The Unbelievers: Awakening Supernatural Thriller, #2

By Lisa M. Lilly

In The Awakening, Tara found herself pregnant against all natural odds. Betrayed by those who'd sworn to protect her, she struggled to survive.

 

Now baby Fimi has arrived.

 

Tara hides in the peaceful Willow Springs community. But forces she can't control threaten her daughter's life.

 

Once again, Tara must fight for her safety and her life. Unsure whom to trust, she teams up with a visitor from her past to seek the truth about her virgin pregnancy.

And to discover her destiny.

 

Thoughout, one question haunts her: Are she and her child meant to save the world? Or destroy it?

 

The Unbelievers is Book 2 in the four-part Awakening Supernatural Thriller series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Spiny Woman LLC
• Release date: Dec 16, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393939788

Book preview

1

Tara punched in the security code, resetting the alarm beneath the kitchen cabinets. Though she was already late, she peered through the small, square window over the sink. Gas lamps lit the path that bordered the house trailers nearest her temporary home. Holiday lights sparkled on bushes and around windows, creating shadows that darkened the spaces between the trailers.

Kali Kerkorian sat at the fold-down table behind Tara, tablet and textbook open in front of her. Cyril can do nothing from jail, she said.

The people he works for can. Tara turned away from the window to face her friend.

And so? Kali said. You will stay in tonight?

Like every other night for the last four months, you mean?

Kali shrugged and smiled. I can make tea for us. Or return home to Grandmother.

No. Tara zipped her jacket and resisted the urge to recheck the alarm. Her baby, who, by all natural laws, should not exist, slept on a blanket in the living room, unaware of any threats or of the controversy surrounding her. Tara longed to lie down and rest like that without at least part of her on the alert. She doubted she ever would.

Outside, dried leaves crunched under Tara’s gym shoes. She inhaled crisp night air. It smelled of pine. She exhaled a long breath. Kali knew about the death and damage caused by those who’d been after Tara while she’d been pregnant. She would take all security precautions. And Kali had watched Fimi before. But that had been during the day. Somehow, leaving the baby alone after dark felt more worrisome despite the protection the Willow Springs community offered.

The Friday night service at the Community Center, with its dancing and singing, helped Tara unwind and feel freer than she had since she’d discovered she was pregnant. The grown ups only hour after it added to her good mood. Most of her socializing in the last four months had been with Kali and Kali’s grandmother, Nanor, the founder of Willow Springs. Both were people Tara loved, but it felt great to visit and laugh with others, too. A text from Kali at the start of the gathering reassured her that all was well and she could enjoy herself.

On the way back, Tara veered slightly off track toward her favorite section of Willow Springs – the lake that divided its residential area from the woods surrounding it. The night was hazy. Few stars dotted the sky, and the moon stayed hidden. When Tara reached the creek that fed the lake, she listened to its trickling water, her eyes scanning the landscape. Vigilance had become a habit.

Rustling came from the darkness to Tara’s left. She froze, peering at silhouettes of bare trees. A rabbit, white tail bobbing in the faint starlight, darted across her path, startling her. A few minutes later, leaves skittered along the stones that edged the creek. More rustling in the distance.

Another rabbit, Tara said aloud, her voice echoing. But she did an about-face. She’d been gone long enough for her first evening out.

The six trailers nearest Tara’s stood dark, other than their holiday lights. No doubt her neighbors were still at the Community Center. All the lights glowed in Tara’s trailer, just as she’d left them. But a John Fogerty song blared through the closed windows. She quickened her pace, hand dropping to the pocket where she kept her switchblade. While Fimi was a happy baby, rarely crying or fussing, Kali wouldn’t crank the sound to that level to test Fimi’s good nature.

Knife in one hand, Tara tried her cell phone with the other. No service. She ran for the front door. This couldn’t be happening. The trailer she’d stayed in during her first visit to Willow Springs the year before had been broken into. By Cyril Woods. But he was in jail, and Tara had been assured all the security vulnerabilities had been fixed.

She burst through the door. Fimi’s blanket, rattle, and stuffed monkey lay on the carpeted living area floor. But no Fimi.

She’s here, she’s here, she’s got to be here.

The song changed to Centerfield, and John Fogerty’s cheerful voice sang Put me in, coach. An undertone of sweat, acrid and unfamiliar, permeated the hall between the living room and bedroom. Strangers had been here. Or were here.

Tara forced herself to creep rather than race down the hall. She cracked the bedroom door. Kali lay on her side on the bed, wrists behind her back. Duct tape covered her mouth, and her eyes had swollen shut. Bruises purpled her forehead. Holding her breath, Tara eased the door open. She saw no intruders. And no Fimi. She rushed in.

