The Tesla Gate (18 page)

“I'm very sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

She took a couple of shuddering breaths before replying.

“Where did they take her?” she said, still sounding accusatory.

“I don't know, Rose,” I said. “I wish I did. I thought I was doing the right thing … I'm so sorry.”

“Are you coming to the funeral?” she asked in almost a civil tone.

I hadn't even thought of a funeral; my thinking had changed so much in the past few days. Of course there would be a funeral, Miss Chenowith's remains deserved that dignity, but it was hard to think of a funeral when the person was still here. But she was gone now, for how long I do not know. She and her beloved Shasta would be held indefinitely, or at least until the phenomenon ended.

I looked up and saw Seth watching me from the back window. He smiled and waved, then fell back with a laugh as Jackson jumped on him. It may be the right thing to do, but I knew I couldn't go back. I grieved for what had happened to my friends but I couldn't turn back. My time with Seth, however much may be left, was far too precious. Guilt and sorrow twisted my guts savagely.

“I'm sorry, I won't be able to … can you give me the name and number of the funeral home so I …” but Rose cut me off before I could finish.

“Don't bother, I'll sign the guest book for you!” And with that wounding remark, she hung up.

I stood there feeling numb. I didn't know whether to feel guilty, angry, or just break down and cry.

I didn't have time to consider my feelings, though. I looked up at Seth. His sweet face was pressed against the window, but instead of his happy playful expression, he wore one of terror. Before this could fully register with me, I felt a white, blinding pain on the back of my head and then the world spun out of control and everything went black.

CHAPTER 20

Hostage

“You're a beast and a swine and a bloody, bloody thief!”

—William Golding, “The Lord of the Flies”

I don't know how long I had been unconscious. It was still dark when I came to. A black void seemed to hover directly above me as I lay motionless on my back. It took a moment to realize I was staring at the ceiling of my SUV, the cargo area to be exact. I could tell this because the void was ringed with the crazy black light cloud coverage shining in through the windows semi-circling my head. It was somewhat obscured by the tint in the glass, but was still impressively bizarre.

My head throbbed with the worst headache I have experienced in my entire life. Something stabbed me hard in the back and when I groggily reached back to inspect the source of the pain, I retrieved a Hot Wheels car. My heart jumped as the disorientation instantly dissolved and I remembered where I was. But where was Seth?

I tried to sit up but I felt something tighten on my neck. It didn't take long to figure out that my neck and my feet had been bound, but bound to what I did not know. The prickly roughness on my neck told me that my captors had used a rope.

The vehicle was moving. I listened to the low drone of the tires on the pavement and watched the slow movement of the luminescent clouds through the windows. Who was driving and where we were headed were as much of a mystery as how I had wound up back here. I was just about to call out when I heard Jackson bark and emit a low growl. This was followed by the sound of clinking metal and a man's cruel voice.

“I told you to shut up, you damn mutt! One more peep out of you and I'll toss you out the window!”

There was a sharp clink of metal, followed by a high-pitched yip of pain from Jackson.

“Maybe I'll just tie him to the bumper like that dog in the Vacation movie, eh Hamm?”

Every muscle in my body tensed with the desire to break free of my bonds from what I heard next.

“Please don't hurt him!” I heard Seth plead with the man.

Another man spoke; he sounded like he was out of breath as he snorted after almost every word.

“I told both of you to shut up or I'll tie all three of you to the bumper!” the man wheezed. “Didn't I tell you not to use our real names, you idiot?”

“You're right, Ha – I mean, Butch,” the other man corrected himself before he could draw the wheezy man's wrath again. His tone became noticeably more pleasant when he continued.

“Who'd a thunk we would have hit such a gold mine when we knocked that sap over the head, eh,
Butch
? This kid's gonna make us rich, I tell ya!”

The man named Butch, formerly known as Hamm, merely grunted and exhaled loudly.

Seth was okay, at least for the moment, which made me relax a little—but only a little. I didn't know whether to pretend I was still unconscious or to say something. I could picture Seth sitting up front somewhere trembling with fear. He was afraid not only for himself and Jackson but especially for me. I never thought they could hurt him physically, but after the cry of pain I just heard from Jackson, I wasn't sure. That scared the hell out of me.

I didn't think I could just lay back here and do nothing; I had to help my boy. Even if it was just giving him the comfort of knowing I was okay. I tested my bonds one more time. I might be able to work loose, especially since my hands weren't tied, but it would be a long and arduous process, one I didn't think I could carry out without drawing unwanted attention. I decided to speak. Seth needed to hear me.

