Nate

by Mercer, Dorothy May

  Sally moved over to the computer. If she could get to Vancouver by mid-afternoon she would still have time to drive over to the elder-care home and back in time to catch either the 7:20 or the 7:47 PM flight back to Seattle.

  Sally started clicking on the keyboard. Well, okay, she thought, I guess I’m going to have to break down and pay for a flight. There were plenty of other airlines, but Sally had to try to use Alaska at least part of the way. If it wasn’t so important to talk to her mother, she would have gone back to her hotel room hours ago.

  Sally sighed and tried the Alaska flights to possibly connect with another airline. She knew of one possibility—Victoria. Oh yeah! Alaska Airline had a 1:47 PM to Victoria, British Columbia. Sally quickly looked up the airlines serving Victoria. What kind of flight could she get out of there and how much would it cost? Would it break her budget? Ah yes, Air Canada had several. Let’s see, if I hop on the 1:47, I’ll arrive in Victoria at 2:34 PM. Bingo! Air Canada Express-Jazz has a flight #8070 leaving at 3:20. Perfect! How much? $169.58, plus another $35 for the rental car. I can do this.

  She would arrive in Vancouver at 3:47 PM—plenty of time.

  Seated by a window, Sally gazed for a while at the spectacular scenery. In no time they were out over Puget Sound heading north toward Victoria. She had been so busy trying to arrange and catch this flight that she had no time to think about her replacement birth certificate. But now the turbulence of questions crashed into her thoughts like a tsunami. She had to clear her mind for a few minutes of much-needed rest. What were some of the methods and tricks she had learned in her yoga class?

  First she leaned her head back, closed her eyes and inhaled a long slow breath, counting to six. Without tightening up, she held for two counts, letting it out, slowly counting backward six, five, four, three, two, one, and then relaxing for a count of six. She repeated this exercise three times. As she relaxed, she imagined the tension washing down over her and out through her toes into the floor. And then she pictured herself in a peaceful place, beside a clear gentle stream. She saw the water bubbling over pebbles. A lazy brown trout hung in the stream, facing into the flow, its fins moving slowly, just enough to hold it in place. Its gills pumped the life-giving water through and over the pink oxygen-absorbing membranes. From time to time Sally repeated the relaxing breaths again, and fell asleep.

  Twenty minutes later she awakened to the pleasant humming of the airplane gliding smoothly over the ocean, preparing to line up for Victoria, situated on the southern end of Vancouver Island. Sunlight gleamed off snow-capped mountains in the distance, remote and incredibly beautiful. This was one of the world’s most spectacular landings, approaching over the water.

  She had to concentrate on this experience and not let her personal concerns intrude. There would be plenty of time for that.

  On the ground in Victoria, she had no more than a forty-five minute turnaround before she boarded the flight to Vancouver. This terminal was not nearly as vast as Seattle’s. Fortunately she could stay right here in this concourse, without having to go through security again. First a quick restroom trip to refresh herself, and then she looked over the offerings in the food booths. She needed something more than junk food and so she chose a full meal and sat down at a table to eat.

  Finishing her food, she stopped at the sundries shop and picked up a slim book to read—one she could slip into her purse. She hoped it would fill her mind for a while. In choosing a book she by-passed the best sellers and political alarmists, and went directly to the Westerns. She selected one with a buff-looking cowboy in a Stetson hat, on the cover. This should do it.

  Nate -THE SEARCH –

  Dorothy May Mercer

  Chapter 9 Holed Up

  Kabandha Patches up J. M.

  K abandha grabbed a first aid kit from their meager supplies. “Come here, Mohammad,” the giant woman commanded.

  He froze in the doorway, afraid to move.

  “Come here, you idiot!” She indicated a straight-backed chair.

  He sheepishly moved forward.

  “Your orders were not to call me,” she accused. “But, you’re here now. I’ll have to patch you up.”

  “Thank you,” he simpered, speaking in Farsi.

