Bound by Blood and Brimstone (49 page)

knowledge I have. It’s the least I can do for Lorrie Beth, keeping her shame hidden. She won’t

be the victim in her death as she was in life.

Poor, sweet baby. Her beauty and purity of heart were curses to her, magnets of desires

too black for her innocent soul to bear. I was meant to bear them for her, but failed to take note

of all the signs. Warnings through the years, from those closest to me, were ignored or

misinterpreted.

Daddy, Wonnie, Mike Sheldon, God, they all had something to say about Lorrie Beth’s

destiny, but I didn’t hear. I was only a child myself, though far more different from other

children than I realized.

From within, there were other signs. My window gave me a glimpse of Noah Lunsford’s

death, and The Dream I suffered on the tail of Sue Lee’s death was crammed with deadly

messages.

I think the one person I most regret not hearing was Mike Sheldon. He warned me that

Caleb Jacobs wasn’t what he appeared to be. How much devastation could’ve been avoided if I’d

taken that to heart? Only God can answer that. He can answer because He’s the One who sent

Mike Sheldon.

I know now that Mike was an angel. His mission was to give me the news that my Father

would never abandon me. In my mind, that had already happened when my daddy was taken, so

I wanted no part of Mike’s message.

Someday, I’ll be able to mourn Sue Lee and Caleb’s passing along with that of my

family. The tragic sister and brother were, in some ways, every bit as innocent of wrong doing as

Lorrie Beth. Just like her, they were victims of birth, circumstance, and insidious darkness. May

God rest their souls.

I’ll mourn Noah Lunsford as well. Like the noble prince in all fairy tales, he was sent to

battle the dragon and rescue the damsel in distress. He was the strong, shining symbol of all the

goodness our damsel deserved, but unlike all fairy tales, the dragon won.

There’s one thing I know with the certainty of knowing every life ends. Will Roberts was

my daddy. He loved my mother as she was, carrying another man’s seed in her belly, and he

stood against the sneers of small town minds when two full-term baby girls were born “early.”

He was the father of my heart, soul, and spirit, wearer of shoes that only real men can fill. In the

end, that’s all that counts.

I’m not the same person as the young woman who crumbled under the telling of Aunt

Celeste’s story. The changes started in the weeks following her visit and are growing day by day.

I can’t say what or who’s responsible for those changes, but I strongly suspect Wonnie’s hand in

it.

I think she’s the reason I healed so quickly. I know she was in my room at the hospital a

lot more than people were aware of, stealing in on the soft feet of the cheetah. Maybe she really

is some kind of witch. Who’s to say? She remains strong, agile, quick-witted, and as accurate

with her shotgun as anyone in their twenties. Yet, her age is not to be believed. She’s one

hundred twenty-one years old.

If anything, she appears to look and act younger than when I was a child. She claims that

the presence of two “young ones” has restored her youth. She says God won’t let her die until

I’m done with what I’ve been given to do. I never question what Wonnie tells me.

People who don’t know me might suggest that all the money is somehow responsible for

the changes. At first, I wanted no part of it or anything else connected to my mother. Her

inheritance, wielded over her for years by her father, was to have been held in trust until the time

came when he believed she’d learned her lesson.

Never sure when he would deem the time right, Momma had kept her fortune a secret,

even from Daddy. Only she and Celeste knew she stood to come into more money than most

people can spend in a lifetime.

When the day finally came when Momma learned her inheritance was hers for the taking,

she chose not to claim it, for fear Reese would take control. According to Celeste, Momma’s last

days were spent obsessing over keeping that secret until the money could be given over safely to

me.

No way does money make up for Momma’s selfishness. No way does her money or her

post-death confession redeem her in my eyes. Money has never meant anything to me except

when I worked myself into the ground, trying to get enough of it to rescue my brother and sister.

It never held any particular charm for me.

However, in the weeks following Aunt Celeste’s visit, I had a change of heart. Though

money may not buy happiness, three million dollars can at least rent some privileges for a time.

Sam will reap the benefits of those privileges.

The changes are the reason I’ve lived to tell this tale. My counselor was right about one

thing. Talking about my ordeal by writing about it in this journal may’ve helped start the healing,

but she doesn’t know what had already begun by the time I said goodbye to her at our last

session.

Fearing sleep is a thing of the past now. The nightmares have ceased because I don’t have

to sleep as others do. I can sail through weeks now with no more than a couple of hours of sleep.

It’s a great advantage, having all that extra time to think and plan.

The roaring in my head has finally quieted to a low hum, and most days I hardly notice it

because of the visions. My little window stays wide open now, but I’m learning to control it bit

by bit. Before too much longer, I’ll be able to open and close it at will.

I can see some things yet to happen, but by far my most vivid sight is of the people I want

to find. If I concentrate hard enough, I can see them clearly as they are in that moment.

It’s a double-edged sword, this gift, especially when it brings me the swirling sea of faces

related to Reese’s victims. Each of them was someone’s daughter, someone’s sister, some baby’s

mother, and the suffering in those faces left behind is what I’m forced to view. I want to tell

them I’m coming.

I can see someone else, too. She travels by back roads, alone and on foot, intent on

reaching me before the weather turns cool again. She’s a fighter and a survivor, unafraid to bed

down in the woods at night, seasoned by the bite of fate’s fickle winds, same as me. I’m waiting

for her.

We were on the porch watching the sun sink into the mountains when she breached the

clearing, stepping lightly under the weight of her massive backpack. Her clothes were grimy

from the dust of the road, her face hidden beneath the bill of a man’s cap, but the lithe grace of

the long legs was unmistakable.

She neared the foot of the steps, released the backpack with a thud, and flipped the filthy

cap into the yard, unleashing a golden river of blonde hair to dance in the evening breeze. Her

blue eyes met mine where I stood, fighting tears.

“I’ve been expecting you,” I said.

“It’s a miracle I remembered how to get here. I was only here once, you know, and that

was lifetimes ago,” she said, taking in Wonnie’s slight form and Sam’s grin.

The sapphire eyes welled up as she stepped in for my embrace. “I’ve missed ya’ll so

much, Cleo.”

September 15

As a runaway with a backlog of adventures, Janine has her own story to tell, which,

thankfully, doesn’t include Reese, but as she says, those tales can wait. She needs to rest up a bit

before we begin our preparations. According to my visions, our journey will be long, but fruitful,

and I trust the visions.

She still marvels at the way she was compelled to come to me, like a magnet was drawing

her, she says. I just laugh at her, knowing she’s here for God’s own reason.

One fact of life is now first and foremost to me. Evil is real. It can’t be excused by

poverty, illness, neglect, or even abuse. It lives and breathes and stalks the innocent. I should

know. I lived with it and faced it down.

I can see Reese clearer than ever now, and he’s far from being sick and weak. Evil can’t

be destroyed easily. I know where you are, Reese. I know every minute of every day what you’re

doing, and there’s not a corner of the globe you can go to hide from me. Go ahead and think

you’ve won, for now. That’ll only give me the edge I need. I’m coming for you, Reese.
I am

God’s Hammer
.

About the Author:

I’m a native of eastern Kentucky and a single working mom. For ten years, I

taught English and science on the middle school level and fell in love with troubled

youth. Because of the desire for more time in the evenings with my daughter, I left

teaching a few years ago and now work for a local community action agency. I’m a

life-long reader and lover of fiction, and reading remains one of my greatest joys. I

reside in Hazard, Kentucky with my daughter and our dog, Sharlee. We’re

surrounded by family, which is my greatest blessing. My daughter is the love of my

life, but writing is my passion.