by Leanna Ellis
With Katie at her side, Hannah slid open the barn door. It was heavy and resisted, but she pushed hard. Waning light made the inside dark and shadowy, and Hannah wished she’d brought her flashlight. Katie ran ahead down the row of stalls. “You left your doll in here?”
“I thought so.” Walking back toward Hannah, Katie shook her head. “Maybe I left it in the loft.” With a shrug, she climbed up the wooden ladder into the rafters where a momma cat and her kittens lived.
Hannah walked along the stalls, peering inside each one and searching the shadowy corners for the doll that often seemed permanently attached to Katie. Sometimes her sister would steal away in the afternoons and play with the kittens or lamb, her doll always in her hand or under her arm.
A breath of a breeze drifted across the back of her neck, and chill bumps rose along her arms. She turned, glanced around. It felt as if someone was here. Her gaze drifted toward the boards above and she heard Katie rummaging around. Of course, she wasn’t alone. But where was Toby? Wouldn’t the lab bark if there was something dangerous? Then she heard the voice, the whisper of her name.
Hannah.
Her heart battered her insides. A sudden flush made her skin prickle.
“Katie?” Her voice quavered.
“It’s not here either.” Katie’s voice was muffled but Hannah could hear the disappointment.
Hannah. I’m here. Don’t be afraid.
She turned in a circle, searching for the source of the voice, her gaze frantic, her heartbeat frenzied. An icy chill flowed over her from head to toe and seeped into as if her bones were sponges, and she began to quake.
“Katie?”
Her little sister poked her head out of the opening above. “What?”
“Did you hear that?”
“What?”
Hannah shook her head. “Nothing. Must have been the wind.”
“Maybe my doll is in the spring house.” Katie climbed back down the ladder, cuddling a kitten that bolted out of her arms, obviously eager for freedom. “I played in there earlier.”
“All right.” Hannah rubbed the chill from her arms. “We’ll try there.” She took Katie’s hand in hers, glanced over her shoulder, and hurried her out of the barn.
Together, they walked across the small patch of dirt. Even in the short time they’d been in the barn, darkness had stolen over the farm, but the moon and stars lit the way to the small building on the side of the barn that housed the diesel engines required for refrigerating the milk, and the air compressors, which pumped water to the house. Toby came around the corner and nudged the back of her skirt then wandered off, nose to ground. When Hannah finally unhinged the rusty lock and pushed inside, Katie followed closely behind. The wind slammed the door shut and buried them in darkness.
Katie gasped and clung tighter to Hannah’s hand.
“It’s all right.” Hannah’s voice sounded odd and tiny in the small building, as if all sound was absorbed in the darkness. Even though her heart was pumping harder and faster than the machines, it had no effect on banishing the cold fear that burrowed into her belly. She blinked hard, trying to see, but the black was deep and complete.
“Should I get the lantern?” Katie’s voice sounded timid.
Hannah patted their joined hands, as much to comfort her little sister as herself. “Just give your eyes a minute to adjust.”
In that length of time, she could make out shadows and shapes of the machinery, but the corners were lost in shadows so black they must have been able to soak up all light. “Why were you playing in here? Dat doesn’t want you in here.”
“I forgot. I won’t do it again.” Katie started forward then stopped and tugged on Hannah’s hand. “Will you come with me to the back?”
“Sure, Katie.”
They picked their way over power lines and cords. The air pump hissed and popped in a steady rhythm, but the usually familiar sound seemed louder in the darkness and made Hannah’s skin contract. They moved along the back wall, inching forward, feeling their way along the wooden planks until Hannah saw a small, dark lump. “Is that it?”
Katie rushed forward and scooped up her baby doll, which used to be Hannah’s and before that Mamm’s. She smoothed out the doll’s rumpled skirt and squashed bonnet. “Toby’s gonna be in trouble. I think he stole it.”
Hannah laughed with relief. “At least she’s all right now. Let’s go back to the house.”
