The Breath of Dawn

by Kristen Heitzmann

It baffled him for a second; then he said, “Didn’t Quinn tell you she’s going by Erin?”

  “Why would she do that? Quinn’s a great name.”

  He gave her the succinct version.

  “Well, I knew about most of that, but she’s still been Quinn to me.”

  He rubbed his eyes. “I guess it doesn’t matter. Is she there?”

  “No. I’m at my dad’s. She said she might join us later, but she went ice fishing with Rudy.”

  Ice fishing. In the valley Rudy usually fished, there’d be no service. He blew out his breath, relief clearing his head. “Is there a plan for later?”

  “She said we’d talk. I’m actually thinking of staying the night with my dad. There are so many things I’d like to do here at his place before I go.”

  “Okay. But if you don’t talk to her soon, would you go by the ranch and see what’s up?”

  “Sure. Of course. Is everything okay?”

  He frowned. “Probably.”

  “Well, I’ll let you know as soon as I hear.”

  He thanked her and hung up. Erin would see his calls when she got service. She’d call and tell him she was fine. Maybe at that point he could tell her the same from his end.

  Dizzy and disoriented, she opened her eyes to darkness and Hannah weeping. Feeling the cold metal clamp on her left wrist, she realized the tape that had bound her was gone. She shifted on the hard surface, rolling from her hip to sit up against a metal bed frame she recognized by touch. Groping, she found Hannah’s hand in the other cuff on the same bed and said, “Are you all right?”

  The noise Hannah made was not speech. Fear, fury, loathing.

  “Hannah, are you hurt?”

  “No,” she wailed.

  Erin let go of her sister and felt her pocket. No gun. Either it fell out when Markham manhandled her and it was on the ground somewhere . . . or he had it.

  She didn’t feel her phone either. Then, as if her mind willed it, the phone rang. But not in her pocket.

  It was Morgan’s ring tone from the modern metal opera he loved. An organ blast, then “What good this deafness if this prattle I must hear.”

  She had laughed so hard the first time she heard what he programmed for his ring. She couldn’t laugh now.

  In the nearly complete darkness, Markham touched her phone. The face of it faintly illuminated his features as he said, “We’ll let it go,” and touched Ignore.

  His appearing like that in the darkness creeped her out—as he intended it to. She waited him out, but when he laughed softly, she said, “You’re scaring Hannah.” Her sister hated the dark.

  “Are you scared, Hannah?”

  She whimpered.

  “There, see? No complaints.”

  “This is between us. Let her out of here.”

  Laughing contemptuously, he lit the camp lantern from the kitchen and eyed them. “You still think you have control. It’s hard to imagine you don’t. There’s no point of reference for the sort of helplessness you’re experiencing, so your mind spins scenarios of escape. If you do this, or you say that . . .”

  She didn’t respond. Let him play out his fantasy.

  “Then comes an incident, an action that cracks the veneer. You grasp the possibility of chaos. You conceive a state of helplessness in which you have no control. Can’t talk your way out. Can’t fight your way out. Can’t. Get. Out.”

  Glimpsing his anger, she trembled. She knew he wanted to punish her, just hadn’t imagined it like this.

  He said, “That moment hasn’t occurred . . . yet. The action that drives you over. But it will.” He lifted the lantern from where he’d set it and started up the stairs.

  She wanted to holler out everything he needed to get the money, but it wasn’t about that anymore. As with everything else, Markham would make this a show. Though Hannah whimpered when he reached the top, he didn’t turn back, just went out and closed the door, plunging the cellar into utter darkness. Hannah let out a high-pitched cry, like a banshee fading into the wind.

  Erin counted the beats of her heart until she was sure he wouldn’t respond to Hannah’s scream. Then she felt inside her coat for the zippered pocket and pulled out her small, super-bright LED flashlight. She pressed the switch and a piercing bluish light streamed out. Gasping, Hannah stared at her.

  “There,” she said. “Don’t be afraid.” As though the words ever made it so. She studied her sister, truly confused. Could Pops have gotten things so wrong? “Hannah, why is he doing this to you? I thought you were getting married.”

