Enright Family Collection (149 page)

“Keep down!” she told him. “Listen, Matt, we have to create a distraction ...”

“Let me do it.”

“Right. And where have you been while I’ve been fiddling around with the cockamamie engine for the past ten minutes?” Her heart was pounding and her stomach began to knot even as she spoke. “This isn’t working. Nothing is happening, and the longer I pace back and forth with nothing happening, the more suspicious someone in that house is going to get. We need to distract them for real.”

“Georgia, you heard Tucker ... you can’t go in the house,” he hissed at her, frustrated because what he wanted to do was jump out of the van and shake her.

“I’m not going in, Matt. I’m going to knock on the door and say that I’m having engine trouble. I won’t ask to use the phone, I’m going to ask whoever answers the door to call my husband for me and give him directions to come and get me.” Saying it aloud had made it sound so reasonable. “See? What could be easier? And when the phone rings, you answer it and keep them on the line as long as you can.”

“It’s a stupid idea.”

“Stupid
is me pacing endlessly. This is a great idea. And do you have a better way of bringing at least one
of them to the front of the house? Speak now, Matt. Nobody needs this much time to tie a shoe.”

When he didn’t respond, she said, “That’s what I thought.”

“Georgia, it doesn’t feel right.”

“Just sound concerned when the call comes,” she ignored him. “Ask for directions ...”

“Georgia ...”

“Five minutes, Matt. That’s all this should take.”

Her heart pounding like wild jungle drums in her ears, she willed her legs to carry her to the front steps of the house and up to the landing, rehearsing what she’d say.
Hi, I’m sorry to bother you. My van broke down ...

“555-8720, 555-8720,” she whispered to herself as she rang the doorbell, then jammed her hands into her jeans pockets to hide the fact that they were shaking so badly.

There was movement at one of the front windows, a curtain moved imperceptibly. Hushed voices from behind the door. Footsteps on hardwood. The unlatching of the inside door.

A tall, thin, intense looking man dressed in black jeans and a black T-shirt stared at her from the other side of the screen door.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” she forced her most engaging smile, “but it seems my engine just cut out on me. Just stopped dead. I can’t imagine what’s wrong with it ... I just stopped down the road there not a mile or so and filled it with gas, so I know it has fuel. I was wondering, if perhaps I could impose on you to call my husband for me and ask him to come get me?”

“Call him yourself.” The man stepped back and opened the screen door, inviting her in.

“Oh, well, I really don’t want to impose on you or your family ...” She started to back up slightly. She hadn’t anticipated this. “I’ll just give you the number. It’s 555- ...”

A long, strong arm reached through the open door to grab onto her own and pull her through the front door into the foyer.

On the bottom step of the stairwell leading to the second floor sat a man similarly dressed in black. He had a rifle resting across his knees, a tattoo of a sword running up his arm, and a bald head.

“Well, well, now, isn’t this a coincidence?” he chuckled without humor, his voice a fathomless baritone. “Fancy meeting you here. Step back, there, Ronnie, and let the young lady in ...”

Speechless, Georgia stared at the man she had seen on the front porch of the inn.

“I guess you’ve come to visit with Mrs. Harmon,” he said as he stood up. “I’m sure she’ll love to have your company. Take her on back and give her a seat, Ronnie. I think I’ll just stay here for a time and keep an eye on that van. I have the feeling that sooner or later, someone’s going to get curious about the little lady who just popped in.”

“Why are you doing this?” Georgia fought her anxiety, forcing air into her lungs and words to come from her mouth.

“Happy is the man who fears the Lord, who is only too willing to follow his orders,”
was the reply.

Georgia stared at the large man, whose eyes had taken on a dark fire. Her mind began to spin.

“Listen, this is not a good idea,” she protested as a third man—identically dressed except for the addition of a black cap—began to pull her toward the back of the house. “For either of us. First of all, you should be smart enough to figure out that I’m not alone. There are ...
eight
FBI officers outside. They all have guns and they’re all crack shots. If you let Laura go ... and me, too, of course ... things will go much easier for you. You know, I’ll bet ...”

