“Why are all of you people arrogant shits?” I asked.
“Oh, Rowan.” He shook his head. “How disappointing.”
“So, what’s it going to take for you to start talking about stuff that matters?” Josh asked. “Should I start shooting one limb at a time, or are you going to be reasonable?”
Warner leaned back in his chair. “It doesn’t matter what you do to me. If I die now, it will be an honorable death.”
“‘I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country’?” I mocked.
He smiled at me. “Something like that.”
“Start with his kneecaps, Josh.”
“Well, your timing is excellent!” Warner said, and it took me a moment to realize he was talking to someone behind me.
And then there was cold steel against my head. Again. “Oh, hell.”
“Time to drop your weapon.” The voice behind me was raspy, like fingernails on sandpaper.
“I’m sorry you won’t be around to witness the end, Agent Metcalf. It’s going to be quite the show!” Warner stood and aimed his gun at Josh.
“You want me to take the girl into custody?” said the voice behind me.
“I’m afraid she’s become too much of a liability. She’ll have to be terminated, too.”
At Warner’s direction, the man pushed me farther into the room. My legs had turned to wood. Aided by a helpful shove, I flopped awkwardly onto a love seat. He was a giant man, African American, with a shaved head and chiseled features. The gun was big and mean-looking, and the sight of it made my mouth dry up.
“You want me to shoot her, Father?”
“Father? Dude, I think you’re adopted.” As soon as I said it, I winced. Apparently political correctness went out the window when you were facing your own death.
“Metcalf first. Let her watch,” Warner replied.
That would teach me for opening my smart mouth.
“I’ll take you down with me, Warner.” Josh nodded in the other guy’s direction. “And if you so much as look at her the wrong way you’ll be dead.”
Unfortunately, the giant didn’t seem impressed with Josh’s big talk.
“Howdy.” And just to stack the odds against us even more, a new guy stepped into the room. He was smiling. It seemed something about our situation amused him. He had a bad dye job and was holding a gun casually at his side.
“Who the hell are you?” For once Warner looked surprised.
So this guy wasn’t another one of the deputy director’s cronies after all. I saw Josh focus on him, probably trying to figure out the same thing I was. Friend or foe?
Apparently the answer was friend, because the guy raised his gun and shot the giant. It wasn’t a great shot; it hit him in the back of the leg, but the guy went down screaming anyway.
I was too busy watching the action in front of me to see exactly what happened next, but I heard the shots. By the time I looked up, Deputy Director Warner was slumped over his desk with a big bleeding hole gaping out of the back of his head. Josh moved in on the screaming guy on the floor, gun raised. He fired and the giant went quiet. I chose not to look.
“Holy shit!” the guy in the doorway said. “I actually got him on the first try!”
“Yeah . . . good job,” Josh said.
“Thanks!” He was still smiling, and I wondered if he was entirely sane. “Of course, you did both the kill shots, but still!” He turned to me. “Now, for the love of all that is good and holy, please tell me you have red hair?”
I didn’t know quite what to make of that question, but it seemed important to him. Since he’d just had a big hand in saving my life, I felt obligated to pull the cap off my head. My hair floated free, dim embers in the lamplight.
“Are you Rowan?”
“Ryanne,” I answered. “I don’t go by Rowan anymore.”
“Right, I get that,” he said, nodding emphatically. “If I knew my original name, I’d go by it, too.”
“So . . . what do you go by?” Josh asked.
“Oh, sorry. How rude of me! I’m Sumner. Sumner Macey.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
“Hello, Ora.”
She managed not to wet herself at the mere sight of him, but perhaps that was because her bladder, like everything else in her body, was frozen in fear.
“Don’t get up,” he joked as he pulled a chair closer to her and sat with a swish of his black robes.
He hadn’t aged a bit. Not since she was five. But that couldn’t be, could it?
“Well, dear. Father Narda is quite disappointed in you.”
“Yeah. No shit,” Ora managed, but it didn’t sound half as tough as she’d hoped.
Whatever you do, she thought, don’t look at him. Don’t get trapped by those pale eyes.
