Once a thriving goat farm, now all that time had left of the Atkinson place was a small, two-roomed cabin with a family graveyard to the side. The perfect hideaway, Jason thought. Quiet, with no visitors.
Jason refused to wonder if he had chosen the incorrect route. His gut told him he wasn't wrong. Moving as quickly as he dared, he pushed his horse up the steep slope, his small posse continuing beyond what would have been a safe clip. It took one hour to climb what should have taken two, during which no one spoke.
"I know he's worried," Jason heard Kincaid whisper, "But the horses need a rest." Jason held his lantern up to look at him. "Meaning no offense," the man continued with a nervous look at Richard. "But... be reasonable. You can't help her if you or your horse drops dead."
"My horse isn't that tired and neither am I. But you can stop and rest if you like. That goes for anyone else too."
The men were silent for a moment until Clancey cleared his throat. "Ah, go on, man. We're all with ya."
Jason nudged his mount forward and squinted, something like a ghost capturing his attention to his right. He sat for a moment watching and saw the flitting figure again. Someone was running through the trees. Slowly, but still running.
"Hello!" Jason yelled, and the person disappeared. The nocturnal sounds of the forest were noisy, and Jason strained to hear... nothing.
"We'll go check," said Richard, nodding to Kincaid.
Together they kicked their horses and rode toward the area where whoever it was disappeared. They were almost there when the person took off running again until the marshal and his deputy overtook the figure with ease.
There was silence for a moment, and then Richard yelled, "It's a woman!"
"A woman?" Clancey yelled. "What's a woman doing out here in the middle of the devil's night?"
"Laurie could be out here, Clancey," Jeremy reminded him.
Kincaid hoisted the woman on his horse, and both men galloped back through the trees. At their approach, Jason, Jeremy, and Clancey held their lanterns high.
"Hannah?!" said Jason.
Kincaid lowered her to the ground. Her clothes hung on her, filthy, and they stank like she hadn't bathed in over a month. The hollowness around her eyes in the lantern's light made her look more like a specter than the haughty woman he used to court. Jason jumped off his horse and put his arms around her in a hug.
"Jason!" she exclaimed when he hugged her close. "Oh, thank heavens! I didn't think you'd—he was... he was... Oh, it was awful. He was hurting her when I left." She was openly crying, gasping for air between words, and Jason couldn't tell if she had said anything else or was just sobbing.
"Hannah," he said, but her tears continued. "Hannah," he said a little louder, using his fingers to lift her chin. She gulped and met his eyes. "Is Laurie at the old Atkinson place?"
"Yes!"
He met Richard's eyes. "That really all we need to know for now." Jason looked back at Hannah. "We have to take you with us, but I wouldn't worry about Campbell capturing you again. I'm sorry... for what's happened to you."
"Campbell? No Jason, it was John—"
"McAllister, yes, we know. His actual name is Sherman Campbell."
"He's Laurie's, um..." Jeremy coughed, unable to put words to the rest of the sentence.
"First husband," Kincaid supplied.
Hannah looked at Jason, her eyes wide. "Is that why he's so obsessed with her? I thought... I mean, the way he talked about you, Jason..."
"Yes, well, right now we need to go," said Jason, his voice a bit gruffer than normal. Looking at the men, he decided quickly. "Deputy Kincaid, would you let her ride with you?"
After a nod from Richard, Kincaid smiled kindly at Hannah and said, "My pleasure, miss." He put his hand out to help her in the saddle with him. Jason noticed she approached the horse with a limp but didn't comment. There would be time enough to answer that question later.
"Don't you worry about a thing, darlin'," the old captain said, handing Kincaid a blanket to put around Hannah's shoulders. "It's all coming together, aye, yes it is."
Jason put himself back on his horse and looked at Richard, who had kept his lantern lifted to help the others. This had already taken too long and expecting to see sternness in his eyes, Jason was surprised to see approval.
"Good," said Richard. "Looks like you found her." Jason nodded and with a quick pull on the reins of his horse, led them up the last bit of mountain to their destination.
Just before they broke into the yard of the cabin, Jason had them all dismount and stand at the edge of the trees, listening. He could hear someone pounding on something, but it was brief. Hannah had ceased crying and was listening too. Jason eyed her, pulling his gloves tighter on his hands.
