The seats around us start to fill up as people trickle in. There’s still nearly half an hour before Pioneer’s scheduled to appear. I study every person as they walk inside, trying desperately to get my mind on something other than what’s about to happen. Cody sits on one side of me, his mom on my other side, and Taylor sits next to her. The sheriff’s not with us. He went out to talk with several people in the hallway, all of them in suits and important-looking. Cody’s mom has saved him a seat. I’ll breathe better, I think, once he’s in it.
Cody’s hand is cool in mine. My palms are clammy. It’s embarrassing, but I don’t let go. We don’t talk. I can’t think of anything to say, and even if I could, I’m not sure the words would come out.
“Hey.” Jack taps me on the shoulder before she slides into the seat behind me. “Did some digging on our friend. Turns out our Mr. Jonathan served two tours in Iraq with the army. He was honorably discharged a few years ago. He lived with his parents for a while after that and hasn’t held down a regular job for more than three months at a time. I found his Facebook account and he has lots of pictures up of him with the Rangers and a bunch of articles about Pioneer. He wrote a few about freedom of religion and how the raid on the Community was unconstitutional. He’s huge into the Second Amendment and goes to rallies supporting it pretty regularly.”
“Jeez, you found all that out on the computer?”
“Yep, scary how much you can find out about a person, right? Hey, have you talked to Mrs. R at all since the diner?”
“No, why?”
“She just missed our appointment last night.” Jack settles back into her seat. “She’s usually on my case about forgetting, but this time I showed and she wasn’t there.”
My stomach does a barrel roll. Is she already working on getting Will and the others away from the Community?
My parents and the others show up a few minutes later with Jonathan and two of the other Rangers. They take up the entire back row—both sides. Still, not all of the Community members are there. I don’t see Brian or his mom, Marie’s parents, or several others. I wonder if they chose to stay behind or if Mr. Brown ordered them to because he didn’t want them to hear the charges being read, to hear Marie’s name mentioned.
A door near the front of the room opens up and a woman hurries in, settling herself at a low desk just to the side of the judge’s seat. Just as she gets situated, Pioneer appears in the doorway, his hands shackled in front of him. He’s dressed in black pants and a white shirt with a thickly knotted blue tie lying down the length of his chest that matches the color of his eyes. It makes them seem even more icy and intense. The top of his head is covered in a fine fuzz of hair. He must not be able to keep it cleanly shaved. He shuffles forward slowly, his eyes roaming the room, growing brighter when he sees our Community, brighter still when he sees me.
He stares me down. Winks. He’s trying to unsettle me. I force myself not to look away, even though I really, really want to.
“Did you like my present yesterday, Little Owl?” he asks, before his lawyer nudges him to be quiet. Cody’s hand tightens on mine. Pioneer turns his attention forward just long enough to find his chair and sit down before he swivels around to look at me again.
“I wanted you to understand how much I still care,” he says.
I don’t want to be scared, but I am. My ears ring with the echoes of the shots I fired at him back in the stable on the day of the raid. For a second I’m almost positive that I can smell the burnt gunpowder in the air—like dirt and metal and a blown-out match.
He leans toward me, almost over the wooden barrier that separates him from the spectator benches. He waits half a beat before he grins, starts humming the song I heard him sing on the walkie-talkie. His lawyer leans over and pulls at his shoulder, tries to make him stop.
“You’re still mine, Little Owl,” he says without turning around.
I feel as if those five stupid words connect us, are fingers that burrow deep inside my chest just above my heart and squeeze. They have the power to stop my breath. I look back at my parents. They’re staring at me, small, almost tender smiles on their faces. They don’t seem to notice what Pioneer’s doing. I look at the others. The only person who seems to have the faintest flicker of understanding is Mr. Brown, who looks pleased by what’s happening. He might not have killed the owl, but I’ll bet anything he knows who did.
