Seek and Hide: A Novel (Haven Seekers)

by Amanda G. Stevens

  God, he wouldn’t … would he?

  Aubrey took Elliott to the bedroom and settled him into the car seat. His wails rose in volume as she hurried from the room toward Marcus—where was Marcus?

  He was pacing the living room, but his gaze darted back and forth, as if he’d never seen this room in his life.

  “Marcus?”

  He shook his head.

  “Don’t lie to me, but—please, say you haven’t been drinking.”

  He halted. His eyes scorched her for a moment, then dismissed her. He stared at his bookshelf, at the carpet, at the closed blinds in the window. Yes, anger radiated from every taut muscle, but something else licked at him, too, something too searing to coexist with drunkenness. Marcus was sober. Sober and …

  He barreled through the doorway. Aubrey gave chase.

  “Where are you going?”

  Down the hall, no slowing of his strides, no sign he heard her.

  “What’s going on?”

  Through the kitchen.

  “What happened?”

  Toward the back door. He opened it and started into the garage, but Aubrey curled her fingers around his concrete forearm. If he wanted to leave, he’d have to drag her.

  “You don’t get to ignore me. Just tell me what—”

  He pried off her grip and tossed her hand away like a piece of stranger’s gum. Aubrey twisted to get in front of him, gripped both arms this time, and leaned all her body weight against him when he would have pushed her aside.

  “Marcus, talk it out, whatever it is, say it.”

  “I’ve got to …” His voice didn’t burn her. She’d braced herself for no reason. Instead, it pitched toward something like panic. “I thought something might be …”

  “You thought something might be what?”

  He shifted her grasp into his control, cupped his hands under her elbows, and moved her aside. Her heels rose a few centimeters from the floor. She scrambled to block his way again, but her frame was slighter, her strength no match. Convincing him to talk was her only chance, if she had one.

  “Come on. What if I can do something to help? What if I can give you another perspective?”

  By the last words, she was addressing his back, on its way to his truck.

  “Where are you going?” she said.

  Marcus slowly turned back to stare at her, betrayed by his hopeless eyes. He had no idea where he was going.

  Aubrey stepped into the garage and shivered. “What is it?”

  “I thought …”

  “Keep going.”

  “She was trying to tell me something. Home … I thought … something here would do something. But it was …” He kneaded his shoulder and gazed around the garage, a lost wrinkle between his eyes. “It wasn’t a—a message, it was just—just to go home because I can’t …”

  She clung to patience for five whole seconds. “Marcus, you can’t what?”

  “Do anything!”

  “About what?”

  “Lee!”

  Oh. But the reaction was off. This panic seemed ready to upend his whole house. “You called her? Did it not go well?”

  He paced two steps and stopped, then two more and stopped again.

  “Maybe she needs time to—”

  “They took her.”

  They … no, Jesus, please—“They arrested her?”

  His shoulders bowed, and he stood there, too still to be Marcus. “Took. For questioning. But I don’t know …”

  Aubrey dashed up the two cement stairs, back into the house. She swept past his startled dog and flew into the bedroom. Elliott was no longer screaming, but his whimper threatened to escalate when she hoisted the car seat too fast.

  Marcus loomed in the doorway. “What’re you—”

  “What’s wrong with you? Why didn’t you tell me right away? We have to go somewhere. Get the diapers, get all the stuff, oh gosh …Karlyn’s Bible. I was reading about Peter, it’s sitting on the table in there—”

  Her lungs couldn’t fill. She shouldn’t have stopped running when she saw he was the one slamming the door open. She should have dashed outside and away from the snare of this place. The bare beige walls squeezed in closer.

  “Aubrey,” Marcus said. “Calm down.”

  “Move. Hurry, hurry hurry.”

  “Aubrey!”

  A whole second passed in which they stared at each other. A whole second they should use to get away. Aubrey’s hands clenched around the car seat’s handle. If Elliott weren’t nestled inside it, she’d ram it into Marcus until he moved out of the way.

