Walk by Faith

The Farm watched us come.

That was the only way I knew to describe it.

The white farmhouse sat at the end of the dirt road with its deep porch and red barn. Fields stretched in every direction beneath the late-afternoon sky.

Homey.

Normal.

Nothing about it suggested hidden doors to nightmare worlds.

Gene and I carried Sasha on the blanket.

Bodhi walked beside her, one hand supporting the bandaged shoulder while Kristy Lee carried the medication Felicia had packed.

Rachel walked ahead of us.

The closer she got to the farmhouse, the straighter she stood.

The exhaustion disappeared.

Not all at once.

A little with every step.

I noticed.

Nobody else seemed to.

The porch boards creaked beneath my weight.

Warmth moved through the soles of my shoes.

Not heat.

Recognition.

Like the house had felt me coming and settled more comfortably onto its foundation.

Bodhi stared at the porch.

“I haven’t been here in a long time.”

Gene looked toward the barn.

“Not long enough.”

Kristy Lee nudged him.

“You said this place was empty.”

“It was.”

Henderson climbed the steps behind us.

“It was supposed to be.”

I looked at him.

“What does that mean?”

“The owners are in prison. Property got tangled up in forfeiture proceedings.”

Gene pointed toward the front door.

“Government moves slow, criminals move in.”

The door wasn’t locked.

Gene pushed it open.

“Anybody home?”

No answer.

We carried Sasha inside and lowered her carefully onto the couch.

Bodhi immediately sat beside her.

The farmhouse smelled clean.

Not abandoned.

Lived in.

Fresh groceries filled the refrigerator. Canned food lined the cabinets. Two coffee cups sat drying beside the sink.

Someone had replaced the curtains.

A stack of motorcycle magazines rested on the coffee table.

Gene picked one up.

His expression changed.

“Oh no.”

Engines roared outside.

Gene closed his eyes.

“There it is.”

Two motorcycles rolled up the dirt road.

The first was an old Harley carrying an even older biker.

Gray beard.

Weathered leather vest.

Permanent expression of disappointment with the modern world.

The second rider unfolded himself from a three-wheeled motorcycle.

Unfolded was the only word for it.

The man was enormous.

Tall.

Wide.

Close to four hundred pounds.

He climbed off the trike and shoved chewing tobacco into one cheek.

Gene walked onto the porch.

“Well, look who survived organized crime.”

The older biker stopped.

His eyes narrowed.

“Do I know you?”

“Screwball, right?”

The biker’s scowl deepened.

“Ain’t Screwball anymore.”

“What happened?”

“Too many Jacks.”

Gene waited.

“That did not explain anything.”

The biker jabbed a thumb toward himself.

“They call me Geriatric Jack now.”

Gene looked genuinely offended on his behalf.

“You let people call you Geriatric Jack?”

“Wasn’t my first choice.”

The bigger man spit tobacco juice into an empty soda can.

Jack nodded approvingly.

“See? He can learn.”

Gene pointed toward him.

“Little Dipper?”

Little Dipper raised one hand.

“Still me.”

Henderson came onto the porch.

He recognized the Devil’s Angels patches on their vests immediately.

“What are you two doing here?”

Jack squared his shoulders.

“We live here.”

“No, you don’t.”

“We got dibs.”

“That isn’t how property law works.”

Gene looked at Henderson.

“Honestly, I’ve heard worse legal arguments.”

Jack pointed toward the house.

“Everybody who owned this place went to jail. Devil’s Angels broke apart. We needed somewhere to go.”

“So you took over property involved in an active forfeiture case?” Henderson asked.

Jack shrugged.

“Government wasn’t using it.”

Henderson rubbed his forehead.

“I’ve been mayor less than a year.”

“You’re doing great,” Gene said.

“Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

Rachel stepped onto the porch.

The conversation stopped.

She didn’t raise her voice.

Didn’t glow.

Didn’t make any dramatic gesture.

She simply looked at Jack and Little Dipper.

The air changed.

Pressure settled over the porch.

Heavy.

Deep.

Like the second before a thunderstorm breaks.

Jack’s shoulders lowered.

Little Dipper stopped chewing.

“We’re using the house,” Rachel said.

Jack swallowed.

“Well…”

“We got dibs,” Little Dipper offered.

Rachel looked at him.

He lowered his eyes.

Nobody had agreed to anything.

Still, Jack stepped aside.

Rachel walked past him.

The rest of us followed.

Jack and Little Dipper followed us.

Probably because they lived there.

Possibly because Rachel hadn’t given them permission not to.

