Sufficient Ransom (24 page)

“You mean, hear
you
out,” she said, trying to keep her annoyance at Chet’s hard sell from her voice.

“If coming to church is too intimidating,” Chet smiled, “you could try our weekly prayer group. It’s very informal. Lasts an hour, sometimes longer. We have some regulars. My girlfriend, Diane, and a few reformed drug addicts from the clinic Todd and I have being working with. The group’s open to anyone from New Way. Or anywhere else, for that matter.” He leaned in. “You don’t have to say anything, Ann. We’ll just pray for Travis and for you and Richard. And for whomever else needs a spiritual boost.”

“I’ll think about it,” Ann said. “Thank you.”

Chet looked like he wanted to say something, but was unsure how to start. Finally he said, “I was just thinking of Martina Ramirez. If she’d only had someone to talk to, someone like Todd or me, maybe she wouldn’t have taken her own life. The Lord is a great comfort; if only she had trusted in Him.”

Ann thought for a moment. Then she said, “Doesn’t Christianity say that suicide is selfish and wrong?”

A brief flash of anger hit Chet’s eyes. “It’s definitely wrong,” he said. “Our lives belong to Christ. Matthew 25, Verse 46. ‘Those who don’t believe in Him will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.’ Mrs. Ramirez robbed Jesus of His right to her soul by not accepting Him as her savior. And then she forever destroyed her chance to repent of it.”

For Ann, Marty Ramirez’s passing was heart-breaking not because Marty had denied Jesus her soul—she wasn’t sure what that even meant—but because Marty had concluded that death was her only way out.

Chet’s callous reaction to Marty Ramirez’s passing bothered Ann. She felt the need to bring him to task. Nora had once said that Chet and Pastor Todd were religious fanatics. Maybe Nora was right. Ann spoke her thoughts. “You know, Chet. You sound like a fanatic when you quote the bible like that.”

Chet laughed. “Fanatic? That’s an awesome compliment. Thank you!”

Ann wasn’t expecting to hear that. “What?”

“The word “fanatic” comes from the Latin,
fanaticus
,” Chet said. “Meaning ‘inspired by God.’ That’s me, for sure.” He looked amused.

She was annoyed.

Richard returned home just as the pastor was leaving the house. He entered the family room frowning. “What did Chet want?”

Ann avoided her husband’s clear eyes. “He invited me to a prayer group. I want you to come too, Richard.”

Richard shook his head. “We don’t need that kind of help.”

Ann turned away. “I might go and see what it’s all about.”

“And
pray
that our boy be returned to us?” Richard said. “Can’t you see that Chet’s offering an illusion? Wishful thinking in place of action. Don’t you find that disturbing? Are you just going to replace one type of useless, unthinking action with another?”

C
HAPTER
16

Wednesday, October 17

10:30 A.M
.

T
he next day, Ann decided to take Chet up on his offer to join his prayer group. In the tunnel, Ann had promised herself she would try to believe in God. Attending prayer group was the first step toward fulfilling that promise.

Ann pulled into an empty space in front of the pastor’s townhouse and turned off the car engine. Peering out the car window, she noted that the entrance to the two-story unit on the second level was accessible by a painted staircase. The single staircase serviced two units facing each other across a shared deck. According to Nora, Chet’s girlfriend lived next door. A one-car garage tucked under each unit reminded Ann of a neighborhood of row houses she had once seen on the outskirts of London—tidy but uninteresting conformity.

Despite Chet reassuring her that the gathering would consist of friendly people casually discussing various issues, Ann didn’t really know what to expect. More, she didn’t know anybody who would be at the meeting, other than Chet. She was curious about his girlfriend, Diane. Nora said Chet and Diane started dating soon after she moved in next
door. Apparently Diane had her own bookkeeping business and worked from home.

Diane answered the door and welcomed Ann with a warm smile. She was about thirty-five years old, a little on the heavy side, with lightly freckled skin, and dark hair. Indicating an open room that included the kitchen, a dining area, and living room, Diane said, “Come on in, Ann. We have a small group today.”

Six people were seated on two sofas and an assortment of chairs around a wood coffee table. From across the room, a young man caught Ann’s eye. He had unkempt, dirty blond hair, pale skin, and gaunt cheeks. He was staring down at his clasped hands. Ann wondered if he was one of the drug addicts from the outreach program Chet spoke of.

