The Secrets of Moonshine

by Denise Daisy

  “No need to worry about me,” she said sarcastically. “It’s only altitude sickness, I’m sure.” She brushed past him and headed home. The troupe fell in place, catching up with her on the long walk back to the inn.

  Removing the handkerchief from his back pocket, Travis wiped the fresh blood from his knuckles and mouth. He made eye contact with Falcon, and with a slight nod Falcon stole into the surrounding woods. Travis remained standing, watching her, until the troupe disappeared from view.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Bronwyn lay in bed, starring at the rotating ceiling fan. Despite her long and adventurous day, slumber would not visit. She realized she was much too tense to sleep. For starters, Bethany had greatly annoyed her on the walk back to the inn. She had launched into a barrage of questions to support her growing suspicion that Bronwyn was on drugs. Against her better judgment, Bronwyn had attempted to tell Bethany of some of the strange events. She mentioned nothing of her deleted stories, realizing it would be impossible to try and explain, seeing she had no explanation for it herself. She confided to Bethany of the peculiar happenings in Moonshine. She mentioned Falcon, the secret locked garden, and the covert meeting between him and Travis. Bethany barely listened, dismissing the stories completely, only to ask more questions about her psyche. It was obvious Bethany had become a recent student of Trent’s philosophies.

  Feeling defeated, Bronwyn fell into bed, feigning exhaustion and sleep to escape Bethany’s constant advice. She listened to the heavy breathing of her two roommates, her mind too active to sleep.

  Quietly, she slipped from the bed, tiptoed down the stairs, and walked out the back door. The night air was surprisingly cool. The mugginess of the evening had dissipated. She lay on the cushioned porch swing, swaying back and forth with ease, hoping the rhythm of the swing combined with the chorus of croaking toads and chirping crickets would be the sleeping aid she desperately needed. The fresh air and change of scenery did wonders to relax the tenseness of her body, slowing down the ramblings of her mind.

  Unexpectedly, she heard voices coming from far down the cobblestone path. She rose from the swing, descended the porch steps, and crept quietly down the stony path. Making her way, she picked up on the sound of a scuffle and voices engaged in an intense argument. She couldn’t tell which garden the disturbance came from, but as she walked, the commotion grew louder. She stopped at the sixth garden. The gate was unlatched. She pushed it open slowly, hoping it wouldn’t creak and alert the garden‘s occupants. A splinter found its way deep underneath her skin as her slender finger slid across the rough wood, pushing open the heavy door. She pulled her hand away from the gate, recoiling at the unwanted pain. She examined the splinter and realized it would take tweezers and much better light in order for her to remove it.

  Nevertheless, she slipped quietly into the garden. Large trees and vines created a canopy at the entrance. This provided her with the perfect cover for her clandestine investigation. If Travis would not tell her what was going on, she would find out on her own. She inched her way past the massive oaks, her slender body slithering through the hanging foliage of the weeping willows. The canopy of leaves kept her hidden, providing her with secrecy, while the soft earth beneath her bare feet allowed no noise, muffling her approach.

  The ruckus grew louder - the angry voices now clear. She continued to move from tree to tree, keeping under the weeping willows as she made her way closer to the center of the garden. She could see figures moving up ahead. Reaching out her hand, she slowly parted the hanging branches. The heat rushed upon her, overwhelming her. The man in the road, from the night of her arrival, was in the garden.

  The warrior stood tall, his features powerful. Emitting from his skin was a faint light, creating a golden glow. Poised to fight, he stood alongside Falcon, who forcefully held a man at knifepoint. The prisoner appeared to be composed, even though Falcon pressed the knife against his throat. Bronwyn swallowed a frightened gasp. There was something about the captive man’s spiteful demeanor.

  A third man stood with Falcon, and seemed to be interrogating their prisoner. He too was muscular, well-built and wore his long, blond hair fastened back in a ponytail. She hadn‘t seen him before, but like most of the men she had encountered recently, he was pleasing to the eyes.

  “Answer me!” The blond man demanded.

