Plain Fear: Forgiven: A Novel (3 page)

The man nodded. “You must be Samuel.”

How
would
this
man
know
his
name?
Hope sparked inside him.
Had
Julie
spoken
of
him?
“I am.”

“Julie said you’d be coming by.” The man adjusted his thick glasses, pushing them along the bridge of his nose with his forefinger. “I’ve got a stack of books earmarked for you.”

A pinprick of disappointment stabbed Samuel, but he was grateful she’d remembered and kept her word. “Thank you.”

“Sure, come on back this way and I’ll get those books for you.” The man turned away and meandered through the bookshelves, leading Samuel back the way he’d come, toward the reference desk. He shifted one shoulder downward and looked back, gazing at Samuel over the dark rim of his glasses. Something in that shadowy look reminded Samuel of someone…but he couldn’t place the features with a name.

“Have we met before?” Samuel asked.

The man turned away and shuffled along. “Don’t think so.”

“You look familiar is all.”

The man walked around to the other side of the counter, keeping head and gaze downcast. “If you come to the library often, then I expect you’ve seen me here.”

“That’s probably it.” Samuel watched the odd man search the shelves and carts for a stack of books with Samuel’s name on them. “Could have sworn I put them here.” He tilted his head as if he had a tic, then squatted down, his knees popping, and hunted below the desk and through a couple cabinets. Despite his ungainly movements, he had broad shoulders and a solid build. “They could be in the back.” He took off, walking with an odd gait, gesturing with his hand. “Come on, you can help me look. If you don’t mind.”

Samuel figured the poor guy needed help all right.

The man opened the door, holding it with a foot. “Appreciate the help. Don’t want this to take all night, now do we?” He waited for Samuel to step over the threshold before releasing the door. “Julie said nice things about you.”

Heat prickled the tips of Samuel’s ears as he entered the “Librarians Only” area where he glimpsed carts stuffed with books, a door marked
Restroom
, and a container of toilet paper and cleaning supplies lining one wall. How could he ask about Julie without giving away his own interest? “Have you worked with her…Julie a long time?”

“Not too long, no.”

“And what’s your name?” Samuel asked. “So I can tell Julie the next time I see her how helpful you were tonight.”

The man grinned. Behind the dark rim of his glasses and thick lenses, his even darker gaze glittered. “I’m Brydon.”

From a place between places, Jacob Fisher glared at the vampire standing too close to his younger brother, Samuel.

Brydon
. Jacob should have left him for dead in New Orleans. After all he’d done to help the ungrateful vampire! The traitor. Now Brydon wanted to kill Jacob’s younger brother. The blood didn’t have to advertise his intentions; Jacob simply knew. What else did a vampire want? For there was no other reason a vamp would hang around a human. It was their way. Another way to pass the endless time. Another game. Another meal.

Smiling like a shark inviting a fish to dinner, Brydon forced the door to the back room of the library closed. It was a restricted room, out of sight from any patron or anyone who might intervene. Brydon was now alone with Samuel. All alone.

Except for Jacob. But neither Brydon with those black eyes or Samuel with his weak human ones could see into the other world. Would that prove to be an advantage? Or a disadvantage? The lights in this area were dimmed. Farther ahead, where the room hooked left, a fluorescent light twitched and buzzed. Samuel perused the book carts, looking for something, but behind him Brydon straightened to his full, imposing height.

Would he toy with Samuel first? Or would he attack quickly? It was only a matter of heartbeats before Brydon struck.

Anger fired inside Jacob, and he launched himself at Brydon. But instead of slamming into flesh, he fell right through Brydon’s body, as if blood and flesh didn’t exist, and rolled across the floor, chest skidding, arms flailing. Samuel stepped straight through Jacob’s abdomen, but Jacob felt nothing—and he accomplished less.

Brydon and Samuel didn’t notice Jacob lying on the ground as they continued their casual conversation.

“Have you known Julie long?” Samuel trained his gaze on the stacks of books on shelves and carts, not paying attention to Brydon, who crept closer and closer.

