Imprints

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  The space was compact, with shelves and crates and bins, all mostly empty except for several large crates of potatoes in one corner. Shrunken onions were braided together and hanging in a dozen bunches from the ceiling. Gabe’s recumbent body took up most of the floor space, but I crowded in and squatted next to them, rubbing my arms to stave off the cold that permeated everything this deep in the earth. My feet were the only things that were relatively comfortable, accustomed as they were to exposure.

  Though small, the cellar wasn’t as cramped as I’d expected, and with Harmony’s flashlight, apparently now repaired, the compression feeling of my claustrophobia eased. As long as I breathed easily, had a bit of light, and kept my thoughts from running wild, I’d be okay.

  “What now?” I asked, holding a hand over the throbbing in my left side.

  Harmony shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “He can’t leave us here,” Gabe said. “The others will look for us. They’ll know something’s wrong.”

  “Yeah, but will they look in here? I mean, right away?”

  Both Harmony and Gabe were silent. “Maybe not for a while,” Harmony said finally. “Not until fall. They’ll fill the other cellars first.”

  “How many cellars are there?” I asked.

  “Three,” Harmony said. “There’s one out between the square and the garden, and another by the greenhouse. They were Dar’s idea, and they’ve worked really well. We always had a lot of spoiled food before. They’re mostly empty this time of year. Like this one.”

  Which left plenty of space to imprison anyone who objected to Dar’s policies. I didn’t say it aloud, but I didn’t have to. Harmony gave an expression of dismay, while Gabe closed his eyes tightly, as though to shut out the knowledge.

  “Fortunately,” I said, “they were too busy getting me down here to check my pockets.” I pulled out my radio to show them. “Dar took it when I arrived, but I stole it back before he found me a little while ago in his office.”

  “What is it?” Harmony eyed it doubtfully.

  “A two-way radio. A friend of mine is on the other side.” Or had been. I didn’t want to jinx anything by adding that.

  “Does it still work?” Harmony turned her face heavenward. “Oh, please let it work!”

  “It was working when I had it last.” They watched as I flipped the dials, but no static greeted my efforts. Turning it over, I worked off the lid to the battery compartment. It was empty.

  Disappointment flooded me. So much for that.

  “Will these batteries in here work?” Harmony held up the flashlight. “They’re double A. There’s four inside.”

  I grinned. “I think so! I mean, it came with a rechargeable battery pack, but my friend said he wanted to make sure regular batteries could work in a pinch. Shine the light here before you take them out so I can see how they go in.” After some scrabbling around in the dark, I got three of the batteries in, and the unit turned on. Static had never sounded so beautiful.

  I pressed the transmit button. “Ethan, are you there?” I asked. Nothing. I tried several more times with no better luck. I even climbed back up to the top of the stairs and tried it there. Still nothing. I was too upset to cry.

  “It seems to be working fine,” I said. “But I don’t know about the range or if being under the earth is affecting it. Or even if my friend is still out there.” For all I knew, Dar had him in another pit somewhere.

  I returned the batteries to Harmony, and when she turned the flashlight back on, I could see the glimmer of tears in her eyes. “We’ll think of something,” I said. Picking up a potato from the crate, I rubbed it against my jeans before taking a bite. “At least we won’t starve right away. Water might be a problem, though.”

  Harmony stared at me, something changing in her face. “What Dar said . . . and the radio—you didn’t come to join us, did you?”

  “No. And even if I did, I don’t believe in fasting unless it’s for church or for a body cleanse.”

  She giggled, a little crazily. “Neither do I.”

  Gabe shrugged. “There are fewer complaints when we’re fasting.”

  “People were always fine before,” Harmony countered.

  I shifted my weight to see if that would ease the pain in my ribs. “Don’t tell me. It was Dar’s idea. Classic cult mentality. Little food and a lot of work makes people docile. And fear. Well, I don’t have to tell you what that does.”

  “We didn’t intend that sort of control.” Gabe struggled to a sitting position, his hand to his head as though it hurt. Blood oozed from underneath his fingers. “That’s not what we started out doing.”