“Where have you been?” Katie scolded her doll. “You shouldn’t go wandering off alone like that. I didn’t know where you were. Come along, it’s almost time for bed.”
Chapter Fifteen
Another body was found.” Mike’s voice came through the cell phone.
“Amish again?” Roc steered the Mustang with one hand, keeping his eyes on the dark road and the swath of light the headlights provided. He’d taken to patrolling the farms and small businesses located in Lancaster County, moving through Bird-in-Hand, Intercourse, and Promise.
“A homeless guy in Philadelphia. Same MO. Neck wound. And—”
“Do you think the perp is on the move?”
“How the hell should I know?”
Roc didn’t have a clue either. He’d had a composite sketch drawn up on the couple he’d met in the alley, but he wasn’t sure why. What would be the charge if he managed to find them? Drinking chicken’s blood? Not that he had proof. Strange behavior? He was an eyewitness. Something didn’t sit well with Roc. Something had happened that night in the alley, and he wasn’t sure what. Had to be some mind trick, some illusion, but Roc was at a loss as to know what exactly had happened.
With few clues except a mad dog run amok, or so it seemed, someone who liked to take a bite—actually a chunk—out of necks, Roc powered up his determination. “Let me know if anything else happens or turns up.”
“You staying in Promise?”
“Until I have reason to move on.”
Roc tossed the cell phone in the passenger seat and continued to drive down the narrow back roads, his gaze scanning left and right for anything that might alert him. But there wasn’t much to see. It was pitch dark. The Amish appeared to be abed and a-snooze or else working on expanding their families. It was after all, close to Intercourse.
Other than the Mustang’s headlights catching an opossum, which froze in the middle of the road, making Roc steer around it, he hadn’t come across anything suspicious. Without any lamps or traffic lights on these back roads, the moon and stars provided the only illumination. Thankfully, the moon was full and bright and the stars plentiful tonight.
For several nights, he’d driven through the farm country, past the Amish homes, businesses, and farms, hoping he’d see something and yet hoping he wouldn’t. The folks here deserved to have the peace they so desired. And for some crazy reason, he felt protective of them. Even though the latest body wasn’t Amish, Roc sensed there was a connection. And that gut instinct of his that had served him well in his cop days was throbbing like a red alarm.
He drove through Bird-in-Hand and Intercourse until he came to Promise, driving extra slow as no one seemed to be on the roads this late. The houses he passed were dark, the shades drawn, and, he hoped, the doors locked. These folks didn’t have security alarms; most had dogs, though they were more the friendly type than the sound-the-alarm barking kind. These folks’ security came from an undying faith in the Almighty to protect them. Roc preferred the nine-millimeter solid steel kind of faith that he could hold in his hand.
A flash of a light off to his right grabbed his attention, and he slowed the Mustang even more, leaning over the steering wheel, trying to peer across the dark field where moonbeams slanted downward. Sure enough, what looked like a disembodied light bobbed and weaved like a drunken firefly. It had to be a flashlight or lantern of some kind. Who would be out this late? In this cold? And why?
Roc pulled
the Mustang to the side of the road and parked, grabbing his Glock as he sprang out of the car, and closed the door quietly. Rather than following the path of the light, he gauged where he anticipated the light was headed and ran along the road, his boots cushioned by dry, fallen grass, and then he cut across a field to bisect its potential path. He crouched low beside a fence and the light came toward him from the right, not directly but about fifty yards south. At that angle, he would catch sight of who was out here. For several minutes, he remained still, silent, searching. It was so quiet. Where were the crickets? The hum of business and traffic? Maybe the cold had frozen everything. Roc felt the cold tunnel deep into his bones, but his heart pumped hard and fast in anticipation of a chase.
A rustling noise to his left startled him, and Roc’s head snapped in the direction of the noise. The bobbing light froze. With the faint moonlight behind him, he could make out a dark shape, but it wasn’t a tree or pole. It had bulges and bumps, not the smooth line of something artificial. But was this man or beast? When the shape moved, he knew it was a man. The shape shifted forward then halted. Roc reached for his gun. He transferred his weight from one foot to the other, just enough to prepare to spring forward, then the shape whirled away and made a crashing sound as the man’s footsteps pounded through the dry brittle grass and brush.
