The Baby Thief

by L. J. Sellers

  Then the hot flashes started. Searing heat that inflamed her uterus, then spread through her chest like a fire out of control. She wanted desperately to throw off the thin white blanket and expose her body to the cool air. But her legs and arms were strapped down and she unable to even touch her own skin. What was happening with her body? What had they done to her?

  Jenna’s rage quickly gave way to tears. Why didn’t they just get it over with, whatever it was? Her hope of escape had dissipated with the passage of time. She had spent what seemed like hours rubbing the soft leather bindings against the edge of the metal bed. Her wrists were raw, but the leather was intact.

  Escape was all she thought about when she was coherent, except when she let herself think about Eric. As the hours and days merged into a foggy blur, her time with Eric began to seem like a pleasant but fading dream. Jenna forced herself to focus on the present, but the possibilities were so limited. She had come to accept that she would never get out on her own, no matter how smart, how strong, or how defiant she was. Deceit and trickery were her only options. Neither of which she was practiced at.

  As she tried to form a plan, another hot flash hit her, taking her breath away with its intensity. By the time the inferno passed, she couldn’t remember what her idea had been. That happened frequently, thoughts and hours disappearing as if they never existed. They were messing up her mind, and it pissed her off even more than the confinement and their plans for her body.

  Sometimes Jenna thought she would go mad and kill her captors if she ever got the chance.

  “Hello, Jenna. My name’s Rachel, in case you’ve forgotten again. I’ve been taking care of you.”

  A tiny woman with a long dark braid paused in the doorway just long enough for Jenna to get her first peek outside the confines of her room. She tried to process what she’d seen. Stainless steel cabinets with rows of drawers and a white table. More IV stands? Another hospital room?

  “Jenna? Can you hear me?” The nurse stood next to her bed, a concerned look on her face. A small red birthmark under her left eye was her most distinctive feature. Jenna guessed they were about the same age.

  The image beyond the door faded, and Jenna turned to the woman, who seemed to think they’d met before. “Where am I?”

  “You’re in God’s church, and that’s all I can tell you. Please don’t be frightened.”

  “Why not?” Jenna cried out. “Why shouldn’t I be frightened?” She desperately wanted Rachel to say it was all a mistake, that she would be released soon. Just having a woman walk into the room had raised her hopes.

  Rachel’s eyes filled with adoration. “Because Reverend Carmichael is a wonderful man. He’s trying to save you, and someday you’ll be thankful.”

  “Save me from what?” Jenna hopes were sliding. “Who is Reverend Carmichael? Who are you?”

  “We are both God’s humble servants. I’ve already said more than I should. Just trust me. The Reverend would never hurt you. He’s a peaceful, loving man.” She turned and reached for the IV bag.

  “If he’s such a nice guy, why is my heart racing so fast? Why do I have hot flashes that make me feel like I’m being microwaved? What the hell are you putting in the goddamn IV line?” Jenna’s voice escalated to a shout, causing Rachel to recoil.

  “Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain if you expect me to care for you,” Rachel said with false bravado, as she set the empty syringe down. Jenna squeezed her hands into fists, relaxed them, them squeezed again. It was a new technique she’d developed to calm herself.

  “I’m sorry,” she said after a moment. “I really am worried about my heart. It’s beating twice as fast as it should. I think I need attention.”

  “Reverend Carmichael is a fine doctor.” Rachel seemed slightly indignant. “And I’m a trained nurse. You’re in excellent medical care.”

  “Then why do I feel so–” Jenna stopped herself from another outburst. She didn’t want to alienate the nurse. Rachel could be the one to help her out of here. Under different circumstances, Rachel would be easy to manipulate, easy to overpower physically as well. Drugged and confined, Jenna had to go slow, win Rachel’s trust. She started over. “Perhaps I’m having an allergic reaction to a drug that usually doesn’t bother other people. Check my heart rate. See for yourself.”

  “I plan to take your pulse, temperature, and blood pressure, but not until I bathe you.” Rachel looked at her strangely, as if Jenna had deliberately let herself go.

