Capture The Night

by Geralyn Dawson

  She gave him a searching look. “Have you healed, then, Brazos? Is that why you brought Miss Christophe and her daughter to visit us? Are you finally able to settle down and build that life you once wanted so badly?”

  “My Lord, woman!” Brazos exclaimed, forcing a smile. “You always were a nosy one. I think it’s time for you to take your questions back upstairs and tuck ‘em into Mason’s bed.”

  Lana shook her head sadly and stood. She walked to him and stood on her tiptoes to press a kiss against his cheek. “If I were always nosy, you were always full of secrets, Brazos Sinclair. I’ll not pester you, but I want you to know you have friends here. You’ll always have friends here, no matter what.”

  “Good night, honey.” Brazos squeezed her hand, then pushed her toward the doorway. As she exited the kitchen, he added softly, “And, Lana, I am happy for you and Mason. About the baby, I mean.” He tried so hard to mean it.

  SHORTLY BEFORE DAWN, Brazos awoke to the irritating sound of a barn cat whining right outside his window. He rolled over in his bed and tugged his pillow over his head in a futile attempt to muffle the noise. Damn, he’d have to do something, or the blasted cat would wake the children. Sighing heavily, he sat up and wrenched open his eyes. He scratched his chest, yawned, and stumbled out of bed. Halfway to the window, he stopped.

  The noise wasn’t a barn cat, and it wasn’t coming from outside but from across the hall. “Rose,” he murmured. The child continued to cry, and Brazos scowled. Madeline should pick that baby up, not let her scream, he thought. Pulling on his denims, he opened the door and padded barefoot and shirtless to the room across from his. He didn’t bother to knock, just walked on in.

  Rose was in the process of climbing out of her crib. Madeline was sitting up in bed, looking half asleep and so beautiful, it liked to make his teeth ache. Her flannel nightgown gaped at the neck, and he caught a glimpse of a coral nipple. Resolutely, he turned away. “Lie back down, Madeline. I’ll handle her.”

  While he gently tugged one of Rose’s feet from the bars of the crib where it had caught, Madeline said sleepily, “Thank you. She was up a couple of times during the night. Teething, I imagine.” She curled into the mattress and fell back asleep before Brazos had changed Rose’s diaper.

  After a quick breakfast of leftover cornbread and fried bacon, both Brazos and Rose felt ready to take on the world. The child was in fine spirits, babbling and toddling around the kitchen. “You’re learning to walk right well, Miss Magic,” Brazos said, taking a tin pan out of her hands. “But you’re being a bit loud for so early in the morning. What you say we go outside and hit a few balls. You can help me pick them up.”

  Twenty minutes later, as the sun broke over the tops of the trees and lit the clearing, Brazos stood rolling balls toward a round, shallow hole he’d dug in the yard. Rose busied herself by toddling after the balls, stooping to retrieve them from the hole, and often losing her balance and plopping down on her behind.

  After a bit, Brazos backed up and with a different club, began sailing the balls toward the hole. Rose lost interest in the game and chose to chase a yellow butterfly that flitted about the wildflowers. A warmth of emotion filled Brazos as he watched the child at play. Her bright eyes, shining with happiness and innocence, her giggles, hell, even the way she teared up and boo-hooed got to him. The truth of it was, Rose had captured his heart.

  “Damn that Madeline.” He took a careless swing at his ball, and it sailed into the trees. Glancing over his shoulder to check on Miss Magic, who was intently picking the petals from a black-eyed Susan, Brazos headed into the woods after his ball.

  “I’m not looking forward to the leave-taking,” he grumbled. Madeline would undoubtedly pitch a fit to wake the dead. She wouldn’t be at all happy about leaving Rose behind. But that was exactly what she was going to do.

  “There it is.” He lifted his ball from a patch of green clover and turned back toward the clearing. Immediately, his gaze returned to the spot where he had left Rose.

  She wasn’t there.

  Chapter 14

  “ROSE?” BRAZOS CALLED, HIS stomach clenching as he rushed forward. She couldn’t have gotten far; he’d been gone only a minute. He twisted his head, looking in all directions, searching.

  Then he heard Rose’s happy laugh, and he began to breathe again. The sound had come from around the side of the barn. With a scolding smile upon his face, Brazos rounded the corner of the barn and froze. “Oh, God.”

