The Book Waitress (Book 1, The Book Waitress Series)

by Deena Remiel

  “You’re mine. I’ll be back for you, Marked One.”

  Camille’s eyes flashed wide open yet unseeing, as she gasped for air while struggling against memories of a tragic event from long ago. Slowly a dim world came into focus and she scuttled back against the headboard of the bed she’d been laying on. She looked frantically about her and found she’d been placed in a small cement block cell, where the only light came from the window cut-out in the metal door in front of her. Acrid odors, like death, assaulted her nose, and she heard scuffling on the floor. Rats. Where the hell am I and how did I get here?

  The last thing she remembered was having lunch with Victor Langdon. She was about to get her food and fainted. Questions flooded her mind, competing to be heard. Did Victor drug her and put her here? How long has she been here? Why is she here? So many questions and no answers. Only suppositions, and she didn’t like any of those.

  “Hello?” She tested her voice and the acoustics of the room. The small enclosure muted her gravelly voice. Mustering up a bit of bravery, she left the bed and walked over to the door. The window was higher than she could peer out of, but she tilted her chin up and shouted, “Hello! Anybody there? Help me!”

  She scurried back to the bed and huddled in a ball, waiting for some kind of response. Did she want one? It depended on who the answer came from. She sat silent and still for what seemed like an eternity, but no one answered her. She searched the bed above and below for her backpack, but it hadn’t been left with her. Her iPad and cell phone were in there. Her watch remained on her wrist, so she could tell time if she’d awakened on the same day as when she fainted and if she could tell day from night. Realizing the uselessness of the damn thing, she scrubbed her face with her hands and raked them through her hair. It had been loosened from its pin. Somebody wanted to be sure she couldn’t use anything to try to escape.

  With nothing but time to ruminate, conspiracy theories whirled about her mind. Victor obviously had something to do with keeping her captive. Maybe he was a member of the cult. It’s the only thing that made sense. And maybe Nancy and Susan were involved as well. But why would they want her? She didn’t fit the profile. She had to find a way out of this hellhole of a predicament and tell the police. And Derek.

  ***

  Derek found Victor’s address easily enough and now sat at the base of the long driveway trying to come up with a plausible explanation for being there. He could come up with some inane story, but he thought the direct approach might suit him best. Blunt honesty may catch Langdon off guard and make him stumble. Yes, he’d go with the arrogant truth.

  He pressed the intercom button and waited.

  “May I help you?”

  “Derek Galloway, Associated Press, here to see Mr. Langdon.”

  “One moment please.”

  It took more than a moment, but the gate finally opened. He put his idling car in drive and completed the journey up the long, winding road. The highly secured grounds didn’t surprise him at all. If he had a secret as big as Victor had, he’d be building high walls to protect it, too. He came to a stop by the steps leading from the circular drive to the front door. Turning the car off, he dug into his backpack for a couple of essentials, including a digital recorder, and stuck them into the deep pocket of his jeans.

  Figuring most people were invited or expected here, his appearance would surely throw Victor off his game, whatever it may be. He took the stairs by two and rang the doorbell. While he waited for someone to answer, he took on a professional authoritative stance and clipped on his press credentials.

  A tall, lithe woman finally opened the door. “May I help you?”

  “Yes, I’m Derek Galloway, Associated Press. I’d like to speak with Mr. Langdon for a few minutes.”

  “So Mr. Galloway, do you have an appointment?” She opened the door no further.

  Damn, so it’s to be like this. “I do believe I have one. My phone’s calendar app has gone wonky on me, but I’m pretty sure it’s for three o’clock today. My watch says I’m a few minutes late, so I hope he won’t hold it against me. Are you going to let me in or are we going to conduct business at the door?”

  She sneered and opened the door wide enough for him to move inside. “Come this way while I check his schedule.” She guided him to a study off to the right of the enormous foyer. “Wait here.” As she walked out, her heels tapped like firecrackers going off on the Fourth of July. She seemed like a firecracker all right.