  Hannah started to sob. “He wanted to forgive you. He had to forgive you so you could stop running. So we could be married without a sword between us.”

  As usual, Hannah didn’t exactly make sense, but his bald-faced lie was clear enough. Erin hated him with a purity she wasn’t certain she’d repent. She said, “If that was what he wanted, why didn’t he do it?”

  “I don’t know.” Hannah cried for long minutes before she could go on. “Maybe he can’t forgive until you give back the money you stole. When he gets it, God can work the miracle.”

  “Markham told you that?”

  “God revealed it. He’s going to multiply the money. And then we’ll have our real wedding.”

  “Real?”

  Hannah gulped. “Daddy already did it, but we’re not counting that.”

  So they had been there, six hours away in Hot Springs, South Dakota, as Pops said. She hadn’t imagined her father would marry them on the spot. What was he thinking, that a show of faith would erase everything else?

  “Hannah, why does Markham have Pops’ cell phone?”

  “What?”

  “The phone you called me on. It belongs to Pops.”

  Hannah scowled. “He came to the house. He told us you’re having a baby. Are you?”

  Erin pressed a hand to her stomach as though that could shield the life inside. “Did Markham take his phone?”

  “Of course not. Pops hollered at our father and left.”

  Her chest constricted. “He has it now, Hannah. How did he get it?”

  “I don’t know,” she whined. “How would I know?”

  “You weren’t with him?” She tried to calm the building terror. “When he got the phone, were you with him?”

  “I don’t know that he has it. Only that you say so.”

  And why would she ever believe the sister she despised? She tried to remember any good times they’d had, but the things that stood out were the accidents.

  The ladder Hannah knocked down—resulting in Erin’s broken ankle. The hot water Hannah spilled—burning Erin’s arm. The bicycle Hannah lost control of—Erin’s equipped with training wheels, plunging over the embankment.

  A deep sadness worked into the fear and discomfort of the moment. “Did you ever love me, Hannah? Even a little?”

  Hannah sniffed. “How could I?”

  “But why? What did I do?”

  “Everything. Everything I couldn’t.” Bitterness came off her like a scent. “Even the day Markham asked our father for my hand. You weren’t even there, and it was still about you.”

  “How?”

  “I told you. Pops barging in, telling us you’re married. You’re having a baby. Always first. Always better.”

  Erin closed her eyes. So Markham knew Pops could reach her. He knew she’d take his call. But . . . oh, God, how did he get the phone?

  She felt a crushing sensation in her chest, a grief that she might be responsible for what happened. If she hadn’t called Pops, hadn’t shared her joy— No. She didn’t know anything. She couldn’t give in to despair. Markham wanted to break her, but she wouldn’t let him.

  Without her phone, she couldn’t tell how long she and Hannah sat without speaking. The last she’d eaten and drunk was a bottled water and trail mix Rudy provided while they fished. Her haunches ached from sitting on the cold, hard cement. Whatever position she shifted to, her shackled arm hurt. The stun gun didn’t seem to have left any damag
e, but the baby?

  Like nothing else, that thought almost made her weep. Their child must be so tiny, so protected by God’s amazing design of her body. She had to believe she’d kept the shock to herself. Still, she breathed, “I’m so sorry, little one.”

  After a while, Hannah crawled onto the linked-spring support that once held a vinyl pad. Erin sighed. She had probably disposed of it in the Dumpster, never imagining they might want it. When she heard Hannah sleeping, she turned off the flashlight, since she didn’t know how long they’d need the batteries. In a more thorough search, Markham would have found it too. He must have been too thrilled to find the handgun and her phone to look further.

  Having the light was a small defiance but enough to encourage, even turned off. While it was worse for Hannah, she didn’t enjoy sitting in complete darkness either. At least it was quiet.

  How much of the whispers and laughter had been the power of suggestion? Professor Jenkins thought so. She thought of his face and swallowed a lump, thought of RaeAnne and swallowed another. If she pictured Morgan, she’d cry.