  “I’ll pass.” She didn’t want a bath, didn’t want to get prettied-up for the pigs who kidnapped her. If she smelled bad enough, it might keep them from raping her.

  “Please cooperate with me. You’ll feel better about yourself when you’re clean.”

  Jenna snorted in disgust. Cooperate? Like she really had a choice. Rachel was as kooky as this whole set up. “Cleanliness is next to Godliness, right?” she said with muted sarcasm.

  Rachel laughed. “You’re catching on.”

  The goodwill Jenna had begun to feel for Rachel after the nurse removed her catheter was quickly obliterated by the enema and sharp sting of a needle that followed.

  “What are you giving me?” Jenna was alarmed by the multitude of substances being forced into her body.

  “It’s an antibiotic to keep you from getting an infection.” Rachel unbuttoned the top of Jenna’s nightgown and began to wash her underarms. It was a strange sensation. Jenna distracted herself by watching carefully as Rachel adjusted her bindings one side at a time, allowing Jenna to roll and expose her backside for washing. The flexibility gave her renewed hope of escape. If Rachel could be distracted while one of the bindings was loose…

  She lost track of the thought as the fresh dose of sedatives took effect. Jenna closed her eyes and let her mind float while Rachel brushed her hair. Jenna was vaguely aware of Rachel singing softly, a catchy little tune about the “blood of the lamb.”

  Obviously she was in the hands of religious fanatics who also ran some bizarre hospital. It was the last thought she had before drifting off again.

  Chapter 16

  Thursday, Nov. 2, 3:35 p.m.

  Carmichael flopped back on the bed, heart pounding. He knew he should say something to Tamara but couldn’t find the words. Earlier, watching Rachel bathe Jenna, he’d became inflamed with desire. For a second he’d fantasized about running Rachel out of the room and forcing himself on Jenna, conscious or not. He wanted her that badly. Keeping her prisoner was as seductive as it was frightening. Jenna’s contempt, her refusal to be intimidated by his authority and power over her life—excited him.

  Carmichael had fought for self-control. Raping Jenna would be shameful in the eyes of God. He’d never had to coerce a woman into having sex. They were always willing. So instead, he’d summoned Tamara from her quilting and penetrated her forcefully without thought for her pleasure. His behavior shamed him. He was normally a sensitive lover who enjoyed pleasing his partner.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  “No,” she lied.

  “Forgive me, Tamara. I don’t know what came over me. If I wasn’t so upset, I’d make it up to you right now.”

  “It’s all right.” Tamara suddenly rolled up and out of bed, grabbing blindly for her clothes. The room was dark; even in late afternoon, the only light came from a single bulb. Pale skin flashed in the shadow, then disappeared, as Tamara jerkily pulled on her sweater. Carmichael was excited by her anger. He began to get hard again.

  “Don’t go.”

  He scrambled across the bed and playfully grabbed Tamara around the waist. She didn’t respond. But she didn’t struggle either. Carmichael began to massage her breasts.

  The shrill ringing of the phone startled them both.

  “Get your clothes off and get back in bed,” he whispered. “I’ll just be a minute.” Carmichael received few calls, but they were all too important to miss.

  He hurried to the desk, scooping his shirt off the floor on the way. Except for the kitche
n, the rooms in the compound were always cool, heated only by centrally located furnaces in each building. The phone rang twice more while he struggled into the long sleeves.

  “David Carmichael speaking.”

  “Mr. Carmichael, it’s Walt Frunmeyer with First Pacific Continental Bank. We need to meet sometime this week to talk about your loans.”

  “Is there a problem?”

  “I’d rather not discuss this over the phone.”

  “It’s not convenient for me to see you this week.” Carmichael thought of Jenna and how long she would be in the clinic. “Next week is hectic too. What about later in the month?”

  “It can’t wait.” Frunmeyer’s voice lost its well-trained civility. “You’re eight months behind on your payment schedule. We’ve granted every extension possible. You have thirty days to get current on your loan, or we’ll repossess both the property you used as collateral and the equipment you bought with the loan. Good day.”

