by Leanna Ellis
Copyright © 2013 by Leanna Ellis
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Ellis, Leanna.
Plain fear : forgiven : a novel / Leanna Ellis.
pages cm
(paperback : alk. paper) 1. Amish—Fiction. 2. Life change events—Fiction. 3. Vampires—Fiction. 4. Good and evil—Fiction. 5. Pennsylvania—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3605.L4677P567 2013
813’.6—dc23
2013010792
Contents
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy-One
Chapter Seventy-Two
Chapter Seventy-Three
Chapter Seventy-Four
Chapter Seventy-Five
Chapter Seventy-Six
Chapter Seventy-Seven
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Back Cover
ALSO BY LEANNA ELLIS
Plain Fear: Forbidden
Plain Fear: Forsaken
To those who daily put on the “full armor of God”
and “fight the good fight.”
He uncovereth deep things out of darkness,
And bringeth out to light the shadow of death.
Job 12:22
Prologue
Darkness clawed at him, its talons sinking deep, hooking into his heart. Jacob Fisher tried to clear away whatever obstruction prevented his eyes from seeing, but there was nothing. Nothing but darkness, thick as molasses and cold as the heart of the universe. It shrouded him, pressing in on him, and he felt the weight of it against his chest. He could not move or struggle or fight or even scream.
And he wanted to scream. Scream for someone. Someone to come to his rescue.
Worse than the darkness though was the silence. The quiet pulsed and throbbed, around him and through him. Nothing—if there was anything around him—moved. Only in the tiny recesses of his mind could he hear anything, his thoughts writhing and struggling as a creature pushes out from the womb. Fears tormented him. Bits of verses and poetry knotted and tangled as he reached for them—as if by grasping them, they could take him away from here, lead him somewhere else, or at least anchor him and keep him from going mad.
Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.
For hope was absent from this place—if it was a place…or a time…or somewhere between times and places. The emptiness felt like an enclosed tomb and yet also seemed to stretch on forever.
Only a look and a voice, then darkness again, and a silence.
A silence that seemed never to end. If he could scream, he doubted he would be heard. For he was alone.
He will keep the feet of his saints, and the wicked shall be silent in darkness; for by strength shall no man prevail.
He was no saint. So was this his punishment? Where was he? What was this? Fear seized him. He struggled, against nothing and everything, but it was useless. He could not move. Was he still alive? Trapped in a wooden box and buried six feet underground? With no way to escape, no way to breathe, no way to scratch or claw at the sides, lid, or seams?
From somewhere deep inside him came a continuous scream. But it had no outlet, just ricocheted around inside his head and heart, proving his own impotence.
Then out of nothing and yet from somewhere beyond came a shriek that pierced his eardrums. With it came pain. Intense pain, sharp and searing, sliced through him. As the first shriek died away, another chased after it. Each time, as the pain dulled, more replaced it and pounded relentlessly against him. Wave after wave of shrieking and throbbing crashed over him.
In that splinter of a moment, Jacob realized something cold shackled his ankle. He aimed to kick out but couldn’t as another band slithered around his other ankle, the long, fingerlike strictures icy and rigid.
A sensation of forward movement carried him and the rush of wind against his face surprised him. Yet he could see nothing. There was nothing to hold on to and fight this force. He had to let go.
Chapter One
The fire blazed, roaring upward into the bleached sky, and its reflection burned in Samuel Fisher’s soul. Guilt and anger
combined into a powerful explosion of emotions. Smoke shifted with the wind and coughed into his face, making his eyes water. Sweat poured off him, soaking his cotton shirt and trailing down his back. He mopped his forehead with his arm, clearing his eyes of the stinging saltiness.
“You okay?” Roc Girouard paused his footsteps. He’d been living with Samuel’s family for a few weeks, yet only today’s events had revealed his reasons for being here. An ex-police officer, an Englisher, Roc had come to protect Rachel, who wasn’t really his wife, as they’d proclaimed. It was a lie, as so many things Samuel had learned were. “Samuel?”
At Samuel’s nod, they shuffled closer to the fire, the heavy load dangling between them. He tried to blanket the questions in his mind and the reality of what they were doing. Tried but failed.
