The following is an excerpt from A Witch in the Wardrobe by L.D. Wenzel. It’s a featured Speakeasy selection, and there are still limited review copies available for qualified reviewers.
Unlikely Hero
“Ow,” Simon cried, writhing in pain as someone stretched duct tape across his mouth and bound his hands behind his back. He now lay still, his face pressed into the freezing snow. The pain left him powerless. Their attackers hid their faces with ski masks with Scandinavian designs. Simon cried out to Shannon, but his voice was muffled. Where was she? He lifted his head and peered into the night, hoping she had escaped. But no, just a few yards away in a snowbank, she was down and hog-tied, squirming and kicking in vain. A man raised his baton and ruthlessly hit her. She now lay still.
“Okay, we’re done here,” said a voice with a heavy Irish accent. “Get your phone and call our getaway car. Get these two off this path before someone passes by.”
Two men lifted Simon’s legs and dragged his bruised body from the Prairie Path. One hauled Shannon feet first beside him. Their eyes met in mutual terror.
Simon and Shannon were heaped behind some bushes until a car came and stopped nearby. The kidnappers threw them into the trunk and shut it. It was freezing cold. Then the engine revved, and the rear wheels squealed forward. Simon banged his head against the trunk lid. “Ouch!”
Shannon was defiant and twisted about in the darkness. Simon did the same, contorting this way and that, ignoring the throbbing pangs in his battered body. Suddenly, the tight grasp of the tape around one wrist loosened. Remembering a trick from his Indian cousins, he squeezed and freed his hand from its noose.
He ripped the gag from his mouth. “Shannon!” he hissed in a loud whisper. “Are you all right?”
The tape muffled her groans as he fumbled about in the dark until he found her face and removed the tape from her mouth. Shannon groaned.
“Sh-sh. Not so loud,” said Simon. “They might hear us. Are you all right, Shannon?”
“My body hurts all over,” she moaned. “And I’m freezing.”
“Who are these guys?”
“They’re Irish, Unionists. I can tell by their accents. The Mason Gang is out to kill me. And now you, too. Patrick warned us, but I didn’t listen. You were right all along, and now I’ve dragged you into this mess. I’m so sorry.”
“Never mind. We’re here now. My one hand is free. We got a break. What can we do about it? Let’s see if I can free your hands. Where are they now?”
“No,” she said. “This car will stop somewhere, and, if untied, they’ll shoot me on sight. We can’t let them know our advantage. I have a better idea. Try to find my feet.”
“What?”
“Just do as I say. I’ll explain later. The foot I’m kicking is the one you want.”
In the darkness, Simon groped about her soft body as his hand slid along her thigh and calves until he found her kicking foot.
“Good. Now, slide your hand up my pants leg, and inside my stocking, you’ll find a small holster—and a pistol.”
“What?”
“Yes, a subcompact Glock 26. That guy who frisked me ran his hand up and down my legs and passed right over my weapon. It’s semiautomatic. Now, do as I say.”
Simon rolled up Shannon’s pants leg past her stocking and found a small leather pouch. He removed a handgun that was smaller than the palm of his hand.
“Simon, listen. If we’re lucky, they slip up somewhere, and you’ll get a chance to act. Forget how you botched up in Milwaukee. Recall what you learned as a child. It’s still within you. You must believe that and say one of your prayers.”
“Maybe I should untie you and give the gun to you. You’re the marksman with experience.”
“We’re dead if these hoodlums open the trunk lid and find me untied. Hurry, this car could stop at any time. Do you have both hands free?”
“Kind of. One hand is still entangled with rope, but the other hand is completely free.”
“Is that the one you would shoot with?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Simon, pull yourself together. You can do this. I assume they’ll take us to a secluded place.”
“The forest preserve.”
“Simon, here’s my plan. I’ll still be tied up, but you can fake being bound with a gun behind your back. They won’t want to stain the car with blood, so they’ll drag us out of the trunk and kill us in the bushes, first me and then you.”
“Speculation, Shannon; how do you know what they will do?”
“I don’t, but I’m from Belfast. I’ve heard their stories and know how things work.”
“Okay, what’s the plan?”
“Since I’m their target, they’ll take me first. They want me dead, and killing you is an afterthought. Pay attention. Focus. They’ll be nervous and are bound to bungle something. Any opportunity will be momentary, so act quickly and precisely without fear. The chamber fires ten rounds. Shoot and kill the closest person and then shoot the next. Hopefully, chaos ensues, and we can turn the tables. Don’t think. Just act and let your motor skills emerge. Let’s now just lay still. Go through the plan in your head until you see it clearly.
