Into the Night

by Debra Webb

  She made herself a sandwich and wandered into her grandmother’s bedroom. Her hand slid over the pink chenille spread as she sat down on the side of the bed. Pink had been her grandmother’s favorite color. Cece wished she had all the letters her grandmother had written to her over the years. Always on pink stationery tucked into a pink envelope. Two weeks after her grandmother passed away the letters had been taken from her prison cell and she never saw them again. No matter how many times she asked about them, she never received a straight answer.

  Cece had finally given up.

  Her grandmother had told her repeatedly in the letters that if, for some reason, she wasn’t here when Cece came home, for her to be sure to go to their special place for a visit. She looked around the space, rested her gaze on the bookcase next to the window on the other side of the room. A fainting couch sat next to the bookcase. She and her grandmother would relax there for hours and read. When Cece had been too small, her grandmother had read to her. Later, they read their own books silently, but together. That reading nook was their special place.

  Cece finished off her sandwich and walked over to the bookcase. She pulled out the well-worn copy of Little Women. The weight of the book and the beckoning scent of the pages made her smile. This had been one of their favorites. Cece had lost count of the number of times she’d read it.

  Something slipped from between the pages and drifted to the floor.

  She crouched down to feel for it beneath the edge of the couch.

  Money.

  A one-hundred-dollar bill.

  “What in the world?”

  Taking her time, she flipped through page after page in volume after volume. By the time she was finished, there was five thousand dollars stacked on the flowery sofa. What had her grandmother been thinking, leaving all that money in the house? She had a bank account. Mr. Frasier had said there was some amount of money in the account, but Cece would need to go to the bank and do the necessary paperwork to access it. She doubted there would be much but she genuinely appreciated whatever was there.

  But why leave this cash here where anyone who wanted to break a window or bust open a door could stumble upon it?

  Had her grandmother been afraid someone else would get their hands on the money in the bank account? Or was this her mad money? She had often spoken of her kitty. A little secret stipend she kept tucked away for emergencies, she’d always said.

  Cece kept a couple hundred dollars in her hand but she climbed up on the chair and put the rest on top of the bookcase where no one would see it. Her grandmother had thought of everything, it seemed.

  Her grandmother had been smart that way long before being prepared became a lifestyle of the slightly overzealous.

  With no television to watch, she dug out the family photo albums and entertained herself with a walk down memory lane. Whenever she and her grandmother had looked at the albums, Emily always told the story behind each photo. Cece remembered most of them. There were lots of photos from the era before her mother died. Photos of Cece’s grandparents with the whole family, even their father. But after her mother died, her father had drawn deeper and deeper into the cult that eventually became his own personal kingdom of followers.

  He had pushed her mother’s parents away and focused solely on the church.

  Cece sneaked over to see her grandparents after school whenever she could. Marcus always told on her if he saw her. Levi and Sierra mostly did whatever Marcus said to do. But Cece had never conformed. She and her father had fought often—until he kicked her out at sixteen. The whole family had shunned her at that point. Eventually Levi had started to sneak opportunities to see her. Marcus and Sierra wanted nothing to do with her. Their father’s approval was far too important.

  She traced her fingers over a photo of her younger brother. Why had he not come to pick her up the way he promised?

  Cece hoped he was okay. She had no way to call him—even though she now had a house phone. She didn’t know what cell number he used or even if he owned one. He hadn’t owned one when she was arrested. Her father had not allowed them to have cell phones. Cece had bought one after she moved in with her grandmother. She had no idea where it was now, not that it would still work since her contract had long since run out. Knowing her grandmother, if it had been given back to her, it would be here somewhere. The police may have kept it as part of their evidence. Images of being questioned, of all the blood, flickered one after the other through her head.

  The memories were taking a toll on her emotions. “Enough for today.”

  She put the albums away and decided to tug on a pair of jeans and a tee and walk around the yard. It wasn’t dark yet. Plenty of time for a leisurely stroll. She was relieved when the jeans she had worn at twenty still fit. She spotted a pair of flip-flops under the edge of the bed and pulled them on. The screen door whined as she pushed through it. The heat had finally started to ease a little as the sun brushed the treetops.

  The yard was well maintained. She supposed the lawyer’s office had someone cutting the grass. She had noticed the old lawn mower when she backed the truck out of the barn. If there was a gas can in there she would be in business. She could cut the grass when it needed it again. She had done it plenty of times when she lived here. Her grandmother had been old-school when it came to the distribution of chores. There were certain things that she considered man’s work and cutting the grass was one of them. Cece had ignored her warnings about spending too much time out in the sun or making calluses on her hands and done most of the chores that had been her grandfather’s.

  On Monday she would need to get out there and look for a job and report in to her parole officer. As thankful as she was for the cash she had found, it wouldn’t last forever. Though the house and the truck were paid for, there were insurance and property taxes, utility bills and food.