Kali?

No response. Tara held her hand in front of Kali’s nose and felt faint breath. She tried her phone again, then the landline. No dial tone. Tara rushed through the trailer, pausing only to yank open the few drawers and cabinets large enough to hold a baby. Outside, she banged on trailer doors until she found a neighbor with a working landline who called Security.

Tara circled her trailer looking for tire tracks, signs of the intruders, anything that might provide a clue. Aside from one emergency road, Willow Springs wasn’t accessible by automobile. Only golf carts, bikes, and motorcycles fit through its gates, down the paths in the surrounding woods, and along the narrow residential roads. Tara found no tracks other than those leading to her own golf cart. She peered through the back window at Kali. She couldn’t leave her friend. But how could she stay here when Fimi could be anywhere, with anyone?

At last, flashing red light flooded the front garden. The head of Security and the community doctor arrived in the first golf cart. Both women rushed inside. A second cart brought two more Security personnel. After Tara spilled out the story, search tasks were assigned.

Tara took her own cart and drove toward the closest wooded area. Someone from Security would be searching as well, but Tara had to do something. Residents jumped out of Tara’s way as she drove, horn blaring. She saw no one who shouldn’t be there.

Where is she? Where is she? This was supposed to be a safe place. And Kali, what about Kali?

When she reached foot trails, Tara pulled the cart to one side and hurried into the woods. She shone her smartphone’s flashlight around, trying to think who would take Fimi. The obvious answer was the Brotherhood, the religious order Cyril Woods had belonged to. Probably still belonged to, despite being in prison awaiting trial for what he’d done to Tara’s brother. But why now? News about Tara and Fimi had spread across the Internet. But after what Tara had said under the Arch for all the world to hear, few people believed what the press called Tara’s story that she’d been shocked to discover her pregnancy because she hadn’t had sex. Not many had believed even before Tara had spoken. So what threat could Fimi pose to the Brotherhood and its teachings?

Tara took a side path. She’d seen no trace of the Security person who was supposed to be here, but the woods spanned acres.

Breathe. Panicking won’t help.

Fimi might have been taken by any of the hundreds of people who’d sent messages calling Tara evil, a liar, or a slut, or telling her God should have made her baby stillborn. But Tara thought if she were going to kidnap a child, she wouldn’t send a warning first, she’d just do it.

Moving as quickly as she could, Tara examined each shadow, petrified she’d find Fimi’s body on the ground or tied to a tree branch or bush. Twigs snapped behind her. Tara spun, her flashlight beam illuminating the trees around her.

Cyril Woods stood before her.

2

Cyril blinked, but otherwise stood motionless in the flashlight beam, shoulders rigid under his camouflage jacket. He still wore his hair in a buzz cut, but he was thinner than when Tara had last seen him, and pale. His jaw was swollen and bruised, and blood ran from a gash over his forehead. When she’d met Cyril, Tara had mistaken him for a college student, but the lines forming under his eyes made it unlikely anyone would do so now. His sharp cheekbones and the slant of his dark eyebrows over intense eyes made him striking. Tara remembered being attracted to him, but it was like remembering another person’s emotions. Now she only wanted to wrap her hands around his neck and shake him until he told her what had happened to Fimi.

Where is she? My baby. What did you do to her?

Nothing. Cyril lifted his hands in a surrender gesture, much like the one he’d made when he’d confronted Tara for the first time almost a year ago. Then she’d feared and distrusted him because she didn’t know him. Now she feared and distrusted him because she did. I did nothing, he said. I came to help.

The flashlight beam jumped as Tara stepped toward him, and she willed her hand not to tremble. Cyril had been her first ally, and he’d turned on her in the worst possible ways. She couldn’t believe he’d been released from prison after what he’d done to her little brother Bailey. Or had he escaped from jail? Give. Me. My. Baby.

Despite her distress, Tara avoided Fimi’s nickname. It might be pointless, but she hoped that when Fimi was older, answering to her nickname instead of her given name, Sophia Fiona, might protect her from those who didn’t know her well enough to know better.

I don’t have her, Cyril said. But I’ll do all I can to help you find her.

Tara’s cell phone still had no signal. She started toward the trail that led to her golf cart. The Security office had a landline and a police radio, if it came to that. Cyril kept pace with her, leaving as much space between them as possible on the narrow paths as if to emphasize that he meant no harm.

Right, Tara said, the Brotherhood of Andrew got you out of jail so you could help me.