  She slapped him with a well-muscled arm. “Speak in English, you fool!” She hissed as she began cutting away the bloody garment. “You’ll give us away.”

  J. Mohammad-Mutawassit flinched. He guiltily realized he frequently spoke Farsi to the attractive woman across the hall.

  As she worked, cleaning up his wound, Kabandha continued the questioning. “What happened here?”

  “My hand was cut on the fence.”

  “What fence?”

  “I did not know the swimming pool was fenced in.”

  “What were you doing at a swimming pool? Those were not your orders.”

  “I had to escape the police.”

  “You called the police?”

  “No, someone called the police.” Mohammad winced as she roughly applied disinfectant to the wound and rubbed vigorously. “Ouch, watch it!”

  “Coward!” She sneered as she wrapped his hand and continued cutting away the garment. “How did you get all this blood from that little tiny scratch?”

  “Some of it was from the bodies, I suppose.”

  “Bodies! What in the name of Allah did you do?”

  “It was necessary.”

  “How many bodies?”

  “Three of them,” he bragged, “all infidels. Allah be praised.”

  “You fool!” The ugly woman backed into a fighting stance. Suddenly, a switchblade gleamed in her hand. “You have compromised our operation!”

  “No, no,” he fell to his knees. “Mercy,” he begged. He knew the punishment for such an offense would be swift.

  Kabandha stood over him with an evil glare, the knife raised in her muscled striking arm.

  Moments passed. Mohammad quivered and soiled his trousers.

  “A life for a life,” the horrid woman screamed and plunged the knife into his flesh. Mohammad fainted.

  It was only a flesh wound and would heal if she decided to care for him. She stood over him watching as the blood flowed onto the bare floor. In minutes he could be dead.

  A change of plans was already formulating in her clever mind. Did she need this bumbling fool to fulfill her mission? Or could she continue with the fewer number of men remaining in her cell? Already the one known as George was compromised. Perhaps she could send Mohammad, now wanted for murder, to deal with that numbskull George. Both of them had failed. Yes, she could use Mohammad for that purpose. He would not survive long in this city, anyway.

  Her mind was made up, she could still use him. So she moved into the tiny kitchen for towels to bind his wound and save his miserable life. More rags would mop up the mess.

  ~~~~~

  Sunday School Class

  Volunteer teacher Sharon McGillicuddy opened the lesson plan for the day and gazed around the table at her small group of young teenagers. These were the kids that she hoped to reach before they got into trouble. There was so much evil lurking out there, ready to recruit them into a drugged-out dream-world. Sharon knew first-hand what could happen. She dealt with it every day on the job.

  Of course, these were the privileged kids with at least one parent or guardian who brought them to Sunday school. But, evil was no respecter of class. The opioid epidemic was claiming lives every day. Social media was luring kids into trouble. Marijuana had been made legal, as if it was harmless, but Sharon knew otherwise. If a young person managed to avoid those traps there was alcohol and nicotine beckoning, plus the overpowering assault of sexual hormones was just around the corner, ready to lead them into STD’s and/or early parenthood. Dear God, what could she do?

  For the moment, Sharon, set the lesson plan aside, and addressed the group. “Hi, Everybody, and welcome back. Is anyone new here today? You don’t have to raise your hand, just nod or wink at me.” Sharon smiled at ea
ch one, in turn. “For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Sharon, but you should know this: in my day job, I am Officer McGillicuddy,” she said making a fake gun sign with one hand.

  Everyone looked at her with new eyes.

  “Yeah, I’m a cop,” she admitted, “but, don’t worry, I’m not here to arrest anybody.”

  “Whew, that’s a relief,” said Danny, the class clown.

  “Something I should know?” kidded Sharon.

  He laughed, “Ha-ha, I’m not telling.” He crossed his arms and sat back. The others laughed.

  “She’ll get you, if you don’t watch out,” squeaked Charlie. He was only twelve, Danny’s younger brother. His voice had not changed yet.

  Laughter relieved the tension.

  “In case you clowns have any doubts about me, I’m here because I get sick of associating with all those criminals I have to haul into the hoosegow during my day job. Today’s my day off and a chance to be with some really good kids. That’s you, you and you,” she smiled and pointed around the group one at a time.

  “And I assume you are here for somewhat the same reason, right?” Sharon asked.

  “Naw, my mom makes me,” said one. The others laughed.

  “Good for her,” said Sharon. “Now, you all studied the lesson for the day, of course,” she said, looking around at everyone burying their heads in the lesson book as if they could absorb it in a few seconds. “Never mind,” she laughed. “Neither did I.” Ten pairs of eyes looked up in astonishment. “Ha! Gotcha’!” she said and chuckled. “Okay, let’s get started. Would someone please volunteer to read the scripture for today?”

  “Seeing no one, I’ll read it,” she sighed. “Please open your Bibles to …”

