Out of Darkness (3 page)

It was easier this time, entering the bedroom, rummaging through the dresser for socks and beneath for Rebekah's shoes. The socks had been darned by Rebekah's mamm. While Rebekah had talent for sewing, she'd declared herself two left hands with knitting of any kind. When Abram returned, the Englischer woman was sitting on the stairs petting Johanna. The dog had rested her head on the Englisher woman's lap, Johanna's eyes half closed in contentment as her tongue lolled from her mouth.

"I'd best see her fed before we leave," Abram said. He'd carved a dog entrance in the back door, so she'd be able to enter and leave as she liked, though she generally preferred the barn when he wasn't home. He put out her food while the Englisher woman put on the socks and shoes, drawing the laces tight and wrapping them around her ankles twice before tying them to keep them in place. 

"It will take half and hour to reach the Miller's." Abram said as they walked to the buggy. "You may sit inside if you like."

"Where will you be?"

"Guiding Ruthie, up front."

"May I join you?"

"Yes, of course."

Abram offered his hand to help her onto the front of the buggy before climbing himself. When they had both settled, he took the reigns in hand and used them to stir Ruthie towards the road. "Good girl, Ruthie," he said, nickering encouragement towards her.

The Englischer woman laughed. "You have a way with animals."

Abram shrugged, a bit embarrassed at her attention. The buggy seat was narrow, which meant that they had to sit closely, hips touching. She didn't appear to notice the closeness, but of course she wouldn't. Englisher culture allowed for far more casual touching between men and women, rendering such closeness meaningless. Even with her memory lost, her instincts would lead her to think nothing amiss.

They rode past his fields onto the road. It wasn't a main thoroughfare, and while tourists often came to Lancaster to take photos of the Amish and taste their food at Amish style restaurants, this area was a bit too removed for most to venture. Abram was grateful for that. He didn't like the presumption of the Englischers with their cameras, as though his choice of how to live was somehow quaint, worthy of an afternoon of superficial gaping with no thought to the reasons or humanity of the person inside his or her plain clothing. But the fascination with their lifestyle brought the community much needed customers which helped support the elderly and those who needed medical care.

After a few minutes on the road, the Englischer woman asked, "Where are we?"

Abram's face heated, and he was grateful for the partial cover of his beard. She didn't even know her own name, how could she be expected to understand where she was? "In Lancaster. Do you know it?"

"Yes, I've seen commercials," her eyes widened and her voice took on a greater excitement. "I remember the TV. It was a box type, in color, and we had a cable box underneath it. And a hardwood floor with a red rug. It smells like...garlic...yes, someone's cooking, but it's not me." She was silent for another minute and then said, "It's gone. I wish I could remember more."

"It will come back to you, as God wills," Abram said.

As they approached a turn in the road, there was a rumble behind them. Ruthie, a generally placid mare, twitched her ears backwards at the noise. The Englischer woman shifted on the bench, twisting her body towards the sound. Abram nudged Ruthie closer to the side of the road in order to allow the car to pass. At the bend, the road was narrower than Abram would have liked, and the car, one of the Englischer mini-vans, was large and wide.

It was a problem Abram was used to, but as the mini-van whipped around the corner at a much faster pace than the slow plodding of the buggy, his passenger's breath caught. "Was that close?" she asked.

Abram smiled. "I've seen closer. Don't worry, ma'am, Ruthie is a calm horse. Not much rattles her."

"Well, I'm glad of that. And your capable driving."

Abram couldn't help but smile. They passed the rest of the time in pleasant conversation as Abram did his best to give the Englischer  woman information about the neighboring farms, land, and those who lived there. He was well behind on the neighborhood gossip, having always counted on Rebekah to fill that gap, but his fragments of knowledge seemed to fascinate her, and the trip passed quickly.

