Forsaken Read online

  Maybe it was the foolishness they’d shared as gawky teens that made Anthony feel brave to share with Roc some of his non-traditional and out-of-the-church-box beliefs, things that other priests and even the Pope might be shocked by. It was with that same freedom and unconditional love that Roc often felt comfortable saying, “You’re full of crap, Tony.” But he wasn’t here today to debate Bible doctrine or Tony’s beyond-the-pale beliefs.

  After a quick knock, the door opened. Anthony’s gray eyes widened, then the door did the same. The young priest’s skin was as pale as his white collar. In spite of his youthful face, his tall, thin frame gave the impression that he was feeble, but Roc knew the man’s fortitude was as strong as one of the Navy ships in harbor and came from his staunch beliefs. “Come in, come in. I’ve been doing some studying.”

  “Anne Rice again?”

  Dark circles shadowed the priest’s eyes as if he’d stayed up too many nights. “No, these are ancient texts.”

  Roc plopped down on the sofa. “Bram Stoker then?”

  Anthony sat on the edge of the chair next to Roc, his gaze intense with a fiery passion. “Look”—he dug into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper—“it’s from the Book of Enoch.” The paper whispered as he opened it. Written with precise penmanship in black ink, the paper read: “And all the others together with them took unto themselves wives, and each chose for himself one, and they began to go in unto them—”

  Roc crossed his arms over his chest. “This is risqué stuff for a priest.”

  “—and to defile themselves with them, and they taught them charms and enchantments and the cutting of roots, and made them acquainted with plants.”

  “Like cucumbers?”

  “And they became pregnant, and they bare great giants, whose height was three thousand ells: Who consumed all the acquisitions of men. And when men could no longer—”

  “What exactly is an ‘ell’? Does that translate to inches?”

  Anthony’s fingers tightened on the paper but he kept reading. “—when men could no longer sustain them, the giants turned against them and devoured mankind.” He paused long enough to swallow. “And they began to sin against birds, and beasts, and reptiles, and fish, and to devour one another’s flesh, and drink the blood.’” He looked up then. “And drink the blood. Blood. Are you listening, Roc?” His gaze lowered to the paper again. “Then the earth laid accusation against the lawless ones.”

  “I’m not a cop anymore.” Roc knew if things didn’t go well in Amish country, Brody would cut him loose and he’d be on his own. Without a safety net.

  “Which is why you are perfect. A cop is hampered by—”

  “The law?” Roc laughed so hard he coughed. “If you’re dealing with voodoo vampires and things that go bite in the night, then maybe you don’t need reality either.” Then he handed over the cardboard box to his childhood friend.

  Anthony’s features elongated. “What’s this?”

  Roc stood. “If I don’t come back, then toss it in the trash.”

  “Not come back? What’s going on? Roc, giving up is not the solution. Let’s talk about this.”

  “I’m not gonna eat a bullet, Anthony. I’m going to Pennsylvania, chasing after whoever killed Emma.”

  Relief relaxed Anthony’s features. “The monster.”

  “Call him whatever you like: monster, psychopath…whatever. I’m going to put him down like a rabid dog.”

  Anthony held up a hand, his fingers splayed. “You need to take something.”

  “Garlic won’t help.”

  Anthony jerked his chin back, making his Adam’s apple more prominent in his long Ichabod Crane neck. “Of course not.”

  Roc watched his friend rush from the room. From down the hall came rustling and thudding, and in a short time Anthony returned, brandishing a piece of wood over two feet long and intricately carved. One end was as solid as a man’s fist, but the other culminated in a wicked point. “I was given this by a priest in Mexico City. There have been…disturbances there as well.”

  Roc chuckled and rubbed the back of his own neck. “Man, I’m not going to Transylvania. I’m not chasing after a vampire or werewolf or any other voodoo creature. Just a man.” He flashed his Glock nestled under his jacket. “This will do the trick.”

  But Anthony placed the spike in Roc’s left hand. “Take it.”

