by Deb Stover
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 mo
re 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?"
Excerpt from
Mulligan Stew
The Mulligans: Book One
by
Deb Stover
Prologue
Perched high atop a craggy cliff, the black castle loomed over the rocks and shore below with an imperious air. It seemed almost human, some claimed, though most God-fearing souls believed whatever force troubled those halls descended not from this earth, but from the shadows of darkness. Indeed, within the boundaries of cold, forbidding stone, something sinister surely lurked.
Something evil.
Along the passageways and battlements of the forsaken tower, in the dank shadows of haze-veiled belfries, timeless injustice, tragedy, and passion clung like mist to the forsaken walls. Fog, turned blood red by the distant sun, shrouded the parapet, issuing a silent warning to any who dared approach. The massive doors remained closed, and no hint of welcoming light shone from the leaded windows.
A lone figure stood in the long shadow cast by the tower as the sun sank into the sea beyond. The breeze whipped his shaggy dark hair about his shoulders, revealing a face square of jaw and nearly as complex as the decaying castle. He cocked his head at an angle, his expression so intent it seemed he strained to hear the voices of the past.
As if part of the land itself, a magnificent black horse stepped up to his side and nuzzled his shoulder. The man's face softened as he stroked the exquisite animal and a ghost of a smile tugged at his full lips.
With a longing glance at the castle, he gave an emphatic nod. In one fluid movement, he swung himself onto the beast's bare back and urged it into a reckless gallop.
Like the wind, man and horse vanished into the ripening shadows of dusk, leaving Caisleán Dubh alone again with its secrets.
For now.
Chapter 1
Reedville, Tennessee.
Thunder boomed in the distance—undoubtedly Granny Frye kicking open the Pearly Gates. If Saint Peter knew what was good for him, he'd take his coffee break about now.
Standing beside the open grave at the Eternal Peace Cemetery, Bridget Colleen Mulligan glanced down at her dark-haired, six-year-old son and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. Even with Granny gone, she wasn't completely alone. She had Jacob.
But poor Granny was definitely dead. The old woman had never even seen the truck that hit her as she'd chased General Lee—dear departed Grandpa's deaf and senile coon hound—across the highway.
Unfortunately, General Lee didn't possess enough integrity to have thrown himself beneath the screaming tires along with his benefactress. Now that stupid old dog was sprawled out on Granny's bed, waiting for someone—namely, Bridget—to come home and feed him. Didn't seem right for that dog to outlive both Granny and Grandpa.
Danged unfair to Bridget, too.
She turned her attention back to the funeral service, trying not to grieve over Granny's death or the dog's insatiable appetite. Granny had been saying for years that she was ready to go on to her reward.
Lord, y'all best play Bingo every Friday night in heaven or there will be hell to pay.
Grateful no one could read her mind, Bridget glanced around the sparse gathering and adjusted the umbrella over her son's head. She suppressed a shiver as the damp March wind whipped through the threadbare fabric of her old coat and the black dress she'd bought at the church rummage sale.
Brother Marvin's nasal voice droned on and the biting wind blew even harder. Though she knew it was irreverent, Bridget wished the service would end so they could all go home.
Granny would've cursed the sun for not shining on her funeral, and she wouldn't have been very happy about the low- budget coffin and lack of flowers either. Of course, the old woman hadn't exactly been a realist. Her life insurance policy had devalued to the point where it didn't even cover the cost of this service, let alone anything more extravagant. Bridget had been forced to ask for an advance on her wages to make up the difference.
Money—there was never enough. She had a child to feed and bills to pay, but at least Granny's rundown old trailer was paid for. It was the only home Jacob had ever known, and the only one Bridget could remember.
Now all she had to pay to keep a roof—such as it was—over their heads were the taxes and lot rent. She could handle that. Since Granny had spent every Social Security check the minute she received it, Bridget had been paying the bills anyway. Barely. She hadn't been forced to accept Food Stamps in order to feed her son yet. However, if it came to that, she would swallow her pride and do what needed doing. Jacob came first—even before her pride and dignity.
Pity General Lee wasn't a hog or a cow.... She bit the inside of her cheek in self-chastisement.
Fortunately, Bridget's employers were generous. Cleaning house for the only lawyer in town and his wife had its advantages. They didn't mind her bringing Jacob along, and meals were included in her salary. Hers and Jacob's. Plus, Mr. Larabee had agreed to go over Granny's will and transfer the deed on the trailer without charging Bridget for his service
s.
The service ended, and Bridget forced her attention back to the present. Mourners filed past to pay their respects, such as they were. The Widow Harbaugh reminded Bridget that Granny had borrowed her red patent leather handbag in 1967 and never returned it. Bridget promised to look for it right away. Mrs. Poole asked for Granny's raw apple cake recipe, and Bridget made yet another promise.
Of course, most of the good women from First Southern Baptist Church had brought casseroles, pies, and cakes by the trailer. Bridget had frozen as much as possible to make the sudden windfall last, and thanked them all profusely, grateful the mourners would not gather at the home of the deceased as custom dictated. Their trailer couldn't hold more than six adults, plus Jacob and General Lee. For once, she was grateful for the minuscule size of her home, because entertaining folks this afternoon would've exhausted the very last of her tact.
The truth was, these people had scorned and belittled Bridget all her life—a legacy handed down from her parents, who'd married during high school after Bridget was conceived in the back seat of Daddy's old Chevy. When Bridget herself had eloped with a handsome stranger with a beguiling accent and more charm than the law should allow, that had clinched her reputation.
Momma and Daddy were both dead and gone now, but these people still looked down their high and mighty noses at their love child twenty-eight years later. Well, Bridget had done all right without Reedville folks, and she only tolerated them now out of respect for Granny. Once the thank-you notes were sent and the Tupperware returned, they need never darken her door again. And vice-versa.
Soon, the only people left in the cemetery were Bridget, Jacob, and the men from the funeral home. Even Brother Marvin beat a hasty retreat the moment he could. Who could blame him? March in Tennessee could be as fickle as a forty-year-old spinster.
Right now, Bridget wondered if they'd ever feel warm again. With a sigh, she gazed down at Granny's coffin. "Well," she said, clutching her son's hand and swallowing the lump in her throat. "I'm not going to say good-bye, because you'll always be in my heart."