Shadow of the Storm

by Candle Sutton

  I race for the door.

  My fingers fumble with the lock.

  Oh come on!

  The lock turns. I twist the knob.

  Please, God. Don’t let anyone be standing on the other side.

  The sidewalk outside the door is empty.

  Cold air cuts right through my shirt as I step out into the night. In front of me, a parking lot stretches, one where the cracks outnumber the painted lines and there’s more broken glass than you’d find in a dozen windows.

  The lot is nearly empty. A shiny rental car stares at me from a few spaces away.

  Likely belonging to Strand and his accomplice.

  Which means they must be nearby.

  I glance to the right. Light pulses from a flashing vacancy sign hanging by the lobby.

  A lobby means people. People who can help me. People who can call the police and…

  Two shapes round the corner, passing the vacancy sign and momentarily blocking the light from the lobby.

  I don’t have to see their faces to know who it is.

  And they’re between me and my best option for help.

  I whirl and race the opposite direction.

  My shoes slide on the ice encrusted sidewalk as I skid around the corner of the building.

  Please be a busy street. Please be a busy street.

  An alley. Naturally.

  It’s like déjà vu. Running from these guys down a dark alley, in the cold, not appropriately dressed for the conditions.

  Footsteps echo.

  Whether they’re mine or Strand and his goon, I don’t know. It sounds like an army as it bounces between the buildings.

  Where am I?

  More importantly, what direction should I go to find a populated area? And can I make it before Strand catches me?

  I reach an intersection.

  Warehouses. Closed businesses. All industrial as far as the eye can see.

  Why the heck would a motel be in this kind of neighborhood?

  Could be one reason the lot was mostly empty.

  I don’t have time to stand here debating which direction is best.

  I should pray.

  Please, God. I need help.

  A glow lights the sky from my left so I head that way. I can only hope that glow is coming from the strip and that it’s not too far away.

  “Parker! Stop!”

  A crack splits the night.

  I’d know that sound anywhere. Strand is shooting at me!

  Where the bullet hits is a mystery, but it misses me. Maybe I’m too far away, maybe Strand didn’t take the time to line up his shot, or maybe he has horrible aim. I don’t know, but I can’t take the chance the next bullet will connect.

  The fact that he’s obviously not very concerned about someone hearing him is a huge concern to me.

  Help might be further away than I thought.

  Looks like I’m on my own. Again.

  The more erratic my movements, the harder I’ll be to hit. Left, right, into the street and across, I zig-zag as I push myself to go faster.

  I dart down another alley.

  Round another corner.

  One alley blends into another, every street looks the same.

  My lungs burn as I draw in breath after breath of frozen air. In spite of the exertion, shivers rock my legs.

  I can’t go much further.

  But options for a good hiding place are limited.

  Scratch that. Nonexistent.

  Something on the building ahead of me catches my attention.

  Is that a window?

  It is! About five feet off the ground, but I should be able to swing myself inside.

  I don’t even stop to think.

  I drive my elbow through the window, brush the broken glass off the sill, and jump, hauling myself onto the ledge.

  Maybe the building is alarmed.

  I hope it’s alarmed.

  No sirens blare. If there is an alarm, it’s silent.

  While the alley was dark, this is even darker. A few seconds pass before my eyes acclimate enough to see a desk and chairs in the center of the room.

  I jump to the floor and freeze.

  No sign of anyone around. Not inside or out.

  But those men are still out there. And when they see the broken window, it’ll be an obvious choice. They’ll come looking for me.

  I need to find a good hiding place before then.

  A phone would be even better, but I don’t see one on the desk. And I don’t dare waste time hunting for one.

  I have to hide before those men catch up with me.

  Reaching the door, I twist the knob. The hinges protest, the squeal echoing in the space beyond.

  I still.

  Breaths shudder through my chest, the sound amplified by the cavernous space in front of me, space I can’t yet see.

  Aside from my breathing, all is silent.

  Three exit signs, positioned on opposite sides of the room, cast a sinister green glow.

  Shapes slowly emerge from the void. Equipment. Very large. Maybe from some kind of assembly line or something.

  I ease forward.

  I could turn on a light. But that might lead the men right to me.

  The room swallows me as I go deeper.

  A solid bank of machinery to my right, open space to my left. Nothing that can shield me from the predators stalking me.

  Crash!

  I whip around. Like I can see anything in this darkness, but the instinct takes hold regardless.

  Nothing but black.

  But I know. It’s Strand. He’s here.

  I run.

  It’s stupid, but what else can I do?

  I can barely see vague shapes, much less determine that nothing is blocking my path, but I can’t just stand here.

  The door creaks, the sound screeching through the warehouse.

  My legs slam into something hard and cold. I flail, trying to find something, anything to grab onto. My hands meet nothing but air.

  I fall forward.

  My forehead crashes into metal as solid and frigid as a block of ice.

  Starbursts fill my vision. My knees buckle.

  First my hip, then my shoulder, smashes against concrete. Pain radiates through my body.

  A cry travels up my throat, but I swallow it back.

