Obsessed

by Ted Dekker

  Her breathing quickened.

  “Step up!”

  She stepped up—a chair or a crate. She could feel the rope as they worked it over her head. The adrenaline came in waves, hot to her skin, slicing through her nerves like a million tiny razor blades, each one urging her to run, run away. But there was nowhere to run.

  “Dear God in heaven, I beg you to save the children.”

  Whoever was working on the rope paused for moment, and then cinched it tight.

  “Don’t let my death be in vain. Save the children.” Her voice rose in pitch and in volume. “Give them love and hope.”

  MARTHA AWOKE before dawn, disorientated in the dark. A baby lay against her belly.

  Ruth’s baby.

  Ruth!

  Dread swept through her chest and she moaned. She could look now if she wanted to. She could climb out of bed, sneak over to the window and have a clear view of the gate to Toruń.

  But she couldn’t.

  She lay still for ten minutes before the need to know compelled her to throw off the covers and hurry for the window. She would have to be strong now; the babies depended on her alone. Part of being strong was facing the truth. Knowing. She had to know.

  She edged her head into the window slowly.

  Then she knew.

  The body hung in silence a hundred yards away. There was a black hood over Ruth’s head. Her arms and legs hung limply. So innocent and still there across the yard.

  Martha clenched her jaw and swallowed the knot in her throat. No more crying. She now had one objective only. Keep the babies alive. Noth- ing else mattered. Her life mattered only because the children needed her to survive. The war’s end mattered only because such an end would set the children free.

  The price that had been paid for the child in her womb demanded her unfailing devotion.

  Martha stared at Ruth’s body and vowed to live so that Ruth’s death would not be in vain.

  29

  Los Angeles

  July 24, 1973

  Tuesday, Early Morning

  STEPHEN DREAMED OF LEECHES CRAWLING THROUGH HIS TOES and woke to find the dog licking his bare feet. Brandy matched his stare, whined, and crept up the bed to nuzzle his neck before lying down beside him.

  It was the most touching moment in Stephen’s recent memory. The dog had returned. He was loved. The world had not ended, despite his conclusion of several hours past.

  He drifted back into an exhausted sleep—three days without a decent nap had worn him onionskin thin. He’d gone up to the giant, he’d fought with all of his strength, and he’d been sent home packing. Goliath had not fallen.

  Someone shook him. Goliath was mocking him, egging him on for a fifth round.

  “Stephen.”

  Goliath knew his name.

  “Wake up, dude.”

  Stephen jerked up. “What?” Brandy lay across the room on Melissa’s lap. Sweeney sat cross-legged beside his bed.

  “What’s up?”

  “Sorry to wake you from such a blissful sleep, but I have something I think we should talk about.”

  Stephen sat up, groggy. “What’s up?”

  “I just told you what’s up.”

  “I mean, what do you want to talk about? What time is it?”

  “It’s time to face the dragon, baby.” Sweeney grinned.

  What was this guy talking about? This was the problem with bohemians—they were too idealistic to be useful. Poetry was fine, but you couldn’t wear it, eat it, or sleep in it.

  He wanted to reach out and slap the man for waking him.

  “How much is it worth to you to get into that building?” Sweeney asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, how much would you pay?”

  Stephen sat up, suddenly awake. “Could you get in?”

  “Maybe. Depends. But let’s say I did have a way in. I mean, an absolutely guaranteed way in. What would it be worth to you?”

  “Just tell me if you have a way in!”

  “You think I’d wake you up from such serenity to toss around esoteric hypotheticals?”

  “I doubt it’s beyond you.”

  “See, there you go, hurting my feelings again. Just go with me, baby. Give me a figure.”

  “Okay. A thousand dollars.”

  Sweeney looked long and hard. “That’s it? This whole thing is only worth a thousand dollars to you?”

  “You have a thousand dollars now?” Stephen asked.

  “I don’t want a thousand dollars now.”

  “So why are you asking?”

