Rise of the Beast (50 page)

He grabbed his briefcase, locked the car door, and headed toward the front door. He could see that the kitchen light was on, but that was about it. That seemed a bit odd. He wondered if the boys were home yet. He opened the front door and started down the hallway.

There was motion behind him, followed by a terrible concussive pain in the back of his head. He dropped his briefcase and fell to his knees. He tried to get up, yet a second blow drove him to the floor. He lay there in a semiconscious state. He was aware of motion around him, then nothing.

He awoke amidst a terrible headache. He found himself in the living room. He tried to move; he couldn’t. He tried to speak; he couldn’t. The room was lit only by light coming in from the kitchen. Before him he saw his wife Peggy lying upon the floor, her back to the sofa. Her hands were bound behind her back, and her feet were bound together with duck tape. Another strand of duck tape
had been used to gag her. It looked like someone had knocked her around pretty bad. She had a black eye and several bruises on her face. To her left, his eight-year-old son, Willie, was similarly restrained.

Bill quickly discovered that he had been bound in much the same way she had been. Whoever had done this was a professional.

“Well, sleeping beauty is awake,” said a bald, heavily tattooed man, switching on the living room lights.

Bill knew the look, the tattoos, and the colors. This guy was a member of the Aryan Brotherhood. Yet the young Latino guy who walked in directly behind him looked like a member of MS 13. The colors, the tattoos, it all fit. But their working together didn’t. Their gangs were sworn enemies.

“You shouldn’t have stuck your nose where it don’t belong,” said the second man, pointing an accusing finger at the detective. “The master is real upset with you. Now you’re going to pay, you and your family.”

“Now, let’s see,” said the bald man. “The boss said to make a statement with your execution. He wants it terrifying and painful. We have a lot of experience when it comes to that. Of course, fire is the worst, and the anticipation of its burning touch is the worst sort of fear.”

Bill looked toward Peggy. Her blue eyes were full of terror.

“And you get to watch it happening to your family,” said the Latino gang member, “even as it is happening to you.”

Bill heard the back door slam, and a few seconds later, yet another heavily tattooed man entered the room. In each hand was a large, plastic gasoline container.

“Oh yeah, the good stuff has arrived,” said the bald man. He looked toward his compatriots. “If you gentlemen would be so kind as to tie this family all together in the middle of the room, I think we can begin. Let’s be sure and make them comfy. I’ll get their home set up for a really hot party.”

Bill, his wife, and son were roughly dragged into the center of the room. They were forced to kneel in a circle, facing away from each other. Ropes were looped about their ankles, joining them all together. Then they were looped about their wrists as well, forcing them into a most uncomfortable position.

The furniture and the floor were soaked with what smelled like kerosene, and the bald man set up a simple detonator. It was made of a short candle on a small plate. Through the candle ran a long fuse. The fuse then ran to a can that contained a mix of kerosene and some other chemical.

“In a few minutes, I’m going to light this candle,” said the bald man, sounding ridiculously pleased with his explanation. “Then, you’ll have about ten minutes before the candle burns down low enough to light the fuse. In, like, five minutes the fuse will burn over to the canister, which will go up like a torch, igniting the kerosene-soaked sofa. It’s like science, dude.” The man paused as if to allow his words to sink in, and then his voice got eerily serious. “My master is going to rule this world, but you won’t be around to see it.”

The bald man looked at the other two. They nodded. He lit the candle. The men quickly left the house through the back door, leaving the detective and his family to ponder their fate.

Detective Strom struggled with his bonds, searching for a knot that might be loosened, yet his search was in vain. There was no escape. He tried to get to the candle, to extinguish it, yet this too met with failure. Within ten minutes, his hands and wrists were bloody from his efforts, yet he had accomplished nothing.

There was a sudden flash of light as the candle lit the fuse. If only he could reach it. He heard his son’s muffled cries. No, he had to do something, anything. With all of his strength he tried to move toward the fuse, but he could find no leverage. He gazed up and began to pray. From the almost-forgotten recesses of his mind, a jumble of phrases poured out of his heart in a desperate prayer: “Our Father in Heaven, hallowed be Your name … those who call on the name of the Lord will be saved … Jesus, save me! God, save my family!” Julio had been right; he knew that now. If only he had realized it earlier.

The sparks inched their way along the fuse toward that can. Bill made another valiant effort, yet he managed to move only a matter of inches. He tried again; nothing.

The fuse entered the can, and a second later, flames shot upward nearly to the ceiling. The sofa was ablaze. Within a minute the fire had spread around the room, and a thick smoke was descending from the ceiling. They had to get to the floor; it would be the last place in the room where there would be breathable air. Their bonds wouldn’t even allow them to do that.

Bill heard his son and wife coughing on the thickening smoke. Maybe, if they were lucky, they would die of smoke inhalation rather than be burned alive. Yet the roar of the flames and the growing heat were already almost unbearable. Bill heard a crashing sound from somewhere else in the house. What was going on? Then something was moving through the smoke.

Three firemen in full gear descended upon them. One drew a large blade and started sheering their bonds, even as another removed his son’s gag and placed an oxygen mask over his face. A few seconds later, the other did the same for Peggy. Then it was Bill’s turn.