  ~~~~~

  Coffee Hour

  After taking time to put her room to rights and stack the chairs, Sharon was a bit late arriving at the coffee hour between church school and worship. She chose a black coffee and searched for the cookies. A small hand reached up over the table and grabbed the last one off the plate. Sharon grinned at the tiny girl dressed in a frilly pink dress, white tights and white patent leather shoes. The pudgy little hand smashed the cookie part-way into the rosebud mouth. Cookie crumbs covered the sweet face.

  A harried mother walked up and took the little girl’s free arm, pulling her away from the table. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “This little sneak has already had her share.”

  “No problem at all,” said Sharon. “I don’t need a cookie, believe me.”

  “None of us do,” said the mother laughing. “But, you deserve it, my dear, considering how hard you work.”

  “Who me—not!” laughed Sharon.

  “On the contrary, I see what you do with the kids,” said the mother. “My boys are in your class.”

  “Oh?”

  “Danny and Charlie,” she said laughing, “the terrible two.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Sharon nodded. “Those two boys are my absolute favorites. They are great! You must be proud of them.”

  “That is nice of you to say. But, no doubt they give you a hard time.”

  “Not at all. They are wonderful boys. You just keep doing what you’re doing.”

  “Well, thank you, Officer McGillicuddy. I appreciate that.”

  “Ah, so they told you,” Sharon raised her eyebrows. “Yes, it’s true, I’m a cop.”

  “That’s a good thing. We thank you for your service. And then, on top of what you do all week, you come out here on Sunday morning. That goes above and beyond.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Well, I’ve got to get this little dickens into the nursery. Excuse me.” The woman smiled, took the little girl by the hand and headed down the hall.

  “Can I refill your coffee, Sharon?” asked a man’s voice behind her.

  Sharon turned and almost bumped into the tall good-looking man speaking to her.

  “Oh hi,” she said. “I didn’t know you attended here. You’re … uh …” She searched for a name.

  “Rob … Rob Goodrich, at your service. Remember me, the rotten egg king?”

  Sharon laughed. “Of course, I remember you, Rob. How could I forget? It just took me a second to think of your name.”

  “Remember it this way,” he said. “If I wasn’t so good and rich, I would have to rob.”

  “Got it. Robbers are good and rich.” She giggled. “Do you attend here often, Rob?”

  He bowed his head, “Not as often as I’d like, but now that I know who else comes here, I’ll be here every Sunday.”

  “Now, now, Mr. Goodrich, you know that is not a good reason to attend worship.” She sipped on her coffee.

  “Whatever works, don’t you think?”

  “You’ve got me there.”

  “In fact, I’ve been away at school, so this was my first opportunity.”

  “Oh, where do you attend?”

  “I’m at State U.” Just then the lights blinked twice. “I think it is time to go in. May I take your arm?”

  “My hand, maybe,” she smiled, placed her cup on the table, and offered her hand.

