Keeper of the Lambs

by Sue Clifton

  “What? Was it Charlie?” Piper continued staring at the window.

  “No. It was a lady dressed in black, with a black veil over her face. I think it was Belle. She stared at us and then faded away when I told you to look.” Zach pulled Piper closer as if he could protect her. “How eerie is that?”

  The shadow made Zach uneasy. Deep down, he knew the figure was not a good spirit and wondered what she was up to. Even through her veil, he could see haunting, transparent eyes aimed at his as if she were trying to control him through her hypnotic stare. Zach had felt the same sense of uneasiness when showering in Belle’s quarters, as if someone was watching, something that made him hurry. He knew he would be on guard, his senses on full alert, determined not to fall under Belle’s hypnotic spell.

  That afternoon, Piper packed up her art bag with easel and paints and headed toward the cemetery alone, since Zach had volunteered to run to the nearest hardware store to pick up new nail guns and air compressors for Hank. As Hank had told him, “For some strange reason, these things just stop working. I’ve never had this problem on any other job.”

  Hank’s carpenters had to resort to the old hammer-and-nail method until Zach returned. He had tried to convince Piper to go with him, but she told him she really wanted to use the plein-air technique she had been trained to use in Europe. Her first project would be the beautiful Jesus statue her mom had shown her that afternoon. The mountains looming behind the statue would be the perfect complement to Jesus, and her mom had told her the best time, as far as the sun was concerned, would be late afternoon.

  Her art bag was heavy, but Piper was accustomed to carrying it great distances after traipsing over the countryside in Europe. As she trudged up the valley, she felt sad looking at all the piles of logs and rotted wood, leftovers of the lives of miners and their families. One building in particular made her stop.

  Piper crossed to the log remains, put her bag down, and stepped over rotted logs that had been burned. She pulled away some burned boards, hoping no rattlesnakes or other animals were hiding beneath, and discovered a large, rustic cross which, though singed, was still beautiful in its own way. She put the heavy cross over her shoulder and turned, ready to pick her way back through the burned timbers to her art bag.

  “Get out!” A deep, demanding voice roared in her ear. Then something moved through her body, knocking her down. She fell on the rotted and burned logs, dropping the cross in the process.

  “Ouch!” Piper pulled her knee up and examined the long scrape, at the same time looking around to see who or what had caused her to fall.

  “Get out!” boomed the voice again, even louder, sending a wave of panic through Piper’s body. At the same time, a strong breeze blew by her, knocking her hair loose and whipping it across her face. Then she felt a burning sensation on her arm. She held her arm up and noticed three long, red scratches running the full length of her arm, from elbow to wrist.

  Maybe I scratched my arm when I fell or when I dropped the cross.

  Piper rose to her feet and quickly retraced her steps away from the cabin ruins. As she headed up to the cemetery, Piper completely forgot about the cross. When she reached her art bag, she remembered the cross and turned back, but hesitated, trying to decide if she really wanted to retrieve the cross.

  The breeze turned to a wind, a wind that was isolated in the church ruins. She looked around, but no tree limbs or long-stemmed sage grass moved. A loud, popping noise close behind her made Piper cover her ears and convinced her to leave the cross and the ruins, at least for the time. Her nerves were on edge, but she turned up the canyon road, refusing to be deterred from her mission by the terrifying voice or the scratches.

  When Piper arrived at the cemetery, she saw the magnificent Jesus standing watch over the departed and felt at ease again. Her mom had told her the story of the mass grave of aborted fetuses, and Piper had been sickened by it.

  How could mothers kill their unborn children? Or did they even have a choice?

  She looked around the cemetery and spotted the gleaming marble angel of Sara’s grave. Making her way to it, she decided to paint the scene from the perspective of the precious little spirit Sara, whose soul should be with Jesus. Piper had been taught that all children who have not reached the age of accountability go to heaven. Her mom explained the existence of spirit children on earth as trapped energy or spirits that linger, often separated from their souls by either extreme happiness in the place where they had lived and their desire to stay longer, or perhaps from a sense of unfinished business. The little girl Chloe, whose spirit her mom and Harri had come in contact with at Spanish Oaks, Joshua’s antebellum inn in South Mississippi, had left behind the energy that needed to be reunited with her mother. Once this was accomplished, Chloe had passed over, never to be seen or heard again.