  I have to get…

  Light floods the space.

  I blink. Squint. Scan the room.

  Strand.

  Our eyes meet.

  He breaks into a run as I scramble to my feet.

  Numbness attacks the side I landed on, but somehow I manage to keep my feet under me.

  But the fall severely slowed me down. I don’t make it a dozen steps before a hand clamps onto my arm.

  “Get off me!” I fist my other hand and swing it at his head.

  He jerks back, but doesn’t relinquish his grip. He grabs my other arm, whips me around, and slams my back against a wall.

  “You’ve caused a lotta sleepless nights, you know that?” His gravelly voice grinds from lips that curl into a snarl.

  I narrow my eyes, but don’t respond.

  There’s a way out. I know there is. I just have to find it. A diversion, a weapon, anything.

  He releases my arm and squashes his forearm across my throat, leaning in so close that I can smell the smoke on his breath.

  “Where. Is. My. Money?”

  Every word, measured. Lined with barely concealed rage.

  As long as I have the money, I have leverage.

  “You’ll never find it.” The words rasp from my throat, each one costing me as I force them past the pressure of his arm.

  He pushes in tighter. “Tell me and I’ll kill ya quick.”

  Now there’s incentive.

  I glare at him.

  Something flashes in the light. So quickly that I can’t see it, but the pain that erupts across my abdomen tells me what it is.

  A knife.

  Eighteen


  He holds up the blade, twisting it so I have plenty of time to look at it. It’s a hunting knife, not quite long enough to impale me, but long enough to get inside and do some serious damage. Crimson drips from a wickedly curved point.

  “You got three seconds to start talking or I’ll go deeper.” The blade presses against my cheek. “Maybe here this time.”

  The cut on my stomach burns like acid.

  I can’t let him do the same thing to my face.

  But I also can’t give him what he wants. Once he has that money, my life is of no use to him.

  “You kill me and you’ll never see that money again.” Not that it’s exactly hard to find. Why the heck didn’t I move it from the hotel room safe? “Or the evidence Uncle Saul has on you.”

  He stares at me. “Yeah? Well then, no one else will either.”

  “Are you willing to bet your freedom on that?” I swallow, the movement excruciating against the pressure on my throat. “Besides, how will it look when they find me murdered? Do you really think they won’t find out you were here?”

  “You ain’t the only one who knows how to use a fake ID.”

  I’d like to think he’s bluffing, but I’m not that naïve.

  “Last chance.”

  I press my lips together.

  Fire erupts on my cheek.

  A cry burns my throat but I refuse to voice it. I won’t give him the satisfaction.

  Blood tickles down my chin.

  I make no move to wipe it away.

  If it drips to the floor, it’s more evidence that I was here. In case I don’t make it out.

  His eyes shrink into black slits in a face resembling a tomato. “You stupid little…”

  He jabs the knife into my abdomen.

  This time I can’t stop the scream. The sound reverberates off the concrete beneath my feet, bounces off the metal behind him.

  My breath escapes me.

  He releases his hold and I collapse, my arm curling around my midsection.

  The pain settles into a throb, then recedes.

  Which concerns me even more.

  I’m going into shock. It must be bad.

  And if I don’t do something to stop him, it’s going to get even worse. The next one might be fatal.

  A door slams.

  Strand jerks toward the sound.

  I launch myself at his knees. He staggers, arms flailing, before toppling backward.

  Light flashes on the blade as it arcs down. Toward me.

  I twist away.

  Heat flashes across my back.

  I wasn’t fast enough.

  I hit the floor. The impact jars me, exacerbating every wound the blade has caused.

  Shockwaves roll down my body, stopping in my torso. A moan slips out as the pain consumes my thoughts and my vision disintegrates into a polka dotted nightmare.

  Movement. Footsteps. Pounding. Male voices.

  The noises filter through the haze surrounding me, but fail to penetrate it.

  A voice in my mind screams at me to stand up and fight, but it’s drowned out by the agony in my torso.

  Scuffling. Grunting.

  Shivers assault me. The movement is torturous, but I can’t stay still. My fingers and toes feel like ice and my nose is numb.

  “Audra.”

  The voice slices through my winter. Kind. Comforting. Familiar.

  Malachi’s face sharpens in my vision.

  What is he doing here?

  “Audra. You’re going to be okay.”

  I want to believe him.

  He captures my hands and holds them between his own. He does have warm hands.

  Heat blazes through my frozen fingers, shooting down my arms and flooding my body with fire.

  But this fire brings relief. Malachi’s face fades and blackness rushes in.

  ᴂ ᴂ ᴂ ᴂ ᴂ

  Beep. Beep. Beep.

  Would someone please stop that horrible sound?

  The beeping speeds up and I wrench my eyes open. Light nearly blinds me. I squint against it, slowly opening my eyes further as they adjust.

  Where am I?

  I roll my head to the side.

  The small movement expends unbelievable energy and I don’t know if I could move again if I had to. Why do I feel like I’m trapped beneath an invisible building?

  A machine beside me emits the offensive beeping sound.

