Between Dusk and Dawn

by Alfie Thompson

  She crashed her body into it with every remaining ounce of strength.

  Quentin's surprised howl of pain blended with a boom of thunder as Jonna rushed past him, stunning him just the way she'd surprised Sam the day she had thought he'd de­stroyed her house.

  She rounded the stairwell, ran through the dining room, the kitchen and out the back door, refusing to let the mem­ory of Sam catching her linger more than a second in her mind. Quentin would not catch her.

  Hope rose as cool air blasted her face. Advantage Jonna, she thought as the wild night closed around her once again. This time, it felt comforting.

  She didn't need to see the terrain. She knew the barren hills snuggling up close to her childhood home almost as well as she knew her name. Her feet felt like wings as she raced toward the dry creek bed a quarter of a mile beyond the barn.

  Quentin emerged from the house behind her, blundering and banging and screaming in a mad mixture of rage and pain.

  A bolt of lightning rent the sky and hung above her like some crazy neon directional arrow, and Quentin's other­worldly cry turned triumphant.

  Another flash of lightning split the sky and a booming rumble of thunder fell through, bursting a cloud that held giant splats of cold rain.

  Despair descended with the rain, trying to crush her re­instated hope. She refused it, shook it off, pushed it away. He'd seen the direction she had taken and there was noth­ing in this stark, open land to use for cover, but crazy, mur­derous Quentin Kincaid had to catch her, dammit. And he wasn't going to catch her—or kill her—easily.

  She had too much to live for.

  * * *

  Sam and Sheriff Madden neared the long drive as a sprinkling of rain began to fall.

  Madden pointed at the house on the hill. "Lit like a damn candle," he murmured. "What the hell is she doing still here?"

  Sam's heart stopped. "She may have left them on inten­tionally," Sam offered, as much for comfort for himself as for the older man. "I don't think she's turned them off since he destroyed her house." He hoped—prayed—that was it. He wouldn't even consider what they might find if she was still here.

  He felt Quentin Kincaid's loathsome presence as surely as be felt the approaching winter in this building, churning storm.

  "Look."

  "What?"

  "That light wasn't on a second ago," Sam said quickly, pointing toward the farmhouse.

  "You sure?" Madden's foot pressed the brake and they turned into the drive.

  "Positive."

  "Look there!" Madden aimed Sam's attention to a jum­ble of folded metal and broken trees. "Jonna's truck," he said unnecessarily. "Something's happened." Madden hit the gas and they were halfway up the drive and beside the smashed mess in seconds.

  Sam was out and running to investigate before the car stopped. A bloodcurdling howl competed with the rolling thunder and froze him in his tracks.

  "That wasn't Jonna," Madden said.

  Sam changed course, started toward the noise. It mu­tated into a gleeful, horrendous chortle.

  "Get back here, you idiot!" Madden yelled.

  Fear in the sheriff's voice took the insult out of the or­der, but Sam hurried back anyway.

  "Here." Madden met him halfway with his service re­volver. "You may need this."

  Sam shuddered. "You may, too."

  "I've got a rifle in the car." He cocked his head in that direction as another streak of lightning slashed the night. "I'm gonna check this out—" he indicated the wreckage "—then head up there—" he lifted his head to stare at Jon­na's house "—or follow you, depending on what I see or hear between now and then. You yell if you need help."

  Sam nodded then charged again toward the farmhouse.

  * * *

  Jonna had almost reached the edge of the gully when she heard Quentin rapidly closing the distance between them. She hesitated, uncertain what she should do.

  The cavity in the landscape was abrupt, a little deeper than she was tall. She had planned to use it for cover, run­ning its length until it met the road. Should she risk getting into it now? With Quentin on her heels, she might be mak­ing her own trap.

  The dry creek bed might also make a good fortress, she realized. There were rocks, dead tree limbs, lots of things she could pick up and pelt him with. Just let Quentin Kincaid try to come in after her.

  Her body ached, a vicious stitch stabbed her side from the running. And the rain bore down, increasing in size, veloc­ity and frequency with every drop.

  She shivered. Her teeth chattered from cold, wet terror. But she was not going to let Sam's monster win.

  * * *

  Lightning silhouetted two figures against the sky as Sam rounded the corner of the house—male and female, maybe ten feet apart.

  The Jonna shape paused, turned one way, then another. Her body vibrated with life and emotion, like a skilled and graceful dancer in a superbly choreographed ballet.

  Her figure swayed and leaned against the slightly lighter backdrop of sky. Quentin's figure was tall and lean, and his movements were in many ways as graceful as hers, as he reached for her, reducing the distance between then to inches.

  Sam's breath caught as Jonna's shape drifted elegantly away.

  With Technicolor light and quadriphonic sound, Jonna performed a heartrending elusive lover's dance for Sam. But Quentin entered the exotic scene. And the accompaniment screeched sorely off-key.

  Quentin reached for her, this time touching. And Jonna poised and balanced on the edge of some unseen abyss. Sam's heart felt as if it were being torn in two and dragged in pieces from between his ribs. His inanimate limbs came to life again.

