“So you want to see your little pig daughter do you?”
Standing, Dr. Death pulled Lisa up by her hair. Her legs were still tingling and would not obey her command to support her. When she started to fall over, another man reached up and grabbed her by her injured shoulder. She winced and instinctively tried to pull away but his grip was too powerful. Dr. Death grabbed for Lisa’s neck and directed her forward into the crowd of frightened children and, she guessed, teachers.
To her right, a door led into what would be the main hallway of the Elementary school. To her far left was the door to the outside walkway. Most likely that had been the door through which she had entered the cafeteria. She knew the walkway all too well and knew that a simple turn to the left upon exiting sent you up a ramp way back towards the main building. A simple turn to the right would have sent you toward a corner that rounded to the left and headed off towards the pre-k building.
The doorway to the right was less familiar to Lisa. She knew it led through the central hallway of the main building but wasn’t familiar with where it came out. She knew she passed by a speech class at some point and the music room was somewhere between the entry point and the front office. By her recollection, several rooms dotted the hallway, most likely including the one in which she had awakened.
As she was led towards the door, she began to wonder if other rooms were being used as makeshift jail cells.
Taking me to my daughter are you? So why the detour? As the thought occurred to her, fear set in. She stumbled, lost her balance. The image of her daughter, bludgeoned to death, decapitated, taunted Lisa.
Her stomach heaved. Her head swam.
Oh God, she thought, but refused to give voice to her fears. Finally reaching the door, Dr. Death turned towards his minions and spoke something in Arabic. She could only guess that perhaps he was leaving instructions for while he was gone.
Rather than walk through the door, Dr. Death led Lisa down the aisle between the cafeteria table and the far wall. Near the back of the room, Lisa saw a small cage. Inside were three small children, huddled in the corner in an eternal embrace. A blood-soaked embrace they would never relinquish.
Overcoming revulsion was something to which Lisa had grown accustomed in her line of work. Looking over blood-soaked bodies had never gotten easy by any means, but it had gotten manageable over the years. Even the sight of children, while horrific in many ways, had become something Lisa learned to handle. In her line of work, there was always time to break down later. Now, as she viewed the three bodies—still spilling forth the life that had been so brutally stolen from them—she felt convinced that one of the three, whose faces were down turned, forever beseeching Divine Intercession, was that of her daughter.
She caught her breath but it was too late.
Gasping, she almost lost her balance. Her eyes filled up with tears. Her chest jerked uncontrollably. She whimpered but could not give voice to the child’s name that filled her heart, her soul. She could not call out. Desperation choked her. Love, self-loathing and disgust at once weakened her and froze her where she stood. She had lost. Worse than checkmate, this was game over. She was dealing with purest evil now. Manmade Evil, possessing purity definable only in the defective character of God’s most flawed creation.
Perfect Evil.
Everyone possesses the capacity for free will. At some point, some critical juncture, the individual faces a choice. To turn one way is to follow the path of great righteousness. To turn the other is to grab hold of the hand Evil has extended. Walk long enough in Evil’s grasp and you become little more than a living, breathing extension of the very thing to which you took hold.
The images of the mauled bodies fresh in her mind, her eyes suddenly unable or unwilling to again subject themselves to the horrific scene, Lisa realized all too well the magnitude of the evil in whose midst she now stood. The imperfection of a soul lacking in compassion bred a most malignant offspring.
Perfect Evil.
Leaning toward her, Dr. Death smiled. He had obviously seen the color drain from Lisa’s face. She had felt it; fought unsuccessfully to hide it.
She could feel his breath on her neck as he whispered in her ear.
“Tonight, your mothers will learn the pain inflicted on the mothers of Islam. Your country is not the only one that can kill children.”
Her hands still bound, she did the only thing she could. Quicker than even she realized was possible, she pivoted in the direction of Dr. Death. Before he could react, her knee met his nether regions with all the force that was in her. As he hit the ground, she motioned to kick him. Before she could throw her leg into Dr. Death’s writhing body, she was knocked to the ground, hit by something hard and metal.
