A Captive in Time

by Sarah Dreher

  She began to realize, through her pain and surprise and her mind’s funny way of momentarily refusing to recognize the seriousness of life-threatening situations, that she was in trouble. Big Trouble. To quote the President, Deep Doo-Doo.

  ≈ ≈ ≈

  They had the knife.

  The Beast had handled it. Perhaps had held it for a long time. Even though It had struggled and thrashed in his grip, It hadn’t been able to overpower him.

  The Minion was stronger, but not strong enough. It, too, must have held the knife. Otherwise their Evil strength would have been too much for him.

  Now that their physical advantage had been erased, nothing could stand in his way. He had already proven he could outsmart them.

  He wanted to kill this Creature now. To put the pistol to the vile Thing’s temple and spatter Its brains from the altar to the steeple. But the Word said that would only abolish one of Its manifestations—that’s what The Word called them “Manifestations.” “The Demon and its minions appear in many Manifestations, so hideous that the mere sight of them will destroy all but those Chosen of God.”

  It made him a little uneasy. To be destroyed by the mere sight… Then he laughed at himself. He had been given The Word. He had been sent here. Here, of all the places he could have gone. Here, where the Thing would finally surface. He had the Power. He was one of the Chosen.

  But it had to be done right. He had to dismember the Thing, torture It until It revealed each horrible face. Then each face must be destroyed in turn. Only then, after the Showing of the Ten, and the Destruction, would the world be safe.

  And there were the rituals to be done. The Sacrifice of the Animals while the Demon watched. It would try not to watch. He’d have to cut off Its eyelids. Yes, that would do it.

  Then the Purification by Fire. Soaking Its clothes with coal oil. Striking the match.

  The flames. God’s Holy, Glorious Flames.

  The Demon would twist and curl in Its agony. Would beg for mercy. Would pretend to die.

  But he knew about Its tricks.

  So near the end now. So close to Glory.

  Tabor was nearly saved. Burning the brothel had been only the final step in a process begun six months ago. First the Mexicans with their Catholic ways. The Selder’s with their deformed son. The ones he liked best were the innocent ones, the ones he had destroyed to disguise the pattern—the way wind blowing on sand swept away all footprints. The Godly sacrificed in His Name, to point the arrow toward the Beast they called Billy. The town was cleansed now, except for the Witch Mary, and when her sister Witches came tomorrow they’d be easy to find, their gathering place demolished. He’d pretend to be one of them, lead them here to the church with promises that they’d find their Master. Then, when they were all together...

  The Sanctified Man grinned. Burn the Church. Blame it on the Witches. He’d wait until a crowd gathered, then pretend to run back inside to save the Bible.

  Their silly Bible, a child’s Primer compared to The Word. But saving it would please them.

  After that, the town would be his to command. The people would be his sheep, his lambs.

  He’d have to change the name of the town to reflect its changed status.

  Change it to Parnell, of course.

  “I don’t mean to be rude,” Stoner said, “but if you’re planning on standing around here all night, could you loosen that rope a little?”

  He came to himself and gave the rope a yank. The fibers cut into her neck. “Silence, vile creature.”

  Stoner swallowed hard. “Hey,” she croaked, “we have homophobia where I come from, too, but isn’t this carrying it a bit far?”

  He hit her between the shoulders, forcing her face to the floor. “Crawl!” he ordered. “Crawl like a dog.”

  Okay. Sure. Dogs are cool. Whatever turns you on.

  She looked up at him and shrugged. “Lead the way.”

  The man flew into motion, striding toward the door beside the altar, dragging her behind. It wasn’t easy to keep up, shuffling along on her knees like pilgrim to a Shrine of Improbable Miracles. As he threw open the door and lurched through in his scarecrow-in-the-wind way, the rope played out, jerked, threw her off balance. She fell, pulling him down beside her.

  Ah, the Imp was clever. He must be more careful. He must keep it in front of him.

  He jerked on the rope and ordered it to stand. It stood, a little wobbly.

