by Deb Stover
The air was thick with dust and smoke. With gas and electric lines, the place could go up without warning. Resisting the urge to cough, he took a step just as a beam of light appeared in front of him. Instinctively, he ducked, bumping his knee against something hard and smooth. Somehow, he knew it was the electric chair, and he swallowed convulsively.
The light grew brighter, dragging Luke's gaze to it again. At first, he'd thought it was a flashlight, but now he realized it was the sun. Of course. His execution had been scheduled to occur before dawn.
Another dawn he was never meant to see.
"God, I'm alive," he whispered, his parched throat stinging as his eyes filled with tears. This sunrise was a gift, a sign. A new beginning. Drawing a deep breath, he took a step toward the light, praying it would lead him outside.
A sharp pain shot through his knee and he stumbled, barely preventing a fall. His injuries were minor compared to electrocution and being buried alive.
Alive.
Limping, Luke continued his slow trek through the debris, picking his way blindly over piles of rubble. If only he had shoes...
A sudden sound made him freeze. Despite the thud of his pulse, he listened. There it was again, a low moan. Someone else was alive in this mess. But who? More importantly, did it matter?
An icy chill raced down his spine. Whoever it was could very well cost him his freedom. Nothing–nothing–was worth that price.
He pushed his foot forward to continue his escape, but the moan came again. Closer. Keep going, Nolan. He slid his other foot forward, but it stopped against something solid and warm.
A body.
Warm and alive, the body trembled, and Luke jerked his foot back. God, no. Please, no.
"Help me."
The voice was so weak he'd barely heard it. Maybe he hadn't.
"Help," it came again, barely more than a strangled whisper.
He mentally kicked himself for not running. What made him pause? His conscience? Fat lot of good that had done him the night he tried to help a dying liquor store clerk.
Remembering the injustice, the past eleven years of living hell, and the horrors of the electric chair, he started to walk away just as icy fingers clamped around his bare ankle. Luke's gasp sounded more like a shout in the deathly silence. He struggled to free himself, but the person's fingernails gouged his singed flesh.
A death grip.
Terror plucked at his sanity as he remembered the pain of the electric chair. No, he couldn't go through that again. He'd rather die here and now by any other means.
Panic strengthened him as he freed his foot and lunged forward, falling headfirst over another body. A strangely still body. Cold like death.
He eased back on hands and knees. The sun was higher now, glinting off something on the dead man's chest. With shaking fingers, Luke reached out to touch the object, knowing without seeing. The crucifix felt cool and smooth beneath his burned fingers.
"Go with God, my son." His memory of the priest's words filled Luke's head even as another moan reached his ears.
The only man who'd believed in his innocence was dead. Luke was supposed to have died this morning, but for some reason he was alive and this man wasn't. He eased the crucifix over the priest's head and slipped it over his own, holding its weight in his palm before releasing it.
It's a sign.
The sun now filled the chamber with enough light to allow Luke to see the dead man. His injuries must've been internal, because there wasn't a mark on him.
As Luke stood, he remembered his state of dress. How far would he get wearing something similar to a hospital gown and no shoes? The priest's robe was intact, and he wouldn't need his shoes anymore.
Without another thought, he took the man's black robe and slacks, tugging them on over his tender flesh. He needed shoes, too, and as he slipped on the chaplain's roomy wingtips, Luke was thankful for his smaller feet. The priest's Bible lay to one side, and Luke took that, too, justifying the act as part of his disguise.
"Thank you, Father," Luke whispered, then moved again toward the light.
"Please help me." This time, no doubt remained–the voice was female.
Damn. If it had been anyone else he'd be out of here by now, but he couldn't leave her. The least he could do was help her outside where someone might find her. Hell, for all he knew a rescue team was already digging for them and would drag him back to prison until another execution could be arranged.
