And Then Came A Lion (Lions and Lambs Book 1) (6 page)

***

Susannah stared out the kitchen window toward Lincoln Park. The old Indian had shown her another kidnapping, this one very close to home. Mary Jane Campbell, a sweet five-year old who liked dolls, bikes, and pink, would be the pedophile’s next victim unless Susannah stopped it, somehow.

Mark stepped behind her, put his arms around her, and kissed her cheek. “You seem deep in thought this afternoon. Want to share?”

She shook her head. “No, just random thoughts. I thought you were playing golf again this afternoon.”

“It was canceled. Want to do something?”

“Like what?”

He let her go and opened the refrigerator. “Well, while you are obviously trying to figure that one out, let’s have some lunch.”

“I would like to do something, but I just don’t know what. A movie, maybe?”

“Anything good playing?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I could look.”

Mark extracted the items for sandwiches and laid them on the counter. “Why don’t we take a drive out along the river, do some hiking, and let Buddy swim?”

“You know, that sounds nice.”

And it did. Spending time with Mark outdoors was another dream-come-true. She sucked in her breath. Perhaps she should rephrase that. Too many of the wrong dreams were coming true.

They drove north thirty minutes to Riverside State Park and set out along the Centennial Trail. Mark turned Buddy off his lead and let him run. After walking a short distance, they sat on a bench beneath a large pine tree overlooking the river. The view was a picture postcard of trees, river, and blue sky. The scent of pine needles lay heavy in the afternoon heat. No birds twittered, no squirrels chattered or scampered through the brush and trees, silence, except for the sound of rapids and the hum of insects.

  A flash of color to her right, the old Indian appeared. Susannah looked from him to Mark.

The old Indian shook his head. “He can’t see or hear me. Neither will he hear you speak to me. Remember, it will be your faith that will save the child, as well as yourself. Hold onto your faith and the flames will not burn you.”

Then he disappeared.

***

Two days later, on the appointed day, Susannah took the trail to the park, just as the old Indian had instructed her. The monster had not arrived yet, however the girl and her parents were in the exact places the old Indian had shown her. Mary Jane’s parents were already involved in an argument and oblivious to their daughter.

Susannah moved into a grove of trees and watched the parking lot. Such a beautiful day, it was hard to believe ugly things happened on pretty days, under such a pristine blue sky. In fact, why did the ugly have to exist at all?

The pedophile pulled in and parked close to the playground. He sat for a few moments, obviously surveying the area. Then his attention riveted on Mary Jane. After a few more minutes of surveillance, he climbed out of the car and sauntered toward her. Mary Jane’s parents did not notice, but Mary Jane did. 

The pedophile stood between Mary Jane and her parents. The girl tried to skirt around him. As he reached for the child, Susannah moved out of the shadows and marched toward him. The man saw Susannah and hesitated ― just long enough for Susannah to step between him and the girl.

Using her Bluetooth, she called 911. “I want to report an attempted kidnapping.”

The man cursed. He looked at her and then the child, now running toward her parents. His eyes turned back to her. With another volley of expletives, he backed away to his car.

Susannah gave the dispatcher a detailed description of the man and his vehicle. After he sped out of the parking lot, she ended the call and crossed the lawn to the trail.

One day the monster wouldn’t get away, but until then, she would continue to interfere. He’d not touch another child.

She neared the open pond area, passing through the last bit of dense brush. A strong arm grabbed her from behind and a large hand clamped across her face. With inhuman strength, she was lifted off her feet.

The monster’s breath blew against her neck. “This is the last time you interfere with my plans.”

He half carried and half dragged her toward a patch of brush. Susannah fought, trying to wriggle out of his grip. He held her tighter, his fingers digging deep into her flesh. 

He shoved her to the ground and straddled her chest. She looked into his face. Inhumane eyes glared back at her.

The first blow caused her world to darken, and then lighten. Another smashing blow sent her spiraling down a black tunnel. He called her a name, but she couldn’t make out the word over the ringing in her ears. His hands closed around her throat, closing off her air. She wriggled, bucked, and squirmed. Her lungs burned.

The pressure stopped. He moved off her chest. Susannah rolled onto her side and gulped in sweet, sweet air. The kick to her mid-section threw her back down the dark tunnel and into a bright light. She stood several yards from the scene, watching the horrific violence.

The old Indian appeared next to her. “Susannah, you will survive this attack for God has more planned for your life. Remember to trust Him, always.”

She felt a tug, a falling sensation, and everything went black.

***

Bright light filtered through Susannah’s closed eyelids, forcing her to open her eyes. She shifted her position, white pain raced through her abdomen. She sucked in a deep breath and held it, praying for the pain to pass.

