From Pharaoh's Hand Read online

  Then, “Please hurry. This is just not like her. She’s not a runaway. Please, come quickly. We have to find her.” She stood staring at the phone in her hand for a few seconds, as if it were going to ring on cue and it be Beth calling.

  “John, where could she be?” And then she began to tremble as if she were standing bare armed at the North Pole. John took her in his arms, took the phone from her, and held her.

  “I don’t know honey, but we’ll find her. She’ll be home any minute. Then you can ground her for life--right after I do.”

  Carolyn pulled back from him. There were tears streaking her face.

  “I’m going to check her room. Maybe there’s a note or clothes missing. Something...” Carolyn’s voice trailed off as she headed upstairs trying to quell the thought that every mother’s nightmare had just become her reality.

  Beth’s room looked like every other seventeen-year-old girl’s room, decorated with American Idol posters, concert souvenirs, football items including a warrior headdress with blue feathers, and stuffed animals, mainly teddy bears of all sizes and colors. Her closet door stood open. Clothes were hanging askew from the racks. Shoes were piled in a wild pile in the floor. Makeup was spread out on her vanity; none of it appeared missing, but then Beth had so much that it was hard to tell. Carolyn got on her knees and looked under the bed. Beth’s luggage was still there, including her overnight bag. She would have packed that to go to Crystal’s. Maybe she hadn’t intended to be gone all night. But she had told Crystal she was spending the night with Chris.

  Overall, her room looked exactly as it had on any normal day. It was clear that she intended to be home before she was ever missed. Maybe she and another girlfriend had decided to go somewhere. Some concert or something. Something forbidden. But she would have said something. She would have told me. Left me a note, something. Carolyn would never agree to two teenage girls going anywhere overnight without a chaperone, and Beth knew that. That stinker! But where would she have gone? And why would she have used Chris for an excuse with Crystal? Crystal was her best friend. Why wouldn’t she have told Crystal what she was really up to?

  Carolyn thought back over the last few weeks. Other than Beth missing curfew a couple of times during the holiday break, there was nothing out of the ordinary about her behavior. She had gotten a good scolding from her father the first time it happened. The second time it happened, she was an hour late, and Carolyn and John were both awake. Beth had taken her grounding from the next holiday party in stride. Beth was not a rebellious child. Carolyn wondered about a side of Elizabeth that she never saw. Her eyes went to the computer. Surely she wasn’t one of those girls that gets caught up in one of those internet chat rooms, chatting to strangers about God knows what. Surely not. Yet, there were reports in the paper more and more frequently about predators stalking teenage girls on the Internet.

  Feeling a bit queasy at the thought, Carolyn reached down and booted the computer. She hardly knew where to begin. She was familiar with the Internet. She was proficient in Microsoft Office, but she had no idea about chat rooms or personals or instant messaging. She opened the browser and hit favorites. There appeared to be nothing out of the ordinary teen realm: a few fashion sites, a music download site, and the high school site. She tried to open the instant messenger panel, but it was password protected. Carolyn hit the history button. There were no sites visited since Thursday night. Elizabeth had logged on, viewed the Yahoo weather page and viewed a few blogs. Carolyn opened each site. There was Crystal’s blog, which consisted mainly of cartoons she had drawn and captions. Nothing unusual there. There was Dana’s blog, which went into every detail of her week from the moment she got up in the morning to the time she went to bed. The only mention of Beth was when Dana mentioned that they worked up a new cheer at cheer leading practice on that day. And finally, there was Beth’s personal blog.

  Carolyn felt a bit of shame in reading her daughter’s personal journal, but it was on the Internet for all the world to view, she reasoned. I’ll just take a quick peek. She shouldn’t have pulled this stunt. She scanned the short entries for the week:

  Monday, January 17, 2005: Out of school for Martin Luther King Day. Slept all day. What a weekend. Posted at 7:00 p.m.

