PINELIGHTforkindle (8 page)

I channeled my attention back to the small book on my desk, hoping to avoid drawing attention from anyone in the class. I sure wasn’t in the mood to talk today—especially to Lydia. I flipped open the thin book to the first wrinkled page.

Father, please grant me the strength to spread your light. Please give me the courage to spread truth to the darkest of lands so that every shadow may be engulfed in your light. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, amen.

It was the prayer from my dream. I quickly flipped to the front cover of the book. In the bottom right-hand corner were the letters
CC
burned into the leather.
How is this possible? How could I have dreamed about a book I hadn’t yet seen?
I opened the book again and began to read through its pages.

¹⁰
Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power.
¹¹
Put on the full armor of God so that you can take your stand against the Devil’s schemes.
¹²
For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world, and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.

Ephesians 6:10-12, I had read this before. Once in my dream and once in a highlighted passage of Mom’s bible. I turned to the next faded page, simply to find that half of it had been victim to some kind of old red liquid spill. I was only able to make out the first four lines of a poem.

Beneath the towering castle clock

A state of darkness will unlock

The owls of time will take their flight

When evil seeps into the night.

The next page had the same dried liquid marks, smudging all of the writing except for the first two lines.

On high tides will the ocean bring

The nightingale who’s lost her wings.

The poem stopped there, and so did the rest of the book. The other pages were completely blank other than the colorful red stains.

Every class seemed to whiz by—the bell would ring as soon as I had gotten comfortable in my plastic chair, and then I would silently walk down the hall to the next class. I didn’t talk to anyone, I didn’t meet Jean in our usual greeting spots, I didn’t sit with anyone at lunch, and I didn’t stop by my locker. I simply kept my first-period books with me and walked down the crowded halls of the school, like a zombie, to each class. I was going through the motions just to get through the day—just so I could get home and try to figure things out. The only things on my mind were Erik, Maytide, and the book of poems. I couldn’t wait for this day to be over.

On the ride home, the silver sky began to shower the road with a light mist. I was having trouble concentrating on Jean’s daily ramblings. Normally, I was considered a good listener. I always took in her dramatic stories and gave perfectly acceptable feedback, but ever since the fight with Erik—ever since he left—my world was a muffled mess. All I could think about was the last day I saw him. His words still lingered in my mind. His touch still tingled on my skin. And now, after meeting Maytide—after reading the book—I felt completely disconnected from the world I thought I knew. I was still trying to take it all in.

Jean turned right onto the long, bumpy road that stretched to our house and then killed the engine of her MINI Cooper. I was still staring at the windshield wipers when they came to a halt in the middle of the windshield. Jean broke my daze.

“Earth to Clara.”

“Yeah?”

Jean raised both eyebrows and shot me one of her notorious looks. She only gave this look when she knew she’d been ignored. “I’m not really used to talkin’ to myself. It makes for a long drive.”

“Sorry. I just have a lot on my mind.”

“Stop apologizing.” Her eyebrows dropped to a more serious shape, and then she turned in her seat to face me. “You know, you’re startin’ to worry me. I wish you’d tell me what you’re thinkin’. You say you hate Erik, but I can tell you miss him.”

“I don’t want to talk about him.”

“So you’d rather sit and think about him?”

“No. Jean—look, I don’t understand what happened with Erik. I’m beginning to think I never will. So, let me figure this out on my own.” My tone came out snappy.

I turned to open the car door, but paused when Jean’s voice cut through the car.

“Clara,” she said. I moved my head just enough to see her worried expression.

“I’m your friend, remember?”

“I know, and you always will be. Just give me space on this one.” I pushed the door open and slid out with my backpack in hand. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine in a few weeks.” We both forced a fake smile while the small car woke from its short-lived nap. In seconds, she was rolling down the highway and I was heading home—alone, through the soft rain. This was becoming an annoying reoccurrence.

-8-

RUN

My attention focused on the Coupe. Our white ’65 Mustang Coupe was parked next to the house, under the shadow of the giant cypress tree that overlooked my bedroom window. The sun had already moved to its resting place behind the blue and gray clouds, leaving only a few beams of light to illuminate the Coupe and the newly glossed front yard.
Alice is home already?
Strange. Maybe she was able to get out of work early for our weekend road trip. That would be a very unexpected, but pleasant surprise for the both of us. I really wanted to pick her brain—to see if she knew anything about Erik or Maytide or the book. Anything.

From a distance, the shadows hung over the house and Coupe, hiding the peeling paint and giving both a youthful, more restored appearance. It was a good look for both. As I neared the front porch, I noticed Alice’s heart-shaped keychain, the one that held keys to everything imaginable, next to the prickly welcome mat. I took my first step onto the porch. There was a loud shattering sound inside the house, followed by another shatter. My skin ran cold and my heart thudded hard and fast against my rib cage. I was momentarily paralyzed by the sound. Something was wrong.

“She’s protecting her,” said a low, raspy voice. “She’s not going to tell him where it is.”

“Forget about the woman. Let him deal with her,” a woman replied. She spoke with an unusual accent, far from being Southern. Her dialect was crisp and proper, but harsh all the same. “We will find the book and bring back the girl, as instructed. No exceptions.”

When I looked through the window, my heart sank further into the pit of my stomach. There were countless books and papers covering the living room floor. Erik was in the middle, frantically shoveling through one of our many built-in bookcases. He was wearing his sunglasses.

