From Shadows to Starlight

A Visit, A Search, and an Escape

Chapter Twenty-seven

“After all the tears we’ve spent, how could we make amends? So, it’s one more round for experience, and I’m on the road again, and it’s going to take some time, this time…”--Carole King

A Visit, a Search, and an Escape

The first thing Alana noticed when she walked through the door was the darkness. The jail had no windows to let in the brightness of the day’s sun, just the dim light of two rusty oil lamps, and the air was stale and stuffy. It was a tiny building with only two cells, and there was no jailer to be found. There was only one other human being in sight, a bedraggled-looking man with torn clothes lying motionless on a cot, facing the wall.

Her father.

For a moment she just stood there, staring, overcome with emotion. She’d long harbored resentment towards him for his treatment of her, and as she looked at him now, bad memories she’d been trying to bury deep inside came flooding into her mind again. She could almost feel the sting of his hand across her face, the blow of the giant branch he’d beaten her with the night Erik had rescued her. All at once, Alana was filled with fear, and she trembled where she stood.

And then other memories came to her. Memories of Andre, laughing with her and her mother. Of him telling her stories, teaching her how to ride a horse, taking her on hiking trips to explore the woods of the countryside. She remembered parties at the house, back when their family had had friends. She remembered Christmases past, decorating trees and opening presents. Tears came to her eyes as she recalled her father dancing with her as her mother sang. He waltzed her across the room, then lifted her into his arms and spun her around as she laughed.

Alana’s heart was breaking. She’d never felt such a strange combination of fear, anger, and love. She loved him. He was her father after all. She missed him. Wiping her tears away, she found the strength to speak.

“Hello.”

The man in the cell stirred, and rolled over. He ran a hand across his face and blinked in the dim light. His eyes grew wide. “You!”

“Yes, me.” Alana was halfway between smiling and crying again.

Andre looked conflicted as well; his face was a combination of fear, anger, and guilt. He got up and walked to the front of the cell. Unconsciously, Alana backed away a little. “I thought you’d gone. Left town.” His voice was hoarse.

“I did,” Alana said. “But I’ve come back for you, Father. I heard what happened. And I’m here to help.”

Andre just shook his head and gave a low, bitter laugh. “You can’t help me.”

His attitude clearly hadn‘t improved any. “You know, I think this is the first time I’ve seen you sober since Mother died.”

Her father’s face changed, grew softer. Sad. “Don’t mention that…please don’t mention it.”

She couldn‘t remember the last time she‘d heard him speak without screaming at her. “How does it feel, not being drunk?”

He snorted. “Terrible. Ever since they took my drink away and locked me up here, all I’ve been able to do is think about her. And about you.” He sighed and looked at the floor. “I remember waking up one morning to find myself outside. I’d been hit on the back of the head, I still don’t know what happened. I went home, and you were gone. And you never came back. I…I wasn’t sure what had happened to you. I thought…you had run away, or been kidnapped, or killed. Hell, I even considered the possibility that I had killed you.”

Alana gasped.

“Awful, I know. Not knowing what had happened was eating me up inside…it only made me want to drink more, and when I couldn’t, I snapped. Got in a fight, and wound up locked in here.”