The Secrets of Moonshine

by Denise Daisy

  With each passing hour, the storm continued to build intensity. It was sometime past midnight, and she conceded to the fact that there would be no returning to the inn, at least not tonight.

  She and Travis talked non-stop for several hours. She unfolded the entire saga of her and Ryan, from the moment they met, right up to the end and his heart breaking e-mail. Travis was an excellent listener, never moving his eyes or attention away from her as she spoke. Sometimes, she would be the one to look away, especially when she was confessing an intimate part of her story that left her feeling a bit vulnerable. She would glance at her hands, or find an interesting piece of lint on the blanket to pick, or stare into the flickering flame of the lantern. Whenever she returned her eyes back to Travis, she found him in rapt attention, his focus unwavering. He continued to look right into her eyes. Before realizing it, she’d poured out the entire story of her brief pregnancy and miscarriage, and the decision not to inform Ryan she was carrying his baby, after he had so coldly broke off their relationship. She told him of her fear in deciding to raise the child alone, and then the devastation of losing the baby after finally accepting the situation. The past several months had indeed, she said, been a roller coaster of emotion.

  The fire in the fireplace burned down to a pile of glowing embers. The wick in the lantern now burning low, the light in the room was equivalent to the small flame of a lone candle.

  “I’ve never told anyone that story. Not my mother, not Bethany, no one.” Her confession was almost inaudible.

  “Why do you choose to bear your burdens alone?”

  “I choose to be strong.” Her voice grew louder. “It’s a hard place to be though; when you’re strong you tend to be alone.”

  “Is it strength, or is it pride?”

  His accusing question took her off guard.

  “Pride secludes itself because it won’t ask for help.” He explained. “Prideful people will not allow themselves to be vulnerable, nor will they let anyone know they’re hurting. They’re lonely because they refuse help. They want everyone to think they have it all under control.”

  “Sometimes you do have to have it all under control, if only to save yourself the pain and disappointment of depending on someone who will only let you down,” Her words tinged with bitterness.

  It had been a long day. With the light diminishing and the storm passing, her eyes grew heavy.

  “So tell me about Travis,” she asked sleepily.

  He gave a slight smile. “Not much to tell.”

  “I wouldn’t say that. I think you’re somewhat intriguing.”

  He offered another small smile. “Why is that?”

  “Maybe because you’re a man of few words, but when you do speak what you say is pretty profound. Maybe because you risked the storm and pulled me out of the water. Maybe because I can see things hidden behind your eyes.”

  Her last words roused his curiosity. “What do you see?”

  She took pride in her ability at reading people. She focused straight into his dark eyes, peering through his hair. It only took a few minutes before the words began spilling from her mouth.

  “I see much wisdom, extreme integrity…” She smiled, choosing her words carefully…“mingled with a bit of mischief.” Her voice grew soft. “I sense many deep secrets, and sorrow. There is an amazing amount of sorrow.”

  His demeanor changed; her words catching him off guard. His face grew serious; his dark eyes connected to hers, looking deep into her soul. She felt hypnotized by his stare. Her head became dizzy as the strange heat sensation began again. Although resting and laying still, her heart began to beat as if she had just exuded extreme effort of some kind, and she wondered if he noticed, or if he himself was feeling the same rush of heat. Their eyes stayed locked for only a few seconds before a sudden clap of thunder startled her, breaking her gaze, though it seemed much longer to her. She was certain that they had not shared a romantic moment. True, she was growing very attracted to him, but there was so much more to the moment than romance. It was if their souls connected somewhere far from the dimly lit basement.

  The cabin was dark now, save for a few glowing embers from the fire. Travis was fully reclining on his back, his head propped on his arms, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. Bronwyn lay on the couch and listened to the steady rain falling outside.

  “Tell me about Mavis,” she said quietly.

  She had wanted to ask Travis that question for the past several hours, but for some reason could not drum up the courage. Now that they were in total darkness, it seemed easier to ask.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “How long have you two known each other?”

  “Pretty much our whole lives.”

  “Really? Did you always like her?”

  “No,” He was matter of fact. “She was really quite a tease when she was younger.”

  Although she laughed, she remained somewhat cautious. “What happened to her?”

  Travis took a minute before he spoke and as much as she wanted the answer, a part of her wished she had never asked the question. “She was badly injured in a storm somewhat like this one. She didn’t take cover soon enough.”

  “Do you love her?” She surprised herself by asking.

  “Yes, I do.”

  There was silence, except for the popping and crackling of a few dying embers. She closed her eyes and began to doze off. “You’re a good man Asa,” she said, yawning, drifting off to sleep.

