by Alex Kava
“No, I just meant that she’s not there.”
Now Maggie felt a clammy chill. “Where is she?”
“Don’t know. I was gonna buy a few of her antiques. You know some trinkets, a few figurines and things like that. She gave me a call early this morning and asked if I wanted the whole lot.”
Maggie leaned against the doorjamb. “Where did she go?”
“Don’t know.”
“But she must have left you a forwarding address.”
“Nope.”
“What about payment?”
“I came over this morning. Gave her an estimate and then a check. She gave me a key. Said to hand it in to the landlady when we’re through.”
How could all this happen in less than twenty-four hours? And what had happened to make her mother do this? Or had she planned it and just didn’t tell Maggie? Yesterday there had been quite a few boxes packed and stacked. But why make a production of Thanksgiving dinner if she hadn’t planned on being here? What the hell was going on?
“I have a receipt, if you don’t believe me.” Frank Bartle was digging in his jacket pocket again.
“No, that’s fine.” She stopped him with a wave of her hand. “I believe you. It’s just very strange. I saw her yesterday.”
“Sorry, but that’s all I know,” he said, but his attention wandered to one of the moving men who was coming out of the apartment building. “Be careful with that one, Emile. Put it someplace safe, okay?”
On the side of the carton the man carried Maggie could see scrawled in black marker the single word, Figurines. Her grandmother’s figurines, the one prize possession her mother owned. Suddenly, Maggie felt sick to her stomach. Wherever her mother had gone, she didn’t intend on coming back.
CHAPTER 62
Ben Garrison kicked the unlocked door open. He wanted to strangle Mrs. Fowler. How dare she come into his apartment without letting him know. In the past, the old lady had usually been good about locking up after herself and her string of handymen, almost compulsive about it, in fact. Maybe she had developed a few loose screws in her old age.
He set down his duffel bag on the kitchen counter and out of the corner of his eye he could see them. Quietly, slowly, he picked up the closest thing he could find, pulled back his arm and flung the old tennis shoe at the moving row of black skittering up his living room wall.
Shit! He was sick of these things. Would he ever be rid of them? Is that why Mrs. Fowler let herself in? Maybe the simple solution would be to move to a new apartment. He could certainly afford it now that his lucky streak had returned. He’d need to wait and decide. Right now he barely had enough time to take a quick shower, repack his bags, load up on more film and head to the airport.
He dumped his duffel bag onto the counter, sifting through the contents, tossing empty film canisters and doing a quick inventory. It still pissed him off that he had left all the Boston negatives with Racine. But he couldn’t afford to have her trip him up. Not now. Not when he was on a roll.
As he sorted through everything he realized he must have left his collapsible tripod at the police station. Damn it! How could he have been so careless? It happened every time he got a little too cocky. Now he wondered what else he may have left behind. The T-shirts and sweatpants he could do without, but the tripod he couldn’t. He’d need to stop and pick up another. No way would he go back to the police station.
He checked his phone messages, jotting down the names of editors and phone numbers he had never heard of or from before. Suddenly everyone wanted a Garrison exclusive. In no time, he’d be back to shooting whatever he wanted, although it would be difficult to beat the rush of adrenaline this little project was producing. Maybe he could find a gallery that would display his outtakes. Those, after all, were the true rush, his true genuine works of art.
There were five hangups on his answering machine, definite hangups with a pause and then a click. Probably Everett’s little warriors checking up on him. But why the hangups and no more clever messages? Were they running out of intimidation ammunition?
Poor Everett. He’d finally get what he deserved, what he had coming to him. Perhaps Racine and that FBI chick would be smart enough to put the puzzle pieces together. Hopefully, that wouldn’t happen before Cleveland. Ben needed this one last trip, one last rally.