  Beyond that, light blue walls, a darkened bathroom, and a door that’s open to a tiled hallway.

  The sheets covering me are about as soft as sandpaper. The mattress under me is little better than a sheet of plywood.

  I move my arm, dragging some tubes with me.

  What…?

  I’m in the hospital.

  What happened?

  Memories tumble over each other in my mind.

  Strand.

  The motel.

  Running away.

  Breaking into the warehouse.

  The struggle.

  The knife.

  Malachi and his warm hands.

  A small cough comes from behind me.

  Someone’s here!

  In spite of the lead weighing me down, I whip my head around.

  A man is slumped in the chair by the window, oblivious to the daylight pouring over him. His head is tilted back, his mouth yawning, but I know that face.

  Drew.

  But what is he doing sitting beside my hospital bed?

  Scratch that. Sleeping beside my bed?

  And where’s Malachi? I know he was at the warehouse when I was attacked, maybe even was the one who saved me. But he’s not here. Knowing him, I would’ve expected him to be here.

  Did he send Drew? Why?

  None of this makes any sense.

  “Well, now, look who’s awake.”

  I roll my head back to the other side. A man in a white coat with a receding hairline and a nose that’s a little too big for his face approaches. His smile is warm and almost immediately puts me at ease.

  “What happened?” My voice scratches out at a level barely above a whisper, yet he seems to hear me anyway.

  “You’re a very lucky woman, that’s what happened. If your friends hadn’t gotten there when they did, you would’ve bled out in no time.”

  Bled out.

  So at least one of my injuries was pretty deep. I’m betting the one on my back, since I passed out not long after Strand inflicted that one.

  The doctor rests his hands on the railing of my bed. “I’m Doctor Ward. How are you feeling?”

  How do I feel?

  Tired, definitely. There are ghosts of pain, but nothing specific I can nail down exactly. Likely due to some strong drugs pumping through the IV in my arm. “Tired. And sore.”

  Even the words require energy I don’t have.

  “I’d be surprised if you weren’t. We gave you a transfusion when we did surgery, but you lost a lot of blood.”

  Surgery? This sounds more serious than I’d thought. “What’s the damage?”

  The doctor grabs a chart and flips it open. “The wounds on your face and hand were superficial, but the others went pretty deep.” He fixes me with an intense stare. “Here’s where things get fuzzy. We think one of the wounds on your abdomen punctured your liver and the one on your back nicked your inferior vena cava.”

  “You think? You don’t know?”

  He shakes his head slowly. “Have you ever an injury or condition that would have left scarring on your liver or internal organs?”

  “No.”

  “What about a bleeding problem?”

  “Not that I know about.”

  “Then I don’t know how to explain what I saw. It looks like the knife hit your liver and the inferior vena cava, which is consistent with the placement of the exterior trauma, but… they appear to have clotted almost immediately. I could see where it hit, yet…” He holds my gaze with his own. “I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s a medical miracle.”

  Or maybe not so
medical.

  Malachi prayed for Carina less than twenty-four hours before she woke up and Carina remembered him as the guy with warm hands. Then I felt the heat myself.

  Could Malachi be some kind of healer?

  That’s absolutely ridiculous. It’s not even possible.

  Is it?

  “Anyway.” The doctor clears his throat. “We’ll be keeping an eye on you for a while, but I think you’re going to be fine.”

  The doctor asks me a few questions about my pain level, then replaces my chart and leaves the room.

  Unfortunately, he also leaves me with more questions than answers.

  “Audra, hey.” Drew’s voice is thick.

  I turn to find that Drew has moved his chair closer to the bed.

  He rubs his hand through his hair. “How’re you doing?”

  “Been better.” Then again, I’ve also been worse. At least this time I know who I am and what happened to me.

  “Yeah. Man, you scared me.” A rough breath vibrates his chest. “When I saw you and all that blood, I thought…”

  “You were there?”

  “Yeah. The doc’s right. It was bad.”

  “How’d you find me?”

  “Malachi.” Drew lifts his shoulders in a helpless shrug. “He got all intense on me and told me we had to go now. That you were in trouble but God would show us the way.”

  “And you believed him?”

  Not that I’m complaining or anything, but that would be pretty hard for me to swallow.

  Then again, it is Malachi.

  “I know, sounds crazy. But Malachi’s very convincing.” Drew rests his elbows on the bed and leans in. “Besides, we already knew something was wrong so it wasn’t a huge stretch.”

  Except for the whole “God will show us the way” bit, but since He obviously did, I don’t mention that part. “How’d you know something was wrong?”

  “Zak. He got worried when you didn’t come back. Said you thought someone had been watching you earlier. I checked the lockers and found some blood, so I pulled the security footage and saw the whole thing.”

  Thank God that area is under surveillance.

  Even better, the whole thing is recorded. That evidence will go a long way to backing up my story.

  Of course, the fact that Drew and Malachi caught Strand trying to kill me will go a lot further.

  Wait. They did catch Strand, didn’t they?

  “They got them, right? The guys from the warehouse? They’re in custody?”