“What are you doing here?” I ask, my heart still racing from his unexpected presence.
“I wanted to see you.”
“Then why do you seem so surprised that I’m here?” Josh’s face falls and I immediately feel silly for being so defensive. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean … I’m just upset. I didn’t get a chance to tell Kara about what happened today. I mean, I tried, but she wouldn’t let me. She said not to—”
“Hey.” Josh pulls me into his chest and wraps his arms around me. He begins smoothing my hair. “Hey. It’s okay,” he says.
I melt into his embrace, but I’m still upset. “It isn’t okay. None of this is okay.”
“Maybe I can talk to her. If you’ll tell me where she is, I’ll explain what happened and fix this. I can get her to come back. I can go right now and she’ll be here within the hour.”
He’s right. I know we should go get Kara, but I’m afraid of how that would play out. Bringing her back drunk after essentially abandoning the mission? No. I’ll fix this myself in the morning when Kara is sober. “I’m sure she’s fine,” I say.
Josh’s jaw twitches. “We should really go get her, Em.” An abrupt sadness overpowers me. I know he’s right—we should go get Kara—but the thought that he would rather do that than be alone with me abruptly overpowers me with sadness. I heave a sigh and wipe the tears off my face with his T-shirt. He gives me an odd look.
“Have you been drinking?” he asks.
“No,” I lie.
He lifts my chin up. “You sure about that?” His finger brushes my lower lip. I inhale deeply just as his mouth closes in on mine, and my thoughts spin into a dark and starry nothingness until he pulls away
“Wine?”
“Maybe,” I whisper.
“Where is it?”
“Not here.” He’s kissing my neck now, lightly working his way up to my ear. I exhale. “Not there, either.”
“With Kara?” he asks.
“Yes.”
He kisses me again until he asks the next question. “Why can’t you tell me where? What if I wanted some too?” he whispers as he slowly backs me into the wall. I can feel every horrible thing that’s happened in Italy falling away as we kiss, and I imagine we’re far away from this building, far from the Kingdom. The possibility of freedom needles its way through the bliss of the moment until the fear creeps in.
I break the kiss, but Josh holds the back of my neck, almost too tightly. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and kiss him until I can’t tell which way is up. My back presses into the wall as our struggle to breathe amplifies, triggering a thousand fleeting thoughts, none of which I can pinpoint. His heart races against my chest, his hand gently slipping under the hemline of my top. His knuckles brush against my bare skin underneath as his fingers unlatch the front clasp of my bra and then the button of my shorts. He moves to the zipper.
Oh God.
“Oh God.” I say it out loud, suddenly remembering he will have to tell Ben every detail of this. Or worse, Will.
I push him away, trying to catch my breath. He gently takes my face in his hands.
I exhale into the silence—half frustrated, half euphoric. “Josh …” My shorts feel dangerously close to falling. I fumble to refasten the button, but he stops me by taking my hands and lacing his fingers into mine. He presses our hands against the wall on either side of my face and kisses me again. Then his hands are everywhere as my thoughts reel way too fast to hit the brakes.
I mumble his name again between breaths. We have to stop. Kara’s reaction to my cautiousness about David (Seriously, Em) flashes through my mind. She was actually mocking me for following the rules. Maybe she’s right. I’m too uptight about the Kingdom. And Kara is technically still my DP … But what if someone catches us right now?
I push Josh away, harder this time, even though everything in me wants the exact opposite. “What if we … left?” I say. The empty villa and pool flash through my thoughts. Kara and her new friends will be gone for most of the day tomorrow. My mind is clearly functioning through my heightened senses because all I can think about is being with him like this anywhere but here, somewhere farther away from the others.
He squints down at me, confused. “What?” His hands drop as he steps back.
“Seriously. I know a place where we can go. Tomorrow, at least, until we figure out … um …” I look down, embarrassed, refastening my shorts. How do I say what I’m really thinking out loud?
“You mean with Kara?” he asks.
“No. Just us.”
