by JoAnn Durgin
“I’m sure you all know the words of the next verse,” Sam said. “All Scripture is inspired by God and profitable for. . .”
“Teaching, for reproof,” Mitch said under his breath, “for correction, for training in righteousness; so that the man of God may be adequate, equipped for every good work.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the post card from Cassie, reading it for the hundredth time since Kevin gave it to him the night before.
“We’ve been put here for a reason, every one of us, each to his own purpose,” Sam said, removing his glasses. The lines around his eyes were more prominent, the smile lines not seen much in recent days. He’d gotten little sleep each night. Mitch had seen him praying earlier that morning when he’d grabbed some cereal for breakfast. Sam still had his head bowed when he’d passed by him as he’d gone to get dressed.
Sam’s words now interrupted his thoughts. “As always, the Lord’s given us everything we need to accomplish His perfect will here in New Orleans. And He’ll continue to do so. Keep the faith, brothers. Feel free to come to me, Josh or Kevin. We’re here for you. Whatever you need.”
Mitch rose with the other men as they discussed their projects for the day. Sam was right. He was here for a purpose. God had called him here.
A big hand clamped on his shoulder. “The postcard in your pocket is from Cassie, isn’t it?”
He grinned. “How could you tell?”
Sam’s deeply etched smile lines emerged again as they walked outside and stood on the front steps of the church. “The look on your face said it all. Being in circumstances like this can change how you perceive your everyday world. I’d say you’re learning that firsthand.” Raising his face to the sun, Sam squinted before lowering those piercing eyes on him. “Keep that postcard in your pocket.”
“Will do, Sam. I’ll see you sometime tonight.”
“God go with you, brother.”
Chapter 49
Saturday Morning
September 10, 2005
“Cassie, Mitch is missing.” Sam’s voice was low, anguish in his words.
Her breathing stopped. She sputtered, then coughed. “Missing? What. . .how?”
“We’re doing everything we can to find him. Josh and Kevin are scouring the neighborhood, asking questions and getting some of the church members and neighbors to help. There’s a lot of flooding in the area, and it’s difficult to get around.”
“When’s the last time anyone saw him?”
“He was helping down in the 5th Ward.”
Cassie swallowed her sobs. Wasn’t that one of the Wards hardest hit? Be strong. “When was that?”
“Yesterday morning.”
She sank into a chair. When Sammie padded over to her, she put her arm around him and hugged him close. “I’m assuming you’ve called his cell phone?”
“Multiple times, but he’s not answering.” That would explain why Mitch hadn’t texted or answered her calls. She’d been worried, but convinced herself he was too busy and would call as soon as he could.
Cassie’s pulse throbbed in her temples and her palms grew clammy. “What about the police?”
“They’ve been alerted, but they have too much to do down here. I’ll call whenever I have an update. You do the same.”
“Thanks, Sam.” She heard him say he was praying, but she’d dropped the phone.
“Sammie boy, we’ve got to pray for Mitch. God, please, bring him home to us.”
~~**~~
Mitch groaned. What happened? He scrubbed both hands over his face. Where was he, anyway? He glanced down at his body, sprawled on the hard floor of some dank smelling place. He patted himself down, thankful everything seemed to be in its proper place. To his left, a section of the floor was covered in sludge. . . or something. Not going to speculate on that one. His throat was dry and he felt like he’d been run over by a cement truck and left to die.
What have you gotten yourself into now, Jacobsen? This was one adventure he’d rather skip.
Moaning, he managed to reach a sitting position. His brain was fuzzy. Why couldn’t he remember anything? When he heard voices, he turned his head in their direction. Male voices speaking in low tones. From the few words he heard, he knew these people weren’t friends.
Grunting under his breath, he managed to lift himself to his knees. He swayed a bit and planted his palms flat on the ground to steady himself. Wow, this was worse than any hangover. He felt dizzy and not more than a little nauseous. Mitch clamped his arm over his abdomen and deep breathed. Not the time for a panic attack. Glancing around the room in its stark reality, his eyes focused a bit more. Current circumstances might warrant a few feelings of panic and more than a few fervent prayers.
