Plain Fear: Forgiven: A Novel Read Online Free

and shimmering chrome replaced wood. In this place, technology reigned supreme, media took the place of teachers, and books were honored.
    But in the Amish world, sun and sky, wind and rain bowed only to the hand of God. Furniture and attire reflected the natural world and order. Nothing seemed complicated. Everything adhered to simplicity. And only one book, God’s Word, held any value. His parents owned only two others in their home: a book of hymns and one of martyrs. But those, especially the Bible, had been displaced by others, which Samuel had delved into in an effort to understand what had happened to his brother.
    For the past six months, he’d thought of nothing but Jacob, and each time, he felt the jarring shock and guilt jabbing into his heart. Oh, Jacob. What happened? How did we come to this? How should you be remembered? As a victim? A villain? Or simply a martyr?
    Levi had said Jacob gave his life. Gave it? No, Samuel had taken it, like a thief. Their father wouldn’t discuss Jacob or his death, wouldn’t acknowledge that something disturbing and beyond the natural world had happened, wouldn’t admit he’d lied about Jacob’s first death. Or fake death. But as much as Samuel wanted to unload his own guilt, he couldn’t.
    He’d attempted to banish the questions, shun the memories, but they hounded him like coyotes after a stray cat. The questions gnawed at his bones and flesh. He’d finally taken refuge in a place he hoped held the answers.
    The library had become his church, where he bowed his head over pages and words, searching for truth. Now, passing an elderly woman and bank of computers, he took the stairs to the third floor, a path well worn by his scuffed boots over the last three months. Down below, teenage laughter carried up through the atrium, bouncing around the walls and off the windows. Here above, the top floor appeared deserted. The reference desk stood empty. Samuel wandered through the maze of bookshelves, searching for the librarian who had helped him over the past few weeks.
    Julie worked Sundays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays. Midweek, most patrons stayed away. He’d learned to arrive a few minutes before closing, when she didn’t have anything much to do.
    It had become a set time when Samuel returned books, chatted with Julie, learning she had grown up in Cincinnati and wanted to one day be a writer, and picked up more books she had ordered for him through interlibrary loan. He got the sense she anticipated his visits, as last week she’d said, “You’re late.” But maybe he was reading too much into her awareness.
    Julie had graduated from University of Kentucky and was a couple years older, but she was always eager to help, her green eyes sparkling with enthusiasm, her smile quick and easy, if not on the edge of shy. Her long blond hair was usually pulled back at the base of her neck. She wasn’t one of those English women who wore a lot of makeup, and he liked her wholesome plainness. She was pretty in a simple way. She’d told him once, “I love books. Love them.” Her grin had been as broad as the state of Ohio. “Really, I just can’t help myself.”
    When he’d confessed he appreciated the darker poems, she’d suggested the obvious: Poe. But Edgar Allan had nothing on Aleister Crowley and his works. One line in “A Saint’s Damnation”— My poisonous passion for your blood! Behold! —stopped Samuel cold. Deeper and deeper he dug into occultist practices and rituals, and Julie had eagerly supplied the tools, even pointing him toward musicians who were followers of “The Great Beast”: Led Zeppelin, The Doors, and Sting.
    “Are you looking for something in particular?” a deep voice interrupted his thoughts. Samuel turned toward a man with dark hair, silver threaded through the thick mass. He bent his head slightly forward at an angle. His awkward stance made the man, who might have been in his midthirties, seem embarrassed by his own