Inside, Gene stopped near the living-room carpet.

He stared down.

“What?” I asked.

He crouched and brushed his fingers over an uneven heart drawn near one corner.

The shape had faded, but it was still there.

“I drew this.”

Kristy Lee looked over his shoulder.

“You drew a heart on the carpet?”

“It was a complicated night.”

Gene looked toward Henderson.

“What did you do with the bodies?”

Henderson frowned.

“What bodies?”

“The two dead guys.”

“What two dead guys?”

“The two dead guys who were right here.”

Gene pointed toward the floor.

Henderson shook his head.

“There were no bodies when we searched the Farm.”

Gene slowly stood.

“There were definitely bodies.”

“I read every report.”

“Maybe your people misplaced them.”

“My officers do not misplace bodies.”

Gene looked around the room.

“See? This is why I hate coming back.”

Rachel ignored them.

“The door is beneath the carpet.”

Gene looked at her.

“Of course it is.”

We moved the furniture.

Jack helped with an armchair.

Little Dipper lifted the coffee table with one hand and carried it into the kitchen.

Gene and Kristy Lee rolled the carpet toward the wall.

The heart disappeared inside it.

Beneath the carpet sat a wooden door built directly into the living-room floor.

Old boards.

Black iron hinges.

A lock where no lock should have been.

Jack stared.

“That wasn’t there.”

“It was under the carpet,” Henderson said.

“I know what under means.”

Little Dipper leaned closer.

“You think it’s a tornado shelter?”

Gene folded his arms.

“In my experience, nothing under this house is ever something useful.”

Rachel reached inside her coat.

The bone key appeared in her hand.

It was nearly as long as a man’s forearm.

Because that was probably what it had been made from.

Ancient symbols covered its surface. Some looked carved. Others looked burned into the bone.

The closer Rachel brought it to the door, the more violently it trembled.

A hum filled the room.

Low.

Steady.

I felt it in my teeth.

Then beneath my ribs.

The Farm answered.

Floorboards vibrated beneath my feet.

Dust drifted from the ceiling.

The hum moved through my body until my heartbeat matched it.

Nobody looked at me.

Nobody else seemed to feel what I felt.

Rachel inserted the key.

The vibration stopped.

The lock turned with a heavy click.

The door opened by itself.

Cold air rushed upward.

Darkness waited below.

Not the darkness of a basement.

This darkness had depth.

Movement.

Somewhere far beneath us, water flowed.

I leaned closer.

“Sounds like a river.”

Rachel looked down into the opening.

“A Lost River.”

My ministry.

My name for something I thought I’d created.

Something meant to carry broken men toward a place where they could begin again.

I looked into the hole.

The river below sounded older than language.

Jack leaned over the opening.

“How deep is it?”

Little Dipper crouched beside him.

“Can’t see the bottom.”

“Probably shouldn’t stand that close,” Gene said.

For once, Gene’s instincts were excellent.

Rachel stepped behind them.

“See you on the other side, boys.”

She placed one hand against Jack’s back.

The other against Little Dipper’s.

Then pushed.

It should not have worked.

Jack was a full-grown man.

Little Dipper was built like a commercial refrigerator.

Rachel moved them both as easily as children.

Jack disappeared first.

Little Dipper grabbed for him and followed.

“HEY—”

Their screams dropped into the darkness.

Little Dipper’s voice echoed upward.

“I THINK WE’RE FALLING!”

Then they were gone.

Henderson grabbed Rachel’s arm.

“What the hell did you just do?”

Rachel looked down at his hand.

Henderson released her.

“They’ll be alive when they land,” she said.

Not safe.

Not fine.

Alive when they landed.

Careful words.

Bodhi came to the edge.

“We have to go after them.”

Rachel’s face softened.

Just for him.

“The fall won’t hurt them.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve done this before.”

Bodhi looked toward Sasha.

She lay on the couch with her head raised.

Watching Rachel.

Always watching Rachel.

“She stays here,” I said.

Rachel turned toward me.

“No.”

“She’s been shot.”

“She comes with us.”

“Felicia said not to move her unless it was absolutely necessary.”

Rachel smiled.

“She won’t be hurt on the other side.”

I stared at her.

“What does that mean?”

“You’ll see.”

Bodhi returned to the couch.

He slid one arm beneath Sasha’s chest and the other beneath her hindquarters, keeping the blanket wrapped around her and supporting the bandaged shoulder.

Sasha whimpered.

“I know, Princess.”

She licked his chin.

