After the Woods

Chapter 2

Byron James cut the motor on his boat and he and his small squad used oars to silently reach the shore of the island. A short flight by a friend in a private plane had revealed the layout of the fields and the buildings in the compound. A previous reconnaissance had yielded the work schedule. The plan was to locate Rick in the field during daylight hours but snatch him at dusk during the return to the bunkhouse, when the black shirts were least watchful. As the squad took up a position on the far end of a field, Byron stared through his binoculars. He could see Rick working with a small hand spade tilling around a plant. He looked thin and drawn, weighing at least twenty pounds less than in the pictures Martha had shown him. Byron hoped that Rick was strong enough to run if he had to.

As the last traces of color disappeared from the sky, Byron moved his squad into the shadows beside the dining hall. Using a night scope he picked Rick out from the group of emaciated workers moving toward the entrance. He considered it fortunate that Rick was near the end of the line. As Rick neared the entrance, Byron shot out of his hiding place to grab Rick. Covering Rick's mouth with a beefy hand, he whispered in his ear, "Your mother sent me to get you. Nod if you understand." Feeling Rick nod, Byron removed his hand from Rick's mouth. Silently he motioned his squad to move back across the fields to their boat.

Black shirted Marco surveyed the workers pitifully grabbing the meager amount of food on the tables. He made a mental count. Someone was missing. He hit a button on his walkie-talkie. "One of the congregation is missing, that pretty boy Rick. Turn on the lights, call the men, and tell Joshua."

The fields were illuminated with the powerful beams of searchlights, catching Rick, Byron and his squad in flight. "Get ready to rumble," Byron instructed his men, as he drew his weapon and started to run, pulling Rick with him. Byron's men also drew weapons as they moved. Several black shirts pursued the fleeing men, while three more, bearing guns, moved inland from where Joshua's boat was moored. As Byron and his men approached their own boat they found themselves at a standoff with Joshua's minions.

As they regarded each other, a man in black robes approached, flanked by two more armed black shirts. "Rick," he intoned, "I am Father Joshua. You belong to me."

Rick stared at the face, barely illuminated by moonlight, a face with an evil that threw him back to that day in Hollander's Woods. The tangle of horror and fear given vent only on paper for tortuous years exploded in his words. "No way in hell!"

"Think about it, Joshua," Byron told him. "My men are not some kids you've coerced. People know that they're here, and why. If I don't return, if they don't return, you won't be able to cloak yourself in phoney religious piety. Law enforcement will come pouring in here with more force than you can imagine. Let the boy go."

"Rick," Joshua proclaimed, "you may go with these men, but know this, at the point in your life when you face the most joy, I will come for you, and you will face a hell beyond imagination."

Rick stiffened, but was urged to the boat by Byron. "He's just talking," Byron whispered. Rick shivered as Joshua's dark figure retreated in the distance.

Byron sat across from Martha at the small table in a New York apartment that contained less jewelry than it had before Rick's rescue. Martha didn't mourn the loss. Anything she had was worth the return of her son. "The FBI raided the island based on Rick's statement," Byron reported. "They found the other prisoners, some of them in pretty bad shape, but Joshua and his men were gone. There was no sign of where he went. Scum like that, he'll probably set up shop somewhere else."

Martha gave an involuntary shudder. "I hope not. What he told Rick..."

Byron awkwardly patted her hand. "Just words. How is Rick doing?"

"He's better," Martha replied, "He's working with some people who specialize in this kind of thing. They're making him eat lots of protein. Not that he objects," Martha commented with a smile, "he does love his cheeseburgers. They're also helping him put the experience out of his mind, or at least to the back of his mind. I think when college starts again next month it will be good for him to go back. He told me he's going to a science fiction convention this weekend. For him, that's normal."

"Glad to hear it," Byron said, standing to leave. "Well I guess we're done."

"I hope to God we are," Martha thought as she closed the door behind him.

Rick let his body sink into the depths of the giant beanbag chair opposite Brian Pierce. They were almost the same age, Brian older by less than a year. "How long did it take you?" Rick asked.

"To get over being taken by a cult?" Brian asked.

Rick nodded.

"I'm not sure I have gotten over it," Brian replied. "I've gotten past it, but it's changed the way I want to spend my life. Before it happened, I was just interested in whatever career I could make the most money doing. Now I'm looking towards helping people get over bad experiences, maybe even learn to forget them. How about you?"

"I'm just trying to understand how people can do the things that they do. It mystifies me. That's why I write about it, and if reading my books make people feel better somehow, that makes me feel better too. The money's not bad either."

Brian laughed. "Yeah, I suppose not too many guys write a best seller in college. Are you working on another one?"

"I hope so," Rick replied. "For one thing, I blew all the money from the first one, but I just met an incredible girl and she's kind of an inspiration. I'm calling the new book A Rose for Everafter."

Brian looked at Rick approvingly. "It's good that you're getting on with your life. I wish you the best of luck."

"Thanks," Rick returned. "You too."