Eyes Without a Face

By Robin Tracy

It is a frigid day in 1969 when a tiny baby with hypnotizing green eyes is abandoned on the steps of a boarded-up orphanage. Destined to be raised by the aging nuns who live in a neighboring rectory, Rheyanne Christian is a strange, silent child who seems to live in a world of her own making.

Plagued by horrific nightmares that foretell tragic future events and haunted by a mysterious dark figure without a face, Rheyanne quickly learns she is not like other people. Convinced the dark spirit with the eyes of a beast is going to come for her one day, Rheyanne grows up fearful in a secluded but loving environment that protects her from the outside world. But when she is finally adopted by an abusive, money-hungry couple, Rheyanne becomes more determined than ever to rid her life of the faceless eyes. As she embarks on a desperate quest to learn the spirits true identity and intentions, Rheyanne has no idea she will soon be drawn into the ultimate battle between good and evil.

In this gripping thriller, a girl born into a destiny she never asked for must return to her past for the answersbefore her nightmares come true.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Abbott Press
• Release date: Jun 19, 2013
• ISBN: 9781458209832

Robin Tracy

Robin Tracy owns and operates a successful small business. Now widowed with three children, she lives in a small town in southwestern Missouri, where she is raising her youngest daughter.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

S o often is spoken the worn out cliché, The eyes are indeed a window to the soul. This cannot be for can a child be born evil? When you peer into the eyes of a newborn infant and see only darkness, whose soul might you truly be viewing?

Did Sheriff Colbine wonder that very thing as he stared into the miry green depths of Rheyanne Christian’s eyes? The child was only hours old yet eerily lay silent in the discomfort of his strong but hesitant arms. He shook his head and handed the baby back to Mother Maggie. I’m having a real hard time buying your story sister. It’s seventeen degrees out there. She could not have been in that box for more than a few minutes but there’s not a sign of tire tracks anywhere. The whole thing just sounds absurd to me. This is 1969. People don’t just leave babies on the steps of a boarded-up orphanage. There are agencies.

The aging nun held up her hand to silence him and then quickly tucked it beneath the receiving blanket as if to hide the freshly broken fingernails. I have done my duty officer. I reported the abandoned child. I assume your attitude is a veiled accusation in reference to the adoption scandal in Detroit. I can assure you young man, those folks may have called themselves Catholic but they have no part in my beloved church.

Whoa there, I’m not here to make accusations. I am simply trying to take a report. You called me, remember? He softened. So let’s get back to the facts. You walked out of the rectory to check the mail. Something compelled you to visit the old orphanage on the south side of the property and you what? Heard the baby cry?

I heard no crying. She gently cupped the baby’s cheek.

The sheriff removed his hat and shook his head. Returning to his note pad he continued. "Okay, so you somehow sensed she was there. Whatever. He rolled his eyes. You found no clothing or personal effects, nothing except for this Gothic metal crate, right? Is that something they may have found on the property? I mean it looks pretty old and religious."

Indeed; quite old and sacred Maggie said as she gingerly ran her forefinger along the tarnished silver edges and traced the outline of the crucifix deeply etched into the cover. However, I do not recognize it. She stiffened her back and handed him a crumpled tissue. I also found this.

Rheyanne Christian. He read aloud. Hmm, I’ll check out the last name but it sounds pretty fictitious considering where they chose to discard her. He held his palms upward with a shrug as if to balance something in each hand. Church, Christian. Yeah, I’d be willing to bet the name’s a fake. His eyes were drawn again to Rheyanne who suddenly drew a sharp breath but made no other sound. What’s wrong with her? he asked. Not a peep in over an hour. My kids never did that. I don’t think my Billy ever went five minutes without squalling.

The doctor said she is perfectly healthy. Not all babies cry without good reason.

I’d say she has reason. She’s got to be cold and hungry yet doesn’t cry, wriggle or coo like most babies and wow. Those eyes are really something. I’ve never seen eyes so green. I swear to God they cut right through you. It’s really kind of unnerving

Maggie cradled the child protectively over her heart. One should not swear, nor should they judge. She raised an eyebrow in gentle reprimand.

Sheriff Colbine lowered his chin. I’m sorry. I meant nothing by it. She just doesn’t seem… well… right I guess.

You just don’t know how right she is. Maggie said wistfully speaking more to the child than him. Then she changed the subject. Now don’t get the idea that you can have the state of Minnesota swooping in and scooping her up. We may not be a licensed orphanage anymore but my aide and I are perfectly capable of raising this baby. I will make certain she is properly educated and well prepared for all that our Lord may have in store for her.

About that, the state… He jumped as the radio on his belt crackled to life.

One-twenty come back. The voice stated through the static.

Colbine here. What’s up Jenkins? His words were brimming with agitation.

