So Dark The Night. Margaret Daley

      “Why can’t I remember? I need to.”

      Colin kneaded the tensed muscles bunched around her neck. “You will when you can handle it.”

      “I can now.”

      “You’re already remembering bits and pieces. It’ll fall into place.”

      The feel of his gentle hands massaging her tension tempted Emma to lean back against him and draw comfort from his embrace. He had given her so much, and she knew his reason was tied up in guilt. “I don’t blame you for what happened on the highway. You saved my life.”

      “I don’t think I’ll ever forget the accident. I thought I killed you.”

      Emma twisted around. “You listen to me. I was shot first. If you hadn’t been there, they would have finished me off. I owe you my life. And I just realized I haven’t thanked you, Colin Fitzpatrick. You’re a good man.”

      MARGARET DALEY

      feels she has been blessed. She has been married for more than thirty years to her husband, Mike, whom she met in college. He is a terrific support and her best friend. They have one son, Shaun. Margaret has been writing for many years and loves to tell a story. When she was a little girl, she would play with her dolls and make up stories about their lives. Now she writes these stories down. She especially enjoys weaving stories about families and how faith in God can sustain a person when things get tough. When she isn’t writing, she is fortunate to be a teacher for students with special needs. Margaret has taught for over twenty years and loves working with her students. She has also been a Special Olympics coach and has participated in many sports with her students.

      So Dark the Night

      Margaret Daley

      The God of my strength, in whom I will trust;

       My shield and the horn of my salvation, My stronghold and my refuge; My Savior, You saved me from violence.

      —2 Samuel 22:3

      To the students I’ve taught—you are the best!

      CONTENTS

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      CHAPTER NINE

      CHAPTER TEN

      CHAPTER ELEVEN

      CHAPTER TWELVE

      CHAPTER THIRTEEN

      EPILOGUE

      QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

      ONE

      Emma St. James drove down the lane that led to her brother’s cabin on an Illinois lake. The overhanging oak and maple trees shaded the road, heightening the darkness beginning to creep over the landscape with the approach of dusk. When she pulled up to the side of the large log cabin, she parked in the back next to Derek’s black Ford truck and rested her forehead on the steering wheel for a moment. Exhaustion clung to her like a second skin.

      The past few weeks had been frantic, nonstop work, one photo shoot after another, that had left her little time even to sleep. She’d been thankful when her older brother had insisted she spend a few days with him during a brief pause in her work schedule. Derek could always make her feel better, even if his invitation had seemed strange to her. He needed to talk to her about something important and hadn’t wanted to do it over the phone.

      Climbing from her yellow Thunderbird convertible, Emma stretched her aching muscles and rolled her head in a slow circle. The long drive from New York had finally caught up with her, and all she wanted to do was take a hot shower and go to bed. She didn’t think she could put two coherent sentences together. She and her brother would have to catch up in the morning.

      She reached behind the driver’s seat and plucked her red leather purse from the back, then headed for the front porch. That was when she spied the white Firebird on the other side of the cabin, partially hidden behind some large honeysuckle bushes, their scent perfuming the cooling spring air. Strains of classical music wafted from the cabin. Company? That was the last thing she wanted at the moment. She moved toward the window near the door to see who was visiting her brother. After the past week of avoiding the press who wanted to verify yet another false story about her, she wanted to make sure it wasn’t a reporter who had somehow found out where she would be for the next few days.

      Peering into the cabin, she noticed two men, one vaguely familiar, hovering over her brother, who sat in a straight-backed lattice chair, his wide eyes fixed on the taller of the pair.

      I’ve seen that man somewhere. But where?

      With fear stamped on his features, Derek was talking and shaking his head. That was when she noticed her brother’s hands were tied behind his back. Emma opened her purse and stuck her hand inside, fumbling in the depths. Lipstick. Compact. Wallet. She looked down. Where was her cell phone? A slapping sound brought her attention back to the men in the cabin. The tall, thin man struck her brother across the mouth a second time, his head jerking back. Blood gushed from between his lips and rolled down his chin. Emma gasped, starting for the door.

      Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the flash of metal in the short, bulky man’s hand as he came forward. Paralyzed, she stopped.

      What in the world was going on? Was that a gun?

      Again she delved into her oversized purse, trying to find her cell phone. She needed help and hoped she could get some before—

      The sound of a gunshot rocketed through her. As if hit, she staggered back, dropping her bag.

      Through the window she saw her brother slump over. A scream welled up inside her. Her hand over her mouth, she backed away, desperate to keep the scream inside.

      No!

      She blinked as though that would erase the horror she saw through the window. Taking another step back, her gaze glued to the scene inside the cabin, she bit down on her hand. The ropes about her brother’s chest held him up, but the bright red of his blood filled her vision. Tears sprang to her eyes. She had to get help.

      Please let Derek still be alive.

      She spun around to flee and bumped into a bench, sending it flying off the porch. The crashing sound reverberated through her mind. She glanced over her shoulder. The tall man looked up, his cold, dark eyes fixed on her. She shuddered.

      Run! her mind shouted.

      She leaped off the porch and started for her car. Halfway there she realized she had no keys. They were in her purse on the porch! Frantic, she slowed a few paces, scanning the terrain.

      No time to get the keys. Where could she hide? The woods? The shed? Behind the cabin?

      The banging of the door against the logs of the wall sent her racing toward the woods. The report of a gun pierced the air at the same time a bullet hit a tree trunk a few feet to her left, pieces of bark flying outward. With pounding feet that matched the racing of her heart, she tore into the forest, praying the dark shadows enveloped her and hid her from their view. Gasping for air, she kept running, afraid to stop and find a place to hide for fear they would find her.

      Branches ripped at her face and body. She stumbled and fell to her knees. Pain shot up her legs. Pushing herself to her feet, she clawed her way up a small ridge, littered with underbrush and stubby trees. One of her sandals caught on a limb. She tugged, the shoe coming