Maggie O'Dell Collection, Volume 1: A Perfect Evil ; Split Second ; The Soul Catcher

by Alex Kava

  As the meeting ended, Justin watched Father go to the woman, giving her both his hands to help her stand and hugging her. Probably feeling her up and getting in a few extra squeezes. Justin couldn’t help thinking she looked like one of his mom’s country club friends, wearing a navy dress and that bright red scarf.

  CHAPTER 29

  It was at this time every evening that Kathleen O’Dell still craved a tumbler of bourbon, a stirred—not shaken—martini or even a snifter of brandy. She stared at the tray with the porcelain gold-trimmed pot and watched as Reverend Everett poured a cup of hot tea for her, Emily, Stephen and himself. All the while, she couldn’t help thinking how much she hated tea. It didn’t matter if it was herbal, spice or served with lemon or honey or milk. Just the aroma made her want to gag.

  The tea reminded her of those first weeks from hell when she quit drinking. Father had stopped by her apartment several times a week, generously giving of his precious time to brew for her a pot of his special tea made from leaves shipped from some exotic place in South America. He claimed it had magical powers. Kathleen swore it made her hallucinate, causing painful flashes of bright light behind her eyes. That was before it made her stomach rock violently. Each time, Father stood patiently over her, telling her how God had different plans for her, or more precisely, telling the back of her head while she vomited her guts into the toilet.

  Now she smiled up at him as he handed her a cup, pretending this was exactly what she craved. She owed this man so much, and yet he seemed to ask for so little in return. Pretending to enjoy his tea seemed a small sacrifice.

  They all sat in front of the roaring fireplace in the soft leather chairs Father had received from a wealthy donor. Everyone sipped the tea, and Kathleen put the cup to her lips, making herself do the same. There had been little conversation. They were still a bit stunned from Father’s powerful performance. No one doubted the need for Martin to be taught a lesson. How dare he fall asleep.

  She could feel Father watching the three of them, his diplomats to the outside world, as he called them. Each played an important role, assigned tasks that only he or she could deliver. In return, Father allowed them these private meetings, gracing them with his time and his confidences, both rare and special commodities. He had so many obligations. There were so many people who needed him to heal their wounds and save their souls. Between weekend rallies and daily lectures, the man had little time to himself. So many pressures, so much to expect from one person.

  “All of you are very quiet tonight.” He smiled at them, sitting down in the large recliner set closest to the fire. “Did tonight’s lesson shock you?”

  There were quick glances between them. Kathleen sipped her tea again, suddenly a preferable action to saying the wrong thing. She watched over the rim of her cup. Earlier, during the meeting, Emily had almost fainted. Kathleen had felt the woman leaning into her while the boa constrictor choked Martin, turning his face into a puffy crimson balloon. But she knew Emily would never admit to such a thing.

  And Stephen, with his soft and…She stopped, trying to keep a promise to herself not to think of Stephen in that way. After all, the man was quite smart and certainly had other qualities that had nothing to do with his…Well, with his sexual preference. But she knew Stephen had probably been shocked and too much in awe to say anything. Perhaps that’s why Father’s eyes now met Kathleen’s and stayed there, as if the question had been addressed to only her. But they were friendly eyes, coaxing her, making her feel, once again, as though she was the only one whose opinion he cared about.

  “Yes, I was shocked,” she said, and saw Emily’s eyes grow wide as if she were going to faint again. “But I understood the importance of the lesson. You were very wise in choosing a snake,” she added.

  “And why do you say that, Kathleen?” Father leaned forward, encouraging her to continue, as if anxious to hear why he was so wise. As if he didn’t already know.

  “Well, it was a snake, after all, that contributed to Eve’s betrayal and the destruction of paradise, just like Martin’s falling asleep could betray all of us and destroy our hopes for building our paradise.”

  He nodded, pleased, and rewarded her with a pat on the knee. His hand lingered a bit longer than usual tonight, the fingers splaying onto her thigh, caressing her, making her feel warm—so warm she could feel his power radiating through her panty hose, through her skin, almost sending a shiver through her veins.