She looked into thick pine boughs framing a cobalt blue sky. A few fluffy clouds floated by. Birds sang and twittered. Something rustled in the brush next to her.

How long was she unconscious? Couldn’t be that long or surely someone would be looking for her. She rolled over onto her side and sat up, waves of pain smothered her, forcing her to take breathes in shallow gasps. Her clothes were torn and she was bleeding. How much blood had she lost? Would she bleed to death before she could get help?

Crawling slowly on her hands and knees, she pushed her way out of the brush to the trail. The world turned gray, nausea forced her to lay down on the soft earth. She curled into a ball, and drifted back down into the blackness where there was no pain, no terror, only peace.

***

Voices and bright light drew her up from the blackness. Susannah opened her eyes. She saw recessed lighting, beige walls, a large window, and Mark.

He squeezed her hand. “Welcome back, Sweetheart. Do you know where you are?”

“Hospital?”

“Yes.”

“How long?”

“A few days.”

She repeated his answer. “A few days…”

“Yes, but the docs say you’ll have a complete recovery, except ―”

“Except?”

“Besides external injuries, there are some internal.”

“And?”

He shifted in his chair, looked out the window and back at her. “Because of the extensive amount of damage, you’ve had a hysterectomy.”

“I see.”

“It’s not the end of the world, Susannah. We can look into adopting.”

She didn’t look at him, didn’t respond.

He rubbed her arm. “Let’s talk about that later. I know you are exhausted, but the police are anxious to speak with you. Do you think you could manage a few questions?”

A hysterectomy. Anger, deep and molten rose in her heart. She’d never forgive that monster for ripping her life apart. And Mark? Exactly how did she feel about his offer? Was it genuine? Did it even matter? Adoption was a long, hard process. They could have had children, several, if he had only agreed.

She turned away from him, tears sliding down her cheeks. One life saved, another sacrificed. Is that what the old Indian meant when he said to trust God in all things, trust that He would continue to take every dream, every hope, away?

“Susannah?” Mark rubbed her arm. “Susannah, it’s important for you to talk the police.”

Why? What did it matter now? The damage was done, irreversible. The children…

She turned back to Mark. “Okay.”

Mark stood and went out into the hallway. A second later, he returned with a woman police officer.

“Hello, Susannah. I’m Officer Taylor.”

Susannah nodded.

“I know this is difficult, especially with the injuries to your jaw, but do you think you can manage to tell me what happened?”

Susannah nodded, took a deep breath, and launched into an abridged version of the events from the attempted kidnapping through the assault.

“So, it was the same man that attempted the other kidnapping?”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. Positive.”

“Would you recognize him if you saw him again?”

Instantly the image of the monster’s inhuman eyes exploded in her mind. “Yes.”

“Good. I’ll be back with some pictures for you to look at. If you remember any other details, call the office. Your husband has my card.”

The woman left. A nurse came in, took her vitals, and left.

Mark rubbed her hand. “Susannah, I am so, so sorry.”

She closed her eyes and drifted away, back to the place where there was no pain, no sorrow, only blackness.

***

Mark rubbed her arm. “Susannah, the police woman is here with pictures.”

She opened her eyes. The sunlight was gone from the room, only black showed through the window. The molten anger in her heart had cooled, leaving a hardness where there was once joy. She closed her eyes.

“Susannah?”

She whispered, “Okay.”

Officer Taylor arranged an array of pictures on her bedside table. It took Susannah only seconds to find his face. 

She pointed at the picture. “That’s him.”

“You’re absolutely sure?”

“Yes.”

The officer tapped the photo. “His name is Brian Falun. A convicted sex offender recently paroled, thanks to budget cuts. Several months ago, he failed to report to his parole officer, and we had no idea of his whereabouts, until now.

“From what you told us, we believe he is the same man who kidnapped and killed a young girl a few months back in the same general area as these other attempted kidnappings. Our lab is running the DNA from your assault and that murder. We should know the results in a few days.

“He’s a nasty piece of work and you’re lucky to have survived. In fact, from what the doctors tell us, it was a miracle you managed to crawl out to the trail and that a jogger noticed you. Yes, you are one very, very lucky woman.”

Susannah looked away.
Yeah, lucky.

***

Brian glared at the TV. So, the witch survived. How inconvenient. He grabbed his duffle bag from the closet, stuffed in a week’s worth of clothes, along with his wad of emergency cash, and left the apartment.

After purchasing a pre-paid cell phone, he called Charlie and arranged a meeting. Time to see what this mob, or whatever it was, had to offer, at least temporarily until the interest in his whereabouts decreased. In the meantime, a little inside protection wouldn’t hurt in that regard.