Bald Head-Tattoo slapped a piece of tape over her mouth.

“Let the woman learn in silence with all subjection.”

Two strong hands lifted her, kicking and swinging, and carried her into the kitchen, where she was dumped unceremoniously onto a wooden chair with a hard seat.

“Mmurphh!” came from her throat as she hit the seat. When Black Cap pulled her arms back behind the chair and stepped to one side to bind them with thick cord, she looked across the table, into Laura’s eyes, which, already filled with terror, now began to fill with tears at the realization that she was no longer the only prisoner in this nightmare.

“Mmurphh!”

Black Cap laughed, then became somber as Bald Head-Tattoo came into the room, a small black portable tape recorder in his hand.

“Silence,” he told Georgia as he placed the black plastic box on the counter three feet from Laura’s face.

All three men gathered in the kitchen, standing at attention, their hands folded in front of them, their eyes closed, as if in a trance. Several long moments
passed, and Georgia took the opportunity to try to give Laura courage. She winked, several times, hoping that Laura would understand that she meant
Everything will be okay, help is here,
but Georgia wasn’t sure that she got the message.

Suddenly the one they had called Ronnie stepped forward and turned on the tape.

Soft music played, then came the voice.

“The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light: they that dwell in the land of the shadow of death, upon them hath the light shined.”

“Amen.” The three captors nodded in unison. Laura’s eyes went wide at the sound of the voice, and Georgia knew that she was listening to the smooth, oh-so-hypnotic voice of the Reverend Gary Harmon.

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me ... To bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound; To proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord, and the day of vengeance of our God
...”

“Thank you, Master,” Black Cap muttered, and Georgia shifted her eyes to watch his face, which had, she concluded,
wacko
written all over it in great big letters.

The voice droned on.

“All wickedness is but little to the wickedness of a woman
...”

Oh, brother, Georgia rolled her eyes and tried to stretch her neck enough to peer around Ronnie to see if she could see out the window. It wasn’t until he lowered his head as if in prayer that she realized the bottom half of the window had a curtain on it.

“I will show unto thee the judgment of the great whore
...”

Laura’s eyes squeezed shut as if blocking out sight would block out sound.

Okay, guys. Tucker. Jeremy. It’s time. Big rescue now. Please. We’re ready. Right now, before someone gets hurt—

“Mystery, Babylon the Great, the Mother of Harlots and abominations of the earth
...”

No secret where old Gary’s coming from.

“And a mighty angel took up a stone like a great millstone, and cast it into the sea, saying, Thus with violence shall that great city Babylon be thrown down, and shall be found no more at all
...”

“They’re here,” Bald Head-Tattoo said softly from behind her.

“What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder.”

“It’s time,” Black Cap said.

Two of the three men left the room, but because the third was behind her, Georgia could not see who it was or what he was doing. Laura could, however. She began to rock in the chair, shaking her head, strangling sounds coming from her throat, her face reflecting sheer terror. Georgia struggled to turn in her chair, but could not.

What? What? she tried to yell. What ... what was that smell?

Her nostrils picked up the scent long before her brain acknowledged and identified it.

Gasoline.

“Behold, I will make thee a terror to thyself, and to all thy friends
...”

Georgia heard the crackle of fire and smelled the smoke at the same time she heard a door slam, a bolt slide into a lock. Laura began to sob, shaking her head, her eyes filled with apology and regret and fear. Smoke rapidly filled the small room, and the only real item on Georgia’s agenda became oxygen, her neck craning as her air passages sought to flee the thick white cloud that surrounded her.

It was then that Georgia decided she wasn’t going without a fight.

She looked around frantically, seeking a way out. Maybe if she and Laura could get their chairs back to back, they could untie each other’s hands.

Georgia sought to scootch her chair back from the table, but she was too close to the wall. She tried to move sideways, motioning to Laura to do the same, all the while feeling the intense heat move closer to her from behind. From someplace, somewhere, she heard loud crackling sounds, voices shouting, a door slamming. At that moment, nothing mattered but that she and Laura could get close enough to each other that one could attempt to untie the other.