“Where are we going?” I asked as calmly and loudly as I possibly could.

I saw the silhouette of a head appear over the top of the seat. The only features I could see were a long, bushy mane of hair framing a slender face. I saw a metallic flash as his arm swung out and then I felt the unmistakable death-like cold of a pistol barrel pressed under my chin.

“Well, sleeping beauty is awake!” he said.

“Put that gun away, you idiot!” the man named Butch hissed. “If that thing goes off … he's the only leverage we have with the kid!”

I felt the cold metal slowly withdraw, and then a hard smack on my cheek from the open hand of my captor.

“You keep your mouth shut, too, moron!” he sputtered with a venomous tone. “When I want you to talk, I'll tell you!”

“Daddy, are you okay?” Seth cried out.

“Yes, buddy, I'm fine!” I answered before I got another hard slap on the cheek.

“I told you to shut up!” he sputtered with such rage I thought his head might explode.

“I don't want another word out of anyone,” Butch huffed like he had just run a marathon. “One more word and I'm gonna hurt your dad and your dog, do you understand?”

I could hear Seth sobbing. I could not see him, but I could picture him shakily nodding his head in understanding. I knew he was terrified. My heart burned with the desire to tear free of my bonds and use the ropes to summarily strangle the two sadistic scumbags. As crazed as I was, I finally allowed reason to win out. I laid back and shut my eyes, my heart hammering against my ribs like a frightened bird in a cage. My brain pounded against my skull with cruel intent as I thought feverishly for a way out of our predicament.

What the hell did these guys want? They mentioned using me as leverage with Seth, but I had no idea what that could mean. A few minutes later, I found out.

I felt the vehicle pull off the road and stop.

“Showtime!” The man with the gun chortled.

I looked out the back window. The faint outline of a sign could be seen towering over the vehicle. As I strained to read the sign, I turned my head just right so that the phenomenon's light reflected off the painted letters and I could read the message. It read:
Lucky's Saloon
.

“Okay, kid, I want you to go through the door, get everything out of the register, and bring it back out. Oh yeah, and get me a six-pack of Schlitz while you're at it,” the man with the gun ordered with glee.

“You idiot!” Butch huffed, “I told you he can't do that! He can go in and get things but he can't bring it out if it can't pass through a wall!”

“Huh?” the man with the gun asked with such confusion and stupidity in his voice, it left me little doubt who was the brains of this duo.

Butch let out a long wheeze that sounded like air escaping from the tire of an eighteen-wheeler. When he spoke he was still agitated but he also had a measure of patience in his voice.

“My cousin in the Army told me that they found that these spooks, or whatever the hell they are, can't pass through iron. Iron affects them the same way it affects us, they can't pass through it and they can be knocked around with it. That's how they are catching all these creepy bastards, by slapping iron collars on them.” He laughed cruelly but the laugh quickly turned into a hacking cigarette cough. It sounded like a lung was going to fly out of his mouth any second.

“You okay, Hamm?” the stupid pistol-wielder asked.

“I told you,” Butch hacked between words, “don't call me that name!”

“Okay, Butch,” he muttered. “So he can't pass through the wall if he's wearing iron collars, eh?”

The man with the pistol did not get a response until Butch's coughing fit was over.

“You idiot, just let me handle this. He's gonna go in, get the cash out of the register and pass it to us through the mail slot – in and out with no alarm.” He coughed once and then started to wheeze like an asthmatic, making me think of Seth's Darth Vader figure, which was probably lying beside or under me.

“All right, kid, come on!” Butch hissed as he opened the door to get out.

The overhead light came on as the stupid sidekick opened his door to get out. He glanced back over the seat at me, displaying what he probably thought was a sufficiently intimidating and sinister smile, but he was so ridiculous looking I would have laughed if the situation had not been so serious.

The man was slender with long greasy blond locks draping razor and pimple stubble cheeks. His ridiculous smile exposed a lifetime of dental neglect. Crowning his unwashed head was a ball cap that looked like it had been buried in a pig pen for a couple of weeks. The dirt and filth almost completely shrouded the logo on the front that professed his undying devotion to his favorite NASCAR driver. The look in his eyes was not one of malice, but instead was reminiscent of that of a deer or squirrel caught in headlights. There seemed to be little going on in the man's head.

I actually felt a brief moment of sympathy for him. He was obviously acting under the direction of his wheezing friend. He had probably never had an independent thought in his life. My sympathy quickly faded when I heard him slam the door and yell at Seth.

