Sanctuary (3 page)

Ryan did not find Melissa sitting on the dock, her feet dangling off the edge, feeding the resident swans that often showed up for dinner. Nor was she napping in their tiny sailboat, docked to the pier, as he’d once discovered her on a lazy afternoon—having fallen asleep to gentle, shifting waves.

Ryan trudged up the slope to the garage, Daisy trailing close behind. Opening the door, he poked his nose inside. The space for Melissa’s car was vacant.

“Why didn’t you tell me, eh, Golden Nose?”

Daisy looked up as if to say,
You didn’t ask
.

Ryan chuckled. Melissa was probably out running an errand somewhere. That was all. There was something strange about her being gone at this hour, though. On a Friday especially. He knew how she despised rush hour, liked to be home
before
he arrived for their weekend together.

He climbed the deck stairway leading into the house and went to the master bedroom. He showered in preparation for the evening, sure she would be back when he emerged.

As he dressed and fumbled with his shirt collar and tie, his gaze fell on the dresser. A note was propped against the lamp. Reaching for it, he scarcely recognized the scribble as Melissa’s. Certainly, this was not her usual flowing script.

He held the note, read the hurried message.

The growing dread turned to panic.

  
Chapter Three
  

SHE’D GOTTEN A JUMP on late-afternoon traffic. Interstate 95—the fast lane—was exceptionally wide open, yet she rejected the urge to speed. Not one to push her limits, not while driving, Melissa kept her focus on the roadway and her rearview mirror.

She did
not
relish the thought of encountering the hubbub and congestion of New York’s rush hour, though she and Ryan often took this route to one Broadway show or another, to the theater district. Always on the weekend when traffic seemed destined to crawl.

Unable to peruse the road atlas at the moment, she contemplated from memory an alternate route through the city. In the past, when considering her options should she ever need to escape, she had never fully settled on where she would go. Any number of places might offer a safe haven until someone recognized her, caught up with her … again. She hated to think of running. After her brief sojourn in Connecticut, she was, once again, a fugitive among strangers.

She turned her thoughts to Ryan, her dear husband and best friend. What was he doing now? Reading her scrawled note, wondering just what sort of woman he’d married? How she missed him. The emptiness, the isolation, was nearly unbearable. With each mile, the hollow feeling swelled, seeping into even the most insignificant crevices of her soul.

She glanced in her mirror. Nothing out of the ordinary. Only cars, dozens of them. None whose drivers looked familiar.

Breathe easy
, she told herself. She had to calm down. Just how long she might be gone from husband and home, she did not know. She had planned ahead, though, withdrawing enough money—now hidden away on her person—to coast for several months or more. Ryan wouldn’t have minded. Her husband was a highly resourceful businessman, seemed to have a knack for turning everything he touched into gold.
The Midas touch
, their friends often joked.

From the earliest days of their marriage, she and Ryan had never wanted for anything. Just days before their wedding, he’d told her that she could work … “but only if you care to. We can easily make it with one income, if you prefer to stay home.” So to work or not to work had been entirely her choice.

She had grinned back at him, their discussion turning to the all-important decision of who was to cook and clean house if she did choose to find a job. At the time, she wondered if he was hinting, hoping for a baby right away. But the topic of children hadn’t come up. In fact, there was never any dialogue about their future offspring. Actually, though, she was glad they’d had this rather unspoken pact. Now, at twenty-six as she ran for her life, the thought of having a toddler in tow was anything but pleasant.

Adjusting the mirror, she studied the car directly behind her, straining to see the vehicle behind
that
car, as well. She recalled, as a girl she’d often wondered about her father’s obsession with his rearview mirror. The notion that he was a fidgety driver seemed to hang in her memory. How old
was
she the first time she mentioned something to him? Seven … maybe a little younger?

Anyway, Daddy had been deep in thought as he drove her to school. Hers was a small private school on the outskirts of town, Palmer Lake, Colorado. The Montessori school, where she studied music, art, and creative play, was an elite institution. The place was staffed with good, solid instructors—“the best educators money can buy,” Daddy often said. But he never boasted about having money. Not to anyone. Melissa never suspected in those days that she and her widowed father were well-off.

