A Deadly Influence (Abby Mullen Thrillers #1)(23)

Abby clenched her fists as the images tumbled through her mind. She hadn’t remembered that the Family had owned a flower shop. But it made sense, of course. The perfect facade for what really went on at that farm. And Abby’s own biological parents had been the ones who’d maintained that facade. In the Wilcox Family, everyone pitched in, and each had their job. Even the children—

—were playing hide-and-seek. Eden was counting loudly, her face against a large tree. Abihail stood frozen, unsure where to hide. Eden always found her easily, no matter what.

A hand clutched her own.

“Come on!” Isaac pulled her, grinning his wide bucktoothed grin.

She ran after him through the flowers, colors rushing past her: purple, yellow, red, and pink. She stumbled a few times as she tried to stick close to him. He always ran so fast; it was like trying to keep up with the wind.

He led her to a patch of tall flowers that towered above her. She hesitated, but he just dove in, the flowers hiding them completely. Green walls closed around them on all sides. After a few steps they stopped, and Isaac lay on his back. Abihail lay beside him, staring at the blue sky and the pink flowers that rustled in the wind overhead.

“Do you think she’ll find us?” she whispered.

“Eden can look all day and never find us here.” Isaac grinned at her, then frowned. “What’s this?” He reached out and plucked an object from the ground by her head.

Abihail peered at it. It was a small metallic cylinder. Part of it was sort of brown, but the other part was golden, shimmering in the sun.

“Maybe it’s a holy ancient relic,” she said. “Like Father’s staff.”

“It’s not a holy relic, stupid,” Isaac said, rolling it between his finger and thumb.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not ancient. It’s a bullet, Dumbo.”

Abihail was already sniffling. Being called stupid was bad enough, but being called Dumbo, and by Isaac, of all people . . .

“Aw, don’t start, Eden will hear us.” Isaac handed her the bullet. “Here. You keep it. Put it with your treasures.”

Abihail let out a shuddering breath, wiping her eyes. “Really?” She stared at the small smooth object. “Is it gold?”

“No, the casing is brass.”

“Won’t it explode?” She couldn’t take her eyes off it.

“Nah, you don’t have to worry, it’s—”

“Found you!” Eden’s voice, victorious, shrieked beside them . . .

Abby shook her head, blinking. To her surprise, she realized her eyes were tearing up as if that memory of the decades-old hurt had squeezed them out.

What had happened to that bullet? And to her box of treasures? She now recalled the box, hidden under her bed, full of stuff she’d found—a funny-looking rock, a feather, a metal spring. Real childhood treasures.

She took out her phone, opened the chat with Isaac, then realized it was four in the morning. She wondered if he remembered playing hide-and-seek. After all, he’d been much older back then. Abby had been barely seven and—

—a half. But still, the big kids had agreed to include her in the game. And it was her turn to count. Covering her eyes with her hands, she counted aloud.

“One . . . two . . . three . . .”

She heard the kids’ scuffling steps as they ran, searching for places to hide. A spurt of giggles, and then just the wind.

“ . . . seven . . . eight . . .”

She peered through her fingers but saw no one. She quickly shut her eyes again, kept counting, aware of the weight of the bullet in her pocket.

“ . . . nineteen . . . twenty!”

She opened her eyes, her smile evaporating.

Father Wilcox loomed in front of her, his long black-gray hair fluttering in the wind, his flinty eyes narrow and severe. Had she been counting too loud? Or maybe he knew about the bullet?

“Abihail,” he said, and she could hear that she really was in trouble. “What are you doing?”

“Playing hide-and-seek?” she said meekly. Suddenly she wasn’t sure if it was allowed. Was playing hide-and-seek a sin?

“Look at your hands.”

She did. They were brown with dirt. Oh no.

“And you put those hands on your face,” Father said.

“I’m sorry.”

“Spreading all those germs on your mouth and eyes and nose. Letting Satan crawl inside your body.”

She could feel them crawling all over her face. She started crying.

“Your body is not yours to desecrate!” Father roared. “You are to be the mother of the Messiah’s children. Do you want your children to be corrupt with germs and filth?”

“I’ll wash them,” Abihail blubbered. “I’ll wash them right now.”

“You do that.” Father knelt in front of her, his piercing gaze unwavering. “And you apologize while you do it. Apologize to God. Apologize to me. Apologize to your future children. Apologize to every—”

Abby exhaled sharply, her fingernails digging into her palms. She was not ready for those memories to return. Not now. Perhaps not ever.





CHAPTER 16


Abby stifled a yawn, the third one that morning. It had been a terrible night. Even when she’d finally fallen asleep, around five, her slumber had been rife with nightmares.