FORTY-TWO

Abbie watched a few dust motes dance in a long line of bright light that stretched from the top of the heavy curtains to the floor. It must be early afternoon by now. Her dad and Flynn must have come home. They must have seen the broken back door and her gun and her phone left on the sideboard in the dining room. They would know something was wrong. Really wrong.

Abbie took stock of the room. Although she could hop from one place to another, there were no obvious sharp edges she could use to cut through the duct tape. Her eyes moved methodically from floor to ceiling, starting at the left side of the pocket doors.

Abbie hopped to the fireplace. The mantel looked like marble from where she was sitting. That could work. As she got closer, though, she saw that it was wood painted to look like stone. Just like the Tabernacle. Still, the edges were straight.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Caleb’s voice boomed behind her. She jumped around to face him as he grabbed her by the upper arm.

“Just when we’re going to give you lunch, you go and do this.” He hit her across the face with the back of his hand again. Hard enough to make her lip bleed, but nothing more.

“There’s no need for the restraints,” Port was standing behind Caleb.

Caleb pulled a knife from his belt and sliced through the thick silver tape. Abbie circled her wrists and stretched her fingers. Slowly, circulation returned. As Caleb leaned down to cut through the tape binding her ankles together, Abbie was tempted to push her knee into his nose.

“Don’t think about being cute,” he growled, and ushered her into the dining room.

Port took his place at the head of the table. “Please, have a seat.”

The damask tablecloth was snow white. Two silver bowls, overflowing with yellow roses tinged with peach, flanked an elaborate candelabrum at the center. The table was set for six.

Three young ladies with round bellies of different sizes bustled through the room, arranging rolls, roast beef, green beans, a salad, and potatoes on a long sideboard. Abbie’s stomach rumbled loudly enough that she knew Caleb heard it. He pushed her toward the head of the table, to Port’s right. Abbie sat down. The pretty sister missionary who brought them limeade sat across from Abbie. Port took the young woman’s hand and kissed it. Caleb sat next to Abbie. Bowen sat next to the sister missionary. The place setting at the other end of the table remained empty.

Port folded his arms and bowed his head. “Our Father in Heaven …”

After everyone but Abbie had said “Amen,” the pregnant trio plated food from the sideboard. The most pregnant of the three placed a porcelain dish with an embossed gold beehive in front of Abbie. Port was already chewing roast beef from his plate piled high with everything but green vegetables.

Abbie cut into a slice of perfect pink roast beef. It was as good as it smelled. She focused on the food. The water had a minerality that made Abbie think it must have come from a deep well. She looked out the window and saw long stretches of solar panels. This house had been retrofitted to survive off the grid.

No one at the table spoke until Port had eaten everything on his plate. While others were still eating, one of the pregnant young ladies swept in through the swinging door that separated the kitchen from the dining room. She silently whisked Port’s plate away and refilled it, this time with slightly less food. Still, nothing green.

Port cleared his throat. “Our circumstances now are exactly as described in Genesis chapter sixteen and in Jacob book two. The Church depends upon our young women bearing children. What we’re doing is no different than when Sara gave Hagar to Abraham.”

Bowen bowed his head so low over his food that Abbie could see only the top of his head

Port smiled. “Now is the time for us to bring those last souls from the preexistence here for the final battle. These children must be born from our strongest leaders and our most devout young women. Some members, even the Prophet, are not ready for this part of the Restoration, but we can’t risk the success of the restored Gospel because of one rogue apostate detective from Pleasant View.”

Abbie looked around the table. The young women all smiled at Port with unadulterated admiration. Caleb Monson sported a satisfied sneer. Bowen looked queasy.

Bowen stood up. “President? I believe I told you I have an appointment with Brother Nielson to discuss our progress on the new Sunday schedule, as well as some possible changes to the temple ceremony.” The Church had been on a campaign to make itself more user-friendly. There were rumors that the three-hour sessions every Sunday Abbie had known as a girl were being shortened to a mere two-hour commitment. A host of other changes were under way, too, changes to burnish the shiny veneer of the Church. Abbie hadn’t heard about possible changes to the temple ceremony, but then again, she wouldn’t have.

“Did you mention that?” Port responded. He spoke each word as if it were a sentence of its own. “It must have slipped my mind.” He took a bite of potato and chewed. “Well, if you must leave us, Brother, then you must.”

Bowen was halfway to the door when Port added, “We must not share sacred information with those who are untrained in the ways of the Lord. The untrained cannot think clearly for themselves.”

Bowen tilted his chin toward his chest. Abbie saw him clench his jaw. He said nothing and let the door close behind him.

The air in the room felt heavy even with cheerful young women scurrying about, clearing plates and bringing in silver platters of brownies, cookies, and tiny pink cupcakes. The women placed glasses of milk in front of the four remaining at the table. Caleb reached for the brownies. The young sister missionary sipped her milk.

“You’re eating for two now,” Port said as he reached over and placed his hand on her flat stomach.

The young missionary took a tiny pink cupcake and slowly peeled back the pleated paper cup. She set the confection back down on her small porcelain plate. Port glanced at her. She picked up the cupcake again and started eating.

“And now to you, Abish. I must admit you are proving to be quite a challenge, but, fear not, I have the faith of Abraham on Moriah.”

“If you recall, that parable ends with Isaac walking away.”