  “Well, it’s what it’s become. Some of your people are very, very afraid, and that’s been going on for a least a year, probably two or three.”

  Gabe hung his head. “When Dar joined us, I thought I could travel more, help more people. He’s so competent.”

  “What about the money?” I asked. “Who takes care of that?”

  “There isn’t any money. Not after supplies, the land payment, and—” He stopped because we all knew the truth. “Dar,” he said. “I turned it over to him.”

  I wanted to tell him how stupid he was, but there was no point. He was as much an innocent as Winter had been. So rooted in the present and in doing good that he couldn’t fathom the idea of anyone taking advantage of him.

  “I caught him smoking marijuana with one of the younger women when you were away last month,” Harmony said into the silence. “She didn’t even know what it was and was quite out of it when I found them. I was furious. He promised never to do it again if I let it drop, and I’ve been watching him carefully since, but I can’t be everywhere. I don’t know where he got it.”

  I did. What’s more, I bet Dar had been the one to give Essence the plant in the first place.

  Gabe sighed. “You should have told me, Harmony.”

  “You depend on him so much. And he seemed sincerely embarrassed.”

  That was the problem. Dar was a master at deception.

  “Someone will come,” I assured them. “I have friends who know I’m here, and they won’t abandon me. Meanwhile, we have to think. Make a plan.”

  “But what if no one comes?” Harmony whispered, panic growing in her voice. “Even if they do, they might never find us. It’s so far down. We could scream for hours and no one would hear. Oh, this is all my fault!”

  Gabe put his arm around her, drawing her close. “It’s okay, honey. It’s okay.” His voice calmed her, but I didn’t know for how long. She would begin worrying about her child soon, if she wasn’t already. At least there were plenty of women here who would step in and care for Flower. But as safe as the girl might be for the moment, I knew that wouldn’t last. She would be used as a weapon against her parents, who would eventually give everything to Dar to save her life.

  We had to get out of here. “How strong are these cellars?” I asked, eyeing the walls that seemed to be made up of chicken wire stapled to heavy wood beams set at regular intervals. The chicken wire might not hold us back, but the endless packed dirt beyond would pose a real problem. “Is there any way we could force our way out? Maybe through the ceiling?” Though the ceiling wasn’t high, the light didn’t extend far enough for me to see what held it up.

  Gabe shrugged. “I don’t really know. Dar had complete charge of the construction. I do remember a lot of wooden support beams over the top and both plywood and metal sheets over the whole thing. Not sure we could get through that without tools. He said he wanted them to last. I inspected the cellars after they were finished, but I haven’t been back since.”

  “Except for today,” I said.

  He grimaced. “We were searching for Inclar. I told Dar it was time to turn him over to the police, if he was still around, or at least tell them he’d been here. It was too dangerous having him scaring people and possibly attacking you again. But of course Dar didn’t like the idea of the police snooping around. He wanted to make su
re Inclar was gone and then forget it.”

  “Guess we know why,” I muttered.

  No one replied. “Look,” I said, fishing the key out of my bra. “Inclar put this under my door in Portland. Hold out your hand. I don’t want to touch it after it’s unwrapped.”

  Harmony held out her hand. “Then it’s true what Dar said about you being able to see things from certain objects. No wonder he was so interested in you.”

  Her tone implied a strange sort of satisfaction. Dar still loved her best, and only my talent had attracted him. Every woman had some level of vanity, even a woman like Harmony, who had given her whole heart to her husband.

  I set the small bundle on her hand and pulled the end of the cloth until we could see the key. Harmony shook her head. “We don’t have any locks here, except the safes, and it’s the wrong size for those.”

  “Unless . . .” Gabe trailed off and began looking around. “I remember thinking today that we’d built the cellars larger. Normally you only want cellars just big enough for all the food because it keeps better that way. But we have a lot of vegetables, and we needed room, too, for the canned fruit, so we made them larger. This cellar is near the orchard, and we thought we might also use it for apples. Or maybe even have a place to hide things in case of natural disaster. Or war. We all agreed it’d be good to be prepared.”

