Faith in the 4th #3
Naturally, the light didn’t work. He pulled out his penlight and started down the stairs. The usual. Boxes . . . an old refrigerator and freezer system. Heating components, water system . . .
A ping-pong table stood in the rear, but it must have been difficult to play ping-pong there; the table was surrounded by more and more boxes, but . . .
A few of them were at odd angles.
As if something had been shoved between them?
Jackson threw his light over the boxes. There was something on them.
He moved closer.
Blood.
And shoving a box aside, he discovered he’d found the man he was looking for.
Laying in a pool of blood.
He shoved harder at the boxes, squatting by the body, throwing his light over the man as he sought for a pulse.
He shouted Daniel’s name.
And he pulled out his phone, dialing quickly.
*
Angela
There had to be something.
Something causing the strange noise.
Rats? Other creatures from nature that might crawl around such a makeshift bandstand?
Angela walked around it slowly, coming to the rear, at first seeing nothing but a solid base to the creation. Nothing.
So, it had to be . . . a rat?
How had even a rat gotten in unless it had burrowed somewhere, except that there were no holes around the base . . .
She walked around the circumference again and then found it.
There was an area right at the far-left corner where wooden slats had been removed—and replaced.
The thing had been pulled apart. And while it had been returned to its original appearance, on closer inspection, it hadn’t been done particularly well.
A few powerful pulls and she’d have it back out.
She wasn’t sure how much the event organizers would appreciate her efforts, but a young woman was missing.
And all avenues had to be explored.
She reached down, studying the way the boards had been replaced and found the area where the nails hadn’t been carefully pounded back in.
Whoever had removed the boards and returned them had been in a hurry. While the neighborhood was often quiet, it was a place where people came to exercise, to play with their children, and someone might have shown up at any minute.
And they hadn’t even known that spirits, one a true spirit of the celebration being planned, just might see them.
They had gotten the shape of the board replacement just about perfect, but they hadn’t put much effort into the nailing. She wrenched hard and the boards came free.
Of course, the sun was going down. Ducking low and looking in at first, she saw nothing but darkness.
She heard it again. The little thumping sound. She drew out her penlight and aimed it around the dark box created by the base of the bandshell.
There was something, something large, a dark bulk near the far side of the base.
Something . . . someone?
She crawled over to the form, hopeful as she realized that she just might have found Cassie alive.
Something crawled over her hand.
She didn’t scream; she swore silently and shook her hand.
There were rats here. They might have been making the noise.
She had to keep crawling. And pray that the shadowed dark lump lying center on the ground was Cassie.
And that she was still alive.
*
Jackson
He’d found the man he was looking for.
But he’d found him in a pool of blood.
Shouting out, he brought Daniel down to his side while he quicky hit the emergency button on his phone. Help would be there quickly he knew, but in the meantime . . .
It was difficult to tell where to start. The man had been stabbed in several places.
But Daniel was quick to tell him, “He’s barely alive, but he’s alive. Strange, we can tell right away. Most people don’t stay. Most go on immediately. But we can always tell when they’re still in mortal form, and . . .”
He could already hear sirens. Medical help would be there immediately.
And as EMTs rushed in, he moved aside. He stood by, waiting for a report, then speaking with the local authorities who had been sent out, explaining that he had come to see the man, discovered that his door was open, and then that he was here.
Luckily, in the area, he was well known for working with the police.
He excused himself to make a call to Angela.
But her phone slipped over to voice mail.
He was instantly concerned, no matter how good he knew her to be as an agent—and at taking care of herself.
But he knew that as soon as humanly and medically possible, he had to speak with Jared Anderson; they had to get a grip on why this was happening, Cassie gone, and him, here, half-dead.
He quickly put a call through to Terry Mayberry.
“Hey!” Terry said, answering after the first ring. “What’s happening.”
“Found Jared Anderson. Barely alive. Where—”
“I’m on the trail, searching for any sign of Cassie. I left Angela in the front near the bandstand.”
“Can you get back there and find out what’s going on? She isn’t answering her phone.”
“On it immediately,” Terry promised. “Can Anderson—”
“EMTs are getting him into an ambulance as we speak.”
“Can you go with them and find out—”
“No, but I’ll get an agent down there—someone who can make it as quickly as the ambulance. I’m heading back there,” Jackson told him.
