Touch of Rain

by Teyla Branton

  “I don’t have any money—not that I’m willing to give them, anyway.”

  “Don’t people usually take more time to recruit?” Jake asked. “Are they really going to believe Autumn decided to join in only one day?”

  “From what I’ve seen of this cult over the past year, they’ll invite Autumn to meet with them at the hotel where they’re staying, introduce her around, and find out her weaknesses so they can exploit them to get her to join. It’s all pretty methodical.” Ethan ran his finger over the barrel of his gun, which for some reason made my heart beat a little faster—though not from fear. There is something intrinsically powerful about a man holding a gun.

  “Most people seem to take a full month or more to join them,” Ethan continued, “but I have seen people join after one weekend of meetings. It may not make sense to you or me, because we’re emotionally balanced, but for people on the edge, or people who’ve undergone a recent tragedy or a change in their life, it can make all the sense in the world.”

  “So basically they’re all wackos,” Bret said.

  Ethan shook his head. “Not really. Cults may attract a lot of desperate and needy people, but a lot of regular people get involved as well. Some experts claim we have more than three thousand cults in the United States alone. Still, it’s true they prey upon the emotionally fragile.”

  Emotionally fragile. I wondered how long it took for a math teacher to become comfortable spouting such phrases.

  “Autumn, this isn’t funny,” Jake growled.

  I hadn’t realized I was grinning. “I don’t think it is.” I sank into the chair next to Jake.

  “As for the money,” Ethan continued as though we hadn’t spoken, “I’ve saved a bit that you can offer them to throw off suspicion. But money won’t be their sole objective because they obviously need people to work for them. They must rake in a pretty penny with all those unpaid laborers.”

  I pulled up my feet onto the chair and wrapped my arms around my legs. “What if you never get the money back? I mean, what if they’re exactly what they seem and there’s no fraud going on beside underpayment of workers? With three thousand cults around, there have to be some that aren’t destructive influences. I’m sure many communes fit the cult description but do only good for their members.”

  “Not Harmony Farms,” Ethan said, shaking his head. “I’m sure they’re dirty. They’ve gone to too many pains to hide their real operation. Besides, the money means nothing compared to finding my sister and getting her the help she needs. I don’t care if I get it back as long as we find Marcie.”

  “I still don’t like it,” Jake muttered.

  I smiled at him confidently. “It’ll be okay. I want to do this. My parents were people like these, and I’m sure I can handle myself around them.”

  Ethan began repacking his equipment into a large black briefcase. “I’d like to go over some things with you before you talk to them,” he said to me, “and then again after you tell them you’re joining. Once we know when they’re pulling out and what their plans are regarding your membership, we can organize a plan of attack. I can give you a lift home tonight so we can talk—unless you drove your own car, of course.” His eyes met mine, the intense blue holding a message that had nothing to do with Harmony Farms. He wanted to see me alone. For what purpose, I was willing to find out.

  How convenient that I hadn’t driven my car. I opened my mouth to accept, but Jake beat me to it. “I’m taking her home. We have plans.”

  We did? Riding home on his bike wasn’t exactly a plan. I glanced at Tawnia for help, but she shrugged, her mouth curved in an amused smile. Good thing someone was getting enjoyment out of this.

  Ethan gave a short nod. “Okay, tomorrow morning then. I’ll drop by your shop.” He finished packing his things and scooped up both the briefcase and the duffel with Marcie’s belongings. “Nice to meet everyone.”

  He met my gaze again for a long moment, while I silently berated Jake for his interference. In the past Jake had always been helpful when I became interested in a new guy. What was his problem now?

  When Ethan had gone, I said goodbye to Bret and a still worried Tawnia, grabbed my handbag, and went with Jake to his bike. He pulled on his black leather jacket after first offering it to me. Then he straddled the bike and motioned for me to climb on behind him.

  I shook my head. “Why did you tell Ethan I couldn’t go with him?”