  Tuesday, January 18, 2005: Passed the Chemistry exam, whew. I was sweating bullets over that one. Got to keep that grade point up if I’m going to get into Union. Mr.Bradley makes it so unbearably boring. I about fell asleep in class. I guess it’s because I stayed out so late over the weekend with Chris. Thought I got caught up on sleep yesterday. I can’t stand to be away from him. I think he loves me too. Posted at 4:00 p.m.

  Wednesday, January 19, 2005: Just thought I’d post a little note while I had a few minutes before school. I don’t really feel like going today. Must have been something I ate. Do hangovers hang over this long? Posted at 7:08 a.m.

  That was the last entry for this week. Carolyn cringed at the mention of “hangovers,” then backed up to the entries the week before. There were only three entries for the week; only one interested her. It was Sunday’s post.

  Sunday, January 16, 2005: We had so much fun last night. Chris snuck some bourbon from his dad’s liquor cabinet and we drank it and did it in my room. My parents would just kill me if they knew. They don’t know what it’s like to be young and in love. I just want to have fun before we go off to college in the fall. Don’t they know that? Posted at 11:55 p.m.

  Carolyn’s head reeled from reading the post. Her daughter had been drinking and having sex right there in her own home, right under their noses. How could they have been so blind? If she was doing this and they had no clue, what else was she keeping from them? Were there other boys? Was she drinking all the time? Was she doing drugs too?

  Carolyn thought back to that precious August night in 1988 when Elizabeth was born. It had been a grueling labor, but Elizabeth worth every pain:

  “Push! Two, three, four... that’s it ...you can do it...seven, eight, nine, and ten. Relax.”

  Ten long seconds passed as Carolyn struggled through the massive contraction that had rocked her body. No sooner had it passed than she began to feel the next awful wave.

  “He’s not budging,” she grunted through gritted teeth. “Oh, oh...oh…, it’s coming! The baby’s coming!”

  John had been in the birthing room by choice to support his wife during the birth of their first child, and admitted to her later that he almost found himself wishing he were somewhere else. He had no idea that the labor would turn out to be this twelve-hour marathon. His arms ached, he said, from helping to hold Carolyn’s legs as she pushed. Yet he still was so handsome in his rumpled shirt with his eyes bloodshot, and the usual five o’clock shadow sprouting. How she loved that man.

  John had seen her through ten long, desperate years of trying to conceive. She blamed herself. At sixteen, she had made some unwise choices and gotten into trouble. And although the pregnancy ended in the first trimester with a miscarriage, it had taken years for Carolyn’s parents to forgive her. If I hadn’t moved out into my own apartment, I never would have met him, she thought. She remembered the Italian restaurant where she landed her first job as a waitress. What was the name of that restaurant? Baudo’s. That’s it. It was there she had met him -- a grad student working on his MBA. She was 21; he was 23. It was love at first sight.

  She smiled as she remembered the night a few months later when John proposed over dinner. Crying, Carolyn weakly poured out her past to him, but John just sat there and held her hand. In spite of her past, her faults, her flaws -- in spite of everything, he had chosen to love her. She was his. Together they had built a beautiful three-bedroom home on the north side of town while she got her degree, and John worked his way up the corporate ladder.

  The pastor. Someone should call the pastor, Carolyn thought. After they got married, they had joined John’s home church and begun attending regularly. It was at this church, West Jackson Baptist that Carolyn had gotten saved. It was
under the pastor’s gentle counsel that she learned to forgive, for although she was back in the good graces of her parents after marrying John, she was still bitter about their response to her in time of trouble. And she was having an even greater problem forgiving herself for the child she had lost.

  Nightmares about the baby would plague her. Was it a boy or a girl? Would it have favored her? Could he have become president some day? It took many counseling sessions with John and their pastor to convince her that she had been held in bondage by her past. She had been forgiven by her parents, by John, and by God. She must now forgive herself. Oh how she remembered those nights when John would hold her as she cried and begged God for a child.

  But what a celebration they had had when she found out she was finally going to be a mother. Thank you, God, that you answered my prayer. Thank you for giving me another chance.

  She could still hear John soothing her in the delivery room, encouraging her.