  Rob felt like kissing it, and maybe her lips, too.

  ~~~~~

  Vancouver Confrontation

  Sally folded the Western novel and slid it into her bag, stowing the bag under the seat in front of her. Securely buckled in, she watched out the window as the ground rose toward the airplane.

  Air Canada Express-Jazz flight number eighty-seventy’s wheels kissed the tarmac in Vancouver BC, with only the merest peep of sound. The pilot expertly guided the vessel onto the taxiway precisely on time. It cautiously glided up to the gate like a gigantic cruise ship docking in Miami.

  Sally hoped her mom would be having one of her good days. For some reason, she felt nervous and jittery. This had to work. She had to know the truth.

  .

  Seated in her wheel chair, Ferrell Millecan looked up when Sally entered the room. This was a good sign.

  “Hello, Mother,” said Sally.

  “Hello,” said Ferrell. “Happy birthday.”

  “You remembered!” Sally brightened, suddenly feeling optimistic. This just might be her day.

  Ferrell merely smiled and held out her hand. At a loss for words, Sally took it and leaned down to kiss her mother on the cheek. She pulled up a side chair, sat by her mother’s side and blinked away tears that threatened to fall.

  “I’m glad you are home safely,” said Ferrell. “How was school today?”

  “Um … school?”

  “Did those boys chase you home again? You didn’t see any strange men hanging around, did you?”

  Sinking back, Sally realized her mother thought they were back in their old neighborhood in Vancouver. She had to go along. “The boys weren’t so bad today, Mom,” she said. “And did you have a good day, too?”

  “I worked, same as usual.” Ferrell shrugged.

  “Uh-huh,” said Sally. “Well, thank you for that, Mom.”

  “I do what I have to do. No big deal.”

  “It is to me, Mom. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have this home and be able to walk to school.”

  “I suppose you are right. I never thought of it that way.”

  “Can I get you anything, Mom?”

  “No, thank you. It’s your birthday. I’ll make supper. Maybe we can go out for a treat. I wish I had a birthday present for you.” She sighed. “Maybe next year we can afford a trip.”

  “That’s okay, Mom. You do your best.”

  “Yes, I do. I really try hard.”

  “I know that, and I love you for it,” said Sally, wondering how she could steer her mother into telling her the truth. “There is one thing you can do for my birthday, Mom, and it won’t cost you any money.”

  “How’s that?”

  “This would mean more to me than the finest birthday party,” said Sally.

  “Okay, what is it?” Ferrell asked warily.

  Sally took her hand, “I want you to tell me about when I was
born. What was it like?”

  “Oh, I can’t do that.” Ferrell shook her head.

  “Why not? I’m old enough, Mom. I know about babies.”

  Ferrell clenched her teeth and looked away.

  “Was it so bad?” asked Sally. “I mean was it painful or anything. Did you scream and cry like in the movies?”

  Ferrell turned back, a faraway look in her eyes. “You were so beautiful.”

  “Beautiful? Really? I thought newborn babies were ugly.”

  “Oh no, you were the most beautiful thing I had ever laid my eyes on. I was supposed to give you up, but when that nurse put your little body on my chest and covered us with a soft baby blanket, you just snuggled right down as if you were a part of me.”

  Sally gulped. What did this mean? Was I illegitimate? Didn’t she even know my father? Had she planned to put me up for adoption? “And so, you couldn’t give me up, right?”

  “I knew I had to keep you. I loved you.”

  “Mother’s love is strong, they say,” Sally managed. “What’s it like?”

  Ferrell’s mind went back. “It’s like this huge enormous love, something that just fills you up and bursts all around you. You almost grow bigger. It is more wonderful than anything you ever experienced.” She paused, remembering. “It’s like, now, for the first time in your life, you know why you were put on earth. It all makes sense.”

  “What makes sense? I don’t understand.”

  “Life. Life makes sense.”

  “Is it just a feeling,” asked Sally, “or is it a physical thing, too?”

  “Oh it is all of that together. When that baby puts her little mouth up to your breast and sucks, your whole chest tingles and swells. You feel your milk come in. It is something like an orgasm, only better, sweeter, closer.”

  Ferrell’s face had become serene with a little smile. Her eyes were half closed. “Now it all makes sense,” she breathed. ”It’s the culmination of the sex act.”