  He wasn’t about to be fooled by that show of weakness. Chuckling over his own brilliance, he took the burlap bag down from the coat peg, and crammed it over the Stranger’s head.

  “Now,” he said with a smirk, “we’ll see who’s in charge.”

  Obviously, Stoner thought, he is.

  The burlap was coarse, and smelled like old dirt-floored basements. The kind that houses six generations of resident vermin at any one time. The bag was probably crawling with mites and lice and mealy bugs and grubs and maggots and...

  Not a good idea to let her imagination run free. Not under the circumstances.

  Her body began to speak up, reminding her that the circumstances were not the least bit favorable. Her skin was sensitive. Blisters were forming where the fire had touched her. Her head ached from being pounded against the wall. A rodent of fear chased its tail in her stomach.

  She may have warped through a hundred years of time, but pain was pain no matter what quadrant of the Cosmic Mind you were in.

  Stoner felt herself pushed down some stairs, led across a small patch of dried grass.

  “Get in the wagon,” Parnell ordered, and stuffed her legs in after her.

  She couldn’t tell where they were going, but she knew she shouldn’t be in a hurry to get there.

  ≈ ≈ ≈

  Cullum found Dot at last, behind the Saddler’s, sitting on the ground with Cherry and what was left of Lolly. It was obvious from first glance the little gal was dead.

  He dragged his hat from his head. “Aw, gosh,” he said. “I sure am sorry about this.”

  Dot nodded absently.

  He squatted down beside her. “We oughta get you two out of this alley. You got anywhere to stay?”

  “Could go to Mary’s, I guess,” Dot said in an apathetic tone. “She was by here a minute ago. Went to get something for the burns.” She held up her hands. They were torn and cracked, ugly black gashes cutting across her palms where charred skin had split open.

  He caught his breath. “Jesus Lord, gal. You are a mess.”

  Dot nodded. “I’m about done in, Cull.”

  Slowly, carefully, watchful to be sure he wasn’t stepping out of line, he slipped an arm around her shoulders. Dot leaned against him and let herself go limp and heavy for a moment. He could feel her tears through his shirt.

  He stroked her head. “Gal, gal, life does wear a person out sometimes, don’t it?”

  “It does indeed,” Dot said. She let him hold her.

  The figure in the alley shadows was Kwan Lu. “Mrs. Gillette,” she said softly, “you need a place to go. Come to my rooms.”

  Dot shook her head firmly. “You don’t need that kind of trouble. We’ll make our way to Blue Mary’s.”

  “I’m right here.” Blue Mary’s voice came out of the darkness. “I think we should take advantage of Mrs. Kwan’s hospitality for now.”

  Cullum relinquished his hold on Dot. “You go along, sweet woman,” he said, risking the endearment. “I’ll take care of things here.”

  Kwan Lu helped Cherry to her feet and turned to Cullum. “Bring her to my place,” she said, indicating Lolly’s body. “We can take care of her there.”

  He touched his finger to the brim of his hat in agreement. “Ma’am.”

  The town was nearly deserted as they crossed the street. A few of the cowboys had stayed behind to poke through the ashes of Dot’s Gulch, rooting for hot coals and souvenirs.

  Dot turned her head away. Tomorrow, maybe, she could face the dead remnants of her dreams. Not tonight.

/>   Blue Mary squeezed her arm. “If I know anything about men,” she said, “they’ll find a way to help you rebuild. They need you here.”

  “I know,” Dot said. “But I sure wish they could have saved the mirror.”

  “How did the fire start?” Cherry asked Kwan Lu. “Did you hear?”

  Kwan Lu shook her head. “Someone broke into the Emporium and stole a gallon of coal oil. They found a jug in the alley behind the saloon. But no one knows if there’s a relationship.”

  “Of course there’s a relationship,” Cherry spat out. “I’ve never been anywhere yet that someone didn’t try to run me off sooner or later.”

  Carrying Lolly’s body, walking some distance behind them so they wouldn’t have to see, Cullum Johnson wondered what to do. If he caught the runaway now, he’d have to haul her back to Tennessee. But if she wasn’t here—and he’d find that out pretty soon, he reckoned—he’d have to keep moving west. Either way he’d have to leave Tabor. And leaving Tabor meant leaving Dot Gillette.

