Gone Before Dawn

Gone Before Dawn

T.C. McMullen

Gone Before Dawn

©2014 T.C. McMullen

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are of the author’s imagination. Any similarities to living or dead persons, places, or incidents are coincidental or fictitious.

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Ebook

ISBN Number 978-1-935188-72-8

Cover Art by T.C. McMullen

First published in Print 2003

Star Publish LLC

www.starpublishllc.com

Gone Before Dawn

for my girls,

you are

my motivation,

my inspiration,

thank you for all the lessons you’ve taught me.

Prologue

Egesa Springs

1827

Wicked flames shot up to stab the black night sky. Thunder rumbled in the distance and echoed off the mountainsides. Fire engulfed the tall grasses around the orchard. Annie felt the heat on her cheeks. The warmth surprised her. She had gone numb the moment she found her mother dead and her best friend with the babies butchered in the attic. Annie thought her skin should also be numb.

Dozens of men with rifles, axes, and pitchforks milled about the night-darkened orchard a hundred yards from the mansion porch where she stood. The air felt damp and pungent smoke from the fires the townsmen had set in the fields stung her eyes.

Annie, please come inside, Mrs. Tared said.

The older woman peered down at her, eyes wide with sadness. Annie looked away, back toward the fires. She wanted no pity. She was the last surviving occupant of the mansion, she and him, but she wouldn’t watch anyone feel sorry for her.

Men swarmed about the orchard Annie had helped harvest apples from just yesterday. The barrels of apples remained in the mansion’s stone cellar, but everyone who had laughed and delighted in the fresh juiciness of the fruits the day before was dead.

Annie wished she were dead.

Pain pulsed through her soul with every beat of her heart. Even though the killer’s ax hadn’t split her chest open, she felt hollow inside. She, the daughter of the household help, was the only one left. She and the murderer.

You shouldn’t watch this, child. Mrs. Tared pulled Annie back. Annie shook her shoulders free of the gentle hold.

Leave me be, she said. And I’m no longer a child. Not after what she’d seen.

Pitchforks, shovels, whips, and guns gleamed in the firelight. Angry voices rose through the night. Annie recognized some of them. Mr. Jenkins from the mercantile. Mr. Samuels from the livery stables. Their bodies melted in and out of the shadows cast by the leaping flames.

So many men were there, the entire town, it seemed. When Annie told them of the murders, she knew everyone would come. The village would change now, if not die out completely. The family who built it, supported it, was gone. The town had a right to serve up justice, but the dead could not be resurrected.

Annie was certain that no matter what justice the town’s men decided upon, it would not bring closure for her or any of them.

There! A voice rose above the others. He’s there!

Annie stepped from the porch, sliding her hand along the damp wood railing. The yelling came from too many men for her to distinguish words. Bodies ran in and out of firelight. A moment later, she saw him.

He wasn’t an ugly man, in fact Annie had once thought him handsome, but now evil made him repulsive and her stomach soured at the sight of his deeply creased brow and frown. The ruffles adorning the front of his tailored shirt were dark with blood, so much blood. Men dragged him from the shelter of the trees to the one farthest from the mansion.

Annie took another step from the porch and released the cool railing. She watched her master, studied his shadowed face. They weren’t taking him to town. Her stomach cramped. The townsmen had decided on a punishment.

The riled mob bound his arms behind his back and hoisted him upon a chestnut horse. Two men secured a thick rope to a twisted tree limb above him and forced the noose over his head. Flames shined against the horse’s twitching muscles, and gray clouds of breath puffed from its gnawing mouth.

Men shouted, Hang him, kill him! The angry voices overpowered the cracking of the flames. Someone slashed his chest; another pummeled his shoulder with the butt of a rifle.

You can’t kill me. He laughed, lifting his face to the sky.

Don’t kill him, Annie pleaded but no one heard her small voice. The cramps in her gut worsened. She heard huffing in her ears as if he stood right beside her, breathing clammy breath down her back.