I feel like the room is getting smaller, like the walls are moving in. My breaths are coming fast and shallow and my lungs feel tight. I grip Cody’s hand so hard that he makes a little sucking-in sound through his teeth. Still I can’t make myself stop squeezing. He doesn’t try to pull away even though I know he’s uncomfortable. Instead he puts his other hand on top of mine and gently strokes it. My fingers slowly start to relax.
“All rise …” A man in uniform begins to speak, and everyone in the room stands as a woman in a long black robe strides to the front of the room and takes her seat behind the judge’s bench. She’s talking and then the lawyers are, but I can’t concentrate on any of it. At one point Pioneer is asked to stand up and the judge reads over a list of charges. First-degree murder … attempted second-degree murder … The words come to me in bits and pieces as if from a long distance, as if I’m underwater listening for them.
The judge looks at Pioneer. “Do you understand the charges that have been brought against you today?”
“I understand that I’m here today because the truth is something none of you want to face. Your own wickedness—”
“Mr. Cross! Answer yes or no only,” the judge says loudly.
“The truth will flow from my mouth until I am too weak to speak or dead. Punishment is coming to all of you—”
“Mr. Cross!” the judge practically shouts as the bailiffs begin to close in on Pioneer, their hands on their guns. He turns toward the rest of us.
“Pray and fast with me, brothers and sisters! Don’t poison yourself with their food and drink and lies! The end is near. Signs and wonders are coming. Keep your bodies pure and your minds clear.”
“Get him out of my courtroom. Now!” the judge bellows.
The bailiffs grab Pioneer. He struggles as they begin to pull him out of the room and yells at the judge. “You’ve had your chance to see the way. There will be consequences now. Wait and see! For all of you.” Pioneer’s face is manic, bright red from the struggling. The bailiffs hoist him toward the door. He gives me one last look and then he’s gone.
The people around us start whispering. Pioneer’s outburst was more excitement than they dared hope for, and now they’re celebrating it by rehashing it with one another. I look at the back row, where my parents and the others have bent their heads close together. Their mouths are moving, but so quietly that I can’t hear. I know what they’re doing, though. They’re praying. But is the prayer directed at Pioneer now or the Brethren?
The judge asks to see the lawyers in her chambers and just like that it’s over and we’re filing out of the courtroom. The whole thing lasted less than fifteen minutes. I follow the others out, Pioneer’s words still ringing in my ears. He said bad things were coming. I know I shouldn’t believe him. That he can’t know that … and yet I feel as if somehow he’s going to make sure his words come true. But he’s only one man. A jailed man at that. What can he possibly do?
Your jail won’t hold him. He will go free. Then you will realize who he is and you will be sorry.
—Mr. Brown
NINETEEN
I leave the courthouse in a daze, stumbling down the steps, my eyes focused on the crowd still lingering outside—Brian and his mom, Marie’s parents, and the Rangers, as well as Mrs. Dickerson and her group, who are holding up protest signs now with LEAVE CULVER CREEK at the top. They think the Community’s evil. The Community thinks that they’re evil. Both sides are convinced that they’re the good ones. So then why do I see such hate and anger on both sides?
“Lyla!” From behind me my mom’s voice rings out hi
gh and clear. It’s hard not to shudder all over again at her appearance. She rushes down the stairs, my dad’s hand on her arm, barely able to hold her back. She throws herself at me headlong. I haven’t seen her since our counseling session. Her hug is too tight. I struggle inside of it, feeling an almost violent urge to flee. I can feel her tears sliding down my neck and into my shirt. “I’ve been so worried about you. You ran out on us and then wouldn’t take my calls.” This outpouring of emotion is so intense … so unlike her. My feeling of impending doom intensifies.
I don’t know what to say to this; I can’t make sense of this woman who loves me and yet wants nothing to do with me if I don’t believe the same things that she does—who blames me for my sister’s death and yet clings to me like she’s afraid I’ll disappear too.