He looked up when a man approached him. A big man covered in tattoos and sporting a full beard and an abundance of piercings. His jeans were dirty and torn, the expression on his face angry and defiant.
“Decide to finally wake up, did you?”
“Who are you and why am I here?”
The man spat at his feet. “None of your business.”
Ignoring the man’s choice curse word in that statement, Mitch struggled to his feet. “Well, it’s been nice chatting, but if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just be moving on my way now.”
“Think again.” The man swung at him. Catching the movement, Mitch stuck out his arm and stopped the bruiser from making contact.
Feeling strangely weak, Mitch stumbled backward. “Hey, man,” he mumbled. “Did you actually. . .actually. . .dr—drug m-m-me?” When he glanced up at the man, his outline was hazy.
“You could say that.”
Mitch reached for his back pocket, groaning again. Empty. His ID and one credit card were missing. The one he’d loaded the day before coming to New Orleans. He reached for his other pocket. No cell phone.
“How long have I been here?”
“Long enough,” the man snorted. “Lie down and go to sleep again like a good little boy and say your prayers that somebody finds you before you rot down here. Or someone wants your clothes. Or whatever else you’ve got left to give.”
“Why’d you come back then, if you’re not here to help me?” He’d rasped out the question but could barely keep his head up long enough to wait for an answer.
The guy stomped over to him and spat in his face. “For the satisfaction of seeing your eyes rolled back in your head and deader than a doorknob. Maybe I’ll get lucky next time.”
“Lord forgive them for they know not what they do.” Mitch used the bottom of his T-shirt to wipe the man’s saliva from his cheek.
With a derisive and bitter laugh, the man departed. In the recesses of his consciousness, Mitch heard a click. They’d locked him in this hole like a prisoner? At least he wasn’t chained. He spied a small paper cup. Water? Half-crawling toward it, he seized it. Empty as his pockets.
Slumping to the hard cold floor, Mitch found comfort in its coolness, its peace.
A tear slid down his cheek. “I love you, Moonbeam. Please pray. Please. . .pray.”
Unable to keep his eyes open, he closed his eyelids. The blessed relief of sleep beckoned.
~~**~~
Later that Day
Cassie couldn’t concentrate on anything. She’d cried until she had no more tears. The only thing she’d managed to do since Sam’s call was to throw on sweats and walk Sammie. Amy came over and brought her lunch and stayed with her for a few hours. They’d prayed and been there for each other. Their mom and Celeste were on standby and Landon was fueling the plane in case they needed to pay a visit to New Orleans. Getting a private aircraft into the area was easier than a commercial jet right now, it seemed. Not that she wanted to find out firsthand, but the knowledge was good to have, in any case.
Lord, I can’t lose him. I love my husband. Take me if You must, but please bring Mitch home.
She’d talked with Rebekah. She’d called Marc and Natalie and told them how happy she was to hear they were expecting. They understood why
she was subdued and told her they’d been praying mightily for Mitch. People all over the country were praying. She’d let the phone calls pile up on the answering machine, let the emails go unanswered.
She set up a Skype call with Winnie and Lexa after Amy left the townhouse. Seeing and hearing her friends in Houston was such a soothing balm for her hurting heart. They’d set up a laptop computer on the kitchen counter at Josh and Winnie’s house.
Cassie gave them a wan smile and watched her own laptop computer screen through vacant eyes. Winnie approached the screen and gave her a cyber-hug. “Not that it helps much, but I brought you something.” Moving one hand from behind her back, she placed a cupcake in the middle of the screen. A pink, loaded with buttercream frosting cupcake.
She couldn’t help herself as she burst into tears. Again. She’d lost count of how many times she’d erupted in the past few hours alone. “Oh, Winnie. That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Thank you.”
Winnie smiled. “Honey, besides my love, prayers and support, it’s the best thing I can offer right now.”
“It comes from your heart and that’s what matters most.” Cassie sniffled and then snatched a tissue from the box beside her on the kitchen table. “How’s your new little one?”