Instantly, Roc was on his feet and giving chase before he could even formulate a thought. He ran a good hundred yards, leaping over fallen trees, tripping on something and scrambling back to his feet, across a mushy patch of ground and into a stand of trees. A branch grabbed at him, and dry, brittle leaves scratched his face when he came to a stop beneath a covering of trees that the moonlight couldn’t penetrate. The darkness became denser, the shadows deepened.
The only sound was Roc’s breath, as he sucked it in through his teeth. Not even a breath of a breeze stirred the patches of dry grass or bare branches and withered leaves. His sides heaved and a muscle pinched just above his lower rib. Then the whispers seemed to coil about him, as if the leaves were chattering among themselves. A bad feeling sunk into him. Was this a trap? Like in the alley? Roc made a slow turn, his gaze darting forward, back, right, left, frisking brush and trees, searching shadows.
“Are you following me?” the voice came from behind Roc.
He whirled around, aiming his Glock. The man stood in a leafy shaft of moonlight but Roc recognized him. “Akiva.”
“The question is: who are you?” But before Roc could answer, the man continued, “Roc Girouard.” He tilted his head sideways. Shadows and moonlight played across the man’s face, distorting his features. “But who is Roc Girouard? No longer a police officer, are you? More a drunk than anything else. So why such a keen interest in the Amish?”
Roc gritted his teeth. His trigger finger itched to tighten. It would only take a fraction more of tension to fire a bullet straight at Akiva. “What’s your interest here?”
“Are you playing at police detective work again?” Akiva shook his head and tsked. “Didn’t you learn anything? Did you not understand my warning? You cannot stop us. Wasn’t Emma’s death proof of that?”
The words felt like a punch straight into Roc’s chest, and he fell back a step. His heart stopped then began to pound with a fierceness that pumped molten anger through him and tightened his grip on the Glock. “You have a death wish?”
Akiva tipped his head back and laughed. “If that were but possible.”
“It’s very possible.” Roc took a step forward, then another.
The laughter stopped and those dark eyes bore into him with an intensity that made sweat emerge on Roc’s brow. Akiva took a step in Roc’s direction, then another.
“Don’t move,” Roc said. “I will shoot.”
The man’s lip curled with disdain, and he took another step, then another.
Roc squeezed the trigger. It was a simple reflexive move, one he’d done a thousand times on the shooting range and only occasionally aimed at a perp on the run, never straight at man’s chest. The second the bullet hit Akiva, the man’s body crumpled forward, folded in on itself. It seemed to shrink and collapse inward and then, with a flutter, took flight and disappeared before Roc could fire again.
Chapter Sixteen
Hannah’s nerves stretched tight like the clothesline. Every skipping leaf and creature stirring in the brush made her pause and listen, turn and peer into the darkness. She swung the flashlight, the yellow eye searching trees, bushes, fence posts, and hay bales. Her breathing sounded loud in her own ears.
But there was nothing out there. She was alone. The moon shone brightly until a cloudbank swept over it. Now it was darker, colder.
When she reached the fence rail, she stuck the flashlight back in her apron and climbed the slats. Her foot caught in the folds of her skirt, twisted, and she wobbled at the top, turning awkwardly, careful to keep the ball of her foot on the thin, narrow board. She managed to hike a leg over the top rail, then the next, as she turned to face the way she’d come, and pushed off, jumping to the ground. Her skirt billowed outward, and the dry grass and fallen leaves softened her landing and tickled her calves and ankles.
It was then, facing the way she had come, that she saw a shape, not twenty steps away, just a shadowy form in the weak, scattered moonlight that resembled man more than tree or beast. Clouds shifted, moving over the moon. Her heart thumped feebly in her chest, the sound pulsing in her ears. The knife she sometimes brought was home in the safety of its drawer. She yanked the flashlight from her apron and swung the light around, arcing the yellow beam across the shape then jerking it backward until it hit pale blue eyes.
