Plain Fear: Forgiven: A Novel

by Leanna Ellis

  Back then, she and whatever boy she was with had fumbled around, experimenting and discovering, until by the time she was in eighth grade, she’d moved on to seniors in high school, then college boys, a teacher or two, and somewhere along the way, a principal. But older men weren’t always the most savvy when it came to women. Finally, in her search for fulfillment, she’d met a biker who knew a thing or two. Then along came Samuel, and she’d enjoyed tutoring him in the art of screwing.

  He, in turn, had shared his family and religion with her, how they lived like it was back in the olden days without electricity. She’d said, “You’re nuts. Why suffer when you don’t have to?”

  More often than not, she’d listened as Samuel explained about his family and older brothers, especially the one who had died—who she later learned had only been declared dead by Samuel’s father. What was his name? Oh yeah, Jacob. He’d been a bookworm, a pseudo-intellectual, and apparently bent on destruction, because since then, he really had died. Andi hadn’t worried his fatal intellectualism was a family trait because Samuel rarely had the patience to read even the TV Guide. But now Samuel was in the intellectual center of this town.

  Another blast of cold wind punctuated by damp, icy spray made her decide to brave the interior of the library. What did she have to lose? She might meet a bookworm and educate him on the Dewey decimals in the nonfiction section. At least she’d be warmer than she was now. So she jogged across the street and entered through the glass doors.

  Some teenagers were giggling at the computers. Wanting to avoid them, Andi headed up the stairs, the movement kicking her heart into gear and warming her limbs. The farther she went, the more empty the building felt.

  Isolated, she searched for someone…anyone. Maybe Samuel needed her now more than ever. The way some people sensed a change in the weather approaching, she felt a prodding and pushing, as if there were an urgency for her to find Samuel. Not believing in Samuel’s prayers or his God, she placed more faith in gut instinct, a sixth sense, premonitions, and psychic powers. Her intuitive radar made her heart pound.

  Something was wrong.

  But there didn’t seem to be anyone on the third floor either. Desks and chairs, cubbyholes and computer banks were empty, neatly squared with tables, nothing out of place. An eerie hum of silence vibrated through the vacant rooms. She angled across the carpeted floor, passing bookshelves. A creepy sensation crawled up her spine. It felt colder here than it had outside.

  Call him.

  The pressing need rose up inside her, but she pushed it away. She stood in the middle of the open area, hands on hips, and turned in a circle. Maybe Samuel was downstairs. Maybe he knew those teens. Could he be part of a library gang?

  No! He’s here.

  Was her thought strictly intuition? Was she suddenly psychic? Maybe she could tap into some major supernatural powers and have her own reality TV show.

  Call him!

  That inner voice intruded on her wayward thoughts. Even though she felt stupid and hoped no one could see her, she whispered, “Samuel?”

  Of course, there was no response, because he would have had to be standing within two feet of her. So she took a deeper breath and trusted her instincts. “Samuel.”

  Again, nothing. This was ridiculous. Maybe the stupidest thing she’d ever done. Had she had some sort of emotional meltdown? With a huff, she turned back.

  Call him again.

  She shook her head. This was crazy. Maybe she was turning into that Jack Nicholson character in that creepy movie in the empty hotel. It had taken him months to go loony tunes and grab an ax. At least there was nothing more dangerous than a pencil in the library.

  But she’d had enough. She headed back toward the stairs.

  Stop!

  She did. A tingle crept along her spine like an icicle sliding upward, defying gravity and intelligence. Maybe this was like that movie with the little boy who saw dead people. Was she seeing…or hearing dead people? Now, that really was crazy.

  But she’d seen that crazy blond-haired chick on TV who saw dead people and talked to them too. Was it even possible? Maybe you had to be open to the possibility. Yeah, she was sure the woman with the Jersey accent had said something to that effect.

  Samuel.

  “All right. Fine.” She spoke louder this time, “Samuel?”

  No response. That’s freaking it. She was going home before someone saw her.