  “Are you saying there might be more to this place than we’re seeing?” I was looking around now, but the darkness revealed nothing to me except the glint of Harmony’s light off the chicken wire.

  “I don’t know that for sure. It just seems smaller now. Add that to the fact that I’ve been over the entire immediate area of the farm on foot today, including all the cellars, and I’ve been out on horseback searching further. Inclar was nowhere to be seen. If he’s dead, as you say he is, I don’t know where else he could be.”

  I saw where he was going. “Except in a hidden room somewhere. Maybe one down here.”

  Gabe met my gaze without confirming or denying the statement.

  “But you own hundreds of acres,” I said. “Dar could have taken Inclar anywhere.”

  Harmony shook her head. “Dar hasn’t disappeared for any long stretches since he got here yesterday. In fact, he’s been hanging around constantly. I thought it was because he knew I was worried about Inclar, but maybe he was afraid I’d find something out.”

  “Probably just trying to hit on you,” Gabe muttered.

  “Don’t be angry.” Harmony leaned against him. “You’re the only man I’ve ever loved or ever will love.” Her voice was solicitous, the age-old tones of a woman reassuring her man. Yet there was an underlying note that gave me pause, though I didn’t know for sure what it was. They were in their own world again. Gabe lifted his hand to her face and rubbed his fingers the length of her scar.

  “It’s okay,” she murmured. “My father’s long gone. He can’t hurt me now. Thanks to you.” They hugged as I tried to ignore how uneasy the words made me. Gabe might not have killed Inclar, but that didn’t mean he was incapable of murder.

  “Dar could have had one of his men dispose of the body,” I said. “But let’s assume he didn’t. Let’s assume he kept Inclar close to make sure no one found him. Harmony, can I use your flashlight?”

  Harmony started, as though she’d forgotten I was there. She extended the flashlight to me, the same one I’d broken the previous night. Apparently she had a supply of bulbs. “What are you thinking?”

  Retrieving the cloth that had been around the key, I wrapped it around the flashlight before taking it from her, not wanting to relive the scene with Inclar or the many rendezvous she’d shared with the man who must have been Gabe. “What if this cellar really was bigger at one time? What if Dar uses it to hide things? Or people? He could have hiding places in all the cellars.”

  Harmony sucked in her breath, but she didn’t say anything. She and Gabe watched as I ran the flashlight over the walls. Nothing but the chicken wire and boards and dirt. Closer to the ceiling were more wood beams, and the ceiling itself was a maze of them. Standing on the shelves, I ran the light over the beams near the ceiling, but there was nothing unusual, so I jumped down and worked my way along the walls to the base of the stairs, where a two-foot section of the wall was entirely made of wood. No chicken wire. When I banged on the boards, they echoed hollowly, instead of with the thump of a solid wall. “Hello,” I said.

  “What is it?” Gabe asked. Harmony jumped to her feet and came over.

  “Look.” I showed her the keyhole in the door. It was at hip level, low enough not to be noticeable unless you were really looking.

  Gabe limped over to us. “Try the key.”

  Harmony started to hand the key back to me, but I shook my head. “Would you do it?” I couldn’t hold both the key and the flashlight without more cloth, and I couldn’t touch that key with my bare hand unless I wanted to pass out.

  “Are you okay?” she asked. “Why are you holding your side?”

  “I tried to get away. I think they broke a rib or two.”

  She murmured something under her breath that I was too tired to decipher, but it had something to do with what she would do if she ever laid hands on Dar. Her hand trembled as she inserted the key. “It goes in but it won’t turn.”

  “Might be rusted. Let me take a look.” Gabe jiggled it this way and that, finally turning it with obvious effort. He pushed the wooden section inward to reveal a damp space so dark it was impossible to get a sense of its size from where I stood. I took a few steps inside as I swung the flashlight around. The room smelled like an outhouse.

  “Bigger than out there,” I said, referring to the part of the cellar we’d just left.

  “Oh, no,” Harmony said softly.