I know you’re all the way out in Icy Rivers but we have a situation… FBI.

Sheriff Colbine groaned. Feds, in our neck of the woods? He rolled his eyes.

Yes sir. They’ve linked one of our missing persons to the guy who’s been sending those weird letters to that precinct in Texas.

Shit he muttered beneath his breath and then he turned his attention back to Maggie, I’ve gotta go sister. I’ll let you know what I dig up on the kid’s parents and what the state requires in the way of paperwork. He raced toward the heavy wooden doors.

Maggie nodded and replied with a haunting odd whisper that stopped him cold.

Her name or parents are of no matter; it is only her destiny that is of great consequence.

Rumor and religion strolled hand in hand in the tranquil community of Icy Rivers during the early seventies. The town remained idyllically isolated by towering trees and closed-minded thinking. This was not the kind of place that would readily accept a strange pale child that refused to speak and seemed to live in world of her own making.

Not long after Rheyanne turned three, Celia, Maggie’s aide took the child into town with her to run a few errands. Go to hell! she screamed as a man wielding a broom forced her out of the store. Surely the words sounded bizarre to those nearby as she was dressed head to toe as an old-school Catholic nun.

With a thick Irish brogue, the store owner snarled from safely behind the counter, You just keep that devil-eyed wee one out of me shop. That’s my kin she be disrespecting now.

Celia pulled hard, too hard on Rheyanne’s wrist and whirled her violently toward the car. What’s the matter with you? Celia seethed in a tone too low for the gawking townsfolk to hear. Her cheeks were blazing with obvious anger and humiliation.

Rheyanne dutifully climbed into the rusty old vehicle, without a word, and snapped her seat belt into place. Her eyes were aimed decisively forward as if not seeing or hearing anything that went on around her.

"How could you write that? How could you even think that?" Celia slammed the car into gear. The speedometer did not dip below seventy before reaching the overgrown property of the church. She stormed into the rectory without closing the car door or casting so much as a single glance in the dark haired child’s direction.

That kid is possessed! she shouted to Mother Maggie.

Nonsense. Maggie’s anger welled quickly. She motioned for Rheyanne to come in from the car. Her voice softened as she leaned down to kiss the child’s forehead. Be a good girl, and go take your afternoon rest.

Rheyanne hesitated for a splinter of a second as a fearful shadow dulled her bright green eyes. She was certain in her mind and even more so in her heart that if her eyes were to close, he would be there. He would call to her, "Rheyanne, Rheyanne . . . take hold of my hand."

Scoot, scoot. Maggie amiably ordered. The fury returned to her eyes as she turned to Celia after Rheyanne slipped quietly from the room. How dare you speak so maliciously of an innocent child? She is not possessed.

She certainly acts like it. You weren’t there. You don’t know.

"I know everything there is to know about my little Rheyanne. Yes, she is unique but she is also quite exceptional. Many are called but few are chosen."

Exceptional? Celia paced wildly as she ranted and relayed the events of the morning. "The shop owner was trying to be nice, trying to treat this creepy little girl like she’s totally normal."

Rheyanne is normal. The world however is quite another story.

Anyway… Celia fumed at the pensive interruption. She gives Rheyanne a color book and crayons while I look around for something, anything I can challenge the kid with. I mean who is capable of reading Hemingway and Tolstoy at age three for God’s sake.

Celia, hold your tongue!

"Anyway . . . She began again with great annoyance. I’m in the back of the store and the clerk just starts screaming at Rheyanne over some, some limerick. So I run up grab the color book and instead of coloring in the pretty pages what does Rheyanne do? I’ll show you what she does. She writes, at three years old mind you, she writes this…" Celia shoved the color book hard into the old woman’s hands.

"Rheyanne, Rheyanne. Do you know who I am? Shall I open fire with British hands? The Irish in Derry in protest they’ll stand but thirteen will fall, my little Rheyanne."

Maggie sighed heavily as her eyes passed over the words but she maintained her rigid composure This means nothing. The entire world is outraged by this travesty; should she not be as well?

She’s three!

Maggie droned on. The newspapers are calling it Bloody Sunday and it certainly was just that. The poor dears in Ireland were simply trying to protest the mistreatment of prisoners only to be shot down in cold blood by the British. Awful, just awful. She wiped the corner of her eye with the sleeve of her long black frock.

"Okay, well it happened three days ago. How did she know about it? Celia demanded with her hands in the air and a quaking lower lip. You don’t allow television or radio anywhere on the property. She placed her hands squarely on her hips. There’s no way you would allow her to read the paper… although she is capable."

Maggie raised her chin and drew very close to Celia’s face. Her voice was low and threatening. "Ah yes, my dear it is true I do not allow television to corrupt my home. However, I am quite aware of your distaste and disobedience for my rules.

Celia’s face drained but she remained silent.