He hung up quickly and dialed headquarters. All three of the McFadden brothers were at headquarters that day; he’d have Bruce McFadden head to the hospital. If he depended on anyone almost as much as Angela, it was Bruce.
His call was made; he spoke to the local cop.
And he hurried out, anxious to get back to Angela’s last known position. And, of course, Daniel’s spirit was at his side.
*
Angela
She was alive. Cassie Canady was alive.
She had a pulse; she was breathing. But she was tossing and turning and that’s what had been causing the thumping noises.
Angela hit her emergency line.
The phone wasn’t working. Ridiculous. She was just in a makeshift base, all created from wood. There was no reason . . .
Tech. Amazing when it worked. Sometimes a disaster when it didn’t!
She heard a noise. Thank God! Someone was coming. A scurrying behind her. More rats.
Or Terry!
She twisted around. Something metallic was shoved against her face.
“Shut up and don’t move!” a voice warned. “I will shoot and I’ve got a silencer on this thing! You’re dead meat!”
Could she twist enough to reach her own weapon? What the hell was going on here?
Terry was out there and by now, there were teams arriving to comb the trails and the entire area. Someone would come here, would hear what was going on.
“Hey, I’m just here looking for my friend. Cassie. I have no idea how she managed to get herself hurt and in here, but I just want to get her out and to a hospital—”
“Sorry. She’s dead already. But I’m afraid, so are you.”
A threat. But the person hadn’t shot yet. They were lying about having a silencer on the weapon.
“What?” Angela said. “But I’m not doing anything; I’m just trying to save my friend!
And I really don’t know what’s going on, but there are people all over this place!
It’s not even the 4th of July yet, and the place is crawling with cops or agents or something.
I mean, they’re going to be standing right outside here . . .”
“They’ll go away!”
“I really don’t think so!” Angela protested. “Seriously—”
“Shut up!”
“Okay, okay, I just need to twist around a little bit!”
“Lie still!”
She wasn’t dead yet. Because this person with the voice mixer and the gun was afraid to shoot. They knew well enough that the place was crawling with cops.
A voice . . . twisted by some kind of apparatus.
“I’m lying still!” she promised.
Her light was still in her hands, but the little penlight was aimed at the shadowed lump on the ground that was Cassie Canady. She could grab it and shine it in the eyes of her attacker.
But the person might fire instantly, and where they were . . .
There was another pile in the base of the bandstand, she saw. And the light seemed to glint red.
Dynamite? What the bloody hell was going on?
She heard a noise from outside.
Footsteps.
But cops? Their own Krewe agents?
Or someone who was working with this other darkened lump of a human being holding a gun on her?
*
Jackson
Jackson was almost back at the park when he received a call from Bruce.
“Did he come to?” Jackson asked quickly.
“No, he’s in bad shape. He apparently let out one word when the EMTs were moving him.
The word was a woman’s name, Amy. Anyway, our brilliant techs traced down an Amy that the man knew, Amy Masterson.
And they were able to discover that she’s with a group, a cult if you will.
They call themselves ‘We’re Right.’ And I could be wrong—”
“But you’re thinking it’s a cult that wants to create some kind of disaster on the 4th of July,” Jackson finished for him.
“With a name like that to begin with, well, I’m assuming that when our spiritual friend William last saw her she had discovered something that they were doing.
I’m guessing this Amy got Jared Anderson involved and then he decided that they were getting too dangerous—”
“They are suspected in the bombing of a post office where incredibly fortunately, people escaped before it blew up. And here’s the kicker—they’re anti the mayor.
Apparently, because he listens and talks, they’ve decided that he doesn’t have a backbone and that their opinion is the only opinion that matters. ”
“I remember hearing about the post office explosion. Another unit was called in, and to the best of my knowledge, techs have been researching social media trying to find people behind the voices.” Jackson said.
“Right. I remember, too. So, explosives might well be involved.”
“I’m here. I’m going to find Angela. Stay on Jared Anderson. Call me with anything else you get,” Jackson told him.
He had reached the park. He hurried out of the car. He could see that Terry Mayberry was at the edge of the jogging trails through the trees, shaking his head.
“I’m almost there and Terry has been trying to figure out where Angela has gotten to,” he told Bruce. “And,” he added suddenly, “I think I know.”