  “Ohio,” she said. “Now, right now.”

  Marcus shook his head. “No.”

  “But you said—”

  “The borders. They’re watching. For you.”

  “Where, then?”

  “There’s nowhere else.”

  There had to be. She closed her eyes against his clamped jaw and forced her brain to process. Fear spiraled up into her throat, and she gulped it back down to the pit of her stomach. No screaming allowed. Father God, if You’re listening—no. I know You’re listening. Please help us. Elliott hiccupped. Big callused hands closed around hers. She opened her eyes to the stark, strained lines of Marcus’s face above her. He eased the car seat from her clammy grasp.

  “I know where to go,” she said.

  The stone forehead wrinkled slightly.

  “You said yourself they’d take us in, if they had to.”

  Confusion dug deeper into his face for a moment, then smoothed away. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because.”

  “Right, okay, thanks for enlightening me.”

  He thumped the car seat onto the floor, hard enough to jar an indignant whimper from Elliott.

  So much talking when she should be fleeing, but she added more words. Eventually, some sentence had to convince him. “You said they’re trustworthy people. They said—well, Belinda said—they’re willing to help. Now’s the time to take them up on it.”

  “I’m not dragging them into it.”

  “You’re not. They offered. Temporarily, until I can find a way to make it on my own.”

  “No.”

  “Then I’ll call a taxi.”

  Marcus glared.

  “This isn’t about your stupid atonement mission or whatever it is.” She grabbed the car seat and shoved past him, into the hall. “This is about my freedom, my baby, and an invitation I’m deciding to accept, and if you—”

  Reality glued her feet to the hall runner. She couldn’t call a taxi. Or pay a taxi. Or tell a taxi where Chuck and Belinda lived … That book, Marcus’s address book, the one she’d found when she was dusting. Did he keep a client list in there? Somehow, she had to contrive another look at that book. But knowing the route didn’t provide the transportation. She could hardly steal Marcus’s truck.

  She could borrow it, though.

  “Aubrey,” he said.

  Elliott squirmed. Aubrey stepped into the living room for more space, then swung the car seat from one hand to the other. Marcus followed with probing eyes, but he didn’t seem to read the solution on her face. Yes, she could borrow his truck. If it was a stick shift, she’d remember that. Bulkier than her little car, sure, but she could handle it. When she arrived at Chuck and Belinda’s, one of them could go pick Marcus up.

  Oh, he was going to be angry.

  “You won’t let me go?” she said. Final chance, Marcus.

  “You’re not in jail here.”

  No, not jail. Not a cell, and not a room with one chair and an interrogator that circled like a shark. “But you won’t take me anywhere or let me leave.”

  “It’s not safe. To take you anywhere.”

  She set the car seat down, gritted her teeth, and
breathed deeply. Different details colored this circumstance. Lee had been detained, not arrested. Marcus had never undergone re-education. And even in Aubrey’s more drastic situation, the con-cops had waited a day to grill her about Karlyn.

  On the cable box, the clock read 7:16. They wouldn’t come tonight. But tomorrow … Well, by tomorrow she and Elliot would be hiding somewhere else.

  “Okay,” she said.

  Marcus blinked.

  “It’s not like I have a lot of options right now.”

  He tilted his head, measuring her sudden compliance. Aubrey tried to glare away his suspicion. After a few moments, he jerked a nod. Then he stood. Still. His gaze drifted to the floor. The brick wall was eroding before her eyes.

  “Let’s pray.” The words sprang from her mouth first, then sheathed her soul. Yes. She could pray. God held her in His hand, clothed her in forgiveness. She smoothed the sleeve of her red sweater, dark as communion wine. Red letters she’d found in Karlyn’s Bible today jumped into her mind. Simon, do you love Me? Her heart nestled into her Father’s palm. Lord, You know everything. You know I sinned. You know I love You.

  45

  Aubrey’s bottom lip quivered before curving into a smile. “I know, you’ve probably prayed at least a hundred times by now, but … could we together?”