He headed for the bathroom, peeling off his clothes and leaving a trail, not caring whether the cockroaches took up residence in his old worn jeans. Maybe he’d burn them when he got back. Yeah, he’d wrap them all up in a plastic bag, so he could watch the fucking roaches squirm while he set the jeans on fire. He wondered if cockroaches made any kind of noise. Did they scream?
When he stepped into the bathroom, he immediately noticed that the smudged glass door to his shower was closed. He never left it closed. The trapped fog and steam ended up producing a crop of mildew, so he always left it open. He couldn’t see through the milky glass, but surely there would be a shadow or silhouette if someone was hiding inside. Maybe Mrs. Fowler’s handyman had been screwing around with the plumbing. That had to be it.
He pulled a towel from the rack and shook it out, making sure it was cockroach-free. He opened the shower door and reached in to turn on the water. One glance inside the tub made him jerk backward hard and fast, tangling his feet and sending him crashing to the bathroom floor. He scrambled to his feet, grabbed the shower door and slammed it shut, but not before he took one last look to make sure he wasn’t imagining things.
They had gone too fucking far this time.
Coiled inside his bathtub was a snake that looked big enough to swallow him whole.
CHAPTER 63
The Compound
Kathleen O’Dell sat on the floor next to Reverend Everett in his high-backed chair as they waited for the meeting hall to fill. Stephen sat on his other side with Emily. Stephen nor Emily had said much to her since they picked her up. Not a word of explanation the entire trip to the compound, just short, almost curt nonanswers to her questions. Kathleen wasn’t sure if it was anger or urgency. She hadn’t been able to read either one of them. Now as they sat, she stole a glance at Reverend Everett. He didn’t seem angry, either, but earlier there had been something in his voice and in his mannerisms. Kathleen wondered if it was panic.
No, of course not. She was being paranoid. There was no reason to panic. And yet, his morning phone call sounded just frantic enough to set her on edge. All morning, as she waited for Frank from Al and Frank’s and then for Stephen and Emily, she kept wishing she hadn’t finished that entire bottle from the back of her cupboard.
Reverend Everett hadn’t given much of an explanation as to why they had to leave so soon. When they arrived at the compound, they found the others scurrying around, preparing for another stretch of prayer rallies, the first being in Cleveland, the following night. That was all it was—preparation. But then, why did Reverend Everett call this emergency meeting? Why did Emily’s face look pinched with panic?
Kathleen wasn’t even supposed to be here. She wasn’t supposed to be going to the Cleveland rally. It had been Reverend Everett’s recommendation that she spend the holiday with Maggie. Except that she hadn’t had the chance to tell him about Maggie. Now it was best she didn’t mention it at all. Because now, it seemed as if everything had changed. Something terrible had happened. Something terrible enough to make Emily speechless. Something terrible enough that prevented Stephen from meeting Kathleen’s eyes.
Kathleen felt like she was in a fog, where nothing seemed to be quite clear. She still couldn’t believe all her things were gone, her apartment, her cheerful yellow curtains and her grandmother’s figurines. Perhaps that’s why her head had been throbbing all day. It was just too much to expect a person to handle in one day. Surely Reverend Everett understood that. Perhaps by the time they reached Cleveland, he would change his mind. Yes, she was certain he would be able to calm down and realize that everything would be just fine.
As he stood, the room grew silent, despite the nerv
ous tension that spread through the crowd as they sat crossed-legged on the floor and waited.
“My children,” he began, “before those of us who are going on our mission to Ohio leave, I’m afraid we have some disturbing news. I’ve warned many times that we have traitors who wish to hurt us. Those who hate us because we choose to live free. Now I must tell you that one of those among us has betrayed us, has become a traitor. Has exposed us to those mongrel media hounds. And you know how the media can lie.”
He waited for the appropriate response, nodding at the few hisses that grew when he encouraged them. Kathleen looked around, hoping there would be no snake tonight. She wasn’t sure her nerves could handle that.