  Rose had climbed up the side of the water well. She was standing on the wide stone rim, reaching toward the bucket. “No, baby,” Brazos said gently, walking steadily toward her, careful not to startle her. “Stay still, sweetheart. Brazos’ll get the bucket for you.”

  Rose turned toward him and grinned. “Ba Ba,” she said, her word for Brazos. “Ba Ba.”

  Giggling, she reached for the pail. Each second stretched in slow motion. She leaned, her arm extended, her hand grabbing. Then the toddler lost her balance. Her arm slipped between the bucket and its rope handle, the pail lodging between her arm and her body. And Rose, entangled with the bucket, tumbled out of sight.

  “No!” Brazos shouted, dashing the final steps to the well. He grabbed the rope, halting its descent, and rejoiced at the extra weight on its end. The pulley creaked as he carefully worked the rope, bringing Rose back to the surface.

  Then, the extra weight disappeared.

  He heard her cry, a frightened, fading echo. It seemed forever before he heard the splash.

  He stood frozen in terror at the edge of the dark hole, staring into hell. Go after her. Now. Don’t delay. She’ll die. Rose will die. His entire body shook. His hands dripped sweat, and bile rose in his throat. Go, you damned coward. She’ll die. That little baby will die.

  “No!” He yanked the pail back to the surface and out of his way. Kicking off his boots—bare feet would better provide purchase on the stone that lined the well—he lowered himself into the blackness. With arms and legs outstretched, he climbed down. Rough stone edges cut his hand and scraped his feet, but he barely felt them. He was listening. So hard.

  And he was hearing nothing.

  Quickly, he descended the shaft, terror following every step. It nipped at his heels, sniped at his fingers. But his fear for Rose held the animal at bay.

  His foot plunged into icy watery and he jumped, arms and legs moving, searching, feeling. His feet touched bottom. The water reached to just below his breast. “Please, God,” he prayed, drawing a deep breath and submerging himself. He searched in patterns, intent not to miss a spot. His foot brushed something. Skin. Oh, Lord. He pushed his hand through the water. A leg. Her leg. Even as he gathered her into his arms, he bent his knees and shot to the surface.

  Rose lay limp in his hands. He shook her; “Rose? Rose, baby?” She may as well have been a rag doll. “Rose, come on, baby.” Water. She had water in her lungs. He pushed her belly. Nothing. He held her above him by the feet and shook her. Silence. He cradled her in his arms. “Oh, God, please.” He turned her over and pounded her back. “What do I do? Please, God, tell me, what do I do?”

  He floated her flat on her back, his arm supporting her underneath, and pushed hard on her chest. Remembering how his mother used to lift his youngest sister’s arms when she had trouble breathing, Brazos did the same to Rose and then pushed on her chest once more.

  He felt water spill from her mouth across his arm. “That’s it, baby.” He pushed again. And again, and again. “Breathe, baby.” Nothing. “Dammit, I’ll make you breathe.” He covered her mouth with his and offered her his breath. “Please, Rose.”

  She coughed. Water spurted from her mouth. She coughed and coughed, then gasped a breath. Oh, God, she took a breath! Her entire body convulsed as it expelled the life-stealing water. She gasped for more precious air. And she cried, a pitiful, soulful cry.

  Brazos had never heard a more beautiful sound in his life.

  The entire episode couldn’t have taken more than a few
minutes, but Brazos felt as though he had aged ten years. Rose was working up a full-bodied caterwaul, and her little fist pounded his chest. After one particularly high shriek that echoed off the surrounding stone walls, she took a deep breath and cried, “Ma-ma-ma- ma-ma-ma.”

  Brazos laughed with giddy relief. She was breathing. She was moving. She was crying. She was talking.

  Miss Magic was safe.

  And in the depths of the black, wet, cold well, the terror riding his shoulder reintroduced itself.

  The tethers snap. I am free.

  Breathe deeply of the heady fragrance of dank, moldy darkness. Touch the stone, so smooth and cold. My blind eyes see the world around me. I rule the darkness; I am king. My chest expands as power pulses, erupting from the hollow place of the soul. I move. No!

  Something binds me yet. A weight in my arms. Warm and gentle.

  Love it.