Maggie drew back but her tone did not change. How does the child know of these things? Could it be perhaps due to the portable television set you smuggled in last Christmas? The child may not say much but there is nothing the matter with her ears. With a single violent pull she yanked open the desk drawer and handed the dumbstruck aide a small bundle of cash. "Do not think me a fool, Celia. I am old. I am not blind, nr deaf. My poor little Rheyanne has now been traumatized by your defiance. Your sin has surely found you out and God has required you to bear the shame. You will leave the refuge of His house, immediately."

Gladly, you just try and hire another assistant who is willing to wear this crap. She pulled the rosary beads from her waist and flung them to the ground. "You will play hell getting someone to put up with that… that freak while playing nurse maid to a batty old bitch like you." Celia turned on her heal and nearly tripped over Rheyanne who was lurking in the hallway.

Rheyanne’s eyes locked with hers. Celia froze. Utter terror gripped her every feature. Rheyanne drew close.

I do believe I mentioned a nap. Mother Maggie crooned sweetly, resting her gnarled hands on the tiny shoulders. The ominous weight of the air disappeared quickly and released Celia from the paralyzing stare. She fled.

Maggie kissed the child on top of her head and plucked a writing tablet from her desk. Did you have another nightmare? she asked.

Rheyanne slowly nodded her head up and down with a look of near shame.

Write them in here and show them to no one. she firmly commanded.

Rheyanne carefully took the notebook from the old woman’s hand and tried to clear her throat. Her voice was raspy and strained from so little use. "It was him." she croaked softly.

Who, who was it dear? Maggie shivered.

The man… no not a man… a shape… or eyes, yes the eyes; the eyes without a face…

Does he frighten you, little one? This one you speak of that has no face? Maggie asked, unable to hide her rising sorrow.

Rheyanne nodded again as the tears she held threatened to spill.

What do you think he wants?

Me.

CHAPTER TWO

C elia’s words proved quite prophetic. Prospective caregivers came and went quickly in the following months. As autumn fell and Maggie grew weak she frantically searched for a suitable replacement. With little hope she petitioned the Church in St. Paul for assistance. For Rheyanne the nightmares continued.

The ghostly morning fog thickened and swirled at Rheyanne’s feet. Alone on the platform she strained to see the railroad ties as she counted them one by one. "43, 44, 45 . . ." She stopped. He was there. The smoky haze began to evolve into a figure; a figure without definite form yet solid enough to almost be called a man.

"Rheyanne, Rheyanne take hold of my hand . . ." The hollow voice beckoned.

The delicate child buried her face into her hands too late too avoid his bright glowing eyes. His were not the eyes of a human but those of a beast; perhaps as those of a jackal or wild cat native to a land not known in our universe. The looming dark phantom levitated high above Rheyanne’s head and flew headlong into a sleek silver train. The mighty commuter slowly chugged backward allowing Rheyanne to read "27th Street" on the marquee above the window. A sharp whistle, the roar of machinery and the squeal of distorted, twisting metal assaulted her tender young ears and jolted her back to reality.

Rheyanne screamed.

That morning at breakfast Maggie peered over the top of her glasses. You are not eating your oatmeal.

Rheyanne mindlessly pushed a raisin around her bowl, without looking up.

We have a guest coming today. Maggie said as she folded the morning paper. Her name is Sister Catherine.

No she quietly replied.

Maggie chuckled warmly. No? Is that all you have to say, my precocious little chosen one? She reached across the table and took the tiny hand in hers. We must have someone to look after us. Mother Maggie is growing very feeble in her old age and you are nearly four years old. There is learning to be done.

I can read. The child was defiant.

Yes I know that little one. I am very proud of you. Maggie’s face grew cloudy and stern. Reading is very important. However, there is much more you must learn and conquer in this world. she paused And in the next as well.

Rheyanne gestured toward the morning paper. Were the people on the train okay? Her little face held such great compassion.

What train is that little one?

I saw the two trains crash. It was terrible. Rheyanne cried.

Now, now I am certain you were only dreaming. Maggie unfolded the paper to show her the day’s headline, Henry Kissinger declares Peace is at Hand" in Vietnam." Maggie would not share the headlines that followed a few days later.

The doorbell chimed. I do believe our guest is here. Maggie said in a cheerful tone that belied her expression.

Hello, my name is Catherine Jonas. Father Roc asked me to visit with you. Her voice was sweet and soft, fitting to her features.

Ah my dear, welcome. How is Ignacious?

You know Father Iggy, as impish as ever. The young woman laughed. This must be Rheyanne? She turned and faced the little girl.

Rheyanne curtsied politely with her eyes cast to the ground but said nothing.

Aw… are you shy? Catherine asked with no response. She looked quizzically toward Mother Maggie.

Okay little one, off with you now. You will find a brand new set of colored pencils in your drawing room.