He pulls me close again until I can’t see his face. I wrap my arms around his back as he takes a deep breath. His heart is still racing, but I can tell his mood has changed. “We can’t,” he says. He tenses up just before slipping out of my arms, his expression suddenly distant and determined.
A wave of panic hits me as he moves toward the door. I desperately want to stop him from leaving. Instead I stand there like an idiot.
“I’m really sorry, Emily.” He sounds truly apologetic. “It’s more complicated than that. I just … can’t.” He slips out the door and gently closes it behind him.
I stare at it as my heart fills with regret. Why did I have to push him too far?
Straightening my clothes in an attempt to pull myself together, I wipe the tears from my face, open the door, and run toward the vineyard. I don’t even realize I’ve run head-on into Andrew until I hear his gasp. A searing pain rips through my head.
“Jeez, Emily.” He’s bent forward with both hands on his knees. “What are you doing?”
“Colliding with you, apparently,” I say. Andrew stands up straight, still rubbing just above his eye. “What were you doing with Josh?” he asks boldly.
“Are you spying on me?” I sound unhinged. What if Josh tells Ben and Will what we did? What I suggested?
“Oh, relax. I’m the best secret keeper at this villa. Just ask Josh,” he says ominously. “No. I meant what are we still doing here?” His tone is serious.
I start to say something but realize I don’t have an answer. “You tell me, Andrew.”
He cuts his eyes at me, leans in, and whispers, “Haven’t you thought about leaving?”
Did he overhear me and Josh?
“Well, I have,” Andrew says. “And I know where the passports are.”
My heart makes a hopeful leap.
Andrew leans in close. “I’ve already checked them. But you should know yours is missing and so is Kara’s. Your Eurail passes are gone too. Among other things.”
I’m dizzy with panic. Does Kara know about this? How will we get home? “What are you talking about?”
Andrew gives a harsh laugh. “Come on, Emily. You’re smart enough to know things are going to get way worse. Where is Kara anyway? We’re all going to have bigger problems than your missing documents if we don’t figure out where she ran off to.”
I rub my forehead. It still hurts from our collision, and this conversation is only making it worse.
“Look, Em.” His tone shifts to sympathetic. “I wouldn’t blame you if you’re the one who took it. You know that, right? Backpacking through Europe sounds way better than begging Italians to join our meetings just so we can watch them eat all our food then take off the moment they figure out what we are.” He glances at me, waiting for a reaction.
I pause, reluctant to confide in anyone right now, even Andrew. Kara may have lost her senses, but I understand her desperation to run away from impossible expectations—the crushing weight of guilt that follows inevitable failure. But Josh … Why would he refuse to leave with me, especially after what just happened in my room? What I was willing to risk just to physically be with him? Then it hits me. Maybe his faith is just stronger than mine. If we’re here for the right reasons, everything will work out. I just have to have faith.
“You know what we are, don’t you?” Andrew’s voice is sharp. “Let me give you a hint. It starts with a C. And it’s not church.”
&
nbsp; A sudden fury rises in my throat. “Stop it, Andrew. What is your problem anyway?” I snap. “I’ll bet you were the one who left the snake for Kara.”
“Snake?” His face is shocked, drained of color, as if I’d conjured a ghost from the vineyard.
“The one in the bag. On my bed. There was a note that said TRUST ME. Sound familiar? That’s what killed Dolce, you know. Was that you?”
“No,” he whispers, his tone completely changed. “I have to—”
I rub my eyes in frustration and exhale a deep breath. “Andrew, I’m so sorr—”
I look up, and Andrew is already walking away.
If only I could be more like Kara—more impulsive, irresponsible—maybe Josh would have left with me. Or maybe Josh is the one saving me from my own self-destructive doubts, even after I tried to tempt him to leave. A sudden anxiety lodges in my throat, making me want to scream. Instead I swallow it down and stagger to my room.
Devil’s Music
By the time I wake up the next morning, Andrew and Lily are both gone.