  Finally he removed his hand and turned his attention to Stephen. “And speaking of our paradise, what have you learned about our possible transportation to South America?”

  “Just as you thought, we’ll need to do it in several waves. Trips, perhaps of two or three dozen at a time.”

  “South America?” Kathleen didn’t understand. “I thought we were going to Colorado.”

  Stephen wouldn’t meet her eyes. He looked away, embarrassed, as if he had gotten caught revealing a secret. She looked to Father for an answer.

  “Of course we’re going to Colorado, Kathleen. This is merely a backup plan. No one else knows, and it must not leave this room,” he instructed. She studied his face to see if he was angry, but then he smiled and said, “You three are the only ones I can trust.”

  “So we are still going to Colorado?” Kathleen had fallen in love with the slides he had shown them of the hot springs, the beautiful aspen trees and wildflowers. What did she know about South America? It seemed so far away, so remote, so primitive.

  “Yes, of course,” he reassured her. “This is just in case we need to leave the country.”

  She must have not looked convinced, because he reached for her hands, taking them delicately in his as though they were fragile rose petals.

  “You must trust me, my dear Kathleen. I would never let any harm come to any of you. But there are people, evil people, in the media and in the government who would be pleased to destroy us.”

  “People like Ben Garrison,” Stephen said with an uncharacteristic snarl that surprised Kathleen and garnered a smile from Father.

  “Yes, people like Mr. Garrison. He was only able to spend a couple of days inside the compound before we discovered his true mission, but we’re still not certain what he saw or what he knows. What lies he might tell the rest of the world.”

  Absently, he still held Kathleen’s hands in his and began caressing the palms while he continued to address Stephen. “What do we know about the cabin? How did the feds even find out about it?”

  “I’m still not sure. Perhaps a disgruntled ex-member?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Everything is lost,” Stephen answered, looking at his hands, not able to meet Father’s eyes.

  “Everything?”

  Stephen only nodded.

  Kathleen had no idea what they were referring to, but Father and Stephen often talked of secret missions that didn’t concern her. Right now all she could focus on was how Father’s large hands seemed to be massaging her small ones, making her feel special but at the same time, much too warm and suddenly much too uncomfortable. She wanted to pull her hands away but knew that would be wrong. Father only meant it as a gesture of compassion. How dare she think otherwise. She felt her cheeks flush at the mere thought.

  “We have one loose end,” Stephen said.

  “Yes, I know. I’ll take care of that. Will we need to…” Father hesitated as if looking for the correct word. “Will we need to accelerate our departure?”

  Stephen pulled out some papers, along with a map, went to Father’s side and got down on one knee, showing him the items. Kathleen watched Stephen, concentrating on his gestures. He constantly amazed her. Though tall and lean with flawless brown skin, boyish features and a sharp mind, he appeared timid and quiet, as if always waiting for permission to speak. Father said Stephen was brilliant, but at the same time, he was too humble for his own good, slow to take credit and a little too ordinary in his mannerisms to stand out. He was the type of man who would not easily be noticed.
And Kathleen wondered if that made his everyday job more or less difficult.

  She tried to remember what it was that he did at the Capitol. Though she spent hours with Stephen and Emily in conversations like this, she knew little about either of them. Stephen’s position sounded like an important one. She had heard him mention something about his level of security clearance, and he was always dropping the names of senators and their aides whom he had talked to or whom he would get in touch with. Whatever his position was, it obviously helped Father and the church.

  Stephen finished with the papers, stood and retreated. Kathleen realized she hadn’t paid attention to a word of the conversation. She looked to Father’s face, checking to see if he had noticed. His olive skin and bristled jaw made him look older than his forty-six years. There were new lines at his eyes and at the corners of his mouth. So much pressure he was under, too much for one man. That was what he often told them, but then said he had no choice, really, that God had chosen him to lead his followers to a better life. He finally pulled his hands back, away from Kathleen’s, and folded them together in his lap. At first, Kathleen thought it was in prayer until she noticed him kneading the hem of his jacket, a subtle but disturbing gesture.