  “What else do I need? A bucket of water?”

  Anthony’s mouth twitched with half a smile that disappeared just as quickly, and his gray eyes hardened and turned cold. “There’s only way to kill a vampire, Roc.”

  “Yeah, yeah, shove this through the heart, right?” Roc brandished the stake, flipping it in the air and catching it again. The pointed end was stained a darker color than the rest, which gave him a sudden chill. “And something about sunlight?”

  Anthony shook his head. “That was a play on words. The truth has been twisted by literature, and I suspect by the very ones who need to protect themselves.”

  “So you’re saying Bram Stoker was a vampire?”

  Anthony’s shoulder lifted in an awkward gesture. “It could have been the editor or publisher just as easily. Even today…they’ve turned vampires into the good guys.”

  Roc waggled the stake and tried not to roll his eyes. “Really, Anthony, and you thought I needed help.”

  “You do. You can’t do this alone. When you get to Pennsylvania, look up my friend, Father Roberto Hellman. He’s in—”

  “Hell-man? You’ve got to be kidding, right?”

  “He’s in Philadelphia. Retired now from serving the church, but he serves God in other capacities.”

  Roc stuck his Glock in his hidden shoulder holster and the stake through the belt loop of his jeans. “Take care, Anthony.”

  “I’ll be praying for you, Roc.”

  “Prayers won’t help me, Father. Not anymore.”

  Chapter Three

  Hannah’s stomach shifted and stirred the same way wheat swayed and sighed in the fields, but instead of a sky-blue summer day she faced a hazy autumn dawn, her mood drifting toward gloom as the clouds shrouded the first rays of daylight. This day should have been much brighter. May it be so, for Rachel’s sake. After all, this was a good change, happy in its trappings, and yet this day awakened emotions lurking deep within, feelings dark and forbidding.

  A match flared with a tiny whoosh and pushed the darkness in the room aside as Hannah touched the flaming tip to the wick inside the kerosene lamp. Light wavered over the whitewashed walls of her bedroom. She lifted the green shade, then raised the window a notch and in blew a cool, gentle breeze, which stirred wisps of hair around her face. The sun peeked over the horizon and cast an array of pinks and reds upon the immense trees, the pint-sized shed, and the stalwart barn.

  She bowed her head and whispered, “Dear Lord, forgive me this selfishness.”

  When she stepped toward the bed, a sharp pain bolted through her foot. She jerked her toes back and turned her leg to look at the bottom of her foot, where a straight pin stabbed the pad between her first two toes. With girls in the house, there were bound to be stray straight pins, and this wasn’t the first time she’d stepped on one. With a quick yank, she removed it. The wound was of no consequence, yet a tiny red dot welled up with blood. She swiped it with her thumb but moved more cautiously to the side of the twin bed, placing a hand on her older sister’s shoulder.

  Rachel’s eyes opened at once, and for a brief second she seemed far away, her pupils dilating with fear then contracting with awareness. “Hannah?”

  “Come on, sleepyhead.” Hannah smiled. “You don’t want to keep your bridegroom waiting.”

  Rachel tossed back the thin quilt and sheet. “Josef is already here?”

  “No, not yet.” Hannah moved across the room and smoothed a hand over the plain dress hanging o
n the wall. “But there is much to be done before he arrives.”

  The bride-to-be shoved her hair out of her face, rubbed a hand over her eyes, and pinched the bridge of her nose as if trying to push away the last bits of sleep or the fading remnants of a dream.

  Hannah poured water into a bowl. “How do you feel on this, your wedding day?

  “Happy.” Rachel’s pink lips curved upward, her eyes sparkling with secrets, and she hugged her knees. “Nervous too.”

  “As nervous as you were for your baptism?”

  “Josef isn’t as serious as Bishop Stoltzfus.” She covered her mouth and hid another smile.

