Unspoken Fear

by Hunter Morgan

  Noah wrapped his arms around her legs, bringing her down. "Get them out!" he hollered. "Run, Rachel!"

  The woman fell so hard on top of Noah that she knocked the breath out of him. She wasn't tall, but she was heavy. Solid. She smelled of vanilla flavoring and rot.

  The flashlight had hit the floor and rolled and was lost somewhere in the pile of Bibles, now emitting only a weak, yellow half moon of light.

  Noah felt the blade sink into the back of his right thigh. It burned like fire.

  Mallory was screaming. Mattie was making awful, animal like grunts as Rachel tried to get him to his feet, out of the danger.

  Noah flailed wildly, trying to reach the knife in his attacker's hand. He still couldn't see who it was. She was muttering under her breath. Chanting. He felt as if he was being crushed by evil.

  The knife drove into his thigh, tore at his flesh like an animal’s talon. He could feel his life's blood spilling out, running down his leg.

  The woman's strength was inconceivable. Inhuman.

  Something banged on the first floor above them. "Police!" a voice hollered.

  "Help us! Help!" Rachel screamed.

  Noah twisted beneath the weight of his attacker, and as they rolled, he caught a glimpse of her face in the flashlight beam.

  It was impossible.

  Then he saw the knife. She lifted it high and drew it downward.

  It was only instinct, adrenalin, that drove him now. Noah raised his forearm, twisting until he thought his spine would snap. The knife sank into his arm, and blood seemed to fly from the wound. He was covered in blood; he could feel its warmth. Smell it.

  Noah didn't want to die. For a long time he had wanted to die. Before prison. Certainly during his incarceration, even after he returned home. He thought he deserved to die for what he had done.

  But he didn't want to die now. He wanted to live. He wanted to live to be a husband to Rachel, a father to Mallory, whether she was of his flesh or not.

  Somehow, in an effort that seemed to defy the laws of physics, Noah managed to twist under her, rolling into a ball. He heaved his body against her, taking her by surprise. The knife fell from her hand, and his hand, covered in blood, found the hilt.

  He raised it over her as she grunted and groaned beneath him, kicking at him wildly. Her sensible brown shoe caught him in the side. Her fist found his jaw. She grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled with all her might. She wasn't going to let him go. Not alive.

  "Sinners must die. Sinners must die," she chanted in her unearthly voice.

  Only seconds before, Noah had told Rachel he was willing to die for Mallory. He wondered now if he was willing to kill for her, for them?

  Mallory had a right to a father. Rachel had a right to be loved. He wanted to love her.

  God forgive me. Noah raised the knife and lowered it, tears filling his eyes as he watched it come down.

  She grunted, convulsed as the blade sank into her side. At the same moment, she released his hair and he managed to throw himself backward. More Bibles tumbled. Hit him in the head.

  "Police!" Footsteps pounded on the staircase.

  Noah rolled onto his back and threw the knife as far as he could, into the darkness, out of his attacker's reach. "Here," he groaned, suddenly feeling light-headed. He meant to call out to the police, but bile rose in his throat and he thought he might be sick. The room seemed to be spinning around him.

  Bright lights. Voices. A bath of warmth. At first, he thought he might be having a blackout, but this was different. More serene. More surreal.

  "Noah? Noah!"

  He heard Rachel's voice. He wanted to ask her if she was all right, if Mallory was all right, but the words wouldn't form on his tongue. He forced his heavy eyelids open and saw her face, backlit by brilliant white light. She was as lovely as any angel he had ever imagined.

  "Oh my God. Oh my God, he's been stabbed," Rachel threw over her shoulder. "He's bleeding to death. Someone call an ambulance!"

  She sounded so scared that he wanted to reach out, to take her in his arms and tell her everything was going to be all right. Even if he died now, he was going to be all right. They all were.

  But his eyelids were too heavy. His arms wouldn't respond. He couldn't find his voice. The warmth was going out of the room. Cold... so cold. Slowly, Rachel's face faded until Noah fell into the darkness again.

  * * *

  "Get something to compress the wounds," Delilah told Rachel. "Anything."