  The flaw in his flimsy story would surely pique Langdon’s interest and he’d come to see him anyway. At least Derek banked on that scenario occurring. Five minutes later, the man did not disappoint.

  “Mr. Galloway.” Langdon’s voice shook the very air around them. “My secretary tells me you claim to have scheduled a meeting with me today. But she has no record of such a meeting. My apologies. I do believe I have a few minutes to spare for you right now. My time is valuable, so make your intentions clear that I may know how I can be of assistance.”

  Derek fought against every instinct to gasp and gawk at the horridly disfigured man that stood before him. He’d seen worse in the burn units he’d visited years back, but the way in which Victor Langdon’s scars had healed, they’d made him look like a distorted, grotesque version of the Joker from Batman. Shaking off his initial shock, he continued with his plan. “I’m investigating the disappearance of Zachary Michaels, Mr. Langdon. Research has led me to believe The Mission is involved. Do you have any comment or know the whereabouts of this child?” No better feeling than shooting from the hip.

  “Your research is inaccurate, then. That cult disbanded over thirty-five years ago. As for the boy, I haven’t a clue where he might be. You do know it’s my money that’s offered as a reward for any information leading to his recovery, don’t you? His parents were so grateful. It’s the least I could do given how influential I am in the community. His mother is a lovely woman, strong. Works at the dollar store. She’s been a rock, and the source of strength in the family. His father’s been a complete mess, understandably. Just saw him the other day, in fact. He told me he’s taken a leave of absence from his job. Just can’t handle it right now.”

  He was right about the parents. When he interviewed the two of them, she seemed stoic, detached. His father had been a complete mess. Could she have been involved in his disappearance? He decided to push him and see his reaction.

  “Your stepbrother left a huge responsibility on your shoulders when he was indicted. Has your membership grown since then?”

  A slight twitch of his left cheek gave him the answer he’d been looking for. “As I told you before, The Mission no longer exists, nor has it existed for quite some time.”

  Feeling bold, he pushed some more. “You know, Zachary is the perfect age for one of your ritual ceremonies. You know the one I’m talking about. Every six years a six-year-old male with the Mark of the Damned is taken and sacrificed.”

  “Seems you don’t really need me at all for this interview, now do you, Mr. Galloway? You already have all the answers. I find you tiresome at this point and annoying like a mosquito. I hate mosquitoes. Bart, here, will see to the rest of this meeting. Good day.”

  A giant of a man, as wide as he was tall, entered the room and stalked over to Derek as Langdon walked out. Derek was by no means a slouch in the height department, and had a fit body due to his love of swimming. But even he had to crane his neck to look at him. Without so much as a hint, Bart punched him in the gut and clocked him on the jaw. He’d taken punches before, but never by a cement block.

  Winded and dazed near unconscious, he could do nothing but be at his mercy. He found himself hoisted in the air and bent over the guy’s shoulder. He could feel them descending down steps and found the energy to fight back. He kneed Bart in the solar plexus, but it made no impact whatsoever. He did not like his chances of coming out of this situation unscathed and wished he’d notified someone of his plans.

  ***

  Camille hea
rd a ruckus outside her door. Scuffling, grunts and groans, and shouts of dissent wafted through her door. The protesting, raspy voice sounded so familiar. She only knew one man on the island. What were the chances it would be him? Slim to none in her opinion. The grating sound of rusty hinges opening and closing sent a ripple of unpleasant tingles throughout her body and she gritted her teeth.

  “Hey! You can’t keep me in here! You hear me? People will be looking for me. Hey! Let me outta here!”

  After hearing a litany of colorful curses and a string of detailed descriptions of what this guy would do to the other if he wasn’t set free, all became quiet. And then the banging began. She guessed he was trying to break the door down. After about five grunts and thumps, all became quiet again.

  Stepping up to her door, she called out. “Hello? Hello, who’s over there? What’s your name?”

