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Chapter 27

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Lydia hugged herself and paced. Thankfully, in order to get both ladies into the cellar, her captor had to cut Penny free after Lydia descended.  Beneath the barn, it was damp and chilly.  The main coldness came from her wet clothes. 

Penny laid in a heap near the warmest corner of the dark room. Lydia could only make her out using her cell phone’s flashlight. She hated wasting the battery, but the storm wasn’t allowing her calls or texts to reach their destination.

Though uncomfortable, Lydia knew the cold wouldn’t kill her. She’d been in much colder confinements. Recently, in fact. The cellar was cake compared to that fiasco. The worst thing about the basement was the darkness.

Lydia had faith her friends would find her, eventually. When they did, she wanted to have a name to go with her captors’ faces. That meant she had to figure out who they were and why they had kidnapped her and Serene.  And why Serene had to die.

The reason for snagging Penny was more obvious. The Honey Pot news team had blasted her picture over the local channels.  Labeling her as the only eye witness to both kidnappings had painted a neon target on Penny’s back. They might as well have gift wrapped her and overnight shipped her, directly to the bad guys.

Serene and Lydia were tougher to figure out.  Lydia didn’t recognize either parties. Mac nor the man. She didn’t even know whose old farm she was buried under.

Mrs. Everett had not driven the backroads of Honey Pot in years. Once the family had traversed icy roads to score a Christmas tree from a local farm, but that had been before Joan was a teenager. This farm was much farther down the back roads than the Christmas tree lot had been.

Penny groaned.  Lydia hurried to her and knelt on the earth next to her. “Are you okay?”

Penny smacked her lips. “Just thirsty.” Lydia handed Penny a bottle of water. “Where did you get this?”

“Mac and the man left us a few bottles. And a box of cheese crackers.” Lydia watched the skepticism wash over Penny’s face. “I’m taking it as a good sign. They don’t want to kill us.”

“That doesn’t mean they won’t. Especially since we’ve seen their faces,” Penny said, after downing half of the bottle.

Lydia didn’t want to admit she was right. Unless they were rescued before the night ended, the chances of Mac sealing their fate with a speedy death doubled. Especially since the pair had already killed once. Then again, maybe they hadn’t.

Lydia rubbed her throat. Penny followed her hand’s movement.  “How did that happen?”

Dropping from her knees to her bum, Lydia groaned. “I leapt from the van and my scarf snagged.”

Penny whistled. “You got super lucky.”

Clapping the dust from her palms, Lydia grimaced. “I don’t believe in luck.”

Penny laughed sarcastically. “Sure, you don’t. That’s what a lot of people say. Until things go wrong, and then it’s all because of bad luck.”

“I’m sure there’s a story behind that. In fact, it sounds as if you’ve been burned more than once.” Lydia’s eyebrow peaked in curiosity. The moment wasn’t right to investigate Penny.

“I guess you can say that.” Penny scooted her back against the wall. Instantly, she regretted it. The wall was colder than the floor. “Still,” she continued. “You were lucky.  Serene, not so much.”

“They’re being so careful with us. But they killed her. What do you think she did to push them over the edge?”

“Nothing,” Penny said. “My bet is she jumped. Just like you.”

“And her scarf wasn’t as forgiving as mine?”

Penny tapped her index finger to her nose. “You got it. Her Garbo was an infinity scarf, remember?”

Lydia played it out in her mind. It was possible that where Lydia’s scarf had let her slip free, Serene’s hadn’t. She cupped her neck and thanked God for his overabundant kindness to her. How He chose who to rescue and who not to would always confuse her. Nevertheless, she was grateful. “He’s just wiser than I am.”

“Who is?” Penny asked.

“God. He’s bigger, stronger, and wiser than I’ll ever be.”

Penny frowned.  In her experience, God’s people only trusted Him when things were perfect. When it wasn’t, they clung to pitchforks and torches and chased the monsters out of their precious small towns. Hopefully, Lydia was different.