  Sweeney waved a hand. “Forget it, man. I don’t know how to get into the building anyway.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t have a way in? You just sat there and told me you did!”

  “What does it matter—it’s hardly worth a thing to you, right? A thousand bucks—please, man.”

  “Okay, ten thousand,” Stephen said.

  “I have a way in, you know. I really do.” Sweeney grinned. “But I was under the impression that this thing really meant a lot to you. I’m hearing numbers like a thousand and ten thousand, and I’m thinking that I was wrong.”

  Sweeney wasn’t bluffing, was he? He actually might have a way in. Stephen scrambled to his knees. “You get me in there, and I’ll pay you whatever you want.”

  Sweeney looked over at Melissa, who was watching quietly. “Hear that, babe? Now we’re getting somewhere. But that’s not the way it works, Groovy. I need to know what it’s worth to you. It’s not what I want that matters here. It’s how much you want whatever’s over there that matters. How much will you pay?”

  “Twenty thousand.”

  Sweeney just stared at him.

  “Fifty thousand—if you get me in.”

  “Not enough.”

  “For crying out loud, then! How much is enough?”

  “Your desire’s bigger than that, Groovy. I’ve seen it in your eyes. You would sell your soul for whatever’s in that building.”

  Stephen settled to his haunches and looked at the smiling bohemian. A bright moon hung in the window. The traffic from La Brea hummed faintly, even though the sun wasn’t up.

  “You’re asking me what I’ll pay you, not what it’s worth,” he said.

  “They’re synonymous. You’ll pay whatever it’s worth. It’s worth what you’ll pay for it. What price are you willing to pay for this obsession of yours? That’s what I want to know.”

  Stephen looked up at Ruth’s picture. The moon cast a soft hue over her face.

  “That’s an unfair question.”

  “So few are really willing to put their money where their mouths are, isn’t that the truth? That’s what sets the greatest apart. Gandhi. Jesus. They gave their lives. All I’m asking for is money.”

  Stephen wasn’t sure if he wanted to hit the man or cry on his shoulder. He had promised Dan Stiller five hundred thousand. He’d spent a hundred on Sparks. He had two hundred to spare.

  “A hundred thousand,” he said.

  “Not enough. Guaranteed access to the building.”

  “Two hundred.”

  Sweeney hesitated. “That’s it? You would walk away from here if it cost you more?”

  “No! I didn’t say that!”

  “Then stop messing around!” Sweeney yelled.

  His fury startled Stephen. Tears welled in his eyes.

  “Put your gut into it, man!”

  “Five hundred!” Stephen cried. Dan would have to forgive him.

  “Stop it, Sweeney!” Melissa said. “That’s enough. You’re torturing him!”

  “This is exactly what he needs. It’s what we all need.” He reached out and rubbed Stephen on the shoulder. “You did well, my man. You did well.”

  The man stood up and walked to the window. “How will you pay me?”

  Stephen cleared his throat. “You’re serious?”

  “As a heart attack.”

  “How do you want it?”

  “Cash?
”

  “The bank doesn’t like to give me cash, but I think I can arrange it.”

  “Just curious—how much money do you have in the bank?”

  “Seven hundred thousand.”

  “See, that leaves you with two hundred thousand. Minus expenses.”

  “Expenses?”

  “We’ll need some equipment. Shouldn’t cost more than a few thousand. I want twenty thousand in cash, and the rest in a cashier’s check made out to the charity of your choice.”

  “What?” Stephen rose slowly to his feet.

  Sweeney shrugged. “I don’t really have use for money. Twenty thousand will keep me for a couple of years, high on the hog.”

  “Then why—” He looked at Melissa; she was smiling.

  “You’re paying every dime, my friend. If this is worth five hundred thousand, then someone’s gonna pay five hundred thousand, and that someone is you. Let’s just say I’m legitimizing your desire. Either you’ll pay, or you won’t. And there’s one more thing. You pay even if you don’t find what you’re looking for. I get you in, that’s all.”

  “But you have to guarantee me access.”