  Delilah fell to her knees to get a better look. Noah Gibson lay unconscious on the cellar floor in a pool of gore, surrounded by Bibles. There was a lot of blood, at least three stab wounds. It was hard to tell because he was covered in blood; the floor was covered in blood. She checked his pulse; he was still alive, but the beat was weak.

  "Here." Rachel Gibson dropped to her knees beside Delilah, amazingly calm considering the circumstances. "Will this work?" She offered a stack of clean sheets, and only then did Delilah realize Rachel's hands were shaking.

  Delilah grabbed a sheet and laid it across the largest of his thigh wounds. His jeans were torn and the wound gaped open, blood still pouring from it. She was afraid his femoral artery had been hit; if it had she doubted he'd make it to the hospital.

  "I said hands behind your back," one of the officers behind Delilah barked.

  Delilah heard a scuffle.

  "What are you doing?" Rachel cried over her shoulder. "What are you doing to him? Leave Mattie alone!" She grabbed Delilah's shoulder. "Please make them stop. It wasn't Mattie!"

  Delilah looked over to see Ridgley and Cooper, the first backup unit, attempting to wrestle Mattie McConnell to his knees to handcuff him. The mentally handicapped man was resisting, making deep guttural cries of fear.

  "Mommy!" little Mallory Gibson cried from Snowden's arms. "Mommy, help Mattie. They're hurting him."

  "Someone get this little girl upstairs," Snowden ordered out of Delilah's line of sight.

  Rachel squeezed Delilah's arm again. "Make them stop." Tears welled in her bright, frightened green eyes.

  Both of them were now covered in Noah's blood.

  "Didn't they hear what I said? It wasn't Mattie!" Rachel's voice choked with emotion. "It was someone else, someone trying to kill him. Mattie was trying to protect Mallory."

  Delilah grabbed the sheets out of Rachel's arms, took her hand, and showed her how to apply pressure against Noah's thigh wound. No one had said they were looking for a third party. She had entered the cellar assuming Mattie McConnell had been Noah's attacker. It was an error she should not have made. "There was someone else?" She glanced around the cellar room, now illuminated by several high-powered police flashlights and lamps. "Who?"

  "I don't know." Rachel used both hands to apply pressure on the wound. "But it was a woman, I'm sure of it. An older woman. Heavyset. I couldn't see her face in the dark," Rachel said. "But she's the one who stabbed Noah. She was trying to kill Mattie. She said she would kill Mallory too." Her voice became thin. "She kept saying something about sin. She sounded crazy. She's the killer, I know she is. The one who killed Judge Hearn and the others."

  "How do you know that?" Delilah met her green-eyed gaze.

  "This... it's going to sound crazy." Rachel looked down, then into Delilah's eyes. "But I could feel it. I could feel the evil in the room."

  Delilah was quiet for a second. At face value, it did sound crazy, but she had once sat in on a pedophile interrogation and she knew exactly what Rachel meant by being able to feel the evil presence. It had been so strong back in that Atlanta interview room, it had chilled her to the bone.

  "All right, we'll find her." Delilah touched Rachel's shoulder as she quickly got up. Her head was spinning with a thousand thoughts. A woman? Could their killer be a middle-aged, heavy woman? Was it Cora? Could that be possible? But she knew that in this crazy world, anything could be possible. "Keepholding that against his leg."

  "But there are more cuts." Rachel choked ba
ck a sob. "They're everywhere."

  "I know. I'll send someone over to help you. The EMTs are on their way." She hurried over to Snowden, who was still holding Mallory Gibson. The little girl clung to him.

  "I want my mommy. I want Noah," Mallory sobbed.

  "In just a minute, sweetie," Snowden crooned. "One of my nice policemen is going to take you outside, and Mommy will come in a minute. She's taking care of Noah right now."

  Seeing Snowden holding the girl so tenderly brought a lump up in Delilah's throat. She had never seen this side of him. She cleared her throat. "Mrs. Gibson says it wasn't Mattie. She says there was a woman here. Middle-aged. Heavyset. Says she stabbed Noah. Mattie seemed to be her target, but she threatened to kill the others too." She cut her eyes at Mallory. "Mrs. Gibson said she was talking about sin."

