The Isaac Project

by Sarah Monzon

  I deepened the kiss, my mouth moving over hers gently yet insistently. Loosening my grip with one hand, I caressed her cheek with my thumb. Slowly she began to soften against me. The crazed look in her one good eye dissipated, recognition flashing in its place. Her lips began to respond beneath mine, and I pulled away. As much as I wanted to continue the kiss, the hiss of the fire moving toward us took precedence.

  Snatching Becky’s wrist, I pulled her toward the entrance. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  A quick twist and tug, and my hand grasped nothing but air. I turned toward Becky’s retreating back.

  “I’ve got to get Lady and Artie,” she yelled over her shoulder.

  Stubborn woman. We were all going to burn alive like Dark Age martyrs.

  I swung her back around and jammed my finger in the direction of the door. “Get out. Now. I’ll get the animals,” I growled.

  She hesitated a moment and then limped away. I sighed in relief. At least she would soon be safe. Turning toward the ever-growing flames, I doubted I would have the same fate.

  The shriek of a horse’s cry and the loud thud of hooves against wood directed me toward Artie’s stall. The metal pin holding the door closed seared my skin at first touch. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I flung open the door and watched as the large animal darted out, eyes wide and nostrils flaring.

  One down, one to go.

  The thick smoke brought me to my hands and knees. I only had time to look in one more stall. Every second I stayed in the burning building reduced my chances of making it out alive. I crawled to the door, the palm of my burned hand throbbing.

  It was hard to see through the dense haze, my watery eyes, and the spasms of coughing that racked my body every few seconds, but there appeared to be a dark mound in the corner of the enclosure.

  My strength was leaving me as my body was depleting of life-giving oxygen. I pulled myself toward the mass. Lady’s body lay motionless. Wrapping an arm around her body, I shifted the dog’s weight onto my lap. With one arm around her chest and the other under her tail, I hefted the animal up, staggering under her weight. Why couldn’t that woman own a Chihuahua?

  My steps were slow and excruciating. My skin burned from the heat at my back and the clothes that had absorbed the fire’s intensity. The fabric scourged me with every forward movement. I stumbled and clutched the dog closer to my chest.

  In the distance, the sound of siren wails combated with the noise of the blaze’s destruction. The men and women in uniform wouldn’t be able to save Becky’s barn, but they would be able to keep the fire contained to the one building. Her home, at least, would be safe.

  Blessed sunlight beckoned to me from the small opening of the doorway. Stepping over the threshold, strong hands gripped my arms, supporting and leading me to safety.

  Becky jerked off the oxygen mask covering her nose and mouth and limped toward me, leaving a protesting fireman in her wake. Her eyes darted up and down, yo-yoing between my face and the still form of her beloved dog in my arms.

  Her gaze at last rested solely on me while a sooty hand absently stroked Lady’s head. “Are you okay?” she croaked. Her voice sounded like gravel from the smoke she’d inhaled.

  My eyes roamed her body, taking inventory of the bruised and swollen eye, cut lip, and ripped jeans that revealed a nasty gash on her left calf. Her face and arms were smudged with dark ash. Sawdust and hay clung to her hair.

  “I’ll be fine.” I managed a hoarse whisper—my own voice had taken a beating by the fire. “But how did you—”

  “Mrs. Masterson, we really need to see to your injuries.” A uniformed fireman cupped Becky’s elbow and drew her back toward the oxygen tank.

  So many unanswered questions shot through my mind. Was someone responsible for Becky’s bruised and bloodied body, or was it just some kind of horrible accident? The weight in my arms tipped the scales to more than an accident. The logical conclusion would be that whoever harmed Lady also hurt Becky and started the fire.

  Was this linked to the threatening note I’d found in Becky’s jacket pocket? She’d been so sure it was just an innocent prank from some mischievous teenagers. Well, arson and attempted murder were anything but innocent.

  More sirens filled the air as an ambulance approached the foray of first responders. Two men exited the vehicle, snapping on latex gloves over their hands. One moved toward Becky. He squatted down to her level. After speaking to her for a few moments, he began probing, first her face, then her leg.