  Then a door creaked. Andi whirled around. The door behind the main desk shifted, and Samuel stuck his head through the opening. His eyes widened at the sight of her. “Andi?” He carried a stack of books under his arm. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to…I was here, ya know, and thought I saw you…or heard you…” She hesitated, unsure how he’d feel about her following him—not to mention the voices-in-her-head phenomenon. “And, well, here you are!”

  She produced her best smile, held out her arms for a hug. But he stood there staring at her. Not moving. So she took an awkward few steps forward and hugged him. One of the books poked her in the stomach. Awkward didn’t begin to describe the situation. He hadn’t changed much, but he looked older, leaner, harder. He no longer had the baby face he used to have.

  Tossing her hair over a shoulder, she attempted normal. “So, how are you?”

  “Good.” His voice sounded deep and rattled her. “And you?”

  Missing you, she thought but didn’t dare say something so eighth grade. Where was a glib Gilmore Girls line when she needed it? Then a movement behind Samuel caught her eye, and she shifted slightly to look beyond his shoulder.

  The door he’d come through swung closed, and she caught a glimpse of an odd-looking man with dark hair and even darker eyes watching them. “Who’s that?”

  But when Samuel turned, the guy was gone. “Oh, probably the librarian.” Samuel shrugged. “He was helping me find these books.”

  “Oh yeah?” She reached for them. “Whatcha got?”

  But Samuel shifted away, pressing the books protectively against his chest. “It’s almost closing time. I better get these checked out.”

  “Oh, sure, yeah, you’re such a party animal, Samuel. Shutting down the library.”

  Then she caught those dark eyes watching them through that door’s window. “I think that guy has a hard-on for you.”

  Samuel didn’t look back. “What are you doing here, Andi?”

  “He’s a real creeper.” She matched Samuel’s stride and slipped her hand through his bent arm as they began the downward descent toward the lobby. “So, what have you been up to lately? Seeing any farm implements?”

  He remained silent, and panic rolled through her, flattening her hopes. This was not going well.

  “How are your folks?” she asked, hoping to recover.

  “Okay. You?”

  “Oh, you know. Same ol’, same ol’. Working. You know, stuff.”

  Samuel felt her hand on his arm, the familiar gesture seemingly natural but not. He couldn’t say he was sorry to see her. He’d experienced the telltale excitement at the sight of her. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks red from the cold. Her fair skin made her flush easily. She wore a blue scarf around her neck, trapping the ends of her flaming hair.

  She stayed beside him while he checked out his books, and he wished she hadn’t seen the ones on poetry.

  “What are you into now?” she asked, reading the titles. “Got some girl you’re trying to impress?”

  “Just doing research.”

  Her lips tightened, and she didn’t look happy about his answer. But how could he explain? Samuel slowed when they reached the sidewalk along Eighth Street.

  “Where’s your car?” he asked. He should at least see her to her car safely.

  Those big, green eyes held his gaze. Her fingers plucked at his sleeve. Was he misinterpreting the longing? �
�Can we talk, Samuel?”

  He shifted uncomfortably. He wasn’t sure it was a good idea. And yet, what could it hurt? “I don’t know.”

  “Did you get baptized, then?” she asked.

  He nudged a chunk of ice with the toe of his boot. How could he? “Not yet.”

  “Then it wouldn’t be against any rules, right?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Are you”—she hesitated, something he couldn’t read flickering in her eyes—“seeing anyone?”

  He thought of Julie. Maybe he’d misread her signals too. “No, I’m not.”

  Andi’s features relaxed, and she took a steadying breath. “It’d only be for a few minutes. I promise not to keep you out late.”

  He wavered in his resolve. Too easily, he remembered her body pressed against his, her mouth hot and sweet, her hands—

  Breaking eye contact, he checked out the buildings in downtown Cincinnati. “Is there a coffee shop nearby?”

  “Sure.” Her smile ignited something inside him. “Absolutely.” She kept smiling, bubbling. “Coffee. That would be great.”

