laughed nervously. This was almost too real. He glanced over at Elizabeth and saw her mouth drop. She covered her eyes and looked away.
“What’s wrong?”
She pointed through the grate. Three soldiers had gotten off their horses and were poking the man in chains with their spears. The roar of the crowd grew louder.
Michael again felt a surge of panic but tried to keep his tone light. “It’s just playacting.” He craned his neck to get a better look and saw one soldier stab the man in the leg, causing him to scream in pain as blood gushed from the wound. The other two soldiers started beating him on the back with the shafts of their spears.
“No!” Elizabeth yelled before Michael could put his hand over her mouth.
“Shh!”
She pulled away from him. “Dad, we’ve got to do something!”
The soldiers hit the man in his back and legs repeatedly. He lay on the ground trying to cover his head with his hands.
This can’t be real. “Maybe that’s fake blood?” Michael suggested. “You know, like the blood you see in the movies and on television?”
“It looks real to me.”
Michael felt helpless. “What kind of play is this anyway? I can’t believe the town approved this kind of street play. I’m sure the cops are going to stop it. Those people out there should be doing something. But they’re all standing around like nothing is going on.”
“We’re doing nothing, too, Dad!”
Michael could see the fear in his daughter’s eyes as they watched the soldiers now kicking the man, who was obviously in terrible pain. The look on her face gripped Michael’s heart. But love for his daughter—and fear that Elizabeth would get hurt if he tried to intervene—paralyzed him.
He couldn’t let anything happen to her. She was his reason to live.
Michael reached into his pocket. Empty. Then he remembered. “Oh, no, I left my cell phone back at the church.”
“I don’t have mine with me either, but we have to do something. We can’t just watch this and do nothing.”
The soldiers started spitting on the man. Elizabeth screeched in horror. “No, no!” she shouted through the tiny opening. “Stop it!”
“Quiet, Elizabeth!” Michael hissed as he put his hand up to her mouth.
But Elizabeth slapped his hand away and pushed forward against the metal grate. Its frame cracked slightly.
To Michael, the crowd outside seemed to be getting louder and the soldiers’ laughter more defined. “No, Elizabeth, stop. Please stop pushing!”
“I have to help, Dad. I have to help him!”
With one last thrust, the grate broke free of its frame, falling out onto the road above. Elizabeth pushed against Michael, hoisting herself through the opening, and dropping her miniature flashlight pen. Getting to her feet quickly, she ran over to the bloodied man.
Michael grunted as he pulled himself up onto the road. “Elizabeth, stop!”
He ran over to Elizabeth and grabbed her arm, pulling her away from the bleeding man. “Sir, are you okay? We need to get you some medical attention.”
He turned toward the crowd. “Someone should really call 911!” he shouted, exasperated.
Several soldiers surrounded them, one of whom pulled Elizabeth away from the man.
“Get your hands off my daughter!” Michael screamed.
“Kατασιγάζω!” a soldier shouted.*
Another soldier waved at the crowd to quiet them, then turned to Michael. “Пώς σας λένε?”*
Michael and Elizabeth looked at each other, unable to understand what the soldiers were saying. One began to scream at him. “ποοκρίνομαι!”*
“What?” Michael muttered. “Who are you? What is going on here? This guy is seriously hurt!”
The soldier pushed his spear into Elizabeth’s chest. “ποοκρίνομαι!”
“Stop! Please don’t hurt her!” Michael screamed.
“ποοκρίνομαι! Пώς σας λένε?”
“What . . . what did you say?” implored Michael as he was pushed to the ground.
“Dad!” said Elizabeth weakly as the soldier continued to press his spear near her neck.
Michael reached up with his left hand, grasping at the spear, his ring sparkling in the sunlight. The soldier relaxed his stance slightly and leaned over, grabbing his hand. He pulled at Michael’s ring.
“No!” he shouted at the soldier.
The soldier pressed his spear with one hand against Elizabeth’s shoulder and reached for the ring with the other. Still unable to comprehend the soldier’s demands, Michael hesitated. The soldier took his spear away from Elizabeth and jabbed at Michael’s hand, gesturing at the gold ring.
