The Ultimatum

by Nancy Moser

  “We won't try to leave,” Annie said. Not with Avi here.

  “You bet you won't.”

  They waited by the stairs until Jered completed his work. “All done.”

  “Good. Then sleep. I'll get the romantics settled and move a chair outside their door. I'll take first watch. Then it's your turn.”

  Jered sprawled on the couch. Annie hated seeing his shoes on the furn—

  “Take off your shoes, you twit,” Jinko said.

  Jered shucked them off, placing them in a neat twosome at the foot of the couch.

  Jinko motioned up the stairs. “Shall we?”

  Annie started to shut the bedroom door, but Jinko extended a hand to stop its swing. “The door stays open.”

  She shook her head. “I'm sorry. But I cannot put on my bedclothes with a strange man able to watch.”

  “Deal with it.”

  “No.”

  “Annie!” Cal couldn't believe her gumption.

  She turned to her husband, crossing her arms. “I'm a modest woman, Cal. You know that. And I will not have him gaping at me— at us—while we sleep. Or as we try to sleep, because there is no way I can sleep with him looking in on us. That's it. End of discussion.”

  Jinko laughed, shaking his head. “Your wife's a pistol, isn't she, Cal? How do you keep her reined in?”

  “I…”

  “The truth is you don't, right?”

  He felt himself blush and shrugged. Now was not the time to argue. Let Jinko think what he wanted.

  Jinko went to the bedroom window and peered out. Checking on the feasibility of an escape route? Cal knew it was a straight shot down, with a flower bed below. No branches close. No roof to hop onto.

  When Jinko tried opening it, Cal remembered something. “It's painted shut. I've been meaning to fix that.”

  “Good thing you didn't,” Jinko said, moving to the door. “Well then, little lady. I guess you can have your privacy.” He tipped an imaginary hat. “Sleep well.”

  Cal shut the door, and Annie hurled herself into his arms. Nothing had ever felt so good. “I'm so sorry, Annie. So sorry,” he whispered.

  “Shh, shh. It's okay. It will be okay.”

  Shouldn't he be the one saying that?

  She suddenly pulled back. She was smiling, and he couldn't imagine why. Then she pulled him into the closet, a finger to her lips. She pointed to the cubby and he understood. Avi was in there!

  She crooked a finger at it, indicating he should open it. Then she pointed to herself and tiptoed into the main room to stand guard.

  Cal carefully opened the door and found their daughter huddled in a bunch of their clothes and blankets.

  “Daddy!” she whispered. Her face registered shock at the sight of his face. Tears were on her cheeks. Avi, who never cried. It killed him…

  With a motion he silenced her, then gave her a hug. “Oh, dar-lin, it's all right. Everything will be all right.” He pulled back to look at her, wiping a tear with his thumb. “You okay?”

  She nodded then pointed to a stash of food. “Mama brought it up.”

  When did she do that?

  Cal heard a chair being set outside the bedroom door. The old house had thin walls. “We're going to bed,” he told Avi. “We'll be right there.” He pointed to the bedroom. “But you stay put until we get you. Understand? You don't come out. Ever.”

  She nodded. “When will they go, Daddy?”

  “I don't know, darlin. Hopefully in the morning.”

  “What do they want?”

  “Money. Coins.”

  “Then give them some.”

  If only I could. He couldn't explain. He didn't want to explain. “Shh, now. Go to sleep. Love you.”

  “Love you too, Daddy.”

  Bailey Manson sat forward on his couch, the remote dangling in his hand. Had he really heard his sons name on the news? Surely not. Surely it was a horrible mistake.

  Please make it be a horrible mistake.

  There was a knock on the door. Who would be stopping by at such a late hour? It couldn't be good.

  The knock continued. “Bailey? Its me. Ken Kendell.”

  Officer Ken Kendell. Baileys nerves tightened. “Coming.” He opened the door.

  Ken looked at him sheepishly. “Sorry to bother you, Bailey.” He glanced past him to the television. “You saw? You heard?”