He had his prey so close, his body rigid with the coiled posture Jacob recognized all too well. “I’ve known Julie a fairly short time,” Brydon answered, his tone mild. “She’s nice.” His voice lilted, as if dulling Samuel’s senses. “And she’s quite beautiful.”

Scrambling to his feet, Jacob growled deep in his throat and threw himself at Brydon’s back. But again, he tumbled through the vampire as if he were vapor and sprawled across the floor.

Which is when he saw it—the toe of a shoe. Where the room curved sharply to the left, a discarded shoe protruded from behind a cart. Jacob scurried around the metal shelves and came face to face with a young woman. Actually a corpse.

Her blond hair fell around her shoulders in tangled waves. Her neck gaped—a bloody, mangled mass. Her eyes remained open. This was Julie.

If Jacob didn’t do something quickly, Samuel would soon be lying beside her. Equally dead.

A roar of frustration and fear reared up inside him, and he swung around.

Brydon was watching Samuel with that hungry look. Jacob’s hands fisted.
What
could
he
do? How could he stop Brydon?

“Hey!” Jacob called.

Remiel stood in that typical stance, with his sword planted. His wings were drawn back and relaxed. But even tranquil, he had a ready-for-action posture, his features hard.

Jacob ran toward him. “Do something! He’s going to kill Samuel! You have to stop him.”

“He is not my responsibility.”

“What do you mean by that? Aren’t you supposed to help people?”

“My job is to secure you. That is all.”

“Secure me? What does that mean?” Jacob shook off the question. “It doesn’t matter. Just do something. Save my brother!”

“I cannot interfere.”

“But I can?”

Remiel shrugged. “That is to be seen.”

Jacob swung around, his body taut. Brydon chatted amiably with Samuel, toying with his dinner.

“How?” Jacob pleaded with Remiel. “I tried to stop him.”

“Physically.”

“So? What am I supposed to do? Pray?”

“You are not of the physical world anymore.”

“But—”

“Talk to him.”

“Him? Samuel? Isn’t hearing physical?”

“There are many ways to hear.”

Jacob scowled. He didn’t understand, and he didn’t have time to waste.

“Sounds like you might be interested in Julie,” Samuel said to Brydon, bending over to read the titles of the books crammed into the shelves.

Behind him, Brydon removed his glasses, and his black gaze glinted with anticipation. “In some ways, I suppose I am interested. Or was. She was…is,” he corrected himself and licked his lips, “sweet.”

Samuel checked a square piece of paper bound to a book by a rubber band. “What changed your mind?”

Jacob rushed toward his brother and squatted beside him. He cleared his throat. “Samuel!”

Samuel didn’t blink, turn, or respond in any way. Instead, he listened to Brydon talk about the virtues of some girl. Some dead girl.

Desperate, Jacob snapped his fingers in Samuel’s face.

No response.

“Hey, Samuel! Are you listening? Hey! Get out of here. This guy is no good. He’s dangerous.” Jacob planted himself in front of Samuel, trying to block Brydon, but Samuel looked right through him. “Run, Samuel! Get out of here!”

Samuel dipped his head downward and rubbed his temples. “Tell Julie I was here. I’ll be back next week. I come every Wednesday. You know, to check out books.”

“Hey, Remiel!” Jacob yelled across the room at the angel. “He can’t hear me! Do something! You can appear in front of Brydon, can’t you? I’ve seen that when I was…well, before. So, come on, do it.”

“I have no stake in this fight. No authorization to—”

“You can’t think for yourself? Come on, time is running out here.”

The angel turned his head, looking not at Jacob or Samuel or Brydon, as if he didn’t care what was happening in this room, as if he was looking somewhere else, and then he said, “There is someone who might help.”

Naomi Wagler stared out her bedroom window at the full moon beaming down on the Pennsylvania farmland like a proud papa smiling with pride at his youngest child. But would God be so proud of her? She doubted it.

