“Becca, everything is stowed.” Clisty
said as she slapped the back door of the closed van. She slid into the second
row of seats beside Jake.
“I am so ready for this, I can’t catch my breath,”
Clisty rubbed her hands together, like she was ready to tackle a
two-hundred-fifty pound football player. “Do you know how long I have wanted to
get that guy who took Faith?” She stopped and thought. “I know, eighteen years.
But, for me it seems like a lifetime.”
“It has been,” Jake fastened his seatbelt and sat
back. “It’s been your whole adult life. You finally got to the age that you
felt strong enough to confront your nightmares.
“Jake, how did you know?” Clisty was amazed.
“When kids have been traumatized and made to feel
they are helpless to do anything about it, they say, ‘I’m a weak and awful
person.’ Or, they say, ‘No, they are wrong and will be punished.’ They bring
their monster to justice, within what their moral fiber tells them, and their
mental health tempers their revenge.”
As the motor hummed, Clint slowly pulled the van out of
the school drive. Jake reached out, took Clisty’s hand and squeezed it. Clisty
smiled, watched the world out of her side window, and then gently squeezed his
hand back.
Jake pulled his cell phone from his pocket and
texted, “Does your hand say we’re still talking?”
She felt her cell vibrate, fished in her pocket and
smiled as Jake’s name appeared on her screen. She texted, “Yes–we’re still
talking. I just talked to you.”
“Is there a problem?” Becca asked from the co-pilot
seat.
“No, we ...” Clisty stopped when she saw Becca smile
and glance down at Clisty’s phone. “No, no problem. Mom texted a question about
the trip.”
“Your mom? Texted you?” Her smile took on an impish
expression.
“Why don’t you take nap, Becca.” Clisty shooed her
hand and dismissed her friend from the conversation. “It’s five miles to our
first turn.”
While Becca turned around and snuggled into her
pillow, Clisty ran her fingers over the touch pad. “Is the NY job a deal
breaker?” she texted.
“Job? No.” Jake texted. “NY not a prob.”
“Then, what?”
“Hon, it’s the distance that’s the prob,” his fingers
entered into the text message.
Clisty put her phone in her pocket, grabbed Jake’s
arm and pulled him to her so she could whisper in his ear. Cupping her hand,
she said, “As long as I don’t have to choose between us and the job, we’ll
figure out the rest of it.” She caressed his cheek and lingered there, close,
like someone warming themselves by a fire on a cold winter’s evening.
Clint said nothing as he drove. To Clisty, he seemed
relaxed, but suddenly, his hands tightened on the steering wheel and he pulled
himself up straight, to military attention. “Five miles—this is our first
turn,” he announced. Everyone in the car tensed.
Clisty tried to prepare herself mentally. They were
going to try to get in the Freedom Temple, a place so secret, no one seemed to
know exactly where it is. “It’s broad daylight,” she thought out loud. “We
can’t sneak through an open door. They would see us approach.”
Clint pulled over. “Don’t you find it a little
strange that we hadn’t thought this through first? The TV camera and van have
WFT-TV on it. They might easily put Fort Wayne with WFT.”
“Especially if The Guardian has been to Fort Wayne before,”
Jake added.
“Well,” Clisty snapped, “I know he has.”
Clint drove several more miles, turned south, then
west. “Have a look at that.” His voice dripped with awe.
Out in front, a high, wrought iron fence stretch
along the left side of the road. Since
it was April, the trees weren’t in full foliage; they could see a massive
structure in the center of an English style garden.
“Amazing!” Clisty slowly found words to express what
the other stunned crew did not say. “There’s no sign, no boastful declaration
that you have arrived at the Freedom Temple. But, this has to be it. What else
could it be out here?”
“Will you look at that?” Jake pointed to the gate
while everyone else focused on the house. He started to open the van door.
“Where are you going?” Clisty asked.