  Travis lay there a little while longer, his heart pounding with intensity while he stared at the ceiling. No one had called him by the name of Asa for quite some time.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The Smoker tossed aside the drenched cloak and made his way to the sink. He pushed the lever on the bottle, pumping out several squirts of creamy soap, and then scrubbed the blood from his hands. He grabbed a cloth from the cabinet and cleaned away the splatters that had sprayed onto his face. Leaning into the mirror, he examined the scar crudely cut beneath his left eye. It was his identity, his story, his proof of loyalty to those who might mistake his allegiance. He knew some of them doubted, but he didn’t care. He knew where his faithfulness lay; he wouldn’t waste time trying to prove it to those critics that constantly made assumptions about his motives. Besides, who were they to pass judgment? He was angry at them for losing track of her whereabouts earlier. How could she have slipped past them so easily? He had kept her in sight from the moment she stepped off her bus, following her as she walked into town, even watching the troupe at the restaurant until he was summoned to a secret council. He hadn’t thought twice about leaving, since the entire town was watching the group and would let him know if anything unexpected transpired. During the council meeting, the spies burst inside, notifying him of new trespassers. He summoned his men and headed back into the woods, all the while expecting her to be closely watched.

  The executions didn’t take long. The men Abaddon was sending over were predictable, which made him believe he was training them himself. Knowing Abaddon as well as he did worked to his advantage, allowing him to calculate the men’s moves with ease. After a quick kill he grouped the slain bodies together and wrote a single word across their foreheads before sending them back. A wicked grin spread across his face as he imagined the fury that would rise in Abaddon once he read the message.

  He’d been warned not to live for revenge, nor let the bitterness poison him, but for six-hundred years he had concentrated on nothing but training for the day of promised retribution. He did consider his role in the matter vengeance, and rightly so. He wasn’t merely trying to get even with the one who wronged him, but he considered himself a warrior, and the way he saw it, warriors always ran into battle, fighting for a worthy and noble cause. This he would do. He would fight to set things right again, no matter how many he must kill in the process. Even if the quest demanded his own life, he was ready to give it. Some said he was obsessed, and that his obsession over the matter had driven him insane
, making him quite dangerous. He agreed in a way, there was a madness inside of him, pushing him, driving him, and since he was at a loss as to how to control it, he allowed it to control him.

  He moved away from the mirror, ran his hands through his hair and secured it back in a ponytail before changing out of his clothes. Once dry, he lit up a cigarette, took a seat against the far back wall, placed his dagger across his leg, and took a long draw of the cigarette. He looked into the dark room. He would stay here the remainder of the night, riding out the storm. It was exactly where he should be, seeing as the lady scribe was below, in the basement with Travis.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  DAY TWO

  Bronwyn opened her eyes and looked around, confused as to her whereabouts. Within a few seconds her ordeal at the lake flooded her memory, leading to why she was alone in a dimly lit basement.

  She raised her sore body to a sitting position and looked around the room. Travis was gone. With no windows or outdoor light of any kind, there was no way to tell what time it was, or if the weather had improved.

  Pulling the blanket away, she climbed off the couch, her muscles protesting with every move. She decided to climb the cellar stairs and see what was waiting at the top. Realizing she was still wearing only a t-shirt, she entered the restroom to retrieve her clothes instead.

  An audible groan escaped her mouth as she glanced at her reflection. Her bandage was still in place, but blood was visible on the outside of the gauze. There was quite a bit of swelling and discoloration around her eye. Her hair was a bushy mess with bits of leaves and grass tangled into the snarls. She laughed at the thought of what Lillian would say if she saw her, and for the first time, she wondered what her friends might be going through, not knowing where she was, or what had happened to her. For that matter, she wasn’t sure how her friends had fared during the storm. Travis told her he dropped them all off safely at the inn, reassuring her that the inn had a protective shelter as well. He also told her Mavis would make sure they were all there and accounted for.

  She reached for her clothes, only to discover they were still soaked. She shivered at the thought of putting them back on, so she left them in the bathroom and retrieved the soft blanket, wrapping it around her to hide her long naked legs. She climbed the stairs, opened the trap door, and climbed up into the main room.

  She and Travis ran through the cabin so quickly last night, that she had not been able to see anything. With sunlight streaming through the windows, the rustic cabin came alive with personality. Deep brown leather furniture offered comfortable seating. A massive stone fireplace covered an entire wall; oddly enough, there were no animal heads of any kind hanging over the mantle. Beautiful oil paintings of breathtaking scenery adorned every wall. She walked around the inviting room. An antique desk sat in the far corner, holding a computer along with several potted plants. Noticing that the front door was slightly ajar, she pushed it open and stepped onto the large porch that wrapped around the small cabin.

  The fresh midmorning breeze swept across the lake and rushed upon the porch, gently kissing her on the face. She inhaled, taking in a deep breath of the invigorating air. Never before had she been more thankful for a new day. The birds sang their glorious songs as they flew across the cloudless, powder blue sky. All the pleasing scents and smells perfumed the day, as if the storm had never hit. Yet, the storm had indeed left its calling card. Broken branches and limbs had been ripped from their trunks and tossed about, littering the grounds. Debris floated in the lake, yards from the front door.