  "You've got to be kidding me. There's no one else here." Snowden turned one way and then the other, looking around the room. "Someone checked the bathroom."

  "Somewhere else in the cellar maybe?" she suggested. "That wall over there is just a partition. Apparently this is where Mattie slept until this week. Lopez found the Bible here."

  He murmured under his breath, passing Mallory into her arms. "Get her upstairs; we'll search the building top to bottom. Cooper," he snapped to one of the officers. They had Mattie on his knees, but they still hadn't managed to get the handcuffs around his meaty wrists. "Go easy. No handcuffs. Mrs. Gibson says he's not our man. Get him upstairs. In a car, but no cuffs." He turned back to Delilah as he started for Noah and Rachel. "Get her upstairs. I don't know how this is going to go."

  He glanced quickly in Noah's direction, and Delilah caught his meaning. Noah Gibson might not live to make it to the hospital. He might not live to get out of this barn.

  It seemed a long walk to Snowden from the bottom of the staircase where he'd stood holding Mallory's small, trembling body to the pile of Bibles where Rachel knelt over Noah. He stooped down, took one of the sheets off the floor, and pressed it to Noah's arm.

  "Rachel," he said softly. "You sure there was someone else?"

  "Yes, I'm sure!" she flung at him. "A woman."

  "Where is she?"

  "I don't know." Rachel kept both hands pressed against the bloody sheet she held on Noah's leg. She was wearing shorts and a T-shirt; she was covered in her husband's blood. "It was dark. I was trying to get to Mallory. To get Mattie. Noah knocked the woman to the floor when she tried to stab Mattie in the back. She and Noah were rolling around. I saw the knife, but I didn't see her face. I... I think Noah might have stabbed her." She took a great shuddering breath. "Maybe she's lying somewhere here in the cellar. I don't know."

  "Is there another exit, other than this staircase?"

  "Where are the EMTs?" she asked him, seeming not to have heard his question. "He's bled so much. He's so pale."

  "Rachel, listen to me." Snowden leaned closer to her, kneeling down on one knee, laying his arm on her shoulder. "I need to know if there's another way out of the barn from here."

  She turned her head to look at him, her big green eyes filled with tears. She nodded. "There's a ladder in the back." She lifted her chin in the direction of the wall that was the partition. "It goes up to the main floor, then on to the loft on the upper floor. But we never use it. The rungs are rotting."

  "But it's not boarded up?"

  She shook her head.

  "All right. You stay here. EMTs will be here any second."

  "Where's Mallory?"

  "Sergeant Swift took her outside. We'll have one of the EMTs have a look at her, but she's fine. Not a mark on her. Just scared."

  "Mattie was protecting her. Do you know that? That must be why he escaped. Somehow he knew the killer was coming here. He must have come into the house, taken Mallory from her bed, and brought her here to protect her. He always felt safe in here. He'd built a fort with Bibles. I didn't really understand why before. It must have had something to do with the killer. He must have had some contact with her. That has to be how you found the Bible with the verses cut out here."

  "We'll sort it all out. We'll find her."

  Snowden heard the familiar call of the EMT van's siren, a different tone than his police cars'. "They're here now. We'll get Noah to the hospital."

  Snowden got to his feet and, out of habit, brushed his pant legs. When he felt something damp, he looked down. One knee was stained with blood. Noah's blood. He had falsely believed Noah was the killer, and his blood would be on Snowden's hands if Noah died.

  More officers trooped down the stairs. Lopez must have called guys in from home, which had been good thinking. Especially if there would be a manhunt.

  "Search the entire barn, all three floors," he ordered. "The suspect is still missing. We're looking for a middle-aged, heavyset woman, that's all we know. She could be wounded. Peterson, get your dog."

  On the way up the cellar stairs, Snowden passed the EMTs. Everyone nodded. No one spoke.

  Snowden prayed for the two men and the woman. Prayed for their healing hands. Prayed Noah would survive, so he could apologize.

  * * *

  Azrael stumbled through the darkness. No longer able to run. Lost. Scared. Abandoned.

