David eyed him thoughtfully.
Rayden cleared his throat. "Mr. Jackson...I assume you want to keep the Andersons alive. I'm a doctor. Perhaps I can do something for Mrs. Anderson?"
David kept his eyes on him but with a faraway look, as if seeing through him. Finally he straightened and nodded.
"Ralph, untie him and accompany him to the bedroom."
Ralph smoothed back his long hair. "Sure thing."
Rayden's arms were unbound, and Ralph grasped his elbow, propelling him along. He released him inside the bedroom before he propped against the doorjamb.
Rayden, his legs still weak, stumbled to where Betty lay, still and white. He checked her neck for a pulse and leaned his cheek close to her to feel if she breathed.
“Is she going to be all right?” Andy asked.
“At least she’s alive.” Rayden set back on his heels relieved. He helped Andy remove her sweater so that she would be more comfortable.
Rayden placed a pillow under her feet. “We need to keep her feet elevated. It will help the blood flow to her brain and maybe revive her. She should wake soon.”
Andy looked at him with tears running down his cheeks. "Thank, God."
"I’m so sorry I brought this on you.” Rayden turned away, ashamed to look at his friend.
“It’s not your fault.” Andy lowered his voice. “It’s the fault of these scumbags.”
Rayden glanced at the man by the door. He wasn’t paying any attention to them. He had earbuds in and was shaking back his hair, the highlights shimmering. His eyes were hooded, and he seemed out of it. Was he high?
“They’ll pay for hurting my Betty.” Andy's voice had risen in volume. He seemed to realize it and pressed his lips together and narrowed his eyes.
Rayden surveyed him, wondering how much he should tell him. He leaned closer to whisper. “Don’t do anything foolish. This is a powerful organization we're dealing with. If you were hurt, I’d never forgive myself.”
Andy took a deep breath. "Don't worry. I won't do anything unless something happens to my Betty."
Rayden nodded. What was he going to do now? Even if he could find a weapon, how could he get himself and the Andersons out safely? Especially with Betty unconscious. It would be best to wait and see what the morrow brought. "See if you can get some sleep, Andy. I'm going to see if I can."
He lay down on the rug by the bed and closed his eyes. Die Auserwählten planned to keep him alive. But how could he live if anything happened to the Andersons or to Gisa? He had to think of some way out of this mess.
Rayden had slept fitfully for a couple of hours and finally risen to stand at the window. How long would they be held here? It was almost four o'clock in the afternoon. It was taking longer for Betty to awake then he'd hoped. He went to check her, lifting an arm to feel her pulse. Betty opened her eyes and moaned.
"Betty!" Andy, who had been dozing beside her, was on his knees, clasping her hand.
She struggled to sit, but Andy pushed her back down.
"It's okay," Rayden said. "She'll probably recover faster sitting up." He and Andy helped her sit and placed a pillow at her back. She stayed upright but didn't speak and let her eyes shut again.
Rayden checked her pulse and pulled back her eyelids to peer into her eyes.
He nodded, relieved. When he stepped back, Andy gathered his wife into his arms. Rayden, watching them, swallowed, and then walked back to the barred window and looked down at the street.
David had said the organization wanted him to use his skills. To do what? Produce more clones? And they'd use the Andersons to keep him in line. What an idiot he had been! What had he been thinking? He should never have gotten other people involved. Josh, Sam, and now the Andersons. He had endangered all of their lives. He vigorously rubbed his hands over the stubble on his head. Everything he had done had been wrong—not only was Gisa in danger, but now his friends. And he was helpless.
Furthermore, he had screwed up even more by telling David that Gisa might be at Cumberland Falls. Instead of helping, all he had done was make matters worse. He sank to his knees, not knowing what to do. He saw no way out, and God remained silent. How long he remained there, he didn't know. He came out of his reverie when Andy cleared his throat and spoke to Ralph.
“May we have a drink of water?”