But were they pale? Or were they black, like his robes? Like his soul? She fought the urge to look, just for one teensy-tiny second. Perhaps if she managed to keep her eyes averted, all would not yet be lost.
“People talk of homosexuality as though one were simply born that way. Nonsense, of course! But such is the cesspool of modern life. Well, not to worry. All of that will soon be lost in the inferno.”
“I’d like to see my dad,” Ora said quietly.
Father Barnabas cackled, except his cackle was more like a shriek. It made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
“Oh, I’m afraid Father Narda is no longer permitted access to you, my dear. Such must be the punishment for bad parenting. Yes, it’s very sad, isn’t it?” he said as her eyes filled with tears.
“For you, anyway. Terrible to be abandoned by one’s father at this time of . . . distress. Especially since your father is, at present, quite content. He’s not giving your situation much thought. He’s . . . otherwise occupied, shall we say?”
Ora’s jaw tightened, but she remained silent.
Oh, Lexy, she thought. I’m so sorry.
“Your father seems to think that, in time, he’ll be able to change Lexine’s ways. I have my doubts, but who am I to deny him some harmless fun?”
“You call rape harmless?”
“Compared to what’s in store for you? Most certainly.” Father Barnabas stood and leaned close to her. He smelled of sweet cologne and rot, and she swallowed hard to avoid gagging. “Although perhaps your father has a point. You are lovely, my dear.” One bony finger stroked her arm, blazing a trail of ice from wrist to shoulder.
He’s so cold, she thought, shrinking away from him.
“It’s been many years since I took an Amante. Do you think I could make you see the error of your ways?”
She couldn’t help it. She gagged, although the gag was mixed up in a sob. “I’d rather die.”
“Yes, yes. All in good time.” He sat back down. “I find it disturbing that you have chosen to turn your back on one of our most vital pieces of Doctrine: in order to thrive, we must procreate with our own kind. Had you come to us and been honest about your struggle, we could have found a mutually beneficial solution. Well, never mind that now! There are much greater issues to discuss, no? Issues like where Sumner has gone. And where Rowan is.”
“Who?” she asked.
One moment he was sitting calmly at her side, the next he was on top of her, bony fingers closing off her windpipe.
“Don’t play with me, Ora. Rowan! Rowan!”
She couldn’t help it; she looked up at him. She was wrong. His eyes were red.
“I . . . don’t . . .” she managed. Her vision was going dark. And then he was sitting in the chair beside her, as if nothing had happened.
Ora gasped, struggling for breath. Her throat was on fire but the skin around her neck, where his hands had been, felt like it was wrapped in permafrost.
He waited until she was back under some kind of control. “The redhead. Does tha
t help?” His voice was calm and smooth.
“Oh.”
“Yes. Oh.”
“I don’t know anything about her.”
“Do you think he’s found her?”
Why doesn’t he know?
As soon as the thought entered her mind, he hurled the chair he had been sitting on across the room. It hit the wall on the far side and fell to the floor with a resounding clatter.
“Because I can’t see them!” he screeched.
Ora closed her eyes, cringing, and fell back against the pillow.
“I can’t see them! Why can’t I see them?”
And then he was sitting at her side again. Sitting on the chair he had thrown across the room, as if nothing had happened. Ora’s head was spinning.
“I had her once, for just a brief moment. She was with that charlatan, and the truth-seeker. I almost got him to turn his gun on her.”
Ora had no idea what he was talking about, so she kept her mouth shut.
“Do you know where they are, Ora? Do you know what they’re planning?”
She was grateful for the fact that she could answer honestly. “No. I don’t.”
Once again he was on top of her. His icy hands went around her neck. “Why don’t you know? Why don’t you know! Why don’t you know!” he screeched at her.
Her last thought before everything went black was: Why doesn’t he know about Jack?
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Sumner spoke for a long time. He spoke until he said his throat was raw. Josh got him some water. Ryanne seemed incapable of moving. She was curled into herself on the couch of the Presidential Suite, wrapped in a throw blanket and looking all of about five years old.
Josh couldn’t begin to imagine the toll Sumner’s story was taking on her. She listened with dry eyes, occasionally stopping Sumner for clarification, but mainly just allowing him to speak.