The weak moonlight created deep shadows. She sat on top of the quilt over her single mattress with her legs tucked against her chest and her arms wrapped around her knees. In spite of the cool, spring weather, the room she had once shared with her sister felt warm and stuffy. She scrambled across the bed, unlatched the lock, and raised the window to allow in the breeze that teetered between winter and spring.

The path below led away from her parents’ house, toward the road. It was only two miles to her sister Grace’s new home, but it might have been two hundred for how isolated and far away her sister seemed. Earlier today, Grace had come over to help clean the house for Sunday services, which would be held at the Waglers’ farmhouse. Traditionally, church services rotated every two weeks between families in the district, and tomorrow, folks would be arriving early to set up the benches. Naomi would help her mother finish preparations and prepare the noon meal. It was always enjoyable, as many women from the district came to help, making the drudgery of hard work light with their many hands and cheerful conversation.

But the day of cleaning had impacted her in an unexpected way. She pressed her cheek to the soft fabric of her nightdress stretched over her knees and felt the hot sting of tears. Breathing in the scent of sun-warmed cotton, she could hear one of her mother’s typical sayings: don’t put a question mark where God puts a period.

She blinked back the tears. Was she questioning God? Her emotions felt like an unformed blob, not a solid question, but maybe they were. Had God put a solid barrier in front of her dream? She wasn’t sure. Not yet anyway. And yet the emotion she’d felt all day bubbled up and threatened to spill over but she squeezed her eyes closed.

It
is
of
the
Lord’s mercies that we are not consumed, because his com
passions fail not. They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness.

Oh
come, morning! Bring the mercies of the Lord
, her heart cried. Mulling the scripture verse, she wondered if morning would ever come. Even when it did, would God’s mercies cover her?

She struck a match and lit a candle on the bedside table. Warm candlelight flickered through the room, pushing the shadows of doubt and envy further away. She reached for a tiny notebook and ink pen she kept on the table. Her fingers slid into position as if the pen were an extension of her hand…or heart. The tip of the pen hovered over the paper as God’s spirit once hovered over
the
face
of
the
waters
…like a shadow.

She saw her own shadow darkening the wall and straightened her back, watching her shadow shift and change. Then she relaxed her shoulders and allowed them to curl forward as pen touched paper.

My shadow sees

What I cannot

My mirror image

My soul pleas.

Mother always said faith gave courage to face today and billowing expectations for the future. So why did it feel as if hope had shriveled? She’d placed her hope in one and lost him. She wouldn’t be so foolish again. But had she also lost her faith? No, of course not. Perhaps she’d dropped the harness of obedience, as her father often said when disciplining one of his children. She searched her memory and her heart for something she’d done, something she’d said, something she’d thought…some rebelliousness, disobedience, or unimaginable sin.

Her constricting thoughts bound her. Jealousy of her sister; her best friend, Rose; and even Hannah Fisher tightened its hold on her and proved she was full of sin. She should be happy for Grace, who had told Naomi and Mother she was expecting a baby, her first. Of course, Naomi hugged and congratulated Grace even as she felt her throat tighten. She should be happy for Rose too, who had whispered to Naomi that her father was planting extra celery this spring, which could only mean Rose was planning a fall wedding with Adam Borntreger. Then Hannah Fisher’s mother, Marta, had chatted unceasingly about Hannah’s newborn twins.

Everyone knew the heartache the Schmidts had suffered last year when Hannah’s sister Rachel disappeared, then returned to marry an
Englisher
of all things. Marta had been heartbroken. But now she had such joy, and Naomi should rejoice with her. But all of the happy news had felt like broken glass inside Naomi’s chest.

To make matters worse, Marta had confided to Naomi that Hannah needed a helper with her twin boys and asked if Naomi would be willing to do so. Of course, Levi would pay. It would be a worthy task, and yet the thought of it brought tears to the surface again. She sniffed back her resentment. Maybe she needed humbling. She vowed she would do her best to help Hannah. Maybe then God would open a new door for her. Maybe this was preparation for what she hoped—to be a mother one day. Or maybe it was a consolation prize and she would only be a helper, never truly worthy.