“That’s my girl.”

Rachel approached them.

Sasha’s body stiffened.

A low growl rolled from her chest.

Bodhi stroked her neck.

“It’s okay.”

It wasn’t.

Rachel extended her hand to Bodhi.

The pressure in the room changed again.

Not stronger.

Warmer.

The kind of warmth she’d given me on the plane.

Comfort shaped like certainty.

Bodhi took her hand.

Rachel lifted his fingers to her lips.

“My love.”

Sasha growled again.

Bodhi didn’t seem to hear it.

He stepped to the edge with her in his arms.

I moved toward him.

“Bodhi.”

He looked back.

“I have to find out.”

Then he jumped.

Sasha disappeared with him.

Gene looked down into the darkness.

“Well.”

Kristy Lee grabbed his arm.

“Don’t.”

“Storybook Boy just jumped into another world carrying an injured dog.”

“That isn’t an argument for doing it too.”

“He might need help.”

“He definitely needs help. That doesn’t mean—”

Gene kissed her forehead.

Quick.

Before she could stop him.

“I’ll yell if there isn’t a bottom.”

Then he jumped.

Kristy Lee stared into the hole.

“You absolute idiot.”

Gene’s voice echoed faintly from below.

“There she is!”

Kristy Lee shook her head.

Then jumped after him.

Henderson moved toward the opening.

I caught his sleeve.

“You’re the mayor.”

“Yes.”

“You have a town.”

“I know.”

“Responsibilities.”

“I’m familiar with the concept.”

“You sure about this?”

Henderson looked into the darkness.

“I spent years pretending Rachel Lewis was a missing-person case.”

He adjusted his jacket.

“It stopped being a case a long time ago.”

Then he jumped.

Rachel and I stood alone beside the opening.

The pressure in the farmhouse changed.

No warmth now.

No comfort.

Just weight.

Her eyes studied me.

“I know you’re thinking about running.”

“I’m thinking you threw two men into a hole.”

“They’ll be waiting for us.”

“You said they’d be alive when they landed.”

“They will be.”

“That isn’t the same thing.”

A smile touched her lips.

Small.

Private.

Gone almost immediately.

“You’re finally asking better questions.”

The bone key remained in the lock.

Rachel pulled it free.

The darkness below shifted.

Hungry.

She slipped the key inside her coat.

Then stepped close enough for me to feel her breath.

“Don’t run away, Dan.”

It wasn’t advice.

It wasn’t encouragement.

It was a threat dressed like concern.

Then the warmth returned.

Bright.

Safe.

False.

Rachel stepped backward into the opening.

She smiled as gravity took her.

Then she disappeared.

Silence settled over the farmhouse.

I stood alone.

The front door remained open behind me.

Late-afternoon sunshine stretched across the floor.

I could leave.

Walk down the dirt road.

Find the limousine.

Call the state police.

Go home.

Bury Mama.

Find Nathan.

Let Bodhi, Gene, Kristy Lee, and Henderson deal with whatever waited below.

The Farm creaked around me.

Not random settling.

A breath.

The floor beneath my feet remained warm.

Waiting.

Then a voice rose from the darkness.

“Daniel.”

Every muscle in my body froze.

Nobody called me Daniel.

Not unless I was in trouble.

Or scared.

Or six years old and pretending I didn’t care that all the other boys had fathers waiting after practice.

“Daniel.”

Warm.

Safe.

Familiar.

My chest tightened.

“Mama?”

The darkness answered in her voice.

“Hail Mary, full of grace…”

I closed my eyes.

I wanted it to be her.

That was the problem.

Wanting something didn’t make it true.

Mama was dead.

Whatever waited beneath that house knew what I missed.

Knew what I feared.

Knew exactly which voice might draw me forward.

Faith wasn’t believing every voice that came out of the darkness.

Sometimes faith was knowing the darkness could lie and moving anyway.

Because Bodhi was down there.

Gene.

Kristy Lee.

Henderson.

Sasha.

People I barely knew.

People who needed me anyway.

I’d spent two years standing beneath stage lights telling young men that faith meant taking the next step when they couldn’t see where their foot would land.

Apparently the Lord had decided it was time to find out whether I listened to my own speeches.

I stepped to the edge.

The Lost River moved somewhere below.

Mama’s voice called again.

“Daniel.”

I looked into the darkness.

“I’m not coming because you called me.”

The voice stopped.

“I’m coming because they need me.”

Then I stepped forward.

Gravity took hold.

The farmhouse disappeared.

And the darkness swallowed me whole.