Forsaken (14 page)

In one motion, Roc whirled around and took aim at the priest. But the old man no longer sat on the cot.

Something was wrong.

It wasn't something obvious that Levi could point toward. The sun had not yet appeared on the horizon and the usual lamplight shone around the edges of the green shade in the kitchen window. All appeared normal, the way he'd left the Schmidt farm yesterday evening. The barn door remained closed, the farm equipment in place, but as soon as he stepped inside the barn, he sensed it, as surely as he could smell when a skunk came inspecting the exterior.

Usually the farm animals were quiet, just starting to stir when Levi arrived, but today, Ash, a stout, gray mare, moved about her stall, restless and uneasy. When her wide brown eyes lit on him, she pulled her thick lips back over her teeth and nodded her head up and down, up and down, up and down.

“Easy.” Levi reached out a hand to comfort her, but she shied away and moved to the far side of the stall.

For a moment, he watched her, intent on checking her thick legs, her flat feet, her rounded belly. All seemed as it should. And yet…

He started to move away when something tripped him. A high-pitched screech made his skin contract. A kitten, the tiny black and white fur ball scurried out of the way. The mother cat, a tri-colored tabby, came from behind a crate and rubbed against his leg, her tail curling into a question mark. He smoothed a hand along her back as his heart slowed to a normal pace.

Nothing seemed wrong at all this morning; maybe it was simply his imagination or lack of sleep. With a shrug, he went about his chores and filled a bucket of oats and feed and poured it into Ash's trough. The mare, usually eager to eat, didn't come close. Could she have colic? He walked toward her, laid a hand under her nose, spoke soothingly, and rubbed her side and belly. A muscle twitched along her neck and her tail flicked, but she stood still, showing no signs of discomfort.

Under the stall door, Toby, the yellow lab, crawled on his belly and came to greet Levi. “Where have you been hiding this morning? Or were you sleeping late?”

The dog wagged its thick tail but he was panting, his ears pulled back, giving the usual friendly face an anxious look. Toby nosed Levi's hand, and Levi gave him a good rubbing, as the dog's hind leg lifted as if to scratch its belly. “Feel good, eh?”

“Morning, Levi.”

Levi turned and greeted Hannah's father. “Morning, Daniel. I've been looking after Ash. She's off her feed this morning.”

Daniel leaned his elbows on the stall door. “Maybe she ate too much of that alfalfa yesterday.”

“Could be. I'll be keeping an eye on her, I reckon.”

Daniel nodded and headed toward the Holsteins, the clanking of pails and machinery followed. Accompanied by Toby and his thumping tail, Levi filled the troughs for the rest of the livestock, then readied the pellets for the lamb that Katie had bottle-fed last spring. The lamb had been given free rein until she got into the hay a few weeks back and made a mess. Since then, she'd been kept in a stall at the far end of the barn during the night. When he reached the wood slatted entrance, he waited for her black nose and brown eyes to greet him. But they didn't. He peered into the stall and felt a catch in his throat.

The lamb lay on its side, head away from him. Even from a few feet distance, he knew the animal was dead. Dead animals he'd seen before. One didn't work a farm without witnessing the beginning of life and the end, sometimes in too-quick succession. Could something have been internally wrong with the little lamb? Is that why its mother rejected it at birth? Animals often had a sense that humans did not. He'd known momma cats to eat their kittens if something was wrong at birth.

He set the bucket at his feet and swung open the half door. Poor Katie. She would not understand. She would cry over this little lamb of hers. And Hannah. How would she handle this—one more loss?

With a weariness born of dealing with the hard facts of life, he pushed open the wooden gate and approached the lamb. That's when he saw the blood.

Dat and Mamm were awake already.

Hannah could see the kerosene lights flickering in the windows. She clutched the folds of the cape over her clothes, as the icy fingers of the morning crawled beneath her clothes and along her skin, and she felt the weight of a sleepless night. Keeping to the shadow of the barn and moving toward the house, hopeful to get inside without anyone seeing her or asking questions, she heard Dat's voice and came to a quick halt.

Her heart leapfrogged into her throat, then beat its way back into place as she realized he was not speaking to her but to another. His tone was too deep to register what he was actually saying, the murmurs curt and crisp, but then his words penetrated the fog that seemed to fill her brain and ears.

“Let us not speak of this to the women.”

“Shouldn't they know?” Levi's voice stood out with more certainty than question. “So they can be more careful?”

“Of what? A wild animal?”

“Exactly. Or whatever…” Levi paused awkwardly, “…did this thing.”

“There is nothing to fear.”

