Plain Fear: Forgiven: A Novel

by Leanna Ellis

  “If you’ll tell us where Roc Girouard is being held prisoner, he’ll stop.”

  “Who?” The vampire twisted as if trying to escape. “You will die this day, Anthony Daly!”

  Father Anthony showed no surprise that the vampire knew his name. “I know where I’m going. Do you? Nunquam suade mihi vana. Sunt mala quae libas, ipse vinena bibas.”

  They were now surrounded, yet no vamp would come close once the priest began chanting scripture again. An invisible line held them at bay. A pint-sized vampire, who looked to be nine or ten, snapped and struggled against invisible restraints. She caught Samuel’s attention. She had long yellow hair and smooth skin. One of her knee socks hugged her ankle. Those black eyes snared Samuel, and everything around him faded and fogged.

  Help me! the child’s voice echoed in Samuel’s head. The vampire didn’t call out to him, but she reached a hand toward him. You can help me. Please.

  “Roc Girouard. Where is he?” Joe demanded from the vampire lying at their feet. He shouted the scriptures with Father Anthony, yelling the words and aiming them at the vampire recoiling and moaning.

  Yet it all seemed so far away from Samuel. He couldn’t take his gaze off the young child. Samuel felt his own hand reach outward.

  “Tell me now!” Joe shouted, his voice sounding hoarse and muffled.

  “Okay, okay. Let me go and I’ll tell you.”

  “Not likely. Vade retro, Satana!”

  “I hate you, Joseph William McBride!” The vampire spewed vile names.

  “Vade retro, Satana. Vade retro, Satana. Vade retro, Satana.”

  “Building four! Now let—”

  The priest did not relent; his voice remained deep and powerful as he chanted.

  Joe pushed. “Where’s building four?”

  “Over there.”

  Over here! came the voice in Samuel’s head. Help me, please. I’ll show you where your friend is. He’s hurt. He needs help. Come! Quickly!

  “Samuel!” Joe snagged Samuel’s arm and yanked hard, jerking him around. “Look at me. Me! Right here.”

  Samuel focused on Joe’s hawkish gaze, the brown of his eyes. Somehow the world righted itself.

  “You okay?” Joe clapped Samuel on the shoulder.

  Samuel shook himself, shucking off the effects of the vampire’s gaze. Something brushed his leg. The wounded vampire rolled sideways and strained to reach them. Joe stomped on the arm, and Samuel heard a bone snap.

  “Come on!” Joe pushed Samuel toward a plain, ordinary building, which looked like all the others. “Let’s go.”

  This time, Samuel didn’t look back, didn’t dare even a glance at the rest of the vampires—especially the young one.

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  “Get up.”

  Roc rolled his head sideways, unable to lift his chin fully, and his gaze collided with Brydon, who stood in the doorway of the tiny room where Roc was being kept. For how long he didn’t know. The concrete floor felt cold to Roc’s backside and his limbs were numb. His brain worked even slower, as if it had been put into a deep freeze.

  “Come on, let’s go. Now!”

  Roc blinked but couldn’t get himself moving.

  Rushing forward, Brydon grabbed him by the arm and hauled him to his feet. He shoved Roc toward the opening. Roc stumbled and crashed into a wall, and Brydon pushed him again, moving him down the narrow passageway.

  Then Brydon pulled up short. Roc drew several shallow breaths and slumped against the wall. Down the long hallway, he saw a glowing figure coming closer, and Roc started, his heart picking up its sluggish pace. Had he died and not realized it yet?

  As the being drew closer, it separated into three distinct bodies. The faces he knew, but the names stayed out of reach.

  “Roc, move!” one yelled.

  That voice. He scrambled to find the name to match. But he couldn’t follow the command. The men were running toward him now.

  Brydon whipped around and shoved Roc in the opposite direction. He stumbled, fell to his knees, and Brydon scooped him up, half dragging, half carrying him.

  Something exploded against his eardrums. A gunshot. Then another. It jarred his brain, jolted his heart, and one name fell into place. Joe. Who else was here? Had the whole team come? They shouldn’t have. “Go,” he managed, but the word came out weakly.