  “Surely you know.” The prisoner choked out his words, with the knife pressed against his throat. “Abaddon’s realm is spreading, growing in strength. His power is more than you can imagine. You can kill me, but more will come. Your tower of safety is fallen. We found your hiding place and have released the information. We know the scribe is here, somewhere. We will find them, and when we do, they will be destroyed. Then we will find Asa and the other heirs. It’s just a matter of time.”

  Stepping forward, the bronze warrior spoke. His voice was vast and haunting, as if some sort of woodwind instrument were playing along with him. The sound of it was captivating, drawing Bronwyn in to each word he said.

  “Know that we will not miss a move Abaddon makes. We are aware of every step you take in these mountains. Your sole purpose was to make a name for yourself and receive your reward of power. However, the only reward the one you serve will offer for your allegiance is death. Your foolish choices have trapped you in a dead end. Death is now the reward you will receive for your betrayal.”

  Taking a step backward, the warrior gave Falcon a nod. Falcon’s hand moved swiftly across the prisoner’s neck. Blood spread quickly, soaking into the fabric of his shirt, as he slumped to the ground. Unwillingly, Bronwyn allowed a gasp to escape her lips.

  All heads turned in her direction. The warriors’ eyes glowed as they pierced across the garden, cutting through the foliage. Ducking, she took cover under the tree. Her legs wobbled, nearly giving away. She was witness to a murder! If they found her, would they do the same to her?

  She needed to run and wake Marcus, along with the rest of the troupe. Without warning, strong hands grabbed her from behind, pulling her behind the tree and out of view. Terror rose inside of her as she anticipated the cold steel of a knife slicing through her neck. She decided to scream for help; perhaps the noise would wake her sleeping friends.

  Before the scream could escape her lips, a hand pressed firmly over her mouth. A voice from behind instructed her to remain quiet, as she was forced against the tree trunk. She recognized the voice of the one holding her. Her heart pounded hard. The heat continued to rise. Her breathing became labored.

  “Sh-sh.” The voice was calm. “Don’t make a noise, or they will find you.”

  A moment passed. “I warned you not to venture out alone. From here on out you’d do best to listen to my instructions.”

  The darkness hindered her view. The only thing visible to her was Travis’ dark eyes, illuminated by a streak of moonlight penetrating through the foliage. He removed his hand from her mouth and gently pulled her face toward his. Leaning over, he tenderly kissed her on the lips. She felt his fingers press into the back of her neck. Her legs buckled and all went black.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  DAY FIVE

  Bronwyn woke to the gentle hand of Mavis on her back.

  “Seems you did your sleeping on the porch last night,” she said cheerfully. “I’ve done that a time or two myself. There’s nothing like the night air to hypnotize you and put you in a deep sleep. The only side effect is that it can bring on some pretty strange dreams and, might I say, you were definitely having one. You woke me up last night with your hollering and carrying on.”

  Mavis poured a tall mug of steaming coffee and handed it to Bronwyn. “This should clear up the haziness I suspect is clouding your mind right now.”

  Bronwyn sat up, confused by her surroundings. She looked over the property. The sun was just making its way over the mountains, striking ground glistening with the morning dew. The pungent aromas from the gardens stimulated her nostrils as they wafted in the morning breeze. She reached
for the coffee, and sipped the strong liquid, nearly choking at the bitterness of it.

  “I woke you during the night?” she asked.

  “Sure did. My window is directly above this side of the porch. I heard you scream. Sounded like you were scared out of your wits. I ran out here and found you havin’ a fitful sleep on the swing.”

  Bronwyn took another small slip of the awful coffee. She vaguely remembered leaving her room last night. Could she have been sleep walking again? As the steam from the coffee filled her nostrils, the events gradually made their way back into her head. The memory of the intense argument began to emerge, and within seconds all the images raced back into her mind... the warrior… Falcon… the blond man… the murder… and then Travis under the tree… the kiss!

  Bronwyn involuntarily raised her hands to her lips before she noticed Mavis was watching her intently. She lowered her hand quickly.

  “Must have been some kind of dream.” A sly smile pulled at the corner of Mavis’ lips before she gave Bronwyn a suspicious look.