"Hannah, where is she?" he whispered.
"When I left they were in the cabin, but it must have been half an hour... maybe an hour? I don't know... He made me take off my shoes," she said, looking down at her bare feet. "My feet... I'm afraid I didn't get very far."
"That was the idea," Richard murmured, dryly.
Jason silently agreed and refrained from comment. They stood side by side, impossibly searching the dark landscape. "Well," said Jeremy, standing next to Jason. "If we can't see him, he probably can't see us."
Richard snorted, and with a nod to Kincaid, motioned for Jason and the other men to follow him. Halfway down the hill, Jason saw Clancey holding Hannah's hand and his rifle in the other.
"What are you doing?" Jason said in a low whisper to Hannah. "Go back."
"No," Hannah told him. "Don't leave me alone."
Clancey motioned to her. "I couldn't just leave her up there, scared as she was, Jason. The poor girl's had a fright."
More than just a fright, try terrorized for months. "Oh," said Jason, drawing the word out a little in almost a sigh. "All right. Hannah, stay close to Clancey."
"I've got the little girl. No need to worry about her, Jason."
Jason took Clancey at his word. He hurried to catch up with Kincaid, who kept his rifle aimed at the cabin door. He signaled his readiness to Richard, and Laurie's brother kicked the door in and rushed inside. Within minutes, he had the entire cabin searched.
"She's not here," Richard said, walking out. "Found this, though. There's blood on a bed and the floor."
He handed Laurie's torn clothes to Jason. Jason squinted in the dark, but the feel of the fabric was familiar enough against his cheek. He put it to his nose and breathed in Laurie's familiar lilac scent. When he looked up, he could make out Hannah's shadow watching him.
"What was he doing to her?" he asked, his voice dangerous.
"Easy, lad. This girl is hurt too," said Clancey.
Jason ignored him, all the self-control he had restraining his urge to shake it out of her. "Tell me. What was he doing to her?"
"It was—it was awful. He...he hurt her, like me. Her feet..."
"Tell me."
Hannah shook her head. "I don't know! I'm not sure... sometimes he acted... strange. You didn't know what was real—"
Jason took a step toward her, his hands clenched around Laurie's clothing, her voice cutting off with her backing away from him. Her fright filtered reason through his more violent thoughts. Whatever Hannah could or couldn't tell him wouldn't help Laurie, at least, not right now. He took a cleansing breath and, turning on his heel, left her to lean against the door. He clutched the clothes to him, staring at the night's blackness, willing Laurie to appear and end the pain that pierced his heart.
"Jason, what do you want to do now?" Jeremy asked, breaking the silence that had permeated the cabin. "I don't think there's much more we can do until morning. That's, that's just an hour or two away. Maybe we should get some rest."
"Much as I hate to admit it, Bolt, your brother's right." Richard walked to the door and touched the clothes he clung to. "Didn't I hear those were a present to her?"
"She needed warmer clothes for fall and winter," he said, the heaviness of his emotions evident in every syllable.
Richard swore. "Maybe I haven't been the best brother." Jason glanced at him but refrained from comment as Richard continued. "I thought what I did was right. At least, enough. Enough of what was right. I got mad sometimes, took it out on her. That's never right, but... I never really knew. Had my suspicions, but... I can see I was wrong. Repeatedly."
Richard looked up at the sky and went on when Jason didn't respond. "She's smart. Campbell's crazy, but Laurie knew how to talk to him... what buttons to push and when to shut it—"
"He raped her." Jason's flat, gritty words cut any other words of comfort anyone might have offered. "I don't care if they're technically married. She'd never give herself to him willingly. He raped her." No one asked Hannah to confirm it. They all knew.
"For what it's worth," Richard finally said, breaking the silence again. "And I hate to admit it, but I'm impressed with how you handle her. Never thought I'd see her so in love with a man." Jason shifted in the doorway, not trusting himself to talk.
Richard retreated into the room with the others when Brodie, who Jason had forgotten had come with them, asked in a frightened voice, "Where's Frank?"
LAURIE
The first thing Laurie did was calm herself, which was difficult. She still felt confused, frightened, and sick. It was in that effort that she decided to continue to view the casket as a box. It was a confining word, but less morbid, and the thought of being buried in a casket was too much. Every time that thought crossed her mind, she breathed in panicky, shallow breaths.
