the night.
Eventually she found her voice again. “What do you mean when you say you’ve heard the thunder speak?”
He turned slightly in her direction. “Just that. If you listen, it can speak to you. Not that I’m going to say it happens all the time. You’re a Christian, right?”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever heard God’s voice in your heart?”
“A few times.”
“Well, it’s the same. Sometimes I hear the thunder in my heart. It speaks to me.”
“And the stones?”
“The stones are alive. Everything is alive, Connie. That’s where we make our biggest mistake, I think, believing that some things aren’t. Or maybe a better word would be aware. Everything is aware. That’s why my uncle taught me to give thanks for even the smallest things. Give thanks to the tree before you cut it, things like that.”
“I happen to think that’s a beautiful way of looking at the world.”
“It could be.”
He returned his attention to the street. Lightning flashed brightly again, followed by a boom of thunder. “Give thanks to the rain, to the food you eat. To the mountains that shelter you. It’s not exactly pantheistic, at least not the way my uncle taught me. But it does recognize the importance of everything in our world.”
Intuition made her say, “You haven’t thought about this for a long time, have you.”
Another flicker of lightning limned his figure against the curtains, and she saw echoes of ancient warriors in the afterimage.
“No, I haven’t. For years now, I haven’t really had time to think about that part of myself except in a general way. I’ve been too focused on external reality. On trying to survive and keep my fellows alive. Not much room for anything else.”
“I wouldn’t think so. But now you have time.”
“I do.” He bent, retrieving his mug and sipping. “You make great coffee.”
“Thanks.”
The voice of thunder spoke again, a deep rolling rumble. Yet no rain fell.
“What I saw earlier today...” He hesitated.
“Go on. At this point I would believe you if you told me that you saw a leprechaun all dressed in green.”
A chuckle escaped him, a sound not unlike the thunder. “No leprechauns. Something else.”
She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Tell me.”
“What I saw wasn’t there. It wasn’t a man. But I didn’t hallucinate, either.”
“Meaning?”
“I didn’t see with the eyes in my head.”
Shock slammed her chest like a semi running out of control. She couldn’t breathe; no air remained in the room. Finally, sucking in something that posed as air, she managed to say, “I don’t understand. Why did you run after it if it wasn’t real?”
“It was real,” he said with certainty. “I hoped to learn more, but I failed. All I can tell you is that the threat has not gone.”
“He’s still here?”
“And looking for your daughter.”
* * *
That put paid to any possibility of sleep for Connie. She drained her coffee mug, then went to refill it. When she returned to the living room, Ethan was sitting on the couch, holding his own mug. He was turned to the side so he could continue to look out the front window.
Lightning flashed, thunder boomed hollowly, and the fury seemed to be trying creep indoors.
Connie spoke. “You can’t know that.”
“Perhaps not.”
He didn’t seem to mean it, and she didn’t believe him, anyway. She considered herself a practical, prosaic person, but she also knew that was a bit of self-delusion. She’d had premonitions in her life. She’d had moments of absolute knowing that couldn’t be explained any other way. Not many, but enough to give her respect for Ethan’s intuition.
“Sorry,” she said after a moment. Her hand shook so badly she put her coffee down. “I’m trying to find denial here.”
He nodded. “I can understand that. But even if you do manage it, you won’t stay in denial long. You’re not the type.”
“Maybe not anymore. I used to be pretty good at it.”
“During your marriage.”
“Yes.”
That time the lightning flash blinded her, washing out the room with its glare. Then a crack of thunder threatened to rend the world. A cry from upstairs brought Connie from her chair and toward the stairway as if springs had ejected her.
Even so, Ethan beat her to it. He reached the top of the stairs when she was still only two-thirds of the way up.
She heard the bedroom door open, saw the light spill on as he flipped the switch. A couple of seconds later she was looking into her daughter’s bedroom. Sophie, pale-faced, was sitting upright in bed. “I’m scared,” she said.
Connie moved toward her. “That was sure loud, honey,” she agreed. She sat on the edge of her daughter’s bed and pulled the girl into a hug. “It made me jump, too.”
“I wanna come downstairs.”
“Fair enough,” Connie agreed. “Hot milk?”
“Hot chocolate.”
“Hmmm.” Connie pretended to think about it, hoping Sophie couldn’t hear how hard her heart was hammering. “Well, okay...”
A wan smile formed on Sophie’s mouth, but her eyes remained pinched.
It was too much for her, Connie thought. First the attempted abduction, and now this storm. Straw, camel, back, she thought. “Okay, let’s go downstairs. Hot chocolate sounds wonderful.”
Another crack of thunder shook the house to its foundations. Sophie looked up, clearly trying to be brave. “This is a nasty storm.”
“It sure is. Bad, bad, bad storm,” Connie added, as if scolding the weather.
Sophie’s smile grew more natural. Connie helped her daughter into her slippers and robe, and took her hand so they could walk down to the kitchen together.
Only as they moved toward the door did she realize that Ethan had vanished.
Gone like a ghost.
*