  Kill it. Throw it away. Drop it.

  I cannot. The warm weight is strong, a shackle wrapping my arm. But only one arm. I will rest and gather my strength. It is but one fetter, and I can defeat it.

  I will destroy the heat. I will kill, and I will feed. I am the Night. And I live once more.

  MADELINE SAT straight up in bed. She clutched the sheet to her breast as her heart thumped a turbulent pulse. Immediately, her gaze swept to the empty crib. Something was wrong, very wrong.

  She was not prone to sixth-sense types of feelings. In fact, as she threw on a dress and shoved her feet into her slippers, she tried to convince herself she was being silly. But the raised hairs on the nape of her neck argued otherwise.

  She flew downstairs to the kitchen. Sister Cecilia, Lana, and those children with mealtime duties busied themselves with breakfast preparations. Madeline stood in the doorway, her hand grasping the frame as she asked in a breathless voice, “Is Rose with you?”

  Both women looked over their shoulders. “No,” Lana said, her brow wrinkling. Sister Cecilia scraped biscuit dough off her hands and said matter-of-factly, “Brazos had her outside when I woke up. She was chasing balls for him.”

  “Oh, good,” Madeline said, laying her hand against her chest and breathing deeply. “I woke up, and she wasn’t in her crib. I was frightened.” As she gave them a little smile, she realized her fear had yet to be relieved. “Let me check on them, and I’ll come back and help with breakfast.”

  Lana waved a hand. “Don’t bother. You’re our guest. Besides, the children have their assigned chores, and they manage just fine. Go on, now. We’ll ring the bell when the food is on the table.”

  A lazy cock crowed as the front door banged behind Madeline. The sun beamed bright and yellow in a cloudless sky and chased away the morning chill hanging in the spring air. Nevertheless, a shudder washed over her. She stood on the porch, a hand resting against a whitewashed support post, and surveyed the empty yard. “Blast it, Brazos, where have you taken her?”

  She spied his clubs tossed haphazardly on the ground, and her tension increased. Brazos never left his toys lying around. “Brazos,” she called, a hint of panic in her tone. Like an animal sensing danger she stood stiff and still, absorbing her surroundings.

  Madeline heard the thin, reedy cry.

  She swallowed hard, turning her head this way and that, trying desperately to pinpoint the direction of the sound. “Mason,” she called, her eyes closed, as she concentrated on Rose’s cry. She began to walk toward the barn. “Sister Cecilia. Lana. Help, please. It’s Rose.”

  She broke into a run. The blare of the cry grew stronger with her every step. Madeline rounded the corner of the barn and was confronted with the haunting echo of a young child’s fear.

  The well.

  Oh, Lord, no. “Brazos!” Madeline screamed. Then she saw his boots beside the round wall of stone, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Brazos was with Rose. The baby was crying. He’d saved her “Thank you, God.”

  Mason came pounding around the barn followed immediately by Lana and Sister Cecilia. “What’s going—” He jerked his head as the sound of Rose’s cry exploded from the shaft. “Shit.”

  “Brazos is with her,” Madeline said, her voice high-pitched and shaky. “See, there’re his boots.”

  Mason Kennard leaned over the well and called down, “Brazos?”

  He didn’t answer. Rose continued to cry. “Brazos!” Mason hollered again.

  From the depths or the well came a tormented cry.

  Mason’s head snapped back. He stared at Madeline, his eyes wide with shock. Sister Cecilia gasped and covered her mouth with her fists as Lana said, “What was that?”

  Tears stung Madeline’s eyes as she leaned forward and peered into the inky blackness of the well. She remembered the ship—that night in her cabin and then those awful hours trapped in the hold. “Oh, Brazos,” she said softly. “You’ve saved my baby. Such a brave, brave man.”

  Pressure builds in my head. Pain grows like a cancer. Voices from far away swirl an eddy of heat that does battle with the cold that is my strength. One sound slashes through the darkness, a fiery sword that turns molten at my feet.

  “Brazos, it’s Maddie. I know how hard it must have been for you to go down the well. But you’ve saved Rose. You’re a hero. Look above you, Brazos. See the light? The weather is beautiful this morning—there’s not a cloud in the sky. The sun is shining so brightly.”

