Oblation: A Spine-Tingling Crime Thriller set in Small-Town California, page 6
Wait a minute. I can throw a rock toward the cars. Maybe that would get their attention. He then had a fleeting thought. What if I hit the car? The driver would be mad, and I would get in trouble. For just a moment, this thought caused Michael to hesitate, but when he viewed another truck coming from the direction of the school, he knew what he had to do. Picking up a rock, he tossed it up and down in his bloody palm, getting a feel for its weight. What would Yadier do? Bracing his left hand against the ground to steady himself, he rotated his right arm and let it fly.
TEN
The meeting with the parents in the library had been, not surprisingly, exhausting. The parents wanted answers, and Sheriff Tarpley had very few. She had tried to offer them hope, but her no-nonsense nature and military training did not allow her to offer false hope when there was so little. Tell them the hard truth.
Oakes was glad Superintendent MacDonald was there to represent the school district, but she had little to offer the parents as well. She talked about the availability of counseling and physical space, but she had not been able to alleviate any of the anxiety that was palpable throughout the room.
Sheriff Tarpley ended the meeting when it began to deteriorate into the inevitable blaming with the same line she used when dealing with the parents of a runaway or a missing person, but which sounded even more hollow when talking about a bus of thirty-four children: “I know you want to leave here and start looking, but I need you all to stay here, so we can communicate with all of you at the same time in case there is any development. Allow my people to do their jobs. This is what they train for. This is what they are good at.”
But she saw the confused and anxious looks as she walked out of the library where the parents had clustered together. I’m not sure anyone is trained for this. Gary Oakes and Christin MacDonald followed the sheriff out the door, both looking as emotionally spent as Tarpley felt. It had been a long thirty minutes in front of the parents.
“Now what?” Principal Oakes asked.
“We wait. It’s the only thing we can do,” Tarpley replied. “We have things in motion, and we just have to hope that something pans out.”
Gary and Christin’s eyes both spoke loudly. But we need to do something.
The sheriff responded to the unspoken question. “There’s nothing we can really do. I know it is hard. It’s probably the hardest part of my job. But we do have to trust the people and the process.” Then she added prayerfully, “and trust that God is going to guide our hands.”
As Tarpley headed for the front door, she continued, “I’m going to check in with the office. You two have enough to do dealing with the parents.” She stopped before going outside and pointed at something that neither Gary nor Christin could see. “And there’s a news van out front. You will need to figure out how you are going to handle them. Right now, I will only tell them what we have already told them. ‘We are asking for everyone’s help in finding the bus.’” As she walked out the door, a reporter appeared out of nowhere, firing off questions.
Principal Oakes was amazed at how calmly the sheriff dealt with the reporter. “How does she do that?” he said to himself as well as the superintendent.
“Do what?” she asked.
“Stay so calm.”
“Years of practice, I guess.” Then added, “Probably helped by her Marine training as well.” Walking toward the school offices, she opened the door for Principal Oakes. “But she is right about needing to figure out what to do about the press.”
Gary looked out the glass window of the front office, where a cameraman was aiming his lens through the school’s doors and into the lobby. “Well, I know one thing we have to do. No parent or student needs to have to go through reporters to enter or leave this school. I’m going to get them off the property.”
He turned back to head out the front office doors but was stopped by Superintendent MacDonald. “Wait a minute. You do not need to do this. Let me handle it. Actually, I think I will get the deputies outside to do it. But let me be the bad guy here. You need to be the principal who is in the school taking care of the students. I’ll take care of things outside the school building. Deal?”
“No problem,” Oakes said, relieved. “I don’t look good on camera anyway. Too many donuts.”
Christin MacDonald grinned, pulled her jacket down at the bottom hem, and, looking back at him, smiled once more before walking out of the school. He watched her hesitate for only a fraction of a second before opening the front door. She then ignored the reporter and walked over to the deputy, and started talking to him. Needing a moment of quiet, Gary Oakes walked into his own office, past the questioning eyes of the secretaries in front, and closed the door.
Sitting in his chair, he folded his hands and rested his head on his intertwined fingers. “Dear God, please help me.” He knew it sounded selfish, but it was the first thought that came to him. “Help the kids. Be with them. Guide the sheriff and his deputies. Send them in the right direction. Comfort the parents. Please… please, God, bring my children home safe.”
ELEVEN
No one noticed the white van pull off the road and drive behind the house that had been abandoned for as long as anyone in Cedarville could remember. The old house was not unique to the small town, though it did have the designation of being an eyesore and a hazard. That was why the leaders of the city agreed that it was time for it to be razed, more specifically, burnt. If anyone had noticed the van, they would have assumed it was just another service person going to the old house prior to it being incinerated. So, the presence of the white van, with a lightning bolt on the driver’s side door, was not out of place at the house.
A young man got out of the van and walked towards the back door. It had taken him forty-five minutes to drive from Alturas to Cedarville. Ten minutes longer than it should have. The Asian girl, Le Nguyen, had woken up halfway to Cedarville. This unforeseen circumstance required him to pull over to the side of the road and administer a little more medicine to her. Le Nguyen sharing her drink with the cripple boy was commendable, but it did add a wrinkle to his plan. Luckily, she had not been fully awake, and the man was able to force some more medicine down her throat. After about a minute, she had fallen back asleep, and he had been able to continue his journey without interruption.
