She knew it wasn't her fault. How could she have any idea what would be waiting for Colin over at the Russo place two days ago? But of course, it didn't really matter now, did it? The fact was, she sent him there.
Samantha walked over to the side of Colin's bed that faced the window and gazed down at Jessie. The little girl was curled up at Colin's feet, and it was clear to Samantha that she had been keeping a watch over her brother, stationed so close to the window like that. Doing my job for me.
This thought drew Samantha's eyes up to the window, and across the lane, to the corner of Russo's home. All was still in the long shadows of the early morning. To look at the place now, there was no sign at all of the dangers that lurked within - no police tape or barriers, no symbols painted on the walls or the fence that ran around the property. Not even a salt line to mark the threat, for what they were dealing with had no aversion to salt, and the holy water that the Pastor had spread around would have soaked into the ground, no longer visible. But hopefully still working… If such things did indeed work at all.
And all of the old thoughts of doubt and ambivalence she'd held towards the old man coalesced into a new certainty that left her none the more secure… The founder of this community, and let's face it, of the very religion that had brought them all here, had been struck down by his own identified adversary, his own created demon. It was as though both herself and Russo had been validated by the old man's demise. His beliefs had been proven, but in a way, so had hers. Because at it's heart, her entire objection to their joining with Russo's clan, her defiance of her husband's will, had always boiled down to one simple statement.
We need to avoid this man because he is right.
Of course she had not voiced her objection in such plain terms. Michael would have been offended by the sentiment, and seen it as cowardice. But was it true that she had been a coward to feel that way? Back when they had first started visiting this coast to hear the old man talk, she'd been just recently pregnant with Colin. Was it truly wrong for her to think of her family before some noble spiritual cause? As the truth of Russo's words had begun to dawn within her own mind, Samantha's first instinct had been to literally run for the hills - to head inland, away from the coast, as far distant as the mountains if need be. And wasn't that ultimately what the old man had advised, for them all to flee? Only across the sea, the very medium from which this threat would arise…
She'd wanted to talk with Michael about this last night. But they had only lain together in bed, facing each other without speaking until sleep overcame them both. They both thought that they knew how the other felt, but deep down she understood that this was not the case. But there were so many things to deal with right now, and such a discussion would carry too much of a burden.
She lowered her eyes from the window, turning to watch her sleeping son. His features were calm and placid, and the damage to his skin seemed to have slightly faded over the evening. Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, she lifted his hand in her own and formed a prayer in her mind.
Does my view not have value in all of this? Please help me find a way to show what I see…
And what was that? What did she see?
She saw that they needed a place to where they could run.
Jesse began to stir on the bed next to Samantha. She looked down at her daughter and marvelled at the girl's bravery. Like her Father. Then a movement beyond the window caught Samantha's eye. Looking up, she spotted a curtain being drawn back behind the Bonafeld's front window, across from the Russo place. And of course that was to be expected. There was already a great fear in the community, with this impending flight, and by now word of what had happened would have gotten around. Suspicions would be high, particularly towards their house. And Colin....
Jesse yawned and opened her eyes. "Mommy…" She reached up and took hold of Samantha's arm. Samantha leaned over and hugged her daughter, before pulling her up in a sitting position.
"Hey there Jinkies. Protecting your brother?"
Jessie yawned again. "From Mister Not-Russo…" Then she leaned her head against Samantha's shoulder. And Samantha froze at these words. She watched the pathway and the houses, waiting for some sort of sign, but that didn't do any good. Mister Not-Russo.
A light knock from the door brought her back into the room. Michael was leaning in doorway, his expression unreadable. "The meeting starts in an hour. Let's get ready."
Of course. The one thing they had managed to discuss last night, before bed. What they needed to do today.
CONTINUED
This has been the Fifth Chapter of "The Storm", an ongoing serialized novella written by Greg McCann exclusively for Steemit.
CHAPTER LIST
Chapter ONE>Chapter TWO>Chapter THREE>Chapter FOUR
This story is based on my original instrumental composition of the same name.
LISTEN TO THE SONG AT THIS LINK.
Writing and images by Greg McCann, the author of this post and owner of this Steemit Channel. To view more of my work, please visit www.fireawaymarmot.com.