Another man slashed him. The heat of the flames grew stronger, bellowing thick smoke that pulled tears from Annie’s eyes.

Don’t kill him, she said, but still the flames and angry voices smothered her words. On the air, Annie heard the beginnings of his chant. She knew he had delved into the world of black magic and she knew he had a plan.

Dying was in his plan.

A whip cracked. The horse bolted from under him. The snap of his neck resounded off the low rolling clouds.

Annie dropped to her knees, her dress fanning around her. She shoved the fabric tight to her ankles and grabbed the first sharp-edged stone she found in the clay at her feet. She scraped it against the earth so deep dirt jammed under her fingernails.

Thunder growled across the black sky. Horses screamed and pounded their hooves, straining against the reins holding them to the hitching posts at the barn. Wagons creaked behind the restless animals. Annie glanced at them, her anxiety growing, for she knew they could sense the dangers long before their riders.

She worked frantically, spinning on her toes to complete the circle. She stood and prayed, begging Artemis the Huntress for help, and then she screamed out with shame. She should have listened to her mother’s teachings, should have studied the Book of Shadows more closely.

His laugh echoed from the low clouds rolling faster across the sky than any storm could naturally flow. Annie squeezed her eyes closed, focusing all her thoughts and power on her words.

Artemis, hear my plea, protect the innocent, contain this evil—

You are weak, nothing but an ignorant peasant girl. His voice reverberated inside her head. She felt icy fingers skip along her spine.

Annie spun away from his touch but no one was near her. Women stood on the porch, eyes wide, mouths hanging open.

Droplets fell from the churning clouds. The rain was heavy and strangely dark. Screams filled the night, but the sizzle of the dying flames quickly masked the shrillness of the cries. The pale stones of the mansion soaked up the murky liquid and it sheeted over the windows. Annie turned away, facing the corpse once again.

The body twitched and began to melt. His flesh dripped to the loam beneath his feet.

You, sir, were my master, Annie called out to him. But you are no longer. I may be weak, but I do not doubt the powers higher than I and neither should you!

An awful stench of burnt flesh and blood permeated the air and threatened to wrench a gag from Annie. She held out her hand to feel the freshness of the rain, but her fingers quickly covered with sticky blood. She drew back and stood frozen in the magic circle. The rain did not touch her.

Townsmen stampeded around Annie, dragging her back toward the shelter of the mansion. The bloody droplets found her then.

She screamed and kicked, feeling the thick, warm wetness hit her face and hair. From the porch, just before they swept her into the mansion, Annie saw the ground completely soaked with the scarlet syrup except for where she had stood.

The jagged circle and crooked eye were clean and dry, staring up into the stormy sky. Annie stopped screaming. The higher powers had heard her.

Chapter One

Egesa Springs

2001

Caroline stirred. She felt the smooth pillowcase against her cheek and heard her husband’s soft, even breaths. In the distance, a semi’s engine brake rattled through the clear night. Certain the truck was what had awakened her, she untangled her hand from the twisted blanket and sleepily reached for Tom’s warm shoulder before settling back into her pillow.

Hinges creaked from down the hall.

Caroline opened her eyes and listened until she heard the blood roar in her ears.

Night was in its darkest hours. No matter how hard she strained, she saw nothing of the hallway lying beyond the bedroom threshold several feet away. She wondered if maybe it was her children, but Carl and Jenny always called out for her and Timmy hadn’t awakened at night since he was a baby.

Caroline threw back the covers and swung her feet to the chilled floor. Not bothering to reach for her robe, she peeked around the corner of the doorway. She glanced toward the children’s rooms first.

A strange, rotten odor drifted to her. She turned to the stairs and looked into hideous, yellow eyes.

The figure was tall and shadowed but the face was pale with sunken shadows around revolting eyes. He stood two feet from her and cradled her son in his long arms. Timmy slept. His blond hair stuck up on one side and he clutched his worn blankey and stuffed puppy in his little arm.