When they were but three feet from the fire, the heat pulsing against one side of Samuel’s face, Roc set the body on the ground, releasing the wrists slowly and respectfully so the arms crossed the blood-soaked chest. Samuel couldn’t take his gaze off of the pale, deathly still features of his brother, Jacob.
“This is wrong,” Samuel said, his throat charred by the smoke and tight with constricting emotions. “We should bury him. Not…this.”
“It’s the only way,” Roberto Hellman intervened. The priest had a soft-spoken but steely tone. A man of conviction. A man who knew God’s word.
“You ready?” Roc prodded.
They’d fought a battle together. But was this what it felt like to win? To save loved ones? To defy evil? Samuel wasn’t sure of anything anymore, especially the truth.
“Let go now, son. We can take a moment.” The priest’s hands settled on his and helped him relinquish his brother’s ankles, where he’d held him as they carried him from the house to the open field. “Would you like me to say a prayer?”
“Roberto,” Roc’s tone turned brusque, “don’t—”
“It’s his own brother, Roc.”
“No, it isn’t. Samuel, that wasn’t your brother you shot. That creature was—” Roc made an exasperated sound at the priest’s glare and fell silent.
The priest took it as agreement and made the sign of the cross. They’d ridden together on Samuel’s motorcycle from the bus station in Louisville, but even in that short amount of time, Samuel recognized the priest’s kind soul. When the prayer ended, he realized the words had been another language. Latin, he suspected, even though most of the Bible he had heard growing up was read in German. Still, the Word of God carried the same weight in any language. Raw emotions shook Samuel. He shuddered with effort as he resisted shouting at the world and God.
All three stared into the fire, knowing what must be done and yet allowing Samuel one last moment. But for what? To say good-bye to his brother? He’d already done so three years ago when he believed his brother had died. Had his father been wrong then? Or had Pop lied?
Because Jacob had appeared again today.
Jacob had come to harm Rachel. But why? Rachel and Jacob had grown up together. They even went off during their rumschpringe years. But Rachel had returned first, and alone. It was after that when Jacob returned and died suddenly in an accident at their father’s woodworking shop. Or so Samuel had been told. Rachel had married Josef Nussbaum, who had died in some kind of an accident, leaving Rachel a pregnant widow. Then she’d showed up here with Roc, saying she was married to this Englisher. But Samuel now understood Roc had been waiting, anticipating Jacob’s arrival, ready to do battle.
Samuel had only known of an intruder. And he’d shot. But he’d shot his brother. How could he have known? He’d stopped Jacob from hurting Rachel or Roc or anyone else. But he’d killed his brother.
What was there to say to Jacob now? I’m sorry? Was he? Oh yes. But how did one ask for forgiveness from a corpse? He’d done what his family and faith believed was the worst sin imaginable. He’d stolen a life. And somehow he would have to live with that.
He had no prayer to offer. Praying was too audacious an act after what he’d done. The body at his feet was proof of his unforgivable sin. And he would pay for that.
Choking on smoke and tears, he bent once more and grabbed Jacob’s ankles. When he straightened, he sensed the other two men watching him. But he couldn’t look at them. He couldn’t look at Jacob’s face. He stared into the flames, felt the searing heat, and gave a sharp nod.
Roc cleared his throat and took hold of Jacob’s wrists. “On three.” Samuel swung his brother’s body away from the flames as Roc said, “One.”
Two.
Three.
And Samuel released his brother into the carnivorous flames. But he held on to the guilt and anger. That fire could never be quenched.
Chapter Two
A sharp light slashed through the darkness. Jacob’s descent came to a sudden, jarring halt. Shrieks exploded around him, like an angry chorus, each attempting loftier notes. The cacophony of sounds stabbed him.
Then just as abruptly, blessed silence. This silence, rather than suffocating as it did before, comforted. A sudden, blinding light transfixed him. It came from a long, thick blade—a sword—and the brightness radiated outward, forming a circle of hope in the darkness of despair. But as his eyes adjusted, Jacob realized the light came from a man.
Tall and muscular, the man—or being—was unlike anything Jacob had ever seen. Beautiful beyond words. Majestic. Powerful. His skin glowed like melted silver and rippled over thickly corded muscles along his chest and arms. Every sinew and bone was finely crafted, each muscle honed and well defined, coiled with readiness. Fierce blue eyes glared at the dark creatures now cowering at Jacob’s feet.
