Plain Fear: Forgiven: A Novel (12 page)

A noise startled her.

It wasn’t the first time she couldn’t sleep at two in the morning. Andi sat in her darkened apartment. Watching the doors and windows. Listening to creaks and noises from the street. Waiting. No one was ever going to surprise her again.

First, she muted the television, strained her ears to hear the noise.
What
had
it
been? Someone crying out? A bird? The screech of a tire?
As a precaution, she folded her hand around the hilt of her semi-automatic weapon. Years ago, she’d bought the Beretta at a gun show. No guy was ever going to get the upper hand on her again. A single girl couldn’t be careless, which is why she carried pepper spray.

Good thing too. The spray worked on that loser who’d ganged up on poor Brydon. She hoped the librarian was okay. She’d run for her Yaris and called 911, but she’d driven straight home.
Good
luck, buddy. You’re on your own
.

To be certain the sound that woke her was of no significance, she crept toward the window and peered out at the parking lot. Nothing stirred. Cars were lined up neatly, with one Camry parked crookedly. Windows remained dark. Headlights off.

Slowly, she eased the blinds together and went back to the sofa. She hit the volume button on the remote, and voices floated over her. Images flickered past. She paid little attention to the television. It was just a distraction from the nightmares. And they’d been coming more often since that night a week ago.

As she’d run, leaving Brydon to fend for himself, she’d lost two of the books he’d given her, but she still had one. It sat ignored on the coffee table. She’d called the library a couple of days after they’d been attacked to check up on him, but when she’d asked for Brydon, the answering librarian had said, “Who?”

“Brydon.” She felt foolish because she didn’t know his last name. “He works there.”

“No one by that name works here.”

“He works at night.” Irritated at the stupid girl, Andi hung up and called later. But she’d received the same reaction.

Had
she
been
duped? Who was Brydon?
Not that she really cared. It didn’t matter anyway.
Good
riddance!
She’d plopped the book on the coffee table and hadn’t given it or him another thought.
Or
had
she?

Maybe she should at least take the book back to the library.
No
, she’d fumed. Served the guy right. He could pay an exorbitant library fee.

But now, her curiosity nudged her to reach for the book. Why had he wanted her to have this one? What had been the purpose? Was it a sex game book? What exactly had the pervert had in mind?

She snatched the book off the table and flipped open the cover only to have a folded piece of paper slide into her lap. She discovered it was a mimeographed newspaper article, one on each side of the page. Skimming the first, she read about a bunch of animals missing or killed in Lancaster County. Ho-hum. Was he trying to spook her? It would take more than that.

Flipping the paper, she felt her heart pounding as she read the second one.

Missing high school student Arianna Davenport has been found. After two weeks, she was discovered walking along Highway 27 in West Babylon near Walmart in a state of undress. After being checked at Good Samaritan Hospital, she was released to the care of her family. The emergency room doctor said that although slightly dehydrated, she was in good shape. He made no other comments as to her state of mind or what might have happened to the seventeen-year-old.

One of her classmates worried that Davenport had been abducted by a Satanic cult. Other sources, wishing to speak under the protection of anonymity, believed she had been involved with a vampire coven. When the teen went missing, her family had been featured on ABC, CNN, and FOXNews, where they showed pictures of their active high school senior who was a straight-A student, cheerleader, and volleyball player. Her family adamantly denied the teen ran away. They feared foul play. The police did too, yet they had the family and friends under close observation.

This morning the chief of police, Ryan Huldoon, conducted a press conference and said they would be speaking to Miss Davenport once she had rested and eaten.

Andi folded the article.
What
was
that
all
about?
Had Brydon wanted her to read that article? To have her nerves electrified? What was the point?

But her attention was drawn to the picture of the girl. She had wide eyes and an eerie expression, haughty and distant. Was the girl disturbed? Or had the girl truly been abducted? Did such things as vampire covens exist? It seemed preposterous, and yet she’d seen enough in her life that made her think anything was possible. Or was it?

And more than that—forget Brydon—why would Samuel be interested in things like this? Something had happened with his brother, something terrible enough to shake Samuel and his faith.

