reply. Keeps her eyes closed. It’s the only choice left to her: enter a darkness of her own volition. She feels the blade press harder into her chin.
“This takes time,” he whispers. “It’s never fast. The commandments are clear.”
The first cut opens her chin all the way up through her lips, leaving her gums bare and bloody.
* * *
Dafoe raced his old green and white pickup north on the New York State Thruway: He couldn’t get back to his farm fast enough. He’d called Forensia repeatedly, greeted only by “Please leave a message.” He’d finally reached his old friend and fellow dairyman, Jasper Fricke, who’d promised to get the cows milked and pastured. Now, while Dafoe steered with one hand, he rang him again.
“She’s not here,” Jasper blurted out as soon as he picked up.
“What about Bayou?”
Long pause. “He’s not here, either. I’ve been moving so fast that I didn’t stop to think about him.”
“He should be there. That doesn’t make sense.”
“Wait a second, Dafoe. I just walked up on your porch to get some shade and I don’t like what I’m seeing. There’s a blood smear right by the door. A good foot long.”
“Jesus, call the sheriff. Forensia could be—”
“There’s some muddy coyote tracks here, too, right near the blood.”
“Coyotes?”
“No mistaking them. Four or five sets. Christ, one of them left a calling card.”
“Jasper, go into my mudroom and see if my varmint rifle’s in the closet.”
“Okay.”
It sounded like Jasper was rummaging in the closet.
“Your varmint gun’s not here,” the man reported. “Definitely gone.”
“Forensia must have grabbed it.” That’s good. More than likely it wasn’t her blood.
“I’m back outside,” Jasper said. “I want to take a closer look at those tracks. I’m following them down the steps now. I can see Forensia’s footprints, too. The rain’s washed away a lot of them but it looks like she was taking big steps, moving fast.” Jasper grew up hunting and tracking like Dafoe.
“How much blood did you see on the porch?”
“Just that one smear. Know what I’m thinking, Dafoe? That—”
“The coyotes got Bayou. He stopped them last week when those sons of bitches went after my calf; and now—first time my truck’s gone for more than a few minutes—they tried to get him so it could be open season on the herd. Forensia would have been hell on wheels if they were tearing up Bayou. You see his tracks anywhere?”
“Nope.”
“That figures if he got dragged off. You mind following Forensia’s prints as best you can? If she went after them, she could be in a lot more trouble than she counted on.”
“I’m on it.”
“You got your gun?” asked Dafoe.
“Not with me.”
“Take my pistol. Top shelf, kitchen cabinet by the stove.”
“Hold on.” Dafoe heard Jasper walk back in the house. “It’s not there.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Look, I’m going anyway,” Fricke said.
“I’m calling the sheriff.”
* * *
Ninety minutes later, Dafoe pulled up to his farmhouse. His recent cell phone calls to Jasper had gone unanswered and the lack of news was driving him nuts. The sun beat down harder than ever, a big red blister boiling in the sky. The herd was the only sign of life. The sheriff’s old Bronco was parked by the house, but the man was nowhere to be seen.
Dafoe ran inside, hoping to find everyone settled in his big country kitchen where he’d first kissed Jenna. But the room was empty and his shouts raised no response. He saw Forensia’s capacious shoulder bag on the counter and hesitated briefly before poring through her stuff. He pulled her phone from the bag, confirming that she’d run off in a hurry. Or been dragged off. She always had that phone with her. A ring tone confused Dafoe until he realized that it came from his iPhone in his pocket, not Forensia’s cell, still in his hand.
At a glance he saw that it was Jenna calling. He gave her an update, hung up, and ran out of the house. On the porch, he stared at the woods and brush where the coyotes skulked day and night, like barbarians on a border. He hated those sneaky four-legged thieves like only a farmer can.
To his shock, three figures staggered from a distant thicket—Jasper and Sheriff Walker with Forensia between them. Jasper also cradled Bayou; the border collie hung limp as a November leaf.
Dafoe raced across the parched land. Blood soaked Forensia’s hand to her elbow, and the coyotes must have ripped up her leg just above the knee because her jeans were torn and sodden