The Book Waitress (Book 1, The Book Waitress Series) (14 page)

What if he sees her mark? What if he already knows about it?
She’s in grave
danger and
I better not be
t
oo late to do anything about it.

Chapter Nine

Praying was boring.
Even more
so to a six-year-old. Camille
wanted to run around and play. Her mother allowed her to go outside for a little while to the swings in the church’s back yard. That was fun for a little bit, but she wanted to explore. Mama would never know.
She
jumped off the swing and ran to the other areas on the church grounds.
She’d always wanted a closer look at
the baptismal pool.
It had a locked gate surrounding it so kids couldn’t get in and get hurt. But its beauty, its serenity exploited her curiosity and she couldn’t deny herself a closer look.

Shoes tossed to the side, she hiked up her dress and began to climb the wire fence. Her small feet fit perfectly in the diamond shaped mesh of the gate, and quickly maneuvered up and over, coming to rest on the ground beside the pool. She’d made it!

Now to explore the pool itself. Silly of her to tiptoe, but she did anyway, reverently, so as not to disturb the
glassy appearance of the
water. She kneeled down beside its edge and peered over. Mi
dnight blue
reflected her fac
e, and she smiled. Touching the
surface with her finger, she created ripples and laughed with glee.
When the water returned to its original stillness, she touched it with both hands, wanting to see what two ripples would do when they collided.

Off balance, she teetered on the balls of her f
eet, but could
n’t
right herself
and plunged into the pool head first.
Instantly, the cold shocked her skin
,
and tumbling about disoriented, she tried to find something to grab onto to hoist her back up. She found nothing. Th
e pool seemed an
endless pit and she, not knowing how to swim yet, had no idea how to exist in this underwater predicament. Fear overtook her reasoning abilities. Her dress twisted about her face and she desperately needed to breathe.

She could
n’t
stand it
any
longer and gasped, but rather than filling her lungs with precious air, they filled with water. She struggled and cried out, and as her life slipped from her
grasp
,
Satan appeared before her, reaching out his clawed hands to take her in.
He touched her with one finger near her heart and a burning sensation teased at her skin.
With the lasts bits of consciousness, she flailed her arms about to get away from him. Just before the darkness enveloped her, she felt a rush of bubbles around her and hands lifting her up toward the heavens.
A sinister voice wormed its way into her mind.

“You’re mine. I’ll be back for you, Marked One.”

Camille
’s
eyes flashed wide open yet unseeing, as she gasped
for air
while struggling against memories of a
tragic event
from long ago. Slowly
a dim
world came into focus
and she
scuttled back against the headboard
of
the bed
she’d been laying on.
She looked frantically about her and found she’d been placed in a small cement block cell, where the only light came from the window cut-out in the metal door in front of her.
Acrid
odors
, like death,
assaulted her nose, and she
heard scuffling on the floor. R
ats.
Where the hell
am I
and how did
I
get here?

The last thing she remembered was having lunch with Victor Langdon. She was about to get her food and fainted.
Questions flooded her mind, competing to be heard. Did Victor drug her and put her here? How long has she been here? Why is she here? So many questions and no answers. Only suppositions, and she didn’t like any of those.

“Hello?” She tested her voice and the acoustics of the room. The small enclosure muted her gravelly voice. Mustering up a bit of bravery, she left the bed and walked over to the door. The window was higher than she could peer out of, but she tilted her chin up and shouted, “Hello! Anybody there? Help me!”

She scurried back to the bed and huddled in a ball, waiting for some kind of
response.
Did she want
one
? It depended on who the
answer came
from. She sat silent and still for what seemed like an eternity, but no
one answered her
.
She searched the bed above and below for her backpack, but it hadn’t been left with her.
Her
iPad
and cell phone were in there.
Her watch
remained on her wrist, so she could tell time if she’d awakened on the same day as when she fainted and if she could tell day from night. Realizing the uselessness of the damn thing, she scrubbed her face with her hands and raked them through her hair. It had been loosened from its pin. Somebody wanted to be sure she couldn’t use anything to try to escape.

With nothing but time to ruminate, conspiracy theories whirled about her mind. Victor obviously had something to do with keeping her captive. Maybe he was a member of the cult. It’s the only thing that made sense. And maybe Nancy and Susan were involved as well.
But why would they want her? She didn’t fit the profile.
She had to find a way out of this hellhole
of a predicament
and tell
the police. And
Derek.

***

Derek found Victor’s address easily enough and now sat at the base of the long driveway trying to come up with a plausible explanation for being there. He could come up with some
inane story, but he thought the direct approach might suit him best. Blunt honesty may catch Langdon off guard and make him stumble. Yes, he’d go with the arrogant truth.

He
pressed the intercom button and waited.

“May I help you?”

“Derek Galloway, Associated Press, here to see Mr. Langdon.”

“One moment please.”

