“Nothing can dim the light which shines from within.”
--Maya Angelou
She'd never intended for her life to go this way, living in a rusted old delivery van in a junk yard with a badly wounded man to protect, worried that even here they would find her...
Beth was in her mid-twenties, she thought, though she couldn't be sure. Named simply JoBeth at birth to one of the women of the Jesus Faith People commune, she'd never known which was her birth mother, nor which of the men was her father, for that matter. The children of the sect were considered children of all and were treated as such, so she had grown up with eight mothers and twelve fathers, and thirty-one brothers and sisters. She'd seen nothing of the world outside the compound until shortly before being “married.” Father Abram and one of her mothers had taken her and two of her older sisters to town for reasons that remained a mystery to her to that day, but that one time beyond the twelve-foot fence surrounding the five acre compound had ignited in her a profound ache for the kind of freedom she had only imagined. Careful to keep her head bowed, as she had been taught from infancy, she'd sat in the crowded cab of the decrepit old Ford pickup, hungrily taking in the scenery from the corners of her eyes as they made their way at a speed much lower than that posted on the highway toward town. Her heart pounded each time another vehicle sped by and she quaked when a semi blared its air horn behind them before passing with a hiss of released air and disappearing around a curve a mile further down the road.
Near town she'd seen the county high school for the first time, surrounded by young people of about her age. They'd been dressed strangely to her eyes, especially the women who wore pants like men and brightly colored blouses, not the long, shapeless, drab dresses the women of the compound wore. On that day JoBeth's dress, which had hung limply about her slight frame and was worn nearly threadbare from years of having been passed down from woman to woman, had been itchy against her skin, thanks to the harsh soap used to wash it and her own sweat from the hot and humid mid-day air. Whereas the clothes were washed three times a week, the People washed every ten days. She'd never understood the logic in that but, as she'd been taught, she never questioned it, at least not out loud. She simply did as she was told and said little, though as she grew older she had found herself questioning things more and more often.
One day when she was old enough to be considered a woman in the eyes of the People, not long after her first menses, a particularly severe storm had rolled through, leaving behind debris it had picked up during its track across the countryside. She and the older women had spent most of the afternoon cleaning it up, hauling off branches and limbs and all manner of trash, all the while ordering the children back into the barn-like structure where they slept and ate their meals. It was another of the things she had long questioned, why the children were made to stay inside after a storm. But then she'd happened across the remnants of a magazine. Though the pages were mangled and covered with dirt, the bright pictures were easily seen and she was immediately taken by her first sight of a sandy beach with palm trees and azure-colored water that stretched to the horizon. In that moment she understood why the children were forbidden outdoors after a storm, before the compound had been cleared of all man-made evidence it might have left behind. They must not be allowed to learn of the world beyond the fence until they were old enough to know their place. Especially the girls.
Along with the pictures were words she couldn't yet read. Only the boys were allowed to read. The girls were kept illiterate. But Horace, one of her older “brothers” with whom she had shared an uncommonly close friendship, would soon secretly teach her, using the very magazine she had quickly hidden in one of the large pockets of her too-big dress. He, too, had had his own doubts about the commune. Especially after he had made his first trip to town and saw how the world outside the fence lived. Because he could read, he'd been able to understand the signs and newspapers, as well as the books that he's flipped through on the sly when the others weren't looking. The pictures in the magazine were of a place called St. Croix. On another page was an article about a railroad that stretched across the country of Canada far to the north of where they lived, taking passengers to beautiful places like the towns of Banff and Vancouver. The longing JoBeth had felt all her life grew stronger, especially after it was announced that she was being “matched” to one of the men that until then she had thought of as one of her fathers. That autumn, he'd taken her brutally to his bed and afterward, as he'd snored beside her, she cried silently into her pillow and promised herself that somehow, someday she was going to escape. Or die trying.
That day came four seasons and two stillborn births later. Horace had long since gone, having accompanied some of the men into town, then disappearing while they inspected a herd of goats at the slaughterhouse. The men of the People had searched in vain for days for as long as the daylight hours would allow, for the People did not believe in being outside after dark. But Horace was never found and after two weeks the search ended. Supposedly.
Unbeknownst to the rest of the commune, however, he had promised to come back for JoBeth and help her escape as well. So she had waited, enduring the abusive attentions of the man with whom she'd been matched with the outward acceptance and benign expression the women were taught from birth to assume, while her heart burned bright with hate.