“Listen, no traffic noises,” said Shannon. “The car has left the main road.”
Simon leaned back on the spare tire behind him. His free hand was numb from the cold, and he could hardly feel the shape of the pistol. Simon recalled the guns he had handled as a child and fingered the safety, turning it off and on. The boy from Minnesota pointed his weapon at the lid above him, imagining it was lifting. As the evil faces stared down, he would shoot to save Shannon’s life.
The car slowed down to a crawl. Their bruised bodies banged hard at every bump.
“Simon,” whispered Shannon, “we’re now on some deserted road. I can feel it. They’ll soon be parking where no one else can see or hear. This is how the Mason Gang works. We need a break, or we’ll soon be dead. My fate is in your hands. I’m sorry to force this on you, but it is what it is.”
“I’ll do my best,” he said. “Shannon, I’m scared.”
“Me too, Simon, and if we don’t get another chance, I want you to know I shall never forget you.” She paused and then laughed. “Boy, talk about an understatement.”
“Lord, have mercy upon us.”
“Simon, find that piece of tape and put it back on my mouth, and do the same for yourself. Remember, it’s already been on your mouth and lost its stick, so be careful.”
Simon poked about among the tools and other objects in the darkness until he found both pieces of tape and placed the first over his mouth.
“Simon,” she said just before the tape covered her lips. “I believe in you. Good luck.”
The car came to a complete stop, accompanied by the sound of doors opening. Simon laid back in fear, regretting not saying goodbye to Shannon.
They heard men with Belfast accents. “You got the keys, Colin; open the goddamn trunk.”
The lid swung open as three flashlights beamed on Simon and Shannon’s faces. Shannon kicked and writhed to show herself bound and helpless. She faked her screams behind tight lips to avoid loosening the tape. Simon laid still and did his best to cower like a lamb, ready for slaughter.
“Okay, lads, you know what to do,” said the leader with a heavy Irish accent. “Behind those bushes, I’ve dug two holes in the snowbank, one for each. We drag them over, throw them in, and then shoot them, first the girl and then her boyfriend. Put on your silencer, and don’t spatter blood on the snow. Then we cover them with snow and pray it doesn’t melt until spring. Let’s get to it.”
“Yes, Basil.” One grabbed Shannon by the shirt collar while the other took her legs. They lifted her out of the trunk and threw her onto the ground.
“Boss, let me shoot the girl,” said the youngest of the three.
“You’ll do as I say,” said Basil.
“She killed my cousin in Milwaukee. Let me do it.”
A third man stood by Simon with a gun pointed at his head. “You heard the boss. He doesn’t want to bloody up his car, so lie still, and you might live a few more minutes to say your prayers.”
Simon lay still and did his best to exaggerate his fright. He scanned the scene from behind his facade with a pistol in hand. Shannon was kicking and squirming with all her might as they lifted her again. And then, in her struggle, the ill-fitting tape fell from her mouth, and Shannon started screaming at the top of her lungs. “Help! Help! Is there anyone out there?”
The startled captors dropped her. The younger man kicked her hard in the chest. “Shut up, you bitch.”
But Shannon screamed even louder. “Help! Help!”
He kicked her again, but this time on the head. Shannon fell silent.
This distracted the man guarding Simon. “Do you need any help, Boss?’’ As he turned to the others, Simon drew his gun, pulled the trigger, and buried a bullet deep into the backside of the Irishman’s head. He fell to the ground, dead.
“Great, Simon, now shoot the others!” shouted Shannon.
Shannon’s would-be executors were stunned. The dead man was the only one with a gun in hand. Panicking, they fumbled for their holstered pistols.
“Quick,” cried Shannon. “Shoot!”
Simon shot and hit the leader in the shoulder. “Ah-ah!” Simon fired again and a bullet pierced his chest. The man dropped his gun and fell to the ground, writhing in pain.
“Good shot, Simon. Now for the last one, quick before he runs away.”
Simon fired twice at the younger man but missed. He was without a weapon and scrambled for the woods and escaped unscathed.
Shannon lay in the snow, struggling to free herself. Simon quickly loosened his other hand and feet. He hopped out of the trunk to free Shannon.
She threw her arms around his neck. “Simon, I knew you could do it. You saved my life.”
“Now we’re even; let’s get out of here. The police must be on their way.”
“And the man who escaped will be back with more men.”
The man Simon had shot in the chest was still alive. He was wheezing and gurgling blood in his throat. His eyes reached out to Simon, begging for mercy.