My formal interrogation starts with Kara’s mix tape.
The headphones sit on Will’s oversized desk. I try to ignore them as I sit in the chair across from him.
“Emily. Did you lose something today?” he asks me as he looks down at the Sony tape player, careful not to touch something so consumed with sin.
A knot tightens in my throat.
“No, sir,” I say. Being alone with Will is intimidating. He has a way of extracting guilt even from those who had no idea they’d done anything wrong.
His blue eyes reveal a mix of amusement and disgust, their color a stark contrast against his pallid complexion. Will somehow grew paler since we got here, almost like the Italian sun drained his skin of color instead of tanning it.
“That’s very interesting, since Shannon said she saw you wearing them earlier this week.”
He must have seen Kara wearing them every day for weeks. So why is he trying to corner me? “Well, I guess I’ve borrowed them before,” I answer.
His eyebrows shoot up. “Then, is this your … music? If it can even be called that.” He mutters the last part as he picks up the tape player and ejects the tape. He handles it carefully using the tips of his fingers as if it were a razor blade fresh out of the box. The clear cassette exposes a long white sticker labeled MY MIX in Kara’s unmistakable angular scrawl.
“It’s not mine,” I say, grateful to be telling the truth.
“You don’t recognize these lyrics, then?” He pushes a notepad with words scribbled on it.
“Go ahead. Read it,” he says.
I sit frozen, terrified of where this is leading. He seems unhinged. “Can you not read my handwriting?” he asks.
“I can. It’s just—”
He looks down at the object in question, carefully inserts a pencil under the exposed brown tape, and begins pulling it out. As he extracts the cassette’s entrails, the tangled heap of shiny brown loops glimmer like a pile of worms writhing on his desk. “Go ahead, then,” he says.
I look at the lyrics and whisper the first line of Liz Phair’s “Flower.” “Every time I see your face I get—” I stop and look away. There’s no way I’m reading the rest of the explicit lyrics out loud.
“Is there something you’d like to confess?”
“No,” I say quickly.
“Are you sure?”
A Vespa buzzes in the distance through the open window. The noise escalates like an angry insect as it passes the villa and fades up the hill, triggering me to question the absurdity of a mix tape interrogation in the middle of Italy. I have to stay focused. I have to get back to Kara without anyone knowing. Just play along.
“Listen. I promise this tape is not mine. The headphones are Kara’s, but I don’t know where the tape came from.” Shit. Why did I bring her name into this situation, or even say it out loud?
“They came from your room,” he says gingerly. “So I guess we’ll have to ask Kara, then. Only she’s not here to ask, is she?”
I struggle for a response.
In a sudden burst of anger, Will stands up and grabs the earphones, still connected to the tape player. “Since she’s left you here to answer for this, tell me. Where are the rest of these tapes? There must be more.” He sways to one side, as if off balance, and catches himself by pressing his hand into the desk. I can see beads of sweat on his forehead, even though the room is cool and breezy.
“I have no idea,” I plead. “They honestly aren’t mine.”
He leans over his desk to hand the jumbled mass to me. I reach for it just as he grabs my hand. His hand is clammy and cold, but his grip is tight. I notice a large Band-Aid on his arm.
“Where is she?” His eyes seem wild.
“I don’t know,” I lie. I know he can sense it, and I brace for his anger. Something changes in his expression. He seems desperate, afraid even.
“We’re talking about the success of our mission here,” he says. “We need her.”
His clammy hand is still gripping mine, but now he seems to be grasping it for balance. He lets go and falls into his chair. After a pause, he takes a deep breath. “Emily, look. If you know where she is, just please bring her back.” He wipes his forehead with a tissue. “I know you’re a good girl and want to help without betraying your DP. I know you’ll do the right thing. Just think it over. I will have to address the music situation, since several DPs know about it,” he says. “Don’t worry. You won’t be marked.”
With a wave of relief, I stand up to leave before he changes his mind. He lifts his hand in a stop gesture. “We have a meeting.”