  His jaw hardened. “We had plans to go for a ride, didn’t we?”

  “Well, yes, but it’s not as if . . . I mean, you said yourself that we’re only . . . Sheeze, Jake. He’s, well, hot. And I like him. I mean, now that he’s not being a jerk. I think he likes me too.”

  “Of course he does,” Jake said stiffly. “But you know nothing about him.”

  “Yes, I do. He’s a math teacher turned private eye, whose sister is missing.”

  “So he says.” Jake arched a brow.

  That irritated me. After all, I wasn’t completely stupid. “I felt his sister’s loss, and I saw him in her imprint. I know she was planning to join the people at Harmony Farms.”

  “Look, I know you’ve seen and experienced a lot,” Jake said, his voice strained. “But for all the things you’ve done in your life and for all the variety of people you’ve met, you’ve basically remained untouched by the really bad stuff. I don’t know if that was Winter’s influence or if your own energy attracts the better sort of people, but Harmony Farms is connected to two missing women, who could be dead or worse, and you don’t seem to be taking this seriously.”

  I wanted to tell him to mind his own business, that I’d spent time with more druggies and criminals than he’d likely glimpsed in his entire lifetime. But the truth was, he was right. For all my odd schooling and the strange characters that had marched in and out of my life over the years, I’d been set apart, untouchable, as Winter’s daughter. People had come to him—and Summer when she’d been alive—with broken, seemingly irreparable lives, and he had given them herbs, found them places to stay and a job to do. Most of all he’d loved them, and that love had evoked a deep loyalty.

  People still showed up at the Herb Shoppe to repay me for something Winter or Summer had done for them. A new shelf for my antiques, repairs for my car, a knitted sweater, a box of food, pottery, and even jewelry. Of course, some hadn’t been able to scrape the pieces of their lives back together, and others had cracked again after Winter’s repairs, but none of these had ever dragged me into their dirt, though I’d slept in the same apartment with many of them.

  I took a deep breath, filled with both longing and anger at the man who’d been my father—longing for his presence and protection, and anger at his desertion, however unintentional. Tears bubbled from the corners of my eyes, and I looked away from Jake so he wouldn’t see.

  Too late. He was off his bike and reaching for me. “Autumn?” he asked tentatively.

  “I miss Winter,” I whispered.

  Jake had stopped short of touching me, but now he drew me into his arms. I smelled the leather of his jacket, the faint aroma of cinnamon and comfrey from the store, and a hint of aftershave. Aftershave? He normally only used that when we went dancing at the club.

  His strong presence filled me up, sealing all the cracks in my inner walls where the despair had oozed in. The anger at Winter disappeared and the longing faded, not completely but enough. Then I was feeling something else entirely, something that tingled down to my toes and made the world stop turning. For that moment I was completely happy and would have been content to sit down on Tawnia’s grass and sleep there all night with Jake’s arms around me.

  Not possible, of course. I shook myself, remembering who I was with. My friend Jake. I stepped back from him and smiled. I’d never been great at hiding my emotions, but Tawnia was good at it—at least when she wasn’t pregnant—and I had learned a thing or two from her in the past year.

  “Thanks.” My voice was little more than a mumble, but it was either th
at or cry again. Or throw myself at him—and that was out of the question.

  Placing my handbag over my head and shoulder so it wouldn’t go flying, I silently put on Jake’s extra helmet, climbed onto the back of his motorbike, and slid my arms around his waist. The helmet didn’t go around my chin, so once I lifted up the visor, I could press the front part of my cheek against the back of his leather jacket. I reveled in his solid form and the warmth of his body.

  In the next moment we were off, air beating against my face. Exhilaration quickly replaced the sadness, and I knew Jake had chosen this nearly deserted route home on purpose for the high speed we could achieve. We rode for an hour, until the summer night became cool and I had to tuck my hands under his jacket to keep them warm. He turned in the direction of home.