  “Just a little longer, honey. You can do it.”

  “I’m so tired -- so tired.”

  “Two, three, four,” the doctor began.

  “Oh...ohh...”

  “Seven, eight, nine, and ten. Good job, Carolyn. The head is out!” And then everything grew quiet.

  “What is it?” John asked. The concern was etched in his forehead.

  The doctor was strangely silent. Instead another contraction hit, and Carolyn could not hold back. She pushed the baby out, and then fell heavily back to bed.

  “Is it a boy?” she remembered asking.

  “It’s a girl,” the doctor answered quietly, still not revealing the cause for his concern. John was so horrified when he left the head of the bed. His little girl was blue. The umbilical cord had been wrapped around her neck, and the doctor was deftly working to revive the infant.

  “Why isn’t she crying? What’s wrong with her? Oh God, someone please say something.”

  Finally after doing infant CPR, the doctor noted a pulse. He held the baby up by its ankles and smacked her bottom --a practice he had long abandoned. The baby coughed hard and inhaled sharply. A loud wail erupted in the birthing room, and everyone else exhaled a collective sigh of relief. I was so scared for my little Beth.

  Satisfied that the infant was going to be okay, the doctor wrapped her in a warm towel and placed her on Carolyn’s belly.

  “Ready to meet your daughter, Mrs. Merriweather?”

  “She’s so beautiful.”

  John was wiping tears of joy from his eyes and managed to find his voice.

  “You sure make beautiful babies, Mrs. M.”

  “You’re not too shabby yourself, big guy,” she had said.

  So long ago, and yet it seemed like yesterday. Carolyn had had seventeen years of joy, seventeen years of smiles and infectious giggles to warm her heart. But now Beth was missing. And there was this blog that opened the door to a world of fears that was new for Carolyn. Her chin dropped to her chest with a pitiful groan and her body erupting in deep sobs just as John entered the room.

  “Honey,” he began softly and placed a hand on her shoulder, “the police are here now.

  Chapter 4

  Led into Captivity

  “And there rose up a new king in Egypt.” Exodus 1:8

  Checkout time was approaching. Beth showered and changed clothes and brushed her teeth, then promptly gagged and dry heaved. The first order of business would be to get something into her stomach. Then she could walk to the bus stop. The continental breakfast in the lobby had already shut down, so she settled for the Waffle House next door. She left the room keys on the television set and pulled the door to behind her.

  She walked to the lobby and out the doors unnoticed; the clerk was too busy with paperwork from the night before to even look up. Beth crossed the parking lot and walked over to the Waffle House. There were several cars in the parking lot. She recognized the two-tone GMC from the day before. Maybe he stopped by here to sober up before his trip home. She wondered if he had hit it big at the tracks like he thought he would. She could not imagine what fun lay in throwing away everything on such a risky enterprise. But then wasn’t that exactly what she had done? Rolled the dice and lost. Big time. Beth swallowed the hard lump in her throat and entered the building.

  As soon as she smelled the fresh coffee and greasy bacon frying, she began to feel the nausea welling up in her throat. It was beginning to irritate her. She wondered how many months she would have to endure it. She wondered about a lot of things. Would her parents let her raise the baby? Was adoption an option? Could she give her baby away to strangers?

  Chris would have to be told; her father would insist on it. She didn’t want Chris marrying her out of obligation. She wasn’t even sure she was ready to be married, but ready or not, she was going to be a mother. Another wave of nausea hit her, and she raced to the ladies’ room to dry heave again.

  When she came out of the restroom, she was so addled that she ran smack into someone.

  “Oh. I’m sorry, sir. I wasn’t looking.”

  “No problem, little missy,” the dirty white man grinned. “Sure is a fine day ain't it?”

  “Yeah it is,” she replied and hurried to a table that was sandwiched between two families. A tall and bony waitress with black circles under her eyes and a pencil stuck behind her ear made her way to the table and took her order.

  Chocolate milk sounded good to Beth, and grilled cheese, and maybe she would try some oatmeal as well. She was not sure how any of it would set on her stomach, but she was ravenous by this time.