It was after a severe spring storm that her chance came. While picking up debris around the compound, she'd been momentarily screened from the others by a stand of tall mesquite shrubs near the fence furthest from the central compound and was startled to see a small, nondescript car parked a few hundred feet away, facing in the opposite direction. As she watched, the driver-side door opened and a tall, lanky man emerged. He was dressed like the men in town, with blue jeans and a plaid long-sleeved shirt rolled midway up his forearms. A billed cap covered his dark hair and he was clean shaven, but she instantly recognized Horace as he trotted over to the fence. Dropping the sack she had been using to collect the rubbish, she had run to meet him.
“Are you ready?” he'd asked without preamble and she had nodded, then watched as he withdrew a large set of pliers from a back pocket. It didn't take long for him to snip enough wire to make a hole just large enough for her to get through then he'd grabbed her hand and they'd made a dash for the car. Just as they reached it, a shout went up from behind the fence and Horace had yelled at her to get in. She had barely pulled the door shut when he'd gunned the engine and took off down the rutted muddy road, water splashing from between the tires and the numerous potholes as they went. He didn't slow down when they reached the highway and the car fishtailed as he turned north toward town.
Neither said a word until they had hurried through town and put more miles between themselves and the compound. There was no way the People's old fleet of cars and trucks could catch up with them but Horace knew they were still in danger, for he had long since learned their leaders were well connected with others on the outside who shared the same need for secrecy. Their secrets must be kept and therefore there would be no mercy for those seeking to escape.
“Are you alright?” he asked when he finally slowed to the posted highway speed.
“Yes,” she'd replied, closing her eyes briefly as she sagged back against the seat. Then she rolled her head and asked, “How did you know where I'd be?”
“I didn't. I've been watching the weather and saw a bad storm was headed your way. I took a chance that it would leave the compound in a mess and that you'd be out picking up after it so I came down and waited. I didn't know how I was going to get you out, but I was determined to, one way or the other.” He glanced at her with a grim smile. “Turned out, you made it easy.”
Her eyes began to brim with tears.
“Thank you, Horace,” she sniffed noisily as the tears fell down her cheeks, “Thank you for coming back for me.”
“Hey,” he reached for her hand, “You're my sister and I promised, didn't I?”
She nodded.
“Yes, you did.”
They drove all night, stopping once for gas and something to eat, before crossing the state line into Oklahoma. A few hours later, he pulled into the parking lot of a small apartment complex on the northern outskirts of Stillwater. The eastern sky was just beginning to lighten as he led her up two flights of stairs and down a narrow hallway, stopping before a door bearing the number “16” and inserting a key into the lock. The room inside was lit softly by a single lamp atop an end table beside a worn but comfortable looking sofa. Before either could say anything, a young woman in a plain cotton nightdress emerged from the galley kitchen with a relieved smile.
“You're back!” she exclaimed and walked into his arms. After a moment, she pulled away and turned her smile toward the young woman standing uncertainly behind Horace.
“Welcome, JoBeth. I'm Sandra. Horace's wife.”
JoBeth, relieved by the friendly greeting, smiled tiredly in return.
“Hello.”
Sandra stepped forward.
“You poor thing, you must be exhausted.” Taking JoBeth's hand, she began leading her down a short hallway toward one of the two bedrooms. “Come on, sweetheart, let's get you cleaned up and fed, then you can get some rest.”
~
In the days and weeks that followed, JoBeth slowly settled into her new home. She learned that Horace had taken the name Kenneth Monroe shortly after his escape from the compound as both a symbol of his new freedom, as well as protection against the People finding him. JoBeth followed suit by shortening her name to simply Beth and assuming his surname as her own. It was the first time she'd ever been known as anything other than JoBeth, and now as Beth Monroe, with the loving support of Kenneth and Sandra, she began to shed the persona that had been forced upon her from birth. In her place was a cheerful young woman with a ready smile and gentle manner, but if one looked closely they would see the shadows still lingering in her warm brown eyes.
It took some legal doings but with the help of a kind woman from legal aid she was able to establish her identity and with that in place she attended classes for the first time in her life Through adult education and literacy programs she learned how to read and do math, soaking up both like the proverbial sponge. In less than a year, she had completed her GED and enrolled in the local community college that fall. There, more classes helped build on her basic adult education until she was fully able to take college-level classes leading to her chosen major in social work. Three years later she graduated high in her class with an associates degree and set her sights on the University of Oklahoma. After graduating, again cum laud with the coveted degree in social work, she went to work as a clerk for the county prosecutor while completing the requirements for a paralegal certificate. A year later, she was working for Legal Aid and preparing to take the course necessary to become a victim's advocate, her ultimate goal, when disaster struck. The People had found Ken and Sandra, sending them and their three young daughters into hiding.