  We pulled up at my apartment, and I eased myself off the bike, my muscles having grown stiff. The night was warm now that we’d stopped, and I flexed my fingers so the cold would leave them more quickly.

  “That was great,” I told Jake, as we both removed our helmets.

  “Better than going with Ethan?” he teased.

  “I know you aren’t happy about what I want to do, but I have a chance to help those women. Winter would understand.”

  Jake’s lips pursed, and that did funny things to my heart. Jake had great lips, full and generous and inviting. I’d always thought so, even before I’d begun falling for him.

  “I understand why,” he said, “but I still don’t like it. And I don’t trust Ethan.”

  “Why?”

  Jake frowned. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

  “Oh.” This was interesting. “How does he look at me?”

  “Like . . . like he wants something.”

  “I hate to break it to you, but he does want something. He wants me to help find his sister.”

  He looked ready to say more but finally shook his head and sighed. “I just worry you’re getting in over your head, and it’s all my fault. I’m the one who brought the Fullmers to see you.”

  So that was the real story. He felt guilty because none of this would have happened if he hadn’t opened the door. “You’ve always urged me to help people with my ability. What else can I do except look into it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  The parking lot light nearest us was burned out so we were in the dark, close together. I wished I had the nerve to step even closer. He let out the breath he’d been holding, and I could feel a hint of its warmth. Something built inside me, but I wasn’t sure what it was.

  “Want me to walk you inside?” he asked.

  I shook my head. Despite the broken light, this was a relatively safe area. I knew all the neighbors in my apartment building and most of those in the surrounding ones, by sight if not by name. Since Winter’s death, everyone had gone out of their way to show me kindness, as though they shared my tragedy. Because I’d survived the bombing, I had become something of an icon to my neighbors, a symbol of hope and survival.

  Jake hugged me quickly and got on his bike, though he waited to put on his helmet until I reached the lobby doors. The street light near the building worked, and I used it to find the keys inside my purse. My hand had scarcely closed around them when the door clicked open with a soft buzz. I smiled and waved at the windows above me, though I couldn’t see a face in them. Probably old Mrs. Turnbull was watching TV in her bedroom and had called for her husband to release the lobby latch. We all looked out for each other that way.

  I shouldered my handbag, keys out now, and slapped on the lobby light with the palm of my hand. Outside, Jake’s bike engine revved as he sped away.

  I’d gone up the three lobby steps and turned left toward my apartment on the main floor when I realized I wasn’t alone. “Hello?” I called.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw a movement. A figure shot toward me from the direction of my door, ramming into me. I barely had time to register fear before my head hit the wall and I crumpled with the pain. For a moment I saw stars.

  Before I had time to decide if I was going to live, the figure was on top of me, weighing far too much for his thin, wiry build.

  “You should stay away from the farm,” hissed the voice. “Far away.”

  My vision cleared enough to show me Inclar, the man I’d followed from the river. “Maybe I want to join them,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “You won’t leave the same—if you leave at all.”

  His right eye was rolling like crazy, though his left was steady enough. His hands were at my throat, but they weren’t choking me. Yet.

  “Get off,” I managed.

  His hands tightened, and his face came close to mine. I gagged at the sourness of his breath. Gray and brown stubble covered his cheeks, and at this close range I could see each individual hair. I choked as the lobby began to grow dark. Ten feet from my door and safety. Not a pretty way to die. I clawed at him. I could no longer smell his noxious breath because I couldn’t breathe. My body screamed for oxygen.

  “No,” Inclar said, “I don’t want to kill her. She’s sees.”

  No one else was in the lobby. Who was he talking to?

  “I won’t do it.” His hands relaxed marginally. The eye still rolled loosely in his head, and his face was pale and frightened. A sob escaped his throat. I tried to move, but his fingers were like small steel rods pinning me in place. “Please don’t make me,” he whined like a beaten man.

  I’d dropped my keys when I fell, but I stretched for them now, hoping to use them as a weapon. Another half inch and I’d be able to reach them.

