He began to laugh. It was strangely hollow laughter, as if only coming from the surface, as if it was only something humans were expected to do, as if he hadn't quite mastered it—but only an imitation, a mocking.
Her heart caught in her throat. What if this man was not human? Not truly human, but a clone? Could he be? If so, was he indicative of what other clones would be? She watched him carefully as he began to speak.
"I brought you a change of clothes." He unhooked the set of keys hanging from a belt loop and unlocked the other oak door. He motioned her to go in.
Curious, she stepped to the doorway and looked in. It was a bathroom, completely tiled. A large, claw-foot tub dominated the room. A toothbrush and toothpaste lay beside the sink on a granite countertop.
He gave her a push in the small of her back. "Get cleaned up."
She turned to retrieve the clothes from the bed, intent on carrying them into the bathroom with her, but he blocked her path. "Nope. You dress in the bedroom."
She glared at him. "And where will you be?"
A smile spread across his face, not reaching his eyes. His tongue darted to moisten his lips. "Here, of course."
She crossed her arms but didn't speak. No way would she dress in front of this jerk.
He watched her silently before he locked the bathroom door, touched two fingers to his forehead in a mock salute, and unlocked the door to the hallway.
She gaped at him. He slipped out the door without even a glance in her direction.
Well, if that's the way they wanted to play, she'd oblige them. She'd use a corner of the room for a potty. But her mind recoiled at the idea. No, she couldn't do it. It would be unsanitary. She sighed, angry at herself for capitulating so quickly.
"You win," she said to the room.
The door immediately opened. Without a word, the man unlocked the bathroom door.
AN ICY CASCADE of water ran down Rayden's back, chilling him to the bone. The shaking of his body made the branches tremble. Shouldn't it be warmer than this in June? Of course, he was in the mountains. And it was pouring.
He had endured as much as he could stand. He pushed the branches out of the way and clawed his way through the mud and leaves, pulling his backpack behind him. At least the jacket was waterproof and kept out some of the downpour. He sloshed forward, the rain obscuring his sight. His tennis shoes were soaked. Too bad Josh hadn't had waterproof boots in his size.
The rain was so heavy that it made even the trees difficult to see. He hoped he was moving away from the men and from the cabin. Well, away from what used to be the cabin.
His lips moved in prayer as he made his slow progress, fighting against the undergrowth, the rain, and his own overwhelming exhaustion. He continued putting one foot in front of the other until the rain slackened to a drizzle. He found a trail and followed it, making easier progress.
Yet, he was tired, so tired that he dropped his backpack and rested briefly, his back against a tree. He slumped to the ground and leaned forward, drawing himself up so that his head was against his knees.
He didn’t know how long he sat there, shivering in the drizzle, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up into a bearded face, frightened for a brief second. It was difficult to make out the man's features, partly because of the misty rain and partly because the hood of the man's jacket obscured his face. The man held out a hand, and Rayden struggled to his feet, grabbing his pack.
“Let’s get you to shelter,” the man said.
Not Die Auserwählten? Someone trying to help him? Rayden didn't object, too tired to think clearly. The man helped support him, and pulled on the backpack clutched in Rayden's hands. After only a moment's tug, Rayden's fingers unfurled, allowing this stranger to carry his burden.
The man urged Rayden on until a small cabin became visible through the trees. Rayden hobbled through the door, the man following. They were greeted by a chorus of barks. Rayden counted twelve dogs that varied in size from terriers to mastiffs.
The man quieted the dogs with one word. He turned to Rayden. “You got a change of clothes?”
Rayden nodded and indicated the backpack still in the man's hands.
“Only got a shower but that should help warm you up. Think you can manage?"
Rayden nodded. The man showed him the location of the tiny bathroom and left the cabin, going out with the pack of dogs. Rayden left the backpack, having no room for it in the bathroom. If the man wanted to rummage through it, he was welcome.
