Haunted (State v. Sefore) (27 page)

Chapter Thirty-Four

M
addison prowled the
one-story house like an angry tiger, pacing from the living room to the sunroom and back again. Instead of sleeping, she spent the night waiting for Noah’s arrival, calling his vidcom, and plotting ways to slip away. Her friends had made escape difficult though. Josh slept slumped against the front door, and Jakob lay in front of the sunroom door.

The girls hadn’t even let her go to the bathroom alone by midday yesterday. It made her anxiety worse. Sophie and Liv had given in to sleep just two hours ago, one on the couch and the other in the recliner in the den. Taylor was in the master bedroom down the hall. Silence filled every inch of space.

A clock chimed from the kitchen—five tones. He should have been here twenty-two hours ago, which meant one thing.

Something was terribly wrong.

And they wouldn’t let her go help him. She pushed open the vidcom clutched in her hand and voice commanded his number again. Straight to voicemail. For the thirty-fifth time. Resisting the urge to throw it against the wall, she slapped it closed again, his recorded voice dying away as the cover snapped shut.

She had to find him. She marched toward the front door, pushed Josh’s sleeping form aside, and began to punch in the security code. A hand landed on her arm. She shook it off.

“You’re not going anywhere.” Josh nudged her away from the security panel and it timed out, the system remaining armed. He stood fixed between her and the door.

“I have to find Noah. Something’s wrong—don’t you know that? Why doesn’t anyone else care that he’s late?” The tones of her voice pitched higher and louder as she pushed at him. “Just because you don’t care whether he’s alive or dead doesn’t make it true for everyone else.”

“Maddison.” Sophie rose and walked over to them. “No one wants Noah to be hurt. But he made it plain we all have to stay here until he or …” Her voice died away as Maddison shot a glare her way. “Until he comes.”

Josh stood statuesque against the door, his arms crossed in front of him. Jakob and Taylor stood feet away, probably drawn to the living room by her tirade. Their expressions were wary as though they faced an actual caged animal … or a person experiencing a psychotic break. Sophie shared their look.

Olivia walked over and put a hand on her arm. “We know you’re scared, Maddie. But it doesn’t—”

“I’m not scared,” she yelled. “Do I look scared? No, I’m angry. I don’t know how you could be this heartless. And I’m angry at him for keeping me waiting. When he shows up, I’m going to kill him.”

“Fair enough.” Taylor inclined her head toward the kitchen. “In the meantime, why don’t we all get dressed and have some breakfast?”

She crossed her arms. “I don’t want to eat.”
And no one can make me
.

Taylor imitated her crossed-arm pose, eyebrows raised. “Well, maybe we do.” She headed for the kitchen. Jakob and the girls followed.

When she turned around, Josh took a step forward. “You can stop anytime, you know. We’re here to help, regardless of how much you rant and rave.” He moved closer. “Because we love you and because it’s what he wants us to do.”

“How do you even know what he wants? You barely tolerate him.” She stared at him, daring him to defy her.

Josh took a deep breath. “He hurt you.” He held up a hand as she opened her mouth. “I’m protective. It’s been my job to look after you and Jakob for most of my life. I didn’t want to hand it over. And, I guess, I felt a little jealous that you could replace me so fast.

“But Sophie set me straight, and I know now how much he’s done to protect you.” She must’ve looked confused because he shrugged and kept talking. “Jakob and I had a long talk on the way down. Noah’s going to do everything he can to get back to you. But you have to be here for that to happen, okay?”

Tears welled up in her eyes. “I’m scared, Josh.”

Josh pulled her into a hug, comfortable and safe. “I know.”

Tears overflowed. Her mind filled with everything horrible her imagination had concocted in the last three days. Josh patted her back at an uneven rhythm and with a light pressure, as uncomfortable with her tears as always. The normalcy of it settled her emotions a smidge.

She pulled back, distancing herself from the fears. “I should go clean up, so I’ll be ready when he gets here.”

“Sounds good. I’ll make sure Taylor saves you some breakfast.”

*

She opened the bathroom door with a clean face and her hair pulled back into a braid. Quiet conversation filtered down the hallway, but she turned toward Noah’s room. Put a hand on the doorknob and twisted. Maybe just one peek without him.

The security system deactivated from the outside.

Noah.

She ran down the hall and stopped cold. A lone figure stood framed in the doorway.