Cody and Taylor stand silently next to me. I look at them over my mom’s shoulder, easier to do than it should be because her hair isn’t blocking the way. They make no moves to rescue me. They’re as frozen as I am. I’m starting to believe that without hair the members of the Community wield a strange sort of power. No one wants to get too close to them. It’s like they’re contagious. Almost in spite of myself, I reach up and put a hand on the back of my mom’s head, run it down along the skin there. It’s smooth and naked—vulnerable.
“Come home, Lyla. There’s no time for rebellion anymore. You belong with your family and the people who love you. Bad things are coming soon. You heard Pioneer. I don’t want you to be punished with them. Please, honey!”
My mom pulls away a little so that we can look straight at each other. Eye to eye. Her face is red, tear-streaked, and panicked. Her hands still cling onto my arms, hard enough to be painful. “You aren’t one of them. Deep down you know your place.”
I try to see past the hairless dome of her head, past the sunken cheeks and wild fear. But there’s nothing left when I do. This woman in front of me is not the mom I want—the one that I wish for so much that sometimes there’s nothing in the world but the ache of it. She is damaged and desperate and too afraid to ever see who Pioneer really is. My mom is nothing more than a stranger and I want her to stop touching me.
Now.
I pull away a little too violently and almost fall. My mom’s face crumples for a moment, her hands falling to her sides like they’re too heavy for her to hold up any longer. “I can’t watch you be destroyed. Honey, don’t you see? If you aren’t with us, then you are opening yourself up to the punishment that’s coming.” Her eyes travel over to Cody, and her hands, limp just seconds ago, ball into fists. “Why can’t you leave my daughter alone? You’ve managed to fool her, but don’t think for one minute you can fool me, Outsider! You’ll pay for what you’ve done to my family. And it won’t be long now.” Her face goes a little slack before a slow, purposeful smile stretches across it. “It won’t be very long at all.”
“Stop it!” I yell, but she ignores me. Her eyes bore into Cody’s and she laughs, a harsh, angry sound that feels like it’s slicing me in two. I look at my dad, hoping that he’ll start to pull her away because he’s always been the buffer between us, but he just stands there looking old and tired, his hand rubbing at his temple, his face expressionless. He won’t even look at me.
Taylor stands in front of Cody as if to deflect my mom’s words. Behind them is a growing crowd of reporters. I hadn’t noticed them before, but now they are inches away, microphones pushed out in front of them so that they catch every word. They haven’t called out a question. I think they’re reluctant to interrupt my mom, who seems to be on some sort of lunatic roll.
Mom looks up at the crowd. “All of you. Not just him. Mark my words. Dark days are coming. No world that lets men take children from their very front doors to murder them and turns daughters against mothers and allows rapes and beatings and poverty and ignorance will be allowed to go on forever. There is a reckoning on its way. When it comes, you will remember what I’ve said. You will see that our Pioneer really is a prophet, but it’ll be too late. You’ve had your chance to repent and you threw it away.”
By the end she’s looking directly at me—still hoping I’ll somehow come with her—and I have to fight the fear that slithers along my spine. Pioneer’s using her and the others to make something bad happen somehow. I can feel it, but how?
Behind her the rest of the Community begins to gather. I can’t move. I can’t see. The world is narrowing to a tunnel with my mom’s face at the end of it. When I finally begin to back away, it isn’t under my own power: the sheriff has found us and is pulling us away from the mob to his car. My mom gets smaller behind me, but I can still see her staring after us, my dad’s hand in hers. There are dark clouds behind them, spreading out across the sky. All at once it starts to rain.
The sheriff leads us past the place where we parked and down one more block to a restaurant. None of us have said a word since we left the courtroom. All I know is that I won’t be the one to break the silence. There’s no way to explain my mom or Pioneer or the rest of the Community, not even to myself. The whole experience was like getting served one giant slice of crazy pie.
The restaurant is old and nestled at the base of one of the taller downtown buildings, one of the only places to eat that’s remotely close to the courthouse. We settle into a table with a crisp red-and-white-checked tablecloth. There aren’t any menus. Instead there is an elaborate buffet stretched out across the center of the restaurant. Around us the other tables are filling up with people I recognize from the courthouse. Before long the entire place is packed. The sheriff waves to the lawyers prosecuting Pioneer’s case as they walk past—each with phones glued to their ears. Farther over I recognize several of the reporters eyeing us as they pick at the salads on their plates.