When Beth received word of what had happened, her first impulse was to run as well. But soul-deep rage rose up from within her and she resolved to fight for herself, her family, and the innocents trapped behind the high fence surrounding the compound of the Jesus Faith People.
The time had come to take a stand.
~
It would have been hard to say which was louder, the crunching of the sparse layer of gravel beneath Beth's worn work boots, or the frozen weeds spouting up from between the stones. The day was bitterly cold and the wind was constant as it blew in the blizzard that was expected to arrive in a few hours. Her eyes watered from the sleet pelleting them, causing her to pause for a moment to adjust the heavy wool scarf that she wore wrapped around her head. Along with keeping her face warm it also kept her fourth-hand wool cowboy hat where it was supposed to be. Over her layers of clothing she wore a ragged sailor's wool pea coat that she'd found at a church's clothing ministry. Her hands were covered first with a couple of pairs of cheap department store knit gloves then with a too-large pair of well-used leather work gloves. She looked like what she wanted to look like. A homeless transient living inside a rusted old delivery van with the words "Dandy Diaper Delivery Service" along with a dopey looking stork wearing a blue delivery cap just visible through the rust. It had been thier refuge for nearly three weeks.
Thinking of Luke, she hefted the heavy duffle she'd found inside a dumpster near an inner city Army-Navy store and hurried on. Upon reaching the van, she called out his name to let him know it was her before she pried open the back door amid angry metallic protests. The hand holding his Glock dropped back to his lap as she stepped inside and pulled the door closed behind her. The inside was surprisingly warm thanks to an improvised heater made from terracotta pots and candles that was hanging on a chain from a damaged ceiling rib near the front.
“Hi, honey,” he greeted her, one side of his mouth tipped up in a relieved smile, “you're home.”
“Sorry,” she responded, “Traffic was atrocious.”
After setting the duffle to one side, she crouched, took off her outer wear, and pressed her hands to his heavily whiskered cheeks. Still no fever, thank god. Maybe he really was finally on the mend.
“How do you feel?”
Luke grimaced and set the gun on the upturned elongated milk crate beside him alongside a sizable first aid kit, a bottle of peroxide, a stained empty coffee mug, and an ancient Mickey Spillane novel that was missing part of its front cover.
“Just peachy. How'd things go?”
Beth shifted as she began unloading the duffle.
“No word from Ken yet,” she replied as she withdrew a bag of bruised apples followed by canned meat and beans, bottles of water, and boxes of candles and matches. Last she withdrew a folded newspaper that yielded a wrinkled large brown envelope when she unfolded it. Luke watched it all with his usual bemusement.
“It still amazes me how you manage to carry all of that when you're barely bigger than a minute.”
“Try growing up in a commune where the women do all the heavy lifting.”
“Did the men do any of the lifting?”
“Just the boxes of so-called supplies. When they weren't lifting their fists.”
He merely grunted then held an arm to his belly as he shifted into a more upright sitting position.
“Damn!”
She glanced up but before she could comment he glared mutinously at her before reaching for an over-ripe apple. With a shrug, she squelched her instinctive mother hen response to his obvious discomfort and returned her attention to opening the envelope. Inside she found three Hollywood insider-type magazines from last year, a travel brochure from Ireland, and a heavy pink sealed envelope with “Tigger” scrawled across the front of it. After handing the magazines and brochure to Luke, she opened the envelope and withdrew a pretty card festooned with roses and butterflies, then smiled softly.
“What is it?” Luke asked before taking a bite of apple.
“A birthday card.”
“A birthday card? What kind of code could that hold?”
Beth shook her head and opened the card. It contained a warm verse for a sister and was unsigned.
“No code. It's a birthday card from my brother.”
“A birth...why the hell did he send that?”
She looked at him with a sheen of tears in her warm brown eyes. Eyes that were tired and lined with worry and hardship that couldn't quite drive away her inborn zest for life.
“Because my birthday was two days ago.”
“Why's 'Tigger' written on the envelope?”
“It was his nickname for me growing up. He hasn't called me that in years. I guess it was his way of keeping our identities safe, just in case.”
“Oh.” He swallowed and paused before taking another bite. “Happy belated birthday, then. I'll take you out to dinner and feed you cake and ice cream when we get out of this mess.”