He saw them now, what had wrapped around his ankles and dragged him deeper into desolation. These creatures were dark and distorted, like shadows with substance and form and spindly arms. They held on to Jacob’s ankles, and he kicked to break their hold. One edged away, its body moving like liquid. But the other leered toward Jacob, hissing and snarling, its features grotesque and misshapen.
Fear gripped Jacob, and he trembled all over, tried to draw back, but he could not move. He could do nothing to defend himself. The creature’s foul breath wafted over him, a lethal concoction of decaying fumes.
“Enough!” the being with the sword spoke. Although not shouted, his voice resonated through every fiber of Jacob. The dark creatures at Jacob’s feet recoiled, their shapeless bodies quivering in response to the being’s commanding tone.
A fluttering behind the being alerted Jacob as a wing arced behind his head. No, two wings stretched high above the being and trailed down below his feet, unfurling a strength that matched the thickly muscled torso and limbs.
Was this an angel or some demon?
Gripping the sword’s hilt, the being pointed the blade downward in an imposing, authoritative stance. “This one,” he spoke to the cowering creatures, “is not yours.”
“But he is!” one of the creatures responded in a shrill voice. “We were told.”
Another form stepped out of the darkness and into the dim outreaches of the light still emanating from the angel. This being—or was it a beast?—also held a weapon, which caught the light and, instead of reflecting, absorbed it. He, like the angel, had a mighty build with carefully defined muscles, but the likeness ended there. The face, rather than open and commanding, was pinched and distorted, heavily lined with fury. This creature could frighten even the likes of Stephen King. “He is ours to take.” The beast spoke with a crusty voice that set Jacob’s heart pounding. Black, lifeless eyes turned toward Jacob. The beast gave a slight bow. “Akiva. You are known—”
“His name,” the being Jacob interpreted to be an angel spoke, “is Jacob Fisher.” In spite of the powerful tone, he moved not one muscle. “His name is written in The Book.”
The two dark creatures cowered and repeated, “The book. Oh, the book!” They edged toward the dark beast, whi
ch demanded, “Do not release him.”
The angel never flinched. Was he weighing Jacob’s worthiness? Did he even merit the effort of a fight? Why would this angel fight for someone such as Jacob anyway? What had he ever done to garner help on this side of life?
If Jacob could have spoken, he would have pleaded for help from this powerful angel, who looked as if he could land a deadly blow with that mighty sword. But Jacob was rendered speechless. Fearing he would have no choice but to go with the creatures and beast, Jacob ached with every ounce of will to go into the light. Yet hope for such as that seemed pointless after all the sins he had committed.
When he thought the moment had stretched beyond its breaking point, the bright sword flashed, slashing ever so close to Jacob’s feet, and sparks burst from the bonds that held him as they shattered. Shrieks and howls erupted from the creatures, and they swirled upward in a dizzying flutter and vanished into darkness. Then the angel whirled around with lethal grace, wielding his sword overhead in a swirl of steel and light, and halted before the beast, pointing the tip of the blade at the dark monster’s throat.
As he held the beast at bay, the angel reached toward Jacob with an open hand. His eyes, a steel-blue force, met Jacob’s for one second, yet the unrelenting gaze seemed to last a lifetime. “Take my hand.”
Jacob could move then, and he clasped hands with the angel. Whisked behind the powerful wings, Jacob saw only the great expanse of white feathers, which were like no feathers he’d ever seen, shimmering with an indescribable iridescence.
The clash of steel startled him. His view blocked by the immense wings, he heard the grunts and parrying of battle. Dodging away, he sensed more of those frightening yet timid creatures in the darkness beyond, so he kept beneath the shadow of the wings. Sword clanked against sword, the sound echoing in the stillness beyond. The black, encrusted sword thrust forward and barely skimmed the angel’s wing. Jacob fell backward as the dark blade came too close. Then the swords banged and clanged. A ringing filled the gaps between the heavy blows.
“This battle is already over,” the angel said. “Why waste effort on this one?”
“Why indeed?” With a huff, the beast yanked his sword away, slapping aside what looked like a cape or covering, and stalked into the shadows and darkness, but his voice carried through the stillness. “You will regret this. You’ll change your mind. You’ll beg me to take him.”