The man held Caroline’s gaze with his own. His eyes burned into her mind. Her temples thumped, fingers probed her thoughts; then he turned and descended the stairs noiselessly and with methodical ease.

Caroline reached out for Timmy, clutching the wall for support. Her fingertips throbbed. Agony clasped her heart.

No, please, no. She stumbled to the top of the staircase.

The outside door flew open, defying its locks and deadbolt. Caroline gasped as if her soul tore from her body. She cringed in a silent scream.

How could she go on without her baby? From the moment he was born, she knew he would be lost. He suffered the fate of being the second born son, but foolishly, she had let herself hope.

The man glared up at her. He twisted his dark lips, giving a sadistic grin before he vanished into the night. The door swooshed closed.

Caroline couldn’t let Timmy go. It couldn’t happen this way. The thought of never again hearing his giggles, feeling his feathery soft kisses, or seeing his shy smile crushed her.

Caroline slid her bare foot down a step. What she thought she could do to get Timmy back, she didn’t know, but she had to try.

An arm wrapped around her shoulder. She whirled and fell into Tom.

We can’t go, he whispered in her ear. His hot breath rescued her from the fear storming her mind.

We can’t just forget him. I can’t do it. She clung to Tom, digging her fingertips into his bare chest. Wracking sobs overwhelmed her. Tom pulled her close.

You must stay here, he said. His voice was strong and demanding, the tone he used when gaining control of the animals or the attention of the children. No matter what happens, you stay here. You must, for Jenny and Carl, if they wake.

He helped her to sit at the top of the stairs and went into the bedroom only to reappear carrying his shotgun. Caroline sucked in a fresh breath of hope. Tom would get Timmy back. He knew how to get impossible things done. He always had.

Tom knelt beside her, kissed her. She took his face in her hands and savored his strength and warmth. He wiped her tears with one work-toughened thumb.

Don’t leave this house for any reason. You hear? His eyes sparkled in the dim lamplight from their room. Caroline nodded.

Tom crept down the stairs. The deadbolt clanked loudly in the silent rooms and he opened their house to the night once again. The cold breeze rushed in and snaked around Caroline, carrying with it the raw scent of decay. She covered her nose with her hands and watched Tom step onto the porch. His shoulder muscles rippled as he readied the shotgun. He looked to his right and slowly turned to his left. He moved another step forward.

A nerve-numbing snarl from the depths of Hell rattled the air. Tom lifted the shotgun barrel, but a huge, black beast plowed him down before he could fire. It shoved its narrow snout deep into his neck.

Caroline screamed. She covered her ears against the awful crunching sounds and stared into her husband’s dying eyes.

It was her fault he had gone after Timmy. They should’ve let him go.

***

Cierra sprang up and gasped for air. Something was wrong, very wrong. She felt it churning in the deepest pit of her instincts.

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she expected to see men surrounding her with black hoods over their faces; men with voices she knew. She yanked her pistol from the top of her suitcase and aimed it into the night, sweeping it from one side of the room to the other. Sweat soaked her t-shirt and beaded across her forehead.

No one was there.

Her lungs burned and her heart battered her ribs, threatening to renew the pain of the breaks and surgery. She dropped the gun on the pillow and clasped her hands to her throat and neck, willing herself to calm down.

Finally able to suck in luscious air, Cierra reached into the darkness to feel the soft warmth of her dog. She pulled Soldier close and rested her head on his side. He licked her hands reassuringly. He wouldn’t let anyone near the house without letting her know.

Knowledge and the big, Black Labrador’s presence didn’t stop the nightmares though. This time Cierra had no recollection of what awakened her, just like the night before. She stared into the darkness of the lonely house, listening to Soldier’s heartbeats until the cold sweat seemed to sink back into her pores. Still, she recalled no nightmare and she wished she could. Only one other thing would drill dread into her heart as deep as she felt it now, but she refused to believe something had happened to her children.