Charlie’s dark basement apartment had only a few pieces of seedy furniture. Brian wasn’t certain he wanted to touch the couch, let alone sit on it. He chose the wooden chair instead.

“Well,” Charlie shrugged. “I don’t use it much.”

“Do you actually sleep here?”

“Sometimes. Hotels mostly, but once in a while I like to stay close to the scene ― you know what I mean?”

Brian shrugged. He had other preferences.

“So, how do I get introduced?”

“I’ve notified my contact. Said he’d let us know where and when to meet.”

“Contact? You don’t actually know the boss or the other members?”

Charlie shifted his position on the ratty couch. “I do, but I prefer to keep actual contact minimal.”

“I see.”

What was Charlie holding back? It didn’t matter. He needed to go underground for a while and beef up his cash supply. Then he’d just walk away. He’d done it before and he could easily do it again.

Susannah laid her head against the car window and watched the world slide by. People walked dogs, shopped, and worked. They went about their lives as if nothing bad ever happened. It probably didn’t to most.

Mark pulled into the garage, parked, and hurried around to open her door. Buddy greeted her, his entire back end wagging along with his tail. Susannah bent down and ruffled his ears. With effort, she stood, and walked slowly up the stairs to the bedroom. She slipped off her shoes, and lay down on the bed. Buddy jumped up beside her and snuggled close.

Mark sat next to her. “Can I get you anything?”

She shook her head. “Just sleep at the moment.”

“Okay.”

He pulled the afghan from the foot of the bed up over her shoulders and closed the door. She heard him descend the stairs. Moments later, she was asleep.

***

The aroma of chicken and dumplings drifted into the room. Susannah opened her eyes and stretched. Her stomach rumbled. She looked at the clock, dinnertime already?

She sat up, waited for the discomfort to subside, and slid off the bed. When her legs felt secure beneath her, she walked out to the hallway and grasped the handrail. With slow steps, she descended the staircase, crossed the foyer, and went into the kitchen.

Mark looked up from the stove. “I thought if I cut the chicken up small enough, it would be easy for you to eat.”

“Thanks, Honey. I’m pretty tired of Jell-O and pudding.”

“I imagine so. Sit, I’ll bring you a bowl.”

Susannah eased into the long padded seat in the breakfast nook.

Mark set a steaming bowl in front of her, and then sat another on the opposite side of the table.

“How’s the jaw?"

“Still a bit tender.”

“Your doctor said that would pass once the swelling reduced.”

Susannah nodded.

“I called your boss and gave him an update. He’s agreed to a couple more weeks off. After that, you’ll need to decide what you want to do. Go back or stay home.”

“I am sure I can go back by then.”

“You don’t have to. We’ll be fine if you want to take some time off.” He hesitated, the continued. “Besides, it might be best if you held off going back to work for a while. Your doctor has suggested some counseling.”

Susannah dropped her spoon.

“You’ve had a traumatic experience, Susannah, and it will take some time to sort out all the emotions. No one is going to force you, but just think about it. ”

She stared at her food. Counseling? How would she negotiate that without telling the whole story? Would anyone believe her? Just the thought of mentioning the old Indian to anyone but Rachel, or Mark, made her ill.

“But, what do I tell them? I can’t say anything about the old Indian. Then, how can I explain what happened without mentioning him?” She shook her head. “No. I’m fine. A little angry, but I’m fine.”

“You could leave out the old Indian. Just tell about the assault, and the kids. Just think about, okay?”

“I’ll think it over.”
For a Nano-second.

After the meal, she agreed to let Mark do the cleanup and went into the den. She turned on the TV, hoping for a funny or inspirational movie. Instead, a news report flashed the image of Brian Falun onto the screen. Susannah dropped the remote and raced for the stairs. She ran into the bedroom, shut the door, and curled up on the bed.

She wished she could melt away and disappear.

Mark opened the door and sat next to her. He stroked her hair and kissed her cheek.

“Susannah, let’s call the counselor your doctor recommended. Let him help you with this.”

***

The waiting room was too small. There wasn’t enough light, or air. It was a mistake to agree to the appointment. Susannah looked at the door. It wasn’t too late. No, she had promised Mark.

She touched her jaw, still tender, but much, much better. Her fingers brushed the stitches running along her hairline from her ear to her temple. A few more days they would come out and then she wouldn’t look like The Bride of Frankenstein ― at least on the outside.

Her insides twisted around images of little girls, monsters with dead eyes, and bears.