He turned on the shower and struggled out of his clothes, before realizing he still had the bandages around his head, arm, and leg. They were filthy from the muddy water he had been lying in. He tore them off and then stayed in the shower until the cold and numbness began to leave his limbs.
He emerged from the bathroom, dressed in his dry clothes, and approached the man in a wooden rocker by a fireplace. One or two dogs barked, backing away. But the rest had risen to sniff Rayden. They all settled back down except for one, a German Shepherd that followed Rayden around.
Rayden glanced in the man's direction. “May I lay out my clothes to dry?”
The man, holding a pipe, nodded, and Rayden spread his clothes near the fire. The man indicated another chair and Rayden pulled it as close to the fire as possible. A rifle was propped against the wall next to the man. After a few minutes of silence, punctuated by the slapping of the rockers on the wooden floor, the snores of the dogs, and the crackling of the fire, the man stirred.
“Who are you?” The man's voice had a hoarseness, betraying its lack of recent use.
Rayden had anticipated the question and spoke without hesitation. “Richard. Richard Brown.”
The man didn’t volunteer his name but sat silently, still staring at him, his eyes thoughtful.
Rayden shrugged. “I was hiking and got caught in the rain.” The story sounded flimsy in his ears. As soon as he rested, he would leave. No sense getting anyone else involved in this. And this man had an attitude...perhaps not hostile, yet not friendly.
“Hungry?” the man asked.
Rayden nodded, and the man rose leisurely and picked up the rifle before heading to the kitchen. Rayden heard pots and pans banging and soon the smell of bacon drifted into the room, intermingling with the smell of the burning logs. Rayden felt a sense of safety, a sense of comfort, in this place—despite the man's less-than-friendly demeanor.
Rayden's stomach growled as the smells from the kitchen grew stronger. The man returned with two plates and handed one to Rayden. Rayden nodded his thanks, said a silent prayer, and began eating.
“Appears you’ve been shot,” the man said between bites.
Rayden nodded. “Had a little accident.”
When Rayden finished eating, he stood up. “Thanks for your help and for the food.” He set the plate down on a table. “I’ve got to be going now.”
The man nodded. Rayden gathered his clothes, still damp, and stuffed them in the bag. He picked up his coat and put it on, the man watching solemnly.
“Thanks again.” Rayden slipped out the door and limped away. The warm shower and food had revived him, but he was still tired. He trudged down a trail and into the woods. The rain had stopped, and the sun tried to peek out from behind still gray clouds.
Rayden continued walking, thanking God for the help he had been given.
It was quiet in the woods, the mountain air fresh from the rain. He tried to take in his surroundings, afraid he might wind up walking in circles. But his mind kept distracting him, replaying the day he had been shot. Vaguely he remembered it had been a tall blond man who had shot him—the same one at Josh's cabin? He couldn't be sure, but it seemed likely. Those men had Gisa, but no matter how much he racked his brain, he knew of no way to discover her whereabouts. If only she had heard him say Esther and keshet, perhaps she could figure out what he had meant—to meet him at Cumberland State Park. But what good would it do her? She had been captured by a powerful organization and escape would not b
e a possibility.
Even if by some miracle she did, how could she travel alone, pregnant, with no money, no help? He had never felt so hopeless.
He stumbled along, no longer paying attention to where he was. He stopped and looked around. He needed to find shelter before night fell. He sat down on a rock in an opening, already dried from the sun, and ate some of his trail mix, washing it down with water. He should have filled up his bottle at the man’s cabin. It had never even occurred to him. He put his head in his hands for a moment, despair washing over him. He looked around, listlessly, barely taking in his surroundings.
Water still dripped from the trees, but it had quit raining. As he sat on the rock, the sun sinking lower in the sky, something sparkled through the tops of the trees, catching his eye.
He rose and walked toward it. When the trees began to thin out, Rayden made out a building, more like a shed than a cabin. Weeds grew around it, and the one lone window was broken in. He looked around but saw no other buildings or signs that anyone had been here recently.