Gritting his teeth, he picked his way back to the woman and knelt beside her. Pain pierced his kneecap, but he allowed himself nothing more than a wince. If he and the doctor were alive, then someone else could be, too. Someone like the warden from hell...
He could see her face now. Blood soaked one side of her head and neck, but her eyes were open, pleading. With strangers, his disguise might have worked long enough to permit his escape. Why was he such a sucker?
"We have to get out of here," he said quietly. "Can you walk?"
She licked her lips. "I-I'm not sure."
Luke refrained from telling her she could either walk or stay. Instead, he leaned closer, noting her legs and body seemed unharmed. "I'll help you stand."
She groaned as he eased her to a sitting position. Blood seeped from the wound at her temple and he fished through his pockets until he found a handkerchief. Pressing it against the flow of blood, he helped her to her feet. She wavered slightly and gripped his arm for support.
"Let's go." He kept one arm wrapped around her waist while she continued to cling to him. Cursing every second's delay, he finally found the opening. He'd never appreciated the sun before, but everything was different now. Every breath was precious.
"My head," she said, leaning more heavily against his arm. "Look, we're getting out of here now." Luke propped her against a pile of rocks, then turned to examine the opening. It might be wide enough for her to squeeze through, but he'd never fit. Loose bricks hung like broken teeth on either side. Carefully, he knocked them away until the space was wide enough. "C'mon." He practically dragged her through the narrow opening, ignoring the searing pain of his burned flesh scraping against jagged bricks.
Luke paused to look back once. Sunlight glinted off something metal. The chair. A cold lump formed in his gut, followed by a flash of heat, as if he needed reminding....
With renewed resolve, he turned away and led the doctor outside. A sheer wall of granite hid the opening from the outside world. They were lucky even a little sunlight had managed to find its way into the chamber.
Outside, Luke shaded his eyes and looked around. They were far out in the wilderness. To put it simply, he had no idea where they were, other than somewhere in the Rocky Mountains.
Where would he go? He glanced at the doctor, knowing he could travel much faster without her. Besides, she needed medical attention. "Someone will find you here," he said, easing her to the ground where she leaned against a rock.
"Don't leave me." Tears trickled down her cheeks when she looked up at him. "I..."
"Trust me, lady," he said quietly, "you don't want to go where I'm going."
Her pleading expression tore at him, but Luke forced himself to remember everything. The injustice, the pain, the betrayal... No, he wasn't willing to sacrifice his freedom for anyone or anything. Never again.
"Please, I–"
"No. I'm outta here." He pushed her hands away and took several steps, that nagging voice in the back of his head tormenting him. She was hurt–he shouldn't leave her here like this. What if she died?
She cried for me.
No one had ever shed a tear on his behalf before. No one. Hell, he knew she hadn't been crying for him specifically, but still...
"Please?"
He barely heard her as a brisk wind whistled through the trees. Clouds gathered and blocked the sun, promising either rain or snow. There were no roads, no parking lot, no sign of civilization at all. Something wasn't right. He stopped and turned in a full circle, trying not to look
at her, yet knowing she still followed.
He reached into his pocket and found the priest's car keys. A small crucifix dangled from the key ring. With a sigh, Luke looked directly at the woman. "Come on, let's find the car that goes with these keys."
Ignoring her expression of relief, he waited for her to catch up with him. She seemed more stable now. Maybe her injury wasn't as serious as he'd feared. "I'll drive you to the nearest hospital, then you're on your own."
She nodded, gingerly touching the ugly gash at her temple. "I think the bleeding's stopped."
"Yeah, looks like it." Luke looked around, trying not to dwell on the woman's vulnerability. She didn't reach his shoulder, and he doubted she weighed more than a hundred pounds, if that.
"Where are we going?"
Luke looked at her and shook his head. "Away. Who gives a shit?"
She gave him a look of disbelief. "I didn't know p–"
"Enough talk." He'd wasted too much precious time already, though every indication told him there was no reason to hurry. None at all. "Weird."