Ann noticed that several of the others, two women and an older man, were casting furtive glances in her direction. They were probably wondering who she was, or maybe they already knew. Ann’s image had been widely disseminated in the newspapers and on the Internet. She felt uneasy.

Diane was saying, “I made coffee. And we have donuts and bagels. Help yourself, Ann.”

“Thanks, Diane,” Ann said. “Uh, where’s Chet?”

“He’s upstairs,” Diane said. “He should be down in a minute.

Ann didn’t feel like engaging in small talk with anyone. She was starting to get a headache and wanted to take an aspirin. She asked her hostess where the bathroom was.

Diane pointed to a hallway at the back of the room past the staircase. “Second door on the right.”

After taking care of her business, Ann was about to leave the bathroom when she heard a man’s voice outside the closed door. The man was saying, “Please, Pastor. Yes. Yes! I accept Jesus with all my heart. Could I have the stuff now? You promised.” A low murmur followed. Then, “Now Jimmy—” It was Chet. “I’m giving these—” It sounded like he said
drugs
. “—back to you on the condition that…”

Chet’s voice had dropped. Ann heard a rustling sound. She imagined a paper bag trading hands. Perspiration warmed her neck and face.
Did
Chet just give drugs to a drug addict?
She was afraid to open the door and reveal that she’d overheard a private conversation between Chet and very likely one of the “reformed” drug addicts he spoke of. The voices were getting fainter. After waiting a half-minute more, Ann opened the bathroom door and stepped out. Thankfully no one was in the hall.

The living room was quieter. Chet and Diane were sitting on the love seat facing the others. A short, red-haired man in baggy jeans and a long tee shirt sat on Chet’s right side. The boy looked to be about twenty-years-old. He sported dark tattoos on both arms and silver hoops in each ear. Ann wondered if he was the person Chet had been talking to.

Refreshments were laid out on a plaid-covered table by the staircase. Though she was not much of a coffee drinker—Ann preferred tea—she helped herself to a large cupful so she would have something to focus on during the meeting. She tossed a fourth spoon of sugar into her drink, picked the cup up, and moved toward the group.

Seated, Ann glanced around. The pale, gaunt-faced man was whispering to the red-haired, tattoo boy.

Chet reached for a bible on the table. “We’ll start with our traditional opening prayer. But first I’d like to welcome Ann.” Smiling, he lifted his hands in greeting.

The group spoke in unison. “Welcome, Ann.”

Ann looked around shyly. “Thank you so much.” She wondered if they knew she was an atheist.

Chet began, “Lord. Before we start our meeting, we quiet ourselves before You. For You are filled with beauty and light, and care deeply about us. Help us listen, before speaking. Help us understand these people, before making our case. Help us value the ones we’re about to meet, before thinking of our own concerns and troubles. May Your light enfold us. May Your grace flourish in us. This is our prayer. Amen.”

There was murmured assent around the room.

Chet continued. “We are One as He is One. Let us pray for Travis Olson. For his parents. And for all who love him. Our Lord watches over
the child. His heart filled with love, our Father brings this young soul into the light. For the child is surely under His protection.”

Ann sipped her coffee. She didn’t really understand what Chet was saying. She saw only that he was earnest. That there was love in his voice. And righteousness.

She was sitting on the sofa next to an older man dressed in faded blue jeans, a white tee shirt, and a mustard-yellow, sweater vest. The man was blowing loudly on a cupful of coffee. A paper plate, heavy with three donuts and a bagel, sat on his lap. Her neighbor’s eyebrows lifted in friendly greeting to Ann when she turned to see who was making all the noise. He didn’t seem to be paying the least bit attention to Chet. Ann wondered wryly if he came to prayer group for the snacks.

A buxom woman in a tight black dress and sheepskin boots had the floor. The care worn lines at her eyes and mouth softened when she spoke of Jesus. “Jesus told me to get out. He knew I couldn’t do it any more. My daughter needed me to be home at night. Las Vegas is a tough place for any woman, let alone someone with no family. Jesus lifted me from the filth into the clean light.” She bowed her head. “Thank you, dear Lord.”

Chet leaned over and whispered something to the tattooed boy. The boy’s eyes were pink and glassy, like he had just taken something. Again, Ann wondered if the pastor had given him drugs. Or maybe she had just misheard the conversation and jumped to conclusions again.

The boy hesitated. When he finally spoke his voice was nasal. “Jesus, uh has helped me a lot. I don’t know what I’d do without Him.”