Someone made some kind of deal, Cyril said, and the charges were dropped. No one takes credit for it. I returned to the Brotherhood to see what I could learn. I want to make up for what I’ve done.

Sure you do. Where is she? Where’s my baby?

The Brotherhood had sent Cyril to Tara days after she’d learned of her pregnancy, supposedly to help her. At first, she’d been grateful despite that she couldn’t accept the things he said about a prophecy and the Book of Revelation. He had been the only person who believed her that she didn’t know how she’d become pregnant and that she hadn’t had sex. Until he learned her child would be a girl.

The Brotherhood sent two men, Cyril said. Special Investigator Mullin, who attacked you before, and another I don’t know. They want your child’s DNA. Maybe I should have left them alone, maybe they would have just taken swabs and let her be if I had.

Let her be? DNA? What are you saying?

Tara felt a faint surge of hope. DNA could be tested without harm to Fimi. But then why take the baby at all, why not just swab her cheeks and be done? She couldn’t trust anything Cyril said. She shifted from striding to jogging.

The Brotherhood wants to analyze her DNA. To find out what she is.

What she is? Human. She’s human.

You know what I mean – if anything makes her special or different, Cyril said. If your child was conceived without sexual intercourse –

"If? If?"

I’m telling you how the Brotherhood sees it. Cyril breathed hard between words. Sitting in jail must have gotten him out of shape. If she was conceived in some supernatural way, whose genes does she have? Yours? Your parents’? Entirely unique genes? You must have wondered about these things.

I never wondered if she’s human.

You must have wondered if she’s different.

Tara had, and before Fimi was born she’d harbored plenty of fears about what the baby might be like. One reason she hadn’t sought DNA testing herself was concern that being different in any way would make Fimi a target. So far, Fimi behaved like any other baby and seemed healthy and happy. But obviously that and Tara keeping a low profile hadn’t protected her. Or provided any answers on the question of why or how Fimi had been conceived. Tara had learned to live with that uncertainty as best as she could, and she’d made her peace with it, so long as Fimi had been safe.

The path became rougher, covered by tree branches not yet cleared from a recent freak winter storm. The debris forced Tara to slow her stride to pick around it. She felt like screaming in frustration at their slow progress.

So what’s the rest of your story? she said.

Cyril frowned at Tara’s use of the word story, but didn’t argue with her.

I learned of the plot after it had already been put in motion. I broke in after the other two investigators, and it took me too long to get through the Willow Springs border fencing. They’d subdued your friend by the time I reached your trailer. I tried to intervene, but I was no match for them, though I landed some blows. Mullin stayed and fought me. The other ran with the baby. Mullin’s last punch knocked me out. I don’t know for how long, but long enough that I saw no one when I exited your trailer. I ran the way I believe they’d come in, with no luck, then circled back to find you, thinking it better to contact the authorities.

So you’re a hero.

Clearly not, or I’d be handing you the baby right now.

They reached the golf cart. Tara’s mind raced as she piloted it toward the Community Center, which housed the Security offices. If you weren’t in on it, how could you learn about the plan? Your superiors just told you? They can’t trust you. Not any more than I do.

I went to jail without saying a word about the Brotherhood or who instructed me to do what I did. And without turning in Mullin. But you’re correct, I doubt they trust me. I failed to carry out their instructions many times. Now I’m pretending I’m back in the fold and most likely they’re pretending, too. Perhaps they wanted me to follow them tonight for some reason, perhaps they wanted me to tell you what I’m telling you. You should take that into account.

Take that into account? Tara clutched the steering wheel to keep from taking a swing at Cyril. She forced herself to keep her eyes on the road. Take that into account? How do you suggest I take that into account? Or figure out if you’re here to help me or kidnap my child or call me a whore? What sort of mood are you in today? What’s your sacred duty this time around?

They reached a narrow street lined with gas lamps. On pavement instead of dirt, Tara pushed the cart to its top speed, as if the sooner she reached the Community Center the more likely there would be good news about Fimi. The wind whipped around them. Cyril gripped the side of the cart, face grim. I know. I know I’ve failed. You, my mentor, myself. I tried to serve everyone and ruined everything. There’s no forgiving me. But, Tara, you did forgive me. If only for an instant, you did.

In the intensity of the moments after giving birth, Tara had forgiven Cyril. He’d seemed genuinely remorseful. Cyril always seemed genuine, maybe he always said what he felt and believed. But what he felt and believed changed from moment to moment.

I may have forgiven you, but I’ll never trust you.