  He wasn’t sure he had the stomach to turn his back on that lady.

  ≈ ≈ ≈

  Parnell slid the bar from in front of the low, narrow door, and shoved the Demon inside. He replaced the bar, took up his hammer and nails, and pounded it shut. There, he thought as he wiped his sweating hands on his pants. That would hold Them until he was ready.

  He wished he could find out if they had the Jesus knife.

  Stoner sprawled on the ground and lay still. The darkness around her was solid. She thought she was alone, but she was afraid to move. Something could be there, in the pitch-black.

  The air was frigid. The ropes cut into her wrists. The earth was hard and smelled faintly of ashes. Or maybe it was her own clothes she smelled. She couldn’t be certain. And there was an odor of freshly cut lumber.

  She tried to breath quietly, glad for the moment of the cold which dulled the pain of her burns. But knowing, too, that the cold that soothed her now would kill her if she had to stay here long.

  Well, that’s life’s irony for you, isn’t it?

  Gradually, she began to sense that there was something else in the small space.

  A living thing.

  The worst kind of living thing.

  An Unidentified Living Thing.

  She wondered what kind of unidentified living things lurked about out here. Hiding in small spaces. Breathing.

  She could definitely hear light breathing.

  Breathing and waiting and not moving

  No, scratch that last statement. The Something was moving. Not much. Not in any meaningful way that might give a person a clue as to what it was.

  Of course not. This Something was Sneaky.

  She ran through her mental file of Sneaky Somethings. Cats, mice, opossums, snakes, some dogs with personality problems, people... Lots of people. Sneaky People. People like...like the Reverend Henry Parnell.

  But she could be pretty certain it wasn’t Mr. Reverend Parnell. Mr. Parnell was on the outside.

  Wasn’t he?

  Of course he was. He had nailed the door shut. From the outside. She’d heard it. She still had enough sense about her to know outside hammering from inside hammering.

  At least she thought she did.

  God, she thought, I hate total blackness. It’s so disorienting.

  There were people who paid outrageous amounts of money to float around in total blackness and warm water and get completely disoriented. She wasn’t sure what they called it now. When she was in college—Psych 102—they’d called it “Sensory Deprivation”. It made you go crazy and hallucinate.

  Which just goes to show, no matter what you’re selling, somewhere there’s some damn fool who’ll buy it.

  Sneaky Something was moving. Just a little, but moving.

  Moving toward her in a stealthy, up to no good way.

  Probably an animal. Come to think of it, the place had a slightly animal smell, under the ashes and new wood.

  Okay, if it’s an animal we just lie still, go limp, let it root around at you. If it thinks you’re dead, it’ll move along. Animals don’t eat dead stuff.

  Except for wolves and hyenas.

  There are no hyenas around here, she told herself as it rustled around a little. And wolves don’t creep and sneak. Wolves are direct, no-nonsense, upstanding, out-in-the-open creatures. If I ever have to be stuck on a desert island, wolves are what I want with me.

  So this thing wasn’t a wolf. This thing was a creeper. This was one of those play-dead-and-it’ll-go-away creatures.

  She made herself go limp. Tried to still her breathing. Wished she’d taken one of those stress-reduction workshops where they teach you to slow your heartbeat.

  Something touched her.

  “Erk!” she said.

  “Stoner?” Whispered.

  “Billy?” Her heart started pounding a whole different kind of pound.

  “I thought it was you, but I wasn’t sure. Are you all right?”

  “I will be if you untie me,” she said.

  “I can’t. He tied me, too.”

  “You touched me just now. Do it again.”

  Billy moved her foot. The toe of her boot nudged Stoner’s shoulder. Using Billy’s leg as a guide, she edged her way to the wall and struggled into a sitting position. “Do you know where we are?”

  “In the Reverend’s pig house.”

  “I thought the Reverend’s pig house burned down.”