  He didn't want to do this through an open door. “Come in.”

  Ken entered.

  “Sit.”

  Ken sat on the Morris chair—or rather, perched on its edge. Bailey wanted to tell him to sit back and relax, because as long as he sat at attention, the news could not be good.

  “What's this about, Ken? Surely Jered can't be involved.”

  “It looks that way. Like the news said, his truck was seen at the crime scenes and then spotted at the home of Mr. Daly.”

  “Who is this Daly?”

  “He owns a restaurant and bar in Eldora. Palambas.”

  Bailey made a face. “Its a dive.”

  “Its hardly a dive. It's a nice place. They have great burritos.”

  “Oh, please…”

  Ken shifted on the chair. “The Eldora police have interviewed some of the employees, and they say Jered's okay. Healthwise, that is. In case you're interested.”

  Bailey felt his cheeks flush, more from the fact he hadn't thought about asking if Jered was okay than Ken's comment. “I can't believe he's involved in burglaries. He's not a perfect kid, but he's not a bad one either.”

  Ken shrugged. “Circumstances can make people do odd things. He did need to find a way to survive…”

  “He needed to come home. If he had stayed here, none of this would have happened. He had everything he needed here.”

  Ken stood. “I just wanted to stop by to see how you were doing.”

  He threw his hands in the air. “How do you think I'm doing? My sons name is splashed all over the nightly news, telling the world he's a suspected criminal. Do you know what that will do to my reputationr.

  Kens left eyebrow rose. “Sorry its inconveniencing you, Bailey.”

  He realized his error. “Its not inconveniencing me; it's—”

  “Embarrassing you?”

  Bailey ran his hands through his hair. “Ugh. Sorry. I'm upset. My mind's not working straight.” He took a fresh breath. “Is this Jinko dangerous?”

  “We must assume so.”

  Bailey suddenly felt tears threaten. “Please—” His voice cracked and he swallowed. “Please keep me informed.”

  “Will do.”

  Bailey let Ken see himself out.

  Jered couldn't get comfortable on the McFay's couch. His wallet was in the way. He removed it and was just about to toss it on the coffee table when he opened it. He removed the bent snapshot of him and his dad, taken years ago at the opening of Bon Vivant. They were both smiling, and his dad's arm was around his shoulder.

  Another time, another place, another life.

  His eyes glared at the darkened television. His name had been on the news as a criminal. He prayed his dad worked late, missing it. Either way, other people in Steadfast had seen it. Moog and Darryl, Sim, his other friends at school. He shivered at the thought of them talking about him, laughing at him. “Can you believe Jered's a big-time thief?”

  If they were surprised, he was absolutely shocked. How had all this happened? How could running away to pursue a dream end up with his name announced as a criminal on television? He'd wanted people to know his name for good reasons, not this.

  He wasn't a thief. He wasn't.

  But you stole. Over and over you stole.

  He flipped over on his side and pulled the afghan onto his shoulder. It was almost as if the past seven weeks had been separate from reality, like he'd been caught in a bubble, doing the same thing over and over again, never being able to run straight and hard against its surface to break through to the real world beyond.

  Not entirely true. How many times had Va
sylko offered him money to get home? How many times had Vasy warned him, told him what he didn't want to hear?

  He opened his eyes and saw the Christmas tree before him. If he squinted his eyes, the lights stretched and throbbed. Very cool. Did his father have a tree? Was the Santa collection on the mantel surrounded by that wispy white stuff that looked like snow? Was there a present under the tree for him?

  He looked past the tree to the door. Leave! Now!

  He raised onto an elbow and listened. The house was silent. The McFays were in bed, and Jinko was sitting outside their door. Jered let his eyes wander from the front door, up the stairs to where Jinko sat. With one step Jinko could leave his place by the bedroom door and look down the stairs. Jered couldn't get out that way.

  But how about the back?

  He thought of all the cans he'd stacked as a noisy warning if their hostages tried to escape. Would those same cans keep him captive?

  I can be careful. I can move them. I can leave.