“Emily’s fine. Luke’s fascinated by girl baby, as he calls her. Chloe’s the little mother, as you might imagine. I suppose there’s no word from the guys yet?”
“No.” Cassie shook her head, biting her lower lip to stem the waterworks. “Nothing.”
“I’m sure they’ll find him, honey. Amy wanted to go down there, but like with you, Sam practically roared like a lion and demanded she stay home. I’ve started calling him no way, no how Sam.”
That made Cassie smile a little. “I love your optimism, Winnie.”
“Our guys are going to need some extra good loving when they come home, that’s for sure. Maybe Mitch went off on his own for some project and forgot to check in?”
“I doubt that’s true. You know how Mitch is conscientious about those things. If nothing else, he’d tell Sam or Josh. Or call me to let me know where he is, especially if he’s gone overnight.”
Lexa came into view on the computer screen. “Come on. I’m taking you to Richardson’s. A dose of cyber ice cream and Bea will be good for you.”
“But I’ve got my cupcake for all the cyber sugar overload a girl could possibly ever need.” That statement came out more a half-wail.
“Bring it along,” Winnie said. “It’ll go great with the ice cream.”
~~**~~
Mitch startled as he heard a loud banging. “Huh?” He sat up and tried to focus on the door, but it was too much effort for his muddled state of being. He closed his eyes again, willing sleep. The pounding started again. “Go away!” he said, smacking his jaws. Man, his throat burned. He hoped it wasn’t Bruiser returning to knock him around some more or taunt him again. He opened his eyes. At least he remembered that guy, so it proved he wasn’t completely losing his mind. Maybe this time it was someone who could help him.
The door burst open and a dark-haired man raced inside with Bruiser right behind him. Mitch watched as the two men exchanged punches. The first guy ducked and grabbed Bruiser around the knees, dropping him to the floor like he was a featherweight. Bruiser groaned from a few feet away. The other man stepped closer, and in a crouched position, clubbed him in the jaw. “There, that should do it. You’re not going to feel good when you wake up.”
“Am I in Heaven?” Mitch glanced over at his captor. “Guess not because I’m pretty sure that guy”—he gestured to Bruiser—“won’t be there.”
Glancing up at him, his rescuer reached out a hand to help him to a sitting position. “Here,” he said, pulling a water bottle from a small pouch attached to his waist. “Drink this.”
Mitch grabbed it like a dying man and guzzled the contents of the bottle. A few ounces of the liquid dribbled down the side of his mouth and dripped onto his clothes. The wetness seeping through his thin T-shirt and onto his skin felt so cool, so good. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Mitch shot him a grateful glance. “Thanks, man. That’s not water. What is it?”
“Vitamin-infused mineral water and a few nutrients to build your energy level. Totally natural and something to give you some sustenance until I can get you to a hospital.”
Mitch stared at his health-conscious rescuer. “A hospital? Last time I checked, I was still intact. At least I hope so. Anything missing?” He patted himself down again.
The other man chuckled and regarded him through kind brown eyes. “You’re gonna be fine buddy. Come on, let’s get you out of here.”
He hauled Mitch to his feet and put a supportive hand under one arm, the other around his waist. This man was almost as tall as Sam and stronger than a bull. Was he military? Whatever he was, the guy had his undying gratitude.
“Are you like some really cool angel? If you’re going to hold me like this, don’t you think you should at least tell me your name?” Oh, oh. “Hang on a minute. Gotta go. . .” Turning aside, falling to his knees, Mitch lost the contents of what he’d just downed. “Sorry,” he muttered, gasping, staring at the floor. “I’m not myself today. Not sure I can get up on my own speed either.” His head felt like it was going to explode and his mouth felt like cotton. The hospital didn’t sound like such a bad idea.
Bruiser lifted up on one arm and pulled something out of his back pocket. “He’s got a weapon,” Mitch said. In seconds, his rescuer crossed the room and kicked whatever the man held in his hand—a knife?—and sent it sprawling across the cracked, uneven cement floor. As Mitch leaned his forehead against the cool ground, he heard Bruiser cry out in pain. When he raised his head to see what was happening, the dark-haired man pocketed the weapon and hurried back to him.
