Chapter One

Intrusions

"I'm telling you, someone is out there."

The elderly man squinted his eyes once more and peered out into the stormy night. "And I'm telling you, Marie, no one is out there. Why, it's raining something fierce tonight, no one, not even thieves, is foolish enough to be out in this weather."

"Harold," she tugged on his arm desperately, "I know what I saw, and I saw someone go into our barn. All I'm asking is that you go and check. Please, for my peace of mind."

"All you're asking is that I go outside and catch my death," he mumbled as he slid on his tattered jack and slung his nearby shotgun over his shoulder. Being sensible to the fear in his wife's eyes, he gave her shoulder a reassuring pat, "you just wait by this window right here. If something's amiss in the barn I'll yell and you use that there phone to call the police."

She nodded hurriedly and fell on her knees the second he closed the door. "Please, God," she whispered, "please protect us."

After finishing her short prayer, she kept her eyes glued on the barn. He would signal her if something was wrong, and then she would get him help--but if that person had overpowered him then he wouldn't be able to send her a signal!

Marie's eyes widened in fear and panic, she grabbed the phone off the receiver and sent her thanks upward that the phone lines had yet to fall victim to the storm raging outside. Taking a breath, she called Sheriff Wilkins as fast as her fingers would dial.

Harold kicked open the double door entrance to the barn, hoping to scare away whatever it was that his wife had caught a glimpse of. It was most likely some sort of animal…probably a stray cat, he smiled to himself, she always had had an overactive imagination.

"Get!" he yelled out, "get out of here!" Soon enough he heard a rustling in the far corner of the barn. He walked passed the stalls that had once held cows, steers, and horses taking note that years ago, when the farm had been alive, he would have never been able to hear that noise over the liveliness of the animals.

His hands tightened around the gun as he drew closer to the spot where the noise had come from. Something was indeed there; he only hoped that it wasn't something large enough to do any harm to him. Harold was nothing if not realistic; he knew very well that he couldn't fight off a wild animal.

Taking a deep inward breath, he jumped in front of the corner with his gun pointing steadily in front of him.

He was greeted with a cry, then a moan, and then only silence. Harold looked down; truly shocked for the first time in many years…laying there in front of him was a young girl that couldn't have been more than sixteen years old.

Seeing that she had lost consciousness he set his gun down and bent down to her level. She still had a strong pulse, but her skin was too hot for the chilly night. His hand moved instinctively up to her forehead, she had a high fever. He would have guessed at least a hundred and three.

He bit his lip, Marie had always taken care of the children, he wasn't sure if one this sick should be moved or not. He looked around at the barn that had fallen harshly from its prime days and now looked to be in danger of coming apart at its seams, she couldn't stay here. Forgetting the gun he hefted the girl into his arms and walked as swiftly back to the house as his treacherous legs would carry him.

The second he came into view Marie threw open the door and let out a terrified squeak when she saw that he wasn't alone. Her fear quickly subsided when she took notice that their new guest was young, female, and seemingly not dangerous.

Harold shook the rain from him in a way not dissimilar to an animal, spraying water in every direction. "She's sick," he said breathlessly, "and unconscious. I think she's in trouble, Marie."

The old woman surveyed the youth with growing sympathy, "go put her in the spare bedroom, and then get her something to wear, she needs out of those wet clothes."

"She's burning up though; wouldn't a cold shower be better for her?"

Marie quickly shook her head, "no, quick sudden changes like that to her body temperature could send her into shock. It needs to be gradual, she needs warm clothes and I'll go get her a damp washcloth."

Her husband asked no more questions, he knew better than to think he knew more about dealing with the ill than his wife. When they reached his son's old bedroom, he placed her gently onto the covers and opened the closet door to pull out a t-shirt and sweats that had been left behind from his son's last visit.

Harold sat the clothes beside the girl and awkwardly waited for Marie to come and change her.

"Harold," Marie busted into the room with a clear showing of authority over the situation, "you go get yourself changed, last thing we need is two sick people around here. Then you go on out and wait for the Sheriff, he's on his way."

He gave his wife a questioning glance at the word sheriff, but complied anyway, he supposed it would be best for the sheriff to know about the girl. Perhaps they knew who she was…most likely a runaway. There were a lot of those around his neck of the woods, young kids with idealistic values that saw themselves as misunderstood and unconventional. Younglings with big opinions, and no clue as to how the real world functioned. Sooner or later, they all ended up like this young girl, scared and alone.

He sighed and walked out to the living room, the sheriff would be here soon enough, and then this would all be taken care of.

