Abbey Burning Love. Donan Ph.D. Berg
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diamonds embedded in a gold clasp retained long blond head hair twisted behind and slightly right of center. As grandmother and mother before, she wore the heirloom clasp proudly. An elegant, single-strand, pearl necklace matched a pair of pearl-stud earrings.
Black pantyhose, stretched around muscular thighs and well-developed calves, shimmered in the spotlight as the miniskirt hem visually elongated legs. The nylon swished with each tottering step toward the center stage standing microphone. Journey completed, she wobbled ever so slightly on trimmed in black patent leather straw sandals with three-inch stiletto heels.
“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please?” Jam-packed to the fire marshal limit, the guests slowly clamped their collective jaw. Three hundred pairs of eyes gazed at Melissa. Overhead ballroom lights dimmed and a yellowish spot of light encircled her body, center stage. She patiently waited, rocking imperceptibly back and forth trying to steady herself on the balls of her feet, and still she couldn’t catch a glimpse of the one attendee her heart longed for. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you. I believe you all recognize me. I’m Melissa Malone, chair of this year’s forty-first fund-raising gala for The Abbey. I would like to thank each of you for coming and for what I know will be your generous monetary support. With your help, we’ll surpass the forty-five thousand dollars raised last year.” She glimpsed downward to bathe in Father’s warm smile. He occasionally failed to remember names of lifelong donors, but Melissa well understood his devotion to his beloved Abbey would never falter. He’d teared up that morning telling Melissa how his heart swelled with pride when she assumed his leadership role to preserve The Abbey.
From center stage, she heard the paneled-wood entrance door bang twice. Blaring, piercing police and fire department siren high notes startled her to the core. A queasy stomach knotted when the screeching sounds escalated louder and louder. She pivoted to gaze left into the stage wing where a woman’s hands collided in their frantic frenzy to locate light panel dimmers to power-up the main ballroom lights. Melissa gasped as the far wall spotlight glowed like a Fourth of July sparkler and sprayed flashes of light up, down, left, and right. A deafening sibilant crackling sound accompanied the rising crescendo of the spotlight’s housing vibration until it burnt out. Darkness enveloped Melissa. For several seconds, miniature light rings from the spotlight glare danced behind closed eyelids. Teary moisture aided refocusing eyes as fingertips rubbed both eye socket corners hard. Core panic welled in an instant. She could barely see fingertips or painted nails on an outstretched hand.
A voice bellowed from the ballroom floor: “There’s smoke in the kitchen.” A chorus of voices yelled, “Fire! The kitchen’s on fire.” Melissa sensed wild pandemonium replace the joyful chatter of friends gathered for an evening of festive good cheer. Shadowy ballroom guests below near the stage apron, outlined by the flickering glow of table candles, pushed, jostled, and shoved. In the narrow aisle between the first table row and the elevated stage deck, they bunched together in a centipede motion left toward a battery lighted exit sign.
Father, where are you? She couldn’t hear his voice or see him.
An earsplitting explosion pained Melissa’s eardrum. Beneath soles the rumble and creaks of uplifting and dropping ancient timbers combined to sway her left and right. Fine un-deciphered particles stung forehead and cheeks; she raised a forearm to protect both eyes. The crashing metal and glass boom heard before the screams she believed to be the spotlight. Frequent air gulps coated the mouth’s roof with a fine powder, which activated a gagging reflex. The airborne particles clogged nostrils. “Mary,” she shouted. “The lights! Where are you?” No response. Gone too was access to an inhaler.
An oxygen-consuming heat blast deflated Melissa’s lungs. Shouts carried to the stage announced the far ballroom wall had collapsed. Shrieks, moans, and groans ricocheted off ballroom surfaces suffocating each prior volley. Melissa’s muscles tensed and a gripping head-to-toe paralysis immobilized her.
Flames flashed overhead.
In the ever-increasing density of a smoky haze, her brain separated two rays of light that entered the ballroom. Please be help, she prayed. Melissa wished she could cover eardrums from the screech and scrape sounds of chairs and tables pushed and dragged along the floor. A veil of heat descended, intensifying as it wrapped cheeks tighter and draped shoulders. Screams warning of falling ceiling debris echoed above gala attendees while a loud baritone voice pleading for calm resonated as from a megaphone.
Below one of the light rays, a helmeted fireman in full gear illuminated by a fire-flame flash popped out of the chokingly dense, smoky haze near the stage. A hose nozzle protruded from under his right arm.
Melissa’s upper body pressured knees to buckle as calf muscles relaxed. Her right foot stepped forward, full weight on its ball with the extended leg absorbing tilted body weight. Blurry, fuzzy vision combined with building, choking black smoke to obscure where her foot landed. Ear canal activated balance reflexes signaled muscles and tendons to exert pressure onto the floor to prevent a stumble.
An unknown vise-like force compressed above pelvis cloth and skin, left and right. Without warning, the pressure subsided. An excessively stimulated brain failed to energize tightening larynx muscles as two imagined arms encircled the waist and emulated a boa constrictor to squeeze lower abs against her spine. From the rear a shoulder-to-shoulder force nudged and pushed forward. Before Melissa’s face would lead a full body pancake onto the wooden stage floor, the arms, with thumbs locked into her bellybutton, jerked her stiff torso erect.
Smoke-filled air irritated lungs, parched eyeballs, super-heated skin, and stung nostrils. While Melissa struggled to prevent panic gulps from activating the throat’s involuntary choking reflex, she kicked heels left, then right.
Nothing.
The clenched capturing hands didn’t release.
No escape.
Roughly twisted by repositioned hands and momentarily rotating in midair, she perceived landing on a broad shoulder. Envisioned waist-grabbing hands now splayed fingers to stretch fibers covering nylon-clad hamstrings.
“Father,” she tried to cry out and failed.
Flailing two arms, one fist struck and bounced off hardened muscle. Additional swings missed everything, created fruitless motion, and sapped strength close to exhaustion. Wiggling hips sped dizzying blood to saturated brain cells positioned by her captor closer to the floor than feet. The faster she thrashed, the harder abductor fingers and palms squeezed on thigh flesh, tightly compressing heat-flushed sweating feminine skin to bone.
A familiar door bang interrupted, once then louder. Legs extended, a right heel pierced an unknown object. Twirled once, she heard cloth tear with eyes closed; every pore sweated in pain. A tingling, sliding touch to the calf and a third hand grabbed an ankle. Cooler air rushed between her legs.
* * *
“Miss Malone, can you tell me how many fingers I’m holding up?”
A blurry male face, atop a white medical coat, appeared high to the left, a stethoscope draped around his neck. “Where ... where am I?” Searching, groggy-minded words dropped off cracked lips into the room’s shade-filtered sunlight. A large, black-screened, unblinking monitor hovered above the man’s shoulder. Aching lungs that wouldn’t breathe normally scared her.
“How many fingers? ... Please?” His high-pitched voice echoed sweetness.
“Two, I think.” Questions flourished and bloomed. Had she been assaulted? Would blinking eyes ever stop hurting? A parched, inflamed throat ached. More important, what happened to the people she loved. “Where’s my father? Have you heard about friends ... Sarah, Alice? Sister ... Carol?”
The boyish-looking man scribbled onto a clipboard before he tilted his chin upward. “Miss Malone, I don’t know. If your pain becomes unbearable, press the nurse call button. Your doctor entered a computer order for codeine.” He hooked the clipboard over the metal bed end.
Melissa prided herself on being a resilient person. She’d ferret out answers. Working a lifetime to assist others eliminate cancer fears meant she could help herself. “Where am I?”