“Let’s get you out of here.” Without another word, the man hoisted him on his back.
“What about Bruiser over there?” Mitch nodded over his shoulder.
“He’s not going anywhere soon. I’ll turn in the knife. They’ll run prints if you want to file charges. I went easy on him and only broke one of his legs before I knocked him out cold.”
Darting a quick glance at the guy, Mitch noted Bruiser’s left leg was positioned at an odd angle. “Wow. Remind me to never get on your bad side. Hang on a second.” He slid down and reached into his front pocket. “The one thing they didn’t take,” he said, holding up a Christian tract. Tossing it on the inert man’s chest, he grunted. “Hopefully he’ll read it instead of blowing his nose with it.”
“Sometimes you give them to the Lord, buddy. That’s all you can do.”
“Right,” Mitch said, shaking his head.
“Need a lift, Mitch?”
“Nah, I think I can make it on my own speed now. Thanks again. I’m indebted.” He offered his hand. “Seems you have the advantage in knowing who I am, but I didn’t catch your name.”
“Eliot Marchand.” He shook Mitch’s hand, pumping it up and down, nearly crushing his fingers with his hard grip. In the haze of his brain, Mitch thought he detected the faintest trace of an accent. Foreign. Maybe German or French? He must be delusional. Still, wasn’t Marchand a French name?
“Quite a grip you’ve got there.” Mitch opened his eyes wider as recognition slowly filtered into his brain. The name rang a bell. “Eliot,” he repeated. “You mean as in TeamWork Eliot? That Eliot?”
“The same.” Reaching into the bag around his waist, Eliot pulled out a second pair of sunglasses. “Do yourself a favor and put these on. We’ll be outside in a few seconds and the sun will be brutal since you haven’t seen it for a couple of days.”
“Merci beaucoup.” Mitch put the sunglasses in place while Eliot did the same. “Let’s go.”
~~**~~
An Hour Later
Cassie seized her cell phone on the first ring tone. She’d left it on the kitchen counter. Sam. Her hand shook as she brought the phone to her ear. Please, Lord, let it
be good news.
“They found him, Cassie. Mitch is dehydrated and a bit delusional, but he’s finally agreed to stay in the hospital overnight for observation.”
“Oh, thank you, Jesus.” Cassie released her tears, holding tight to the phone with one hand, wiping under her eyes with the other. She listened as Sam relayed the story about Mitch being mugged and hauled to an abandoned building, robbed and left without food and water.
Winnie and Lexa looked at her expectantly from the computer screen. Cassie mouthed he’s okay.
With a huge smile, Winnie gave her a thumbs-up. “They found Mr. Mitch,” Cassie heard her whisper to Chloe. The little girl beamed and clapped. Scrambling down from her chair, Chloe made the announcement to the rest of Richardson’s. Cheers and claps arose from the customers and Bea grabbed her teenage employee and hugged her tight, jumping up and down as best as her rather large frame would allow. Cassie turned down the volume on the computer screen to muffle the hoopla and hysteria.
“Are you having a party?” Sam said. “Where are you? Unless my ears deceive me, I heard Winnie and maybe even Chloe.”
“You did,” Cassie said, mopping her cheeks. “We’re having a Skype session and they’ve taken me to Richardson’s. Lexa and your kids are here, too. There. Wherever.” She shook her head. “We’re together in spirit.”
“Wish I could be there, too.” The weariness in Sam’s voice surfaced.
Cassie’s head pounded from the stress, but the heavy burden in her heart had lifted, replaced by a quiet joy. Maybe now she could breathe. Maybe now she could take a long, hot shower. Maybe now she could eat. “Sam, tell me more about what happened, if you know any details.”
“I called Eliot, and he flew in from wherever in the world he’s been most recently and he tracked Mitch down. Then he met up with Josh and Kevin and they transported Mitch to the hospital. They’ve got a rotation going to watch over him. Of course, the hospital personnel are getting irritated with all the visitors.” Sam’s chuckle was such a balm for her hurting heart.