  Bronwyn spotted Travis clearing away the fallen timber and placing it into a large pile. She wondered if this was an every morning event for him. She watched him work, unnoticed. Again he was shirtless, his hair hanging in tatters over his face, already wet with perspiration. If only Bethany could see him now. A slight smile curled on her lips. Travis hurled another broken branch into a pile of debris. She found herself envying Mavis. She was fortunate to have him. He had risked his own life in a storm to save a stranger; then had been so kind and caring, providing for her every comfort. He had remained a gentleman and kept his distance, sitting across the floor from her patiently, listening to all the ramblings that poured from her mouth. Not once did he turn the conversation to himself. That was unusual in the company she kept. Her friends and acquaintances continually bragged about their income, their cars, their strengths and talents, or how many people they had slept with. Not Travis.

  Bronwyn begin to feel a tinge of guilt. She knew he was married, yet she could not deny the feelings manifesting inside her. She remembered breakfast, just the day before, avoiding conversation with him at all cost. Now, part of her wished the storm was still raging so they would be forced to spend more time together. But that was not the case. The sun was out and burning with intensity. She watched him hurl another branch into his growing pile of debris.

  “Need some help?”

  Her words drew his attention from his task onto the porch. “You’re not dressed for it.”

  She shrugged and smiled. “My clothes are still wet.”

  He removed his work gloves and headed for the front porch; while looking at the bandage over her eye. “I need to change that.” He entered the cabin.

  She didn’t follow. Instead, she sat on the porch swing, pushing off with her feet, gently swinging back and forth. The scenery was breathtaking. The cabin faced one of the lake’s many hidden coves. A small wooden dock stretched out over the water. Tree-covered hills encircled the area, giving it a secluded privacy. The landscaping around the cabin was much like that of the inn, with varieties of flowering plants, vines and trees all emitting delightful aromas. Bronwyn thought that someone must take special care of these grounds and for the first time, she wondered about the owner of this small cabin. Who was it? She hadn’t thought of that until now.

  Travis returned to the porch with the black leather case. He sat on the swing next to her and carefully removed the bandage. His hands gently swept back the hair falling across her face as he tenderly removed some of the leaves entangling themselves in her messy locks. He caught her eye and smiled.

  Her throat tightened. She wasn’t sure where to fix her eyes. She gazed downward at his chest and noticed he wore a white stone pendant that hung from a silver chain around his neck. Deciding that staring at his chest was probably not the best place to fix her eyes, she shut them.

  After removing the leaves, he began to gently clean the dried blood from around the wound.

  “So,” she said, trying to diffuse the awkwardness. “Whose cabin is this?”

  “Mine,” he reapplied the ointment.

  She opened her eyes, surprised. “Yours? I thought you lived at the inn.”

  “I do.”

  “Oh,” she closed her eyes again before trying a little humor. “So is this your vacation spot?”

  He un-wrapped a new bandage, and placed it on her wound. “Thinking spot.”

  “Everyone needs one of those.” She kept her eyes closed.

  He surveyed his work for a minute, studying her face much more than the bandage. “Beautiful,” he said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Mavis hummed a mellow tune as she cracked open an egg, allowing the gooey substance to drop into the cast iron frying pan. The egg bubbled and sizzled immediately. She had risen early, leaving the confines of the basement for the kitchen, figuring her guests would be extremely hungry, since the rush to safety had cost them their dinner. They had spent the entire night riding out the storm underground, snacking on popcorn, peanuts, crackers and cookies.

  The storm had been unusually severe, much like the one that hit the night before. It certainly wasn’t one of those typical, relaxing thunderstorms that usually visited the mountains during mid-summer. Mavis was a bold-spirited woman, but she feared these storms, feeling they had a distinct disposition, taking personal vengeance on someone or something. They arrived angry, sweeping through Moonshine like ghostly soldiers, riding their stallions, tra
mpling anything and everyone in their path, looking for someone to kill. She hated them.

  Continuing her soft humming, she hobbled over to the table, carrying a pitcher of fresh squeezed juice. Her guests trickled into the area, much quieter. She knew why. One of theirs was unaccounted for.

  Bethany awoke and sat up fast, nearly bumping her head on the bunk directly above her. Looking around the basement, she noticed everyone was gone. Bronwyn! Perhaps she had returned, and everyone was upstairs, listening to the story of her adventure. She jumped from bed and dashed upstairs. Bursting into the kitchen, she eyed everyone at the table Everyone but Bronwyn. Her heart sank. Lillian caught her eye and shook her head sadly. Mavis continued to hum as she removed a pan of hot biscuits from the oven.

  “Did Travis come back last night?” Bethany asked.

  “No honey, he didn’t.” Mavis dropped the hot biscuits in a cloth basket.

  Bethany sighed, disappointed. “Did he call?”

  “Phones are down again, hon.” Mavis took the basket to the table.

  “Would you like a plate, dear?”

  “No! This is crazy. I can’t eat - how can any of you? Bronwyn’s been missing for almost twenty-four hours. She could be….”

  Bethany stopped herself, not allowing the words to be spoken.

  “Hon, there’s no need to get yourself all worked up.” Mavis’ words were soothing, consoling. “I’m sure she’s fine, I’m sure they’re both fine. The people in this town all look out for each other. If something had happened, there’da been someone on my porch early this morning to let me know.” She said these things to comfort herself, as well as Bethany. “In my experience, no news is good news.”