  “Yes,” he repeated, unable to stop himself. “Coffee.”

  ***

  An all-night diner around the corner provided a place to talk, and yet there didn’t seem to be much to say between them. Whatever Andi wanted, she seemed to be having a hard time saying it as she stirred cream into her coffee, twirling the spoon and fiddling with her silverware.

  Besides the waitress who’d served them coffee in mugs, there didn’t seem to be anyone else around. The booths and tables were empty. The waitress tucked away her order pad in her apron when they told her they just wanted coffee and headed to the kitchen.

  What could he say to Andi? How could he explain what he had been through—killing his brother—and the metamorphosis he’d experienced in the following months? She wouldn’t understand. Or would she?

  She’d never spoken much about her own folks, and he sensed there was something that had happened between them. Maybe she could relate to the simmering anger he felt each time Pop spoke to him about obeying God and getting baptized. No, that part she wouldn’t understand at all.

  “Work going well?” he asked, to break the tension and silence between them.

  Giant tears welled in her eyes and spilled over, running down her cheeks.

  “Andi?” What had he done? What should he do? He rubbed his palms down his thighs and cleared the uncomfortable tightness in his throat. He should be used to women crying. Mamm often turned away and dabbed at her eyes with her apron. Usually Samuel gave her an awkward pat on the shoulder or (and he was ashamed to admit this) sometimes he simply pretended he hadn’t seen the pain or tears in her eyes. But Andi…he’d never seen her even sniffle.

  Wiping her eyes, she waved a hand. “I’m sorry. Really. I didn’t mean to do this.” She dug around in her purse. “I just…I don’t know.” She tipped her head sideways and dragged her bottom lip between her teeth. “I just miss you is all.”

  Without any more thoughts or questions, he slid out of his side of the booth and eased in next to her, wrapping an arm around her. She pressed her face against his shoulder, and he breathed in the flowery scent of her hair. When she lifted her head to look at him, his gaze rested on her parted lips, and he couldn’t help himself. He tasted her once more.

  Chapter Seven

  Outside the window sporting a sign about Cincinnati chili, dark, heavy-lidded eyes watched the couple.

  Brydon liked observing people, especially before he dined on them. It somehow made the experience that much tastier. And he had been watching Samuel for a long while. Longer than usual. He’d been more patient than was his natural course, but this one he could take his time with. This one was special.

  He wanted the moment to be right.

  During his years as a cop back in New Orleans, he’d learned the chase gave him the most fun. Once he’d caught a criminal, he felt a letdown. The anticipation…the hunt…that was the thrill. So he would wait…and enjoy getting revenge on Akiva. He only wished Akiva could witness it.

  Akiva should have let Brydon, a rogue vampire, die. He’d wanted to die. He’d allowed Roc to slit his throat. But Akiva had brought a blood sacrifice, and as weak and near death as he’d been, Brydon had drunk fully of the offering and revived. He’d then owed Akiva, which had been the purpose. He’d drawn the line though and refused to kill Roc, his ex-partner on the police force.

  He hadn’t exactly felt sorrow when Akiva or Giovanni had been destroyed. But at that point, he’d recognized the position in which Akiva had placed him. So, Brydon nursed the hatred and resentment growing inside him, and he’d begun following Akiva’s little brother, Samuel.

  Killing him would be simple, and yet he’d begun to feed a new idea: transforming Samuel. That might be the best revenge of all. Akiva had hated being a vamp—as had Brydon at first—until he gave in and learned to appreciate the benefits. It would be fitting for Akiva’s younger brother to become one. Samuel clung to his Amish white-bread existence. What a shock it would be for him to learn there was a whole new world, a world he’d never imagined. Samuel would appreciate the salvation of an awakening and embrace all that this kind of life promised and provided.

  And if Akiva was watching from hell, then he’d burn even hotter at the sight.

  Chapter Eight

  Samuel awoke with a start.