  Hannah joined her sister on the edge of the bed, smiling with her, and pressed her forehead to Rachel’s, her blue eyes looming large. Hannah’s heart swelled within her chest. She would miss her sister, but she would also rejoice, for Rachel loved Josef as no other. A pinch of jealousy she didn’t want to acknowledge pressed in upon her, and she pushed away before Rachel could see it too.

  But Rachel reached for her.

  Hannah kept moving, rising from the bed. “You must hurry.”

  “What about you, Hannah?”

  “Me?” She forced a laugh. “I’m already dressed.” Her hand fluttered against her stomach, mimicking the feeling inside and ignoring what her sister meant.

  The soft tread of bare feet on the wooden planks alerted Hannah to Rachel’s approach. “I meant, what about you? It’s your time to step out. Past time.”

  “I don’t need rumschpringe to show me what I want.”

  Rachel touched Hannah’s shoulder, turning her around. “Is it Levi then? Is he the one?”

  Hannah’s heart thrummed, but she managed to keep her voice steady as her gaze drifted away from Rachel’s, toward the window and the barn below. Already he would be feeding the livestock and going about the chores her father laid out for him. “Levi is a good man, I reckon.”

  “Is that where you went last night?” Rachel smiled, no judgmental shadow darkening her eyes. “Off to meet him?”

  Hannah’s throat thickened.

  “I heard you get up after midnight.” Rachel dipped her chin in that encouraging way of hers but it felt to Hannah like a tool shoved into her side, attempting to pry loose all that remained private and secret. “It is all right if you did, Hannah. Your secret is safe with me.”

  Hannah’s lips compressed and her teeth clipped down on her tongue. Guilt chewed at her insides. She turned away and gathered the plain, unadorned, lavender dress and thrust it toward Rachel. “Hurry. An Amish wife can’t laze about, not even on her wedding day.”

  It took only a few minutes for Rachel to slide the straight pins through the material and hold her apron in place. She looked much as she did every day, for an Amish wedding dress was no different than ordinary clothing, but this one was newly sewn and today a peaceful calm radiated from her.

  Hannah stepped behind her and placed her hands on Rachel’s slim shoulders, wanting to make amends for not confiding in her, the way Rachel often shared of her stolen moments with Josef. Rachel patted Hannah’s hand, and their gazes locked momentarily. Words were unnecessary, and the love Hannah harbored for her sister welled up inside her. Smiling, Rachel reached for the white kapp on the bed. Hannah placed the thin organdy material at the back of Rachel’s head, then carefully pinned it in place. Her fingers traced the ties downward and linked with her sister’s.

  “Are you ready?” Hannah’s voice sounded husky.

  “Even so much more than when I was baptized. Is that awful bad? May the good Lord forgive me, but it feels as if this is what I was meant for.” Her fingers smoothed out the long tie of her kapp. “There’s something comforting in knowing what lies ahead. That I will one day wear this kapp when I am placed in my coffin.”

  Hannah’s fingers tightened on Rachel’s. She couldn’t think about losing more loved ones, not after losing Jacob, even if it was life’s way—the cycling of the seasons. A daisy sprouted, budded, bloomed, and faded until it fell apart, becoming part of the ground from which it came. Death was as much a part of everyday life as living and breathing. Death brought her love once. Could it again?

  Rachel’s fingers tightened on Hannah’s and her gaze intensified, her pupils narrowing to pinpricks of black. “There’s security in knowing that much of our lives, isn’t there?”

  The harsh reality was: there was no security, no knowing how their lives would play out. Hannah once had hoped she would be Jacob’s wife, have his children, stand alongside him as they grew old through their years together along with the turning of the seasons, but now her hope had turned brown and crusty, like a fallen leaf waiting to be trampled. She had once felt the same as Rachel, having known she was meant to be with Jacob. Now what was she meant for? Doubts rose inside her, but she swept them into a hidden place before they overwhelmed her and eclipsed the day.

  For Rachel’s sake, she wanted today to be special. “You look lovely, Rachel. Josef is blessed.”

  For today at least. For no one knew what tomorrow would bring.