Struggling against the stiffness in her knees, Cierra stood and shuffled to the door. The hinges creaked as she opened it and looked out into the hallway. Light spilled from the bathroom several feet away and washed over the open bedroom door across from her. Cierra crept to the girls’ room. The carpet felt clean and soft under her feet.

The windows on the end did little to penetrate the night, but Cierra could still make out the shapes of the empty beds and dresser. The smell of fabric softener drifted from the new quilts and curtains. Cierra slid her fingertips over the fluffy bedspread. One of her favorite times of day with her daughters had been bedtime. After warm baths, she would snuggle up with them and a book, something her own mother had never done, but the boyfriends had tried. Cierra had learned to fight her mother’s lovers off early, earning slaps across the face or a fist to the stomach as a bedtime kiss.

Cierra hoped her girls hadn’t learned to dread bedtime as she had and wondered how much they had grown. The last memory Cierra had of her babies was of watching them close their eyes and drift into sweet, innocent slumber.

The men had grabbed her when she stepped outside the nursery. She never saw her girls again, except in her dreams. She saw the men with black hoods in her nightmares more often. They were the reason she had purchased the four-inch dagger and 9mm Berretta. The time would come when she faced them again and took back her girls. She wouldn’t let her daughters live through Hell.

Two years of physical therapy and weight training had helped her become stronger and more lethal than she ever thought possible. She only hoped she had the strength to hold her anger and fear in check, because if she didn’t, her strategy would fail. And failure wasn’t an option. If she failed this time, Kacie would be lost forever just like so many children before her.

Cierra slid down to the floor and leaned against the bed she intended for Kacie. Fear crept into her heart and she felt certain it had something to do with her daughters. She fought for the hope that she hadn’t waited too long to go back.

Standing, Cierra decided to take her suitcases to her truck. She couldn’t wait any longer, couldn’t ignore her instincts. She packed up her pistol and ammunition and lugged her things down the narrow stairway and out to her pickup.

In the east, the horizon slowly brightened, chasing away the night. Cierra stuffed her bags into the back of the crew cab, putting the smallest case on the seat. She again doubted her choice to keep the Berretta locked up as it was, but continued to hope she wouldn’t need it for a few days. Her goal was for no one to discover who she really was for at least that long.

Cierra checked the engine oil, transmission fluid, and coolant before she walked back to the big country porch. She rubbed the chill from her bare arms and watched the sky turn pink, purple, and then blue. It was a beautiful display, promising of a clear Ohio day, but it didn’t lighten her anxiety.

She went to the kitchen, wiped the counters clean, and filled a thermos with coffee, pale with cream and sugar. She set the thermos and her keys on the counter by the door and pulled her jacket from the closet.

The heavy cigarette lighter fell from her pocket and thumped on the floor with its flip top jarred open a bit. Cierra gazed at it for a moment, wondering why she continued to carry around her mother’s lighter. In part, the cigarettes and drugs it had lit contributed to the woman’s death, but for some reason Cierra couldn’t toss the thing. She picked it up and caressed the carved eagle on its front before stuffing it deeper into the pocket.

A soft knock sounded at the door. She turned to see Collin Lancing watching her through the screen. He stepped inside. His graying hair shimmered in the brightening sunlight.

I’m heading to work, thought I’d stop in and see if all’s okay. He glanced at the things on the counter. Are you disappearing on me again?

Cierra yanked her coat on. I didn’t know I had to okay my life with you now.

No, I didn’t mean to imply that, it’s just…it took me a lot of years to find you. It’s not something I want to repeat.

Cierra stole a quick look into his blue eyes, eyes too similar to hers, and gathered her things from the counter. From as early as she could remember, she was told her father was dead. After she regained consciousness in the ICU, Collin suddenly surfaced and told her he hadn’t died; he’d been married and not to her mother.

I have to get going, she said and quickly gathered her