  The lightning died. Their shadows melded with the sav­age night. Sam cringed as a wounded cry ripped open the night. Then the wind whipped the sound away and Sam re­alized it came from him. And it was nothing more—or less—than Jonna's name.

  * * *

  Perched on the edge of the gully, Jonna felt Quentin's fingers grip her arm, then slip. A sob of relief escaped her and turned into a scream. Then she realized it wasn't hers. Someone else—Sam—was wailing her name.

  All the emotion she'd been holding in poured through her soul and from her knees, her toes, her fingertips. She felt it overpower her, then escape from every centimeter of her skin.

  She'd never imagined such horror existed. But it wasn't Quentin or her death that released the incapacitating ter­ror. It was the sudden, sure knowledge that Sam loved her. She could hear it in her name. The sound echoed and rever­berated around her and finally released her tears.

  Now that she had found him, there could be no greater tragedy than never having the chance to tell him she loved him. He needed to hear it. He needed her.

  Quentin's hands came at her again, brushing but missing their grasp on her neck.

  She refused to die. She fought him off, twisting and turning toward where Sam had called for her.

  Quentin lunged one more time.

  "Sam?" she cried, wrenching aside as Quentin began to slide on the rain-slicked ground. She watched, paralyzed with disbelief, as he disappeared over the edge of the drop­off.

  She heard a thud, an "oomph," as he hit bottom.

  "Sam," she cried again, backing away as Quentin's vile hand clamped around her ankle. She sobbed as he tugged.

  Her feet left the solid earth and he pulled her down, down into the dark hole with him. She grasped at the walls of the gully. She sought a stabilizing hold on the hard wet ground, the clumps of dried prairie grass—anything but Quentin— as she slithered and fell, feet first.

  Quentin growled with triumph as she connected with the floor of the creek bed. She struggled as his hands encircled her throat.

  Spreading herself flat against the angled wall, she scram­bled, groped, strained away from his tightening fingers. His body pressed disgustingly against her, pinning her in place.

  Her hand closed over a rough-edged stone. Her vision blurred. She raised the rock, aimed it shakily t
oward his head. It glanced off, barely scraping his forehead, so that she was stunned when his hands loosened momentarily.

  He yowled, more from surprise than with the impact, and he renewed his assault on her neck.

  Jonna's hand fell and immediately covered another rock. This one was rounder, heavier, a little easier to grip. She felt her consciousness waver, threaten to slip away.

  Terror gave her one last burst of energy. This time, she swung wide, using the heaviness of the rock for momen­tum. She heard it thunk as it clipped him solidly on the side of the head.

  His body jerked up, away from her. With her new-found mobility, she rammed her knee hard against his groin.

  Quentin thrashed and fell against her. With a massive surge of strength fueled by revulsion, she thrust him aside and frantically searched for another rock. When her hands found a broken branch from some long-forgotten tree, she only used one smooth motion as she picked it up and struck.

  The blow hit the back of his head, and the ancient wood shattered in her hands.

  Quentin sagged against the side of the gully.

  Sobbing, Jonna clambered out of his reach. The sob changed to a wail as her foot slipped and failed to find pur­chase on the slope. For every step up, she lost two as she slid back on the rain-slickened earth.

  Quentin moaned and rustled, and her nerves screamed as a hand reached down through the rain.

  "Jonna. Jonna?"

  Sam's voice, the lifeline he extended just by reaching out to her suddenly seemed too far away as Quentin's hands clamped over her neck again, taking her air, casting a cur­tain of pain and dazzling bright spots between her and Sam. She tried to speak his name and the fingers tightened, ren­dering her weak and nearly senseless.

  She heard a soft "oomph" as something dropped beside her. She felt Sam's presence as she'd never felt him before. A peaceful certainty that everything was going to be okay and a wave of blackness engulfed her at the same time. Suddenly, she didn't care. Sam was with her now.

  She wasn't sure exactly how much time had passed when she realized Quentin's vile fingers were no longer on her. Gagging and gasping with the attempt to draw air into her oxygen-starved lungs consumed all her efforts as Quentin yowled again in frustrated pain. His animalistic snarl reverberated around her, then came to an abrupt end.

  "Sam," she managed to croak as he touched her.

  "Just a minute," he whispered. "I'll get you out of here in just a minute." She felt him leave her side and the wet and shadowy world gradually came back into focus.

  Quentin lay on his side, staring blankly at her from the other side of the gully.

  "Jonna?" Her drenched and muddy hair blocked her vi­sion as she turned toward Sam's voice. He was above her again, his hand extended.

  She grabbed it, hanging on for dear life as he lifted and pulled her up and out of danger, then folded and sheltered her against his heart.

  She didn't know she was frozen until she felt his warmth. She didn't know her heart was still beating until she felt the pace of his. Suddenly, she wasn't sure that she hadn't died. This could very well be heaven—except for the violent rat­tling inside her head.