Perhaps a hunter had built this as a shelter. The door hung crookedly on its hinges. He pushed it open and entered. Spider webs caught on his jacket, and he brushed them away. Bunk beds stood against one wall and there were two wooden chairs, all looking as if they might fall apart at any moment. A primitive fireplace of stone had been built in a corner.
An old broom lay on the floor, cracked in the middle of the handle. He finished breaking it and began sweeping out the spider webs and some of the dust and dirt with the broken broom. He wouldn't be here long, but he wanted at least a few spider webs gone.
When he finished, he checked the beds. The two bare mattresses were full of holes. He pulled them off the beds and took them outside, raising a cloud of dust. After a coughing spell, he pulled some of the stuffing out and carried it back to the fireplace.
He trekked back outside to gather twigs and limbs. These he stacked up inside. He pushed his aching body to bring in as many as possible before night fell. As darkness gathered around him, he picked up the backpack, went inside, and pushed the door closed. To ensure it stayed shut, he shoved one of the chairs under the doorknob.
Soon a roaring fire burned in the fireplace. Perhaps it would attract the men from Die Auserwählten, but he figured they were ahead of him, traveling down the mountain.
He spread out the still-damp clothes on the other chair, ate some crackers and peanut butter, and drank the last of his water. He spread the sleeping bag on the floor, took off his shoes, and climbed in.
God had provided him shelter. He knew God would also be with Gisa. He would find a way, somehow, with God's help, to find her. The crackling fire lulled him to sleep.
Rayden awoke the next morning with pain shooting into his shoulder. Had a spider bitten him? He pulled off his shirt to examine the area. A red streak ran from the wound in his arm up to his shoulder. No, not a spider bite. Blood poisoning.
Pus had gathered around the stitches, and his arm felt hot to the touch. When he took his pulse, he counted 27 beats in fifteen seconds.
His anger erupted. Why, God, why?
Why would God do this to him? He prayed or cursed, perhaps both, not knowing, not caring.
Gisa needed him, and God was hamstringing him. He fell to his knees, pounding the floor of the cabin, breaking through in places. If it had not been for the pain, he would have torn the cabin apart. As it was, he did considerable damage before he came to his senses, packed up his few things, and left the shelter.
He sprinted, his breath coming in quick gasps. He knew he had to find help, no matter the cost. His mouth was parched, but he did not stop to search for water.
After backtracking a couple of times, he finally found the cabin. He pounded on the door, and a chorus of barks greeted him. The man opened it in his slow way, blocking the dogs.
Rayden placed his hands on his knees, panting. “I need to get to a hospital now."
The man studied him as the seconds ticked by. Rayden peered up at him, wanting to scream at him to make up his mind.
The fellow finally scratched at his arm absently and spoke. “I don't reckon that's a good idea. Folks will be asking about those holes in you.”
“It doesn’t matter much now." Rayden choked back the curse words on his tongue. He forced himself to speak calmly. "If I don’t get to a hospital, I’ll die. I have blood poisoning.”
“Sepsis, huh?” The man rolled the word out slowly.
Rayden flexed his fingers, fighting the urge to hit him. Surely if he knew blood poisoning was sepsis, he knew they had to hurry.
“If you're looking to avoid the law..." Here the man stopped and coughed as if the word 'law' had a bitter taste. "I've got an option for you.”
What kind of option could this hoarder of dogs have for him? Rayden shrugged one shoulder, the one that was still good. “What?”
“I’m a veterinarian. A few antibiotics would fix you up. If you wanna, I could start an IV on you.” He tilted his head to the side and regarded Rayden.
Relief washed over him, weakening his knees. “Yes. Please.”
“Come on in. See if we can fix you up.” He pulled the door open wider, and the dogs rushed out, greeting Rayden like an old friend.
GISA BREATHED IN the aroma of eggs, bacon, apple slices, and whole wheat toast. One good thing about being here—the food was good.
As she ate, she thought back to what her kidnappers had said about Rayden. He obviously had been trying to give her a clue. Keshet. Meaning bow. And Esther. Why Esther, she had no idea.