  “Sir?”

  It’s amazing how much a person’s mind can tune out. I’d been intently focused on Becky, but now, with only one word, that focus shattered, and the sights and sounds surrounding me flooded my senses. The spray from the large water hoses roared. The fire hissed. Falling timber thudded to the ground as the barn collapsed one beam at a time. Uniformed personnel scurried in their efforts to abate the flames. Flashing lights flitted from surface to surface in a twirling rotation.

  “Sir?”

  A young paramedic gained my attention through all the chaos.

  “Sir, I need to check you over.”

  I allowed the man to lead me toward the back of his ambulance. An oxygen mask settled in front of my nose and mouth as the elastic band slid over my head. He reached for the dog, and I allowed him to take her. The paramedic’s palm warmed the back of my hand, rotating until my own palm was face up. A salve was applied to the burn that puckered the sensitive skin.

  An overwhelming need to be with Becky almost strangled me.

  I removed the mask and stood. The forced oxygen made it less difficult to breathe, but being with Becky was more important than making my lungs’ job easier.

  A restraining hand grasped my arm. “Sir, I need you to sit.”

  “And I need to see my wife.” My voice was anything but intimidating the way it barely came out above a whisper.

  The paramedic seemed to have compassion on me anyway and nodded. “I’ll have Jeff bring her over.”

  A few minutes later, Becky hobbled across the expanse, one arm slung around the second paramedic’s neck, his own wrapped around her waist for support. I shook my head but couldn’t help the grin that tugged at the corner of my mouth. The stubborn woman must have refused a stretcher.

  “There, you two are together. Will you both cooperate now?” Exasperation laced Jeff’s voice.

  Reaching over, I slid my hand into Becky’s, interlaced our fingers, and squeezed. If the blasted plastic masks weren’t over our faces, I would have finished the kiss I had started back in the barn. Becky leaned her head against my shoulder, her eyes focused on the ground.

  The paramedics were just doing their jobs in their desire that we keep the masks on, but there was something I had to say, and it couldn’t wait. I still needed to tell Becky how much I loved her.

  Becky pushed her own mask to the side before I had the chance. “Can you check my dog, please?”

  Jeff quirked a brow, and Becky dutifully re-covered the lower portion of her face.

  Bending down, the man knelt by the dog. He placed the end pieces of a stethoscope in his ear and pressed the circular part to Lady’s ribs. Frowning, he cupped a hand around Lady’s nose.

  He sighed as he stood, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, but your dog is dead.”

  32

  Rebekah

  EVERYONE HAS A breaking point. Even the best dam-building beavers, when faced with a flash flood, watch as their world literally gets swept away in a torrent. My own dam had been taking a beating, the pressure building. Little fissures had developed, but this was too much. This was my breaking point.

  My chest constricted, making it increasingly difficult to breathe. Which, with the forced oxygen entering my nose and mouth through the mask secured to my face, one would think was impossible. It was as if Mr. Bronson was right there, but instead of his horrible knife to my throat, it was his huge, rough, calloused hands squeezing, tightening, cutting off my air supply.
/>   I stared at the lifeless form just a few feet away from me. Lady had been more than just a dog, just a pet. She had been my protector against unseen enemies, my companion on lonely nights, my partner on the ranch. She had been a part of my family. And now she was gone.

  I flipped the mask over my head and slid off the back of the ambulance onto the ground. I wrapped my arms around Lady and buried my face in her soft, downy fur. I squeezed my eyes shut, but I would never be able to hold back the grief that weighed down my heart like an anvil.

  Streams of tears flowed freely down my face, my shoulders convulsing with the deep loss I was drowning in. The sound of whimpering reached my ear. Was the paramedic wrong? Did Lady still live?

  I lifted my head, but my faithful canine still didn’t move. Her chest didn’t rise and fall. Only then I realized the whimpering had escaped my own lips.