  Piper wasted no time once her easel was set up and her palette of paints laid out. As usual, she put a brush in her mouth and one behind her ear. She did not want to waste time cleaning a brush before changing paint colors, an effort to take advantage of her inspiration while it was at its height. Piper’s emotions always ran high when she painted, and she became oblivious to anyone or anything going on around her. She also knew the sun would last but a couple of hours longer. She would not finish the painting that day, but she would have her outlines in place so she could work on it later, if she desired. More than likely, she would return each day at the same time so the light was always the same until the painting was finished.

  Piper had the mountains outlined behind Jesus, the focal point just off to the right of the center of the canvas. Everything in the picture would draw the eye of the beholder to the statue. She knew this would be some of her best work, and several times she got behind Sara’s grave and squatted down, getting the perspective of a seven-year-old girl looking up at the Savior.

  Once when she was squatting on the ground, she felt someone watching her from the back of the cemetery. She turned quickly and saw a shadow dart behind a tree.

  “Charlie? Charlie? Is that you?” She put the hand still holding the wet brush over her eyes and continued to look toward the tree. The first thing she saw was the brim of Charlie’s forest ranger hat.

  “Do you want to see what I’m doing? Come on over, Charlie.” Piper waved the brush, directing Charlie to come over. “I’m Piper, Cayce’s daughter. I met you last night. Remember? You really liked my friend Zach, and he liked you.”

  Piper watched as the whole head peeked around, and then the rest of Charlie emerged as he walked slowly toward her, his eyes on the ground.

  When he got almost to her, Piper returned to her easel and motioned him to come closer. “Well, what do you think?” She stood back to give Charlie a clear view of the painting.

  “Jesus good. Mountain good.” Charlie dropped to his knees, sitting back on his heels, on the ground beside Piper’s easel, and cocked his head to one side. “Clouds not good.”

  “Well, I have a lot more work to do before it’s finished.” Piper walked to the other side of the easel and stared up at the clouds. “What’s wrong with the clouds, Charlie?”

  “Clouds not white. Clouds blue. Bubbles in clouds.” Charlie laughed. “Bubbles hide, but Charlie see.” Charlie cocked his head again.

  Piper looked at the clouds, trying to see what Charlie was seeing, and she saw it. “Oh, my goodness! You are so right. I see the blue bubbles.” Piper took the brush from behind her ear and began mixing paints to add to the clouds in her picture. “There. Is that better?” She sat beside Charlie on her heels and cocked her head to the side just like he was doing so she could see what he was seeing.

  He laughed again, and Piper laughed with him, her head still cocked to the side like her friend’s.

  “You two look just like Forrest and Forrest, Jr., sitting with your heads cocked like that.” Zach had entered the cemetery from the back gate and walked up behind them.

  “Charlie forest ranger, not forest.” Charlie pulled his hat d
own farther on his ears to signal his identity and then covered his mouth, snickering at Zach’s foolish statement. Zach and Piper smiled at each other, but soon Charlie’s snickering turned to wild laughter, and Zach and Piper joined him.

  Charlie and Zach stayed until Piper finished painting. She took the canvas off the easel and put it in a wet box to keep the paint from smearing. Once packed, she slung the strap to the back over her shoulder and moved toward Jesus.

  “Let me carry that for you, Piper.” Zach reached to take the bag, but Piper turned it away from him.

  “I need to carry it, Zach. I’m used to walking with it, remember?”

  “Oh, yeah. Plein-air technique.” Zach put his arm around Piper’s shoulder and walked beside her. He noticed Charlie didn’t move.

  “Are you coming with us, Charlie? No telling what Harri is cooking tonight.”