Pen touched paper once more.

My God knows

What I cannot

My heart prays

My soul groans.

Andi Mitchell huddled inside her coat and stared at the downtown Cincinnati public library.
What
was
Samuel
doing
here
of
all
places?
Since he’d broken off with her a few months back, he hadn’t contacted her. Not once. But she couldn’t stop thinking of her farm boy. She missed him more than she’d ever imagined. But she never would have thought he’d go to a library.
What
was
he
looking
for?
The Kama Sutra
?

Smiling at the idea, she thought of what else she could teach him. Or maybe by now, he could teach her. He’d been nothing more than a boy toy when they’d first met and she’d seduced him. Seduced was probably too strong of a word, as it hadn’t taken more than a few winks and flirtatious suggestions to get him into bed. He’d been young, inexperienced, right off the farm, but a quick learner. Over the months, however, her feelings for him had grown. There was something about him that she’d found missing in every man she’d ever known. At first it had been hard to identify the missing quality. Was it innocence? Naïveté? Honesty? He had strength, not just of bone and joint and muscle but character, and something she’d rarely come across in others—integrity.

He’d lost his brother early last fall and had broken up with her. She’d thought he needed time to sort things out and grieve. But he hadn’t come back.

She suspected he’d found some sweet Amish girl to keep him busy. Or maybe he’d gotten baptized and married. He’d told her how kids married at a young age in his district. Worried that he’d actually jumped off that cliff, she’d gone to his house way back in Harmony Hollow, parked down the lane, and watched for him. It hadn’t been easy waiting, but finally he’d come tearing down the drive on his motorcycle, making her heart flutter once again with longing, and she’d followed him. When he’d driven over the covered bridge and toward the main highway leading back to Cincinnati, she’d suspected he was banging some other English girl. Was she here at the library of all places?

Now jealousy picked up her pace along the sidewalk. Andi kicked a glob of ice and mud out of her way. Was he into some nerd? A library dork? It didn’t matter, because some bookworm wouldn’t be too much competition for her.

The temperature took another dip. Andi hunched her shoulders and dug her hands deep into the pockets of her wool coat. Spring felt months away when it should be around the corner. To dispel that myth, the wind howled at her. It sounded like a voice, a cry.

Samuel.

Was that his name gliding on the wind or only her mind conjuring hope? She looked around but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Downtown on a Wednesday night wasn’t the most happening place.

Stamping her feet to keep warm, she looked longingly at the glowing lights in the library windows. She never had much of an interest in hanging out in such a boring place. What was there to do in there anyway?

As a kid, her mom had sometimes dropped her off at their local library while she’d gone on a date. Andi had found a self-help section, which included books on sex, where, with the help of pencil drawings, she’d learned about life. Other books had actual pictures of men and women making love. She’d moved from there to the romance section, always skipping the boring parts of sea battles or pouring tea and going right for the sex scenes. Eventually, Andi found a boy equally bored, and they’d done the deed in the backseat of his mom’s car while she was reading
Redbook
. Andi had become well acquainted with the upholstery of Camrys, Chevrolets, and VW bugs, finding cookie crumbs and petrified French fries along the floorboards, and discovered which seats left rug burns on her back and legs and which didn’t. Leather, she’d learned, was the best.

Back then, she and whatever boy she was with had fumbled around, experimenting and discovering, until by the time she was in eighth grade, she’d moved on to seniors in high school, then college boys, a teacher or two, and somewhere along the way, a principal. But older men weren’t always the most savvy when it came to women. Finally, in her search for fulfillment, she’d met a biker who knew a thing or two. Then along came Samuel, and she’d enjoyed tutoring him in the art of screwing.

He, in turn, had shared his family and religion with her, how they lived like it was back in the olden days without electricity. She’d said, “You’re nuts. Why suffer when you don’t have to?”