She remembered sleeping beside him several months ago, not long after his brother died, when he sat bolt upright in bed, muscles clenched, releasing a hoarse cry. Had he called his brother’s name?

“What’s wrong?” she’d asked sleepily, trying to snuggle against him.

A cold sweat coated his skin. He’d grunted and swung his feet to the floor.

“Samuel?”

“Go back to sleep.” His tone had been harsh.
Or
had
he
been
distressed?

Scooping his crumpled shirt off the floor, she’d pulled it on and followed after him into the den. With the lights in her apartment out, and only the glimmer of a light from the parking lot shining through the open blinds, she couldn’t see much but his outline. He stood in front of the window, oblivious to the fact that he was naked, staring out and yet looking more inward.

She laid a hand against his bare back. “Samuel, can’t you tell—”

He’d shrugged off her touch. “Don’t. I’m—” But he’d stopped himself.

“What?”

He’d shuddered. Slowly, his gaze shifted toward her, dark and frightening. Not scaring her, but as if he were the one scared. “Do you believe in evil?”

“What do you mean? Like in the garden of good and—”

“Evil,” he injected. “Pure evil.”

Did he think he’d been tainted by something sinful? She knew the Amish viewed life in black and white. Maybe his religion was confusing him, making him think something she couldn’t fathom.
Was
he
having
guilt
over
their
sexual
relationship?

“Do you mean like sin?”

“More than that. Not just one man or woman, but humanity and beyond.”

“Like that man is inherently evil and all that bull—eh.” She’d stopped herself because Samuel hated cursing. “All that garbage?”

He didn’t answer. He simply looked at her, his gaze begging for an answer, relief, something she wasn’t sure she had to give.

She smoothed a hand over his shoulder trying to distract him. “I don’t know about humanity, but let’s go back to bed and we can talk about that man/woman thing. I have a question about—”

“Do you believe?”

“Okay. Okay.” No joking.
Evil.
What
did
he
want
to
know
exactly?
“I think,” she ventured into this unknown realm, “people are basically screwed up. Heck, we all are. Blame your mother, your father, whoever. We’ve all been screwed one way or another. We’re all probably one push away from committing murder.”

“I’m not talking about why we do things. I’m talking about evil. As in Satan. Supernatural. Ghosts and demons and va—”

She’d laughed. It had burst out of her. Had he been about to say vampires? Or something else? She regretted her response now, but she’d wanted to get him off the weird topic and back to bed. It was late. She was tired. And who cared about that stuff anyway? “Look,” she’d said, “that stuff is just figments of our fertile imagination. Or some writer’s. Stories handed down. You know, like myths. Stephen King and Cujo. Come on, really?” She’d taken his hand. “Trust me, Samuel, I’ve seen every horror flick Hollywood ever made, and it’s all made-up stuff. It’s funny. You just had a bad dream, is all.”

He’d blinked and turned back to the window. That was the last time they’d ever spoken of the nightmares haunting him. And it wasn’t long after he’d told her he had things he had to work out. Alone.

So
had
he
seen
something
supernatural? Had he experienced some of those missing animals back in Promise? Had he seen his brother’s ghost?
Something had spooked him.

Leaning back into the sofa cushions, Andi tried once again to focus on Tom Cruise trying to save the world through some impossible mission. But her mind drifted off until it landed on her work friend, Skylar. The yoga instructor kept telling her about a psychic she claimed was really in tune with the supernatural and hereafter. Maybe she’d give this psychic a chance to explain things, and maybe even she could reach out to Samuel’s dead brother and give her some answers she could pass along to Samuel.

The day began at four.

Samuel worked Levi’s farm, feeding livestock, preparing fields. He ate meals with Levi (who made it to the table more often), Hannah (who often didn’t make it to the table because she had to feed one or both of the babies), and Naomi (who occasionally ended up the only one at the table with Samuel).

Today was that kind of day. Both babies were fussy, and Hannah stayed in the bedroom feeding one while Levi held the other, using a pillow to prop the child and relieve the pressure on his healing rib.

Naomi sat opposite Samuel at the kitchen table. It seemed too quiet between them, and he could hear himself chewing. But what did he have to say?