  The pressing issue was needing a bathroom. She’d been in the wilderness with Rudy, and then Markham launched his attack. She shifted the position of her bladder. Whatever Markham endured in prison, at least he had a toilet.

  Lord. Was this her penalty for punishing the people who preferred Markham’s lies to the plain truth? She pushed up onto her knees, careful not to jostle the bed, and tried to understand.

  Reverend Reilly had embraced Markham, therefore Markham was embraced. He believed Markham, therefore Markham was believed. Markham’s con became their credo.

  “The believers gave over the fruits of their labor, so God’s miracle would satisfy all. Give, that you may be satisfied with more left in scraps than what you gave up.”

  She thought of Morgan rubbing Livie’s little back. “Do you think I’m more generous than God?”

  The same message with such different intentions. Morgan modeled a father’s love she’d never felt herself, but now she’d seen it, now she understood when he said, “Could I live without loving and caring for her?” There would be love for their new baby too. What their hearts held for Livie would not be diminished by opening to another. No baby would hunger as she did.

  Morgan had asked her to call on God to do what wasn’t humanly possible. Her heart broke to think he might lose another wife and child. With that aching thought, she breathed, “Help me, Lord. I need you. This baby needs you. And Morgan needs us. Please, please, help.”

  In the dark and dreadful cellar, grace surrounded her. She knew with stark clarity that Markham could kill her. But God would be there, as fierce for her young as Celia, as generous as Morgan, as pure as Livie. She would not die in doubt, even if it was in vain.

  CHAPTER

  35

  Markham pressed his palms to his temples. Hannah was crying again, though admittedly with good reason. He’d originally intended to use her as bait, then let her out while he contacted Morgan Spencer to ransom Quinn. Unfortunately for Hannah, the relief from her incessant need proved irresistible—that and the fact he had no key for the shackles.

  He had left them both in darkness while he took a psychedelic journey. A lower dose limited the paralysis and exhaustion, but he still experienced the psychedelic thrill and some euphoria on waking. Maybe at some point he would drug Hannah to ease her suffering.

  He studied the cabinet with one shattered pane, the ampules nestled inside. The liquid only needed to touch her, but he hesitated. She might not have the mental capacity to handle the effect. Hadn’t she screamed and screamed his first time? He couldn’t risk making it worse. She understood the importance of his mission, yet still she cried when he lit his way down the stairs.

  “Please, Markham. I need a bathroom.”

  He wasn’t heartless. In his first exploration of the cellar, he’d found a few useful things. From a small rubbish heap, he provided a bent and dented bedpan. “It’s the only one,” he said. “You’ll have to share.”

  Hannah’s face seemed almost sweet in sacrifice. “She’s here, Markham. Isn’t it time?”

  She wouldn’t understand the complexity and magnitude of his plan, remembered only the small lie he’d told, as though forgiveness could ever be extended. “God’s ways are not ours, Hannah. I must listen and obey—as you have promised to.”

  By Quinn’s glare, he thought she would dispute that, but she only said, “We need water.”

  “Yes, please, Markham,” Hannah implored.

  Why was Quinn not begging? Would she if he only cared for Hannah? If it were up to Hannah, Quinn would go thirsty.

  Leaving the lit lantern on the floor, he went up the stairs and out to the garage, where several cases of bottled water awaited an emergency. He supposed this qualified, at least in their minds. He went back down with a water bottle for each. “Better just sip or the bedpan won’t be enough.”

  Erin seethed. Hannah had relieved herself while he was gone. Now he was back, and though she desperately needed to go, she’d wet her pants before she’d give him that satisfaction. While he stood, pondering God’s ways, her phone rang in his pocket. With a twitching smile, he pulled it out. “Who’s RaeAnne?”

  She clenched her jaw. “My friend.” If she didn’t take it, RaeAnne would worry. She might—

  He held it out. “If you let on that anything is wrong, I’ll cut Hannah and let her bleed.” From his pocket he pulled a knife, and with a whht a razor-sharp blade shot up. Lethal as it was, it couldn’t cut Hannah more deeply than hearing his threat.