“No,” gasped Dr. Death, still fighting to catch his breath from the trauma to his family pride. Still wheezing, Lisa saw him rise to his knees. Were she not seeing stars herself, her neck and shoulder throbbing, she would have risen herself just to prove she could. “Get her up!” Dr. Death barked, himself trying to form a steady vertical base on weakened, shaky legs. As they pulled her up, Lisa couldn’t help but smile slightly.
“With any luck,” she grunted, “that’s one less fertile psychopath in the world.”
When he punched her, Lisa felt more shock than pain. Either he wasn’t truly trying to hurt her or he simply wasn’t that strong. Either way, she didn’t want to give him a chance to prove his manhood any more powerful.
“When I am through with you, Mrs. Mendez,” he growled, “your mourning will be the deepest sea of all. You will drown in the blood of your family and you will die in the sea of your own grief!”
“That’s very poetic,” she said, trying desperately to maintain the facade of bravery. “Did you write that yourself or did you read it on a bathroom wall in Baghdad? If this terrorist thing doesn’t work out, you should consider a career as a poet.”
Throwing back his hand, Dr. Death stopped when Lisa flinched. She had not wanted to, but she had fully expected another punch or kick or attack of some sort.
Saying nothing, Dr. Death brought his hand down. He whispered something to one of his minions who, in turn, grabbed Lisa and directed her back toward the doorway that led outside, toward the main building.
Leaving the cafeteria, Lisa gave one helpless look back at the crowd of people from which she was separating. She gazed at the three small children and felt betrayal descend upon her like a heavy cloak. She had betrayed them, was betraying everyone that remained alive.
This was her job, to protect and to serve.
Her stomach throbbed with each step she took. The skin felt tight.
Her shoulder wasn’t much better. She had been beaten pretty severely in the last few minutes. Even if it was only the occasional punch or kick. Though the adrenaline was still surging, the merciful pain numbing properties provided by the body’s chemical reaction was slowly but surely wearing off.
As she stepped into the main hallway of the aging Gilmer
Elementary School, Lisa was reminded of a medieval dungeon. The building itself was colder than the cafeteria they’d just left. Odd considering it was summer and this part of the building wasn’t very often used during this time. Were it not for the dusty floors and even filthier walls she might have expected to see a rusted out pipe dangling from the ceiling, dripping water onto a damp floor beneath. There was none of this, however, and the hallway itself was surprisingly well lit.
Aside from the cobwebs and dirt conforming the building’s summertime vacancy, one might get the impression that school was in session as usual.
Occasionally, a shape appeared behind the opaque glass doorway leading into the various classrooms. A door occasionally jostled.
Someone’s feeble attempt to either alert a passerby or to escape perhaps, or maybe just the insanity of being locked in an elementary school classroom suddenly rooting itself deep inside the innocent captive imprisoned therein.
The hallway snaked off to the right i
nto a central meeting point, which housed the principal’s office, the assistant principal’s office, the counselor and the nurse’s office. A small open foyer to Lisa’s left led to the main entry and exit point of the usually busy schoolhouse. All of the administrative tasks that would have been performed during the regular school year were done right here. Clipboards with sign-in sheets from the previous school year still hung outside the principal’s office door.
Continuing to snake through the hallway, Lisa’s captors led her to another set of rooms. This was the first grade section of the building. Eight separate rooms dotted the hallway. Each one housing upwards of 20 to 25 students during the regular school year.
Construction on the new elementary school was proceeding rapidly. Lisa hoped she would live long enough to see Christina utilize its services. As her mind continued to bounce from thought to thought,
Lisa lost control of the process. She became tortured by the taunting hollowness that Christina might not live long enough to utilize the new facility. Which would be worse, Lisa asked herself over and over as they continued their slow methodical walk. Living without your child or your child living without you? Leave her an orphan or leave baby brother with only stories through which he would come to know Christina?