Thankfully, she passed him cheesy potatoes and asked, “Will you be working in the fields again this afternoon?”

He shook his head and swallowed a bite of roll. “I have an errand to run.”

“Will you be hitching up the buggy or the wagon?”

“I’ll take my bike.” He sliced into the ham that the Miller family had brought over. Many of the Fishers’ neighbors had brought meals to help out.

“Then you’ll be getting…” She paused as if waiting for a location, but when he didn’t supply it, she added, “There faster.”

“I suppose.” He dug his fork into the cheddar-topped potatoes.

“Sunday services are this week,” she added. “Will you be going?”

He tasted the potatoes, which were thick and creamy. He doubted he’d find a convenient excuse not to attend Sunday services. “I suppose so.”

“That will be nice.” Her cheeks splotched pink, and she sipped her iced tea. “For Levi to have his brother there with him…and Hannah…and the babies.”

“If Levi can manage himself,” Samuel said.

“He’s stronger every day. Won’t be long before he’ll be going full steam.”

She was an optimist. Samuel seemed to have lost that trait, if he’d ever had it. He nodded, keeping his elbows braced on the edge of the table.

“After Levi is mended, will you be staying on, do you think?” Her gaze skittered away from Samuel’s.

A warning bell clanged in his head.
What
was
she
wanting?
Maybe nothing. And yet, he’d learned enough about women through Andi to know that every question, gesture, smile had purpose. Didn’t it?

“I don’t know what I’ll do,” he hedged.

“The Lord will show you in His own good time,
ja
?”

Her words jabbed at him. He hadn’t prayed lately…at all, not since he’d shot his brother. How could he? How could he ask God for forgiveness? He felt like Cain. Was there now a mark upon him? Was his punishment eventual separation from those he cared about, his home, even his faith? Or only eternal?

“Samuel?” Naomi spoke softly. “Are you all right?”

“Sure.” He cleared his throat. “I just wish I knew all the answers.”

“Father says, ‘If we know all the answers then we haven’t asked all the questions.’”

That tugged a smile from him. “Wish I didn’t have so many questions.”

***

Late that afternoon, Samuel rode his motorcycle into Roc’s compound. The sun’s rays slanted down through tree limbs and budding leaves, speckling the ground with shadowy spots. On the pebbled driveway, a blue Jeep Cherokee jerked to a stop, backed up a few feet, and again wrenched to a stop. Eyeing the car warily, Samuel set the brake on his motorcycle and disengaged.

The passenger door of the Jeep opened first and Roc climbed out. He rubbed a hand over his face then waved at Samuel.

“Everything okay?” Samuel asked as Roc approached.

“Sure. Or it will be once my stomach catches up.”

Behind Roc, the driver’s door opened and Rachel emerged. She sent a smile and wave toward them but walked back toward the house.

“Teaching Rachel to drive, are you?”

“Yeah, she…uh…yeah.” Roc cocked his head sideways and popped his neck. “Good to see you, Samuel. How’s Levi?”

“Good.”

“But you didn’t come here because of Levi, did you?”

Samuel jammed his hands in his back pockets but looked straight at Roc. “I want to know more. Not just a tour. I need to know…to do—” His voice cracked on the hard emotions.

“Of course. Come on.” He clapped Samuel on the back. “We’ll get you started.”

Roc led Samuel into the barn structure. The men he’d seen earlier in the week worked at different stations. One lifted weights, another climbed one of the many ropes leading up to the ceiling where a bank of swivel pulleys waited, while another threw knives at a board, the point stabbing with precision into the black outline of a man.

“Joe?” Roc waved over one of the men. The man’s muscles bulged out from beneath a black T-shirt. “Get Samuel started, all right?”

“Sure thing.” Joe had a few inches and more than a few pounds on Samuel. His head was shaved, and the intensity in his gaze was unsettling. “Let’s go, kid.”

Samuel’s gaze dragged behind, lingering on Roc, who took off in the opposite direction. With no other recourse, Samuel followed Joe toward the ropes. “You, uh, been here long?”

Joe grabbed one rope by a knot and swung it toward Samuel. “Start climbing.”