  “If I can’t get you in, I’ll tear up the check.”

  An image of the floor safe with the tin box sitting inside filled Stephen’s mind. “Okay, when do we go? How’s this work? Can you show me now?”

  “First things first. I need the money.”

  “No, I don’t think you get it. We can’t wait! I’ll get your money, I swear, but the people over there are after the same thing I am. They’re tearing down the walls as we speak. For all I know, they might already have it! We have to move.”

  “This isn’t an overnight thing,” Sweeney said, eyebrow cocked.

  “How long?”

  “Two days. Maybe longer. Depends.”

  “Two days? Come on!”

  “Two days. At least.”

  Stephen paced. “Then we have to start now. I’ll get you a check as soon as the bank opens. I’ll bump the amount to forty thousand if you’ll show me now.”

  Sweeney looked at Melissa. “Okay. You can keep the extra dough, but you renege, and I go to the police and expose what you’re doing down here.”

  “I’m not going to renege,” Stephen said firmly.

  Sweeney’s eyes twinkled like an excited child’s. “You wanna see?”

  “Yes! Yes, I want to see!”

  “Come on.”

  THEY HURRIED down the three flights of stairs to the ground floor in near darkness. “Wait here,” Sweeney instructed. He returned thirty seconds later holding a makeshift torch. “We’ll need light down there,” he said.

  “Down? I have a flashlight in my bag upstairs,” Stephen said.

  “Too small.” He struck a match and set rags ablaze. Flames licked at the cloth and filled the stairwell with dancing light. “Besides, this is much more exciting, don’t you think? Come on!”

  He flew down the basement stairs, leading a ribbon of oily smoke. “This building was planned in tandem with the other one,” Sweeney said, pushing into the basement. “Same basic layout, same foundation, same utilities. If you ask me, they’re both trash, but they haven’t caved in yet; I guess that’s all some people want.”

  Stephen recalled that Sweeney studied architecture at UCLA. Stephen’s blood pressure surged. They’d entered a basement almost identical to Rachel’s. He stopped, fixed on one of the doors directly opposite the stairs.

  That was the boiler room. The rest of the basement suddenly faded. Sweeney was saying something, but it sounded distant. They were actually in the basement! This was his mother’s basement, and that was the boiler room, and in there was the safe!

  Stephen tore for the room, slammed into the door, gripped the knob and yanked it open. Dark.

  “Hurry!”

  “Stephen—”

  “Bring the light!” He motioned frantically and stepped in.

  Flame light spread into the room from behind. “What is it?” Melissa asked.

  Stephen blinked. No drums. The Germans—

  “You see something?” Sweeney asked.

  “I . . .” The door was missing from the boiler room. The water heater had been ripped out. “Is this the same?” No, of course it wasn’t. What was he thinking? This was the boiler room in Building B. A mixture of relief and disappointment washed over him. “Boy. For a moment there I thought this was Rachel’s.”

  He faced Sweeney and Melissa. Brandy trotted into the room, tested the air with a raised nose. All three looked at Stephen.

  “It’s in the boiler room?” Sweeney asked. “What you want is in the boiler room across the street?”

  No use denying what he’d made painfully obvious. “Yeah. I’m sorry, I just kinda flipped out.”

  “Boy, are you going to love me,” Sweeney said with a big smile.

  “Why?”

  “I said I could get you into the building. What I didn’t tell you was that I could get you into the basement.”

  “You mean just the basement?”

  “You’ll see. Come on.” He turned, walked out, and stopped in the middle of the basement as if undecided where to lead them next.

  “By the way, just out of curiosity”—Sweeney faced him—“I know this thing of yours is a closely guarded secret, but so is what I’m about to show you. So first, what exactly are you after over there?”

  A compulsion to tell them surprised Stephen. “A box,” he said. Surely, anyone who wanted to donate four hundred eighty thousand dollars to a charity wasn’t the kind who would steal to feed their greed.

  “And what’s in the box? Just curious. Are we talking the Ring here? My precious?”