Once Sherman put Big Sam in a hotbox on the plantation. Out in direct sunlight, the iron heated to inhumane temperatures. Most of the slaves that went in didn't come out alive, but Big Sam did.
Curious, Laurie had asked him how he had survived. "Shoo, Miz Laurie. Ain't nothing. Jez stay calm, breathe slow, and puts your mind to ease. Gots to think about cool rain and holding Miss Doreen. Can't be thinking about how hot it be, or you gonna cook your brains, sure as pea soup."
Laurie wasn't sure if that was true or if maybe Sherman took him out early because he didn't want his biggest slave to die. But the fact remained: Big Sam lived.
Slaves were expensive, but Sherman rarely seemed to care. He liked to use dead slaves to control the others. But Sherman said he wouldn't dig her out. He said he would mark the grave for Jason. So she has to survive for Jason. If I can.
If only her head didn't throb so badly... and her feet.
Jason would look for her, but where? He was probably asleep on the trail or at home, praying she'd still be alive when he found her. It might take Jason time to figure out where her first husband took her. And what if Sherman didn't mark the grave? What if he had given her false hope to torture her longer?
No, she wouldn't consider that. Jason would find her, which was what Sherman said he wanted. To hurt Jason, because he took what was his. Only she wasn't his. She was Jason's. "Why couldn't you have just stayed dead?" she asked aloud and then cringed at her own voice. It was wounded, almost inaudible. She swallowed to make it feel better. It didn't work.
And what if Sherman was right? What if Jason didn't get there until it was too late? That thought sent panic shooting through her, and she had to force herself to slow her breathing down.
Breathe in, breathe out, she reminded herself. Slow breaths. That's how Big Sam survived. That and think about good things.
Her back ached from lying on the stiff board, her feet throbbed with sharp pains shooting through them, and she really needed a chamber pot. The smell of whiskey still overpowered her sense of smell worse than Jason's shirt after Clancey had fallen on him in a drunken stupor with two glasses in his hands.
The mask made it so much worse. She thought she might smother from the sheer weight of it, the porcelain uncomfortable against her face. She attempted to scrape it off using the top of the box to help her, but Hannah had tied it too tightly around her head for her to get it off without a full range of her arms and hands, and with them still bound she could only adjust it into a more uncomfortable position on her face. Once she finally got it back on her face correctly, she abandoned the idea, laying still, listening to her own breathing.
How long had she been there? Not terribly long, Laurie assured herself, though she could be lying. There were times she would blink hard to figure out if her eyes were open or shut. She enjoyed shutting them better. Otherwise, panic would seize her thoughts, and crying, she would have to bite her lip to get herself to calm down. She felt her mind float again in fuzziness, somewhere between unconsciousness and reality.
She slipped into sleep.
LAURIE
Laurie woke with a start, sure she heard someone shoveling away the dirt and started kicking on the ceiling of her confinement. But then her feet pained her so much she gagged, so she closed her eyes and brokenly hummed Amazing Grace to herself to keep from crying over her feet and ignore the imagined digging. Much to her disappointment, and oddly relieved, the sounds disappeared. Maybe she really was going mad.
Breathe in, breathe out.
She lay still, listening to her own breathing.
Maybe death would come quickly.
JASON
"Over there," Hannah said, waving her hand around in the dark. "It's so hard to see tonight. But he shot him over there somewhere."
"And you're sure about this?" Jason asked. They had taken a vote and decided that if Campbell were watching the place, lanterns would make them too visible for him to shoot at. As a result, they were stumbling in the dark, with barely enough moonlight to make out each other's shadows, as proven when Clancey made a Mumph! noise and said, "Oh, excuse me, sir," to Kincaid.
"Honestly, Jason, she slept on the bed and I looked out the window to see how much longer they would be. They were fighting, and he shot Frank right then. It took everything I had not to scream. It woke... it woke your wife up."
Jason felt the empty pang at the words, your wife. He knew if he could see them, his brother and Clancey would be watching him with worried faces. It didn't matter. All he wanted was to find Laurie. They were close. So close. He could feel it.
"Ya didn't happen to see what they were doing, did you?" Clancey asked.