  “Holy hell, Camille! Is that you? It’s me, Derek.”

  “Oh, my God! Derek, yes, it’s me. I’m locked in a cell. I don’t know what’s going on. One minute I’m having lunch with Victor Langdon and the next I’m locked away in here. Do you know where we are? God, I’m so scared.”

  “Camille, listen to me. Langdon is behind all this. We’re in his basement or dungeon, whichever you prefer to call it. He’s the Mission’s leader. The cult is still active. I believe Nancy, Susan, and the entire Library Board are key members.”

  “Oh, my God. But why am I here? Why are you here? What the hell do they want from us?” She pounded her frustration and fear into the metal door with her fists.

  “Camille, sweetheart, I came to your house to see if you were okay. You didn’t answer your door when I knocked, and a kid across the street told me you’d been picked up. I put two and two together and got Victor. Didn’t count on his woolly mammoth to clobber me and bring me down here, as well. You’re their extra special gift to Satan. You’re to be sacrificed so Hell’s Portal can open and he can ascend to this realm to rule for eternity.”

  Her heart dropped like a lead balloon and she sank to the floor.

  “Camille? Camille, talk to me. Let me know you’re okay.”

  “I…I can’t. I’m not. And I’m not as crazy as I may have thought. He’s finally come back for me,” she muttered, still too stunned to shake free of the pronouncement.

  “What are you talking about? Who’s come back for you?”

  “Satan.”

  “Camille, you’re not making sense. Why would you think that?”

  “When I was six, I nearly drowned in a baptismal pool. Satan reached out to take me, to claim me, but someone pulled me out of the water before he could. He told me he’d be back for me. When I told people, they discounted it as a near-death dream. But now, I see it really happened and I’m to be given to him. It’s come full circle. You were right all along. I finally remember where and when I got this mark. It’s from him. I am involved with this investigation of yours.” She crawled back into the memory, tasted the holy water made bitter by Satan’s dark presence, and felt the burn in her lungs.

  “I won’t let them hurt you, I promise. I will find a way out for us both.”

  He sounded so sure of himself, but she refused to believe he could do anything to stop Satan from claiming her, so strong was her belief. “And the boy? What of the boy?”

  “I don’t know. I think he must still be alive since they need him for their sacrifice. For all I know, he may be down here, too.”

  “You have to find him. He can’t have us both.”

  “He won’t have either of you, Camille. I’ll see to it.”

  “That’s very gallant of you, but you’re no match for Satan and his followers. If you can find a way out of that cell, you’ll be lucky to escape with the boy and your lives intact. Someone needs to stay here to divert people from going after you two. That would be me.”

  “Let’s get one thing straight. If I’m getting out of this cell, you’re getting out as well, and we can find the boy together.”

  Her despair overtook his idealistic optimism and broke her soul into a million pieces. Reality appeared to be an untimely, horrible death for Satan’s sake. She’d believe differently when she saw it.

  “Do we know when we’re supposed to be sacrificed? I don’t even know what today is. What day is it, please?” she asked quietly, letting tears fall freely to soak her cheeks.

  “It’s Friday. From everything I’ve read, I think it’s going to be on Sunday, the sixth.”

  “I really hate the number six. It’s everywhere. I can’t escape it.”

  A cacophony of footsteps brought their conversation to an abrupt halt. Camille’s throat nearly closed for the lump that formed there. She scrambled over to the cot, not knowing what was in store for her.

  “Well, well, well. Now, this won’t do. We can’t have any fraternizing of our guests. Bart, take our special guest to the purification chamber. She needs to be prepped for her big day.”

  “Victor! Leave her alone,” Derek growled.

  “How touching. Our Ms. Dutton has a champion in Mr. Galloway, Bart.”

  “Sweet.”

  “Victor, you’ll never get away with this! I swear it on my life!”

  “That seems to be in a bit of a precarious position at the moment, don’t you think, Mr. Galloway?”