Ralph ignored him, not even glancing his way.
"He can't hear you. The music's too loud." Rayden regained his feet, went over to Ralph, and waited for him to notice him.
Ralph finally looked up and pulled the earbuds out. "What?"
"Mrs. Anderson needs a drink of water."
Annoyance crossed his face. "All right. I'll be right back. Just stay here with your mouths shut.” He left, leaving the door open.
Rayden stood close to the door and watched him in the kitchen. Ralph's head was close to David's, speaking too quietly to be heard. Rayden turned his back to them and paced at the foot of the bed, his hands jammed into his pockets. Betty leaned against her husband with her eyes closed. Andy's head was bent close to hers, and he whispered in her ear.
Rayden folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the wall. Would Gisa have figured out what Esther and keshet had meant? He began twisting the ring on his little finger, not now knowing if he hoped that she had or hoped that she hadn't. Betty cleared her throat.
“Rayden.” Mrs. Anderson spoke very softly, her lips barely moving. She still leaned against her husband. “Andy and I have been thinking.”
Rayden swung an arm. “Thinking what a fine mess I've gotten us into?”
“Nice.”
He looked at her, startled. “What?”
“Oh, you sounded like Hardy to Laurel. He’s always misquoted as ‘This is another fine mess you’ve gotten me into.’ He actually said, ‘This is another nice mess you’ve gotten me into.’”
“How do you know that?”
She shrugged. “I know a lot of trivia. Someone once told me my head was like an attic—containing a few good things but so full of junk it was hard to find them.”
He smiled and then grew sober. “Find something good in there that will get us out of this mess—this nice mess?”
"Perhaps..." She smiled up at her husband, and he squeezed her hand, giving her a nod of encouragement.
"Perhaps I do have an idea..."
AFTER DEPARTING FROM the bus at Grace, Gisa traveled north on foot. She tried to find cover but sometimes was forced to walk in the open. Eventually she found herself on a road that looked familiar.
After walking about a mile, she saw the sign: Grenadah´ Springs. A large rustic sign in the shape of an arrow pointed east. She shifted the backpack, hoisted the archery case a little higher, and switched the bag to the other hand. She followed the arrow on the sign.
Grenadah Springs, privately owned and operated, was tucked into a wilderness area, surrounded by a tall wooden fence. A booth with lanes on each side directed traffic in and out. She skirted around the booth without being seen. She still had a few dollars in her pocket but, for some strange reason, wanted to hold onto them. A large parking lot, a wooden building with restrooms and showers, and a concession stand bordered a plot of grass that led down to the springs. A dirt track meandered up into the woods. Gisa remembered from their visit that hookups for RVs were available along the trail.
At the springs, many trees grew along the shoreline, some with branches that touched the water's surface. The leaves of the trees were in golds, reds, and browns, reflecting in the surface of the water. The beauty overwhelmed her for a moment.
It was too late in the season for swimming, and the sun was setting, cooling things off even more. Gisa walked closer to the water's edge, dropped her bags, and plopped down in the grass. She plucked the browning grass and twirled it in her fingers.
What now? What was she doing here? She pulled her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms around her legs. The breeze was cool. Good thing she had snagged the jacket at Mrs. H
olland's house. She opened her bag and grabbed a bottle of water, and noticed the files. She had almost forgotten about them.
She piled them on the ground beside her and then picked one up and flipped through it, not bothering to look at the name. Physical descriptions, health records, a psych evaluation. She picked up another and found the same basic thing. Why were these kept about her family? She looked at the dates on each file and arranged them chronologically.
Okay, the file with the name Dirk Ostheim, her father, was now the top one. She began reading.