  “Those who want to destroy us draw closer each day,” he said in a hushed tone, confiding in the three of them. “There are ways I can destroy some of our enemies, but others can simply be stifled for the time being. Everything stored at the cabin was for our protection, our security. If all is lost, we will need to find some other way to obtain protection. We must protect ourselves from those who wish to destroy us. Those who are jealous of my power. What concerns me most is that I sense betrayal within our own ranks.”

  Emily gasped, and Kathleen wanted to slap her. Couldn’t she see this was hard enough for Father? He needed their strength and support, not their panic. Although she wasn’t sure what Father meant by betrayal. She knew there had been members who had left, several recently. And then, of course, the reporter—that photographer who had pretended to be a lost soul to gain access to their compound.

  “No one shall cross me and go unpunished.” Instead of angry, Father looked sad when he said this, glancing at each of them as if appealing to them for help, though this strong, miraculous man would never ask for such a thing, at least not for himself. It made Kathleen want to say or do something to comfort him.

  “I’m counting on the three of you,” he continued. “Only you can help. We must not let lies destroy us. We cannot trust anyone. We mustn’t let them break up our church.” The calm slowly transformed to anger, his hands turning to fists and his face changing from olive to crimson. Still his voice remained steady. “Anyone who is not with us is against us. Those against us are jealous of our faith, jealous of our knowledge and of our special graces with God.”

  He pounded a fist on the chair arm, making Kathleen jump. He didn’t seem to notice and continued as if the rage had taken control. She had never seen him like this before. Spittle drooled from the corner of his mouth as he said, “They’re jealous of my power. They want to destroy me, because I know too many of their secrets. They will not destroy everything I worked so hard to build. How dare they even think they can outwit me. That they can destroy me. I see the end and it will come in a ball of fire if they choose to destroy me.”

  Kathleen watched, uncomfortable yet unflinching. Perhaps this was one of Father’s prophetic fits. He had told them about his visions, his tremors, his talks with God, but no one had witnessed one. Is that what was happening now? Is that what caused the veins at his temples to bulge and his teeth to clench? Is this what it looked like to talk to God? How would she know? She had stopped talking to God ages ago. Right about the time she started believing in the power of Jack Daniel’s and Jim Beam.

  However, Father did seem to have special powers, certain knowledge, almost psychic abilities. How else was he able to so keenly zero in on people’s fears? How else was he able to know so much about things the media and the government kept from everyone?

  She had been shocked at first when he told them about the government putting chemicals like fluoride in the water to cause cancer or about the government injecting healthy cows with E. coli to cause a national panic. About the government putting listening devices in cellular phones and cameras in ATM machines, all to record their every move. Even the magnetic strips on the back of credit cards contained personal tracking devices. And now with the Internet, the government could see inside people’s homes anytime they went online.

  At first she had found it all hard to believe, but each time, Father read to them articles from sources he said were unbiased, some in prestigious medical journals, and all backing up his knowledge.

  He was one of the wisest men Kathleen had ever known. She still wasn’t sure she cared whether or not her soul had been saved. What Kathleen O’Dell did care about was that, for the first time in more than two decades, she believed in someone again and that she was surrounded by people who cared about her. She was an integral part of a community, an integral part of something larger and more important than herself. That was something she had never experienced.

  “Kathleen?”

  “Yes, Father?”

  He was pouring more tea for them and frowned when he noticed she had hardly touched hers. But instead of lecturing her on the healing qualities of his special tea, he said, “What can you tell me about breakfast with your daughter?”

  “Oh, that. It was nice,” she lied, not wanting to confess that they hadn’t even ordered breakfast before Maggie bailed out on her. “I told Maggie that perhaps we could do Thanksgiving.”