Samuel caught the rope. “Why?”

Joe’s deep-set eyes, the color of whiskey, carried potency. “No questions.”

“Why not? What’s the point then?”

Joe took two steps toward Samuel and through tight lips said, “The point is you do what I tell you. Got it?”

Samuel shrugged out of his coat and tossed it on the floor. Grasping the rope with both hands, he gave a sharp tug to make sure it was securely fastened to the pulleys above, then heaved himself upward. His muscles strained, his shoulders knotted, and his feet dangled above the ground, kicking and struggling as knees and ankles trapped the rope. Samuel released a breath, drew another, then released it before he lurched upward. No problem. He’d show these guys he could match them in strength.

“Who’s the kid?” someone from below asked.

A crowd of shaved heads and black T-shirts formed, but Samuel kept his eye on the prize at the top.

“Samuel,” Joe answered, his thick voice rough and deep. “Roc put me in charge of him.”

“Poor kid.” A deep laugh offered no sympathy.

“How long you think it’ll take him to quit?” came another voice.

“What time is it now?” Joe asked.

“Ah, give him some credit…and maybe ten minutes. Tops.”

The rope burned and chafed Samuel’s palms. He blocked out the voices and focused on inching upward, but his progress slowed as his muscles felt a deep burn. He was twenty feet above the floor. His arms were trembling, his knees and hands raw. Ten more feet. He could make it. Right hand. Left. Yank upward. Then right again.

“Pete,” Joe bellowed, “whenever you’re ready.”

“Geronimo!” The yell came from Samuel’s left. A growing blur raced toward him. He had no time to do anything but blink and hang on tight as a pair of boots slammed into his gut.

Air whooshed out of Samuel. One hand lost its grasp on the rope. He dangled for a moment, the faces below blurring as he twirled and swayed. Pete swung past Samuel again and hollered a victory whoop, which was applauded by the others. Samuel’s hand slipped, and he slid a couple of feet down the rope, his legs flailing.

“Better make that two minutes.” Someone laughed.

“Or less.”

From behind, a full body blow smashed into Samuel. This time, Pete successfully dislodged Samuel completely. He fell backward but made a grab for the rope. He caught it with first one hand, then embraced it with his limbs, scraping and burning every piece of flesh the rope touched.

All the while, Pete hollered and yelled, twirling and swinging past like he belonged in a circus.

Wincing at the pain searing his raw flesh and straining muscles, Samuel shifted upward, trying to hang on to the rope. He wasn’t going down.
No
way
. He clung to the rope as if it was the only thing keeping him out of the jaws of hell.

The rope shook and trembled. Someone below had grabbed it and was shaking it…and Samuel. The vibrations rocked him to the core. Still he held on. He would not let go. Would not. He gritted his teeth, breathing hard.

One look down was all it took. The faces below made it clear falling was not a recommended option.

“Get to the top, Samuel,” Joe yelled. “Go on now. Chris! Dwight! Harry, you too. Show this rookie the ropes.” He laughed, the sound sharp and biting. “Come on now. Move! All of you!” He clapped his hands in quick succession.

Praying like he hadn’t prayed in a long time, Samuel strained to look up at the pulley as if it were heaven itself. He’d lost five feet at least. How would he ever make it?

“Randy,” Joe ordered, “stay here in case he falls. Show him what it means to fail. You hear me?”

“Yes, sir!” the black man responded without hesitation. And even from this distance, he looked as if he could do some serious damage.

Then Joe grabbed his own rope and started to climb.

The muscles in Samuel’s arms quaked with fatigue. His hands were raw, his fingers numb. With each yank upward, he grunted, forcing himself to climb, no longer to prove himself—this felt more like self-preservation. If he didn’t make it to the top, then he wasn’t sure what would happen. But these men did not pamper weaklings.

Pete swung past again, too high now to give another body blow or kick, but as he passed Samuel’s rope, he gave it a shove, and Samuel’s world spun. Dizzy, he felt his stomach clench. He sensed more than saw others climbing fast around him.

“Ten bucks for whoever brings him down,” Joe called.

“Only ten?”