“Come on, you little creep!” he snapped. “Get over to the door!”

I could hear Seth crying as the two men barked orders in hushed but harsh tones.

“Shut that cryin', you freakin' creepy spook!” the man named Butch rasped before erupting into a coughing fit. As he sputtered and hacked, the stupid sidekick chimed in.

“Yeah, don't make me hurt your old man, creep! You better do what we say!”

I was livid with rage as I strained against my bonds. I didn't think these idiots could physically hurt Seth, although I wasn't sure of the full impact that iron could have on an Impal. They could definitely hurt me, but that didn't concern me at the moment; my only thoughts were for Seth. Mentally, he was very vulnerable.

I managed to work my fingers under the rope binding my neck. It was an extremely tight fit; I had been bound tightly enough that I couldn't move my head, but not so tightly that I couldn't breathe. I wondered for a brief moment which one of them had made such a precise knot when I heard footsteps approaching the vehicle. I quickly put my hands to my sides and closed my eyes a moment before the stupid sidekick shone a flashlight on me. I could see the beam through my eyelids as it panned back and forth across my face. A moment later the light went out and I heard footsteps walking away.

“He's in!” I heard Butch puff excitedly. “Turn out that light, you idiot!”

“I thought I heard something, Hamm,” the stupid sidekick explained.

I heard a hard smack like skin on skin and then a pitiful yelp from the sidekick. Butch must have struck him for his trouble.

“Quit using my real name, you idiot, and turn off that damn light!”

I hadn't heard anything for several minutes when the silence was broken by enthusiastic laughter peppered with an occasional barking cough from Butch.

“You're not right about many things, Howie, but you were right when you said the kid was gonna be a gold mine!” Butch proclaimed.

“Hey … I thought we wasn't supposed to use real names,” the stupid sidekick now known as Howie said with deep puzzlement.

“Just not mine … H-o-w-i-e,” Butch said, stretching out the name sarcastically. He intermingled a belly laugh with a fit of coughs. “All right Howie, get the kid out here and let's move on to the next one!”

“Come on out, kid!” Howie barked. A few moments later I heard Seth crying again.

“I wanna see my daddy!” he pleaded.

“Show him, but put the collar back on first!” Butch barked. “Then let's get going!”

I squinted from the glare of the overhead light as the door was jerked violently open. I heard a metallic clinking noise and then a harsh command from Howie.

“Look!”

A moment later, Seth's silvery, shiny head popped over the seat to look at me. My heart leapt and sank in the same instant. I was happy to see him, but the iron collar around his neck made me burn with a parent's fury. The collar was attached to an iron link chain that stretched out of sight and into the grubby hands of Howie. He glared at me from just outside the door, holding the end of the chain up by his cheek as if he were modeling a piece of expensive jewelry. Sympathy for the stupid be damned; I would have ripped his head off if I could.

“Daddy, are you okay?” he asked over a puckered lip. I felt the cold on my skin and warmth shoot through my brain as his tears dripped onto my forehead.

“Yes, buddy, I'm fine!” I said with as much reassurance as I could summon. Truth is I wasn't fine: my back was killing me, my feet were losing feeling from the rope binding them to the spare tire well, I had a splitting headache from the blow delivered to my head, and my stomach was boiling with frustration. I felt as hopeless as a fly caught on sticky paper.

“Let my daddy go!” Seth screamed. The fear seemed to have left him, at least for the moment; he was furious.

Seth disappeared from view with a loud clank as Howie jerked him back violently. He cried out in pain before he hit the ground and then was picked up and shoved into the front passenger seat beside Butch, who had once again launched into another violent coughing fit.

Howie resumed his place in the backseat as we pulled away from Lucky's Saloon. He gave me the occasional glance over the seat as we made our way to the next “withdrawal,” as Howie had put it. With each passing mile and each passing minute, my frustration grew exponentially. Under the watchful eye of my simple-minded captive, I had little hope of working free of my bonds.

They hit three more places before the sun started to rise. I could see the sign of the first location, Petersen's Git-n-Go, where Howie claimed they scored $300, but the other two I could not see and they did not mention the name, only that they hadn't quite done as well as they had at the first two “withdrawals.”

As I lay there helpless and hurting, another unwelcome visitor started to creep into my gut: guilt. What the hell had I done? I had gotten Seth and myself into a terrible mess. I should have been more attentive to my surroundings. Heck, I shouldn't have pulled off at that desolate roadside park in the first place. Maybe I'm being a hypocrite by calling Howie stupid.