She grinned at him and he was struck, not for the first time, by how attractive she was despite her hacked off, badly dyed black hair and grimy face. Also not for the first time, he wondered if he'd ever get to see her as she'd been in the picture he'd been given of her prior to their first contact. She was a natural sunny blonde, and she'd worn her long, fine hair pulled back on one side and been dressed in pretty clothes. Her smile had been relaxed and happy. Radiant.
And he swore silently to himself that it would be again if he had anything to say about it!
She set aside the card and they went to work using the magazines and brochure, and the key they'd received several days before to decipher the latest updates and instructions that had nothing to do with the Kardashians.
Luke had been a Nevada state highway patrolman before joining the ATF at the age of twenty-five. He'd spent the past sixteen years working deep undercover alongside other federal agents to rout out illegal arms traffickers and the shadowy organizations behind them that usually operated in plain sight as seemingly benign entities. In this case, the outwardly peaceful Jesus Faith People commune who presented a convincing Aquarian persona to the outside world. The government had been suspicious of them for years but could never get close enough to gather any evidence to prove they were anything but peaceful and God-fearing. Until Ken Monroe walked into the main office in Washington and began telling them a story far different from the image the commune portrayed. He had taken his family into hiding in Canada and returned alone to eradicate the danger to them once and for all. He was angry and he was sick and tired of having to keep looking over his shoulder. He'd changed their identities three times in four years and had left his family behind with one more, while he returned as Kenneth Monroe, aka a man once known only as “Horace” when he lived among The People. His sister had resisted his pleas to join his family in Ottawa and had instead elected to do her part in destroying what had at one time been her family and her home by helping government officials understand the women's and children's roles within the commune, and even making herself available to any children and women who indicated they wanted to escape. And it had cost them both dearly. Both now had bounties on their heads and Beth had nearly been killed several weeks before during what she'd believed was a clandestine meeting with someone she'd thought she could trust, one of the “mothers” who had raised her and claimed to have escaped the commune herself. Instead, she'd led men from the commune, enforcers including Beth's supposed husband, right to her. If Luke hadn't been watching their meeting from nearby, she wouldn't have survived. As it was, he'd suffered a slashing knife wound from which he'd nearly died. Finding someplace to hide as rapidly as possible meant she was unable to take him anywhere for help, so she'd stolen one of the enforcers decrepit looking pick ups and after basically stuffing Luke into the passenger side, took off down the street. After careening around several corners, she slowed to a safer speed, praying she'd lost anyone who may have been pursuing them. Eventually, she found the junk yard on the edge of town, surrounded by a high fence with no sign warning of a “bad dog” anywhere in sight. Remembering all that Ken had taught her about remaining hidden, Beth had found the old van and done everything she could to save Luke's life. And she had, thanks in large part to the wound not reaching any major organs. The danger had been in the blood loss and she had often commented to him that it was the first time she'd ever found a practical use for all the fine needlework she'd been taught in childhood.
And so they hid and they waited, with Beth making infrequent trips into town first to let the team know what had happened, then to collect supplies and coded information and instructions from locations as directed by the team leader in each packet. It was decided their hiding spot would go undisclosed to keep them safe, which meant they were, for all intents and purposes, on their own. In the meanwhile, her brother and Luke's colleagues had begun closing the noose around The Jesus Faith People commune.
The blizzard arrived on a sudden gust of hurricane-force wind that set the improvised terracotta heater to swaying and woke Beth from her troubled sleep. Beside her, Luke was already awake, lounging on his side, head propped on one hand as he watched her intently through the dim light. For long moments they stared at one another before Beth broke the strange spell and sat up. Only to dive back under the scratchy wool military-issue blanket and sleeping bag with its broken zipper that, combined with their shared body heat, kept them safe from the rapidly dropping temperature. Outside they heard the metallic sounds of loose junk crashing into other junk, and occasionally colliding with the outside of their van. Each time it happened, she would quiver in fright until he finally drew her against him and wrapped them both in the blanket and sleeping bag. Neither said a word as she lay snuggled against him, listening to the comforting beat of his heart in her ear and feeling its rhythmic thud against her palm, until she once again fell asleep, never feeling the tender kiss he pressed to the top of her head moments before he followed her into slumber.
The wind and snow blew for nearly two days before ending almost as suddenly as it had begun. Beth and Luke remained within their cocoon except for when nature made its inevitable calls or the terracotta heater needed its candles replaced. When Ken had originally shown her how to make one she had scoffed at the idea that such an improvised device could actually work. How she hoped she'd be able to see him and bow to his superior survival wisdom, again!