Hannah's head shake was almost invisible. "Digging, as usual. Frank said he was tilling the ground, but I could see them put a body out there. John...Campbell... he never tried to hide it. He knew it kept me from running away."
There was a long pause, and then Jeremy cleared his throat. "You-you said bodies?"
"Don't you understand?" she hissed. "He's not just Laurie's old husband."
"He's the Muse killer, isn't he?" Jeremy asked, looking at Richard, all of them already knowing the answer.
"Yes," she whispered. She hugged herself. "I—can we hurry and go home? I don't want to be here anymore."
Jason didn't answer, still searching in vain in the poor lighting.
"Funny name for a murderer," Jeremy commented.
"Not when he leaves quotes about muses on bodies. It's rare to link killings like that, but some criminals want to be found." Richard stood next to Jason. "It'll be dawn soon," he said quietly. "We should just hole up in the cabin until things are a little easier to see."
"No!" Brodie yelled. "Not until we find them! Please, Mr. Bolt?"
Jason put his hand on Brodie's shoulder. "We won't give up until we find them."
Richard sighed and signaled his deputy. "Take the boy, woman, and old man back to the cabin and get them settled. We're going to search a bit more for the boy's brother and see if we can't find—"
"Old man is it?! Well, let me tell you something, bucko, I'll have you know—"
Clancey made another Mumph! noise and there was some mumbling and fumbling around. Jason knitted his brows and barked, "Clancey!"
"Oh! Jason! I think I found the lad's brother, yes, yes I did."
Kincaid lit a match using his boot, and the tiny flame barely illuminated Clancey and Frank on the ground. In the middle of Frank's forehead was an entry wound matted with blood, his face frozen in a shocked expression.
"Well, Clancey," said Jeremy, his voice heavy. "That's one way of finding him."
Brodie ran to stand over the body and gave a sniffle. Jason put his arm around him. "I wish it had turned out differently for you. For him.".
"He wasn't much, but he was ours," said Brodie. "Mine and Henry's." The boy straightened himself and took in a deep breath. "But Mr. McAlli—Campbell, I mean. He did something with Mrs. Bolt, and we need to find her, or she'll die like Frank."
Jason grunted in frustration, the corners of his mouth down. The match's flame had already fizzled, leaving them in the dark again. Now that he knew what he was looking at, he could see the outline of the body plainly. He grabbed a match out of his boot and decided if Campbell took a shot at him, so be it. He lit a lantern he had brought with him and searched the ground. The others followed suit without talking, and quickly they found one set of footprints going back to the cabin and two sets of footprints in the soft earth leading away from the body. One was hard to make out, and it looked like someone had fallen. Jason felt his pulse quicken.
"Jason," said Jeremy, a warning in his voice.
Jason ignored him and followed the line of tracks over a few mounds. He stopped at a cross with a shovel stuck in the dirt at the head of what looked like a partially filled grave. There were footprints scattered over the disturbed dirt.
"The saints preserve us," Clancey said beside him. "No, it can't be."
Jason held the lantern up to read, "Ophelia" written on the piece of wood tacked onto the shovel.
Hannah gasped. "That's what he called her before he brought her here! He told me he was leaving to bring Ophelia to her resting place! Oh, oh my... oh my... Jason, dig her out! You've got to do it now!" She was hysterical and sobbing, with Clancey holding her up.
"What do you mean, dig her out?" said Richard, grabbing her arm.
She shook her head, sobbing while looking at Jason. "That's why he shot Frank! Oh, Jason, I didn't understand, I didn't know!"
"Hannah, try to calm down," said Jason, trying to control his own voice. "What are you trying to tell me?"
Hannah was stammering now. "Don't you see? Frank! He shot Frank ... because, because they fought...Frank... he said, he said..."
Jason kicked the dirt with his foot. It was just the right size for a grave. He glanced back at Hannah, hoping no one could see the anguish on his face. "He killed her, didn't he? And buried her. Here, for me to find."
"Noooo," she moaned, her legs failing her. She sunk to the ground and rocked back and forth, her voice full of pain. "Frank said he wouldn't dig a grave for a living woman. He had no problem with the dead, but he was shouting at John. He told him he refused to be a part of what John had planned."
"Are you saying he buried Laurie alive?" Jeremy asked, his astonishment mirrored around the group.
Jason didn't wait to hear the answer. He gripped the shovel and started digging.