  “It did,” Billy said. “He built a new one with the lumber we brought him yesterday.”

  “That was considerate of us.” She moved, painfully. “Do you know what this is about?”

  “No.” She could feel Billy shrug in the darkness. “He was raving about God and the Devil, but preachers always rave about God and the Devil, don’t they?”

  “I guess so. I’m not much of a church-goer, myself.”

  “I used to go, with my family. But when the War came along… well, we kind of moved around a lot. Didn’t show our faces in public.”

  “Why? Were you spies?”

  “Hiders,” Billy said.

  She liked the feel of Billy’s warmth against her. “What are hiders?”

  “People that didn’t want to fight. There were a lot of them...us... Whole families just sort of disappearing into the woods.”

  “We had that in our war, too,” Stoner said. “Except they went to Canada.”

  “Is that a fact?” Billy asked.

  “Why didn’t your father want to fight? Was it against his principles?

  Billy laughed sharply. “He didn’t have any principles. He was just afraid to fight.”

  “Well,” Stoner said, “from what I’ve seen of the way you handle yourself, I’m surprised he didn’t send you in his place.”

  “He would have if he’d thought of it,” Billy said.

  This was crazy. Sitting in a freezing cold pig house, trapped by a man who was demented and clearly intended to do them harm— and they were discussing draft resistance.

  “We should be trying to think of a way to get out of this,” Stoner said.

  “Sounds like a fine idea to me.”

  “Any suggestions?”

  “I’ve been working on it the last hour or so,” Billy said. “I haven’t come up with anything.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Freezing to death and scared out of my wits. Other than that, I couldn’t be better. How about you?”

  “I’ll live,” Stoner said, and hoped it was true. “He knocked me around a little. Did he hurt you?”

  “Some,” Billy acknowledged wryly. “Sets a fine example for the community, doesn’t he?”

  The thought of the man hurting Billy, putting his filthy hands on her, enraged her. “I’d like to do something awful to him,” she spat.

  “Do whatever you want, long as you save a little for me.”

  From the distance came a strange rhythmic, rasping, wheezing noise. Stoner couldn’t place it, but it seemed like
a funny sound for the middle of the night.

  “What’s that noise?”

  Billy listened for a moment. “I’m not sure.”

  “You didn’t offend this guy or anything, did you? Inadvertently?”

  “No. For Heaven’s sake, Stoner, you’re always accusing me of stuff.”

  “Sorry. Maybe he didn’t like the way we stacked the lumber.”

  “Maybe,” Billy said thoughtfully, “he didn’t like the way I saw him steal Dot’s wagon.”

  “That’s a definite possibility.”

  “But I didn’t think he saw me.”

  Her hands were beginning to go numb from the rope around her wrists. “Listen,” she said, “if we scootch around back to back, do you think you can untie these ropes?”

  “I can try.”

  Sitting, backs together, knees bent and feet against the walls, they barely fit in the tiny house. “My hands are upside down and backward,” Billy said as she fumbled with the knots. “I don’t know if I can...”

  “You have to.”

  The little threads of hemp jabbed her tender skin. Stoner bit her lip and tried to concentrate on something else. But all there was to concentrate on was that far-away rasping sound.

  “Is it some kind of insect?” she asked.

  Billy paused and listened. “Nope. Sounds familiar, though.” She went back to work. “Listen, is everyone all right? Back at Dot’s?”

  “I’m afraid not. Lolly’s dead.”

  Billy paused. “Aw, shit.” She tugged feebly at the rope. “Aw, shit.”

  “I know,” Stoner said. “Billy, do you have any idea who set the fire?”

  “Yep.”

  “Who?”

  “It won’t comfort you to know.”

  “I want to know, anyway.”

  Billy gave the rope a yank. “Parnell.”

  She wasn’t surprised. “How did he get you into this?”

  “I don’t know if I should tell you.” She loosened an end of rope and pulled it through the knot.

  Stoner clenched her teeth as it scraped along her raw, burned palm. She blinked back tears. “Why not?”

  “You’ll think I’m a complete idiot to fall for such a stupid trick.”