Double Cross

Part 9

The singer managed to reach the edge of the vast lawn without being seen, then he quickly disappeared behind the brush and trees.  It wasn't easy running with uncomfortable rubber soles and Elvis quickly decided he hated flip flops.  They were nothing more than a cheap imitation of a sandal and the toe thongs hurt.

He stopped walking, bending over and putting his hands on his knees while inhaling gasps of air.  Despite over two weeks of exercise and dieting, he was still out of shape.  Finally, he stood upright and took stock of his surroundings.  The best place to be spotted would be an open beach area, so he wound his way through the thicket until, an hour later, he finally realized he was lost.  He simply had no idea which way to head, and it worried him that he might accidentally make his way back to the mansion.  He looked down at the ground, hoping this island didn't have poisonous snakes lurking under the leaf litter and sticks, although that was a distinct possibility.  

Another hour passed and trees above his head were starting to sway as the breeze was noticeably picking up.  After a while, Elvis found a fallen tree and sat down, wiping the sweat from his forehead.  He looked up at the sky, frowning as he noticed the swirl of darkening clouds gathering above his head.  This might not have been the best time to try and escape, Elvis thought morosely.   Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself off the log and continued to pick his way through the wooded area.  After yet more walking around, he stopped and listened.  In the distance he could hear something familiar... the sound of waves breaking against the shore.  With a surge of new energy, he moved forward, finally stumbling down an incline and was rewarded with the sensation of sand between his toes.

A vast expanse of water greeted his tired eyes, although he could see no ships or boats anywhere on the horizon.  Holding his hand up to shade his eyes, he gazed up at the ominous sky.  The wind was getting stronger with every passing minute, and sand was starting to blow, stinging his skin.  A plane, too far away to signal, could be seen, looking smaller than a child's toy.  

With no other option, Elvis gathered up sticks from the edge of the woods, and proceeded to lay down an "SOS" in the shifting sand.  When this was completed, he decided to seek shelter and headed down the white stretch of sand, hoping his kidnappers wouldn't be able to locate him.  They would certainly be furious, and he suspected he would pay a high price for running from them.

Another thirty minutes passed, and Elvis needed to put his head down to ward off the wind and biting sand.  Finally he saw something... a clearing in the tree line.  Was that the mansion?  If so, he was in trouble.  Cautiously he made his way up a small hill, and felt a smile spread over his face. The clearing lead up to the end of a runway, and off in the distance he could see an airplane hanger.  It was undoubtedly the same hanger he'd disembarked inside two weeks ago.

Elvis hurried over to the large metal building, and yanked on the door.  It wasn't locked, probably due to the fact this was a private island, and the kidnappers didn't feel the need to protect the building with locks.  Inside the hanger was a private Learjet 35, as well as a smaller type helicopter.  At this point, Elvis wished he'd taken flying lessons, which would certainly come in handy.  Although, considering the weather, attempting to fly with an approaching hurricane would be suicide.  

He shut the door, and approached the aircraft.  The Learjet was shut, but the helicopter was open.  With the wind howling outside, Elvis was grateful he'd found shelter, and explored the interior of the building.  There was even a small office inside the hanger, with a washroom, which Elvis appreciated by this point.  Drying his face with a small towel, he noticed a telephone, and picked up the receiver, pleased when he heard a dial tone in his ear.  

Nervously he dialed "O" and hoped for the best.  After a few rings, a lady speaking Spanish answered.  Elvis had no idea how to speak Spanish, so he said, "Hello?  Do you understand English?"

"Si, Senor."

"My name is Elvis Presley.  I've been kidnapped, and I need help."

"¿Conoce el número al que debe llamar?"

"No, I don't understand...didn't you say you understood English?"

"Si."

"Wait... give me the Memphis police.  You know, Memphis Tennessee? Or the Las Vegas Nevada police department."

"¿Necesita comunicarse con la policía de la ciudad de Belice?"

"What?"  A sudden large gust of wind rattled the roof of the hanger, and the phone line started to crackle into static.  "Are you still there?  Ma'am?  Hello?"  Elvis clicked the cradle of the receiver several times, to no avail.  The operator was gone, and the phone no longer had a dial tone.  "Shit."

Now the wind was really blowing, and the sides of the metal building shook as loud bangs sounded against the outer walls, undoubtedly trees or limbs being thrown against the sides of the hanger.  He looked up at the ceiling, wondering if the building would hold together throughout the hurricane.  Elvis gazed around the building, wondering where it would be the safest place to shelter, and decided the sturdiest place was either the small washroom or inside the helicopter.  After a moment of hesitation, he headed back into the washroom, recalling reading something along the lines that the pipes inside a bathroom made it a bit sturdier than the rest of a house during a tornado.

Sitting down next to the commode, Elvis sighed.  A year after he'd been born, a F5 tornado tore through his birthplace of Tupelo, causing extensive damage.  Over two hundred homes and lives had been lost and destroyed.  Somehow, the Presley family had been spared.  

Maybe God would see fit to spare him from this storm, too.