  Strong hands grasped my upper arms and lifted me to my feet. Turning, I buried my face in a powerful chest, the hard muscles offering a wall of protection. Warm arms wrapped around me, supporting me when I thought my own strength wouldn’t hold me up a second longer.

  In a fluid motion, Luke slipped an arm under my knees and hefted me in the air, cradling me against his rock-hard body like a newborn baby. A few steps and I sat on his lap, his arms around my shoulders, my face still hidden in his chest. He rocked me back and forth, pressing kisses to the top of my head. A scratchy blue blanket was placed over my frame, and I snuggled deeper into Luke’s embrace.

  The initial deluge of grief began to abate, and the sobs that had racked my body turned into sniffles and hiccups. I refused to release the death grip I had on Luke’s shirt or lift my head from its safe position, however. I couldn’t bear to look upon the evidence of all I had lost. I needed to soak in the essence of Luke’s strength a little longer.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Masterson?”

  My time was up. Ready or not, I had to come out of my safe hiding spot. Lifting my head, my gaze collided with a shiny silver badge pinned above the heart of the police officer who stood before us. He stood with his feet slightly apart, his black uniform crisply pressed. The man was so tall I had to tilt my head back to look into his thin face. His Adam’s apple protruded from his throat in sharp angles.

  I tried to push against Luke’s chest and slide off his lap, not wanting to show weakness in front of a stranger and man of the law. The actions, however, were counterintuitive, for in response, Luke merely tucked me in closer and held me a little tighter.

  “What can we do for you, officer?” Luke asked as he slowly trailed a single finger first down and then up my arm.

  “I’m sorry.” The officer’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he spoke. “I know this probably doesn’t seem like a good time, but I’d like to ask you a few questions while the details of today’s events are still fresh in your mind.”

  I took a long swig from the water bottle one of the paramedic’s had given me. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget what happened today.”

  The officer inclined his head, and Luke pressed a kiss to my temple.

  “Would you mind telling me what happened? For the record and with as much detail as possible, please.”

  “Well,” I began but stopped to take another drink. It might have been the smoke or the effects of my sobfest, but my throat was scratchy. “I stepped outside my house and heard Lady barking and growling from the direction of the barn.”

  “Lady is your dog?” Officer Adam’s Apple interrupted.

  I nodded, my eyes flooding once more with tears.

  “So you went to investigate?” probed the tall man in uniform.

  I nodded again. “Yes. I wanted to make sure nothing was disturbing the horses.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “I entered one of the stalls, and Mr. Bronson grabbed me from behind and held a knife to my throat.”

  Luke’s body stiffened at my words.

  “Mr. Bronson? Does this Mr. Bronson have a first name?”

  I forced a shrug. “I’m sure he does, but I don’t know what it is. I’ve only ever heard him referred to by his last name. You can ask animal control though. They have his name on file.”

  The officer wrote in his notepad. “I’ll be sure to do that.”

  “Anyway,” I continued, wanting to get it done and over with. “Mr. Bronson seemed really happy to see me. He thought I could pay him back in a…special…way for the horses he said I stole from him.”

  “You stole horses from him?”

  “What do you mean special way?”

  The two questions came at me simultaneously. One was asked with curiosity and a little accusation, the other with thinly veiled anger.

  I sighed and rolled my eyes. “No, I didn’t steal his horses. Animal control confiscated them, and I rehabilitated them.”

  Turning my head, my gaze bore into Luke’s. “The man grabbed my breast. How do you think he wanted me to repay him?” I threw the words at him. I knew I shouldn’t be taking my frustration out on him, but my nerves were raw and my patience thin.

  Placing his hands on either side of my face, he peered into my eyes, searching my very soul for the answers to unasked questions. He sighed and rested his forehead against my own. I closed my eyes, relishing the closeness of the moment.

  A throat cleared, and I raised my head. A single tear formed a stripe on Luke’s sooty cheek. Lifting my hand, I brushed the little rivulet of water away with my thumb and offered a small smile. It felt good to reassure him for a change.