  “Charlie ’splore. Charlie night cat. Teesh say Charlie got cat eyes like Jezzie. Charlie see in dark.” Charlie pointed toward his eyes.

  “Where do you explore, Charlie?” Piper asked.

  “Secret.” Charlie put his finger to his lips as he whispered the answer.

  “Be careful.” Piper knew her warning was silly; Charlie had spent his whole life traipsing through these woods and mountains in both daytime and night. Charlie headed off into the woods without a wave or a look back, and Piper began the trek out of the cemetery with Zach by her side.

  “Where do you think he goes?”

  “I don’t know.” Zach put his finger to his lips and whispered, “Secret.”

  “He must have night vision like a cat to move around through the woods like he does. Teesh told Mom he doesn’t even use a flashlight.”

  “He’s got those really light-colored eyes, blue or maybe green. He doesn’t look up much, so I don’t know which color, not to mention having that hat pulled down so far it’s impossible to see his eyes.” Zach pushed the old rusted, rickety cemetery gate open and let Piper go through first.

  “I read about a boy in China who had sky-blue eyes. His night vision was so good he could fill out a paper answering questions in total blackness. Doctors were always testing the kid to discover what made him able to see in the dark, but they just decided it was a fluke of nature. I doubt Charlie is like the Chinese boy, though. He probably just knows the area from living here all his life.” Zach put his arm around Piper’s shoulder again. “He’s just like a blind person who uses his cane to get across busy intersections in cities and to find his way around his home, work, or any place that he’s used to. Charlie is an amazing little fellow. I like him.”

  “And he obviously likes you. You should have seen his face light up when he heard your voice. But he’s a forest ranger, not a forest.” Piper laughed along with Zach, not at their new friend, but out of the simple joy of being around him.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The examination that had caused Billie so much grief and trepidation haunted her, demanding she devise a plan of escape. The next exam could prove to be her one chance at freedom.

  She waited on her mattress for the camera light to go off. As soon as the menacing red eye blinked several times in succession signaling “lights out” and the onset of total darkness in her prison, she sat up and looked around, giving her eyes time to reset to nothingness. It would take a few moments for them to adjust, but she had noticed how she could see better after fifty-two days here; she had spent another week in captivity, marked by Exodus chapter eight and hours spent in night-time extreme exercising and strength training.

  The totality of black gradually changed to shadows, and she felt more and more like a bat in a cave as she clung to her natural climbing wall, forcing herself to go higher each night, putting fear of falling behind her. Trembling at the thought of reaching higher on her rock wall with no rope, harness, or partner for belaying and security, she forced herself to think of a worse horror—the panic in Lisa’s voice. This was all it took to make her stretch her body, her feet grasping for ledges remembered from her handholds of minutes before. Callouses had formed on the balls of her feet and on her fingertips from all the hard training, but this made her climbing easier.

  Tonight, I’ll reach the top.

  She made the vow to herself, to her baby, and to Johnny.

  The muscles in her arms and legs bulged as she strained to reach her goal. She was surprised at the strength she had gained since beginning her night-time routine. But reaching the top of the high rock wall was not her main goal. She was determined to escape.

  The next day, as every day, she practiced yoga, but with a much deeper concentration than she had been taught in the classes she took at her local health gym. More than concentration was needed if she was to pull her plan off. She would have to put herself into a trancelike state where she could undergo the examination without flinching and without any display of consciousness. She had to make the two people with the masks think she was unconscious so she could implement her plan of escape. She still had to figure out a way to get rid of the drugged food without the Keeper knowing. In her subconscious, she again heard her Grammar.

  Be careful, Billie. Be patient and wait. The answer will come.

  Billie prayed and devoured the Bible, no longer just a means of counting days in captivity but a resource to give her the courage and the faith to save her life and the life of her baby. She began another of her long, private devotions, hoping to receive a “burning bush,” a sign from God that assured her freedom would come.