“The gate ... look ... it’s not locked.” He jumped
out and pushed the tall, heavy black decorative iron open. It swung heavily,
like an entrance to an evil mansion in a horror movie. Clint pulled slowly
through the opening and stopped to pick Jake up on the other side.
A densely wooded area stood on the right of the
acreage and also the far left. In the center of the compound, down a slight
hill, a castle style building rose up from the basement, to what appeared to be
an attic with four dormers. A wide porch stretched across the full expanse of
the front of the building. Cement steps, that resembled those of a county
courthouse, gave a false message of welcome. There was no welcoming vibration
coming from the place at all.
“We’re in; now what?” Becca voice shook with
excitement.
“Why isn’t anyone around?” Clisty asked; her eyes
vigilant. Lights were visible through sheer curtains at windows to the right, the
only clue that there might be people inside. Three cars sat alone in the V.I.P.
marked parking spaces. The rest of the massive lot was empty.
Becca placed her hand on the dashboard and looked as
far in every direction as she could twist. “I thought this was a secure
compound. I don’t see guards or even people outside enjoying the day.”
Jake searched the surroundings with a detective’s
eye. “Will you look at that,” he whispered. “That front door isn’t closed
either,” he searched with intent surveillance. “Be very careful, everyone.
There’s something strange here. There is something going on.”
Everyone in the car adopted a stealth mode. Ducked
heads and whispered voices plotted out their next move.
“Before we get to the Temple,” Becca said as she started
setting up camera angles, “Clint, you hop out and start filming the building
and area. I want the woods, the empty parking pad over there, the front door
partially open, and finally, the three of us planning our strategy.”
“Got ya,” Clint shouldered the TV camera and spanned
the full scope of the compound. The sky was blue and provided a
counter-emotional backdrop for the scene. “Dark clouds or lightning bolts would
make a more accurate depiction for the shot,” he protested. “I guess it does
show how deceptive it is.”
Clisty itched to have her first look inside. “Let us
know when you have what you want, Clint. Then, Becca, let’s all get out and
approach on foot.”
“The elevation slopes slightly,” Jake pointed to the
terrain. “Once Clint has the camera shots he needs, Clisty and I will get out here.
Becca you allow the van to coast as far as it will move. Our escape vehicle
will be closer if we have to make a quick exit.”
“I like that idea,” Clint agreed as he leaned into
the van window. “I have some great footage. You can move.”
Clisty and Jake got out. Those on foot waited while
Clint positioned the camera again and took some shots of the wooded
surroundings and then panned to images of Clisty, Jake and the moving van.
Clisty looked at the mansion and shook her head. With
its open door, it looked like a surprised giant with a gapping mouth. Becca put
the van in gear and coasted toward the building. Clint attached a microphone to
the camera and checked the connection.
Not knowing how hostile those inside might be, Clisty
and Jake walked behind the van, using it as a shield until it stopped rolling. Once
Becca was as near to the Temple as she could get, she put the van in park,
stowed the keys in her zippered side pocket, and followed the others as they
approached the front door on foot. Up the steps, tread by tread, like a
conquering army, they cautiously entered, with camera aimed. They slipped
through the door and assessed the interior.
The floor was glowing, white marble. Light coming
through the windows, danced off the recrystallized calcite, and sparkled
beneath their feet. White columns rose from the floor to the second story
balcony above. Through tall, heavy open doors to the left they could see a huge
gathering room. Clisty took mental notes of everything she saw. One might call
the room a large sanctuary, if there were anything holy about the place.
Jake put his index finger to his lips and pointed to
the right. Angry, muffled voices came from a room with the door ajar. Clint
aimed the camera and it’s microphone toward the door.
“What happened, Guardian?” One angry, frightened voice
demanded. “They are all gone, even my woman. She took my son,” his words spit
out like rounds from a Gatling gun, fast and furious. “My son!”
“Where’s Emily?” another voice demanded.
“Don’t you ask about my Lady, Mister.” A third voice
ordered. “She’s at our home where she belongs. She hadn’t asked to go anywhere
this morning, so she’s there.” His words were those of authority. “I’ve trained
her proper!”
