Page 56 of A Deeper Darkness
Sam stayed on her side for a moment, then rolled onto her back with a great, gusting sigh.
Oh, my darlings. I miss you so.
* * *
Sam showered while Eleanor cooked.
She’d driven back to Georgetown late last night, Susan in the seat next to her nearly asleep, afraid to stay alone in her own house. Sam hadn’t blamed her a bit. She’d had that exact same reaction at the beginning, not wanting to be alone, begging friends to stay over so she wouldn’t have to face the immense emptiness by herself. Only she wasn’t being stalked, andherhusband wasn’t harboring secrets…
She was going to have to sell the house.
The thought jumped into Sam’s mind so suddenly, so strongly, that she gasped a little. She didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of it sooner. It wasn’t a home anymore, but a mausoleum. A prison. One that, until this very moment, she’d wanted to keep herself in.
But her rational mind had finally poked through. She was hurting herself more staying there than selling it. As soon as she went home, she was going to put it on the market.
An inexplicable feeling floated through her as she washed the shampoo out of her hair.
She almost didn’t recognize it. She hadn’t felt it in so long.
Sam used to be a decisive person. Strong. Capable. Not just nominal, but forward and somewhat brash, though never forceful.
The feeling she’d had was one of decision, and with it, she felt the first tiny brick being laid, just at the bottom of her feet. A new foundation. It was small, and the structure was going to take months, if not years, to rebuild. There would be cracks, huge, gaping holes, but there would be mortar, ready mix, wattle and straw. Somehow, she would hold the miniature slabs together.
She toweled off and blew her hair dry. Put on her fresh clothes, grateful that Eleanor had done the wash for her unasked. She’d forgotten how nice it was to have someone take care of her.
She could hear the delighted screams of Susan and Eddie’s children down the hall, some game that they’d devised to keep themselves amused. They all needed to keep a closer eye on them, just to make sure they were managing. But children were resilient. They would never forget, but they were young enough to actually heal.
How Susan would cope, Sam had no idea. She didn’t know what the relationship between her and Donovan was really like. He’d been unhappy, that much was clear from his journal, but whether that stemmed from his work, his time overseas, PTSD or his home life, she couldn’t be sure. She’d lay bets on the military issue, but it had been so long…. Donovan was always so gung ho, it would have taken something huge to change his feelings.
An act of God.
As she brushed her teeth, she thought about the entries in the journal she’d had trouble deciphering. They were misuses of the Latin language. In someone less versed, she’d call them mistakes. But for a scholar of Latin like Donovan, little mistakes were a red flag.
What looked on the surface like mistakes were, she felt sure now, codes. Messages meant to be read.
Now she just had to figure out what he was trying to say.
Part II
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers…
—William Shakespeare,Henry V
Chapter Twenty-Nine
New Castle, Virginia
Detective Darren Fletcher
The Blue Ridge Mountains run from Maryland to Tennessee, leaking across the borders of North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, West Virginia and Pennsylvania in the process. A blue haze hangs in the sky along the mountaintops, giving them their name, making them look like the keepers of long-lost secrets, hill ghosts from epochs past. It is an area full of mystery and distrust. The people along the knolls and rivers forever take care of their own. Generation after generation of settlers, wary and resistant to the rules of law enforcement, of anything that wasn’t theirs, fight against the encroachment of civilization. They have their own rules, their own language, their own food, traditions, even their own liquor.
They do not look kindly on outsiders.
Darren Fletcher observed the long shadows where the trees of the mountains hung across the road, keeping it cool and dark in the brightest of sunlight, and felt a chill crawl up his arms. He felt like he was being watched, but not by a person. No single human being could cause the shivers he felt running through his spine. This was something older, ancient even, something he didn’t belong to. He was an interloper, unwelcome, seen as nothing more than a threat.
He shook himself.Good grief, Fletch, what was in that barbecue you ate for lunch?
He glanced over at Hart, who also seemed uneasy. They were standing at the foot of the porch that led to the doorstep of a house that belonged to the mother of one William Everett, and the sheriff’s deputy who’d driven them out here had backed away from the door after knocking once and calling out their intentions.