A tall red-haired woman stood to his left, adding to the pile by flinging knickknacks from the ledge of the fireplace. She matched Erik, wearing dark clothes and sunglasses.

I felt the stinging fear like I had felt in my dream. I tried to grasp the concept of what was happening. Erik was back. He was in our house. He was not alone.
Where is Alice?
I almost jumped out of my skin when I heard something heavy fall to the floor near the window. The house was being wrecked.

I glued myself to the outside wall of the house and then slowly bent down until my butt sat against the damp porch.
This can’t be happening.
I reminded myself to breathe.
Is this the danger I was warned about?
I would never forgive myself if anything happened to Alice. I had to get inside. I had to find her.

I was afraid one of them would hear me, but I was able to grab Alice’s keys and glide through the door undetected. Keeping my body as close to the wall as possible, I slid into the wedge between the staircase and the wall of the next room and then squatted in the shadows. I raised my head slightly to peek through the space between the wooden rails.

They were moving toward the kitchen, to make a bigger mess, I presumed. Cabinets opened, and then pots banged against the kitchen floor. This was my chance to get upstairs—to look for Alice. I had no clue what constituted a good plan—this just seemed like my only option.

I crept up the entire flight of stairs without being heard. I ran straight to Alice’s room. Her room had been turned upside down. Clothes. Papers. Books. Photos. Pillows. Everything was tossed on the floor. But there was no Alice. I ran to her bathroom—no Alice. I tugged open her closet door—no Alice. Maybe she was in my room. I quietly tiptoed my way out of her bedroom, but paused just before I made it to my room.

He saw me. He met my frightened eyes, looking pleased to see that I was standing at the top of the stairs, frozen like a deer in headlights. I had to tell my body to move.
Just move.
Move. Move, now
!
The words came out in the form of a meager grunt as I sprinted toward the door to my bedroom.

“She’s here!” I heard him scream as he trampled up the steps.

He got up the stairs faster than I anticipated. I slammed the door and turned the lock just in time. My belongings had been tossed around like a tornado had touched down—all my posters were ripped from the wall. I waded through my things until I reached the window. Still, no Alice.

I flung open the window and heaved myself to the veranda. I’m not sure how I managed to get to the ground so fast, not sure if I jumped or fell, but either way I landed on the metal roof of the Coupe.

I rolled to the side of the car and yanked at the door handle. Thankfully the car was left unlocked—the key pushed right into the ignition. I turned the engine over again and again. It groaned, but it wouldn’t crank. I smelled gas. I had flooded the engine.

A loud thud came from the metal roof of the Coupe. Erik had followed me down—he was on the car. He was grinning when he looked down through the windshield. We were only separated by glass. Just glass. He knew that, and I knew that. I frantically slapped the door locks down. I stomped the pedal to the floor and twisted the key again—the car finally rumbled to life. My foot slid from the clutch, causing the car to jump forward. The wheels spun mud and gravel everywhere, but it didn’t matter. I was moving.

I kept my foot flat against the pedal and jerked right on the steering wheel—the car soared around the old cypress, fishtailing inches away from the large tree trunk. I was taken aback by the excitement—with the adrenaline pumping through my veins, I almost felt light-headed. I knew he was still on the car; I heard him pound against the metal. The woman started to chase after us, her hair bouncing as she ran from the porch. She was fast, really fast.

The gears of the transmission grunted and grinded as I accelerated down our dirt road. I steered into every pothole, hoping to see him fly from the car. His arm slipped to the windshield, and I could tell that he was scuffling for a better hold. But he still held on. I had one more shot to lose him. If I could turn hard enough onto the freeway, I might just sling him off.

I could see the highway coming up in the distance. I fastened my seat belt and held the steering wheel for dear life. I fumbled with the clutch and shifted once more before shooting the RPM into the red. I used both hands to cut hard onto the highway.

His body flew over the windshield, splintering the glass down the middle and bouncing off the side of the car. I had won.

My hands wouldn’t stop shaking while I sped along the misty highway. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.
Why are they after me? Was Alice kidnapped?
My mind couldn’t wrap around either idea. We didn’t own anything of real value, and Alice didn’t have an enemy in the world.
What did they do with her? What do they want? And why are they after me? Think. Think.

I needed help. I didn’t have a cell phone, and the nearest phone was across the river. I didn’t see them behind me anymore—I could make it.

The mist thickened to a hard rain. Of course. I felt blindly for the lever to turn on the wipers, then flipped on the headlights.
I just need to concentrate on driving. Focus.
The speedometer was steadily increasing. Fifty mph. Fifty-five mph. Sixty mph. I would have help in no time, I thought. But I was wrong.

My eyes slowly fluttered opened, but all I could see was an upside-down world. There was a loud ringing in my ears and pressure building in my head. I looked up. My hair dangled from my head and rested on the ceiling that was battered and beaten into the muddy earth. I looked to the shattered driver’s side window. Rain pounded in and formed puddles on the metal ceiling. I glanced up at my white-knuckled hands. My hands were bleeding now, but were still clinging to the grooves in the leather steering wheel. I loosened my grip and slid my shaky hands along my sides. No broken bones, but a nice whelp had already formed on my ribs where the floor shift had detached and pushed against my side. I was still strapped against the leather seat. I reached to my right side and forced my thumb into the release button—nothing happened. I yanked the seat belt while I jabbed at the release—nothing. The belt was jammed.