Snow had drifted until it nearly covered the old van but, luckily, being surrounded by other forgotten hunks of rust and with the rear facing away from the brunt of the storm it wasn't too difficult to dig their way out. The brilliance of the sun on the snow, especially after spending so much time in the dim confines, proved too intense to do much more than empty the two dented steel buckets that had served as chamber pots and breathe in fresh air before returning inside.
Needing provisions meant leaving the safety of the junkyard refuge. Luke insisted the next day that he go along this time, which Beth argued against, but in the end she acquiesced when he warned her that he'd go with or without her anyway. Tempers had been in danger of boiling over during their confinement and she realized that he needed to get out for himself as much as for their civility toward one another. So, once the sun had sunk far enough to make it easier to see, they bundled themselves up in their layers of clothes and set out.
The snow was at least three feet deep until they reached the road. There they hoped the danger in walking along the plowed surface was lessened, if not mitigated, by the driving conditions and that there wouldn't be anyone looking for them at that moment. Beth had long ago learned never to become complacent with how secure things might seem. She had learned the hard way just how determined, and how far spread, the true influence of the commune leaders reached. No one was to be trusted completely. She glanced worriedly at Luke. Except a very few people. In Luke's case, Ken had assured her that he could be trusted. She had always, implicitly, trusted his word so she trusted Luke. She just hoped it wouldn't prove that trust to have been misguided on either of their parts.
Town at dusk wasn't booming but neither was it deserted. They stuck to the shadows as they made their way to the last location specified in the previous packet, a secluded fenced area of the public park once used for storing equipment. Now it held little more than a few industrial lawn mowers and a couple of long-unused golf cards with the city emblem on the hoods. Inside there were a few die-hard transients living in makeshift shelters and they watched Beth and Luke suspiciously as they approached. Beth had kept a close eye on Luke's progress and noted that, while not as strong as he'd been at full health, he was holding his own very well. So she turned her full attention to her surroundings as they carefully made their way toward an old jail van parked in a far back corner.
They were almost there when there was a flurry of sound behind them and they whirled about, with Luke pulling the pistol from his coat pocket with his fingerless gloves. They found themselves facing a line of men dressed in survival gear and carrying pistols and small automatic weapons, some of whom Beth recognized as transients they had just passed. Other transients were disappearing rapidly out the gate. As she watched, one of the men lifted the balaclava from his bearded face and she found herself facing the man who been the source of her nightmares since before she'd left the commune.
“Well, wife,” his hateful voice greeted her, “at long last we meet again.” He gestured with the barrel of his gun. “Throw it away. Now.”
After a moment, Luke did as ordered and side pitched the gun. Suddenly, Beth felt herself go calm inside, but not from despair. Somehow she knew help, possibly even Ken, was nearby.
“Lazarus,” she replied evenly, “Yes. I can't say it's a pleasure, though.”
“You were always an insolent bitch.”
“I became what you and your friends made me become.” She shrugged. “No one to blame for it but yourselves.”
He smiled nastily.
“A mistake I intend to correct.”
“Would be kinda hard to hide the mess,” Luke commented, nodding at the snow made dirty with tracked mud and debris, “Bloods pretty difficult to disguise in snow.”
“Don't intend to leave a trace.” Lazarus nodded over his shoulder and barked, “Malachi! Joseph!”
Two men slung their automatic weapons over their shoulders and started to approach when a swarm of of humanity poured in wearing winter gear emblazoned with various government agencies. Luke grabbed Beth and threw her to the ground, covering her body with his as bullets began to fly. In a matter of moments someone ordered a seize fire and it was over. The bodies of Lazarus and his henchmen lay atop the dirty snow, steam rising from their blood even as it began to congeal in the cold, leaving more than a trace to mark their violent passing.
Luke rolled off of Beth and pulled her up with him just as two figures approached. On was identified by the bright white FBI on their jacket. When they lifted their balaclavas, Beth instantly recognized Jessica Beems, the Agent-in-Charge she had been working with. Beside her stood Ken, smiling broadly in relief as he held open his arms. With a laugh, Beth launched herself at him even as Luke shook the agent's gloved hand.
“'Bout time you people showed up,” the agent grinned, “It was getting damned cold out here waiting on you!”
He grinned in response.