As she thought of her baby, fighting for life in the hospital, she wondered what he must be thinking. Was he afraid? Did he understand anything that was going on? Did he realize that Mommy wanted to be with him but she couldn’t? Silently she prayed for his safety. She prayed that wherever Alex was he was taking care of their son.Don’t worry about me, Alex, she thought to herself.I’ll get out of this somehow. As God is my witness I’ll promise I’ll get Christina out of this if it kills me!
Lisa was halted in front of room 221, near the end of the hallway. The door facing bore the name of Mrs. Bethard, first grade teacher.
Removing a set of keys from his pocket, Dr. Death unlocked and opened the door to room 221. For the first time, Lisa noticed the bandage on Dr. Death’s hand. Funny that she hadn’t noticed it before.
In the chaos, Lisa was losing her natural policeman’s curiosity. Her attention to detail was drowning beneath personal emotions.
“Cut yourself shaving?” she asked, smirking and gazing at the blood-splattered bandage.
“You would do well to silence yourself, Mrs. Mendez, before I silence you permanently.”
As he stepped into the room, his associate stepped behind Lisa and nudged her forward with enough force to cause her to stumble. Though she didn’t fall, she had to fight to steady herself, a task complicated by having her arms still bound behind her.
“Watch it, Jerk!” she said.
She felt the sting of Dr. Death’s hand before she had time to react.
Instantly, she knew her mouth was bleeding. He had hit her hard that time. This was not a warning slap. This was intention. This was a message. He meant business.
It was time for Lisa to rethink her strategy.
Be compliant, she thought. The odds are not yet in your favor.
Alex, she thought to herself, change in plans. Help me!
***
Alex had seen enough for one day, and yet his “day” was far from over. He could not rest again until he found his wife and daughter, until he was able to ensure the safety of his son, of his entire family.
The veterinarian, Dr. James McVickers, had Brandy stabilized, or so he said, rather quickly. He was right when he said that she would go to sleep fast. One second she was semi-alert, whimpering, and the next she seemed to be snoring. Occasionally she chuffed, sleepily barked even, as she wandered through the land of dreams.
Alex wondered what her dreams were like on this day of horrors.
Was she dreaming of tennis ball chasing and watching cars drive by from the safety of her front patio or were her dreams more ominous?
Focused on the family members that were dragged from the house, as she lay helpless on the floor, bleeding to death. He prayed as hard as he’d ever prayed that her dreams were of the former variety rather than the latter. Like Alex, she’d seen enough for one day. He had hoped that her rest was not disturbed as his had been that morning.
Alex watched as the doctor stitched her up, in the back of his mobile veterinary unit. It was a sterile place—as sterile as a veterinary van could be anyway—complete with a refrigeration system, a small sink and an overhead cabinet that contained many medicines and antiseptics. They’d waited until Brandy had completely succumbed to the sedative before moving her. Moving her was risky, the doctor admitted, but to not move her to a more sterile environment—one more suited for examination—was a bigger risk.
The mobile unit was relatively small, made even smaller by the presence of Dr. McVickers, Danny and Alex, not to mention the patient herself.
The only thing he couldn’t do, he said, was major surgery. But stitching up Brandy’s wounds, he assured Alex, would be a minor repair. His portable ultrasound showed that she had some broken ribs, but the punctured lung Alex feared was, mercifully, a product of his own worried imagination. The stab wounds were more cuts than stabs.
Superficial and “easily stitched.” They’d bled a lot because there were several of them. The doctor admitted she wouldn’t have lasted much longer losing that much blood, but now that the bleeding was stopped, her strength should return.
Her right front leg was broken. Her jaw did not seem to be broken, but he admitted that his equipment might not be strong enough to pick up the tiniest of fractures. The same held true for her left front leg. It didn’t appear broken but tiny fractures could likely go undetected until a more powerful means of examination became available. Anything that would have been wrong would likely begin to heal before he could have gotten her to a better machine to check in more detail. It was clear that she had lost some teeth. At the very least she’d probably be on soft food for a while.