Rheyanne perked up and scampered off.

Catherine started to clear the table but Maggie rested a hand on her wrist to stop her. There is much to discuss before putting you to work.

The young woman stammered, Yes of course. I didn’t mean to assume, I just…

Relax child Have some tea and let us get acquainted, shall we? The old woman gestured toward the chair as she poured the steaming water into a delicate cup You chose not to wear your habit I see. Is that common for the sisters in the big city? Her disapproval was evident.

Catherine lowered her gaze slightly. I am not a nun anymore. I wanted to go back to school… you know do something more fulfilling with my life.

What is more fulfilling than a life of service in Christ?

I wanted to help children. I really only considered being a nun because Mother Theresa was my idol as a child. She blushed. I know that sounds silly. Most little girls wanted to grow up to be Wonder Woman back then.

Bah! Comic book heroes… now that would be silly. Honoring one of our great Sisters is far more respectable. she said with a matter of fact nod of her head.

I suppose. I had a friend that worked with kids…

A male friend, I assume? The old woman’s eyebrows narrowed.

Despite crimson cheeks Catherine continued. I took some classes on autism and started working with children who had severe developmental issues. It’s exhilarating to break through the emotional barrier of a child who has closed himself off from the world. The clinic I worked in was so advanced; they taught me so much and the kids. Wow! Catherine’s eyes danced with excitement. When Father Roc said you had a child with…

"Rheyanne does not have developmental issues, nor is she autistic. She is a brilliant child."

That’s just it… most children with Asperger’s Syndrome are incredibly intelligent. Many are even geniuses in at least one or more areas like spelling, math or music.

Miss Jonas.

Call me Cathy.

Miss Catherine, you have diagnosed this child without getting to know her. I think perhaps you should leave. Maggie stood in dismissal.

Catherine was visibly crushed. She closed her eyes tightly, rubbed them fiercely and pleaded. "Please, Mother Maggie. I did not mean to imply that Rheyanne is autistic or has any type of disorder. I just know from Father Roc that she has very unusual circumstances to contend with."

She is extraordinary. Maggie’s eyes narrowed. "What exactly did Ignacious tell you?"

That Rheyanne is an orphan, doesn’t really talk, is able to read and write proficiently at three and suffers from horrific nightmares.

She is nearly four. Well she will be in December.

Catherine seemed eager to lighten the mood. Halloween is less than a week away. Do you think she might enjoy trick or treating?

Maggie scowled.

Catherine looked embarrassed. I’m sorry. The church in St. Paul puts on a big trick or treat celebration I forgot…

Maggie laughed, Forgot what, that I am old and out dated?

Catherine blushed again. No, I forgot that not everyone gets into that sort of thing.

"We will not go into that debate at this juncture, Miss Catherine. Now, if and I strongly emphasize if, you are to work here you must understand, I maintain a precise set of rules regarding this rectory and Rheyanne."

I have no problem with rules, Maggie.

"Mother Maggie, if you please child. Now first and foremost no cameras, radio or television most especially television. These things serve only to worsen her terrible dreams. She does not react well to them"

Of course. Catherine eagerly agreed. I see you have a newspaper there.

I do not wish to seclude Rheyanne from the world. It is our duty to know the signs of the times in which we live. I simply see no need to provide images of the mayhem and debauchery existent beyond these grounds.

You said no cameras?

The child does not care to have her photograph taken. Changing the subject Maggie continued. I will not bore you with the more obvious rules that should be governed by one’s own morality.

Not to worry, I have no boyfriend or any desire for one. I was involved with someone in college but he moved to Des Moines to head up the children’s wing at Brentwood Behavioral Health.

The male friend you didn’t care to elaborate on earlier.

I do not drink, smoke or use drugs. Really Mother Maggie I just need a new start and truly believe I can create a bond with Rheyanne. she pleaded.

You certainly seem quite eager to work with children. Why then did you leave the clinic in St. Paul?

The young woman’s eyes misted over as a painful shadow dimmed her pretty face. There was a little boy… Ian. Catherine paused and blinked several times, her voice husky and strained. He was the sweetest little guy. He rarely spoke except when he was playing with his little plastic army men. Only to him they were never soldiers but this huge set of families that he would line up in perfect rows of three. He’d say Mommy, Daddy, baby; Mommy, Daddy, baby as he carefully set each row. If you interrupted him or another child knocked them over he would fly into an inconsolable rage. Well, anyway… that’s just what happened one day. He started freaking out over the toys, bolted from the clinic and went flying into oncoming traffic She burst into tears. "I saw the whole thing but I just

Reviews for Eyes Without a Face

[hollyelizabeth3jean · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Eyes Without a Face is a emotional haunting ride of a young girl growing up to literally over come her demons. Great religious twists with a dark edge.