My heart jumps into my throat. “But—I—” My mind is spinning too fast to think of an excuse.
“Right now,” he says.
We all gather together in the main room where Will wheels in a television on a large cart. A shocked silence blankets the room when an MTV logo flashes on the bottom right corner of the screen.
A collective gasp erupts when the video reveals an emaciated old man wearing a Santa Claus hat climbing up onto an enormous cross in the middle of a field of red poppies. Kurt Cobain’s gravelly voice murmurs the lyrics of “Heart-Shaped Box” as Will lingers beside the television with an exaggerated expression of concern, as if someone is torturing him by forcing him to watch the ensuing blasphemy. I look around and see that Shannon is watching with the same horrified expression. “Oh my word,” she says, looking away dramatically.
I’m not sharing the level of shock exhibited by everyone around me. The bizarre video seems to be reenacting someone’s disjointed dream. A raven perched on a cross. A fat lady jumping in a Mr. Goodbody suit. Kurt Cobain in a coma. Hundreds of bloodred poppies just like the ones that cover the Tuscan hills around us. It seems absurd, though I imagine Shannon is having a different reaction.
The moment it ends, the spell is broken and we look at one another with anxious glances. Will shuts off the monitor and makes eye contact around the room as he waits for a response.
“Can you believe this sick excuse for music is what young people are listening to today? You could make an entire Sin List from this one video,” he says. “Does anyone want to give it a shot?”
I’m lost in my own thoughts. Part of me wants to respond, to believe he’s right. I hear words from various voices around me float to the surface: Blasphemy. Dark Arts. Drugs. Sex. The Pope. Abortion. Satan. Homosexuality. Gluttony. I have to keep myself from laughing out loud, and I’m scared of what that could mean. Summer and I used to listen to this album on repeat, and never once did we worry about the idea of … Satan. I try to picture Summer here with me now, but all I can see is her standing up to scream: Why are y’all freaking out about ANY of these things?
For some reason, the only word I can think to say from the video is “poppies.”
Will is staring at me with his head cocked in curiosity.
Did I say that out loud?
Perhaps not. He continues on with h
is rant and I can’t process a word of it. I’m thinking about how something so natural and beautiful could be torn apart and distilled into something addictive.
Will paces in front of us. “Lily and Andrew are gone. Andrew left a note saying he cannot be a part of our mission. You need to consider what that means. We know Satan moves among us. He seeks to divide us from our work, from our Lord, and our salvation.”
Everyone is silent. I stare at Josh, but he refuses to look at me.
“Do you really think Andrew and Lily were Satan’s only agents here?” he continues.
A sharp fear jolts through me. I can’t remember when I last saw Lily. The image of her staring at the wall is the last thing I remember about her. Her sadness was so horrible, and I’m rocked with an intense surge of guilt for not having gone back to check on her, to at least see what happened with her brother. What if Will is right? What if things happen in life to sow doubt in our hearts?
“As of this moment, both Lily and Andrew are marked,” he yells. “You must never, under any circumstances, ever speak to either of them again. They have chosen to be selfish, to listen to the devil rather than God’s calling, and they have chosen to turn their backs on the Kingdom. Both of them are like dogs returning to their vomit. Therefore, we must turn our backs on them for their own good and the good of our mission.”
A sudden anger rises in my throat and spreads heat across my face. “Her brother was in a really bad accident. I’m sure she was trying to get to her family, and that this is a misunderstanding. Andrew just wanted to help her.”
“Oh please,” Shannon says. “Andrew has had a thing for Lily since day one, so they’re choosing to live in sin. And her brother wasn’t even saved. He was probably drunk or on drugs when it happened.”
“But he’s her family,” I say.
“We are her family,” Shannon says. “There was sin in his life, and that’s what caused him to crash his car. His wreck was God’s will.”
I want to scream in Shannon’s face. I remember how she said the kitten’s death was God’s will. Why would something so random and horrible need to be explained away as God’s will?
Those Who Prey Page 18