“Come on, come on,” said the fireman who seemed to be in charge. “We’ve got to move, move, move!”

The next thing Bill knew, they were being led out of the room, toward the kitchen and the back of the house. They stayed close to the floor all the way. Then they were in the backyard, stumbling through the grass. The cool night air felt so wonderful. It was at the back fence that they stopped. Again, the three were administered oxygen.

“Am I glad to see you guys,” gasped Bill. “How in the world did you get here so fast?”

“Don’t try to speak, Detective Strom,” said the lead fireman, pushing the oxygen mask back toward him. “Take a moment and get your breath. You still have a lot to do before this is all through. You need to join the battle. But for now relax.”

“How do you know my name?” asked Bill. “Do I know you?” The fireman shook his head. “No, not yet.”

By now, the house was fully engulfed in flames. Bill just sat there, watching his dream home go up in flames. Yet, what was really important was around him—his family was safe.

The fireman attending to Bill rose to his feet, then stepped back. Then there was a flash of light. Bill turned around to find only himself and his family sitting on the wet grass. The firemen had vanished.

“What happened?” asked Bill, turning to Peggy. “Where did they go?”

Looking into Peggy’s eyes, he could see her stunned amazement. Her eyes met Bill’s, yet she said nothing.

“Mommy, you were right,” said Bill junior, a broad smile on his face. “Jesus does hear us. I asked Him for help, and He sent us angels. They looked just like you said they did. Oh, their wings were so beautiful.”

“You didn’t see it?” gasped Peggy.

“See what?” replied Bill, trying to rise to his feet.

“I only saw it for a second,” said Peggy. “Those three firemen, they turned into angels, all in white, then they just disappeared.”

In the distance, Bill could hear the sirens. He and his family headed through the back gate and into the alley to get away from the growing flames. By the time they reached the street in front of the house, the Montclair Fire Department was on the scene. They immediately went to work trying to contain the blaze, but that was all they were going to be able to do. The house was a total loss.

It was past one in the morning as Bill and his family left the Montclair Police Department and headed toward his wife’s parent’s house. He had told them the entire story. His whole family had. Still, it defied belief.

The thugs had entered through the back door while Peggy was preparing dinner. They had subdued her and her young son. Then they had waited for her husband. Peggy gave the police a complete description of her assailants. She spoke of what they had said. They’d spoken of getting her prepared for the pains of Hell, of getting revenge on her husband. That aspect of the story was believable enough. It was the rescue by angels that they had trouble with.

The family had been nearly asphyxiated. An oxygen-starved brain could imagine all sorts of things. There were no firemen and certainly no angels. Sure, there had been three rescuers, but they were probably neighbors who saw the flames and rushed in to rescue them. They hadn’t wanted to get involved with all of the publicity or the red tape that was sure to follow and had fled the scene. Sure, that had to be it.

A team of fire investigators would determine the cause of the blaze tomorrow. Until then, this family was just lucky to be alive. They’d experienced a miracle of sorts, just not the type they thought. Still, it was strange that they all experienced a common delusion.

As Bill and Peggy turned out the light that night, they both prayed. Bill invited Jesus into his heart for the first time while Peggy vowed to have a new
and more vital relationship with their Savior. Bill recalled the last words of that angel. He spoke of joining the battle. Bill understood what he meant. It was how to go about it that had him mystified.

The next morning, Bill called in sick to work. Under the conditions, the lieutenant insisted upon it. However, Bill spent most of the morning with Pastor Smith, weighing his options. He also took some time to email Chris and Serena, filling them in on the crisis that had nearly killed his whole family. By noon he had developed a game plan; he would continue his investigation, but this time he would be fortified with the Holy Spirit.

In addition, Julio had practically insisted on getting involved in the investigation. Bill welcomed his help. The investigation would be conducted on the side, when he wasn’t on the clock. That way he would have more liberties, free of some of the constraints of his office.

When the lieutenant finally heard the full story of Detective Strom’s narrow escape the next day, he was left practically speechless. The fire marshal’s report as to the cause and nature of the blaze supported the detective’s story. It was the story of guardian angels posing as firefighters that made the story so incredible.

At the investigation, the detective made certain to emphasize the point that he had not actually witnessed the transformation of firefighters into angels. Those were claims made by his wife and son. He could only testify that they were there one moment and gone the next. Yes, he might have blanked out for a moment. They might have slipped out the back gate and into the alleyway in that time. But the firemen were real. They had saved his life and the life of his family. Perhaps they had been neighbors, perhaps firemen from some other department, but they were real.

In the end, the board accepted the detective’s explanation. They were thankful to still have this fine officer in the department. For the next few months, he’d officially be assigned to look over the cold case files. He seemed to have a gift in that area. Also, it would keep him off the streets, in the event that whoever had orchestrated the first attempt on his life tried again.

All the while he was building his case against Lusan, gathering together the inconsistencies in his story, searching for damning evidence from his past. And he was
making progress. With the lieutenant’s permission, he would soon take his case to the feds, let them handle it from there. He had this guy; he was sure of it. Soon, he would be instrumental in toppling the empire of the great Andre Lusan.