  “What happened next, Mrs. Masterson?”

  “I tried to escape, and he clubbed me in the head with his massive fists. Then he tied my hands behind my back with bailing twine. When he was distracted trying to undo his belt, I kicked him in the groin, and he dropped his knife. I was able to hide it in the sawdust before he came after me and knocked me out cold.”

  Luke sat rigid behind me. It was a good thing Mr. Bronson wasn’t there at that moment, or the officer would have had to arrest two people.

  “When I came to, the barn was on fire. I managed to find the knife under all the sawdust and cut my hands free.” I turned to Luke. “That’s when you came in.”

  Luke nodded and turned his attention to the officer. He picked up the story where I had left off.

  “Becky was limping out of the stall when I got there. She headed toward the fire, and it wasn’t until I assured her I’d find Lady and let the horse out of the stall that she finally left. I let Artie out of his stall and found Lady. By that time the fire department was here.”

  The officer nodded, his pencil moving across paper as he jotted down our statements. “Okay, I think I have everything I need at this point.” He looked at Luke first and then me. “Rest assured, serious charges will be filed against Mr. Bronson.”

  Luke squeezed my shoulder.

  Officer Adam’s Apple nodded and marched back to his vehicle.

  Luke’s thumb and forefinger gently grasped my chin, drawing my attention to himself. I still sat on his lap, my legs draped over the side of his and my back resting in the crook of his arm. I would have imagined his legs were close to numb by then because of my weight, but he showed no discomfort.

  His gray eyes regarded me with intent. I could have stared into them for the rest of my life. Except for the wretched crick in my neck that was developing because of the odd angle. I tried to ignore the pain, not wanting to interrupt the moment.

  Before I knew what was happening, he hoisted me into the air like a child and set on my feet. I barely stood on my own strength before being lifted yet again. This time I found myself straddling Luke, our faces merely inches apart. What do you call a piggy-back ride when the person being carried was on the front instead of the back? Whatever it was called, that was how I was being held. That is, until he sat back down, bringing me to sit on his lap for a second time—face to face.

  “Becky, I need to tell you something.” His eyes searched mine, and the seriousness of his tone caused my stomach to flip.


  Was this something I wanted to hear? Maybe all my efforts of rejecting his kindness and my stubbornness of insisting on divorce had worn down his resolve to stay with me. Was he going to tell me he was leaving?

  I held my breath, steeling myself for the words that would cut me deeper than Mr. Bronson’s knife ever could have.

  Looking down, I avoided his eyes. I couldn’t bear to look into them. My fingers fidgeted with the edge of my shirt.

  “Becky,” Luke’s warm breath caressed my cheek. “Can you look at me please?”

  My nose began to tickle, my mouth flooded with moisture, and I had to blink my eyes against the heat building behind them. All sure signs the waterworks were about to start again. I shook my head at Luke’s request.

  Luke again rested his forehead against the top of mine. His hand came up to hold the back of my neck.

  “Becky, sweetheart.” His voice sounded strangled, the pleading quality tore at my resolve. “Please.”

  Slowly I raised my head to meet his gaze. Against my best efforts, a tear welled in the corner of my eye. I ignored it, focusing instead on fortifying myself for whatever Luke was about to say.

  Luke’s face inched closer to mine, and my breath hitched as his lips softly kissed away the offending rivulet of water.

  “Why are you crying?”

  I sniffed and shrugged.

  Luke sighed, and I thought I detected a slump in his posture. “Are there always going to be secrets between us?” he asked.

  Keeping my thoughts and feelings tucked inside had always been a way to protect myself. It was a way to avoid conflict. To escape the critical looks of those who might think I was weak if I showed my struggles. Sometimes, I felt if I ignored my emotions long enough the problem would go away.

  But look at what keeping things bottled up had gotten me. If I had just confronted Luke about the woman in Michigan, it would have saved me weeks of pain and heartache. We could have used that time to get to know each other better and build our relationship. Instead, I might have completely destroyed it.