  The idea that her driver’s license was expired occurred to her. She would need to get that taken care of next week, as well. She did not want a ticket. Having an accident without insurance was not something she wanted to experience, either. If she wanted insurance, she had to possess a valid driver’s license.

  Crunching gravel echoed through the trees. Someone had turned into the driveway. Cece hurried into the house through the back door, locked it up tight and rushed to the front window to peek beyond the curtains to see who was arriving.

  She didn’t recognize the car. Older. Green. The driver’s-side door opened and a man emerged. He turned toward the house.

  Levi.

  She grinned and hurried to the door, threw it open and rushed out to meet her little brother. He stared at her as she threw her arms around him. He seemed to have grown a foot since she saw him last month.

  “I was beginning to think you had hit the road and didn’t tell me,” she said, squeezing him tighter. She was so glad to see him. “Especially after you didn’t pick me up.”

  His body felt stiff beneath her touch. His arms were around her but weren’t really hugging her. She drew back. “What’s wrong, Levi?”

  That was when she noticed his clothes. Plain, dark indigo jeans, plain white shirt. Work boots. Hair cropped short.

  He was one of them.

  “No.” She shook her head. Searched his face, his eyes for some explanation.

  He stared at the ground for a moment before meeting her gaze. “It was a long time coming.”

  No. No. No. “Levi, how many times have we talked about what they are? You can’t be one of them!” Her entire body seized with the agony of it.

  His hands braced against her arms, kept her at bay as if he could not bear to have her hug him again or get too close. “It was the right thing to do. Marcus and Sierra want me in the family.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t care what Marcus and Sierra want. All that matters to me is what you want.” She stared straight into his eyes. “Is this what you want?�
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  “It’s what Daddy would want. What God wants.”

  Cece shook her head. She wanted to tell him that God had never been a part of this, but he knew without her having to lecture him. He knew all too well.

  “I just wanted to make sure you made it home all right since I couldn’t come pick you up.” He dared to look at her then. “I love you, Cece. In time you’ll understand this was the right thing to do.”

  Before she could argue, he turned and climbed back into the car. She wanted to stop him, to argue with him, but she couldn’t find the wherewithal to fight. If he had left town without telling her, run off to marry his latest girlfriend, gotten arrested for some small-time crime, she would have been far less devastated.

  She watched him drive away and she understood with utter certainty that she had no one left.

  No one. She was completely alone now.

  Why bother staying in this damned place to prove her innocence? To find the truth?

  What would it matter?

  Who was left to care?

  No one.

  Cece wasn’t sure how long she stood there but dusk had settled heavily by the time she made herself stop waiting for Levi to come back and tell her he’d changed his mind or that he had only been joking. She turned away from the empty driveway that was being overtaken by darkness and walked back to the house.

  Inside it was dark enough to need the light on. She felt for the switch, flipped it up.

  Nothing happened.

  “For Pete’s sake, what now?”

  In the kitchen she found the flashlight her grandmother had kept in the tool drawer for as long as she could remember. She prayed the batteries weren’t dead. She slid the switch and light gleamed across the room.

  She breathed a sigh of relief and made her way to the laundry porch. She opened the door to the panel box and shone the light over the breakers. Everything looked to be as it should. Then why did she not have any lights?

  Using the flashlight, she checked the lights in the other rooms. Nothing worked. Not the overhead lights, not the lamps.

  She had no desire to be stuck out here all night with no electricity. The flashlight was handy but it was not the same thing as having a well-lit room. She went back to the kitchen and found the note with the stranger next door’s name and number. Thankfully the telephone was connected through one of those regular old landlines and the phone was an ancient push-button, so it had its own source of electricity.

  Two rings sounded before he answered. She took a breath and did what she had to do. “Mr. Ross, this is Cecelia Winters next door. I’m sorry to bother you but I have no lights. Nothing is coming on. I checked the panel box but I couldn’t see the problem.”

  He assured her he would be right over. Cece thanked him and hung up the phone.

  She pressed her forehead to the wall and hissed out a weary breath. She had been scarcely more than a kid when she went to prison. Growing up she had had chores and certainly she had helped her grandmother out when she lived here. But she had never been responsible for an entire house. She had no idea what things she needed to know, much less do.

  Too bad they hadn’t taught this kind of thing in prison. She could have used lessons for practical living.

  However frustrating all this was, she reminded herself as she moved to the front window to watch for her neighbor, she greatly appreciated having a home to which to come. So many of the other women she had met in prison had nothing or no one waiting for them. Cece might not have any family left, but she had this small house and land. She had a little money.

  She would manage.

  If proving her innocence turned out to be impossible, she could always sell and get the hell out of Winchester.

  Without Levi, there was nothing else keeping her here.