  The door at the end of the hall slammed against the inside wall. Jezebel. Despite her slight size, she had a commanding presence. “Bring him.”

  Brydon shoved Roc toward her, but he fell, splayed out along the floor, his body sliding several feet.

  “Roc!” The sound of running feet ricocheted around him, and he watched Samuel running as if in slow motion. He swung a blade at Brydon, but the vampire ducked and grabbed Samuel, hurled him toward Jezebel. Samuel slammed into the wall and fell in a heap, not moving. Jezebel snatched him by the back of the collar, and all three disappeared, the door clanging shut.

  Roc struggled to his feet, bracing a hand against the wall, and tried to follow Samuel, but he was stopped.

  “Roc!” Joe took hold of his shoulders, his grip unrelenting. “Roc! Come on. We have to get out of here.”

  He shook his head, struggling to break free. “We have to get Samuel.”

  A whoosh of a blaze ignited the door where Samuel had been dragged. Heat rolled forward and smoke boiled toward them. Joe hurried them toward the other exit, and Roc stumbled, the other figure grasping his arm in an effort to help. Roc recognized the gaunt features. Anthony. Tony. His friend.

  But neither the priest nor Joe would give him rest. Coughing on the smoke, they burst through the exit and out into the sunlight. Roc blinked, his eyes watering from smoke and the brightness of day. How long had it been since he’d seen sunlight?

  Anthony steadied Roc with a hand. But there wasn’t time to speak or make a plan. What met them outside was a war zone.

  Buildings were ablaze. Smoke darkened the sky. Bodies littered the drive, their arms askew, legs bent unnaturally. A van had been overturned, the wheels sticking up toward the sky like a swollen carcass’s limbs. Together, the three men staggered past, moving as one toward the outer realms of the compound.

  “Where are the others?” Roc asked.

  “I don’t know. We can’t stop.” Joe directed them between two buildings. “We have to get out. Now. Before it’s too late.”

  “Too late for what?”

  “Us.”

  Something caught Roc’s eye, a flutter, a movement, and he jerked his head to the left. Between two buildings, a man bent over a body. But it wasn’t a man. It was a vampire, and he was sucking the life out of the helpless victim. A violent reaction exploded inside Roc, and he yanked his arms out of the grip of Joe and Anthony.

  “What are you—”

  But Roc was already running and stumbling and clawing his way toward the vampire, his fingers scraping the gravel road, his shoulder bouncing off one of the side buildings. He had to stop him. He wouldn’t let someone on his team die. Not for him.

  Then Roc was shoved sideways, and Joe took aim. He fired three rounds into the back of the vampire, who arched backward and at the same time fell forward.

  Joe was the first to reach the downed team member. Roc slid into place beside him. Samuel.

  Roc’s heart almost stopped at the sight of the young Amish man, neck arched, bloody wound gaping, his mouth open as if he was fighting for air.

  Placing a hand on the younger man’s chest, Roc felt for a pulse.

  Anthony reached them, laid his hand on the young man’s head, and began praying.

  It took a moment for Roc to recognize the words of the priest. Last rites.

  Roc shoved Anthony away. “No!” the word burst out of him. “He’s not going to die. Not today. Not for me. Not because of them.”

  “But, Roc�
�” Anthony said.

  “No buts. If you have to pray, make it for a miracle.”

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Samuel felt himself lifted, his body weightless, buoyed by an invisible force. Yet when he stared back at the ground, he saw his body splayed out on a table. People scurried about him like ants, retrieving this, grabbing that, poking him with things he couldn’t identify. Sharp tones were spoken and triggered a beeping sound, a steady, unrelenting alarm. If he were there, and yet floating somehow above, then he must not be.

  He must be dead.

  Dead.

  He felt nothing at the realization. No regrets. No remorse. No fear. Just a simple, flat awareness.

  He was dead.

  For what seemed like a long while and yet no time at all, he watched the people below working on his body. But he felt nothing. No sensations. No tugging or pulling. No pain. Was that the undertaker working on him already? No, it looked like medical personnel. They wore scrubs. And there was blood.