“I’m afraid this matter is much too personal and painful for me, and so I’m asking Stephen to take over from here.” Reverend Everett sat back down and looked to Stephen, who seemed surprised and perhaps a bit embarrassed by the request. Evidently, this part was unplanned. Poor timid Stephen. Kathleen knew he hated having attention drawn to him. She could see the discomfort taking over his entire face.
He stood, slowly, reluctantly. “It’s true.” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “We have a traitor among us.”
He glanced back at Reverend Everett and the reverend waved a hand at him to proceed, indicating that Stephen knew the drill. Yes, Kathleen looked around at the crowd, now silent and waiting. They all knew the drill. The traitor must be brought forward. Must be taught a lesson. But she was so exhausted tonight that all she wanted was for it to be over.
“The traitor has exposed valuable information to the FBI and the Boston Globe,” Stephen continued. “Information that has them talking to ex-members. Information that could tarnish the church’s reputation and distract from our mission. This is why the rally in Ohio is even more important now. We cannot be intimidated.”
He looked to Reverend Everett as if for approval. Then Stephen’s voice grew stronger, deeper. “But traitors must be punished. I ask the guilty person to stand. You know who you are.” Another glance back at Reverend Everett. “Stand before us and take your punishment.”
They all remained silent. No one dared to look around for fear that they might be the one. No one stirred or dared to shift. Then Stephen turned and pointed his finger.
“Stand up right now and face your punishment,” he said.
Kathleen thought she heard a hint of a quiver as he pointed his finger in her direction. No. There had to be a mistake. She looked to Reverend Everett, but he kept his eyes straight ahead. He was the only one who wasn’t staring at her.
“Kathleen, come face your punishment for betraying us all.” Stephen now managed an angry, stern tone.
“But there must be a mistake,” she said, getting to her feet. “I haven’t—”
“Silence!” Stephen yelled. “Arms at your sides, stand up straight, eyes forward.” When her only response was to stare at him, he grabbed her arms and shoved her to the front of the room where several others, including Emily, had gathered. “Your selfishness could have destroyed us,” he screamed into her face. Then he looked to the others to take their turn.
“You betrayed us,” shouted an old woman Kathleen had never met.
“How could you?” Emily screamed into her face.
“You should be ashamed,” came another.
“Traitor!”
“What makes you think you’re special?”
“Ungrateful bitch!”
“What makes you think you’re better than the rest of us?”
“Shame!”
One after another, they circled her, hurling insults, screaming at her, poking and shoving.
“How dare you.”
“Traitor!”
Kathleen’s eyes were already blurred and stinging with tears by the time the first one spit at her. Then came another and another. She attempted to wipe her face, only to have Stephen slap down her arms.
“You know the rules. Arms at your sides,” he yelled, only it wasn’t Stephen anymore. Those were not Stephen’s eyes. It was some creature, some ugly entity who had taken over his body.
She stood, closing her eyes to the spittle and trying to shut her mind to the angry words, absorbing the blows and shoves that reminded her to stand up straight. It went on forever until her eyes burned and her ears were ringing, her feet hurt and the bruises were visible. Then suddenly, they stopped. Suddenly, it got quiet again. Everyone filed out in an orderly fashion, as if they had come for dinner and were now finished. And Kathleen found herself alone, standing in the empty meeting hall.
She was afraid to move, afraid her knees would collapse. The silence inside the hall surrounded her, and she listened to sounds outside—ordinary sounds of preparation for the impending trip. It was as if nothing had happened. As if her biggest fear had not just been played out for everyone to witness; her fear of being humiliated in front of those she thought respected her. What was worse was that they went about their punishment as if it was nothing unusual. As if it wasn’t out of the ordinary for her to have her soul ripped out in front of them.
That’s when she saw the young man, standing in the shadows, next to the back exit. When he realized he had been discovered, he came to her, slowly, head down, one hand in his pocket, the other holding out a towel to her.