  The wall in the back of Marcus’s mind slid forward again. God was everywhere. Except this side of the wall.

  “Marcus?”

  The silence had said too much. “I don’t pray out loud.”

  “You did for Jim and Karlyn.”

  Yeah, when he and God had been on speaking terms.

  “It’s fine, I’ll do the talking. All that matters is ‘where two or more are gathered together.’”

  “Go ahead,” he said.

  She hefted the car seat again and marched to the living room. Elliott kicked when she lifted him, gurgled when she supported his head against the bend of her elbow. His neck and the brief length of his body fit along her arm. She sank onto the couch without jarring him.

  “Sit, Marcus.”

  Sit. While Lee … “Just pray.”

  Aubrey’s head bowed, then raised. “Lee’s not a Christian.”

  “No.” The word jabbed his chest.

  She lowered her head again. “Father God.”

  Marcus ducked his head and stared at the carpet. Not praying. Out loud or in my head. But Aubrey wasn’t, either. He looked up. Her body huddled over Elliott.

  Her throat cleared softly. “Dear God, my Father, and Jesus. Thank You that I can talk to You, that I can—even ask for things. Right now I’m asking for help, for Lee.”

  The wall inside Marcus started to slide backward, narrowing the space of his fortress.

  No. He shoved back. I told You, stay away from me.

  “Please don’t let the con-cops hurt her or scare her or even keep her. Make them let her go, please. And whatever reasons she’s chosen to push away from You, please shine truth through those dark reasons, and pull her into Your holiness and love. Take care of Lee, Jesus. In Your name, amen.”

  Take care of her. Keep monsters away from her. Well, God hadn’t done that yet.

  “Marcus?”

  He broke into a pace to hide the startled jolt. “Yeah.”

  “What does she believe?”

  How could he pace the floor while the Constabulary had her? They might have arrested her. If Jason had touched her hair again, touched her at all again, intimidated her, crowded her, hurt her … If the room he’d put her in wasn’t well lit … If they knew somehow about the baby, were using it to—

  “You must think I’m unbelievably nosy,” Aubrey said.

  She was. His deep breath tried to ease his shoulders. “Lee …”

  Elliott fussed, and Aubrey’s thumb rubbed the bottom of his foot.

  “Lee says Christianity doesn’t fit the world. What happens in the world.”

  “Okay,” Aubrey said, but the word was an invitation. What else was he supposed to say?

  “That’s all.”

  “What part of the world are we talking about?”

  “The—well, the … evil that happens. To people.” People like eighteen-year-old Lee.

  “Aha,” Aubrey said. “So, God can’t exist, because if He did, He’d stop all this stuff from going on.”

  “No. Lee believes God exists. But she doesn’t …” He shook his head, and his knuckles dug into his neck. “Doesn’t trust Him. She says that if He’s powerful, then He’s not good. And if He’s good, then He’s weak.”

  “Which does she think it is?”

  “God’s powerful. But He’s … Lee believes He—well, she calls it a ‘sadistic side.’”

  “Have you explained it to her?”

  “We’ve talked about it.”

  The desire to help lit Aubrey’s face, lilted in her hopeful questions. “Have you talked about allowing evil, not causing it? That they’re different?”

  “Lee says, if God’s powerful, then they’re not different.”

  Quiet pushed between them, filled the room like an oppressive mist. Marcus had to go somewhere. Do something. These walls held no answers, no plans, just the same furniture standing where it had stood before Lee was taken. The same rug sprawled on the floor. The same movie collection clustered in rows—“Shouldn’t you organize them alphabetically, like a library?” He shoved aside the memory of her voice, because memories were not all he had. Lee had not been arrested. He picked up Karlyn’s Bible from the end table and headed for the bookshelf.

  “You don’t want to talk about this, do you?” Aubrey said.

  This meant Lee’s rejection of God, not the Constabulary’s stealing her. But in both things, talking fixed nothing. Anyway, words didn’t exist for the heaviness and the helplessness when somebody as precious as Lee slammed her life’s door in God’s face.