  The pressure swells, my head tilts back. Light, above me. No, I silently scream. The Weak One grows stronger. I try to fight. I try to resist the warmth in my arms. Drop it, I urge. Let go.

  “Maddie?” Brazos croaked.

  “Brazos!” Madeline exclaimed, her voice weak with relief. “Are you all right?”

  “Rose…”

  “I heard her crying. I’ll bet you can’t wait to get out of there and give your poor ears a rest.”

  It wasn’t his ears giving Brazos problems. Panic had a stranglehold around his neck, constricting his throat so that breathing required enormous effort. Even then, his breaths came in gasps. Sweat rolled in rivulets down his spine, and his heart raced like wildfire across the prairie. “Maddie, I need…”

  “Is it like before, Brazos? You need me to talk? Well, I’m here, and you know me well enough by now to know that I’m always ready to talk. Mason is with me and he’s going to lower the rope. Can you climb up? Do you think you can manage with Rose, or do you want to send her up first?”

  As if straining to speak in his sleep, Brazos struggled to force words past his lips. “Got to help Rose. Cold. Wet.” He flinched when the thick length of rope brushed against his cheek.

  Madeline spoke continuously, and that was the lifeline Brazos grasped as he threaded the rope between Rose’s legs, wrapped it around her chest, and knotted it securely against her back. He yanked twice on the line and shouted, “Pull.”

  Rose, her noisy wail drowning out the soothing sound of Madeline’s voice, was tugged from his arms and lifted toward the light.

  The warm weight is gone. My strength returns, though the Weak One fights me yet.

  Should I allow him to remember?

  I am caressed by the velvet chill of the water. I am comforted by the wall’s moldy fragrance. Soon, my hunger shall drive me to feed, and I shall glory in the achievement of my freedom. Yes, the moment is arrived. I shall take him back to the beginnings, to my birth, and I will show him the Truth.

  Then, Brazos Sinclair will die.

  Come, Weak One. Return with me to the Pits of Perote. You are there, with Miguel, and Damasso Salezan. You are so very hungry.

  “Brazos, we have Rose. She’s fine, just fine. A little bedraggled is all. Your sister is taking her up to the house for a warm bath and dry clothes. Oh, Brazos, if I could reach you, I’d hug you so hard. If you’d allow it, I’d even kiss you. Come on up, Brazos. Let me hold you and thank you for saving my Rose’s life.”

  The warm voice slings fire-tipped arrows that pierce my frigid form, seeking the heart of the Weak One. I dive beneath the soundproof water an
d extinguish the danger. But I must breathe, and I surface, and she continues to hurl her weapons of words.

  “Rose loves ,you, you know,” Madeline was saying. “And I am certain that you love her in return. It’s a funny thing—love—isn’t it? It sneaks up on us when we are not looking, and once we have it, there’s really no getting rid of it.”

  Brazos focused on the light above him and concentrated on Madeline’s voice.

  “We’ve lowered the rope again. Do you have it, Brazos? Mason thinks you could climb out better than we could pull you. Is that right, are you climbing up, Brazos?”

  “Maddie,” he whispered, grabbing the rope. Hand over hand, with feet braced against the well’s wall, Brazos began to climb toward Madeline and the light.

  No, I scream, freezing his fingers in a stationary death grip. Advance no farther. I am stronger than you, stronger than she. I’ll not allow you to bind me in tethers again.

  Hanging halfway up the rope, suspended between heaven and hell, Brazos grimaced and gave a violent shake of his head in a vain attempt to rid himself of the panic. “Ma…Ma…Maddie!”

  “Yes, Brazos. I’m still here. You’re climbing out, aren’t you? I can tell by the way the rope moves and your voice sounds closer. Hurry, though, Brazos. I know you must be cold. We’ve a warm bath waiting for you. And Rose—of course, you’ll want to hold Rose. She’s saying your name quite well now. Ba Ba. That’s what she says. She loves you so much.”

  He moved. His toes grabbed for purchase against a rough-edged stone, feeling mortar crumble beneath his maneuvering. But the constant sound of Madeline’s voice pulled him upward. The pressure in his head swelled, and pain pounded behind his eyes as he looked above into the soul-sustaining light. He heard the demon inside him yell, Halt. Come back. You are the Weak One. I can defeat the woman, and I can defeat you.