“We have made a covenant with death, and with hell we are at agreement
...” the voice continued.
“The wages of sin is death
...”

They had worked their chairs almost to a point where they were back to back, when hands lifted her, chair and all, from the floor. Suddenly the door had somehow opened, and sweet, fresh air poured into the room. Georgia gulped at it greedily. She was aware of being carried, of seeing daylight, of a
whoosh
of flame behind her. Fingers worked at the sides of her mouth to remove the tape, and when it was
pulled from her face, the resultant sting was as welcome to her as the fresh air had been. To feel was to be alive.

“Laura ...”

“Tucker has her.” Matt told her as he began to loosen the ropes that bound her hands.

“What the hell took you so long?” she gasped. “Later.” He pulled the rope from her feet and lifted her with one hand. “Let’s get out of here before that place blows ...”

They had almost made it to the opposite side of the road when the first explosion hit, throwing them both face first into a ravine. A second, larger, explosion, blasted the front door off. From somewhere in the distance, a siren began to wail.

“Laura ...” She sat bolt upright, then sought to stand on legs wobbly with fright.

“She’s fine. Look. There, down the road ...”

Georgia squinted through the billowing smoke with eyes already sorely irritated by smoke. “Where’s Jeremy?”

“He’s here someplace. I’m sure he got out.” Matt gathered her into his arms and held her. It was then that she began to cry, softly at first.

“Matt... Matt ...” She was shaking all over.

“Shush. It’s done, sweetheart. It’s over.”

“Those men were so crazy—” Shock taking over, Georgia began to babble. “They had this tape of Gary Harmon. I know it was him, I could see it in Laura’s face ... calmly reading verses from the Bible ... And gasoline. Matt, I could smell gasoline ...”

Matt began to rock her, rubbing his cheek on hers, his arms beginning to shake even as she had, as the
reality of what had happened began to sink in. Her life had come down to a matter of seconds. He’d almost lost her. And Laura. The enormity of it rattled him to his soul.

“You two all right?” Jeremy called to him from the road, where the fire trucks and an ambulance had come to a screeching halt.

“Scared. Shaken. I think Georgia’s in shock.” Matt said, his mouth still dry from fear.

“Stay right here.” Jeremy told him.

He was back in less than a minute with a paramedic who carried blankets in one arm and pulled a folded gurney on wheels with the other.

Matt took the blankets and wrapped them around Georgia, snuggling her into his body and holding on to her for dear life.

“Help me lift her,” Georgia heard the paramedic say, “and we’ll get her onto the gurney ...”

“No, no,” she pushed herself closer into Matt. “I just want to go home ...”

“We should check your burns,” the young man told her.

“I don’t have any burns. I just want to go home. Or back to the inn. Matt, we need to call the inn. We need to let Mom know ...”

“I think we need to talk to these gentlemen first,” Matt told her, raising himself slightly and calling to the policeman who was at that moment getting out of a black and white patrol car not ten feet away, “Officer, please, over here ...”

It was hours before they were able to return to Bishop’s Cove and the welcome warmth of the inn.

Delia had been white-knuckled and rigidly composed when they had arrived in the wee hours of the morning, and had all but fainted with relief when she saw that both her daughters, though frightened from the horror of their ordeal, had survived. Jody had made tea and served it in the sun room, where Laura had requested a fire be built in the fireplace so that she could, hopefully, get warm. Ally had awakened with the commotion and had climbed into her mother’s lap. And there by her side, every minute, was Tucker.

As the sun began to rise, Delia shooed all to their rooms for well-needed rest.

“I forgot all about Spam,” Georgia said wearily. “Spam’s still in the little garden. She probably needs water. I should ...”

“I’ll call a neighbor,” Matt said as he helped her to her feet. “Your piggy will be fine. Go get some sleep.”

“You ...” she began, and he cut her off.

“... will be right here.”