Luckily her eyes seemed relatively unharmed. The pupils responded well to light and touching them didn’t seem to put Brandy in any more discomfort than she was already in. When he pulled a small piece of skin from between two of her teeth, Alex simultaneously winced and celebrated. They had something. A clue as to who had done it.
The problem was they wouldn’t have time to send it off to the crime lab, wait for analysis and spend weeks combing through the mounting clues looking for a terrorist.
This guy moved quickly and Alex knew their time was short. But if they were going to make a case against a living suspect, Alex knew the importance of the smallest bit of evidence so he was unimaginably relieved when Danny took the skin sample into evidence and assured
Alex it was well on its way to being analyzed.
“In the meantime,” he told Alex. “Let’s see if we can catch this
jerk!”
CHAPTER 27
Dead Ends
Room 221 wasn’t nearly as bare as the room in which Lisa had awakened. There were chairs. The walls were decorated from the previous year’s activities. Children’s artwork, lesson plans and an entire wall of reading words adorned the small room. Towards the back of the room were a small brown backdrop and a video camera.
“Mommy!” Christina’s voice was alarming, disturbing and refreshing all at once. Her mind flashed with millisecond images of the three mangled children. Though relieved to know Christina was not among them, an instant grief fell on her. She had not lost her child today, but some mother had. And Lisa felt ashamed that the largest part of her heart was celebrating while somewhere another mother’s heart would soon break. She scanned the room and found her daughter tied to one of the small desks. Beside her, to Lisa’s left were Alyson and Alex’s mother.
Oh Dear God!
They were all beaten. Christina had bruises on her face and neck. If her arms and body hadn’t been covered by her pajamas, Lisa guessed they would be bruised as well. Her eye wasn’t swollen shut, but it was clear that she had been handled with force sufficient to make a point that she needed to cooperate. Wha
t sort of sick monster does this to a child?
Mrs. Mendez had a huge bump on her forehead and some pretty dramatic swelling suggested she’d been punched in the nose. On her forearm, Lisa could see a bruise and what looked like a series of scratches or cuts. Her clothes were stretched and maybe torn, but Lisa couldn’t be sure.
Alyson looked like she’d gotten the worst of it. Her head was bleeding. Her left eye was swollen shut. Her neck was covered in scratches. It looked like somebody had held a knife to her throat as Alyson had struggled to break free. Her lip was severely swollen and caked with dried blood. Her clothes were ripped and tattered.
“What did you do to them?” she screamed, directing a menacing glance at Dr. Death.
“We have done what was necessary to ensure the future of Islam.”
“Hurting women and children is going to ensure the future of your stupid religion? What kind of nonsense—”. Met with a fist, Lisa toppled over. If her stitches hadn’t ripped before, they had now. She felt the warm ooze of blood on the orange jumpsuit. As if she hadn’t lost enough blood that day, her mouth sprang forth with enough blood nearly to convulse her.
She didn’t immediately stand. Spitting blood, she curled herself into a semi-fetal position, coughing and wheezing, fighting pain.
“Mommy!” Christina screamed. Her voice was filled with horror.
Lisa felt herself being lifted to her feet.
“Now you will join your family,” Dr. Death hissed.
Still coughing, blood trickling out of everywhere it seemed, Lisa fought to stay alert.
***
Before leaving the van, Alex grabbed the doctor gently by the arm.
“Now she is going to be okay?” he asked.
“Mr. Mendez, I assure you I am doing everything I know to do. It’s going to be a while before she’s 100 percent but I don’t see anything that tells me she won’t eventually be 100 percent. But I have to be honest. It is touch and go. She’s not out of the woods yet. The next few hours are critical.”
Mourning Reign Page 19