  Where was God now? Where was His commanding voice? But the holy presence was gone. Azrael had never felt so empty, so alone.

  The Angel of Death had succeeded in all that God had asked until tonight. Was this it? Was that all there was? Was there no second chance?

  Azrael would go back. Azrael would kill Mattie, kill him for his mother's sin of adultery, just as Azrael had killed the father that day. Knocked him off his ladder.

  God was all-powerful. God would not allow His Angel to fail.

  Would he?

  But God was not here in the dark woods and with each step, Azrael felt further and further removed from the Creator.

  She pushed forward through the tangle of underbrush, briars scratching her face, her hands, and she fought a sob of despair. Her shoes were wet and uncomfortable. They rubbed on her corns.

  Why have you forsaken me?

  She had once been Azrael, but now she was just Alice again. Just plain, ugly, insignificant Alice Crupp. No, no it wasn't possible.

  Alice stumbled to a walk, remembering the weight of the first brick in her hand before she had hurled it at Johnny Leager. She had not been afraid. God had told her that the sinner had deserved to die for his transgression of adultery. For committing carnal sin with the whore. Hadn't He?

  She remembered the weight of the first brick and how it had made her feel powerful. The adulterer's first cry of pain, the first spatter of blood, it had made her heart pound in excitement, in a pleasure she had not known for a very long time.

  The fear in Pam's eyes, like the other adulterer's, had electrified her. Never had Alice ever had such control over another human being, such utter authority. She was no longer the invisible, insignificant bread lady to be ignored. She was one of God's powerful angels, with the authority over life and death in her very hands.

  Walking into Skeeter Newton's apartment that night, she had been glowing with authority. She had known, climbing those steps, carrying the machete she had found under Mattie's bed, that she was better than the thief. Killing the thief had been easier than she had anticipated, easier than the first adulterer, who had tried to defend himself with his arms, or the second, who had made little squeaking sounds as Alice had poured the gasoline over her, then flicked the lighter.

  The thief had been high on marijuana or worse, crazed out of his mind. He had never even questioned Alice's presence. His hands had come off so neatly, with less force than she had anticipated. And the blood... the sweet smell of it.

  Alice lifted her wet hand to her nostrils, inhaling deeply as she pressed forward, through the dark woods. It was the ex-priest's blood on her hands now. She liked the smell of blood and the power it gave her. The blood liked her.

  She raised her head, thinking she saw a flash of light through the tree limb
s. Headlights maybe?

  She thought about the homosexual. The lesbian had, perhaps, been the easiest of all. Alice had felt bold that night. She had known what time the lesbian would walk her cute little dog. She had known that the lesbian wouldn't put up much of a struggle, not, at least, if Alice took her by surprise. The lesbian had known she had committed sin by lying with another woman. She had known, in her heart, that Alice had the right to judge her.

  The crucifixion had not been planned. It had made Alice smile later when she was taking the little dog home, feeding it a treat and shutting it safely in the house until the police could find it. God had not planned for Alice to crucify the lesbian on the town's welcome sign. That had been Alice's idea. All her own. Clever. No one had known how clever Alice could be before, had they? Not even God.

  Alice lifted her head, feeling stronger now. She spotted a clearing. She broke through the trees, pushing wet, hanging, tree branches aside, wading through the weeds.

  So what if she had failed to kill Mattie? She would go back again. She would let the hullabaloo die down. Wait for the police to say their leads had gone cold, and then she would go back. She would kill the man who could not speak but could play the pipe organ like an angel.

  Surely he was not an angel, but a work of the devil. He deserved to die as the spawn of the illicit affair all those years ago. Alice would kill Mattie and then she would kill the others; the ex-priest and his wife. He was a murderer. She was a liar.

  The child had not been born of wedlock as she had said. It wasn't possible. If it had been possible, she would have known. God didn't have to tell Alice anything. Alice knew everything that happened in Stephen Kill. Anything she didn't learn on her own by sitting quietly, listening, those gossips Cora and Clara told her.

  Yes, Alice would definitely kill the child born from unlawful sex by the priest's wife. She deserved to die. They all deserved to die, to scream out in pain, to suffer, to die and rot in their graves.