  He jerked upright and shook himself. A kink knotted his back and neck, and he shifted and stretched, sitting upright at Andi’s kitchen table. He rubbed his jaw, and stubble scraped his palm. A dream pressed into his mind like the edge of the book imprinted on the side of his face where he’d slept. His dreams had turned dark and sinister, reflecting either his reading material or all he’d seen the night Jacob died.

  No clock was needed to tell him night nuzzled morning; he knew from his years of being awakened for chores. Pushing up from the chair, his muscles stiff, he gathered the books about creatures of the night: demons, witches, legends, myths, and the fuzzy line between this world and the next. He stuffed the hardbound books back into his leather satchel, slipped on his crumpled shirt, and tied his work boots.

  He’d followed Andi home and they’d gone straight to her bed. It had felt good to hold her again, to lose himself in the tastes and scents and touch of her, to forget, even for a few minutes, all the thoughts and feelings wrestling inside him.

  After she’d fallen asleep, he’d slipped out of bed, tugged on his jeans, and settled at her kitchen table. There, he’d opened the library books and had begun to read until his eyes grew bleary. He’d fallen into crazy dreams of being chased and chasing something he couldn’t name, couldn’t see, couldn’t understand.

  Scribbling her a note now, he left it on her pillow, brushed the hair back from her face, and kissed her bare shoulder. She sighed and rolled over, revealing the soft curve of a breast before scrunching down further under the covers. Maybe he’d made a mistake breaking it off with her a few months ago. He’d missed her more than he had realized.

  Careful not to close the door too hard and risk waking her, he then made the hour drive back to his folks, which took even longer on the slick, icy roads. Pop was just entering the barn when Samuel parked behind the structure. He left his satchel of books attached to the motorcycle, not wanting to frighten Mamm or Pop if they were to find them. He went straight into the barn and began doling out feed.

  Linda stood in her stall watching for him, her breath steamy in the morning chill. She eyed him with those limpid brown eyes and nosed his arm. “You as hungry as I am this morning?” He chuckled and poured the feed into her bucket. As she snuffled around in the oats, he rubbed her neck and scratched along her mane. When he turned around, he pulled up short. “Good morning, Pop.”

  His father stood in the stall’s opening as if he’d been watching him for a few moments. “You ar
e a hard worker, Samuel. Never missing work. Even when you stay out awful late, as you did last night.”

  The usual accusation was there but it ricocheted off Samuel. “No reason anyone else should suffer on my account.”

  “It grieves your mother, this carrying on with an English girl.” He raised his hand to stop Samuel’s protest. “It matters not how I know. Word travels.”

  Old news, like a withered grape, still lingered on the grapevine. Samuel rubbed the mare’s nose, readjusted its bridle, anything but look at his father.

  “There are nice girls here in Harmony Hollow,” Pop said. “Girls who share your faith. Girls of marrying age.”

  His faith. And what was that? Samuel’s lips twisted with the effort to control an outburst. “Pop, I’m not interested—”

  “Are you planning on marrying her then? This English girl? Bringing her into our family and district?” He said it as if Andi were a disease, as if bringing her to their home would expose the family to some horrible malady—the way Pop believed Jacob had.

  “She has a name.”

  Pop said nothing.

  “Andi,” Samuel supplied, anger rising in him. It rankled him that all his father would ever see would be their differences. Pop saw life in black and white, never gray. But that’s all Samuel could see. “Her name is Andi.”

  Frown lines pulled and stretched Pop’s features downward. “A boy’s name?” Then his eyes widened. “Is it—?”

  Samuel laughed, but humor remained aloof. Pop would never accept an Englisher in his family any more than he’d ever accepted Jacob’s questions. With Pop, you either adhered to the law—his law—or you were bound for hell. For the first time, Samuel felt a true kinship with his dead brother.

  “It is not a funny matter, Jacob.”

  Samuel felt the air around him shatter. “I’m not Jacob, Pop. But even if I was, it would be better than being like you.”

  Pop blustered, cleared his throat. “I didn’t…” He broke off, unable to finish. Finally, he said, “How will you explain this…this…Englisher to your mother?”