So don’t trust me, but use the information I gave you, if you can.

Nothing you said is helpful.

Tara fought to stay calm despite the tightness in her chest and throat and her galloping heart. What had Cyril told her? Only that the Brotherhood had taken Fimi. The religious order would have been her first guess regardless, for while ministers on cable TV shows denounced her and late-night comedians made fun of her, throughout her pregnancy, no one outside the Brotherhood had tried to harm her or her family.

Floodlights illuminated all the grounds and gardens within a quarter-mile radius of the Community Center. The blinds had been drawn across the floor-to-ceiling windows, blocking any view from outside. No one had news of Fimi. Police from the nearest town, Blue Springs, Arkansas, took Cyril into custody. A detective questioned Tara at the coffee bar in the social room, which had been cleared of residents. She did her best to sound rational when she explained the controversy her pregnancy and Fimi’s birth had stirred. At least the detective knew the parts about Cyril’s previous criminal charges were true, as the Willow Springs Security personnel had provided copies of newspaper articles, police reports, and the indictment.

The detective looked little older than Tara, perhaps twenty-five or twenty-six, with a baby face and chubby fingers.

Tell me you’ll find her, Tara said.

3

Tara rose early the next morning to hike the woods and grounds of Willow Springs. Then she drove through the town of Blue Springs, hoping to see someone or something out of place, some sign of Fimi. She was unfamiliar with the town, though, so she didn’t know exactly what out of place would mean. She’d ventured into Blue Springs only once during the last four months. It had been two weeks before. Because no one had contacted her at Willow Springs and no one had accosted her family in Missouri since Fimi’s birth, Tara had decided it was safe to leave the secluded community for a short shopping trip with Fimi. Tara caught her breath. Had that been how the Brotherhood figured out where she and Fimi were staying?

If only I’d stayed in, stayed safe. But she couldn’t have stayed within the confines of Willow Springs forever.

Her last stop was the hospital. When she reached Kali’s room, the sound of blipping monitors and the smells of alcohol and antiseptic took Tara back to visiting her littlest sister Megan in the hospital in the days before Megan’s death. Tara froze on the threshold, heart pulsing in her throat. Megan gone, Fimi missing, Kali unconscious. And little or nothing Tara could do to fix any of it. Hissing came from down the hall where respirators helped patients breathe. At least Kali was breathing on her own, the slight rise of her chest the only sign she was alive. Her forehead had swollen and her normally brown skin had turned putty-colored around purple and blue bruises.

Her brain scans are not good. The doctors fear she will never awaken or, if she does, she’ll be unable to speak or move.

Tara spun around, hand to her chest, startled though she recognized the voice. Nanor Kerkorian, Kali’s grandmother and the founder of Willow Springs, stood in the hallway. Her black and gray hair was pulled into a bun, and her orange and red dress flowed around her, the bright colors jarring in the otherwise drab off-white corridor. In her mid-seventies, Nanor still practiced yoga, jogged three miles day, and oversaw the day-to-day functioning of Willow Springs. Today, though, she looked her age. Pink and red rimmed her eyes, and the wrinkles around them had multiplied.

I’m so sorry. Tara hugged Nanor, comforted for an instant by the faint jasmine scent that hovered about the older woman, who quickly pulled away from Tara’s embrace. You warned me that staying silent about Fimi wasn’t the way, Tara said. And you warned me about Cyril. And I didn’t listen.

The green vinyl chair near Kali’s bed creaked as Nanor sank into it. I did not foresee this. And I am to blame as well. I believed I knew best, that only I – I of all people in the world – could guide you and Fimi. Yet I failed to keep Willow Springs secure. And now Kali and Fimi suffer.

The hospital heating system was barely keeping pace with the unusually cold winter. Tara pulled her wool sweater tighter around her shoulders and stared at the gray sky and bare trees outside the window over Kali’s bed.

I thought if I lied about Fimi’s conception that day under the Arch, and I dropped out of sight, the world would forget, Tara said. But it didn’t.

Tell all you can as soon as you can. The words had been said to Tara in a vision before Fimi’s birth. They’d prompted her to speak about Fimi’s conception on television, to the Pope, to everyone who’d asked. She and her mentor, Sophia Gaddini, for whom Fimi had been named, had started a book about Tara’s experiences. But the publicity had brought nothing but threats and danger, so Tara had shifted instead to keeping silent.

Tara checked her phone to be sure the ringer was on and she hadn’t missed any messages from the police or Security. Or her family members, whom she’d called during the night. Nothing.