“So it does.” Port’s lips curled toward his ears, showing off teeth yellow from age. “Are you waiting for the angel of the Lord to save you?”

“As it turns out,” Abbie said, “I am not.”

Abbie was on her feet before Caleb knew what had happened. He knocked over his milk and grabbed her arm.

“You’re not going anywhere until the President says so.” He tried to yank her back toward him, but she did the only thing she could think to do. She bit down on his hand. Caleb screamed and let go. She could taste blood on her teeth and it wasn’t hers. She had dashed toward the front door when she saw a rectangle of light shimmering on the entryway table. There was a cell phone beside the vase of roses. Abbie grabbed it, stuffed it into her back pocket, and darted onto the porch. She made a decision in less than a heartbeat: up the mountain instead of down. Her stamina would be worth more on tougher terrain. She had barely scrambled up the mountainside into the trees when she heard the screen door slam.

Not much of a head start.

*   *   *

It would have been tough hiking under the best of circumstances, and Abbie was not going to have anything near the best circumstances. The worst heat of the day was beginning. It would be hours before the unrelenting sunshine would allow cool air to breeze through the canyon. Abbie scrambled up the rocky slope toward a copse of pine trees. Some spots on the mountain were so steep she had to grip dry earth and hope it wouldn’t give way as she pulled herself upward. Caleb was somewhere below. She heard grunting and the occasional swear word, but she didn’t dare take the time to glance behind her.

The ground was parched from the normal string of cloudless, rainless skies that stretched over Utah from May to September. Caleb was solid muscle and big. The dry dirt that withstood Abbie’s grasping disintegrated under his weight.

By the time Abbie reached the pine trees, her hands and arms were covered with cuts and what would soon be bruises. Something had ripped through the fabric on her left leg. Blood mixed with dirt ran down her shin, making her leg look like something out of a low-budget horror film. It wasn’t until she scratched her forehead that she realized she was bleeding on her face, too. She wiped her forehead with the bottom of her T-shirt, but blood kept dripping into her eyes.

The omnipresent buzz of grasshoppers filled her ears. A single screech of a hawk echoed above the treetops. Abbie looked at the phone. The words NO SIGNAL stood where bars indicating reception strength would be. It was a risk, keeping it with her. Without a signal, the phone was of no use to her or Port. And the moment she could use the phone, Port could track her.

Abbie’s instincts told her to look back. Caleb was still scrambling at the outcropping of rock. Abbie kept up her pace as the ground beneath her evened out. She made it to the aspen, the ground covered in ferns enjoying the shade. It looked like a postcard showing off the alpine beauty of Big Cottonwood canyon.

Abbie crouched into the splay of ferns and waited. She watched through the columns of paper-white trunks. Caleb had lost track of her. He was turning around in circles, squinting in the bright sunlight.

About a hundred feet in front of her, the mountain got really rough. It would be a hard climb, but if she could make it, she had a chance.

Abbie wished she’d spent more time hiking this area as a kid. She knew the canyons near Provo pretty well, but here she was moving from place to place on instinct that came from childhood memory, which was hardly the most reliable source of information.

Her head was bleeding, but she convinced herself it was no big deal. So far, her strategy of running up the mountain was working. Abbie could run for a long time, and Caleb, while fit, was more a weight-bench kind of guy. His body was not built for long-distance speed.

Abbie kept running upward. The trees around her were no longer aspen. They were tall narrow pines. The air was still warm, but cooler than at the house. Abbie slowed her pace when she came to an alpine meadow. The full bloom of spring flowers was gone, but a few clusters of pinks and purples still dotted the field.

She stepped out of the shade from the pines. She pulled out the phone. One bar.

She dialed. One ring, two rings, and then the blessed voice of a woman on the other end of the line.

“Hello, this is Detective Abish Taylor of the Pleasant View City Police. I’ve been kidnapped. I don’t know my exact location, but it’s somewhere in Big Cottonwood Canyon near a two-story, red-brick house a few miles off Route 190. My kidnappers are armed and dangerous. This phone is not my own and I’ll be destroying it so that it can’t be used to track me. Please send help immediately.”

The woman tried to keep Abbie on the line, which was indeed her job. But Abbie couldn’t afford to keep talking. “Contact Officer Jim Clarke, too, please,” she finished, and then she took the SIM card out of the phone and smashed it between two rocks. She threw the rest of the phone as far as she could. She hated littering, but not as much as she hated the idea of seeing Caleb Monson again.

The 911 call had given her new hope. She tore a long strip of fabric from the hem of her T-shirt and tied it tightly around her head. The blood stopped dripping over her eyebrows. She was ready to make the dash across the open field to the rocks on the other side.

That’s when she felt thick fingers pressing into her neck. She turned to see Caleb holding a rock. Then came the first blow.

It knocked her to the ground. Abbie tried to stand. Caleb let her struggle for a bit before his boot made contact with her ribs. She tasted dirt. Then came another blow. Sparks of light danced in front of her eyes, but Abbie blinked her way back to seeing. She reached for a rock. Caleb grabbed her outstretched arm and yanked her to standing. Her knees crumpled beneath her. Caleb watched her sway.

“This one?” He pointed at the rock Abbie had tried to reach. He smiled and picked it up. As she slipped toward the ground, Caleb struck the side of her head with it. Everything went black.