  "Shh..." Sam stroked her, swayed her gently. And she realized the noise was the clatter of her teeth, her terrified sobs, maybe even her shaking bones.

  "You bastard." Sam's other voice, his hard and hateful one, jolted her back to torrential reality. The arm that didn't hold her stretched over the deep scar in the earth. And his steady hand held a gun.

  A streak of lightning revealed his target. Quentin. He looked even more deranged than he had earlier, but he'd lost his power over her and Jonna turned her remaining strength back to Sam.

  Sam—the man she loved more than life itself. The man had already been nearly destroyed by the demon at the wrong end of the gun and he grew deathly still. She felt Sam's hatred curve his finger around the trigger.

  "Don't," Jonna whispered and the now-gentle rain washed away all her fear—except for Sam.

  Sam looked at her but she wasn't sure he saw her. "Sam, please, don't let him destroy you now."

  * * *

  Sam could taste the bitter revenge he'd hungered for, and Quentin Kincaid had earned the hell Sam wanted to send him to. But mud-caked, wonderfully alive Jonna, looked at Sam with absolute trust in her eyes and shamed him.

  He'd betrayed her trust, never earned it. If it had been up to him, Quentin would have killed her.

  Sam's arm tightened possessively around her. His finger twitched, and he focused back on the pathetically evil bas­tard sneering up at him.

  Don't let him destroy you. Jonna's words reverberated in the air around him. Destroy him? The man already had. He'd calmly taken his sister's life. He'd tried to kill Jonna.

  "Sam," she repeated softly. "We can't be like him. We can't."

  Sam's warm tears mingled with the cold rain pelting his face. The bastard had robbed him of his soul. How could Quentin Kincaid destroy him any more than he already had?

  "You did what you had to, Sam. The police are involved now. Let them have him. We don't have to kill him."

  Sam could kill him, say it was in self-defense. He knew without question that Jonna would tell the authorities—if they asked—that he didn't have a choice, that he did it to save her. But Jonna had saved herself.

  "He'll be here with us the rest of our lives if we kill him," she said.

  Sweet, capable Jonna squeezed the hand he held tight about her shoulders, as if she could hear him think her name. He felt her strong, gentle love flowing to him, around him, quenching and drowning the hate.

  He looked at Quentin, wanted him to die. But it wouldn't be for his sister now. Nothing could avenge Denise's death— or bring her back to life. The revenge would be for himself, nothing more than a payback for his having stolen Sam's tight control of his well-ordered life. He'd despised Quen­tin for making him feel powerless when he had every inten­tion of saving the world.

  Tension seeped away as he realized he couldn't save any­one but himself. The hand holding the gun dropped to his side.

  Jonna sighed.

  "God, I love you." He caught her so tightly to him he heard her gasp in pain. "I'm sorry."

  "Oh, but it feels so good." She laughed, cried, mur­mured his name.

  Quentin moved, and Sam waved the gun in the insane man's direction. "I wouldn't if I were you," he said, as sweeping strokes of red light painted the area around them ghoulish colors. "The sheriff's coming."

  "Thank heavens," Jonna whispered. "How did you get here anyway?"

  "Later." He bent to kiss her as a car door slammed be­hind than. "We've got too many things to do first." Live. Celebrate life.

  "You two all right?" Madden heralded them.

  "Will be as soon as you take this monster off our hands," Sam replied. "Oh, yes, we have lots to do," he repeated, nuzzling Jonna's ear.

  Another of the sheriff's brigade started slowly across the rough pasture. "Quentin Kincaid, I presume?" Madden said, scowling at the vacant-eyed man.

  "I'm not sure anyone is still home in there," Sam said as he set Jonna aside and helped Madden pull the shadow man from the ravine. A deputy and Connors disembarked from the newly arrived car. "He's all yours," Sam said as Mad­den clamped on handcuffs.

  "Wait." Madden hollered as Jonna started to lead Sam away. "You can't leave. We've got to—"

  "I'm wet. I'm cold," Jonna called. "You know where to find us."

  "Tomorrow," Sam added.

  "You can't... We can't..." Madden yelled after them.

  Sam drew her as close as physically possible, given the circumstances. "You don't need me to protect you, Jonna— you're a very competent woman—"

  She practically lit the night with her satisfied glow of pride.

  "But if you'll let me stay, I promise, I'll keep you warm."

  Her simple, secret smile warmed her eyes. "I'm counting on it." She sighed, stopping, turning in his arms. "Say it again," she urged. "Say you love m
e again, Sam."

  He kissed her, holding her so tight even the rain couldn't get between them. "If it helps, I'll say it a hundred thou­sand times."

  He said it.

  "I love you, too, Sam."

  "I know," he said. A peaceful feeling of awe mixed in with the genuine belief and genuine gratitude overwhelmed him. He kissed her again, this time with reverence.

  "Now, let's get out of this storm." From the look in her eyes, this storm wouldn't be any stronger than the one building to be unleashed inside.