  She flipped through the Bible with her eyes closed tightly, seeking heavenly guidance, part of her daily ritual now, along with reading a chapter a day to keep up with days in captivity. Stopping on a page, she ran her finger down, and with her eyes still closed, allowed her finger to stop. Before opening her eyes, she begged God for an answer. Then she read the random passage in a whisper and smiled. She now knew she was doing the right thing and would escape.

  The verses where her finger had stopped were numbers three and four in the thirty-fifth chapter of Isaiah.

  “Strengthen ye the weak hands, and confirm the feeble knees. Say to them that are of a fearful heart, be strong, fear not; behold, your God will come with vengeance, even God with a recompense; he will come and save you.”

  As she read the passage to herself with only her lips moving, she felt something strange, the flutter of life in her newly protruding stomach.

  It’s a sign!

  Billie cried and laughed at the same time, becoming louder with the recognition of the baby she was going to bring into the world. Her excitement was obvious; she was unabashed and unafraid. She refused to allow her captor to take away the joy of this moment.

  The Keeper, who had been spying on her, questioned her excitement and laughter through his synthesized voice. Billie told him she had felt her baby move for the first time, and she continued to caress her stomach.

  He berated her again, as if her excitement was a sin in itself, and blasted the scripture about whoredom and worldliness at her, but he could not stop her joy. He punished her by shutting off the lights early, leaving her in darkness for two extra hours during what should have been her late-afternoon daylight hours, daylight meaning the fluorescent lights in the ceiling.

  Billie thought about using the punishment as an advantage and starting her exercise regiment early, but she was afraid the Keeper would change his mind and turn the lights back on and catch her climbing up the wall. Instead, she would get extra sleep and awaken later to train.

  As she lay in the darkness, unable to sleep, she thought she heard a scratching sound coming from the wall behind her mattress. She eased her way toward the sound, being as stealthy and quiet as possible, looking like an animal stalking its prey as she crawled on her knees, her hands out in front for balance, her head and body low, no more than a foot above her mattress. She stopped and listened, turning her ears like radar so her sensitized hearing could zero in on the target.

  Again she heard the sound, rock against rock, a
nd then it stopped. Someone had opened a hole in the rocks. Billie was so close she could hear the person’s breath coming in short, clipped spurts of air as if he or she had been holding it in.

  Billie saw nothing, but she began feeling up the wall in the direction of the sound. Then she felt the edge of the hole where a small stone had been removed. She traced the edges of the hole on her side, keeping clear of the actual hole for fear of touching unknown eyes and scaring off her possible rescuer. The breach was about two inches in diameter. Her adrenaline was on high alert with the thought that someone who was not the Keeper knew she was here. With her face to the side of the hole, she whispered.

  “Help me! Please help me!” Billie begged the eyes behind the hole. She heard noise, footsteps backing away from the hole, and she put her mouth directly over the hole whispering louder.

  “Don’t go!” Her voice cracked as she softly pleaded. “Please don’t leave me here to die!” Her plea turned to sobbing as she realized the peeper was gone. Crawling back to her mattress, she hugged herself and rocked and cried and rocked and cried.

  But the intruder had not left the other side of the hole. Hearing a delicate sound emanating from the hole again, Billie forced herself to stop crying.

  Be still and listen! Grammar admonished.

  This time, she did not move toward the hole, but waited to see what would happen next. Then she heard it.

  Plop!

  Something had been pushed through the hole and had fallen onto the mattress at the end by the wall. Billie got onto her hands and knees and began feeling around under the hole. Her hand touched a small object, and she picked it up, passing it from her left hand to her right, tightening her fingers around it. In the dark, Billie smiled.

  A knife! It’s a pocketknife!

  Quickly, she returned to the hole and put her mouth as close to it as she could.

  “Thank you! Please don’t leave me!”

  But there was no reply. Then she heard the faint grating noise, and she knew the stone had been placed back in the hole. Billie clutched the pocketknife to her chest, holding it with both hands like the greatest treasure she had ever been given.