Page 95 of A Gathering of Secrets

“That boy hurt everyone he came into contact with,” Edna tells me. “Man like him has no place on this earth. God struck him down is what He did. I just helped Him get the job done.”

I just helped Him get the job done.

I flop onto my side. Cold earth against my cheek. Dirt on my lips. Grit in my mouth. But my coordination coming back. My brain beginning to clear.

“Where’s Neva?” I ask.

“Don’t worry about her.”

The shaft of light moves toward me. I try to get up, but my arms and legs fail. I get my first good look at the stun gun as she thrusts it at me. I roll, make it to my belly. “Don’t!” I shout.

The electrodes snap. She stabs it hard against my back. Agony streaks up my spine, burns like a lit fuse down my limbs. A grand-mal seizure of pain that leaves me twitching and helpless.

“You know what he was,” she says. “You should’ve looked the other way. Let it be so we could all be done with it.”

She blinds me with the flashlight. I catch a glimpse of her face. Her expression is chillingly serene, her eyes alight with intent.

My brain is misfiring. I try to sit up, end up wallowing in the dirt. “People know where I am,” I manage.

“Nothing I can do about that.”

She starts toward the stairs. I’m aware of the hiss and bark of my radio as she carries it away. Skid trying to get me on the horn. I think of him walking into this. She’s armed with my .38. No one is suspicious of her.

“You would have gotten away with it, Edna. Why do this now?”

She stops, turns to me, blinds me with the flashlight. “I did what I had to do. There was no pleasure in it. But it had to be done. He had to be stopped.”

I try another tactic. “You’re right about Daniel. Let me go, and I won’t say a word.”

The Amish woman crosses to me, squats a safe distance away, keeps the light in my eyes. “I don’t believe you. I know your kind.”

“You have my word,” I say.

“Too late for that now, Kate Burkholder.” She rises. “That’s all I’ve got to say.”

For an instant, I think she’s going to level the .38 and empty the cylinder into my body. Instead, she lowers the flashlight and starts toward the stairs.

I struggle to my hands and knees, scramble to my feet. She’s midway up the stairs; there’s no way I can catch her. “I’m a cop, Edna. You can’t lock me in this barn and hope I’ll go away. People know where I am. They’ll be looking for me.”

I stumble toward her, teeter right, careen off a beam. But my coordination is returning. I dash to the base of the stairs, look up to see her go through the door at the top. I clamber up the steps, using my hands, as fast as I can manage. I’m halfway there when the door slams. The lock snicks into place.

“Edna!” I reach the door, grab the knob and twist, but it’s locked. “Open the door!” I shout. “Open it! Now!”

Nothing.

Setting my ear against the wood, I listen, hear her drop the barricade lock into place. I yank the knob, rattle the door. “Open it!” I listen, but I can’t hear anything over the din of rain overhead. What the hell could she possibly be thinking? Skid knows where I am, as does Dispatch. When they can’t raise me on the radio, he’ll drive over straightaway.

Frustrated, I slap my hands against the door. “Open it!”

Out of habit, I touch the place where my radio would have been. My weapon. Cell phone. All of them gone.

Turning, I face the darkness, wonder if there’s another way out. I feel my way down the stairs, carefully because there’s very little light. Just a jagged circle of gray seeping in through the hole in the ceiling where I fell through.

Reaching the base of the stairs, I take a moment to get my bearings. I’d had my flashlight in my hand when I fell. Did it come down with me? Or did Edna take it? It had been on; I should be able to see the beam.

I make my way over to the place I landed and kick away some of the wood and debris. Sure enough, I spot the beam and I snatch up the flashlight. I get my first good look at my dungeon. The space is about thirty feet wide with a low ceiling comprised of wood support beams and planks, all of it held up by massive columns resting on concrete piers. The floor is dirt. The exterior wall is a mosaic of wood siding set atop an ancient stone foundation. There are no windows on this level. Just the staircase to my left.

I point the beam upward and look at the hole from which I fell. No dangling boards or wiring; nothing I can use to pull myself up with. Probably safer to stay put until Skid arrives.