As Abram slowed Ruthie to make the turn into the Miller farm, a number of other buggies were already parked, and a crowd of children ran up to him. Abram recognized three as the Miller's two youngest sons and daughter, and a few of the other faces as neighboring families, but three were unfamiliar, as were two of the buggies and the car. Abram's skin went cold. He'd never liked crowds, and he hadn't dealt with so many people at once since his wife's funeral. Especially not strangers. Abram's grip tightened on the reins as he tried to steady his breathing.

"Is everything okay?" the Englischer woman whispered.

"Fine."

"Abram!" the oldest of the Miller boys, Emmanuel, walked alongside the buggy.  He was barefoot in plainclothes like the rest, but there was something about his way of standing with his thumbs in his waistband that lent him an air of dishevelment no matter how well his mamm sewed and ironed his clothes. He added, breathing heavily at the light jog he had to use to keep up with the buggy, "Did you come for the Singing Circle? We're hosting this week."

"That's for young men. I've well passed my rumspringa," Abram said. "We're here to use the telephone, that's all. This Englischer  stranger needs to make a phone call.
"Englischer !" Emmanuel raised both straw colored eyebrows. "How is it--"

"Just take me to your Daed of Mamm. This is adult business."

"Right! You can park Ruthie right next to Mr. Price's buggy." Emmanuel pointed to his next youngest brother Isiah. "Tell mamm Mr. Yodel's brought an Englischer woman to use the phone. She's in the kitchen finishing up the baking for the singing circle."

Isaiah nodded and then took off at a dead run, his untucked shirt flapping in the breeze as he ran towards the large farmhouse.

Michael Maglione believed in getting a little bit extra. He'd only buy a mattress if they threw in the sheets, he never left the bank without an extra pen, and he always took fistfuls of hot mustard with his fried rice, even though he had a drawer of it next to the knives in his kitchen. When Mike took a job, he got it done, but he was always careful to take his cut. So when Carl asked him for a favor, Mike agreed readily. He owed the man, and locking some spoiled rich kid in a Lancaster cabin for a few days was hardly a challenge. Besides, if the girl was cute, he might even get a bit extra.

The first day, Mike and another guy, rail thin and sweaty who only went by D, sat watch in front of the door of Sofia's room.  They took turns bringing in her meals. The farmhouse Carl had appropriated was one step from falling in and way too hot. The girl, woman actually and wearing a nice sized diamond on her left hand, got the only working toilet in the place. The rest of them had to go out into the woods and squat like animals hugging a roll of Charmin'. This didn't put Mike in a good mood. Worse was the fact that the Carl had a real stick up his you know what, and wouldn't let them so much as look at the girl in a lustful way.

"Rule one," Carl explained with all the gravitas of a TV lawyer, "You don't damage the goods. Scare is alright, but nothing that leaves DNA, got it?"

So Mike kept his eyes on and hands off, a real challenge considering how the heat had forced Sofia to unbutton her blouse almost to her nipples and roll her pants over her knees. They'd taken her shoes, of course. Hard to run without shoes.

Carl monopolized the TV, which wasn't much of a loss as it was a box from what looked like 1993 that sometimes turned the characters on the screen green and sometimes froze up when the signal stuttered. And because they were running incognito, it was canned beans and peanut butter and jelly.  By the end of the first day, Mike was about ready to lose his mind from boredom. There was only so much Sudoku a man could do. D entertained himself with a knapsack full of legal thrillers, which frankly seemed ridiculous considering their occupation.

"Gotta educate yourself, man," D said, when Mike questioned his literary taste.

D took first watch, and Mike the second. He was just getting ready to shake D awake when Carl said, "I've got to go out and get the paper. Make sure she gets her breakfast and uses the toilet. I don't want any complications."

"Yes, sir."

