So Dark The Night. Margaret Daley

melted some with his aunt’s words. All his life he had looked up to her and had even followed in her footsteps by going into the army. And her strong faith in God had been the guiding force behind him becoming a Christian and turning his life’s work over to the Lord.

      “So what’s this Emma St. James look like? Anything like her mother? I’m a big fan of Marlena Howard.”

      “No, I’d say she looks more like her father—long, curly dark hair and big chocolate-colored eyes.”

      “Chocolate-colored? Sugar, what kind of description is that?”

      Colin chuckled. “The kind a man who’s hungry would say.”

      Grace scooted the chair back and stood. “What do you want for lunch?” She started for the refrigerator, adding, “When’s she coming to stay here?”

      “That, Grace, hasn’t been decided, since I still have to ask her if she wants to stay in Crystal Springs to recuperate.”

      

      Sweat poured off Roy as he reached for the phone to put in the call he had dreaded making for the past twenty-four hours. Punching the number into the pay phone, he tugged at the blue cotton material of the shirt that stuck to his skin.

      Ring.

      Roy’s heart hammered a fast tempo inside his head. His mouth went dry.

      Ring.

      Sweat rolled in his eyes, stinging them.

      Ring.

      Roy had started to hang up when a frosty voice said, “Hello.”

      The slick, wet feel of the receiver turned ice-cold in his hand. “Roy here, reporting in.”

      “All I want to know is how are you going to fix this little problem.”

      It wasn’t the words that bothered Roy, but the way his employer on the other end said them—with such coldness that Roy felt the menacing threat even though they weren’t in the same room. “I’m on it, boss.”

      “You are?”

      Sarcasm with a hint of amusement encased him in fear. “She doesn’t remember anything, and on top of that, she can’t see a thing.”

      “That could change.”

      “Do you want me to take care of her?”

      There was a long pause on the other end. Roy envisioned his employer frowning, icy eyes narrowed on a point across the room while his employer was deep in thought.

      “No, not yet. Another murder could have everything blowing up in our faces. Bring me the packet and you two disappear.”

      Roy’s heart stopped beating for a painful few seconds, his breath trapped in his lungs.

      “Roy, what aren’t you telling me?”

      “Manny and me didn’t get the papers. We didn’t have time to search the cabin thoroughly.”

      “So they’re still at the cabin?”

      “I think so.”

      “You think so?”

      “Derek never said where they was. He wasn’t gonna talk. But I believe he brought them with him when he came to Crystal Springs. They’re at that cabin somewhere, hidden so well the sheriff hasn’t found them.”

      “But you don’t know for sure?”

      The lethal edge to his employer’s words cut through Roy, leaving him shaking in his boots. “As soon as the sheriff is through with the cabin, we’ll search it until we find what you need.”

      “You better. And keep me posted on Emma St. James.”

      “Will do.” Roy quickly hung up, his hand trembling so badly he dropped the receiver into its cradle, its loud sound snaking down his spine.

      

      Emma felt the warmth of the sunshine as it flooded the room and slanted across her bed. Earlier she’d heard the nurse opening the curtain and had wondered why the woman even bothered, because it didn’t make any difference whether there was light in the room or not. But she hadn’t voiced her thought aloud.

      As with the day before, darkness greeted her. To keep her panic at bay she kept her eyes closed, pretending the darkness was due to that rather than the fact she couldn’t see anymore. She didn’t like pity parties and had never allowed herself one. But then she had never been blind before, either. She’d never lost the one person who had understood her, accepted her for who she was.

      Clasping the sides of her head, she shuddered. “Don’t go there, Emma. Not a good place.” Another shudder trembled through her body, leaving a coldness in its wake.

      The door swishing open intruded into her thoughts, bringing her straight up in bed to turn her face toward the noise. “Who is it?” She couldn’t shake the idea she could be a target. Even though she had bravely told her father the day before that she could take care of herself, she had her doubts.

      “Colin Fitzpatrick.”

      The tension siphoned from her at the velvet smoothness of his voice as though he could mesmerize a person with its mere sound. “Nothing’s changed. I’m past saving.”

      “No one’s past saving if she wants to be saved.”

      “I don’t know if I agree with you, but come on in since you’re here.” The idea that she didn’t have to spend the next few minutes alone lifted her spirits. But she wasn’t ready to admit it to anyone, especially Reverend Colin Fitzpatrick. “What brings you by?”

      “You.”

      His answer made her spirits rise even more, and she didn’t understand why. She leaned toward the sound of his voice. “I’m getting out of here later this afternoon. I get to escape all the poking and prodding.”

      “Where are you going when you escape?”

      “Haven’t the faintest idea. Any suggestions?”

      “Actually, I do.”

      His words took her by surprise and that didn’t happen very often. “Where?” she asked, a breathless quality to her voice, her mouth and throat still so parched she felt she’d eaten a bowl of cotton for lunch.

      “My aunt’s. She has extended an invitation for you to stay with her.”

      “Why? She doesn’t know me.”

      “I asked her to.”

      “Why?”

      “I don’t want you to be alone right now.”

      “Do you think I’m helpless?”

      “No.”

      “Do you think I’m in danger?”

      “It’s a possibility and my aunt can certainly take care of you.”

      “Is she with the police?”

      “She’s retired from the army, but her last job was teaching people how to defend themselves.”

      When he had said retired, a vision of a woman in her sixties or seventies, white haired, bent over, popped into Emma’s mind. Even if his aunt had taught self-defense and had been in the army, she was hardly someone who could take care of her. “How old is she?”

      “Forty-six.”

      “And she’s retired?”

      “Only from the army. She writes children’s books now.”

      Conflicting images flowed through her mind—none of them of someone who she thought could protect her. “If your aunt’s forty-six, how old are you? Twenty?”

      “Thirty-six, so she’s more like a big sister than an aunt, and she won’t