  Headlights bobbed in the distance as a vehicle navigated the long driveway. She tightened her grip on the flashlight and hoped it was Mr. Ross. Being stuck here in the dark was less than reassuring. She should have already taken the time to find her grandmother’s shotgun and the ammunition required to use it.

  The driver’s-side door of the truck opened and the interior light allowed her a glimpse of the man behind the wheel.

  Deacon Ross.

  Cece unlocked and opened the door. When he reached the porch, she offered, “I really am sorry to bother you again.”

  She felt confident the man had not expected to be taking care of a neighbor recently released from prison when he bought the Wilburn place. She kept the flashlight aimed at the floor to provide the necessary illumination without blinding either of them.

  “No problem. You saved me from another bad episode of what used to be my favorite TV show.”

  He smiled and she relaxed. “I haven’t watched much television in a while.”

  Prisoners were allowed some amount of television time but she had preferred to read. Reading allowed her to ignore the others. Maintaining a low profile had helped her to avoid trouble more than once.

  “Trust me,” he offered, “you haven’t missed much.”

  She held out the flashlight. “You’ll need this.”

  He took the flashlight, headed for the laundry porch and she followed. He was tall. Six-two or six-three, she estimated. Far taller than her five-three. Her lack of height was something else she had inherited from her mother and grandmother. Unlike her, her sister Sierra was dark haired and taller, more like their father. Marcus and Levi were the same. However much grief she had put up with as a kid being called “ginger” and “red,” she was glad she wasn’t like them.

  The lights came on. “How did you do that?”

  She wasn’t sure how she would ever truly show her appreciation to this man.

  “Have you been away from the house without locking the doors?”

  She shook her head. “I took a bath. Took a walk around outside.” She frowned. “And my brother Levi stopped by. I stood outside talking to him for a few minutes. Not long, though.” The wary expression he wore unsettled her more than the question.

  “Unless you have an electrical problem that’s tripping the main breaker, someone came inside and flipped it to the off position.”

  She hugged her arms around herself. “Oh.”

  He turned off the flashlight and offered it to her. “Do you have a weapon, Miss Winters?”

  “Cece,” she corrected. “Call me Cece.” She drew in an unsteady breath. “My grandmother had a shotgun. It’s probably still in the house, but I’m not allowed to have a firearm.”

  She hadn’t thought of that until this very moment. Legally, she could not possess a gun. She should have spoken to the sheriff about this when he stopped by. Now she felt like a total idiot.

  “Let’s not worry about the technicalities, considering you’re out here all alone. I think you should keep it put away and don’t mention having it until your rights to own a firearm are restored. If there’s an emergency and you have to use it, a decent attorney could use the fact that it was actually your grandmother’s and had been left in the house. You forgot about it. As simple as that.”

  It didn’t sound simple to her but she didn’t have any idea what else to do. “Okay.”

  “For now,” he said, “let’s make sure it’s in good working order and loaded.”

  He was right. She should have done that already.

  He followed her to her grandmother’s room. Every light in the house was now on. The .410 was in the closet. A box of shells sat right next to it. She gestured in that direction. “She always kept it loaded.”

  Ross picked up the shotgun. He slid his thumb over the heart that had been carved into the stock.

  “My grandfather carved the heart for my grandmother. He said this was the smallest shotgun he could get, making it manageable for her and yet still able to kick the butt of any trespassers.”


  “He was a smart man.” Deacon racked the weapon and nodded. “Not much recoil. That click you heard was a round going into the chamber so it’s loaded. We can take it outside and make sure it fires, if you want to be certain.”

  “Let’s do that.” At least she could protect herself if the need arose.

  He led the way through the house and out the back door. Once in the yard, he took aim, not straight up but toward the treetops, and fired.

  When the blast stopped reverberating in the air, he gave her a nod. “Fires and racks smoothly.” He passed the shotgun back to her. “Keep one in the chamber and you won’t have to waste time racking.”

  The rifle seemed to burn her hands and she couldn’t wait to get back inside and put it away. “Thank you. I hope I won’t have to bother you again.”

  “Like I said, call anytime.”

  She followed him back into the house. He hesitated at the back door. “Keep your doors locked, even when you’re home and step out into the yard.”

  “Good idea.”

  At the front door she thanked him yet again and said good-night.

  He studied her a long moment, then nodded and walked away.

  She watched as he drove off and was grateful again for this stranger next door who had turned out to be a very good neighbor. She certainly hadn’t expected sympathy or compassion or much else from anyone in this town.

  With a shudder she quickly put the rifle away. She did not want any trouble, especially the kind that might get her sent back to prison.

  What she understood with complete certainty was that the troubles she had experienced so far were only the beginning of whatever was coming. No one who had liked her father was going to be happy she was back. Most of them considered her vile...evil, something less than human.

  There would be trouble. Her plan was to do what she had done in prison: keep her head down and search for the truth. It was the only thing left in this town that held any interest for her.