  “I’ve talked about it,” he said. “For years.”

  “So you’ve given up on her?”

  “No.” Could her questions get any more ridiculous? He pressed the shelf’s back panel into a downward swing.

  “What, then? If you haven’t given up on her, why don’t you still talk to her about it?”

  His jaw locked, unable to explain, and not wanting to even if he could. He could never give up on Lee. He’d pray for her the rest of his life, if he had to. But at some point, he’d given up on himself. Obviously, after three years, he was never going to figure out what he could say to make a difference. He prayed sometimes that somebody else would say it. Somebody smarter than him, maybe somebody she worked with. Anybody. He lifted his Bible without disturbing the family of figurines on top and slid Karlyn’s underneath with a whisper of leather. When he turned, Aubrey stood closer. Her face was a wide-open window to something he couldn’t quite name, something unlocked.

  “You’re wrong,” she said, “about Chuck and Belinda. And you’re wrong about yourself.”

  “It’s not about—”

  She waved at him as if shooing a mosquito. “But you were right about something else. I read the end of John, where Jesus shows Peter that He forgives him.”

  That was it, the unfurling—it was peace. “Good.”

  “It wasn’t the first time I’d read it, but … it kind of was.”

  Marcus nodded. The Bible did that sometimes.

  “Maybe I let … other people … influence how I saw Jesus. Maybe since they didn’t forgive me, I thought He wouldn’t either.”

  “God’s separate from what people think.”

  “He is, yes,” she said. “He’s showing me, with Peter.”

  “And there’s more, after that part. Peter keeps working for God. Preaching and stuff.”

  “Yeah.” The wide pink ribbon of her lips lifted. “Maybe He’ll use me like He used Karlyn, after all, to give someo
ne the truth.”

  Maybe that someone would be Lee. Maybe God would give Aubrey the words Marcus didn’t have. His feet kept moving, back and forth across the room, his path needing purpose. He had to do something. Lee couldn’t be gone.

  46

  Aubrey feared Marcus would never sleep again. After they talked about forgiveness, he’d gone to the kitchen and started the coffeemaker. Then he imploded into visible anxiety. He paced like a caged bear, riled mass throwing itself into motion as if that could break down the iron bars of his helplessness. He consumed mug after mug of coffee and glared her into the ground when she asked if he was trying to stay awake for the rest of his life. But most maddeningly, he stopped talking. He spoke three words to her in three hours. When she asked him one last time to take her to Chuck and Belinda’s, he said, “No.” When she finally withdrew with Elliott to the bedroom, he returned her “Good night.”

  In case he checked on her, though he probably wouldn’t waste a thought on her once she left his sight, Aubrey snuggled under the comforter. She fluffed a pillow and hoped Marcus would be too distracted to notice it wasn’t exactly Elliott’s size. On the floor beside the bed, concealed from the doorway, she left Elliott in his car seat, ready for their journey.

  The next few hours consisted of periodical scouting missions from the shadow of the hallway. She could spy most of the kitchen and half the living room from there, including the couch. Usually he paced, but one time he stood before the kitchen window, fists gritted against the trim on either side of the frame, the muscles of his arms straining, as if trying to fell the house from the inside out. She almost crossed to his side, but no. He had to believe she was asleep.

  Around 3:30, she peeked from her now-comfortable shadow to find Marcus sprawled facedown on the couch, still wearing the same jeans and gray T-shirt. His left arm hung over the cushion, and his hand rested on the floor, curled like a spiral shell. Aubrey slunk nearer. His face was turned toward the back of the couch. Was he really asleep? The easy lift and lower of his shoulders convinced her. Awake, Marcus could never relax that much.

  Onward, then.

  She sped silently through the house. The last hours had provided ample time to hone her plan. She piled the diapers and formula, her purse, and the Wal-Mart clothes beside the back door. Then she sneaked past the couch to the bookshelf and tugged out the spiral-bound address book. Back in the kitchen, the range hood spread barely enough light to read by.