More often than not, she’d listened as Samuel explained about his family and older brothers, especially the one who had died—who she later learned had only been declared dead by Samuel’s father.
What
was
his
name? Oh yeah, Jacob.
He’d been a bookworm, a pseudo-intellectual, and apparently bent on destruction, because since then, he really had died. Andi hadn’t worried his fatal intellectualism was a family trait because Samuel rarely had the patience to read even the
TV
Guide
. But now Samuel was in the intellectual center of this town.

Another blast of cold wind punctuated by damp, icy spray made her decide to brave the interior of the library. What did she have to lose? She might meet a bookworm and educate him on the Dewey decimals in the nonfiction section. At least she’d be warmer than she was now. So she jogged across the street and entered through the glass doors.

Some teenagers were giggling at the computers. Wanting to avoid them, Andi headed up the stairs, the movement kicking her heart into gear and warming her limbs. The farther she went, the more empty the building felt.

Isolated, she searched for someone…anyone. Maybe Samuel needed her now more than ever. The way some people sensed a change in the weather approaching, she felt a prodding and pushing, as if there were an urgency for her to find Samuel. Not believing in Samuel’s prayers or his God, she placed more faith in gut instinct, a sixth sense, premonitions, and psychic powers. Her intuitive radar made her heart pound.

Something was wrong.

But there didn’t seem to be anyone on the third floor either. Desks and chairs, cubbyholes and computer banks were empty, neatly squared with tables, nothing out of place. An eerie hum of silence vibrated through the vacant rooms. She angled across the carpeted floor, passing bookshelves. A creepy sensation crawled up her spine. It felt colder here than it had outside.

Call
him.

The pressing need rose up inside her, but she pushed it away. She stood in the middle of the open area, hands on hips, and turned in a circle.
Maybe
Samuel
was
downstairs. Maybe he knew those teens. Could he be part of a library gang?

No! He’s here.

Was her thought strictly intuition? Was she suddenly psychic? Maybe she could tap into some major supernatural powers and have her own reality TV show.

Call
him!

That inner voice intruded on her wayward thoughts. Even though she felt stupid and hoped no one could see her, she whispered, “Samuel?”

Of course, there was no response, because he would have had to be standing within two feet of her. So she took a deeper breath and trusted her instincts. “Samuel.”

Again, nothing. This was ridiculous. Maybe the stupidest thing she’d ever done. Had she had some sort of emotional meltdown? With a huff, she turned back.

Call
him
again.

She shook her head. This was crazy. Maybe she was turning into that Jack Nicholson character in that creepy movie in the empty hotel. It had taken him months to go loony tunes and grab an ax. At least there was nothing more dangerous than a pencil in the library.

But she’d had enough. She headed back toward the stairs.

Stop!

She did. A tingle crept along her spine like an icicle sliding upward, defying gravity and intelligence. Maybe this was like that movie with the little boy who saw dead people. Was she seeing…or hearing dead people? Now, that really was crazy.

But she’d seen that crazy blond-haired chick on TV who saw dead people and talked to them too. Was it even possible? Maybe you had to be open to the possibility. Yeah, she was sure the woman with the Jersey accent had said something to that effect.

Samuel.

“All right. Fine.” She spoke louder this time, “Samuel?”

No response. That’s freaking it. She was going home before someone saw her.

Then a door creaked. Andi whirled around. The door behind the main desk shifted, and Samuel stuck his head through the opening. His eyes widened at the sight of her. “Andi?” He carried a stack of books under his arm. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to…I was here, ya know, and thought I saw you…or heard you…” She hesitated, unsure how he’d feel about her following him—not to mention the voices-in-her-head phenomenon. “And, well, here you are!”

She produced her best smile, held out her arms for a hug. But he stood there staring at her. Not moving. So she took an awkward few steps forward and hugged him. One of the books poked her in the stomach. Awkward didn’t begin to describe the situation. He hadn’t changed much, but he looked older, leaner, harder. He no longer had the baby face he used to have.

Tossing her hair over a shoulder, she attempted normal. “So, how are you?”

“Good.” His voice sounded deep and rattled her. “And you?”