  Bronwyn could sense the distrust, and wondered if it stemmed from Mavis’ wariness of her and Travis. Maybe Mavis could sense a mutual attraction as well.

  “You want to tell me about it?”

  Bronwyn‘s heart picked up its pace. “Tell you about what?”

  “Your dream, hon.”

  “I don’t think it was a dream.” She said boldly. “I think I stumbled on something I wasn’t supposed to see.”

  “Sometimes it helps when you talk out a disturbing dream. Even though it seems so real at the time, you realize how absurd it is when you hear yourself telling it to someone. You suddenly realize it couldn’t have possibly happened.”

  Bronwyn stared back at Mavis in an attempt to see through her pretense. Despite Mavis’s outward appearance as a country mountain woman, somewhat beaten down by a hard life, Bronwyn believed she held as many secrets as Travis and the rest of these peculiar town folk.

  “I left my room because I couldn’t sleep. I was upset about something that happened in town earlier. I came out to the porch and that’s when I heard a heated argument in the garden. I followed the voices just in time to witness an execution.”

  “An execution! My lands that would cause anyone to scream. No wonder you were scared. Who was executed?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never seen him before. But the sight of him unnerved me. He spoke in a foreign language and said a lot of strange things, like a tower of safety falling and finding some heirs and a scribe and destroying them.”

  “If he spoke in a strange language, how is it you were able to understand what he said?”

  Bronwyn felt herself blush as she realized the impossibility of her statement. “I don’t know how I understood, but I did.”

  “You’re the writer for the troupe, aren’t you?” Mavis asked. “Maybe you’re stressing over your re-write so much you’re dreaming people want to destroy you.”

  Bronwyn remained silent for a moment before speaking again. She was sure what she experienced had not been a dream. However, Mavis’ friendly interrogation was beginning to cause her to wonder. She shook her head slowly.

  “No, it was real. I saw it all. There was this very tall man who was dressed like a warrior….”

  She stopped cold, realizing how absurd her story sounded. Nevertheless…

  “The man who did the killing was someone I have seen here in Moonshine. I think they call him Falcon.”

  Mavis remained unaffected. “What happened in town earlier that upset you?” She sounded like a psychiatrist.

  “Falcon got pretty forceful with me last night.”

  “How so?”

  “During the dance, he pulled me away from everyone and spun me into the crowd. When I tried to get away, he called me ‘Scribe’ and told me not to fight him.”

  Mavis smiled. “But he didn’t hurt you. That’s the way some of these mountain men are, but you bein’ from the city wouldn’t understand our ways. No wonder you had such a frightful dream about him.”

  The diplomatic stare down between her and Mavis continued, while each one’s distrust for the other seemed to hover just beneath the surface, unspoken. Bronwyn broke her gaze and looked over toward the gardens and then back to Mavis before she stood.

  “It seemed so real.”

  “I’m sure it did.” Mavis smiled. “How did it end?”

  She sipped the coffee, only to hide her face. How could she tell the part where Travis kissed her? Mavis made her uncomfortable. Despite her supposed concern for her, she felt Mavis already knew the answers to the questions she was asking.

  Bronwyn forced the bitter coffee down and handed the mug back to Mavis.

  “I don’t remember. It’s all still a little sketchy. I guess you’re right; it was just a dream. Thanks for the coffee. I think I’ll go take a long, hot shower to work out the kinks in my neck.”

  Mavis waited for Bronwyn to disappear inside of the inn before pouring the remaining coffee in the grass. She grabbed the shovel leaning against the side of the inn, and limped out into the gardens.

  The steaming shower relaxed Bronwyn, soothing her aching neck and back. The porch swing hadn’t made a comfortable bed. She hated to think she was sleep walking again, after all these years. It used to be a problem for her as a child, resulting in her parents taking such extreme measures as alarming their house and adding bolt locks on every door. Her dreams as a child were night terrors, and although she could not remember any of them, her mother had documented almost every one. She prayed they weren’t returning, but her dreams of late had been quite vivid and disturbing, and she hoped that maybe the cause was the higher altitude. Once they left this God-forsaken place, she hoped the nightmares and sleepwalking would end.