  “And? I hope she won’t make an excuse that she has to be off profiling some important case, will she?” He seemed so concerned that her relationship with her daughter work out. With all these other problems to deal with, Kathleen felt guilty that she had given him one more concern.

  “Oh, no, I don’t think so. She seemed very excited about it,” she lied again, wanting to please him. After all, he often said the end justified the means. He had so many pressures of his own. She couldn’t add to that. Besides, it would all work out just fine with her and Maggie. It always did.

  “I’m excited about cooking a real holiday meal. Thanks so much for suggesting it.”

  “It’s important for the two of you to repair your relationship,” he told her.

  He had been encouraging her to do so for months now. She was a bit confused by it. Usually, Father emphasized that members needed to let go of family. Even tonight with Martin and Aaron, he had lectured that there were no fathers and sons, no mothers and daughters. But she was sure Father had a good reason—if he was insisting it must be for her own good. He probably knew that she needed to repair the relationship before they left for Colorado. Yes, that was it. So that she could truly feel free.

  Just then, she wondered how Father knew that Maggie was a profiler for the FBI. She was quite certain she hadn’t told him. Half the time, she couldn’t even remember what it was called. But, of course, Father would have taken it upon himself to know. She smiled to herself, pleased that he obviously cared a great deal about her to bother with such a small detail. Now she really would need to make an effort to have Thanksgiving with Maggie. It was the least she could do if it meant that much to Reverend Everett.

  CHAPTER 30

  Newburgh Heights, Virginia

  Maggie leaned her forehead against the cool glass and watched the raindrops slide down her kitchen window. Wisps of fog descended upon her large, secluded backyard, reminding her for a second time in two days of swirling ghosts. It was ridiculous. She didn’t believe in ghosts. She believed in things she knew, black-and-white things she could see and feel. Gray was much too complicated.

  Yet each time she viewed a dead body, each time she helped slice into its flesh and remove what were once pulsating organs, she found herself reaffirming—or perhaps it was hoping—that there had been something eternal, something no one could see or even begin
to understand, something that had escaped from the decaying shell left behind. If that’s the way it worked, then Ginny Brier’s spirit, her soul, was in another place, perhaps with Delaney and Maggie’s father, all of them sharing the horrific last moments as they swirled in wisps of gray fog around the dogwoods in her backyard.

  Jesus! She grabbed the tumbler of Scotch off the kitchen counter and drained what was left, trying to remember how many she had drunk since getting home from the morgue. Then she decided if she couldn’t remember, it didn’t matter. Besides, the familiar buzz was preferable to that annoying hollow feeling she couldn’t shake off.

  She poured another Scotch, this time noticing the wall calendar that hung alongside the small corkboard above the counter. The board was empty except for a few pushpins with nothing to hold up. Was there not one goddamn thing she needed to remind herself about? The wall calendar was still turned to September. She flipped the pages, bringing it to November. Thanksgiving was only days away. Had her mother been serious about cooking a dinner? Maggie couldn’t remember the last time they had attempted a holiday together, though whenever it was, she was sure it had been disastrous. There were plenty of holidays in her memory bank she would just as soon forget. Like four years ago when she spent Christmas Eve on a hard, lumpy sofa outside the critical care unit of St. Anne’s Hospital. While others had been buying last-minute gifts or stopping at parties for sugar cookies and eggnog, her mother had spent the day mixing red and green pills with her old friend, Jim Beam.

  She stood at the window again, watching the fog swallow entire corners of her landscape. She could barely see the outline of the pine trees that lined her property. They reminded her of towering sentries, standing shoulder to shoulder, shielding her, protecting her. After a childhood of feeling lost and vulnerable, why wouldn’t she spend her adulthood looking for ways to be in control, to protect herself? Sure, in some ways, it had also made her cautious, a bit skeptical and untrusting. Or as Gwen would put it, it made her inaccessible to anyone including those who cared about her. Which made her think of Nick Morrelli.