Missing
you
, she thought but didn’t dare say something so eighth grade. Where was a glib
Gilmore
Girls
line when she needed it? Then a movement behind Samuel caught her eye, and she shifted slightly to look beyond his shoulder.

The door he’d come through swung closed, and she caught a glimpse of an odd-looking man with dark hair and even darker eyes watching them. “Who’s that?”

But when Samuel turned, the guy was gone. “Oh, probably the librarian.” Samuel shrugged. “He was helping me find these books.”

“Oh yeah?” She reached for them. “Whatcha got?”

But Samuel shifted away, pressing the books protectively against his chest. “It’s almost closing time. I better get these checked out.”

“Oh, sure, yeah, you’re such a party animal, Samuel. Shutting down the library.”

Then she caught those dark eyes watching them through that door’s window. “I think that guy has a hard-on for you.”

Samuel didn’t look back. “What are you doing here, Andi?”

“He’s a real creeper.” She matched Samuel’s stride and slipped her hand through his bent arm as they began the downward descent toward the lobby. “So, what have you been up to lately? Seeing any farm implements?”

He remained silent, and panic rolled through her, flattening her hopes. This was not going well.

“How are your folks?” she asked, hoping to recover.

“Okay. You?”

“Oh, you know. Same ol’, same ol’. Working. You know, stuff.”

Samuel felt her hand on his arm, the familiar gesture seemingly natural but not. He couldn’t say he was sorry to see her. He’d experienced the telltale excitement at the sight of her. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks red from the cold. Her fair skin made her flush easily. She wore a blue scarf around her neck, trapping the ends of her flaming hair.

She stayed beside him while he checked out his books, and he wished she hadn’t seen the ones on poetry.

“What are you into now?” she asked, reading the titles. “Got some girl you’re trying to impress?”

“Just doing research.”

Her lips tightened, and she didn’t look happy about his answer. But how could he explain? Samuel slowed when they reached the sidewalk along Eighth Street.

“Where’s your car?” he asked. He should at least see her to her car safely.

Those big, green eyes held his gaze. Her fingers plucked at his sleeve. Was he misinterpreting the longing? “Can we talk, Samuel?”

He shifted uncomfortably. He wasn’t sure it was a good idea. And yet, what could it hurt? “I don’t know.”

“Did you get baptized, then?” she asked.

He nudged a chunk of ice with the toe of his boot. How could he? “Not yet.”

“Then it wouldn’t be against any rules, right?”

“I suppose.”

“Are you”—she hesitated, something he couldn’t read flickering in her eyes—“seeing anyone?”

He thought of Julie. Maybe he’d misread her signals too. “No, I’m not.”

Andi’s features relaxed, and she took a steadying breath. “It’d only be for a few minutes. I promise not to keep you out late.”

He wavered in his resolve. Too easily, he remembered her body pressed against his, her mouth hot and sweet, her hands—

Breaking eye contact, he checked out the buildings in downtown Cincinnati. “Is there a coffee shop nearby?”

“Sure.” Her smile ignited something inside him. “Absolutely.” She kept smiling, bubbling. “Coffee. That would be great.”

“Yes,” he repeated, unable to stop himself. “Coffee.”

***

An all-night diner around the corner provided a place to talk, and yet there didn’t seem to be much to say between them. Whatever Andi wanted, she seemed to be having a hard time saying it as she stirred cream into her coffee, twirling the spoon and fiddling with her silverware.

Besides the waitress who’d served them coffee in mugs, there didn’t seem to be anyone else around. The booths and tables were empty. The waitress tucked away her order pad in her apron when they told her they just wanted coffee and headed to the kitchen.

What could he say to Andi? How could he explain what he had been through—killing his brother—and the metamorphosis he’d experienced in the following months? She wouldn’t understand. Or would she?

She’d never spoken much about her own folks, and he sensed there was something that had happened between them. Maybe she could relate to the simmering anger he felt each time Pop spoke to him about obeying God and getting baptized. No, that part she wouldn’t understand at all.

“Work going well?” he asked, to break the tension and silence between them.