  The handle on her door turned as she heard the jingling of keys and a scraping of metal on metal. Light flooded the room as the door creaked open, and then faded as Bart’s massive body entered.

  He approached her trembling, huddled mass. “Let’s go.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  He grinned and shook his head. “Yeah. Yeah, you are. Now you can come easy or I can make it easy for you.” He took a syringe from his breast pocket of his suit jacket.

  She could only assume what the syringe contained, and needed to keep the little control she had of the situation for her own sanity.

  “Okay. I’ll come,” she hissed, unfolding from her compacted position on the bed. All the while, she heard Derek’s angry crashes of fist against metal. The poor man lost his cool and said anything and everything to direct attention away from her. It fell on deaf ears.

  Bart produced handcuffs from his pants pocket and shackled her wrists before escorting her out of the cell. “Now that’s a good lamb.”

  “Camille!” Derek’s frantic voice pained her heart and soul. But he had to think of freeing himself and finding the boy now, not her.

  “Derek, don’t worry about me. Do what you must to stay alive!”

  “Camille! I will find you, and they will pay! Camille!”

  Her name echoed as Bart shoved her down the dark hallway and away from her only connection to life. Victor raised a hand to stop them then used it to grasp her chin. He moved her face side to side. “No worse for wear, I see. That’s good. Very good.”

  They continued down a dizzying array of hallways until they came to a stop by another room. Bart sifted through his ring of keys, chose one, and opened the door. The room was larger and reminded her of a doctor’s office. A patient table, complete with binding cuffs for wrists and ankles, was the centerpiece with a bright lamp standing beside it. On the counter were trays of various implements wrapped in plastic, used for what, only her imagination could conjure.

  Her feet wouldn’t take another step, as fear gripped her heart, squeezing and twisting it so tautly that she could barely breathe and found no voice with which to scream. Bart pulled her into the room by her handcuffs, and hoisted her onto the table.

  Impulsively, she struggled against him, flailing her shackled hands, kicking her legs, and trying to do damage wherever she could with her feet. He leaned on top of her, restricting anymore movement, and took out the syringe, pulling the plastic protective covering off the needle.

  “No! I’ll stop! I’ll stop. Don’t put that in me.” Tears trickled down her face as she fought to still her hysterical body. “Please, don’t put that in me.” He stopped.

  “Behave
or I will use it.” She nodded silently, and he removed the handcuffs only to secure her wrists in new bindings. He shifted his body off of hers and shackled her ankles to the table as well.

  “She’s all yours, Mr. Langdon.” The brute walked out leaving her alone with the psychotic mastermind.

  Victor approached her, studying her face, observing her body as though she were a specimen. Could he see the abject terror she felt with every cell in her body? He’d put it there. And she’d never forget or forgive as long as she had a breath to take.

  “Fear and anger aren’t bad emotions, Camille. They can be quite helpful at times.” He pushed the neckline of her tank sweater aside to reveal the mark and smiled. “But you should know the role you are about to play is extremely important to the fate of the world. If I were in your position right now, I’d feel elated and honored. Satan has called upon you to guide him into this realm.”

  He didn’t know the half of it. Or did he? She decided to test her theory.

  “Is that right? He told you this himself, did he?”

  “He spoke to me, yes.”

  “And what exactly did he say?”

  “You are the Marked One.”

  “I thought Marked Ones were only boys.”

  “That’s what makes you so special, Camille. He marked you himself when you were quite young and impulsive, or don’t you remember your little accident in the baptismal pool?”

  What could she say? The events during the accident, once thought of as crazy musings from a dying child, were now not so much. Dumbfounded by his knowledge of her encounter with Satan, she could only stare back in disbelief.

  “Oh, yes, but our Lord and Master has been anticipating this moment for quite some time. Many things had to align first before he could see his dream actualized. Now you are here and we have everything ready to make this a most spectacular ceremony. He shall claim you and the Portal will be opened for all of darkness to encompass the world.”

  “As long as there is breath in my body, he shall not have it.”