The Sacred Blood

Looking confused, he shook his head.

Charlotte fought against despair. It was too early to assume the worst. Time to get down to business. “You —those men. Are you terrorists?” she asked matter-of-factly.

The boy flashed her a surprised glance, then giggled.

“It’s not funny,” Charlotte chastised him. “Taking people hostage is not funny.”

Curling into himself, he raised a trembling finger to massage a twitch that flicked his eyelid. “Sorry,” he said.

“Who did this? Who are you? Who are those men?”

Unwilling to respond, he shook his head.

“I have a right to know.”

More shaking.

“God, this is ridiculous,” Charlotte grumbled.

The kid’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “You can’t say that,” he said in a hushed tone, eyelid pulsating. “Do not take the Lord’s name in vain.”

You’ve got to be kidding me. “I don’t recall the Lord endorsing kidnapping,” Charlotte curtly retorted. “Why am I here?” she repeated succinctly.

He cowered and dropped his eyes back down to his hands. The tape was now wrapped into a tight square, his chewed fingernails picking at its frayed ends. Two reluctant words emanated from the boy’s lips: “The bones.”

A jolt shot through Charlotte. This was definitely the time to play stupid. “What bones?”

His expression hardened as he confidently looked up. “The Messiah’s bones. You touched them. You know where they are. They need to be returned. You shouldn’t have touched the bones,” he coldly added.

No answer.

The kid’s head was shaking again. That damn head just kept shaking. Her frustration was building fast. “Listen, I don’t know who you are, but you need to help me. This is all one big mistake. I don’t know where the bones are.”

“Joshua!” a voice blasted from the doorway.

Startled, both Charlotte and the boy jumped at the same time.

An older woman of medium height and build with a stern face, wearing a wig and a black ankle-length dress, stormed into the room like a raging bull.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the woman roared, grabbing the boy’s wrist and squeezing so hard that her fingertips turned white.

“Owww . . . you’re hurting me, Mother,” the boy whined.

“If your father ever heard what you just said . . . ,” she gravely warned him.

Mother? Father? Charlotte couldn’t believe what was happening. So this was some kind of family affair? Really creepy.

The woman’s bitter stare swung to Charlotte. “It’s best for you not to say anything more.”

Sensing that the mother wasn’t on board with whatever was happening—judging from her wavering tone, rapid breathing, and guilty eyes— Charlotte nodded and kept her mouth shut.

Relinquishing her crushing grip, the mother clasped the wheelchair’s handles while the boy rubbed at the red marks she’d left behind. Pulling her son out of the room, she parked the wheelchair in the corridor. Then she came back in clenching and unclenching her hands, pacing around Charlotte’s chair.

“I’ll free your hands and feet,” she offered. “Only if you realize that should you try to escape, they will kill you.” Her eyes motioned to the corridor.

“I understand,” Charlotte softly replied, now realizing the woman was equally terrified.

From a shelf situated behind Charlotte, the mother retrieved a pair of scissors and began cutting into the bindings. “Listen to what I say. This is very serious, what is happening to you—to everyone. I’ll bring you food, water. He is coming back shortly to speak with you.”

“Who?”

“My husband.”

52

******

Thank heavens the woman cut away the bindings, Charlotte thought. Not that any great debt was owed to a woman who took part in an abduction. Luckily she’d kept her promise to bring food and water, though the food was predominantly matzo and some mushy, bland cheese that would no doubt bring her bowels to a screeching halt. That wasn’t a bad thing, she thought, considering the “bathroom” was a metal bucket in a corner, well within the surveillance camera’s range.

The sound of a key turning in the knob broke the room’s dead silence. Charlotte sat up as the door eased open.

A morose Orthodox Jewish man came into the room, looking like he’d walked straight out of Manhattan’s Diamond District, where she and Evan had ventured after a pharmaceutical convention and dared to windowshop for an engagement ring only two months ago.