Flesh and Blood: Chapter One
Down, down, down...
When Mae Bishop finally did in her abusive husband and dumped his body in the river, she thought her troubles were behind her. When his ghost shows up and leads her away from the police and straight into the lair of a serial killer, she realizes trouble never left. And when a mysterious angelic being recruits her for purposes yet unknown, Mae knows she and trouble are in it for the long haul.
You're reading Flesh and Blood, the first novella in what I hope will blossom into a series known as The Bishop Chronicles. This is Chapter One. Subsequent chapters will be released each Monday.
For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.
- Ephesians 6:12
Mae stood on the bridge and watched herself fall. At the same time, she looked back at herself standing at the rail as she plunged through the darkness toward the murky waters below. Then it was no longer herself watching from above, but Wade, the side of his head caved in as he smiled and waved. His lips moved. She strained to make out his words, but then they sounded as loud and clear as the blast of trumpets accompanying them above the roar of the rushing river. Johnny Cash sang of falling into that burning ring of fire, and Wade mouthed the words as she fell, down, down, down.
The river’s roar and the trumpet’s bleat faded away to nothing, replaced by the snap, crackle, and pop of fire. The darkness around her burned red-hot, and it wasn’t the cold and wet she was plunging towards, but the searing flames of hell, and Wade’s voice carried with her, serenading her all the way down.
Mae sat up with a gasp. Breathing heavily, she put a hand on her chest as though to connect with her body, reassure herself that she was still in it, still here, still alive. The dream faded as she looked around the darkened cabin, clutched at the hard reality of the quilt on her bed. Her breathing slowed. And then she caught it and held it.
The dream faded, but the singing didn’t.
“I fell into that burning ring of fire.”
At first she couldn’t identify the voice. Not because she didn’t recognize it, but because she knew it was impossible.
“…down, down, down and those flames, they’re gettin’ hotter.”
The cabin was small, only one room, with a kitchen at one end and a bed tucked into the opposite corner. A sofa took up the middle, facing a the kitchen and wood stove, its back toward the bed.
Mae got up and slowly approached the couch. It only took a few steps before she could see over the back of it.
“Oh it burns, burns, buuuurns—” Wade abruptly stopped singing, looked up at her, and grinned. “Well hello there, sleepyhead! I wondered how long I’d have to keep going before you woke up.”
He looked good. That was to say, his head and face were all intact, and there was no blood. Instead of the work clothes he’d been wearing when he died, he wore a sport jacket over a simple, white shirt, and clean blue jeans. Cowboy boots covered the feet that were crossed at the ankles on the arm of the couch.
He looked as handsome as he ever did. The sight of him churned Mae’s stomach.
She turned away from the couch and padded toward the little bathroom next to the bed, barely bigger than a closet. She didn’t bother to close the door behind her, because there was nobody else in the cabin. How could there be? Wade was dead.
She ought to know, seeing as how she’d killed him.
Leaning over the sink, she splashed cold water on her face. Out on the sofa, the singing started up again. Mae ignored it as she dried her face and studied herself in the mirror. It surprised her every time, how thin her reflection looked. It was closer to how it had looked when she and Wade had first gotten married, other than the way it sagged a little around the mouth. She’d gotten so used to the extra padding she’d added on during their marriage that she always pictured herself with a rounder face and the barest hint of an extra chin.
She’d fully expected to get good and fat after she’d escaped, eating whatever she wanted without having to endure the jibes and name calling. But after six months of hiding out in the woods, limiting her trips into town so as to cut down the risk of being recognized, chopping and hauling her own firewood and spending her days hiking for lack of anything better to do, those extra pounds had melted away. Kill your worthless husband and become a fugitive! It’s the best diet plan ever!
“What’re you doin’ in there?” Wade called.
Mae sighed. “Okay,” she said to her reflection, ignoring the other voice. “There are a few possibilities here. One, I’m still dreaming. Two, I have a brain tumor or something, and wouldn’t that be just my luck. Or three, I’m losing my ever-loving mind.”
“You forgot number four.”
She spun to see Wade standing in the doorway, leaning against the jamb.
“Your dear ol’ hubby’s back from the dead.” He smiled wide and held out his arms. “Honey, I’m home! How’s about a hello kiss?”
Mae took a swing at him. Her aim was true. Her fist should have struck him square in that smug face and knocked his smile into next week. But instead it passed right through him and connected with the door jamb. Her knuckles cracked against the wood and pain shot up her arm, causing her to cry out as she doubled over, cradling her arm against her stomach.
“Didn’t say I was all the way back.” Wade folded his arms and looked down at her. “What kind of a welcome is that?”
