Anne Caryl

Page fifty-three

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             Michael Austin approached Macie, biting his bottom lip. “Mrs. Stone, I’m so sorry you got messed up in this. That old coot you work for won’t cooperate. All he had to do is give us the notes. He said he burned them, but he’s not that stupid. I mean, I know he’s saved a copy on a computer disk or something.”

            “Tie them up.” Deacon Wilson handed the roll of cording to Austin. “We’ll have to leave by the back stairs.”

            As Doctor Austin tied Macie’s hands behind her back and gagged her once again, the deacon bound Paige McKenzie. The women followed Wilson out of the room , down a narrow hallway past the restroom. Macie recognized the musty smells. Now there were sights too. Cobwebbed doorways, dented heat ducts overhead, a torn and yellowed picture of a smiling, long-haired Jesus knocking at a door.

            At a nod from Deacon Wilson, the third man disappeared up a flight of steep steps. He came back, peering around the corner and motioning them to follow. The wood creaked under their feet as they climbed to a landing where the sun tried to penetrate a cracked and dirt-covered stained glass window.

            Ahead of them, a door stood, slightly ajar. Wilson’s hand was on the knob when they heard voices. He turned to them with a threatening glare and no one breathed. The voices didn’t fade. In fact, they grew louder as more women filed into the room beyond the door.

            “Old hens,” Wilson hissed a breath through clenched teeth.. “Pantry committee meeting. They had to pick this evening He closed the door softly and the five hunched on the steps in silence to wait it out.       

            Macie’s legs ached and she worked them against the stairs, trying in vain to massage out the cramps. Deacon Wilson grabbed her calf and squeezed hard, bringing tears to Macie’s eyes. The threat in his expression was unmistakable. She froze, trying to ignore the pain.

            The voices in the kitchen grew quiet. Then she heard a man’s voice. It sounded like... Phil. Oh God, thank you. I knew he would find us . See Weslie, I knew Daddy would come. She glanced at the others, they had stopped listening, she thought. Michael Austin’s friend nodded off in the stale air. The deacon covered his mouth, too late, and a rasping cough escaped. He stifled it, pressing his face into his shoulder, and they sat,stock-still, waiting to be discovered.

            After a minute, the men relaxed. The women on the other side of the door were talking again, and laughing. Mace strained to hear. Phil’s voice was gone. She slumped against the wall and closed her eyes.

            Another half hour, and they heard chairs scraping. The women were leaving. Please, please, someone. Look out here. Go down the back stairs. Please find us. The voices died away. Macie glanced at Paige McKenzie. Her eyes were red and swollen. Macie knew she was scared to death. Unless help came soon, they would be dead.

 

***

 

            “We’ve got to get a look at what’s behind that door,” Phil said over his shoulder as he led Ron McKenzie away from the Hope Tabernacle kitchen. “ I think I heard something behind it.”

            Ron peered at his watch. “Five thirty. The evening service starts at six. Let’s go join the faithful upstairs. We can sneak back down here during the worship service. Things get pretty wild then. Good cover.”

            Phil nodded . The two climbed the stairs and re-entered the sanctuary. Prayer  time was over and clumps of people sat in the pews visiting amicably. The organist perched on a seat back, leafing through a hymnal. Brother Soudo was nowhere to be seen.    

            They took seats close to the back of the auditorium. One of the pantry ladies zoomed in on them, smiling and beckoning to other members.

            “These brothers are thinking to join in a few weeks, soon as they can get their families out here from...where’d you fellas say your people were located?”

            “We didn’t say...” Ron sat back, hands folded on his lap and waited for Phil to answer.

            Kansas City.” Phil stretched his smile as broadly as he could, taking in the group of people standing around them. “We’re in real estate. If any of you folks know where we can find office space...”

            “You know, it’s odd, but you look like someone I’ve seen before.” Ron kept his eyes focused on his folded hands. The woman leaned down to get a closer look at him.