  Inclar contorted his body and kicked the keys away with his foot. His contortion gave me an idea. With effort, I brought up my legs and managed to curl one foot around him, pushing him away with all the strength I had left. For a moment we held steady, and black patches filled half my sight. Then Inclar yelped and fell back.

  At once he scrabbled to a crouched position, hands curled out before him like claws. I drew in a ragged breath, wondering how I was going to defend myself. He launched, but this time his body hurtled past me, down the three steps to the lobby, and out the door into the night.

  The world went dark.

  Just the light in the lobby going out, but I was shaken enough to huddle on the floor against the wall for a moment to regain my strength. As the cold from the marble floor seeped into my body, I slowly took stock of my limbs. Nothing seemed broken, though my head pounded and my throat was sore. A tiny patch of light from the street light filtered through the glass door in the lobby. I moved, kicking something with a foot. My keys. I crawled to them, and then to my door, fear and pain making me sluggish. I didn’t sense anyone in the lobby, but I couldn’t be sure Inclar wouldn’t return.

  Why was I even still alive? He’d seemed intent on killing me. Or at least half of him had.

  At last I closed my apartment door behind me, locking it. I sagged against the door, swallowing in relief. My throat hurt less now, and the quiet buzz of my antiques filled the room with comforting images.

  I should call the police. I knew where Inclar lived—if he was stupid enough to return there—and they could pick him up and question him.

  But if I called the police, Detective Martin would hear about the attack, and he’d never let it go until I told him everything. When we’d worked together on the bicycle case, he’d been almost impossible, alternating between believing me and threatening to throw me in jail for what I seemed to know. If he got involved in the Harmony Farms case, there was no way he’d let me go undercover.

  Something white registered in the corner of my vision. Unsteadily, I turned my head to see a business envelope that was partially crumpled from being shoved under my door. SAVE THEM was written across the back of the envelope in unsteady block letters. I reached for the envelope, dragging it toward where I sat. There was something heavy inside. I opened the envelope with shaking fingers, and an old-fashioned brass key fell out on the floor, the metal darkened with use. For the mom
ent I let it stay where it was because there was also a letter-sized piece of paper with a map of the area near Oregon’s border, complete with a large X in yellow highlighter. Shaky words at the bottom proclaimed: They would kill me if they knew you had this.

  What was going on? Inclar had obviously slipped this under my door. How else could it have gotten here? But then why try to kill me? Or had he followed someone else here—perhaps one of the farm’s disciples?

  No, they didn’t even know my name. Come to think of it, how had Inclar known where I lived? Yet as I considered, I realized his finding me wasn’t really a mystery. He lived in the area and could have seen me in the shop. Since many of my fellow shop owners knew where I lived, especially following the publicity of Winter’s death, anyone could have traced me with a few questions. Yet why give me a map and a key and then try to kill me? He was a psychopath at best and probably schizophrenic on top of that.

  There was no imprint on either the envelope or the map, which told me this wasn’t a treasured object or something that had been touched very often or for long, despite the obvious feeling behind the scrawled words.

  I picked up the key. At once intense images shot through my head in a rapid, blurry succession. Darkness. Pain. Laughter. Evil. A slap on the face. Fingers bleeding from the stab of a needle. Power and conquest. Agony. Triumph. A corpse.

  My fingers opened, and the key slipped back into the envelope. I swallowed hard, my heart pounding erratically. This was the second object I’d come across that held such intense and rapid conflict that my brain couldn’t process anything with any degree of intelligence. The first time had been days after Winter’s funeral. I’d fainted then.

  Rising, I stumbled unsteadily across the room to the couch, falling over the back and sprawling onto the cushions, too tired to go around. I set the envelope on the antique coffee table and the map on top of that. My handbag I let slide to the floor. Pulling Summer’s multicolored afghan over me, I basked in the imprint of her memories that washed gently over me like warm, soothing water. They were so gentle and faint that sometimes I wondered if they were only my memories and no longer imprints at all.