“Don’t fall for that old trick, Simon,” said Shannon. She picked up the man’s gun from the ground. Before Simon could protest, Shannon pulled the trigger and shot the Irishman point-blank. Simon watched aghast as the blood streamed out of the hole in his forehead.
“Was that necessary?” asked Simon, stunned by her cool and calm manner.
“Are you kidding? We were seconds away from being killed. This is self-defense, Simon. Deal with it.”
“But the man was gravely wounded and no threat to us. He might have died on his own. Only God should decide such things.”
“Enough of your Christian dogmas! Had he survived, he would have chased you down to your death. This is the Mason Gang. I know these people. They never quit.” Fury now raged in her eyes. “That man who escaped, I recognized him from the Belfast murders. He’ll be back with a vengeance, along with others. C’mon, let’s get out of here.”
Shannon grabbed Simon’s hand, and the two ran into the dark woods without knowing where they were. They stumbled along through the snow covering the roots and stones.
“No matter which way we go, we’re bound to end up back in the city,” said Simon. “Shannon, I can’t believe how you killed that man.”
Finally, they found a snow-free path, and their flight quickened pace. In the distance, glimpses of streetlights flickered between the trees.
“Keep running, Shannon, don’t stop now. Soon, we’ll be surrounded by cars and trucks. How are you feeling?”
“I’m hurting all over, but the adrenaline is flowing. I’ll worry about the pain later.”
Finally, they reached a bustling avenue and hurried through the traffic to a gas station on the other side. They plopped down on a bench near the air pumps, still panting.
“Are you okay, Shannon? They beat and kicked you without mercy. You may have broken ribs.”
“Bruises, yes, but nothing broken. I’ll be sore for a while, for sure.” She grabbed his arm and snuggled close and tight. “Simon, we survived, and I owe it all to you. You were so brave.
“This gas station should have restrooms. We’d better wash away as much blood as possible. We must look terrible.”
“And suspicious. Get your cell phone out and call Patrick. He must be worried sick.”
“Nothing doing. Those bastards took it. I hope the police don’t find it.”
“What will the police think when they find two dead men and blood everywhere?”
“Irish militias quickly remove their dead. Those guys surely snuck into the country and won’t be identified. The police will see it as some Mafia shooting by illegal immigrants.” Shannon smiled. “Besides, UNIKORN will cover the whole thing up. That is if they exist.”
“I’m a pacifist,” said Simon with tears in his eyes. “I just killed a man and mortally wounded another.”
“Would you rather that we be dead?”
“I’ve got blood on my hands. Now I’ve been baptized into your Belfast nightmare.”
“Simon, you saved my life.” With eyes washed with tears, she leaned over, kissed him on the cheek, and then whimpered. “You’re my unlikely hero. I owe you my life.”
Blushing, Simon touched the spot on his cheek and then pointed across the parking lot. “Look, there’s a phone booth, and I’ve just enough change to call Colleen. How will we explain this to Patrick? What will he say?”
“For sure, he’ll be mad as hell.”
Praise for A Witch in the Wardrobe
“The strongest element of this narrative is how seriously it takes books—there is something thrilling about the idea that books, and their interpretations, can be matters of life and death.”
—Kirkus Review
“This mismatched duo of a Christian college professor and an Irish goth paramilitary is an excellent hook, backed up by colorful secondary characters, secret societies, and a ruthless antagonist. There’s a kind of Dan Brown/Stieg Larsson feel to this project in terms of elaborate conspiracies and unlikely but compelling collaborations between bookish men and post-punk female warriors.”
—Stephen J. Carver, former professor of literature, East Anglia University
“From war-torn Northern Ireland to the hallowed halls of an American evangelical college, L.D. Wenzel takes us on an exciting journey full of action and nail-biting tension. Controversial aspects of C.S. Lewis’s legacy are also ingeniously woven into the story. This is definitely a book that I can highly recommend.”
—Lasse Heimdal, general secretary, Kirkens SOS, Norway
About the Author
L.D. Wenzel is a retired American author who has lived in Norway for many years. He grew up in the Midwest and studied philosophy at Wheaton College. He specializes in religious fiction set in the evangelical world, combining existential themes with adventure and romance. His first novel, Caught in the Winds, concerns the struggles of a Christian boy at an evangelical college.
A Witch in the Wardrobe on Bookshop
L.D. Wenzel’s Website
L.D. Wenzel Interview on The Author Show
A Witch in the Wardrobe YouTube character shorts
No comments yet.