  Massaging the shampoo into her hair, she felt a painful stinging in her finger and discovered a splinter embedded under her skin. The events of last night had not been a dream! The splinter was proof she’d witnessed a murder! Her mind reeled with questions. She let the warm waters run over her as she tried to calm and focus. She thought back to the garden, the words of the murdered man. He spoke in another language, yet she understood--even though what he said made no sense to her. However, he had definitely evoked the wrath of his three captors when he mentioned a tower of safety falling, and that his people had found the hiding place.

  His next words unnerved her. He mentioned finding a scribe and destroying them, along with a man named Asa and other heirs. Heirs of what? Could he be referring to Adam and Alycia? And, who was Asa and the scribe? Could he have possibly been referring to her? After all, that is what Falcon called her, and Travis admitted he was protecting her. When he caught her under the tree, he warned her not to make a noise or they would find her. Who are “they?” She was more confused than ever.

  However, the events in the garden were powerfully overshadowed at the recollection of his kiss. He had kissed her! She remembered him pulling her face to his and tenderly placing his mouth on her lips. It had been quick and unexpected, yet more passionate than any kiss she had ever received from Ryan. The kiss was given by Travis. He had not stolen a kiss from her under the privacy of the weeping willow. He had not satisfied his desire by taking a kiss, rather, he had given her a kiss. He had placed a kiss on her lips, for her. Then he’d placed his fingers on the back of her neck causing her to slip into unconsciousness, just like the cloaked man when she fell from the tree.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  The only reason Bronwyn showed up at breakfast was to see if Travis was present. He wasn‘t. She picked at her food, her inner anxiousness suppressing her appetite. She ignored the idle chatter at the table and gazed out of the window, thinking it would be a smart move to return to the garden and collect any evidence of last night’s slaying. Surely there would be blood in the grass--something to prove to everyone she hadn’t dreamed it all up.

  Marcus interrupted her thoughts to ask again about the re-write. She sighed. Her mind was far from the plot of
a cheesy romance. However, to satisfy him, she mentioned that she had been contemplating the idea, of instead of doing a simple re-write, she would rather scrap it and try an entirely new script. To her surprise, he endorsed the idea. He lovingly confessed that her latest script had not been one of his favorites. He went as far as to say that he absolutely abhorred it, finding it was full of cynicism, bitterness, and a bit apathetic, and admitted he would be delighted in rehearsing a brand new script.

  Then he told her he was actually pleased with their recent turn of events. He was happy that the bus broke down when and where it did. Despite the fact they had lost their biggest venue of the summer, he realized that the troupe needed this sabbatical. Had they plowed through their summer schedule, attempting to perform the ill-written script, he felt they may have lost more than just the revenues of one missed engagement. Bronwyn appeared to be listening to his ramblings, responding with an occasional smile and nod, but her mind was far away.

  After breakfast, she slipped away from the group and settled on the porch swing. The grand veranda provided a pleasant view, and a large spinning ceiling fan that generated a nice breeze the summer day would not.

  She opened her laptop, to reveal her dormant files, the last place she visited. Her mind returned to the pedicure room, the stories told by Ashley and Sherrie. She paused a moment or two, debating on whether or not to open the file again. If the stories the girls told were identical to those she had written some time ago, she wasn’t sure she could muddle through the strong emotions.

  She felt desperate for more information about Falcon. After all, she had witnessed him commit a murder. If there was some clue in her files as to what was going on, she was intent on finding it. Her slender finger clicked on Birds of Prey. The file opened once more, displaying the short synopsis. Taking a deep breath, she scrolled down to her character list and read the typed names:

  Falcon, Macaw, Hawke, and Vulture, All agents of an elite top secret organization known as the N.E.S.S.T, a group of top secret agents, all possessing bird names. Falcon, the leader of this group, is sworn protector of a Prince who is being hunted by an evil assassin. Falcon, and the other birds of prey, have made their NESST in the branches of The Tree of Life.