Daniel, dust covered and haggard, stared right at her. She began to shake her head. He took a step toward her. Dust shimmered like an aura around him, and blood stained his clothes. Cuts and abrasions marred his face.

“No,” she whispered. “No. No. No.”

Behind her, she heard the movement of her friends, but no one said anything as Daniel entered, closing the door behind him.

“Maddison.” His voice croaked. “We need to talk.”

She backed away from him, reaching behind her for something stable, something to keep her bound to reality. Her hand found Jakob’s, and he came to stand with her, bolstering her.

“Where’s Noah?”

“You should sit down.”

“Is he parking the car?”

Daniel shook his head and winced.

“The hospital then? They admitted him for observation? That’s why he sent you?”

“Maddison, sit down.”

“Tell me where he is.”

Daniel stepped further into the room. The determination in his eyes frightened her. Were his hands … trembling? “During the fight, someone set fire to a warehouse. A warehouse we’d taken the children to, to keep them safe. Noah ran in to save them.” He swallowed. “The building exploded.” Another swallow. “It exploded with him inside.”

Someone let out a soft cry behind her, but she felt numb. “I don’t believe you.”

Jakob said something. She shook him off.

“No, he promised me no heroics. He promised he wouldn’t try to save the world or martyr himself or do anything stupid. He wouldn’t have done that. He couldn’t have.”

“I saw it happen,” Daniel said, his own tone lifeless.

“He must’ve had a plan then.” Her hand flew to the ring around her neck. “Was there a back door? Maybe he got out before it exploded? Did you search the whole area? What if he’s lying somewhere hurt, and you didn’t search hard enough?” She put a hand on her hip, pushing down the desperation flooding through her. “He can’t be dead. Hurt maybe, but not dead. He said I couldn’t lose him. He said it. That means he’s not dead. I don’t believe you.”

Daniel’s jaw clenched, torment written in every feature. “I found his … microchip.” He clenched his fists. His arms shook and the color drained from his face. His hands unfurled. “We unearthed his ring along with the partial remains of the other twenty-five liquidators we knew to be in the building.”

Daniel reached into his jacket pocket then extended his hand. A twisted piece of platinum and onyx sat in his red, scarred palm.

The truth crashed into her, dragging her down. The words echoed through her soul. The air rushed out of her lungs, and her hand flew to her mouth. Images cemented in her mind. The burned out building.

The charred body.

She slammed her eyes shut.

“Maddison.”

Her eyes shot open to meet Daniel’s. Rage welled up inside her. She rushed forward, hurling her open palms against his chest. “You feel guilty? Well, you should.” She pushed him again. “You were supposed to keep him safe.” She slapped his chest. “You’re his brother. It’s your job.” A fist pound. “He wouldn’t have even been fighting if it weren’t for you.” Her blows rained harder. “Didn’t you try to stop him? Him and his death wish? His martyr complex? Why didn’t you knock him unconscious to keep him out of that building? Why didn’t you go in after him? You should’ve dragged him back out. He’s dead, and it’s all your fault.”

His right arm pinned her wrists against his chest, but she continued her verbal assault. Hot tears ran down her face. “The one time it really mattered, and you didn’t protect him. Why? This time mattered, Daniel. Do you hear me? It mattered, and you let him die.”

She collapsed against him, sobbing, and his arms went around her waist, holding her up. But his shoulders shook too, and moments later, they both slid into a heap on the floor. Moisture trickled into her hair. His broken whisper repeated, “I know. I’m sorry. I know …”

Epilogue

The Day Before

I
saiah slid the
Bible closer to the electric lantern on the small desk. Its light provided just enough illumination for the desk’s surface area. His elbows found the edge as he hunched over, seeking wisdom in the one place he could trust to find it. Skimming the page, he found the place he’d left off yesterday.

Luke chapter four, verse sixteen. After all these years, reading the gospels remained a habit. His anxiousness to know more about the One who’d freed him from his guilt had not waned.

“‘The Spirit of The Lord is upon me.’” He read verse eighteen aloud, his deep bass echoing through the little room. “‘Because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim liberty to the captives and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty those who are oppressed.’”

He paused, reading over the words again, letting them sink into his soul. “Thank You, Jesus, for setting us free, for giving sight to those of us stumbling in darkness. Please help me to remember, help us to remember though we are oppressed now, it is temporary. We will not always cower underground. I look forward to that day.”