“The kind you used to be fond of.” She braced for more pain as soon as she said it. Once upon a time, that kind of sass would have gotten her a black eye or a busted lip.
“Now, is that any way to talk to a man after you did him the discourtesy of bashing his head in with a hammer?”
“It was self defense.”
He scoffed. “It ain’t self defense if you attack from behind, darlin’. Ain’t no jury in the world would buy that defense. Which I’m sure you know, seeing as how you’re hiding out and all.”
She did know. Just like she knew that the good ol’ boys in the sheriff’s department back home wouldn’t care about all of the bruises and busted ribs she’d hidden all the years she was married to Wade. They would only care that she’d taken a hammer to the skull of one of their drinking buddies.
Still cradling her throbbing fist, she got to her feet. “What do you want, Wade?” She’d meant to sound defiant, but she only sounded tired.
“Well, now that I have your attention, I want to tell you something you don’t already know.”
“And what’s that?”
“They’re coming. You need to go, darlin’.”
“What are you—”
He silenced her with a finger to his lips. Then he pointed toward the ceiling, his eyebrows arched to convey the significance of the gesture.
Mae looked up and listened. At first she heard nothing, only the throb of her elevated blood pressure pounding in her ears. But then she heard it: the soft, steady beat of a helicopter blade cutting through the air.
She blew out a curse word.
“Don’t panic,” said Wade. “You’ve planned for this. You know what to do.”
Ignoring the cognitive dissonance she felt at Wade being the voice of reason, Mae ran to the bed, her sore hand all but forgotten as adrenaline took over. She wiggled into the jeans she’d left in a pile on the floor and pulled the flannel shirt from the same pile on over her tank top. She shoved her bare feet into the hiking boots next to the bed and then crouched to drag a battered old suitcase out from under it.
The helicopter was growing louder. The crunch and grind of tires on gravel told her cars approached on the long driveway.
Mae hefted the suitcase and headed for the kitchen, where a back door led into a little lean-to on the back of the cabin. It held a hot water heater and a small washing machine—no dryer; she had clotheslines out back for that—and a large wooden storage trunk. Mae lifted the hinged lid of the trunk to reveal an empty space that stored nothing. Reaching inside, she felt along the bottom until she found a little loop of string. She pulled on it, and the false bottom opened up, uncovering a stairway.
This wasn’t the first time a fugitive like her had made use of this cabin. She hoped it wouldn’t be the last. Not because of her, anyway. Carefully, she stepped inside, lugging the suitcase with her, and descended the steps, lowering the lid over her head, and then closing the bottom of the trunk as she went. That might not keep them from following her, but it should at least buy her time.
Fumbling through the darkness, she remembered Wade, and marveled that his ghost should appear to warn her she’d been found. She still wasn’t convinced that he wasn’t a figment of her imagination. Maybe her subconscious heard the helicopter and worked it into her crazy hallucination.
She’d have time to ponder that later, hopefully. For the time being, she needed to concentrate on hauling ass. As she picked her way down the steps, feeling her way through pitch black darkness, she heard shouting above. Dogs barked as someone pounded on the cabin. Her feet safely found the dirt floor of the tunnel and she picked up her pace, guiding herself with one hand on the damp concrete wall as she moved as fast as she dared. The tunnel seemed to go on forever, and the noises behind her gradually faded with distance. On the verge of panic, afraid the tunnel would never end and she’d never be able to find her way back, at last she saw a glimmer of light up ahead. After a few more yards, she could make out a shaft of pale light, illuminating a ladder. Wade stood in front of it, motioning her forward. “Best hurry, darlin’! They found the trunk!”
Mae broke into a run. She was panting by the time she reached the ladder. She climbed it one handed, straining with the weight of the suitcase, until she was high enough up to shove it through the opening ahead of her. She climbed the rest of the way, emerging in the middle of a moonlit field, her escape hatch hidden from the road by tall grass. A truck stood sentinel nearby, an old junker from four decades ago. Anyone who noticed it there would guess it had been abandoned. Mae hefted her suitcase into the back and climbed into the driver’s seat. She leaned forward and felt under the floor mat for the key.
Finding it, she inserted it in the ignition, but paused, listening. In the distance, dogs barked.
“You’re clear,” said Wade, appearing on the passenger side. “But you’d best go now.”
Mae looked at him, confused and astonished.
He gave her that arched-brow look again, the one that said he meant business. “Let’s go!”
She pushed in the clutch and turned the key. The truck sputtered and wheezed, but before she could have a heart attack, it turned over. She stepped on the gas and turned the ancient truck in the direction of the highway. Making her way down the hillside, she did her best not to think about the strange passenger riding shotgun beside her.
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