He had read that poem...no, he had quoted a couple of lines and later she had read it. Parents were to be bows, sending their children into the world, pointing them at the target. It was beautiful imagery. She couldn't help but put her hand on her belly and think of the child she carried. But then she shivered. Whatever was in her was a monster, no matter what Rayden thought. And from what she had seen and heard, the clone was more than likely Hitler.
She still only had the beginning of a bump. She no longer knew how far along she was, unsure how long she had been kept sedated. She couldn't wait to get rid of whatever this was within her. If she carried the baby to term, what then? What would Oberste do to her? He wouldn't just let her go, would he?
She needed to get out of here before her pregnancy slowed her down. But how? There was no way out. She was trapped in this room. And, besides, where would she go?
She sighed. Bow...Rayden had said rainbow was the same Hebrew word—keshet. How was that a clue to anything? The only reason he might have said that was to tell her where to meet him. But how would the word 'bow' help? And what if it had not been keshet, but something altogether different? She may have misheard what Rayden had said. But what if it was keshet?
Rainbows were found everywhere. She shrugged her shoulders. She had no idea how that helped her figure out anything. He had also said Esther but that still didn't help. She pushed her tray to the side and got out of bed. Hadn't she already searched every square inch of this place? What was the point? Still, she again ran her hands along the wall, the bed, the treadmill, the doors, the window. She knew they were watching. Let them.
She prowled around the room, stopping to rattle the bars at the window. Well, not rattle. They actually didn't move even a centimeter. She jiggled the doorknob on the bathroom door, thinking if she could somehow get it off, she could use it as a weapon against Ralph Stone or the other jerk. But it didn’t budge.
She glanced at the tray on the bed but saw nothing useful there. The tray her breakfast had been brought in on was a light flexible plastic. The plate was Styrofoam and the eating utensil was a plastic spoon. They weren’t taking any chances—not even allowing her a plastic fork. She examined the floor covered with a beige carpet. Nothing to help there either.
Even the bed covers didn't help. She had already tried to rip the sheets, hoping to make a rope to straggle Ralph with. It had proved impossible to tear the expensive sheets. While she st
ood in the middle of the room, racking her brain, the door opened and her tall captor came in, smoothing his hair with his palms.
He smiled, tight-lipped. "Having fun?"
"Tons," she said, frowning. But then she thought better of it. What good would it do her to be surly? Maybe if she acted nice, he might help her out. At least it wouldn't hurt to try.
She smiled in the most flirtatious way she knew how. If she was going to get out of here, she had to get information, somehow get this man to talk.
He gathered up the tray and started toward the door.
"Wait, Mister...I'm sorry. I don't know your name."
He contemplated her before shrugging. "Tom."
"Tom..." She tilted her head at him and smiled. "What should I do today?"
He gestured at the treadmill.
"Good idea! But do you have any shoes I can wear?" At least it was something to do. She waited while he set the tray back down and adjusted the speed and the settings. She racked her brain for something more to say but could think of nothing.
He stepped back and leaned against the door jamb. “No shoes. Twenty minutes.”
"You want me to walk on that without shoes?"
He shrugged. "Lots of people do."
"All right. Thanks." She stepped on tentatively, afraid of the pain from walking barefoot. Surprisingly, it wasn't bad. After a few steps, she forgot she wore no shoes. Twenty minutes of this and then what was she going to do the rest of the day and every day after that? She'd go crazy staring at the four walls. It was weird that she was not allowed shoes. What did they think? She would hit them with the shoes and escape? She chuckled softly and glanced at the man.
"Am I ever going to be allowed outside, Tom?" She added what she hoped was an engaging laugh.
His face did not change expression, and he didn't answer.
Maybe she could talk about the weather, if nothing else. "What’s the weather like? What’s the high going to be today?"
He again didn't answer but continued to observe her.
"Are you married? Do you have children?" She concentrated on her walking, already feeling fatigued. How long has she been kept sedated? As weak as she felt, it had to have been more than a few days.
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