Field of Graves(45)

He could hear the storm raging and looked out the window. The wind had picked up, thunder was roaring closer, and lightning began flashing every few seconds. He took it as a sign. He needed to talk with the bishop immediately.

He reached toward the desk to pick up the phone. The lights went out in the church. He managed to fumble and grasp the phone receiver, but there was no dial tone. The storm had knocked out the electricity and the phones. He was left to sit in the darkness and pray for guidance. He started to do so with fervor.





35



The rain came down hard enough to leach in through the windowsill. Droplets formed a tiny river, slipping down the wall to puddle on the shiny hardwood floor. Jill lay on her right side, watching the progression. She figured it had been pouring for hours now. Wave after wave of thunder and lightning had been rocking the small room. At one point, she thought she heard tornado sirens blast.

She wasn’t sure how long she had been locked in the room. She remembered very little of what had happened over the past few days. At least she thought it had been a few days. She’d studied sensory deprivation in a psychology class and figured her perceptions could be completely off the mark. The continuous rain wasn’t helping. She knew for a fact she’d eaten three meals: two cheese omelets and one hurried bowl of macaroni and cheese. The urge to sleep had overtaken her before the meals were finished. When she woke each time, the food had been cleared away, only a glass of water left behind. She was glad of the emptiness; she was feeling sick to her stomach.

Standing shakily, she tried to get her bearings. She went to the window, but the shades were permanently drawn within the windows. Double glass, no cord. She wandered to the door, but it too was locked, just as it had been the past fifteen times she’d tried. The only other furnishings in the room were the double bed she had been rumpling, a bedside table, and a small lamp giving off the dimmest glow.

There were no noises except the vicious storm. She jumped as another flash of lightning hit, close enough to make her hair stand on end. The meager light from the lamp was extinguished. The electricity had gone off. Backlit by the violent flashes, she made her way back to the bed.

She was so tired, too tired even to cry. She lay facing the window, wondering what in the world was happening to her. She wasn’t panicked; she was simply curious. She should be scared, she should be freaking out, but everything was softly glowing—drugs, she told herself, you’re being drugged.

At least she knew there would be people trying to find her. The father of her child, for one. Gabriel wouldn’t let anything happen to her. He had been so good to her, so sweet. An angel. Their affair had been going on for only a few weeks when she’d gotten pregnant. He was thrilled. She’d expected screams and threats, begging to end the pregnancy coupled with “I’ll always stand by you.” But he was as excited as a new puppy. She wasn’t two months along before he started coming up with names. Boys’ names. He was absolutely positive that Jill was giving him a son.

The time had flown so quickly. Though she wasn’t completely sure it was the right thing to do, she’d agreed to keep the baby. She’d shared the news only with the doctor at the health clinic at Vanderbilt. She hadn’t gotten up the guts to tell her parents, nor had she told her friends. She hoped they just thought she was putting on weight. Though she was getting so big now, she supposed it wouldn’t stay secret for much longer. Baggy clothes only hid so much.

The lightning was so close, the thunder simultaneous, filling the room with light and shaking the walls at the same time. She hid beneath the covers, praying for the storm to end.

*

Jill awoke later with a start, crying out, choking. She looked around wildly. The same room, the same bed. She tried to gather her breath. She had dreamed of trees bending unmercifully in the wind, lightning crashing, and drowning in a river of blood.

“It was only a dream, Jill, it was only a dream.”

The arms reached her out of nowhere, and she realized Gabriel was holding her, whispering in her ear, soothing her with nonsensical murmurs. Was she dreaming? She didn’t have the energy to fight, didn’t protest when he laid her back onto the bed gently. She didn’t have the ability to shout when he rose and went to the door. Her screams merely echoed in her head as she heard the door lock behind him.





36



The thunder and lightning were moving in, the rain pouring in sheets against the windows of the squad room. The storm was unsettling; the squad room was filled with the smell of anxiety.

Price stuck his head out of his office. “Strategy meeting, conference room, fifteen minutes. And be aware, we’re under a tornado watch. Have your stuff ready in case we need to hit the basement.”

There were groans and shuffling. Marcus stopped typing and logged off his computer. Lincoln made a slow circuit around the room while Fitz flicked his lighter ever closer to his emergency cigarette. Taylor shifted her boots off her desk but didn’t get up. She stiffened as she saw Baldwin step back in, windblown and remorseful.

Price had seen Taylor slam back into the squad room, noticed her body language change when Baldwin came in. He gave her a surreptitious glance, thinking she might have had time to cool down from whatever had pissed her off so badly. No, she was still simmering, nearly giving off smoke from the fires lit inside her. He sighed. He needed his best detective back, all the way. He didn’t have time for a turf war.