I don’t understand how the kidnappers got in, Tara said. I thought the weaknesses found after the break in last year were addressed.

As did I, Nanor said. I believed Willow Springs was safe. She looked at her granddaughter’s battered face, at the tubes and lines running into her arms and under the sheets. Now I understand. Nowhere is safe.

Monks Struggle to Keep Temple and Ritual Afloat

BANGKOK - Forty-eight hours after an unprecedented seven-day rainfall in Thailand, persistent floodwaters make cremating the dead in accord with local custom close to impossible. The main hall at the Lotus Temple in Bangkok remains under water. Monks must crowd into cramped spaces in the upper floors of the temple to perform chants.

---

Californians Struggle Under Severe Water Restrictions

LOS ANGELES - The U.S. Drought Monitor announced yesterday that the Southern California drought reached Level D4 – Exceptional Drought Conditions. These conditions can be expected to cause severe water shortages and widespread crop and pasture losses. Following the announcement, over 3,000 protestors gathered at the Governor’s mansion, demanding stronger limits on corporations they believe emit excess greenhouse gases that contribute to climate change.

At a recent talk at the Brookings Christian University, Reverend Frank McCoffell was asked about the drought emergency. The Reverend opined that climate change, if it is indeed happening, represents a message from God.

The man who thought of himself as Raphael, after the angel who was a particular foe of the devil, highlighted the words message from God in the printout and tacked it onto his bulletin board. Old fashioned of him, he knew, to use cork and tacks rather than a computerized imitation of a bulletin board. But he’d been educated to take notes in ink on paper, and cut and paste with scissors and glue, before moving on to the digital world. He’d found working that way helped him focus. Alongside the articles – he had printed those from the Internet, no sense in wasting his limited time searching and collecting actual newspapers – he pinned his most recent photos of Tara Spencer and baby Spencer. His skin prickled. Signs, portents. He needed to interpret them correctly. Perhaps the extreme weather patterns since the child’s birth amounted to coincidence. He’d monitor those developments and others. In matters of this type, erring on the side of caution was necessary, and his usual regard for human life remained paramount. So the question must be answered. Was baby Spencer human?

Tara ordered a cup of tea at the Five and Diner. After sitting with Kali, who remained unconscious, and Nanor for an hour at the hospital, Tara had driven to the local coffee shop. Partly because someone there might have seen or heard something unusual in the hours before or after Fimi’s kidnapping, and more because it was where she and Kali had eaten breakfast together when they’d first met. As they’d talked, their initial wariness had given way to a wish to help one another, and when Tara had returned to Willow Springs following Fimi’s birth, they’d become close friends.

See how much I’ve helped her, Tara thought, throat aching. If I never came here, she’d be awake and safe right now.

Her phone rang before the counter waitress returned with Tara’s tea. A police officer told Tara a high school English teacher two towns over had entered his second period classroom and found a baby asleep in an infant seat. The baby appeared to be about four months old and wore a red and white sleeper, which matched what Fimi had been wearing, and she looked similar to the photos Tara had provided of Fimi. Paramedics had been dispatched to the school to bring the infant to the emergency room for examination. The teacher was being brought in for questioning, and the school had agreed to provide its security videos.

While the officer was still talking, Tara dropped a five dollar bill on the worn linoleum counter and hurried to the parking area without her tea. She arrived in the E.R. long before the ambulance. She paced the floor, ignoring the magazines, television, and patients awaiting treatment.

At last, the glass entryway doors whooshed open. Two paramedics came in, one on either end of what looked like a rolling crib. It had vinyl padding on three sides. An infant was strapped onto the mattress pad.

Tara rushed forward. Fimi?

For the next four days, Willow Springs kept a security guard stationed outside Kali’s hospital room at all times. No other attempts to accost Tara or Fimi occurred. Tara offered to stay away from the hospital all the same. But Nanor insisted her granddaughter would heal faster with her closest friend nearby. Kali’s bruises had mostly faded, but she hadn’t so much as fluttered her eyelids.

Tara nodded at the guard as she entered the room, holding Fimi close against her chest. She’d barely set the baby down since being reunited with her, and at night she dozed with one hand wrapped around a crib bar. Cyril remained in the Blue Springs jail. He’d stuck with the story he’d told Tara.

Remember, Kali may hear what you say even though she is unconscious, Nanor said. Her fuschia dress hung loose on her thin frame. She looked as if she’d lost weight over the past few days, and stray whitish-gray hairs hung around her face and straggled down her back, sprung loose from her usually neat bun. "There are studies showing coma patients are aware of what happens around them. She