“I'm sure, Jessica, that the local Starbucks was doing a booming business in the meanwhile. Nice set up, by the way. I knew you'd eventually get around to saving my ass once and for all.”
The agent chuckled.
“And such a nice ass it is. As for Starbucks, I'm sure the owners can probably retire and move to Arizona or someplace as warm earlier than expected thanks to us!”
Beside them, Beth was enveloped in her brother's arms and held so tightly breathing was difficult, even with so many layers separating them.
“Is it over?” she asked breathlessly when they pulled apart, but their hands remained clasped, neither willing to let the other go just yet.
“It's over,” Ken assured her then drew her back in a quick, hard hug, “It's finally over.”
“The rest of the organization has been neutralized,” Jessica told them. “We have enough evidence to put a lot of people away for a very long time.”
Luke grinned.
“Thank God. Does this mean I can go home now?”
“Do you still have a home?”
It had been months since he'd seen his apartment in Duluth.
“If my rent kept getting paid I do.”
He met Beth's eyes and their smiles dimmed as they realized what “being over” meant for them. Before either could say anything, Ken held out his hand with a wide smile.
“Thank you for looking out for my sister,” he said.
“Thank me?” Luke scoffed, “Buddy, she took care of me!”
Everyone laughed as with a last smile as Ken put his arm around Beth's shoulders and began leading her away while Luke continued his initial debriefing with Agent Beems.
Months passed. As the investigation wound down the courts took over with both Ken and Beth acting as witnesses in many of the trials. Occasionally she would run into Luke at a hearing and have time for a quick hello before the business at hand would interrupt before any real communication could take place. Ken's wife and family returned from Ottawa and resettled in a new house in Stillwater. Beth returned as well but remained restless and lonely, thinking about Luke and missing him more than she had missed her own brother. She wondered where he was. Was he already on another assignment? Or was he in Duluth. She grinned. Duluth? She just couldn't envision him in such a placid sounding town.
June arrived hot and dry in Oklahoma. Beth had completed the coursework and was now working as a victim's advocate for the county prosecutor's office. She had long since moved out of Ken and Sandra's house and into her own small cottage in an older, renovated neighborhood. She loved living there. Loved taking care of the flower beds surrounding the foundation and the small vegetable garden that she'd planted in one section of the large back yard. To both satisfy a long-held wish and to take away some of the longing she still felt for Luke, she adopted a small dog from the local shelter, naming the homely little pooch Custis, short for “cussedness,” which described his terrier-like temperament perfectly. In the evenings, she and Custis would often spend the cooler twilight hours sitting on the porch swing waving as an occasional neighbor would walk past on their nightly constitutional and sometimes stopping to chat before continuing on their way.
It was one such evening when a Harley-Davidson came slowly up the street, it's engine growling as if frustrated from being held back as the helmeted, leather-clad rider searched the numbers on the houses. Beth watched for a moment before her heart began to pound. As the motorcycle drew closer, she rose from the swing and walked slowly to the the steps and waited. Soon, the bike slowed to a stop directly behind her older model Ford Taurus. The rider lifted the shield to stare across the yard at her before lifting the helmet from his head. Beth laughed and ran down the steps, meeting Luke half way down the walkway where he swung her up and around in his arms with a laugh. Without a word between them, and with Custis yapping madly at their feet, their lips met for the first time, returning time and again between hugs of welcome and taking turns touching one another's faces in delight as they laughed and swore how much they'd missed each other. Finally their exuberance calmed as he took her face in his hands.
“I've missed you,” he whispered and kissed her again, the embrace at first gentle before deepening to leave their hearts pounding and their breathing rapid.
Finally they separated long enough to walk up the steps and enter the house, arms around one another's waists, with Custis leading the way.
I like the story and the way it finally ended. But you left me with some questions. Right in the beginning JoBeth went to town for the first time. You never explained what she did there.
Using the windstorm twice as a way of revealing the outside world was okay, but I would've liked something different, perhaps to cause the fences to be breached and the escape to happen. Wire cutters would be quicker than pliers, in any event. For example… A driverless old school bus suddenly crashes through the fence of the compound creating great disarray. JoBeth sees the opening and Horace waving at her to come.
And, her arrival back at the commune and escape seemed improbable. But I assume it was some kind of undercover work that the FBI had created for Beth. So I didn't find the story as realistic as Eva did.
Expanded with some of the gaps filled, it could become a novella or full novel.
She'd never intended for her life to go this way, living in a rusted old delivery van in a junk yard with a badly wounded man to protect, worried that even here they would find her...