Changing lanes, she remembered a particular drive to the school. “What’s wrong with the mirror, Daddy?” she’d asked. Usually a warm and gentle man, he had seemed fairly perturbed by her question and surprised her with staid silence. He continued to peer into the mirror, touching it many times, especially at the red lights along the way. She had not pressed it further.

Some things are best left alone
, she now decided, making a turnoff the road in front of a police station to consult her road map. If someone, by chance,
were
tracking her, the pursuit would have to cease at least for now. A wise move, and she congratulated herself for it. She had not given careful thought to stopping for food, drink, and other necessities. After all, police stations were few and far between when you needed them.

  
Chapter Four
  

RYAN SAT ON THE EDGE OF THE BED, dumbfounded. Staring at the note, he tried to make sense of Melissa’s message.

Dearest Ryan,

I have no choice but to leave now. I can’t explain why. Please trust me … don’t look for me. And try not to worry.

I love you,

Melissa

Ryan raked his hand through his hair and reread the note, desperately seeking the comprehension that evaded him.
What on earth was happening? What was she thinking?

His mind raced back to this morning when he’d kissed her good-bye. Nothing in Melissa’s sleepy smile nor her tender kiss had indicated that she was troubled or …
what? That she was contemplating leaving me?

Ryan shook his head, as if trying to shift his brain into high gear. Had something occurred between then and now? He rose and stumbled to the closet, searching for signs, clues. As expected, Melissa’s wardrobe dominated the closet—dresses, slacks, blouses, skirts, jeans, and sweaters. Shoes galore. Nothing seemed out of place.

Then he noticed the top shelf, where various seasonal hand-bags and two fanny packs were neatly stowed. An empty space indicated an overnight case was missing. So she’d taken
something
along.

He descended the stairs to the living room and began to pace the floor, massaging his already tense shoulder muscles. He read the note again, attempting to read between the lines.

I have no choice but to leave now….

Now?
Did that mean she might return? And if so, when?

I can’t explain….

If she had to leave, why not explain? Why leave him desperate and wondering miserably?

Quickly, Ryan ticked off the typical reasons why a woman left a man. He was positive there was no other man in her life. She was not fleeing an abusive marriage….

So had she lost her ability to think clearly? Was
that
it? He’d read of cases where people suddenly—sometimes overnight—lost their capacity to reason, to think. In a panic, they ran away, only to be found later, wandering the streets in a strange fugue, whispering of phantom strangers. But Melissa had exhibited no sign of a nervous breakdown, stress, or encroaching mental illness.

Suddenly, he recalled their weekend plans with Denny. Now totally out of the question. Denny just couldn’t come, not with Melissa gone—running from some real or imagined terror.

Thoughts wavering, Ryan picked up the phone and dialed.

Denny tossed several pairs of jeans into the duffel bag, headed to his closet, and removed four T-shirts. Nearly all the shirts had Christian phrases or Scripture verses printed on them. He packed his clothing, wondering how to prepare for New England’s fickle weather. Summers were normally hot in Connecticut, even toward the end of August, but more recently, Ryan had said, they had been plagued with days of un-relenting cloudy, cool weather.
“Unusual for paradise,”
Ryan had joked.

Denny threw in a sweatshirt and a couple pairs of shorts, just in case. Hopefully, sultry beach weather awaited him. He could use a few days of sunny relaxation.

Along with his Bible, Denny was taking a copy of C. S. Lewis’s
Mere Christianity
. Last time Melissa had involved him in a deep discussion of the claims of Christ. He had been pleased to find her far more receptive than he would have guessed. But the newly purchased book wasn’t for her. She wasn’t interested in—didn’t require—either logical or philosophical reasoning as to faith. Ryan, however, lived in the skeptical world of
prove it to me
. But the bigger question remained: Would Ryan even read the book? Doubtful.

Denny packed it anyway, in case the subject came up. He grinned. With him, the subject of Jesus
always
seemed to come up. It was unavoidable, impossible to remain silent about something that mattered so much to him. Even with strangers he met on the streets, Denny usually brought up the matter of Christ—delicately. Well, as delicately as possible for a man his size.

There were times when he regretted not getting into professional football. Not because he still craved fame or money, but because of the missed opportunity as a sports pro to influence souls for the kingdom.

