Control Ch. 03

Geoffrey is suddenly euphoric. He finds himself standing and jumping. He's shouting. He's pounding the desk. "Annie! Annie! You're telling me! God damn it you're telling me! My Annie! You're doing it!" He's so proud of her.

Then he stops. That was weeks ago. Maybe months. She's gone further down since then, so far that she's hardly there at all. This tells Geoffrey one other thing. Satan is killing her. It's obvious. He's killing her slowly and monstrously. And he's almost finished with her.

* * * * *

"Mrs. Reynolds? I'm sorry to be calling out of the blue like this, but do you have an address and phone number where I might contact Anne and Victor?" He listens, playing with a pencil. Doodling. He puts down the pencil. "Four months? Jesus." A pause. "Ten months since you've seen her? Mrs. Reynolds, what was their last address that you know of? Yes, I know. Yes. Well, there's something I have to tell you. Are you sitting down?"

Don't bother trying to call the FBI on a Saturday to tell them your love has been kidnapped and is in peril. When you've called six times and left six messages and someone finally returns a call, you find out. They are polite and will take down the information you give them, but it is clear they aren't very interested in an ex-fiancée who left you to marry another and who may be sending coded messages with her eyes.

In between calls Geoffrey wonders: How did Satan miss her distress message? After all, he set the scene and made her rehearse. Maybe he couldn't be bothered to watch her face closely. Or maybe he does know. Maybe he's so arrogant he thinks it's funny that her cry for help is right out there for anyone to see. Because no one will notice. She'll be like the Titanic, sinking while ships pass in the night. Maybe she'll die right there on screen, for the audience. Die live. Yes. Satan would enjoy that, wouldn't he? Another oxymoron for him. Would the audience get off to that? Would anyone even bother to spill the beans?

The University's IT director is next. "Mike? I need help. Badly. I need to track down the physical address of a Web site. I need someone who does it for a living." He makes other calls.

While he waits for a spreading circle of hackers and geeks and Internet PIs to bring him information, Geoffrey makes a list of tools he thinks he might need. He'll have to face Satan alone and rescue Anne himself. Heroic stuff. Yeah, but the police won't take it seriously. The phone rings and there's some information. More will be coming. In the meantime he leaves to fill his shopping list, and when he does a wave of exhaustion sweeps through him so strongly that he finds himself leaning against a door frame.

The gun takes only fifteen minutes, including the instant background check. A nice, used Glock and two boxes of bullets. Mightier than the pen. Then to the hardware store. When he gets home his answering machine light is blinking. It's twilight and the cats are hungry. Geoff makes a sandwich to eat while he plays the messages.

Satan has been almost too easy to find. There's an address this side of DC, half a night's drive away. Damn he's arrogant! As hell. Maybe it's a weakness.

Geoff involves himself with busywork. He prints maps off the Internet. Stay alive Anne. Keep breathing my darling. He leaves extra food and water for the cats. He gets soft drinks to keep himself awake while he drives. Anne. Listen. Don't die tonight. I'm coming. Please try to live. I'm coming. Stay alive.

The evening has taken over by the time Geoffrey pulls out of the driveway. He has been awake thirty-six hours.

End of Chapter Three.