"What's weird?"
"Nothing." He took her hand and started downhill, though there wasn't even a trail to follow. All he could do was hope he'd find a parking lot soon with a Chevy to match the priest's keys.
The altitude stole his breath, and sweat did nothing to ease the sting of his skin, but he kept walking. Somehow, miraculously, the woman kept up with him, though he knew she must be even worse off than him. She'd lost a lot of blood.
"How much farther?" she asked at the base of the hill.
Luke shot her a side glance and noticed her flushed face and rapid breathing. He probably looked even worse, especially with his head shaved and his skin fried. "You okay?"
She nodded. "But how much farther to the car?"
"How the hell should I know?" Why hadn't he left her behind? She would've been all right.
"You don't know where you parked your car?"
"My car?" He chuckled in disbelief. "Lady, I've never owned a car."
Furrowing her brow, she looked beyond him. "Maybe we should go up that hill and have a look."
That made sense. If he could find a highway to follow... Of course, he'd have to be more careful about staying hidden once they reached civilization.
Without comment, he started up the hill, dragging her by the hand. By the time they reached the summit, they were both gasping for breath and they collapsed at the base of a tall pine. After a few minutes, Luke managed to stand, using the tree for assistance. When he looked down, he saw the doctor holding her hand out toward him in a silent plea for help.
"God, I'm such a fool," he muttered in disgust, even as he pulled her to her feet.
The clouds were thicker now, covering the tops of the higher peaks in the distance. He shivered as the air cooled his skin.
"Over there."
Luke looked where the woman still pointed, squinting to see. "What?"
"I saw some buildings, but the clouds moved again."
Shaking his head, Luke slowly surveyed their surroundings. He released her hand and walked around the tree, looking as far as possible in every direction. Trees, mountains, and one stream. No roads, cars, or buildings.
"Where the hell are we?"
"There, I told you so," she said, drawing Luke's attention back to where she'd pointed earlier. "See?"
The clouds at this altitude were more like fog, shrouding mountains and trees in white. He looked where she continued to point, waiting as the clouds grew more dense, then gradually parted.
"See?" she repeated. "Over there."
"Yeah." Several buildings were clustered on the side of a mountain.
"It must be a town," she said.
Luke nodded, then looked back from where they'd come. There was no evidence that a prison had ever existed. None at all. "I don't get this." He remembered being escorted into a brand new facility, with every possible convenience. Where the hell was it now?
Government buildings didn't just vanish. There should be tons of rescue equipment up here now, digging for survivors from the bombed building.
What building?
"Come on, let's go," she said, tugging on his sleeve.
The woman didn't seem the least bit concerned about their peculiar situation. "All right." So much for the priest's car, wherever it was.
After they'd walked for what seemed like miles, she stopped and looked at him. "You look tired, Father, and my feet are killing me."
Father? Luke froze in mid-step to stare at her. "What'd you call me?"
"Father. You are a priest, aren't you?" The look on her face screamed sincerity. "Should I call you something else?"
"Uh..." Luke remembered the priest's Bible in the pouch at his waist. The robe. The crucifix. Go with God. "Father is fine." He swallowed hard. If she didn't remember who he was, then...
She didn't know he was a condemned man. Luke's heart slammed into his bruised ribs and he drew a deep breath. "We'll stop and rest here."
She sat cross-legged on the ground, only a few feet away. The expression on her face was one of complete innocence. Bewilderment. Forgetfulness?
Thank God.
Still, just because she didn't know who he was didn't mean others wouldn't. He had to put some distance between himself and the law. Maybe he'd go to Central America.
"Ready?" he asked, suddenly eager to start his new life. Her memory lapse was a gift. Another one.
They both stood and looked toward the town. It didn't seem nearly as far now, and the clouds had thinned somewhat, enabling Luke to make out the definite shapes of a few buildings. None of them looked big enough to be a hospital, though.