His eyes fell upon the solitary picture frame on the desk. The smiling faces of his wife Cara and daughter Abby stared back at him. “To see them again. To see You for the first time. I pray it will not be long.”

The blare of a compad in the room next to his interrupted him. The problem with buying items on the black market was that they had to take what they could get, including a compad stuck on the highest volume possible. It belonged to the community, but Isaiah guessed Mark Battais had possession of it now. The fourteen-year-old devoured news of any kind. Isaiah couldn’t fault him. It was difficult for such a young man to be buried in an underground bunker when he should be running across football fields and basking in the sunlight.

It must be 7:00 a.m. Through the thin walls, Isaiah heard the local newscaster introduce the top stories. The anchor began with an explosion downtown. Liquidators had arrived on site to process the scene and determine the cause of the blast. MEs and cremation specialists from the surrounding metro areas assisted MA-4’s staff in clearing the area of bodies. Over two thousand dead in total. Such a waste.

Go there
.

Go to the scene? Why? Twelve hours had passed since the explosion. His medical skills could be of no help at this point—illegal citizenship aside.

I am not willing that he should perish. Go there.

Isaiah would not question a second time. Rising from the chair, he removed his reading glasses and set them on top of the book. He grabbed his jacket and headed for his door and then the surface.

He passed Christianna on his way to the entrance. Her bright eyes asked him no questions, trusting his leadership without disillusionment. Such a childlike faith the twenty-year-old had, so like his Abby’s. She wished him safety and went on to her family’s quarters, her curly blonde hair bouncing behind her. He smiled at her retreating form, grateful for young ones like her who believed with abandon.

Raising the opening, he stared into the barren cornfield, but there were no signs of movement. He climbed out, stood, and took a deep breath. Fresh oxygen rushed into his lungs. He sucked in another gulp, thankful for a chance to be out of the stale air if but for an hour.

With quick and practiced movements, he re-covered the entrance with dirt and dead plant stalks and made his way to the farmhouse, staying alert the entire time. William and Sue would already be in the barn at this time of day, but they left a spare set of keys to the ancient truck under the stairs of the back porch.

The engine caught on the third try, and he sighed a prayer of thanks as he headed into town. Being a weekend, few cars traveled with him into the heart of downtown, and he managed to make it near the explosion site within the hour.

Red tape cordoned off the area, and cremation specialists in dark green uniforms worked along the eastern side of the compound. A pair of liquidators guarded the front gate. News vans sat idling along the side of the road by the entrance. Driving down a side street on the west, he circled the old station and grinned.

Providence smiled down on him today. The small back gate was unguarded and propped open. Shutting off the engine, he waited to hear the sound of approaching voices or vehicles. None came. He stepped out into the cold air and pulled his coat closer around him. Exposure to this temperature wouldn’t be good for anyone wounded.

“Did I hear You right?” He walked through the back gate, anxious to pick up the sounds of any moving feet, but the surrounding area lay quiet and still. No answer came, but the urgency remained.

The sun spilled over the buildings, highlighting the carnage. Debris and rubble lay in a wide arc around the blackened circle of what had been the main warehouse. Dirt lay in random piles throughout, littered with shell casings and bullets. Deep red puddles stained the ground around his feet. He had never seen anything like it.

“No one could be alive here, Lord.” His gut churned as his mind concocted images from the news report and the desecration before him.

In the darkness.

What darkness? Light covered everything. Even shadows were few and far between at this time of day. He moved forward, trying not to look down at his feet as he moved. He scanned the area. Did God want him to dig through the pieces of rubble at the building’s base? The debris’ arrangement in ordered rows made plain that someone had searched the area once already. Then, on the edge of the property, he spotted it.

A small storage building, not six feet wide. Running faster than he had in many years, he reached the shed and swung the door open.

In the corner lay a body, curled up against the cold. He stepped inside, but the young man did not move. Blue lips. Burns. Blood stained the floor. Isaiah’s ER training clicked into gear. He hadn’t practiced more than first aid in almost ten years, but he knew what his eyes told him. This man couldn’t be alive—he’d suffered without treatment too long.

“Why did You bring me here?” Still he knelt down to take a pulse, instinct needing to confirm it. Isaiah’s breath stuttered out. It was thready, but against all odds, the pulse throbbed on.

The stranger lived.