A towel. She wanted to laugh. What she really needed was a bottle, a fucking bottle of anything…Jack Daniel’s, Absolut…Hell, rubbing alcohol would do the job. But she took the towel and began gently wiping her face and then her arms, working her way over her body, trying to not think about the black-and-blue marks, trying to pretend…How the hell could she pretend? No, she could do it. She had done it before. She’d be okay. She just needed to steady herself. Was the room spinning? Or was it her imagination?
He was helping her sit. He was saying something to her, taking the towel and leaving. Was he gone? Did he decide she was a lost cause? Had he left her, just like the rest of them? But suddenly, he was back at her side. Two of him this time, handing her the towel. A fresh one, but this one damp.
She dabbed her forehead, the back of her neck, and then pulled up her sleeves and dabbed at the insides of her wrists. Already she was feeling better. This time when she looked up she found only one of him. And thank God, the room…it finally sat still. The young man seemed preoccupied. He was staring at her wrists. Or rather, he was staring at the hideous horizontal scars she had uncovered when she pulled up the sleeves of her knit cardigan.
“Believe me,” she said to him, “I’ll know how to do it right the next time.”
CHAPTER 64
Justin wanted to tell the woman that he understood, that he had thought about offing himself so many times he had the methods categorized. But he had never known someone older, someone who reminded him of his mother—and she did remind him an awful lot of his mother—who had actually tried it.
“Ma’am, are you okay now?” he asked. “Because I really should be helping load and haul stuff.”
“I’ll be fine.” She smiled at him and pushed down the sleeves. “My name’s Kathleen. No need to call me ma’am. But then, I guess you should already know my name after tonight.”
“I’m Justin,” he said.
“Well, thanks for your help, Justin.”
He nodded at her. “I know you didn’t do anything wrong.”
Then he turned and left out the back exit. He needed to get back to the kitchen. Back to packing boxes with cans of beans and soup and enough rice to gag a small nation. Maybe he was trying too hard to be helpful, but he knew he had fucked up big time in Boston. Since they returned, he was half expecting to end up with that boa constrictor around his neck. He knew how close he had come to being the one standing in front of the room. Maybe that’s why he had to go back and help this woman, this Kathleen. That and because she reminded him of his mom. He hadn’t realized until tonight that he actually missed his mom. And he missed Eric. Now he wondered if Eric was ever really coming back.
At first, he thou
ght he wouldn’t be allowed to go to Cleveland, to the next prayer rally. That would have been okay by him. In fact, he was thinking maybe he’d just leave the compound while the others were away. He was pretty sure he could find his way back into Shenandoah National Park. He had done it last time without really trying. But then Alice told him he was on the list, the fucking anointed list that got to go.
He found the old lady named Mavis and helped her load the steel cart full of cartons into the buses’ storage compartments. Some of the compartments were already loaded with other boxes. Inside both buses, the overhead compartments looked filled beyond capacity. A woman from the laundry room instructed Justin to place all the boxes she had brought on another steel cart under the seats.
“They have to fit. Make them fit,” she told him, and left.
These were labeled: Shirts, Undergarments, Towels. Why would they be needing all this crap for a two-night trip? He stuffed the last one under the driver’s seat just as Alice came up the bus steps with an armful of blankets. He helped her find space for them, avoiding her eyes and any other contact. He hadn’t been alone with her since his meeting with Father. It shouldn’t matter, but he had a hard time looking at her. He couldn’t believe how much of a phony she was, pretending to be all pure and good and stuff. To think she had tried to lecture him on his bad habits. Well, at least he wasn’t a fucking whore.
Shit! He promised himself he wouldn’t think that way, especially after seeing those poor girls yesterday, screaming and kicking. He still couldn’t get those images out of his mind.
“You’ve been really quiet since you got back from Boston,” Alice said, staring at him with that look of concern that he used to believe was genuine. Now he wasn’t sure what to think. Nobody seemed to be what he thought they were. Including himself. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired.” He pretended to be inspecting all the boxes, making sure they were secured under the seats.