  The dial tone buzzed in his ear. Stunned, Carmichael stood for a moment, phone in hand, penis shriveling.

  “Is everything all right, David?”

  “Fine.” He slammed the phone down. That arrogant son of a bitch! They would never get his DNA cycler or his Olympus microscope. Never!

  Carmichael moved quickly to find his pants. Finances had reached emergency status, and he had to do something immediately. His options were limited and mostly unpleasant, but he couldn’t risk having the local sheriff show up to run him off the property. Not right now with Jenna in the clinic.

  “David?” Tamara sat up, a quilt pressed against her breasts.

  “I have work to do now. I’m sorry. Will you please get dressed and leave?” He sounded cold despite his effort not to, and Tamara was hurt. He could feel her distress like a presence in the room. He didn’t have time to deal with her. “Let it go, Tamara. You know I love you.”

  They dressed in silence. Carmichael moved to his desk and clicked on a light, waiting for Tamara to leave before he picked up the phone.

  A polite female voice answered in the middle of the second ring. “JB Pharmaceuticals, can you hold please?”

  “No, I need–”

  Canned music cut him off. He closed his eyes and tried to relax. He had to stay calm. His past dealings with the Seattle drug company had not been a complete success. Getting a check out of them in the next thirty days would require patience, charm, and a certain amount of butt kissing. Carmichael set the phone down for a moment and stretched, letting the anger flow out his fingertips. He’d picked up the technique in rehab long ago when he’d learned how to live without drugs and alcohol.

  “Yes, can I help you?”

  “I need to speak with Gerald Akron. Tell him it’s David Carmichael, and it’s urgent.”

  “One moment, please.”

  The canned music came back, an upbeat instrumental version of a song from the late sixties called Windy. Carmichael set the phone down for another stretch. He could still hear the music, but it was so faint it seemed comical. After a few minutes, Akron came on the line.

  Carmichael snatched up the phone. “Thanks for taking my call, Gerald. How have you been?”

  “Great, thanks. Now cut to the chase. What’s so urgent?”

  “Money, of course.”

  “I can’t help you.”

  “Why not? I know you’re developing new fertility hormones, and I’ve got the perfect group of women to test them on.”

  “We don’t have anything ready for human testing right now.”

  “But you’re close, right?” Carmichael’s stomach tightened. A few of the Sisters had developed bad reactions to the experimental hormones he’d tested for JB Pharma.

  “Yes, we’re close, but not close enough. Even if the hormone was ready, I wouldn’t pay you to test it again. You know what I’m talking about.”

  Carmichael sucked it up and said what the man wanted to hear. “I’ll stick to the recommended doses this time, I promise. And I’ll document everything. Give me another chance. I need twenty thousand by the end of the month.”

  Akron laughed. “You’re a dreamer, but you’ve got balls. Or audacity, anyway.”

  Carmichael’s fist clenched around the phone. “I’m willing to negotiate.”

  Akron laughed again. “Be in my office tomorrow morning at ten. We’ll talk then.”

  “I can’t leave the church right–”

  The line went dead. He’d been hung up on for the second time in half an hour. Carmichael’s temples pounded. He wanted to smash Akron’s and Frunmeyer’s heads together. He wanted to burn down the bank and everyone in it. More than anything, he wanted a double shot of Wild Turkey, neat. God was testing him to see how much he could handle.

  Carmichael fell to his knees in prayer, reciting the first half of Psalm 128. Blessed is every one that feareth the Lord; that walketh in his ways. For thou shalt eat the labor of thine hands: happy shalt thou be, and it shall be well with thee.

  Thy wife shall be as a fruitful vine by the sides of thine house: thy children like olive plants round about thy table. Behold, thus shall the man be blessed that feareth the Lord.

  Carmichael’s knees cried in agony before he felt calm enough to get up. He limped stiffly to his reading chair and opened his Bible to Job. The familiar plight of God’s most faithful servant failed to make him feel better. He was too worried about the church, about what would happen to his followers if the bank took his land or he went to jail for kidnapping. The Sisters were not like Elizabeth. They would not survive on their own, not as a community anyway.