The physical description included his weight and height at the age of twenty-one. Hair color—blonde; eyes— blue; height—6'2", weight—180. His picture was stapled to the top left. She had forgotten how handsome her father had been. The next page was a record of how well he did in various physical activities—how many pull-ups, push-ups, sit-ups, flexibility, and at the bottom, a treadmill test. Her father had been in remarkable physical health at the age of twenty-one. Of course, who wasn't at twenty-one? That was the age he had been when he had married her mom. She flipped through the health records and read the psych evaluation. Stable personality, it read; willingness to please. The next page had results of various tests. She focused in on one, IQ: 153. Wow. Didn't that make him a genius, or something?
What was this doing at the house where she had been held? Why would someone keep such records? She stared into space, not seeing the light filtering through the colorful leaves.
She looked back down to the file in her hand and flipped to the next page and was startled to see a picture of her mother, Susanne Klein. Hair—blonde, eyes— blue, height—5'7", weight—120 pounds. Her mother had also undergone rigorous physical and psychological evaluations. And then a stamp at the bottom of the last page—Approved.
* * *
Rayden
Rayden nodded at Betty and waited for her to continue, not very hopeful that the old couple could actually help. What would they have to offer? The men in the next room were still talking intently. Mrs. Anderson pressed her lips together, narrowed her eyes, and took a deep breath before she spoke.
"Bring my sweater. I'm a touch cool." She bent her head toward where her sweater lay on the side chair.
"What?" Obviously she was getting senile. She had forgotten what she had just said, about having an idea.
"My sweater. Please fetch it."
"Yes, ma'am." Rayden did as he was told.
She put the sweater on and stuck her hands in the pocket of the sweater, pulling out a pink case. She placed a finger to her lips.
Rayden was confused. What could it possibly hold that would help them out? She opened it and slid out a small container.
"Pepper spray," she mouthed. She slipped it to Rayden, and he stuffed it in his pocket.
Her husband's eyes were shining, and his head nodded, but Rayden wasn't so certain. He wasn't sure how helpful it would be. If they used it on one of the men, the other two were still to be reckoned with. Could he possibly spray it on all three before they retaliated? And he knew some military men underwent training to withstand the effects of the spray. Perhaps this group had trained in a similar way. And what if the apartment were bugged? True, he had seen no evidence of cameras, but it was possible listening devices had been planted.
And if they attacked the men, wouldn't they signal someone? Surely they all had cell phones, perhaps radios. And even if they succeeded, Die Auserwählten was a huge organization. They would hunt the Andersons down, more than likely kill them.
Rayden shook his head. "I don't think this will work."
Andy's eyes blazed. "Why not?"
Rayden sighed. "Even if we escape, they will come after you, kill you. I can't let you put yourself in danger."
Betty threw her shoulders back. "That's our choice, young man. We don't need your permission. We'll do this with or without you."
Rayden couldn't help but smile at her determination. "But even if it does succeed, what then? Where will you go? This organization will not simply let you go back to your old life."
"We'll go to the police..."
Rayden shook his head sadly.
"Why not?" Betty demanded.
"This organization has infiltrated the police...or so I've been told." He cleared his throat, afraid to tell them, afraid of their reaction. "I've been framed for murder. You'll be putting me at risk."
They both widened their eyes.
"Pshaw." Betty waved her hand. "You wouldn't hurt a fly."
Rayden smiled wryly and glanced at her through his lashes. "That's what friends and neighbors always say when someone murders a bunch of people."
Andy rubbed his chin. "Are you trying to convince us you're guilty? Well, I agree with Betty here—I trust you, Rayden. We'll take your word for it. Going to the police is out. And you're telling us we can't go home—that these guys won't let us."
“We have always wanted to work in the mission field, haven’t we, hon?” Betty looked up at Andy, her eyes tender.
Rayden felt a pang at the love in her eyes, embarrassed to be part of such intimacy.
Her husband smiled down at her. “Yep, it’s what I’ve always wanted to do. We can go to Guayana.”
Mrs. Anderson patted Rayden on the hand. “You don’t worry about us.”
“I can’t help but be concerned about you. This is all my fault.”