  Jered set the afghan to the side and sat up. He listened to the other sounds of the house. The furnace was going, and at just that moment, the refrigerator started up, giving him more cover. It was now or never.

  He picked up his shoes and tiptoed to the kitchen. He took his coat off the hook and wrapped his shoes inside. Once outside, he could run hard, carrying the bundle like a quarterback carrying a football toward a touchdown.

  That ready, he stooped next to the door and studied the can sculpture a moment. It was like that kid's game he had called Jenga, where you built a tower and then had to carefully remove the pieces, trying not to make it fall. He figured out the first move and safely removed a can of pork and beans. Next came a can of corn.

  He forced himself to take a breath and flexed his fingers like a safecracker. If he took the green beans down next, would that make the peas—?

  “Going somewhere?”

  Jered fell backward, missing the can tower with his foot by an inch. He thought fast, then picked up the can of corn. “I thought of a way to redo this to make it better.” He glanced at Jinko as he picked up the can. “If we put it over here…”

  “Nice try, kid.”

  Jered put the beans back on, not daring to look at Jinko. Not when his face was always so readable. “There. Isn't that better?” He stood, then noticed his jacket bundle. He stepped in front of it.

  Jinko pushed him aside. “And what's this?” He unwrapped the package until his shoes fell to the floor.

  There was nothing Jered could say. Nothing.

  Jinko shoved the parcel into Jered's arms. “You don't want to know what would have happened if you'd gotten out and I'd caught up with you.”

  I…Im sorry.

  “Save it.” He shoved Jered toward the front room. “Get back to sleep. I'll wake you in a few hours to take over.” Jinko shoved the barrel of the gun against Jered's chin. It was cold and hard. “You try this again and I'll use the gun. If not on you, then on your father. I know where he lives. Remember?”

  Jered hurried back to the couch, his spine tingling as if he was being chased by something evil and dangerous.

  There was no way out. None.

  Seventeen

  Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.

  Go out to face them tomorrow,

  and the LORD will be with you.

  2 CHRONICLES 20:17

  ANNIE OPENED HER EYES. It was the middle of the night. Within seconds the reality of their hostage situation returned. It had not been a dream.

  But what had awakened her? It had sounded like a click. The click of a door? Had Jinko peeked in to check on them?

  She held her breath. Nothing at first, then she heard whispers in the hall. She slipped out of bed and moved to listen.

  Jinko was talking. “You awake enough to do this, kid?”

  “Yeah, I'm awake.” Jered's voice was heavy with sleep.

  “You'd better be. You sit and guard them. Can you handle that? I'd leave you the gun, but you've proven yourself untrustworthy, so I can't.

  Annie's ears perked up. What was that supposed to mean?

  “Just yell if you need me. /won't let you down.”

  So there was dissension among the thieves. Had something happened while she'd been sleeping? And if so, how could she and Cal take advantage of it?

  She sat on the floor by the door to think, pulling her nightgown over her legs and feet. Jered was guarding the door. A sleepy Jered. Jinko was going to sleep on the couch. The exterior doors were booby-trapped. The window was painted shut.

  She looked at the bedside table where the phone usually stood. If only she could call for help, get someone to rescue them.

  Rescue me, O Lord.

  The phrase seemed familiar. Wasn't it a verse? She retrieved her Bible from the dresser and went into the bathroom for light. She pulled the door so she wouldn't wake Cal and took a seat on the toilet lid. The phrase repeated itself in her mind. Rescue me, O Lord.

  If only she had a big Bible with a concordance in the back so she could look up the word rescue. Help me, God. Help me find this verse.

  She forced herself to think logically. The words were a personal plea. They weren't “Help us, O Lord”; they were “Help me.” One man or woman talking to God. Where were there a lot of one-on-one conversations between a person and God?

  Psalms. King David was always talking to God, and the Psalms were like his personal prayer journal. It was worth a try.

