Chapter Fourteen
The man was called Wilson. He was a man of God in heart and soul. What he did today had been dictated by God. God had determined the course, Wilson merely followed it.
The woman must be taken. God commanded it. Wilson was the tool, the instrument by which God's work was done. Wilson had found the woman – Callie Christianson, the mother of Evan Christianson. The boy Wilson so desperately wanted. The boy he so desperately needed to silence.
God had told Wilson to find Evan's mother. Take her, and through her, Wilson could obtain Evan. Wilson had gotten a lucky break. The woman had come to the retirement home two weeks ago and helped with a knitting class. The residents had flocked to the young, pretty woman with golden hair. They'd asked politely, delicately about her little boy, about his escapade, how he'd wandered off and gotten lost. The newspaper and TV had carried the story for a week. Big news in a small town.
One elderly resident had lamented, "Oh, little boys. You have to keep a close eye on them, dear. They're always getting into trouble, you know."
Only after the woman saw Callie's stunned expression did she realize her faux pas. Such blunt comments were too harsh for a young mother not quite recovered from the shock of losing, then finding a child.
The elderly often forgot their manners, tended to speak without thinking. Words touched their lips and out they came. Their lives were small and growing smaller. Days were numbered and birthdays cherished. Was it any wonder they forgot the day to day stress of the younger generation?
The man called Wilson had gained fruitful pieces of information from the retirement home's residents. They loved to talk especially about Bayport, the area, the longtime residents, and prominent families. Ask a few questions and you were soon supplied with answers. Valuable answers.
Through casual conversations, Wilson had gleaned Callie's address. The next step was easy. He'd sat outside Callie's home for days and waited, waited for her to leave .. alone. Today the wait was over. Callie came out of the front door, kissed her husband good-bye, and hugged her kids. She waved to them, smiled, and went down the porch steps. A mother off to run an errand. I'll be home soon.
Wilson watched Callie get into her car and back out of the driveway. He put the van in gear and followed at a discreet distance, followed Callie to the grocery store. She was already out of her car and on the way to the store entrance when he pulled into the slot next to her. Not many shoppers today, a Tuesday, the parking lot was practically empty. How fortuitous. God had planned well, had guided Wilson to the perfect place and time to accomplish his mission.
Wilson waited. Never took his eyes off the store entrance.
Twenty minutes later he exited the van and lit a cigarette. As he smoked he prepared himself, rehearsed the plan in his head.
Ten minutes later he crushed the cigarette butt on the pavement and pocketed it. Leave nothing behind.
Five minutes later, Callie came out of the store carrying two plastic bags, one in each hand. One bag appeared heavy, maybe a gallon of milk in that one. The other bag was light.
Callie approached her car, saw the man standing between their vehicles. The van's sliding door stood open. It faced the driver's side of her car. She would have to go between the two vehicles to get to the driver's door. Concern clouded her face. She didn't like the setup.
The man smiled, gave a friendly nod of his head. C'mon, I'm not dangerous. Look at me. He turned to the van, leaned into the opening, seemed to be looking for something.
Callie relaxed, fumbled with her purse, the bags, her keys. A complicated mix of objects. It required adjusting and shifting. Had to get the keys angled right. Had to have the bags balanced just so. Purse was slung awkwardly over her shoulder.
She leaned forward, touched the key to the lock and the man spun around. He slammed her in the back of the head with his palm. Drove her forehead into the car frame with a sickening thud. Her head bounced off the car and she lost consciousness. The man slipped his arms around her before she hit the ground. He hoisted her limp body into the van and shut the door. Left her purse, keys, and groceries sprawled on the ground. The less he touched, the better.
He drove away, got a few blocks from the store, and pulled into an alley. She was starting to come around. He couldn't have that. Not yet. He parked and joined Callie in the rear of the van. A quick punch in the side of the head knocked her out again. He tied her with ropes he'd brought. To keep her quiet, he threaded a rag through her mouth and tied it in a knot at her nape.
He carried her to the second floor. His shoulders brushed the walls as he ascended. She was still unconscious. Another fortuitous event, another sign God was involved and helping.
The man called Wilson toed the door open and laid Callie on the bed. He backed away quickly, fled the room, and locked the door. Now he could breathe, exhale a sigh of relief. She was here, under lock and key, under his control.