  Erin took the phone, and said, “Hi, RaeAnne.”

  “Did you have fun fishing?”

  “Yes. I caught a cutthroat—” Her voice almost broke on the word. “How’s your dad?”

  “I think he’s really happy I’m here. Would you mind very much if I spent the night? I’d like to get his place as clean as you got Vera’s.”

  She wanted to scream she was trapped at Vera’s and to send help, but Markham’s voice had been bloodless. His eyes showed the duality she’d seen before, a cold vacancy and fiery zeal.

  “We’re going to watch some movies,” RaeAnne said. “The old ones he watched with my mother.”

  “That’s a great idea.” She didn’t want RaeAnne sucked into her mess. “I’ll talk to you soon.” She pressed End and clung to the phone.

  But Markham said, “Slide it over.”

  Dread filled her as she relinquished her connection to the world. She’d just bought him time. Unless Morgan . . .

  Hannah sniffled. “I’m hungry. Markham, please let me come up.”

  The problem was obvious, but if he didn’t have a key, he could get bolt cutters at Rudy’s store. Somehow she didn’t think it was high on his list.

  “I’ll see what I can find for you to eat,” he told Hannah, and went up. While she could hear him moving around the kitchen, Erin used the bedpan with burning relief. The smell of mingled urine almost made her retch, and she prayed he’d take it out and dump it. By the look on his face when he came back down, Markham had no intention of doing so. He brought them partly stale French rolls.

  “Bread?” Hannah gaped. “Dry bread, Mark?”

  His eyes turned to flint. “What did you call me?”

  “Markham. I . . . I mean Markham.”

  When Hannah started to cry, Erin stifled a groan. She wanted to feel compassion, but instead she felt like kicking them both really hard.

  Clearly Markham intended this to drag on, to maximize the terror in some twisted game, but she refused to play. The minute he went up and took the lantern with him, she lit the flashlight. Before anything else, she had to get out of the shackle. The chain was old, the metal possibly fatigued. Even so, her flesh was too tender to apply that kind of pressure to metal. She needed something else.

  The rubbish she’d left to be discarded later provided the best possibilities. Some kind of bar might pry open the chain or even the shackle itself. She couldn
’t reach the pile from where she was, but the bed wasn’t fixed to the floor. Though heavy, it was movable.

  “Hannah, I want to find something to undo these cuffs.”

  Hannah sulked. “It’s your fault we’re in them.”

  “Help me move the bed to that pile.”

  “It’s not God’s will.”

  Supreme frustration swelled like a volcano. “How can you still think he speaks for God? Look at us.”

  “Paul was in chains, Joseph sold into slavery. Sometimes that’s how God works.”

  “Did Markham tell you that? When he chained you to this bed?”

  “‘We glory in tribulations.’”

  Erin let out her breath. “Okay. Fine. We’ll do it Markham’s way.” She turned off the flashlight.

  Hannah shrieked.

  “If your screams bring him back, I’ll give him the light.” Not.

  “Turn it on,” she rasped.

  “I can’t. We have to see if he’s coming.”

  Sure enough, Markham opened the door. “Hannah?”

  “I . . . I heard something. It scared me.”

  He shined the lantern on their faces.

  “Markham,” Hannah cried. “Please leave the light on.”

  It was senseless cruelty to keep them in the dark, but he closed the door without a word. Before she employed the flashlight, Erin said, “If I drag the bed myself, he’ll hear it. We have to lift it together.” Hannah might not be much use, but she was attached. “We can lift and set it down. As long as it doesn’t make noise.”

  Hannah whimpered. “Turn on the light.”

  Erin pressed the switch and held the flashlight between her teeth when she stood up. She showed Hannah how to hold the frame. The first try, Hannah only lifted it inches and they went nowhere.

  Erin took the light out of her mouth. “You help me do this, Hannah, or I swear I’ll smash the flashlight.”

  She hissed, “I can’t.”

  “You’d better.” As kindly as everyone before Markham had treated her, the only thing that seemed to motivate now was cruelty. Not that this even touched cruel. “Again.” She bit the light and gripped the frame.