It took more than a moment, but the gate finally opened. He
put his idling car in drive and completed the journey up the long, winding road. The
highly secured
grounds didn’t surprise him at all. If he had a secret as big as Victor had, he’d be building high walls to protect it, too.
He came to a stop by the steps leading from the circular drive to the front door. Turning the car off, he dug into his backpack f
or a couple of essentials, including
a
digital recorder
, and stuck them
into
the deep pocket of his jeans.

Figuring most people were invited
or
expected here, his appearance would surely throw Victor off his game, whatever it may be. He took the stairs by two and rang the doorbell.
While he waited for someone to answer, he took on a professional authoritative stance and clipped on his press credentials.

A tall, lithe woman finally opened the door. “May I help you?”

“Yes,
I’m
Derek Galloway
, Associated Press
. I’d like to speak with Mr. Langdon for a few minutes
.
”

“So Mr. Galloway, do you have an appointment?” She opened the door no further
.

Damn, so it’s to be like this.
“I do believe I have
one
. My phone’s calendar app has gone wonky on me, but I’m pretty sure it’s for three o’clock today. My watch says I’m a few minutes late, so I hope he won’t hold it against me. Are you going to let me in or are we going to conduct business at the door?”

She sneered and opened the door wide enough for him to move inside. “Come this way while I check his schedule.” She guided him to a study off to the right of the enormous foyer. “Wait here.
” As she walked out,
her heels
tapped
like
firecrackers
going off
on the Fourth of July
.
She seemed like a firecracker all right.

The flaw in his
flimsy
story would surely pique Langdon’s interest and he’d come to see him anyway. At least Derek banked on that scenario occurring.
Five minutes later, the man did not disappoint.

“Mr. Galloway.” Langdon’s voice shook the very air around them. “My secretary tells me you claim to have scheduled
a meeting
with me today. But she has no record of such a meeting. My apologies. I do believe I have a few minutes to spare for you right now. My time is valuable, so make your intentions
clear
that I may know how I can be of assistance.
”

Derek fought against every instinct to gasp and gawk at the horridly disfigured man that stood before him. He’d seen worse in the burn units he’d visited years back, but the way in which Victor Langdon’s scars had healed, they’d made him look like a distorted, grotesque version of the Joker from Batman. Shaking off his initial shock, he
continued with his plan.
“I’m investigating the disappearance of Zachary Michaels, Mr. Langdon. Research has led me to believe The Mission is involved. Do you have any comment or know the whereabouts of this child?” No better feeling than shooting from the hip.

“Your research is inaccurate
,
then. That cult disbanded over thirty-five years ago.
As for the boy, I haven’t a clue where he might be. You do know it’s my money that’s offered as a reward for any information leading to his recovery, don’t you? His parents were so grateful. It’s the least I could do given how influential I am in the community. His mother is a lovely woman, strong. Works at the dollar store. She’s been a rock, and the source of strength in the family. His father’s been a complete mess, understandably. Just saw him the other day, in fact. He told me he’s taken a leave of absence from his job. Just can’t handle it right now.”

He was right about the
parents
. When he interviewed the two of them, she seemed stoic, detached. His father had been a complete mess. Could she have been involved in his disappearance? He decided to push him and see his reaction.

“Your
step
brother left a huge responsibility on your shoulders when he was indicted.
Has your membership grown since then?”

A slight twitch of his left cheek gave him the answer he’d been looking for. “As I told you before, The Mission no longer exists, nor has it existed for quite some time.”

Feeling bold, he pushed some more. “You know, Zachary is the perfect age for one of your ritual ceremonies. You know the one I’m t
alking about. Every six years a
six-year-old male with the Mark of the Damned is taken and sacrificed.”

“Seems you don’t
really
need me at all for this interview, now do you, Mr. Galloway?
Y
ou already have
all
the answers. I find you tiresome at this point and annoying like a mosquito. I hate mosquitoes. B
art, here, will see
to the rest of this meeting
. Good day.”

A
giant of a man, as wide as he was tall, entered the room
and stalked over to Derek as Langdon walked out.
Derek was by no means a slouch in the height department, and had a fit body due to
his love of swimming. But even he had to crane his neck to look at him.
Without so much as a hint,
Bart
punched him in the gut and cl
ocked him on the jaw.
He’d taken punches before, but never by a cement block.

Winded and dazed near unconscious, he could do nothing but be at his mercy. He found himself hoisted in the air and bent over the guy’s shoulder.
He could feel them descending down steps and found the energy to fight back. He
kneed
Bart in the solar plexus, but
it made no impact whatsoever. He did not like his chances of coming out of this situation unscathed and wished he’d notified someone of his plans.

***

Camille heard a ruckus outside her door. Scuffling, grunts and groans, and shouts of dissent wafted through her door. The protesting, raspy voice sounded so familiar. She only knew one man on the island. What were the chances it would be him? Slim to none in her opinion. The grating sound of rusty hinges opening and closing sent a ripple of unpleasant tingles throughout her body and she gritted her teeth.

“Hey! You can’t keep me in here! You hear me? People will be looking for me. Hey! Let me outta here!”