“That doesn’t tell me what happened!” the first one
shouted.
“It’s Jocelyn,” The Guardian accused. “She escaped
when we were at Steven’s funeral. She took the kid, too.”
“Jocelyn, who is Jocelyn?” one of the men questioned.
Clisty cringed. She knew full well who Jocelyn was. Now,
The Guardian was blaming Faith for whatever happened to jeopardize his control
over the people. The fear she felt for Faith’s safety had grown to near panic.
People with so much power, based on some twisted self-created religious
conviction, were not only irrational, they were extremely dangerous.
The other one threw in a hostile accusation, “What happen
to your clan, Guardian? Didn’t you train them properly?” The anger in his voice
frightened Clisty. She knew how volatile people can be when someone challenges
their delusions. Her heart pounded wildly. Those inside the adjacent room could
erupt into a violent brawl at any time, or even a battle if they were armed.
“Jocelyn is his daughter,” one said with disgust.
“Your daughter?” The other questioned; the pitch of
his voice approached rage. “Why has she never been at the Temple? Why have we
never seen her?”
“She’s been rebellious since we adopted her,” The
Guardian stated with anger, but with less conviction.
“Tell him about Pooky,” the first one insisted with
venom in his words.
“What’s a Pooky?”
“Pooky is a who, not a what.” The volume in the
accuser’s voice rose again. “Go ahead,” he shouted, “tell him about Pooky.”
“Shut your mouth,” The Guardian demanded, but his
voice had lost its edge of authority. “Pooky is my granddaughter, Steven’s
son.”
“What!” one of them roared? “Where have they been ...
locked up in your house? Have you held them captive? What if someone saw them?”
The questions fired like an assassin’s bullets.
“We’d all be at risk,” the other one gasped.
“No one knows where I live,” The Guardian insisted.
“We live on a quiet, shady street like any respectable neighbor. I have been
very careful.”
“Are you crazy, or what?” One asked accusingly, his
voice cracked with anger. “Everyone knows where the ‘scary man in the black
house’ lives!”
Clisty’s eyes snapped to Jake’s. He gave a wind-up
gesture with his finger in the air, and all four of them silently backed out of
the house. They had a lead, enough to continue the search in town. Now, they
had to move. Clisty was giddy with excitement and nearly overwhelmed with fear.
Without a word, they all tiptoed back to the door, down
the front steps and out to the van. Jake got in behind the wheel and Clisty
took the co-piolet seat. Becca pulled the key out of her pocket and handed it
to Jake from the middle row. When he put the key in the ignition, the engine
seemed to roar, but he had to start it. There was no way to coast up hill. A
fast escape or a slow one would create the same noise once the van started and
speed was their only means of success. They all slammed their doors closed in
union while Jake made a one-eighty in the wide drive. Inside the van there was
breathless silence however, until they passed the open gate at the entrance.
The danger was too great to talk about it until they were on the road again.
“We’re all safe,” Jake reminded them. “Now breathe
slowly and your heart will stop racing.”
Clisty thought of the prayer angel on her mantle. She
had prayed for Faith and her grandmother had prayed for her. Peace settled in
like the sunshine brings joy on a rainy day. She was ready for the next step in
their quest. “A single black house on a Naperville street,” Clisty finally announced
with determination. “Lady, here we
come.”
“I hope we’re the only ones heading to that house,”
Becca announced as she turned and searched the empty road behind them through
the rear mirror. “They’re not back there yet, but they certainly heard us when
we left. There was no way to move the vehicle without starting the motor. They
may follow and they’ll get there first since they know where they’re going.”
“Then we have to get there fast.” Jake said.
“Are you armed?” Clint asked.
“Of course,” he said and patted the right side of his
jacket.
“I hope it doesn’t come to that,” Clisty whispered.
“We came to rescue the lady, not get her executed.”
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