“Doesn’t look like it’s gonna be that hard,” Joe replied.

Another yell made Samuel glance left…right…no, behind, and Samuel yanked himself higher to avoid being knocked loose. A blurry shadow swung past and Samuel felt the kick in his back thigh. He clenched his knees around the rope, jerked upward again.
Keep
climbing
, he coached himself.

“He’s mine, boys!” Joe hollered, he’d reached some sort of platform and leaped off it, holding his rope, and flew right toward Samuel.

Not
this
time
. Samuel twisted, swiveling his rope, and faced Joe’s oncoming assault. The leader aimed his boots right at Samuel, but Samuel was ready. Clinging to the rope with one hand and arm, he snagged the other man’s calf and twisted hard. With a sharp cry, Joe flipped upside down and barely hung on to his rope.

Samuel didn’t look back to see if Joe fell or recovered. He yanked his body upward again…and again…and again even as his muscles screamed. Finally, he touched the padded planks at the top. He hooked an arm over it and sucked in the warm air, breathing heavily, his body coated in sweat.

“Well, lookie there,” Joe laughed, “the farm boy might be tougher than he looks.”

The black-shirted men all swung down to the floor without acknowledging Samuel’s small victory, which seemed to shrink by the minute. Blistered and stripped palms were his reward.

“When you’re ready,” Joe hollered up at him, “come on down and you can take a shower. We won’t push you too hard today.” Then Joe, followed by the others, left the building, turning out the lights as they went.

Samuel was left alone. In the dark. The only sound his ragged breathing. It took a long while before he stripped his shirt off, wrapped it around his bloody palms, and fisted the rope again. He hissed and slid his way back to the blessed floor. His legs wobbled and buckled beneath him, and he collapsed in a heap.

“Not bad for your first day,” a voice came out of the shadows.

Samuel scrambled to a sitting position. “Who’s there?”

A light in the dorm room came on and illuminated the ropes and mats. Footsteps came toward him, and Samuel recognized Roberto. “They don’t mean any harm. It’s just their way.”

Samuel had no response. He felt depleted, like a summer corn stalk relieved of its last husk and bending to the pressures of winter’s approach. His eyes burned. What was he doing here? He wanted answers, not this.

“These men,” Roberto said, “aren’t playing a game, Samuel. They’re not checking things out. They’re in this. All or nothing. This is life or death to them. They have to know whether or not they can trust you. They would rather you quit now. For if you continue, you will surely face death, and they have to know you will keep your wits and watch their backs.”

“I’m not a quitter.”

“I didn’t think so.” Roberto pulled something from his pocket and tossed it to Samuel.

He caught it, wincing at the pain, bumbling. His fingers stiff, he examined the plastic rectangular object. A cell phone. “What’s this for?”

“To keep you safe.” Roberto crouched down, arm propped on a knee. “It’s preprogrammed with all our numbers. You get in trouble; you realize you’re being followed; you see, hear, sense something out of the ordinary, you call one of the numbers on that phone. And we’ll come, like the cavalry.”

Samuel frowned. “But why would anyone be after me?”

“I’m not saying anyone is. But if someone is watching us, if they see you coming and going, then you could be an easy target.” Roberto tilted his head sideways. “Not easy per se. But easier. Isolated.”

Samuel nodded gravely. It explained why Levi had a cell phone. So now he was in. In some secret society. Committed. Whether he liked the idea or not. Whether he wanted to be or not.
Did
he
really
have
a
choice?

“But it works two ways,” Roberto said, his voice weighty. “You get a text or a voice message, then you have five minutes to respond. Five minutes. Which means, you keep this phone with you day and night. You understand?”

“I just want…” His voice trailed off. Too exhausted, he simply shook his head.

“What do you want, Samuel?”

He flopped back onto the ground, his arms and legs splayed outward. “To understand all of this.”

“You understand plenty.” Roberto’s tone turned hard. “You’ve been denying what happened, haven’t you? Well, now it’s time you gave it a hard look. Your brother died. Yes. But you didn’t kill him. He died a long time before that. He gave what was left of his life to save Rachel. A most noble act for a vampire.”