Fear what?
Levi's words caused an icy blade that had nothing to do with the weather to skate along Hannah's spine.
Fear of what?
She glanced over her shoulder toward the spring house. Had they discovered Akiva? His hiding place? No, that wasn't possible. She'd just come from there, and the door was closed, the latch in place. Besides, why would they fear an injured man? She pressed her face against the wooden slats of the barn to better hear her father's words.

“I will keep a lookout tonight. We should double-check the chicken coop and make sure nothing can get in.”

“The barn door was closed as always when I arrived this morning. Daniel, this isn't—”

“You might have been mistaken. It was a fox or a wild dog maybe.”

“Daniel…” Something in Levi's tone, the way it seemed to unravel when he spoke her father's name unnerved Hannah. “It could be something else—”

“What? What else could it be?”

There was a long pause. Levi's silence made the seconds tick by slowly, measured by the heavy thud of her heart. The morning sounds of buckets rattling and footsteps scraping against the dirt floor, along with the snuffling of noses that pushed pellets around the bottom of wooden troughs and metal pales, intruded and lulled her into a calm. But was it false?

Concern crinkled her brow. She should not be eavesdropping. She should hurry, as Mamm would be needing her help in the kitchen. She took a hesitant step away.

“You must be right.” Levi finally spoke, but his tone held a heavy dose of doubt. “It was a wild dog or predator of some kind.”

She froze in place, even holding her breath, afraid of being discovered yet needing to find out what had happened.

“I haven't known of wolves in these parts.” Dat's voice had more confidence. “Must be a wild dog,
ja
. Never seen anything like this, have you?”

Levi's answer was slow but definite. “Once.”

What are they talking about? What had happened? And what are they trying to convince themselves of?
Hannah inched closer.

“A wild animal,” Dat said, “kills because it's hungry. Nothing more. It is nature's way. But we should lock the barn from now on at night.”

“The barn door
was
secure.”

Dat did not respond to Levi, and her ears strained.

“Katie will grieve the lamb.”

She sucked in a breath. Her heart quickened, racing and staggering and lurching, in an uneven rhythm.

“It was her favorite.” Levi spoke again, heavily. “She bottle-fed it all spring and summer. Hannah will grieve too.” His understanding of her heart could not soothe the sudden ache.

She thought of Snowflake gallivanting across the barnyard, kicking up its heels, rubbing its head against her hip. A cold numbness swept over her. Then a furry lump at the end of the barn snagged her attention. She hadn't seen it there before, as shadows had darkened it, but now as the first light rose, the ghost of a moon still visible in the pale blue sky, the soft wooly coat became clearer as the wind stirred it. The back leg was bent, the tail limp. A sob caught in her throat, and she covered her mouth.

“Some lessons are hard. Death is one. It is but a picture of the Lord's Passover,
ja
?” Dat's voice remained steady and calm, yet it only caused a trembling deep inside her. “They will both mourn, as we all should for the loss of something innocent. But acceptance is what makes our faith grow.”

The kick came from Roc's left, slammed into his hip, and sent him crashing against the table, which succumbed to the weight. Roc, along with stacks of books, hit the stone floor hard, but immediately he rolled onto his back. He once more aimed his gun at the priest, who now stood over him and kicked the gun out of his hand. The Glock sailed through the room and skittered across the floor.

“I told you not to underestimate me.” Father Roberto aimed a weapon right back at Roc. It was a wooden stake, dark and intricately carved, and bearing a close resemblance to the one Anthony had given him in New Orleans. “Now, before I let you up, let's get this straight. I didn't kill any young Amish woman, vagrant, or teen in Louisiana or even JFK. I kill vampires. That's it. And I have no remorse about that whatsoever. As far as I'm concerned, one less vampire in the world is a good thing.

“And if you're wondering how I know about those already dead…I have my own network of informants around the city and in the police department.”

“Why should I believe you? Maybe you cracked your lid and think the ones you killed are vampires when they're not.”

The priest's chin dipped, and he gave Roc a cutting look. “You
shouldn't
believe me. Don't believe
anyone
. Don't trust anyone. Your blinders have not been removed; if they were, you would see there is evil in this world—more evil than you ever thought possible. So rule number one: don't trust anyone. Because vampires will say anything, do anything. They have no souls. Haven't you seen that in their eyes? The eye is the window to the soul. Theirs are black, am I right?”

In his mind, Roc could see those black eyes of the one called Akiva…and the equally black eyes of the woman, and he remembered their chilling effect on him. Reluctantly, Roc gave a slight, grudging nod.

“The bodies discovered…and I'm warning you there are probably more…didn't have much blood left, did they?”

Roc simply stared at this strange priest brandishing a stake like a Samurai warrior wielded a sword.