For the driver, those few minutes were an excruciatingly long period to be parked on the shoulder of the road. Highway 299 from Alturas was not a busy road. Anyone driving down the road and seeing the van on the side would have assumed he had broken down and would have stopped to offer assistance. That was not an encounter he wanted to have. But he had been blessed, and no one had come along while he worked on the girl.
He carefully tested his footing before placing his full weight down on the partially rotted wooden treads of the back porch that led to the door. He leaned his shoulder against the door and gave it a firm push. The door gave way easily, and he stepped inside.
The sealed-up house was already starting to get warm, and the air had the stale smell of mold, wood rot, and the fabric of old furniture and carpeting. This was not his first time in the house, so the smell did not surprise him, but his lungs still revolted against the odor. Ignoring his body’s desire to leave, he pressed on through the kitchen and into the small living room at the front of the house.
There was an old three-person couch sitting against the side wall with cushions that failed to live up to their name. It had been arranged perfectly so that at one time, the homeowner could look out the large front picture window facing the residential street while at the same time watching the large tube TV that still sat against the opposite wall of the living room on a metal TV stand that showed spots of rust.
In the middle of the living room was a large spiral rag rug that filled the space between the couch and the television. Pulling a pair of well-worn leather gloves out of his pocket and putting them on, the young man grabbed the corner of the rug and folded it back, amazed that it did not deteriorate in his hands. He folded it back one more time, exposing a piece of plywood flooring below the rug. A month before, he had installed it after removing some of the original hardwood planking. The 4x8 piece of OSB plywood provided him quick access to the crawlspace. He smiled to himself with the sure knowledge that no one had even bothered to move the rug since he had last been in the house. Any concerns he had about his plan being discovered were unwarranted.
Returning to the van, he reached under the driver’s seat and grabbed a small twelve-inch crowbar, then walked around to the side door and slid it open.
Le Nguyen lay closest to the door, softly snoring. Glancing around to make sure no neighbors were nosing around, he reached into the van, grabbed a blanket, and wrapped it around her small body. He lifted her out and cradled her. He was amazed at how light she felt. She was the oldest, so the others should not be any problem at all.
Making his way back into the musty house, he placed her on the couch, careful to make sure the blanket completely covered her and kept her from any contact with the rotting fabric. He was sure there were bugs and other things people would rather not think about inside the couch. I don’t want your body to encounter any of these other items. Just because you had to die does not mean that your body had to be contaminated or desecrated by insects.
He looked at the small package wrapped in the blanket on the couch and felt a moment of regret. But this had to be done. It was for the greater good. He reached to his side, pulled the crowbar from his belt, and used it to pry up the edge of the plywood. Once he had pried the edge up a couple of inches, he slid his fingers under the plywood and lifted. Stepping onto the exposed floor joists, he continued lifting and listened as the nails at the other end of the board groaned in protest as they were pulled from the wooden floor joists. He maneuvered the plywood over to the other side of the room and leaned it against the old TV set.
Looking into the now-exposed crawlspace with its dirt floor, he saw two equal sections between the two-floor joists. He knelt and peered into the crawlspace, examining the cavity. He was not looking for anything in particular, but he felt the need to examine the area just to make sure nothing appeared out of place.
Satisfied, he got up and straddled the two-floor joists as he lifted Amanda’s body off the couch. Gently, he placed the wrapped body into the crawlspace between the first pair of joists closest to the front of the house. The blanket caught on an exposed iron nail from the original flooring but was easily disentangled, and Le “Amanda” Nguyen was lowered into her final resting place. She gave a slight sigh when he placed her on the ground and rolled over onto her side as if settling in for a nap.
There was one final thing he needed to do for Le Nguyen. Pulling back the edges of the blanket, he exposed Le’s face. Then, reaching for her eyelid, he opened the left eye first and then the right. “You have to see what is happening,” he said softly as he placed a small piece of plastic between the lower and upper lids of both her eyes to keep them open. Amanda’s body momentarily protested the forced opening of the eyes, but the medicine kept her asleep, and after only an instant, she settled back down. Then, with the back of his hand, he caressed her cheek, stood up, and looked down at the wrapped body and the face that appeared so young. “It is necessary,” he whispered.
Over the next fifteen minutes, he removed four more small bodies from the van. Each one was wrapped in its own blanket. Each face was exposed, and the eyes were propped open. He gently touched each cheek and whispered an almost apology. “It is necessary.”
When all five small bodies rested inside the 4x8 space, he looked one more time at the sleeping children with their unseeing eyes looking back at him. Smiling to himself, he walked back to the van and took from under the front passenger seat a carefully wrapped bundle of clean cotton cloth. He cradled the bundle like a baby and returned to the five children, still breathing softly between the floor joists. He unwrapped the package, exposing a small clay figurine about twelve inches tall that he had lovingly made himself. He examined the figurine as he hummed a tune he did not recognize but knew had come to him from ages past. He did not try to control the song but allowed the song to flow naturally from his inner soul. He wanted to shout it out, but he knew that would attract attention to the house. He continued to hum the ancient hymn as he lowered the figurine into the crawlspace between the bodies of Alex Guerro and Jasmine Kalmins. Like a babe in a cradle, the clay figure nestled in between the two blanketed bodies and seemed to smile back at him.