  Catfish Bones, a.k.a, Phineas Jones, exited the men’s room and made his way to a bar stool at the counter. He kept turning his head her way, as if wondering if she recognized him from the day before. After he was seated, he looked over his shoulder again. It was her. He was certain. Wonder what that lil filly is doing here? Someone just passin’ through should be long gone by now. Did she suspect something? Was she one of those undercover agents he had heard about? They trained ‘em mighty young these days. No one would imagine that little slip of a girl to be a DEA officer. That would make the perfect cover. I better watch myself.

  “Give me a coffee, black, hash browns smothered and covered, and three scrambled eggs with toast.”

  “You got it, sir. Comin’ right up,” the skinny waitress replied.

  He turned on his bar stool to face Elizabeth and seeing she was within earshot, he fished a bit.

  “You, little lady, you from around here?” Elizabeth looked up, surprised that he had spoken. She looked around. The place was full of customers. No harm in answering him. He was just making small talk.

  “Not too far from here. I stayed at the Horseshoe a little too long last night. Missed the casino ride back.”

  “Oh is that so? You have any luck over there?”

  “Nope. Not a bit. Just kept trying to win my money back,” she lied. “How about you?”

  “I, uh, come to town occasionally to do a bit of gambling on the dogs,” he lied right back.

  “You have any luck last night?” she asked.

  “I didn’t do too bad for an old geezer. Was out rather late myself. Just headed back home. Thought I’d grab a bite first.”

  “Didn’t I see you over there at the Shell yesterday?” Elizabeth asked, but soon regretted it. By the look on his face, he remembered her too, and was not pleased.

  “Uh...yep...me and Carnel is track buddies. He didn’t hit a lick all night. Was all broke up about it too.”

  “Sounds like he has my kind of luck.”

  Elizabeth played with the oatmeal, stirring it in small circles. They had brought the man’s food by now, and he had turned back to his plate and was putting the food away. If he comes to Memphis to gamble with that Carnel, then why was he having to follow him to the track? And what was he doing putting horse feed in the back of Carnel’s car? She remembered seeing a couple of horse farms advertised along the way to Memphis. “Tennessee Walking Horses For Sale, Pine Hill Stable
s,” one sign had read near the Brownsville exit. Maybe Carnel did raise horses.

  Elizabeth choked down as much of the breakfast as she could stand. She placed a tip on the table and headed for the register, taking her chocolate milk with her. She asked for a to-go cup as the waitress rang up her check.

  “I’m a headed your way if you need a ride, missy. Don’t mind a little company.”

  “That’s ok. I’m going to catch a bus back.”

  “Well, yore welcome to ride with me, if you ain’t skeered of a good ol’ boy like me.”

  “Thanks just the same, but I’m not quite ready to leave town.” Elizabeth paid the ticket and headed back to the restrooms. The man’s body odor had sent her morning sickness into overdrive.

  Catfish paid his tab and headed out to the truck to do a bit of thinking. He put a dollar into the newspaper machine and drew out a paper. The robbery had made front page. He quickly scanned the article. No suspects, no leads. “Police frantic to find leads and suspects before the trail goes cold,” he mumbled. She saw me with Frankie last night. If Frankie’s body is found, there will be an investigation. The girl can put me in Memphis at the time of the robbery. She’s a loose end. Even if she’s not DEA, she’s seen me. He would wait for her to come out from the Waffle House. He would just have to make sure she never made it the bus station. There were plenty of places back home to hide a body. He had not come this far and gotten in this deep to spend the rest of his life in the penitentiary. Such a shame. She was such a pretty young thing too. Maybe he would carry her up in the hills a few days and have some fun with her first.

  Catfish cranked the old truck and started the heater. It was another mild day in the 50’s, but his blood and bones were ice cold. He was too old to make these runs. He was going to retire and build a brick and mortar home with indoor plumbing soon. Soon, if everything went well. Everything must go as planned; the future depended upon it. He had too much at stake to turn back now.