“All right then.” He held out a hand toward Roc. “Truce?”

With another unenthusiastic nod, Roc grabbed hold of the older man and felt himself hauled to his feet with more strength than he would have believed the priest had stored in his scrawny muscles.

The priest flipped the stake in the air, caught it in the middle, aimed the sharp end at himself, and offered the thick handle to Roc. “Now, sit down and tell me what you have seen.”

Roc weighed the stake in his hand, a solid weapon that could do much damage, as he weighed his options. Father Roberto could be crazy, but then again so could he. Hell, he was insane for even considering vampires as a possibility. But how else could he explain what he'd seen? Picking up his wayward Glock and sliding it into his holster, he then righted the rickety chair and settled his bruised bones onto the wooden seat and began telling Roberto everything from the dead trick-or-treater to the Amish teens who'd met a woman who drank blood, to the incident in the alleyway, and finally the woods where Akiva had disappeared.

The priest listened as if Roc were performing the Eucharist, leaning forward on the edge of the cot, hands clasped between his knees, shoulders hunched with concentration and acceptance. When Roc had finished and was still holding the stake, Roberto bowed his head and Roc wondered if he was praying or about to swing into action again. Finally, the older man looked up and met Roc's gaze squarely. “Why do you care so much about all of this?”

The question took Roc by surprise. He was a cop, and dead bodies didn't set well with him, but he knew it was more than that. “What do you mean?”

“You are not a police officer anymore, are you?”

“No.”

“Then why? Did you witness something? Know one of the victims?”

Roc swallowed hard and he felt his heart form a solid stone in his chest. “What does it matter?”

“It matters a lot. It is the line in the sand between trust and suspicion.” Roberto braced his hands against his knees and stood, no longer appearing as frail as he once had, but Roc could still see the weight of age on his shoulders and in the corner's of his eyes. The priest paced in front of the cot, his hands clasped behind his back, and glanced at Roc, then back to the floor as if trying to decide. “My older sister…she was my connection to this evil. She was killed by one of
them
.”

Silence wrapped around them, bound Roc to this man in a way he never could have imagined. Grief hung in the air like a noose, tightening about Roc's throat.

The priest met Roc's gaze and gave a slightly awkward shrug as if he too were uncomfortable with the admission or memory. “This was a long time ago—fifty-seven years. I was but a boy. Maria was like a mother to me. We lived in Guatemala in a small village. That was my first encounter with these demonic creatures.”

The man's eyes held his family's burden, and yet there was more in those depths, more than simple revenge, burning like a blue, electric flame.

Roc swallowed back his reservation in asking the bizarre question that popped into his mind. “Was she…
changed
?”

“You mean did she become one of them?” Roberto shook his head. “Blessed Mother of God, Maria died before my very eyes.” The tension around his mouth eased. “For that I am grateful. Even though it took me many years to come to that realization.”

For the first time, Roc understood there might have been something worse than Emma's death. He'd never imagined it possible, and he couldn't say he was at this moment grateful…more relieved that there wasn't some other horror he had to face and deal with. “So you saw it…your sister's death…or did you see her after the fact?”

The older man's gaze drifted as if replaying the vision in his head. “I witnessed it all.” The old man's throat contracted, and Roc couldn't contain the emotions building inside him as once more the images of Emma assaulted him—the fear on her face, her shoe she'd kicked off in the struggle cast to the side, the blood on her hospital ID.

“I could do nothing.” A strange tone entered Roberto's voice, as if he were once again a child, trying to explain. “The beast…was too strong. After he flung me off, I cowered behind a kapok tree. And to this day, I do not understand why he did not kill me too.” The priest turned away from Roc.

It felt as if he were in a confessional with all the guilt and pain surging to the surface, because this was expected, required, needed. “My wife…Emma…she was killed.” Roc stared at the frayed edge of an ancient textbook, the pages yellowed, the cover as scarred as his soul. “The same way.”

“Recently?” Roberto's tone turned practical and helped Roc suppress the painful memories and turbulent emotions beneath an icy demeanor.

“Almost two years now.”

“I am sorry.” Roberto sounded as if he had uttered those words many times for others to find comfort. But comfort was not what Roc was seeking. “So you are here for revenge. It is understandable. I must confess that is how I began too, but I believe the Lord will show you a new path for your life, Roc Girouard. A new way. A new hope.”

“I don't know about that. But I'm ready to kill the SOBs.” He shifted his gaze toward Roberto to prove his intent. “Just show me how.”

“It is not so easy, I'm afraid. But I believe in this case, the one you are hunting has some connection with the Amish community. I do not know why, but if we discover the reason, then maybe we can track this one and kill it. Before it kills any more.”