When he fell silent, Chet said, “Thank you, Jimmy.”

When it was Ann’s turn, Diane leaned over and whispered, “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, Ann.”

Ann didn’t know what to say and she didn’t like being the center of attention. After acknowledging Diane’s kindness with a small nod, she bowed her head and remained silent.

Ann returned home from the prayer meeting as her husband was getting ready to leave the house. “Where are you going?” she asked him.

“I’m meeting with the consultant who set up the website and Facebook pages for Travis,” Richard said. “They’ve had a lot of traffic but no leads to speak of. We’re gonna see if we can tweak things to bring in something worthwhile.”

“Are they working with police on this?” Ann asked.

Richard nodded. “It was Tom who told me about them. Uh, did you, uh go to Chet’s prayer meeting?”

“Uh huh.”

“How was it?”

She shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”

“Just okay?” There was a hopeful note in Richard’s voice.

“Actually,” Ann said. “‘I overheard something strange.”

“I could’ve told you you’d be hearing weird stuff.”

The sarcasm in her husband’s voice made her want to drop the subject. “Forget it.”

“I’m sorry,” Richard said. He really did sound sorry. “It’s just that... Well. You know how I feel about that evangelical talk. Tell me what bothered you.”

Her husband was good at figuring things out. If Ann told him about the conversation she’d overheard while in the bathroom, he might think of an explanation that made more sense than the one she came up with.

“Chet and Pastor have been working with this drug clinic in Encinitas,” she said. “It’s an outreach program, where they counsel addicts who have kicked the habit. Keeps them on track, I guess. I overheard Chet talking to some guy, while I was in the bathroom. They were right outside the door. I think Chet said he would give the guy drugs if he accepted Jesus.”

Richard’s eyes widened. “What do you mean, you
think
he said that?”

Ann explained that she wasn’t sure if she heard the word “drugs” correctly.

“I don’t think even Chet’s that stupid,” Richard said. “You probably misheard. Why does he have these people coming to his house?”

“I guess the prayer meetings are part of their religious education,” Ann said.

Richard’s eyebrows lifted. “Maybe Chet manipulates these poor souls into accepting Jesus—whatever that means—and then rewards them with the very stuff he supposedly hopes to get them off of.” He shook his head. “Nah. It’s too weird.”

“You’re right,” Ann said, feeling foolish.

C
HAPTER
17

Thursday, October 18

11:00 A.M
.

T
he next day, Ann entered New Way Evangelical Church. A week had passed since she was rescued from the tunnel. Coming to the church was Ann’s second step toward fulfilling her promise to give religion a chance. From the moment she entered New Way, Ann felt that people were staring at her. Eyes averted, she made her way toward the front of the auditorium, to a vacant seat a few rows from the stage. She stopped short. A middle-aged woman with long, gray hair had stepped out from one of the rows of seats. The woman was holding a camera. Spotting Ann, she halted and stared, a quizzical look on her face. She was Travis’s former teacher, Amanda White.

Her eyes roaming Ann’s face, Amanda spoke slowly and deliberately. “Mrs. Olson, I was so sorry to hear about Travis. I’m sure he will come home to you soon.”

Though Amanda’s words were kind, Ann couldn’t help but detect a hint of smugness in her close-set eyes, almost as if she were thinking that Ann deserved to lose her child. It was the teacher, after all, who had called CPS on her.

“Thank you,” Ann said, turning to go. The last thing she wanted to do was talk to the woman who had accused her of child abuse.

“The Lord is a great comfort in these difficult times,” Amanda added quietly. “May you find solace in Him.”

Ann moved away. She couldn’t get away from the woman fast enough.

Safely seated, Ann glanced back to see if Amanda was still close by. She saw the teacher snapping pictures of people and the stage. Ann wondered if she was a New Way official or something. When Amanda left the auditorium, Ann breathed a sigh of relief.

Ann’s eyes slowly travelled the open space. She hadn’t been in a church since she was a child, and never in an evangelical one. Rows upon rows of seats upholstered in patterned fabric of muted blues and browns looked like they could accommodate many hundreds of people. A shiny grand piano, a keyboard, a drum set, and a few microphone stands adorned the massive stage at the front of the hall. A large television screen atop a steel column in the center of the stage towered over the musical instruments. Track lights running the length of the platform flashed alternate shades of soft pink.