“No,” Michael said, shaking his head. “Not my ring. Please.”
The soldier swung his spear wildly around, whipping it past Elizabeth’s face.
“Okay, okay, whatever you want.” Michael looked at the ring quickly, kissed it, and slowly slid it off his finger. “I’m sorry . . . I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
He weakly reached up to give the ring to the soldier, who seized it violently. Suddenly a big gust of wind bent the fig trees in the distance, tossing the fruit in the air and whipping up the dust from the ground. The onlookers in the crowd covered their faces while the soldiers cowered sideways, putting their shields up to protect against the thrashing particles of dirt. Some fell to the ground, coughing, gagging from the soil that was filling their throats and ears. Michael lowered his head to avoid the swirling dust, expecting any moment that he, too, would begin to choke.
A moment later, he glanced over at Elizabeth in surprise. He actually felt fine. A feeling of warmth embraced him, and he found himself breathing normally. Elizabeth nodded at him. She seemed to be having the same experience, while all around them soldiers dropped to the ground, wheezing, and some vomiting. Michael felt as if he were floating, yet his feet remained firmly planted on the ground. The pinging of the sand against their faces didn’t sting at all; instead, he found it soothing.
The wind died down as suddenly as it had started, and the swirling dust in the air settled. The soldiers, grimacing and gasping, staggered to their feet and looked around in wonder. Still clutching the ring in his hand, the one soldier wiped furiously at his eyes and assumed his menacing stance.
“How would you like your daughter to watch you die?” he asked clearly.
Michael was stunned. He looked at Elizabeth and saw that suddenly she, too, could understand the soldier’s words.
The soldier thrust the metal edge of the spear toward Michael, jabbing him slightly. “What the . . . ? Stop! I gave you what you wanted,” Michael said angrily. “You got my ring!”
He turned toward the man who was still bleeding. “You really hurt him. You need to call an ambulance, right now.”
A soldier rode up to the crowd and quickly dismounted. Michael could hear his flat-soled sandals slapping against the stone road.
“Oh, it’s you,” he said coolly. “Tell me what your interests are here.”
Michael turned to the swarming crowd. “Someone call 911, please! Call a cop! This
man is really hurt. Jesus, the poor man is bleeding. Help him!”
The soldier drew near. “So, you are a follower of Jesus. Just like your friend. Do you want to join him?”
Michael looked confused. “What?”
Elizabeth tried to help the bloodied man to his feet. Another soldier cut between them, pushing her to the ground.
“Ow.” She flinched. “My arm!”
“Leave her alone!” Michael yelled.
As she tried to stand, her foot caught in the hem of the T-shirt, tearing it. Michael leaped at the soldier who had hit Elizabeth and struck him on the side of the head. Another soldier hammered Michael with his shield, driving him to the ground.
“Dad, are you okay?” Elizabeth cried, pushing her way past the soldiers.
“I’m okay.” He winced and looked up at her. “I’m fine.”
The crowd was cheering with excitement. The soldier who had crushed Michael down with his shield bent over and picked up the piece of Elizabeth’s torn shirt. Laughing, he put it underneath the back of his helmet and turned to Elizabeth with a leer.
“Is she the one, Marcus?” one of the soldiers asked, his eyebrows raised mockingly.
“Yes!” he hissed, with a menacing smile. “She will be mine. Soon.”
Michael was furious. “You put your hands on my daughter and I’ll kill you.”
Marcus lunged at him, causing Michael to roll backward. The soldier towered over him. Jamming his spear against Michael’s chest, he warned, “The next time you challenge me will be the last time you breathe.”
Another soldier grabbed Michael and roughly pulled him to his feet. The other soldiers began dragging him and Elizabeth through the streets.
“Keep away from her,” Michael shouted angrily.
The hot, dry air around them was stifling as they moved through a maze of dusty streets. Michael noticed that all the buildings they passed had flat fronts and were simply made; it was hard to tell one from another. They were constructed of stone, and many were no more than two stories high. There was a carnival-like atmosphere, people milling around near makeshift tables. The aroma of frying fish and fresh fruit lingered in the air.
Necessary Heartbreak Page 3