  ***

  Levi Fisher hefted the long wooden plank out of the wagon. The Stoltzfus family stored the benches in their barn and had brought them over last night. Levi’s chore first thing that morning was to carry them into the Schmidt house for the wedding. He paused briefly, leaning his arm on the wagon’s side, and his gaze flicked upward to the brightening sky then toward the window on the second story.

  The green shade was still pulled low, though by this time of morning it was usually rolled to the top of the frame. But he could see the window was raised only slightly and the shade wavered in the breeze. It was getting late and soon the guests would be arriving, so Hannah couldn’t still be in bed. She would be helping Rachel. But he hadn’t yet seen Hannah this morning, and he always felt a coil of tension in his belly until he saw her. This day was no different.

  Especially since the Yoder girl had gone missing. Of course her parents were worried. What parent wouldn’t be on their knees praying for their child to come home? It was the prayer of every Amish parent that their children would make quick work of their running around years and decide to be baptized and take their place in the community. Some in the district thought Ruby Yoder had gone off with an English boyfriend. Some said she had decided not to join the church and ran away rather than face her parents. Others thought she’d come to harm. Levi prayed nothing had happened to her. The good Lord would have to watch over her wherever she was. But the mystery of Ruby Yoder’s disappearance had caused an unsettling feeling to sweep over him. It only reaffirmed his commitment to keep an eye on Hannah. And keep her safe.

  “Levi!” Daniel Schmidt called to him. The older man stood on the wraparound porch of his house, carrying a rocking chair and looking as nervous as if he were the bridegroom. Levi supposed seeing your oldest daughter married was not an easy task for any father. “When you’ve finished unloading, Levi, go out to the road and help the guests with their buggies.”

  Levi nodded and gave a wave to signal he’d heard. He’d worked for Daniel for almost two years now and would gladly keep right on working for him if it meant he could be near Daniel’s daughter Hannah and possibly marry her someday.

  “Don’t worry yourself, Levi. I’ll help with the buggies.” Ephraim Hershberger hooked a suspender over his shoulder and came bounding down the steps, sprier than a man half his seventy years. Daniel nodded a greeting to his father-in-law, who lived in the small house attached to the back of his own, and hurried back inside to finish readying for the benches to be brought inside.

  It would be an awful busy day, but Levi assured himself he’d catch sight of Hannah sooner or later.

  Chapter Four

  Roc didn’t have time for this. A normal traffic jam would be bad enough, and he’d sat through his share in New Orleans, but one with horses and buggies was just plain bizarre—like he�
�d suddenly been transported to some long forgotten time and place.

  He slammed a hand against the steering wheel of his black Mustang but it did nothing to ease the tension knotting his shoulders or his impatience, the fuse of which was firing down to its natural conclusion. What was it with the buggy? Couldn’t it pick up the pace? Or at least move over? Get out of his way?

  He swerved into the oncoming lane, ready to gas it, but realized he was fourth in line to three other horse and buggies. And coming toward him was another. What is it with these people? Wake up and smell the gas fumes and smog of the twenty-first century!

  He’d hit Philadelphia late yesterday, checked in with Mike, slept on his couch a couple of hours, and was now headed for the hometown of the missing Amish teen. Now here he was in Intercourse, PA, at the crack of dawn, which he figured wasn’t a bad time for intercourse. Was there ever a bad time for that particular recreation? Not if he’d had time or the inclination or a warm and willing lady. Still, maybe he’d check the map later to see if just past Promise, PA, there was Foreplay.

  Ahead, one of the buggies turned down a gravel drive. Followed by another. Was this some kind of a parade? If so it didn’t compare to Mardi Gras. No green and purple beads. No bared breasts. No booze. Did these folks know how to party? Maybe they were going to a funeral.

  The thought slammed into him. A funeral. Or prayer meeting. Any kind of gathering meant tongues would be wagging. If a missing teen caused news in these parts, then these folks would be talking. And he should be there.