As he stood up, he could feel spiritual ecstasy rising in his body. The tune continued to rise unbidden from inside him, and he had to fight the desire, or the ecstasy would take over.
Looking one last time at the five sets of sleeping eyes staring back at him lying with his God, he slid the plywood back into place and nailed down the four corners simply as a deterrent against anyone wanting to explore its purpose. Still humming the tune, he unfolded and smoothed the carpet back into place and headed toward the kitchen. He looked back at the living room one last time. Everything looked exactly as it did when he arrived. He did notice a slight indentation on the couch where Le’s body had lain, but he did not think that would be a problem. He turned his back on the children under the floor and walked out of the house, making sure he closed the back door.
“It is necessary,” he whispered to himself. Then, getting into the van, he left the house and turned east on 299 toward Nevada, shouting words to a tune coming to him from out of the ether. A tune too old for anyone to remember with words he did not understand.
TWELVE
When the phone call came through, the dispatcher asked the man on the other end of the line to repeat himself. “I said, ‘Some kid threw a rock at my car and is just sitting on the ground yelling for me to call his parents.’”
“What is your location, sir?” Carol Jefferson asked.
“On Oleander Avenue, just in front of the old battery plant.”
“Do you know the name of the child?”
“He said his name was Michael. The fence gate is locked, and he keeps sitting there yelling for me to call his parents.”
“Okay, sir. Stay there. I’ll send someone right away. Stay on the phone with me while I put you on hold.”
Carol reached for the radio microphone. “Dispatch to Sheriff Tarpley, 10-21.” After a few seconds, she repeated herself, “Dispatch to Sheriff Tarpley, 10-21.” She knew people in town would be monitoring police scanners, and if this concerned what she thought it did, she did not want the information getting out. Not yet, anyway. Within thirty seconds, the phone at the side of the desk rang.
“Sheriff’s Office, Dispatch here.”
Sheriff Tarpley’s voice came swift and crisp over the phone line. “Hey Carol, what’s up?”
“Have a man on the line who is in front of the abandoned battery plant off Oleander Avenue. He said a boy is sitting in the gravel yelling and that the boy had thrown a rock and hit his car. While he can’t get to the boy, he said the boy’s name is Michael.”
Tarpley was connecting the dots in her head and grateful for Carol’s discretion. She stepped out of her vehicle, where she had been monitoring the chatter on the radio, and started walking back into the school. Reaching for the front door handle, she was glad to see that the deputies had moved the reporters across the street. “Contact Deputy Evans and have him meet me there. I will be there in five minutes.”
“Roger that,” she said as she heard the click of the line. She had not expected thanks or goodbye because that was not Tarpley’s MO, but the abruptness of the sheriff’s sign-off still annoyed her.
Sheriff Tarpley walked to the closed door of Principal Oakes’s office and, without knocking or announcing herself, opened it. Ignoring Superintendent MacDonald, sitting in the same chair she had occupied earlier, Tarpley asked, “Do you have a list of the students on the bus, and would you know them by sight?”
Gary Oakes glanced over at the superintendent and then back at Tarpley. “Yes… to both questions.”
“Great. Grab the list and come with me.”
Tarpley turned to walk out the door, but Christin MacDonald’s voice stopped her. “Just a second, Sheriff. What’s happened?”
The sheriff felt annoyed at Christin’s question, but taking a quick breath reminded herself that she was not the only one here who needed answers. “We received a phone call about a lone boy at the battery plant, and it may be one of the students, but we don’t know for sure. All we know is that his name is Michael.”
Gary Oakes scanned the list of students he had picked up from his desk. “There are two Michaels: Michael Carlisle and Michael Guerro.”
“Well, one of them may be sitting in the parking lot of the old plant. You coming?” she asked as she again turned to go.
“Yes!” he said a little too loudly.
“Then I’m coming, too,” the superintendent said.
Tarpley continued to speak as she strolled toward the entrance of the office with Principal Oakes and Superintendent MacDonald trailing behind her. “Not at this time. First, someone with authority needs to be here with the parents. Second, you do not know the students, and Mr. Oakes does. Third, and perhaps most importantly, the students do not know you. They know and, hopefully, trust their principal.” As she finished, she glanced back at Gary Oakes.
Christin MacDonald thought for a moment, then reluctantly resigned herself to the sheriff’s logic and nodded her head. “Okay, but I need to know right away what is going on. The parents need to know. Agreed?”
Without saying anything, Tarpley turned and walked out of the office and the school with Gary Oakes following close behind, holding the list firmly in his clenched fist. By the time he reached the passenger door of the sheriff’s black Chevy Tahoe with “Modoc County Sheriff” printed across both sides, the engine was already running. Sheriff Tarpley threw the large Tahoe into reverse before Gary Oakes had time to close the door.
