Love in the Dark

Chapter Fourteen

George was already regretting his decision to accompany Laura back to the church long before they got near their destination. His legs were aching, his back was stiff, and his backside was sore. They did not go directly to the church, but instead took a back route that brought them to her father's place.

He looked around at the place in awe. It was obviously fading, the paint was peeling from the barn, the fences were beginning to rot, and weeds and brush were growing where green pastures had once been. But he could easily picture when the farm had been in its glory. He wondered what it had been like for Laura to grow up in such an idyllic setting.

The stallion seemed to sense that his old home was near, and jigged the last quarter mile, which forced the mare that George was riding to keep breaking into a bone-jarring trot to keep up with him. Once they reached the house, a comically fat barking dog greeted them from the porch.

Laura closed the gate to the yard, and slipped the bridles off from the horses, giving them freedom to graze on the lush spring grass. She led the way up the porch steps and stopped to pet the dog, which jumped excitedly, despite her rotund body.

George offered his hand, but the dog was nothing but friendly, lapping at his fingers with her tongue before attempting to jump on him as well.

"That's Molly, dad's dog." Laura said, as she pulled open the broken screen door. As usual, she gave one warning knock before she let herself inside. Her father was seated in front of a card table, a thousand-piece puzzle spread out before him, his glasses low on his nose as he tried to match up the small pieces.

"Hello there," he said, turning in his chair to receive a hug from his daughter. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon."

Laura sighed and dropped into a chair. Everette seemed to notice the big black man standing behind her for the first time. "Oh, is this the man?"

"Yes." Laura twisted the chair so that one leg dangled over the arm. "Dad, this is George. George, my father, Everett."

George stepped forward and offered his hand. "Nice to meet you, sir."

Everett took his hand in a surprisingly crushing grip, and held on, narrowing his watery eyes as he glared up at him. "I don't like it," he declared, dropping George's hand with disgust. "It's not right for you to stay up there all alone with just a man for company. Anything could happen."

Laura rolled her eyes as though she had heard this argument before. "Well, you are going to like this a lot less. I brought another man back to the camp a couple of days ago."

The old man turned his grumpy gaze back on his daughter. "Whatever for?"

She sighed and patted her leg to call the dog to her. She took her time scratching the fat hound's ears before she answered. "You remember Seth Cooper?"

Everett's face screwed up, as though it were physically painful for him to search through his memory banks. "Pat Cooper's boy?"

"Yeah, that's the one."

"Didn't he become a cop?"

"I think so," Laura said, even though she knew perfectly well he was.

"Well, that isn't so bad," her father shoved his glasses back up his prominent nose. "But I still don't like it."

"There isn't a whole lot to like about life right now," Laura grumbled.

"Well, I shot a deer a couple of days ago. Scrawny spring deer, lean and tough as all hell. Like chewing rawhide. You might as well take what's left of it."

"Thanks Dad." She unfolded herself from the couch. "I'm sure the church would like it. I'm going to load them up with supplies too. They aren't doing so well."

"Is that why you are back here so soon?"

Molly, who was no longer getting attention from Laura, made her way back to George, her tail wagging hopefully. George squatted down, and she immediately dropped and rolled onto her back, exposing her belly, hopeful for a rub. George obliged her, scratching gently at her fat belly.

"It's the sickness, its spreading," she said flatly.

Everett sighed and scratched at his bristly, roughly shaven jaw. "So it begins."

"You need to start locking your doors, Dad. Don't let anyone in the house."

"Wait," George straightened and looked between the two of them. "You knew about the sickness before? Like before, before?"

Everett nodded and rose to his feet, pausing to get his balance before he started limping toward the hallway that led to the bedrooms. "Laura has seen it all."

"Dad, don't," Laura protested, but Everette pushed open a door to a room that appeared to be a bedroom. The bed was buried beneath boxes, stacks of journals, sketchpads, and canvases. Everette seemed to know exactly what he was looking for. He shoved aside a box, moved a few more things, and came back with an old and ratty-looking sketchbook. He flipped through the pages, his wrinkled face almost folding on itself in concentration, until he came to the one he was looking for. He folded the cover back and showed it to George.

It was a grotesque drawing of a dying woman, her body unnaturally contracted, her face contorted, it was all black and white, except for the red foam that was oozing from the woman's mouth and nose. Although it had an unfinished feel, the accuracy and the realism were astounding.

"Holy s**t, you drew that??"

Everette nodded and closed the book. "When she was fourteen, if I remember correctly." He shoved his glasses up again to scowl at George, "Did you think it was an accident we got all these supplies? Did I buy a life-time supply of toilet paper just for the hell of it?"

"Uhh," George didn't know what to say. It made him look at Laura differently. He knew she had visions, he knew she was some kind of psychic, and he respected that. But this... this... this was next level. Like she was some kind of prophet or something. He looked around the room and wondered what other secrets were buried in the stacks and boxes.

Laura stepped forward, and answered as though she had read his mind. "Trust me, you don't want to know." She gently pushed her father out of the room and closed the door. "Lets go get the supplies and that venison."

She moved down the hallway and opened another door, revealing the stairs to the dark basement. Her father handed her a kerosene lamp, and she started down the steep steps, with George close behind.

"But if you know everything that's going to happen..." George continued, not really in conversation, but thinking out loud.

"It doesn't really matter what I know," she snapped without turning around. "I don't know the when, I don't know the how, and I can't stop anything from happening."

The depths of the basement were cool and damp. A small deer carcass hung suspended from the rafters, already partially butchered. Everette had removed the parts that he wanted for himself and the dog. There was no way he could consume the meat before it would start to spoil, and his dentures didn't appreciate gnawing on jerky. Laura found an old plastic grain sack, stashed and saved from the horses. She shook it out before she lowered the deer down onto the butchering table. She picked up a mean-looking saw and hacked off a generous chunk. "We'll take that home for us. The rest can go to the church." She held the sack and motioned for George to put the meat into the bag.

George cringed but did as she wanted. She seemed not to care about the dust and grain chaff that got on the meat. She wrapped the other piece in butcher's paper. She set both by the door before she started looking around the basement with the lamp. Most of the unfinished space was packed with boxes, stacked floor to ceiling. One end had been stacked full of firewood. She went over to a box and started removing the contents and handing them to George. Bags of rice. Bags of lentils. Salt. Sugar. Boxes of powdered milk. Instant mashed potatoes. Giant cans of green beans. A big jar of lard. She took more than she usually did, because she had both horses available for transport. When she had everything she wanted, she opened up the door to the outside. The bright light almost blinded George after the darkness of the cellar.

"You carry this stuff out by the gate, I'll prepare the horses."

She loaded up the horses' packs and tied on a couple more sacks. George helped where he could, but he was still clumsy around the horses. Everette and the dog came out to watch them pack.

"Lock your door, dad."

"Yeah, yeah," Everett sniffed. "Give my grandaughter a hug. Tell her I miss her." He fished a peppermint out of his pocket. "You give her this."

Laura took the sweet and put it in her own pocket. "I will Dad." She crushed him in a hug. "I'll see you when I see you."

"See you."

She took the reins of the horse in one hand, and her shotgun in the other. "Ready George?"

"Uh yeah," he took the reins of the mare, and they started walking. The church wasn't far from the farm, only a half-mile walk. George was glad to walk, rather than ride the short distance. As they made their way back up the driveway, he glanced back, and saw the old man still at the gate, the fat dog seated beside him, watching them depart.