  But…what had happened? They—Joe and Father Anthony—had been searching for Roc. They’d seen him. Down a corridor. But someone had been with him. And Roc had acted dazed and confused. But he’d been alive. Alive! And Samuel ran for him.

  And then nothing. Samuel knew nothing.

  Now, he remained suspended along the ceiling, a gravity of some kind holding him, tethering him to earth, to his body. He could see through the paper-thin walls where Roc paced along a hallway, his phone to his ear, a worried expression on his exhausted face. At least his friend was safe, alive.

  And Samuel’s job was completed.

  It was in that moment he understood why he’d risked his life to save Roc’s. Not that one life was more important than another, but Samuel had killed his own brother. Giving his own life for Roc, to save Roc, somehow evened things out.

  Samuel wanted to reach out in greeting to his friend, tell him he was okay, not to worry. For the first time in months, maybe years, Samuel felt at peace. He wished he could ease the burden Roc felt, erase the worry, but he could not bridge the gap to reach Roc and explain. Maybe it didn’t matter. In the end, Roc might mourn, but more importantly, he would return home to his family and continue his God-given purposes.

  “Samuel.”

  He glanced around. No one below had spoken his name. Then he saw the sky opening, the clouds peeling back to expose a hidden place, a brightness that defied the sun’s brilliance. Standing in that crack of not-quite-here-or-there was his brother Jacob.

  Jacob.

  A sob of anguish combined with relief clutched Samuel’s throat. In that instant, he rushed upward toward his brother without thought or knowledge of how he was doing so. He simply was. It felt like the breath of heaven upon him as he moved swiftly forward.

  And they came face to face, standing so close, yet neither reached out. Samuel didn’t know what to say.

  Jacob’s eyes were wide, startled with what Samuel interpreted as wonder and love. A million emotions flitted across his features.

  Those same emotions reflected in Samuel’s soul. A thousand apologies rose up in him. But how could he ask for forgiveness for such an awful, unforgiveable act?

  “You’re here.” Jacob’s voice sounded confused, and his forehead furrowed. “You’re not supposed to be here.” He looked behind him. “Remiel!”

  Some invisible cord pulled Samuel backward. He reached for his brother’s arm. He had to know. “Jacob.” The name came out as broken as Samuel’s spirit. “Please.”

  Jacob shook him off. “You have to go back.”

  The tugging became more insistent, but Samuel clutched at Jacob, tried to hang on. “But what about you?”

  “It’s not my time. It’s yours.”

  “But—”

  “Go, Samuel. Go live your life!”

  With an anguished cry of defeat, Samuel fell backward, tumbling through time and space and nothing, and he cried out, “I’m sorry. Jacob! I’m so sorry.”

  But his brother was gone. And Samuel once again knew nothing. A thick darkness wrapped him up and bound him in silence.

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Samuel drifted in and out of sleep. Nurses came and went. His neck felt stiff from a thick bandage, and tubes jabbed into him. It hurt to swallow or move. Roc was there when he woke and drifted off again. He didn’t bother him with questions or try to fill the silence with empty words. Mostly Samuel slept or lay with his eyes closed, his thoughts twisting, turning, tumbling over bits and pieces of memories. But he didn’t want to discuss what had happened at the compound or with Jacob. He didn’t want to think, either. When his thoughts assaulted him, he pressed his thumb against the button that shot medicine into his veins, and he drifted down a river into nothingness.

  But slowly, they removed the tubes and lessened his medicine, and the lulling sensation began to subside.

  “You need to wake up now, Samuel,” a nurse said, her voice perky, as she placed a tray of broth and wiggly Jell-O cubes in front of him.

  When she left the room, Roc rolled his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks.

  Samuel wondered how long he’d been here. He didn’t care enough to ask, but there was a question he needed to know. He forced his eyes open when they only wanted to close and located Roc, who sat in the hospital chair. He tested his voice. “The team”—he sounded raspy as a rusted-out motor—“okay?”