“Levi Fisher!”
He squinted, raising his arm to ward off the intrusive light. “Hannah. ’Tis all right. It’s only me.”
He moved toward her like it was perfectly normal for them to run into each other in a cemetery in the middle of the night. His footsteps made crashing sounds through the dry brush.
Hannah planted a fist on her hip, her heart settling back into a normal cadence but her temper sparking. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask the same of you.”
“You were following me, ja?”
He stopped at the fence, not climbing over, simply hooking an arm over the top rail. “I’m protecting you.”
“From what?” She turned her back on him, huffed out a breath, then faced him again, her heel digging deeper into the dirt. “Why? There is nothing here.”
“Nor is Jacob.” His broad brimmed hat shadowed his face and she could not make out his expression, not that she could have read him anyway. “Go ahead and do what you came to do.” A weariness sank into his voice that she didn’t usually detect. “I’ll wait. Then I will see you home.”
“I don’t need you out here, Levi. Go home. I want to be alone.” Her body tightened with anger. This was her place, the only place she had to grieve. Jacob might not be here physically, but she felt him nonetheless. In a more reasonable moment, she might have seen the absurdity of her reaction, but she couldn’t seem to contain herself.
Levi ducked his head and started to climb the fence. “Hannah—”
“I am not yours, Levi Fisher.” Her words hung in the air like a wintry frost.
“A memory cannot warm you, Hannah.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
A moment of silence passed between them. The moon emerged from behind the clouds, and she wished it would disappear and douse her in darkness. “Well then,” Levi muttered, “if that’s the way of it.”
“It is. You can go home, Levi. Do you hear me?” Her voice gained strength.
She watched him walk away, his shoulders squared, his back straight, until his shadow merged with the night. Guilt stalked her but she refused to give in to it. Levi had no right coming here, following her. She’d never given him any indication that she was interested or wanted his protection. When
she could no longer hear his footsteps, she knew she was alone again.
But now the solitude she once knew in this place felt shattered, the jagged pieces of her security and grief fractured into tiny slivers and shards. She felt exposed. How long had Levi been following her here? Had he heard the poems she read? Seen the tears she shed?
She moved through the tombstones, her footsteps halting. Levi was not a rebel; he wouldn’t stay where he wasn’t wanted, not like Jacob. Yet a tingling plucked at the nerves along her spine, just like they had in the barn earlier. It felt as if someone watched her, a sensation she couldn’t erase even as she rubbed the back of her neck to dismiss the chill bumps.
Then she came to his grave and settled at the side of the stone, tucking her legs beneath her and spreading her skirt and cape over her to ward off the coolness of the night. She positioned the flashlight at the base of the granite, and a shaft of light sprayed upward, bathing Jacob’s name. Words lodged in her throat and she covered his name with her hand—her way of greeting him. The cold stone was as hard, as determined, and as eternal as her love.
The air bit her skin, and she curled her fingers inward, tucking her hand in her sleeve. Memories nipped at her but she could do nothing to shield herself from them. At times they comforted, wrapping around and strengthening her, but lately the memories sank into her like sharp teeth. Jacob’s contagious smile, mischievous and playful, caused her heart to ache. It was the kind of ache that came when her toes thawed after being outside in the wintry elements—a pulsing throb.
It had been a warm day in late summer, two years ago. Changed, different, and more serious than ever before, Jacob had returned the month prior, from his journey traveling to New Orleans to pay homage to his favorite authors. In a way, he had aged, not with gray streaked in his hair or sudden lines on his forehead, but with a weary tension coiled in him. He had purpose and was ready to be baptized. Actually, he had been in a hurry to make his commitment to God and the community, asking the bishop to move the district’s baptism up by a few weeks, but it always came in late fall, after harvest was over, and there was no moving the bishop. And so he’d waited.