“We're not sure what's going on, Rayden, but this is not your fault. Those men are evil, but God can use evil for his good. This might well be part of God’s plan."
Rayden shook his head doubtfully.
Betty shook a finger in his face. "Now listen here, young man. If nothing else, this might be the kick in the behind we needed, to get out of our rut and really work for God."
Her husband nodded. "Betty's idea is a good one. It so happens that a group from our church is leaving for Guayana in a couple of days. A couple around our age are not able to go—daughter is having complications with her pregnancy. They have their passports in order, everything ready. We’ll just take their place. I thought we were too old to go. Maybe this is God’s way of letting us know we’re never too old to work in his service.”
“But your son, your home, your savings...”
“Rayden, our son will be fine,” Andy said. “We’ve already deeded our home to the Lord's work. Most of our savings we’ve given to our church. God in His providence has prepared us for this moment. Just like Esther.”
“And I hope like Esther we will be brave enough to see this through,” Mrs. Anderson said.
“But your health...”
“Don’t put us in our graves yet. We've got the normal aches and pains of old age but we’re both in relatively good health. Andy has almost completely recovered from the stroke.”
“It sounds like you’ve thought this through. But I'm going to need to know that you arrive in Guayana safely. I feel responsible for you.”
“We need to work out a code,” Andy said.
Rayden had to smile at the excitement in his voice. Both their eyes shone with excitement. They must truly believe they were serving God’s purpose. Only that could account for their enthusiasm.
“They who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint. Isaiah 40:31. I've always loved that verse. Maybe something to do with an eagle?” Betty suggested.
Andy scratched his chin. “Rayden, call our preacher in a week. If we arrive safely in Guayna, he'll say ‘the eagle has landed.’ Then no one will be the wiser.”
All three laughed, and Ralph came back, carrying a bottle of water. “You were told not to talk.” He handed Betty the water, resumed his position by the door, and watched them.
"David said to bring Dr. Brooks back in here," the other man called from the kitchen.
"Dr. Brooks?" Andy's eyebrows rose. "You never told us you were a doctor."
"I said no talking." Ralph jerked a thumb towards the door. "
Let's go, Dr. Brooks."
Andy gave Rayden a thumbs up, and Betty smiled.
Rayden's spirits soared. He thanked God for such good friends. He suddenly felt hopeful that all would be well.
APPROVED? FOR WHAT? Gisa tossed the file aside and picked up her grandfather’s file, Marko Ostheim. The same physical and psychological information—remarkably similar. He also had been in excellent physical health and his age was also listed as twenty-one. Had they known they were being evaluated? Had they willingly gone along with whatever this was? Gisa had a sinking feeling she was beginning to understand—maybe she had the minute she had found the files.
Her grandmother’s information followed her grandfather's with the same sort of stamp mark—Approved.
The last file bore a name unfamiliar to her, Tobias Ostheim. Perhaps this was her great grandfather. She tried to remember if she had ever known her great grandfather’s name. She scrunched her brow and closed her eyes. She shook her head. No, she never remembered anyone mentioning her great grandfather. Perhaps she would have asked for more information if her parents had not been killed. They had never told stories about their families. Surely, that was odd? She opened the file. The pages were yellow with age but again contained a physical and psychological evaluation. She noticed that the age, once more, was twenty-one.
But this file was different. On the bottom of his last page was stamped Approved. Strange. This time the man was approved.
Goose bumps traveled over her arms, and a shiver went up her spine when she flipped the page. She sat with her legs crossed. A cold lump settled in her stomach as she stared at the name at the top of the page.
Eva Braun.
* * *
Rayden
Rayden walked in front of Ralph, back to the kitchen, his gaze sweeping the rooms. David was gone.
He said a silent prayer of thanks. He'd have one less person to deal with. As Rayden neared the man standing in the kitchen, he slipped his hand in his pocket and palmed the pepper spray.
Moonbow Page 16