  He had no choice but to go to Seattle and convince Akron to give him some money. If there was a chance to save the church he had to take it. Creating a safe place for women to bear and raise healthy children was the work that God had chosen for him. He had been given the skills and the financial means to create heaven on earth for his followers. Carmichael wouldn’t throw it all away because of a greedy bank and its petty rules. He had to have faith. God would take care of the church while he was away for one day. With Zeke and Rachel’s assistance, nothing would go wrong with Jenna while he was in Seattle. What could happen in twenty-four hours?

  He bought a ticket online for a flight that evening, then went to look for Zeke.

  * * *

  Zeke was reading the latest issue of Boating when Carmichael knocked on his door. He quickly stuffed the magazine into his top drawer. He had no reason to hide the publication—the Reverend knew of his interest in boats—but Zeke was secretive and impulsive by nature. Those impulses sometimes landed him in trouble, but they often saved his ass too. Either way, he was powerless to control them.

  “Just a sec.” Zeke glanced around his stark quarters before moving the few steps to the door. Carmichael had been in his room several times before to pray, and it always made Zeke uncomfortable. He opened the door slightly. “What’s up, Reverend?”

  “We need to talk. Will you come to my office?”

  “Sure.” Zeke stepped out, locking the door behind him.

  The hallway was busy with females of all ages moving from one activity to another. Classes and chores were over for the afternoon, but a steady downpour kept everyone inside. Almost every door they passed was open. It amazed Zeke that even in their living quarters where the women went to read or sleep, the doors were rarely closed. The Reverend passed the central spiral staircase leading up to the lookout tower and headed toward the back of the compound. Zeke had thought Carmichael meant his main office near the chapel, but instead he started down the stairs to the clinic. This would have something to do with that woman they’d kidnapped, Zeke realized. Now that he knew what was really going on, there was no way Carmichael could talk him into doing anything foolish. He hadn’t confronted the Reverend yet, but if Carmichael pushed him too far, he would lay it all out. Zeke wanted nothing to do with this patient until it was time to get rid of her. The less he saw of her the easier it would be.

  When they entered his office, Carmicha
el went straight to the window and stared intently into Jenna’s room. Finally he turned to Zeke, with a peculiar, almost painful expression lingering on his face. “I’m catching a plane for Seattle tonight. I have a meeting with JB Pharma in the morning. I need you to keep an eye on Jenna while I’m gone.”

  Even though he expected it, Zeke resented the request. “Forget it. This is your game, whatever it is, and I already risked too much helping you snatch her. You’re on your own with her.”

  “Zeke, I’m disappointed. Rachel will do all the real work. All you have to do is make sure no one else sees her.” The Reverend was staring at him in that way he did sometimes, his eyes all soft and seeming to generate their own gravitational pull. Zeke looked away.

  “When will you be back?”

  “Tomorrow night. Or the next morning. Depending on the flight schedule. Can I count on you?”

  Zeke planned to monitor the woman while the Reverend was gone whether he agreed to verbally or not. Making sure she didn’t escape was in his best interest. He decided to test Carmichael. “I want to know who she is and why she’s here. I don’t buy the heroin addict bullshit.”

  Unfazed, Carmichael said, “All right.” He sat down and gestured with an open palm that Zeke should do the same.

  Zeke sat stiffly, now putting on a show of resentfulness. He was curious to see what Carmichael would say. Another clever lie, or the truth? Zeke would never trust him again, that was for sure.

  “Her name is Jenna McClure. I have not kidnapped her for my own purposes as you might have suspected. She is to be an egg donor for a very good friend of mine, to whom I am extremely indebted.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place?”

  “I don’t know, Zeke.” Carmichael twisted his hands together in his lap. Zeke didn’t buy it. Carmichael continued, “I think I was afraid you’d say no, and I desperately needed your help. I’m sorry.”