  The light had fallen on a thin figure under several tattered blankets. Next to the figure was a blue forty-gallon water barrel, a large basket, and what looked like an unlit lantern. At first I thought the figure was Inclar, because it was about the same size, but then I recognized the scene from my sister’s drawing.

  “Marcie!” In seconds I was kneeling beside her, wincing as the movement sent agony through my ribs. Was she dead? No, she was moving now, sitting up, her eyes squinting against the light. In her arms she clutched a rolled up blanket like a baby.

  “I don’t want to leave the farm. Really, I don’t. Can we come out now? I promise I’ll be good. Please. I’ll do whatever you want. I just want to take care of my baby.”

  “Are you Marcie?” I asked.

  She blinked. “Who are you?”

  “I’m a friend of Ethan’s. Your brother.”

  “No,” she murmured faintly. “Don’t bring him here!” Her eyes went past my face, trying to see who was with me. I flashed the light toward Gabe and Harmony.

  “Rubin!” Marcie cried, one hand reaching out toward Gabe, the other hugging the bundle to her slight chest. “I’ve been praying you’d come for me. Kayla has missed you, and so have I!”

  Rubin and Kayla, I remembered, were Marcie’s dead husband and baby daughter, which indicated how far she’d gone from reality.

  Harmony gave her husband a little shove, and he knelt beside me, taking Marcie’s hand. “It’s going to be okay, Marcie.” To me he added, “I had no idea she was still on the farm. Dar told me she changed her mind and went home.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  Gabe looked to Harmony for verification. “A month, I think. But she was different before that. In January she disappeared for two weeks.”

  “She was probably here.”

  “From how hard it was to get in,” Harmony added in a fragile voice, “she isn’t visited very often.”

  I bit my lip. “Dar must have another key, though. Inclar left here months ago with this one.”

  Marcie cried while we watched helplessly, a soft, heart-wrenching sound. I wished there was something more I could do for her, but even breathing hurt my chest. Finally, Harmony moved around to Marcie’s other side a
nd gathered the woman in her arms. “Shush, now. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

  Things weren’t exactly okay, but what else could we say?

  The basket near Marcie was filled with dried meats, shriveled fruit, and rotting vegetables, though from the looks of Marcie’s thin frame, she wasn’t much interested in food anymore. The water barrel had a spigot near the bottom and several quart-sized glass jars to drink from. They were empty, and I wondered if she’d grown too weak to turn the spigot.

  I picked up the lantern. Battery operated with two thin fluorescent light bulbs, but it gave out only a dim glow when I turned it on. My hatred for Dar increased tenfold. How could he treat someone this way? No wonder Essence had taken refuge in drugs.

  We sat without moving or speaking for several long, silent moments. I had no idea what the others were thinking, but I was contemplating pulling off the chicken wire and trying to dig our way to safety with pieces of wood from the potato crate. If we started at waist level and worked up, we might eventually get out—if Dar didn’t come back and kill us first.

  “You’re not Rubin.” Marcie’s eyes were open and staring. “You’re Founder Gabe.” She gave a desperate cry. “I’m not dead, then. I’m still here, and he’s going to come back.”

  “Dar will not hurt you again,” Gabe said, standing. He made a forbidding figure in the dim light. “I promise.”

  I didn’t know how he could promise that, short of killing either Dar or Marcie, and I didn’t bet on his chances for the former.

  “Help is coming,” I told Marcie. “Your brother’s been looking for you. That’s why I’m here. I came to find you.”

  “Ethan?” She looked at me, but we’d already lost her again. Her eyes were wide with terror, and her body shook uncontrollably. If there had been a baby in the blanket, it would have smothered by now. Harmony stroked her hair and murmured comforting words in a low voice. She seemed unmindful of Marcie’s stench or the dirty blankets that held who knew what kinds of small critters. Harmony was a born nurturer.

  I moved slowly and carefully to my feet. “We have to get out of here,” I whispered to Gabe. “Let’s look around. See if we can find something to help us pull off the wire so we can dig. This flashlight isn’t going to last long. Once we start digging, we’ll have to turn it off to save the battery—even if that means digging in the dark.”