“All right, let’s get something to eat.” The sheriff heads for the buffet and we follow, but I’m not hungry. I trail behind the others, grabbing a plate from the stack by the buffet. There are dozens of home-style dishes, most of which are casseroles—all of which remind me of the communal meals we used to eat. I make myself take a roll and a few packs of saltine crackers. Just the smell of everything else is making my stomach turn. Cody and the sheriff load up their plates, though, their faces grim but determined like it’s their duty to fill up since we’re here. Taylor and her mom follow my lead and build a small pile of crackers on their plate, then add apples almost as an afterthought.
“Your mom is … intense,” Taylor says on our way back to our table. “She really believes all that stuff, doesn’t she?”
I nod. “That may be the understatement of the century. Yeah, she does. Wholeheartedly.” The bitterness in my voice shocks both of us into an awkward silence.
We settle into our seats and start eating just as a handful of Community members show up with the Rangers. They occupy three tables on the opposite side of the restaurant, far away from the prosecuting attorneys and assorted deputies eyeing them carefully. My parents are with them. I slide down in my chair and will them not to see me.
“I thought Pioneer ordered them to fast and pray,” Cody says between bites, his eyes on my parents.
I steal a furtive glance in their direction. None of them look at us at first; they seem to be in deep conversation with one another and the Rangers. I can see Pioneer’s lawyer in the middle of the group and realize that he’s brought them here to go over what happened after Pioneer was dragged away. From the looks on their faces, whatever happened wasn’t good. They sit stiffly in their chairs. I can see Mr. Brown and Brian at one end of the table. Both are staring over at me—until I catch their eye and they look away. I look at the others too, but no one meets my eyes. They ignore our table completely, skipping over it as if it isn’t there. Are they trying to shun me as some kind of punishment for not changing my mind when my mom asked me to? Does it mean that they’ll stop trying to threaten me into coming home? I try not to get my hopes up. What happened with the owl yesterday morning feels more like the beginning of something than the end.
Brian, Jonathan, and Mr. Brown get up from the table together and head for the buffet. They’re really going to eat? Has Pioneer’s outburst before backfired?
The sheriff watches them walk past us and tension rises off all the men just as thick as the steam coming off the food trays. He puts his fork down and turns in his chair a little so he can keep his eyes on them. They don’t acknowledge him and he doesn’t say anything either, but I can tell the sheriff really wants to. He may not have evidence enough to confront them about the owl, but he’s sure that they’re behind it.
Our whole table stares at the three of them as they go through the line. Jonathan stands by the salad section, lingers near the salad dressings and pointedly ignores us. Still, I’m sure that he feels us watching, because he keeps fidgeting, picking up salad dressing ladles and then setting them down again. At one point he drops one, sloshing dressing onto the counter. He glances up at us, then moves to the other side of the buffet where we can’t see him clearly. I almost feel sorry for him. He seems so nervous and out of place. I wonder if he’s starting to regret being a part of the Community. He didn’t grow up in it like I did. Can he really be completely committed in such a short period of time?
Brian and Mr. Brown go back and sit down, their plates heavy with every kind of dish on the buffet line. Jonathan follows a moment later. The lawyer has a plate of food too, but the rest of the tables are completely food-free. My parents are sitting with Julie’s and Heather’s parents, sipping ice waters and listening as Pioneer’s lawyer talks between bites of food. I can’t help wondering if the smell of fried chicken and onions is hard for them to take. If it is, they don’t show it. I watch them take in Mr. Brown’s and Brian’s full plates, then do nothing. No one seems put out that they’re eating. I stare at them, stunned by their disobedience. They move their food around their plates with their forks, but I never see them actually take a bite. Maybe they aren’t eating after all? But then why go through the charade of getting food in the first place?
Astray (Gated Sequel) Page 17