            “It’s entirely possible, Ma’am. Ron , here, has been to this church once or twicewhen we were in Denver before. That’s partly why we’ve made our decision to relocate

here.”

            The woman searched Ron’s face a moment more, shrugged and stood up again. Aman beside her gathered her arm in his and pulled her back. He stuck out his hand, grinning, and introduced himself.

            “I’m LeBurton Jackson, people call me Burt, and this lovely, nosy woman is my wife Cleon.” Turning his smile on his cornered wife, he said, “ Say hello, Cleon.”

            Mrs. Jackson nodded curtly. Phil thought her husband was in for a tongue lashing when they got home. He liked these people. Maybe if he told them about Macie, leveled with them, they would help.

            The organ began a soft cadence. Some of the people were already back in the pews, clapping in time to the music. The group around the men dispersed and found seats. Ron and Phil waited nervously for the service to start. Finally, the organ swelled and the worship leader took the podium. The congregation got to their feet. After fifteen minutes, the tempo slowed. As the two watched, the worship leader  stepped down and another man, in white robes, walked to the pulpit. 

          “Brothers and Sisters, may I have your attention. Our Reverend Mr. Soudo has asked me to tell you he just got a call from the family of his only sister. She is desperately ill and the Pastor has gone, asking, belatedly, your permission and your blessing. Let us join in prayer for traveling mercies for our Brother Soudo, and for healing for this dear sister.”

            The men stood and started for the door, stumbling over a woman, already in fervent prayer Phil glanced behind him. A woman met his eyes, then turned away and knelt beside the pew. No one else seemed to notice their departure. Ron took the stairs two steps at a time, Phil at his heels. They crossed the fellowship hall and the kitchen and jerked open the rear door, nearly falling down the second stairway.

            In the light of several bare bulbs, they made out a narrow hall. Phil stumbled over uneven floorboards as they peered into several dark rooms. A bathroom, some kind of storage, stacked high with boxes and papers, a furnace room, and a room whose recesses disappeared in lightless distance. Phil edged into the last room, and felt along the wall for a switch. Finding nothing, he stretched overhead and his hand brushed the low ceiling. He crossed the hot metal of a heat duct and his fingers found a bulb, held loosely in the socket. He turned it and it blazed into light. Except for a cot and a dilapidated table and chair, the room was empty.

            Ron was the first to spot the tray, lying under the wooden cot frame, half hidden by a blanket. Phil knelt to retrieve it, and he caught the faint, clove scent of Windsong.

            “Macie’s been here. It‘s her perfume.” He looked up at McKenzie, then buried his face in the blue fleece. When he opened his eyes again, he saw it. On the floor, where the tray had been, a pool of dried blood. Slowly, the realization came. They’d been too slow. The kidnappers were already gone. He turned, the blanket still pressed to his cheek, to the doorway where Ron McKenzie stood.

            “Are you going to sit there or are we going after them?” Ron asked.

            “There’s blood here. Macie could be hurt.”

            “Or Paige.”

            “Your wife is in on it. Don’t forget, it was Paige who stalked Macie for weeks. If she’s done anything to Mace...”

            In the next instant, Ron McKenzie was on top of Phil, pounding at his head. Phil grabbed the taller man’s jacket and jerked on it, bringing his adversary to the ground beside him. The two men rolled, punching and kicking, until the fight left both of them panting on the dusty cement

floor.

            “Listen, McKenzie. Maybe your wife didn’t know what she was getting herself into. I don’t know. Right now, I don’t care. I just want to find Macie. I want to hold her and tell her it’s all right. I want to have this baby with her.”

            Ron stood up, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “She’s pregnant?”

            “Two months.” Phil pulled himself up on the overturned cot and flopped into the chair.

            “Can we call a truce?” Ron extended his hand to the other man. “ Just until we find them?”

            “Until we find them,” Phil repeated. “But where do we look?”

 

 

 

 

 

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Anne Caryl
504 East Furry St.
Holyoke, Co. 80734