Page 37 of John’s Yearning

Shit! Why hadn’t Savannah called him?

When he read to the end, he knew why. The kidnapper had made her believe he was watching her every move and would kill not only Buffy, but even John if she sought help.

He looked at his watch. “Oh God!”

It would take nothing short of a miracle to make it to Stern Grove in time.

15

Savannah entered Stern Grove from the northeast corner, after she’d gotten off the bus two blocks earlier. Her briefcase was starting to feel heavy, and her toes were hurting in her high heels. But she’d had to look professional for her visit to the bank, and there had been no opportunity to change into more comfortable clothes. In hindsight, she should have gone to the nearest clothing store and bought jeans and comfortable shoes. But that was just it: hindsight. It didn’t matter now. She was almost there. It was just three more city blocks to the Trocadero Clubhouse. She’d never been there before, though she knew that the clubhouse was near the area where they held free concerts on weekends in the summer.

The path she was on led into a wooded area. The shade of the large trees together with the dense fog made the area darker. Once the sun went down, which would happen very soon, it would be pitch black here. Involuntarily, she shivered, whether from the cold that was seeping into her clothes or the fear that was growing now, she didn’t know. Probably both.

She’d always been scared of the dark and the silence. And it was quiet here. The sound of the cars traveling on 19th Avenue which bordered the park on the East, and Sloat Boulevard on the South, seemed muffled. She couldn’t hear any animals, but maybe that was good. After all, coyotes roamed freely in some of the parks in the city, though they were only a danger to dogs, cats, and small children. They stayed away from larger creatures. Nevertheless, nervousness crawled up her spine like a slithering snake, making her shudder.

It took her another ten minutes to reach the clubhouse. The old yellow Victorian structure with the wrap-around porch and the ornate white trim was dark. No light illuminated its surroundings or its interior. It was closed. The kidnapper probably knew that. He wouldn’t want any witnesses to the exchange.

Savannah glanced around. She couldn’t see any cars in the parking lot, though the dense fog prevented her gaze from penetrating all the way to its far end. Somebody could be parked there and she wouldn’t even know it. She looked at her watch. It was two minutes before the appointed time.

In the distance she heard the engine of a car. She listened intently. Was it approaching, or were her ears playing tricks on her? She peered into the dark. The fog moved, creating eerie, shadowy figures in between the trees. As if the forest was alive with strange creatures. Her hands were trembling now. She wouldn’t do well in the wilderness, that much was certain. She was a city person through and through. But she forced the fear down, knowing she had to get through this.

A beam of light suddenly pierced her dark surroundings. At first she couldn’t tell where it was coming from, but then she heard a car and spun around. Two headlights were coming straight toward her. When the lights hit her, the car slowed. She squinted, trying to make out the make and model of the car, as well as its license plates. But the headlights blinded her. All she could tell was that it was a van or a large SUV.

It pulled to a stop opposite the stairs of the clubhouse, where she was standing, about eight to ten yards away from her. Now she could see it was a small white truck such as one a flower shop or a plumber might use. There was no writing on the side, nothing to identify it.

The passenger side door opened, and a man jumped out. Not only was he dressed in dark clothes, he also wore a ski mask. The driver remained in the truck, the engine idling. The masked man reached for the handle of the sliding door and slid it open halfway. Savannah tried to peer inside, but he was blocking her view.

Nervously, she watched him look to his left and right, perhaps checking whether somebody was lurking in the shadows. But she knew there was nobody there, nobody to back her up.

“Where is my daughter?”

“Where’s the money?” he asked, ignoring her question.

She lifted the briefcase. “It’s all here. Where is she? Where’s Buffy?” Her voice shook, and she knew it put her in a weak position. Hell, she was in a weak position!

The man motioned to the open sliding door. “In there.”

Mustering all her courage, she demanded, “I want to see her.”

“The money first.” He motioned her to approach.

Slowly, she took a few steps. Then she stopped again, fear gripping her heart. “Buffy?” she called out. “Buffy, are you alright?”

There was no reply.

“She won’t reply. She’s gagged.” Then he motioned to the briefcase again. “Give me the money.”

She walked closer, until she was only a yard away from the kidnapper. He reached for the briefcase containing the money, and she let him take it. She pointed to the open van behind him. “My daughter. Give me my daughter.”

“Of course.” He turned around and placed the briefcase inside the van. “You’ll see her shortly.”

He swung around all of a sudden and grabbed her with both hands, lifting her off her feet and yanking her forward, so the upper part of her body landed in the van. She slammed onto the bare floor, and in the last second managed to turn her head to the side to spare her face any injuries. At the same time she got a view of the interior of the van. It was empty. Buffy wasn’t inside.

“Nooooo!” she screamed. Adrenaline shot through her veins, and she kicked back with her legs, managing to slam her spikey high heels into the kidnapper’s stomach.

“Ugh!”

She rolled over and kicked again, but this time the bastard managed to grip her ankles, preventing her from doing any damage.