  Stephen stared at Sweeney and then at Melissa. He liked them. He liked these two people very much—at this moment, maybe more than he had ever liked anybody his entire life. That was strange, considering the fact that he hardly knew them. The sentiment choked him up a little and he just stared at them, swimming in this fondness.

  “You okay?” Melissa asked.

  He nodded. “You guys are pretty neat, you know.”

  She walked over and rubbed his back. “We think you’re neat too. That’s why we want to help you. We weren’t going to ask for money—that was Sweeney’s idea.” She flashed Sweeney a glare. “He insisted it would make the whole experience more rewarding for you.”

  “And it will,” Sweeney said. “You’re feeling it already, aren’t you, Groovy? The more you pay for the diamond, the more you love it. I can feel a whole lot of love in this room right now. You understand what I’m saying?”

  Stephen nodded. He wanted to hug them both. “To be honest, I don’t know for certain what’s in the box,” he said. “But I’m sure it came from Nazi Germany, and I know it belongs to a girl named Esther, the daughter of the woman in the picture upstairs. If she’s alive.”

  “Oh, how sweet,” Melissa said, rubbing his back again. “You’re doing this for love.”

  “What’s in it could be worth a hundred million dollars,” Stephen said, but saying it to these two, the detail seemed insignificant. Silly.

  Still, the added detail earned him a moment of silence.

  “Even so,” Melissa said, “you’re doing this for love. I can see it in your eyes.” She walked over to Sweeney. “All this talk is making my knees weak, baby.”

  He took her under one arm and kissed her on the lips. “Love, baby. It’s all about love.”

  They looked over at Stephen, smiling like two jack-o’-lanterns. He let out a short sob-laugh, the kind that mothers cry at weddings, the kind of sound he’d once sworn only a woman could make.

  “Ready, Groovy? We don’t have all night. I’d hate to get caught down there with a burned-out torch.”

  “I was born ready.”

  Sweeney winked and walked for a door. They were in a dingy basement in the middle of the night, headed wherever “down there” was, talking gushy and conquering the world. Sweeney was going to march him into the b
asement, right to the safe.

  They entered a room blackened by coal.

  Sweeney had said that it would take two days, but that was because he’d wanted the money up front. Without that caveat to hold them up, they would probably have the box by daybreak.

  “What’s this?” Stephen asked, looking around.

  “This is it, man.”

  Black lumps lay scattered on the floor or stacked in small piles. “The coal room.”

  Sweeney walked to one end and kicked at the floor. “No. just watch.”

  Stephen hurried over. “What?”

  “Hold this, honey.” Sweeney handed the torch to Melissa, dropped to one knee, and yanked on a steel lid. The metal slab slid free with a loud grate and a clang. A two-foot black hole gaped in the floor.

  “I give you a drain,” Sweeney said proudly, hand extended in majestic presentation.

  “A drain?” Stephen looked up. “Where does this lead?”

  “Follow me.”

  Sweeney plopped to his seat, swung his legs into the hole, mounted what Stephen could now see were iron rungs, and climbed down. “You might want to roll up your pants,” he called. “It’s a bit wet down here.” The announcement was followed by a splash.

  Stephen stood in dumbfounded stillness. The dog barked, and he flinched.

  “It’s okay, puppy,” Melissa said, rubbing the dog’s head. She turned to Stephen and gave the light to him. “Hand this to me when I get set.”

  Stephen handed her the torch when she was halfway in and stared down at the glowing hole. There was definitely water in there.

  “Come on, dude! We don’t have all night.”

  He thought about rolling up his pants, but neither of them had, so he crawled in after them. Brandy stuck her head into the drain and whined, but she made no attempt to take the plunge.

  “Hold on, girl; we’ll be back.”

  Stephen lowered himself gingerly into the sewer drain and turned to face Sweeney and Melissa. The concrete tunnel ran past them into darkness— round, about six feet in diameter. Brown slime covered the walls. He looked down at his feet, but they weren’t visible in the murky water. Or whatever it was.