Where had they come from? She had never encountered one, and yet night after she had nightmares of being chased by the animals, barely escaping their teeth and claws. That, more than the panic attacks, persuaded her to try counseling.

The inner office door opened. A small, rounded man with a graying goatee nodded at her.

“Hello, Susannah. I’m Fredrick Roundhouse. Please, come in.”

He stood back and gestured for her to enter.

She glanced at the door.

He waited.

Susannah took a deep breath and slipped past him into the inner office.

It was even smaller than the waiting room. Of course, in her current state of mind even Buckingham Palace would be too small.

“Please, sit.”

She chose the chair closest to the door and perched on the edge of the seat.

“Now, I understand you were brutally assaulted a few weeks ago, and now you are having flash backs, nightmares, and panic attacks ― all normal after a traumatic experience, Susannah, but difficult to cope with alone. So, first, let me ask you a few questions.”

Susannah watched him open a drawer and pull out a large, yellow legal pad. She looked at the door. She could still run.

“I’ve changed my mind. I’d rather not talk about this.”

“I see. That is solely up to you. However, by talking about it you work out your emotions, which will stop your panic attacks and nightmares.”

“This was a mistake. I’ll be fine.”

“I doubt that. Susannah. You won’t ‘be fine’ emotionally until you address the fear, the shame, and the anger of being attacked.”

She shook her head. “I can’t talk about it.”

“Okay, why?”

Why? Because it was now obvious that she would need to talk about
everything.
Otherwise, there would be too many holes in the story to make any sense of it.

“Because you won’t believe me.”

“About the attack? Why wouldn’t I believe you?”

“It’s other things, leading up to the attack.”

“I see. What kinds of things?”

“As I said, you won’t believe me, so there isn’t any reason to even start.”

“I’ve heard a lot of things, Susannah. Nothing you say will shock me.”

“I doubt that. This is something I can guarantee you’ve never heard before, and I bet it’ll scare you as much as it scares me, if you even believe me.”

“Try me.”

What would it hurt? If he didn’t believe her, nothing would change, but if he did maybe he could help sort out all of her feelings.

“All right. It all started with a dream…”

He didn’t say a word during her narrative, and she had to give him credit, not once did he grimace, smile, or look skeptical.

“And this started recently?”

“Yes.”

“And others can corroborate these premonitions with actual occurrences?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Yes.”

“Just trying to clarify. To be honest, this is beyond my expertise. I can assist with the trauma of the attack and the related issues, but you will need to discuss your psychic experiences with a specialist in that field.” He reached into his drawer and fished out a card. “I can recommend someone…”

***

Rachel set the steaming mug on the table and sat opposite Susannah. “So, he concurred it is a psychic phenomenon, at least the premonitions?”

Susannah nodded.

“Are you going to call the specialist?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. It was bad enough talking to the counselor.”

“Are you going back to address your other issues?”

“You mean the nightmares and panic attacks?”

“Yes, and the other related issues.”

“I still debating.”

“I see.”

“It’s hard to talk about, Rachel. And, I don’t want to remember any of it, except that the child is safe. But, I want my life back. I want the chance to have a family and I don’t want any more dreams.”

“Understandable. Maybe you’d prefer to talk our pastor. At the very least, he could offer prayers.”

“You and I can pray, won’t that count?”

“Of course it does.”

They joined hands and bowed their heads.

Rachel led the prayer. “Lord, bring your peace and protection to Susannah. Show her the way to heal, forgive, and move on. And, protect the children. Keep them safe from all evil. Amen.”

Susannah raised her head. “Amen.”

“Now what is your plan?”

“I have absolutely no idea.”

***

The nightmare began with Susannah trapped in a tree by a horde of snarling bears. The animals circled, stood on hind legs, and stretched upward. At twice the size of the largest Kodiak bear, they couldn’t climb, but even so, her perch near the top of the tree barely kept her out of their reach. One particularly huge animal repeatedly slammed his full weight against the trunk. The tree shook, swayed, and threatened to snap. Her feet wobbled, almost slipping on the thin branch. Susannah tightened her grip and prayed.

The many animals merged into one. The massive creature rose to an incredible height. It glared at her through red pig-eyes and opened a cavernous mouth.

Susannah snapped on the bedside lamp and looked at her clock, three in the morning. Unwilling to face the possibility of another dream, she slipped out from under the covers, tiptoed out of the room, and down the stairs to the kitchen. She filled a glass with water, drank, and refilled the glass. From the kitchen, she went to the den, sat in her chair and picked up her book. She read until she could no longer focus on the page, turned out the light, and went upstairs. With each step, she prayed for sleep, a black void she could sink into until morning.