  Roc hunched his shoulders and stared down at his clasped hands for a long time. Samuel’s eyelids struggled against an invisible weight. His head bobbed and weaved before Roc spoke. At the sound of his voice, Samuel jerked awake.

  “Dwight.” His voice roughened with grief and weariness. “Shawn.”

  Two. Should have been three. Should have been…but there was. Pete. Hot tears burned Samuel’s eyes.

  “And”—Roc’s voice cracked—“Chris.”

  They didn’t speak any more. What was there to say? Samuel slumped back against the pillow and feigned sleep until it pulled him into flashes of fire and blood. Pressure against his chest woke him.

  Roc stood over him. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

  Samuel drew gulps of air.

  Slowly, Roc backed toward his chair. “I have dreams too. You’ll get used to it.”

  But sleep had become his enemy. He tried to stay awake the rest of the night but sometime before dawn, he lost the battle.

  When he awoke again, an older man in a white coat stood beside him. “You’re a lucky man,” the doctor said as he scribbled on the chart. “You’ll have some scars, I’m afraid. But you’ll live to tell the tale.” He turned to Roc, who sat in the chair beside the bed, his eyes shaded by dark circles. “Anyone ever find that dog?”

  Roc shook his head. “Not yet. But I’ll know it when I see it again.”

  The doctor, an older gentleman, had gray hair and a tired complexion. “We better keep you here for another day. Make sure your blood pressure remains stable. But then you can go home.”

  The next morning they headed out. Roc drove the van, his friend Anthony at his side, and Samuel rode in the far back, a hospital pillow propped behind him. Anthony had taken care of the bodies, then visited a fellow priest in the area. Joe, Harry, and Randy had already returned to Pennsylvania. Roc had been worried there might be an attack on the training center. But so far all remained quiet.

  Now, Samuel was headed home.

  Home. And he knew it truly was home for him now. Not just because he’d been raised there, but because he’d found his purpose.

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  “You’re still recovering.” Roc dismissed Samuel’s offer as he cleaned a weapon.

  “I’m fine.” Since returning the night before, Samuel had thrown himself into work. Usually, he answered questions with nods or shakes of his head, avoiding speaking. It was not only difficult physically, as his thr
oat muscles were still sore and the stitches in his neck pinching, but too many emotions welled up inside. He felt frayed and at loose ends, and one conversational thread could undo him.

  Roc set his Glock on the table, and his perceptive gaze narrowed on Samuel. “I understand how you feel, how you want to help. But not now.” He stood, his motions painfully slow, never complaining about his own ordeal, and clapped Samuel on the shoulder, the gesture firm yet with a measure of gentleness. “Get some rest.”

  He led Samuel toward the opening of the training center and out into the night air. The air was still warm from the day. The scent of freshly mown grass drifted on the soft breeze. “When you’re stronger, you’ll get your chance. I promise.”

  With a heavy sigh, he entered the bunk room, where he’d taken up residence with the remaining team members. His duffel resided under a bunk. He stretched out on the thin mattress, one arm tucked under his head, and stared up at the ceiling.

  Joe, Harry, and Father Anthony had taken the first patrol while the others slept. A few feet away from Samuel, Randy snored and shifted on his bunk. It felt like they were all waiting…waiting for something to happen. But what?

  Sleep skirted Samuel too. He’d allowed Rachel to feed him oversized portions of food, and he ate as if he hadn’t eaten in days, as if he couldn’t fill the emptiness inside him. But it was something else he needed.

  Restless, he rose quietly, so as not to wake the others, and left the bunk room. He made his way through the darkened center, maneuvering around equipment and weights, and back out into the night. Along the back of the building, he approached his motorcycle.

  “Going for a night ride?” a voice in the dark asked.

  Samuel turned toward Father Anthony. He rolled one shoulder and searched for an answer. Finally, unable to locate a reason, he simply said, “I guess.”

  “Nice night for it.”

  Samuel nodded and settled one hand on the handlebar. He flung one leg over the seat.

  “Samuel?” The priest wore a dark jacket. He lived as plain and simple as the Amish. “If you ever want to talk about it…what happened in Kansas, I’m here.”