Mike did as he was told, putting the stocking over his face to protect his identity before stepping in, tray of reheated eggs and beans with two slices of white bread in hand. He allowed his gaze to linger a bit longer than polite over Sofia's soft curves as he handed her the tray. Her eyes and nose were red from crying, and her bed was rumpled only at the edge farthest from the door, where she had clearly slept atop of the blankets, curled in a small ball, her head resting on the pillow. Her hands shook as she took the tray. "Why are you doing this?"

"Money," Mike said.

Unshed tears brightened her large hazel eyes. "But my money is in trust. It can only be used for education until after I graduate college!"

"Not my problem," This was one of the things Mike hated about kidnap jobs. He didn't know why these people insisted on trying to explain their entire life story to him. He didn't care, and if he had, he wouldn't be able to do much. Even supposing her hard luck story somehow softened his heart enough to let her go, that would put him in big trouble with Carl and whoever had employed Carl. Mike liked his knees and thumbs thank you very much.

Mike said, "You'll need to eat that and use the bathroom."

Sofia's lower lip quivered as she twisted her engagement ring around her finger with her opposite hand. "Or is it Daniel?"

"That your fiance? He give you that rock?"

"Yes."

"Could be, since he's flush with money. I don't know for sure. They just pay me to watch the door."

She bit the inside of her lip, then took a breath. "How much do you want?" she asked, running her hand over her hair.

"Excuse me?"

"I'll give you this," Sofia held her hand out to him, the ring twinkling in the light of the bare bulb above. "It's worth five grand, at least. Just take it and let me go. I haven't seen any of your faces. Just look the other way, give me a half hour, and I'll be on my way."

Well, at least this one was more interesting than most, but no matter how much he wanted the ring, Carl would
crucify
Mike if he let his charge escape. Literally. "Sorry," he said, handing her the tray. "Not interested."

It rained off and on throughout the day. Carl didn't return, and after a few hours, Mike appropriated the television, turning the volume up as high as it would go and angling the screen towards the hall so that if they sat at the end of it, they could see the left half. Mike tried Carl's cell-phone throughout the day, but it only rang and went through to the message machine. After a couple of hours, D excused himself to piss in the woods, and when he came back a half an hour later, he said, "There's a room full of costumes on the second floor."

"You went up those stairs? That could have killed you."

"I held the railing." D shrugged. "Anyway, they have a couple of cop outfits, and a fireman, and an EMT--"

"And an Indian, right?"

D blinked. "No, but there were some army uniforms, and one SS officer, though that one's got moth holes in the crotch."

"Fascinating."

At noon, D gave the girl lunch and Mike took the dinner shift.

When Mike closed and locked the door behind him, D said, "We're running low on beans and marshmallows. When'd Carl say he was getting back?"

Mike shrugged. "He said he was going out for the paper so's he could make the video, but he ain't picking up his phone."

"Think he got caught? Cops could be on us."

"Carl? Not likely." But a cold lump settled in Mike's belly. "I been calling him. It's a burner cell."

"Cops can track that stuff, man. Haven't you ever seen Law and Order?" D pushed the paperback he was reading into his knapsack. "We've gotta get out of here. And wipe down our prints."

"And the girl?"

"Dunno, just leave her there. Cops'll let her out." D stood. "Where's the paper towels? And you'd better take the gun. We'll wipe it clean and put it in the river."

Mike began to pace the hall, avoiding the hole in the floor just before the living room entrance. "Carl'll kill us if we run."

"I'm not going to jail," D said. "I promised my girl I was done doing this shady stuff. She won't visit me in prison, man."

"We don't know he's been caught."

"Either that or he ran. Either way, cops is onto us. They're closing in, could be outside now. You need to lose that phone. Take the battery out for now, then we'll throw it away with the gun."

This job just got worse and worse. D had a point though. It didn't take nine hours to get a paper, any more than it was taking Mike's dad 22 years to buy a pack of cigarettes. "We'll give the girl the rest of the beans," Mike said. "In case the cops is slow." 

"Fine. But you'd better use the rubber gloves so's you don't leave prints. Can't do nothing about the hair and skin."