Once he knew she was safe and being cared for, he could walk away with a clear conscience. At last.
"Father, before we go..."
"What is it?" Luke tried to hide his impatience, reminding himself that she thought he was a real priest. With any luck, she wouldn't remember his true identity until he was hundreds of miles from here.
"Could you answer one question for me?"
"I'll try." Did she remember watching them strap him into that horrible chair? Did she remember his screams of agony? He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. Her tug on his sleeve made him open his eyes to meet her gaze.
Her eyes were large pools of blue, their intensity rivaled only by the purpling at the side of her head. "What is it?" he asked. They needed to keep walking. "Your question, I mean."
"Father," she said quietly, "who am I?"
Chapter 2
A gray veil shrouded her mind and words came to her disjointedly. Her thoughts were incomplete, as if someone had taken a giant eraser to part of her brain.
"You remember nothing?" He gripped her upper arms and stared into her eyes. "Nothing at all?" His voice fell to a harsh whisper. "Not even your name...or mine?"
She shook her head, and sharp pain stabbed through her skull. "Oh." She pressed the bloodied handkerchief to her temple then removed it, relieved to find it dry.
"The bleeding's stopped, but you must have one helluva headache." His voice gentler now, he dropped his hands to his sides.
Immediately, she missed the warmth of his touch. Bereft. Yes, that was how she felt. If she could remember vocabulary, then why couldn't she remember her own name? "Please tell me what happened and who you are. Who I am..."
"Try very hard to remember." His nostrils flared and the expression in his gray eyes grew even more intense. "Please, just try."
"I am trying, but there's nothing." She watched him standing there, his black robe fluttering in the chilly wind. Every inch of his exposed skin was fiery red, and his sunburned head was almost comical. He certainly didn't look like a priest. Then again, how would she know? "I really don't remember anything," she said again.
"Try."
Why was he pushing so hard for her to remember? It would be so much simpler if he would just tell her everything. Biting her lower lip, she drew a calming breath. This man was a priest, and
he was obviously trying to help her. His insistence was for her own good–maybe he knew something about head injuries. Besides, she had no choice but to trust him.
She closed her eyes. Words and images flew by, barely eluding her, indistinguishable. The unexpected touch of his fingertips on her wrist surprised her, and she jerked her eyes open to watch him. He turned her hand over in his, then slipped his finger under a shiny, silver bracelet dangling from her wrist.
"This says your name is Sofie," he said quietly, looking at her with an intensity that stole her breath. "You still can't remember?"
"No, nothing. Sofie," she whispered, testing the sound of it on her lips. It felt right, sounded right. "What about my last name?" She squinted, trying to focus on the bracelet, but her vision blurred.
His brow furrowed and he drew a deep breath. "No last name here." He turned the silver rectangle over until the chain pulled the fine hairs on her forearm.
"Ouch."
Instantly, he dropped the bracelet. "Sorry." His voice seemed harsher now and he leaned toward her, peering into her eyes as if probing for something. "How do you spell it?" he asked, his gaze narrowing. "S-O-P-H-I-E?"
"No, with an F," she corrected, wondering how she could be so certain.
Several seconds of silence passed as he continued to stare, broadcasting accusation and suspicion. His extreme scrutiny made her feel as if she were on trial. This trust thing definitely wasn't reciprocal.
"Tell me, Sofie," he began, gripping her upper arms again, "if you remember the unusual spelling for your name, why can't you remember anything else?"
Bewildered, she licked her lips and wished her head would stop pounding. "I...I don't know." He obviously didn't believe her, yet why would she lie about losing her memory? Why would anyone? He didn't trust her. Was she a bad person? "I only remember opening my eyes in that cave–was it a cave?"
His eyes closed and he released her again. As he straightened and reopened his eyes, the lines on his sunburned forehead smoothed. "Yes, sort of," he said. His adam's apple worked up and down in his throat.