Marie pulled the shabby looking robe off the girl. She was no expert in the latest fashions these days, but she knew by the immodest outfits her son's girlfriends paraded around in that bulky robes were not something largely sought after.

Never one to invade the privacy of others Marie attempted to clothe the girl quickly, but she couldn't help but notice her pitiful body. The poor thing was obviously a victim of malnutrition, with her bony body and loose flesh Marie feared she might break her. She also had hideous bruises and scars running all over her body.

Marie slid the oversized t-shirt onto the girl and gently traced her finger along a scar that extended all down the girl's arm. Looking at her face it was easy to see that the girl was pretty. Most likely beautiful when she wasn't unconscious with fever and covered in scars.

The sweatpants were far too large for the small girl, but they would make do. Marie pressed the damp cloth on her forehead and moved it gently around her face, praying that the girl would wake soon.

Her prayers seemed to be answered though as wild brown eyes slid open and looked around hastily. The girl sat up quickly, but then fell back down after experiencing extreme dizziness.

Marie placed a reassuring hand on the girl's shoulder, "there, there now, go slowly."

The girl moaned and put a hand on her feverish forehead. "I'm…so hot," she croaked hoarsely. "Water…"

Nodding unconsciously, Marie stood and made her way into the kitchen so she could get the poor child a glass of water. Promptly ignoring her husband's intense eyes and raised eyebrows she filled the glass and hurried back to the room.

If it were possible, the girl looked more beaten and exhausted awake than she had moments before when she was helplessly lost in a dream world. Marie ultimately decided that it could be attributed to the girl's expressive and deep brown eyes. The eyes were a window to the soul, and she clearly had an old soul. She had seen far more than she should have, lost the innocence that Marie first believed of her.

The girl had hoisted herself up against the pillows and looked as though the act of sitting up was the equivalent of running a marathon.

Marie handed her the glass carefully and pulled up a chair beside the bed. After waiting for the girl to have, her fill of water Marie took the glass back. "Are you feeling any better?"

"A little…thank you."

The woman's eyes widened, the girl had an accent. Living in Kentucky, she knew the difference between a southern and northern accent…this was neither. She couldn't be sure, but it sounded English. "What's your name, dear," she prompted gently.

"My name" the girl repeated. Her eyebrows furrowed and she appeared to be in deep thought. "I don't know." She then began to look panicked, "I don't know my name! I don't know who I am!"

"What do you mean she's gone? How can she just be gone, she has to be somewhere!" The young man angrily picked up a nearby glass and smashed it against the wall. "I told you to protect her!"

A man in black, a man with no name and responsibilities to no one other than himself, leaned back casually in his chair. "You told me to watch her; I did as you paid me to do."

"Why did you not intervene, you allowed them to take her away from me!"

"They didn't take her away, she left."

The boy, tall and lanky, his childhood not far behind him, looked down at his hands with a mixture of disbelief and pure agony. "She couldn't have left; he would not have just let her leave."

The man shrugged, tired of taking orders from a child. "I saw what I saw; you can take it or leave it."

Harry closed his eyes in an obvious struggle to keep his emotions in check. "Do you know where she went?"

"All I know is she left. Left alone, disappeared into the night, if such a thing is possible."

"But she was--is--alive?"

"Aye, she was alive. Of course, I can longer vouch for that…but she was very much alive."

Harry ran an exasperated hand over his face and slung a bag onto the table. "Our business is done. I'll take it from here. If you remember anything though, anything at all, you come to me. My funds will never run dry for her."

The man in black snatched up the weighted bag of coins and left the room gracefully. Harry knew he wouldn't be back, men like that--men who referred to themselves as 'private investigators' of a higher breed--were normally only of use once. They then disappeared, never to be seen, nor heard of, again.

Harry moved to the window and stared out at the black night. His eyes drifted up to the moon knowing that somewhere she was looking at that same moon. That thought comforted him little for the fact remained that she was somewhere else, and not here with him.

He ran his thumb absentmindedly over the glass, "Ginny," he moaned softly, "where are you?"

Marie softly touched the girl's long red hair as she slept peacefully. Whoever she was, she seemed at rest now. However, Marie could feel a storm brewing under the calm feel in the air. The girl would need her rest; she knew that much for sure.

With a sigh she went out to the living room to talk to the sheriff, a report would need to be filed on the girl. Someone, somewhere, would be searching for her. Marie closed her eyes and hoped that whoever that person was that they could feel that the girl was safe.