Presently, he spent after-school hours and weekends with troubled teens, many who literally lived on the street. There was no greater joy than to roll up his sleeves, get down and get dirty—and make a difference in the life of a needy boy or girl. Helping with food and shelter. Offering a listening ear. Truly caring about their problems.

But lately he felt exhausted, needed time to reflect, to recharge. This chance to fly to the East Coast and hang out with Ryan and his wife had come at a most opportune time. Besides, this getaway would give him time to think through some of his own issues, especially his relationship with Evelyn and the possibility of marriage.

Denny dialed his bedroom phone and reached Evelyn Reed on the second ring.

“Are you packed yet, handsome?” she asked after she heard his greeting.

Hearing her voice was like coming home. She worked nearly around the clock at Denver’s Children’s Hospital as a nurse, the ideal career for her, a woman with a nurturing and gentle soul.

It didn’t hurt his feelings that Evelyn liked to refer to him as
handsome
, even though he knew he wasn’t
that
good-looking. For one thing, he was slick bald. The fact that she
thought
he was attractive was all a red-blooded American male like Denny needed to know.

“I’m having second thoughts,” he replied grimly.

“About going?”

“About leaving you behind.”

“I’ll be fine, you big lug. It’s only for a few days, right?”

“Suppose so.”

She was silent for a moment, then—“I’ll be praying for you, Denny. And for your friends Ryan and Melissa, too, that everything goes well.”

They chatted a bit longer before he said a reluctant good-bye, hung up, and finished packing. He hadn’t left town yet, and already he missed her.

The phone rang again.

Denny pounced on the receiver. Probably Evelyn calling back. “Hey, hon …”

“Uh … Denny, it’s Ryan.”

“What’s up? Change your mind about my visit?” Denny joked, aware of the hesitancy in Ryan’s voice.

“Well … actually, yeah.”

Denny frowned. “Hey, I was just kidding.”

“I’m not. Listen, this isn’t going to be a good weekend, after all.”

“That’s cool.” Then, sensing an ominous heaviness in his friend’s voice, quickly added, “Everything okay there?”

Ryan sighed audibly. “Not exactly.”

“What’s wrong, man?”

Denny was stunned to learn about Melissa’s disappearance. “Did you guys have a fight or something?”

“No, listen … uh, I need to get going. Sorry, we’ll talk later.”

“I’ll call back tonight, okay? You’ve got me worried.”

Ryan hung up abruptly, leaving Denny puzzled. Ryan and Melissa were the “perfect couple.” What could have gone wrong?

Denny pushed the suitcase to the other side of his bed. Promptly, he lowered himself to the floor, kneeling like a schoolboy, and began to pray.

Ryan disconnected with Denny and considered his next course of action. He tried to put himself in his wife’s shoes.
Where would I go if I were Mellie?
he wondered.

He considered getting into the car and driving around to look for her, just to be doing
something
. But he thought better of it. He needed to be near the phone—in case she called.

Daisy padded to Ryan’s chair, rested her chin on his knee, and whined softly. Ryan rubbed her golden fur and her floppy ears for a minute, then picked up the phone, dialing Melissa’s best girlfriend, Alice Graham.
Ali
.

She answered on the third ring, and Ryan explained the situation as matter-of-factly as he could. Ali’s reaction was utter shock, disbelief. “This is nuts. She left a note?”

Ryan read the note to her, which brought a little gasp. “I can’t believe this,” she whispered.

“The two of you were together for lunch today, right?” he pressed.

“Yeah …” She paused. “Oh no …”

“What?”

“I don’t know … it didn’t make sense to me at the time, but now—”

“What happened?”

“At the restaurant. We hadn’t even finished eating, and … she just suddenly wanted to get going. Said she wasn’t feeling well, so she got up and left, just like that. Left me sitting there alone. She seemed a little pale. I called later to check up, but she wasn’t home.”

“What time was that?” Ryan asked, his heart slamming the walls of his chest.

Ali seemed to hesitate. “I guess around two o’clock or so.”

Ryan blocked out the rest of the conversation. Melissa …
sick?
Why hadn’t she told him? What
had
happened today?