  But there were so many Psalms. One hundred and fifty of them. For no particular reason she started from the back. She scanned the verses looking for the phrase. Then suddenly, word matched word: “Rescue me, O LORD, from evil men; protect me from men of violence, who devise evil plans in their hearts and stir up war every day.” Psalm 140, verses 1 and 2. It was a match! It was real. The phrase coming to her was not a coincidence.

  But what was she supposed to do with it?

  She read the words again. It was a good description of their plight. They needed to be rescued from evil men of violence with evil plans in their hearts. It was a plea for help.

  If only someone could read it. See it. Understand.

  Merry.

  If only she could copy it in a note and get it to Merry. Annie's mind swam with the logistics of it. When she and Avi didn't show up at the Christmas pageant, there was a good possibility Merry would come by to check on them. Could Annie get a note under the front door so Merry would find it on the step?

  The door was blocked by the buffet. And if Merry could find it, then Jinko might find it and get mad. The verse was clear in its implications.

  Then don't write it out. Reference it. Let Merry look it up.

  That was better. If she could just get Merry to see “Ps 140:1-2,” that would be enough. And Jinko would never have a clue that a message was being sent. But how could Annie get Merry to see the reference?

  She stood and leaned against the sink, trying to stir up an answer. She looked at the mirror and noticed a speck. Absently she scraped it away with a fingernail, leaving behind a smudge. She took a towel to wipe it clean. Then it hit her.

  A smudge. Writing. Mirror. Glass. She ran a finger across the mirror, glorying in its trail. Avi wrote on glass all the time with her Window Writers. On her windows—on her windows that faced the front of the house! Avis windows were full of pictures. Pictures and various words like Hi and Avi.

  She would have to risk it.

  Annie stood on her side of the bedroom door and thought a moment. She needed an alibi for opening the door, for possibly being caught in the hallway.

  A blanket.

  She grabbed the throw blanket from the bottom of their bed. If caught, she would say she was worried about Jered being cold and was getting a blanket for him.

  Armed with that, she leaned her ear against the door and listened. She heard a soft snore. Jered was asleep!

  “Father, protect me. Be with me,” she whispered.

  She wiped her palms on her nightgown and put o
ne hand on the doorknob. She turned it, leaning into the door so the latch wouldn't click. It didn't make a sound. She opened the door an inch and peered out. Jered was slumped in the chair, his back against the wall of the hallway. His head was back, his mouth open, his arms crossed.

  But his legs were extended like a blockade before her. She'd have to step over him.

  She lifted her nightgown above her knees so it wouldn't brush against him. She took a long step over his legs, supporting herself on the wall. His snoring stopped, then started, and she froze, one toe touching the carpet on the far side. He did not wake up.

  She decided a stream of motion was necessary for her own sanity and probably wouldn't make any more noise than her choppy movements. Besides, every moment counted.

  She tried to take a deep breath without making any noise. It wasn't easy, but once her lungs were fueled, she finished her motion over Jered's legs and scurried down the hall to Avis bedroom. She pushed the door shut enough to camouflage her presence and moved to the window. A pail of Window Writers sat ready. She looked at Avis window pictures. The purple was the most easily read. She picked it up and wrote backward, so it could be read from outside: M.C. Ps 140:1-2 A.M. She liked the addition of their initials and also hoped that Annie's adult lettering would stand out among Avi s.

  It was all she could do. Make it enoughy Lord. Make it enough.

  She took up the blanket and headed back to her room. She had just stepped over Jered when the snoring stopped.

  His eyes opened and he sat up. “Huh?”

  Annie's heart threatened to burst through her chest. She smiled and put a finger to her lips. She unfolded the blanket and whispered, “I thought you might be cold.”

  He accepted the blanket. She went inside and closed the door.

  Mission accomplished. It was in God's hands now.

  That fact offered enough comfort for her to go back to sleep.

  What was Annie up to?

  Cal had awakened when she'd first gotten up and had nearly gone to her side when she'd slid to the floor outside the door, pulling her nightgown over her feet like a little girl. She'd looked so childlike in the moonlight. So beautiful and vulnerable and—