Josh sat on the other side of the couch, a few feet and a million miles away from her, and Sumner sat across from them in a lounge chair.
He told his story concisely, beginning with his awakening some six months before, and describing how confused and alone he felt after that note appeared in his mailbox. Ryanne nodded, obviously relating to Sumner’s experience.
“But I’ve regained so few memories,” Ryanne said.
“It took me six months to remember everything I do now, and who knows how much I’m still missing. I think it has to be a slow process so we don’t lose our marbles. Which I almost did, anyway.”
He spent a long time describing life at The Ranch, patiently answering Josh’s questions about its location and giving him as many names as he could remember. He described the structure of the organization, both on and off The Ranch.
At Josh’s request, he divulged details about the PSST: how they researched the country’s public-school children, isolated the children who showed psychic potential, and collected data on those kids until a decision was made as to whether they would be taken.
“Kids would usually be watched for a year or two before a decision was made,” Sumner explained. “A number of factors were considered. What kind of skills did the child possess? How much potential did they have? How much space was there at The Ranch?
“They also dealt with demographics. How many children were gathered in that particular year? Where did the child live, and had there been any recent ‘removals’ nearby? If so, they might either delay or forego taking that kid to avoid the scrutiny of the local authorities. No one wanted the attention that comes when something becomes ‘serial.’” He shrugged, looking into his water glass. “Although all of that caution went out the window if the kid was telekinetic. That’s the ability to move things with your mind,” he told Josh.
“Yeah, so I gathered,” Josh said, thinking about the woman in his townhouse. “Why the interest in that skill?”
Sumner shrugged. “I have no idea. But those kids were treated very differently, and they didn’t stay on The Ranch for long. They were taken to—”
“The Command,” Ryanne interjected, and Josh looked at her in surprise. “I remember that. I think.”
“That’s right. The Command,” Sumner agreed.
“What’s that?” Josh asked.
“I don’t know. Those kids were never seen again. And before you ask, I have no idea where it is, either.”
“So everyone with telekinesis was automatically sent to this place, never to be seen again?” Josh asked.
“Yes. Well, any of the Disciples, anyway. The Chosen stayed on The Ranch, even if they had that skill. Always made me think The Command must not be the nicest place to go.”
“The Chosen?” Josh asked.
“Right.” Sumner took a long swallow of water. “Those are the kids born on The Ranch. Most of them are spoiled brats. Skilled, but spoiled.”
“Whose children are they?”
Sumner grimaced, and then explained about the Amante system. How a Priest could take a female Disciple as his concubine when she turned seventeen. How during her year of servitude she was relieved from all Ranch and farm duties, her sole purpose to serve the Priest in any way he found pleasing. When he mentioned the red silk robes an Amante wore to denote her status, Ryanne sat up, throwing off the blanket. Her eyes were wild.
“What happened if she got pregnant?” she asked. Josh had a sudden desire to grab her hand, but he couldn’t move. He was frozen, locked inside his own fear. Or was it grief?
Sumner hesitated, obviously understanding the importance of her question.
“Please?” she implored. “What happened?”
“The mother was allowed to nurse and care for the baby for the first year.”
“And then what?” she asked, and when he didn’t answer, she asked again. “And then what, Sumner?”
“And then the mother was . . . removed. She was brought to the Cocoon, and reprogrammed for her mission Outside.”
Ryanne was leaning so far forward, Josh was afraid she was going to fall off the couch. “And the baby? What happened to the baby?”
“The baby was raised on The Ranch. By its father, and the rest of the I Fidele family. The babies were always well taken care of, Ryanne.” He was clearly trying to make it better, easier for her somehow.
Ryanne slapped her hands over her mouth and stumbled to the bathroom. The door slammed behind her, muffling the sound of her retching. And then she was wailing. Josh’s heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. He sensed Sumner’s eyes on him, and looked up.
“If you don’t go to her, I will,” Sumner said.
That unfroze his limbs, and Josh made his way to the bathroom on legs that wobbled.
“Ryanne?” He eased the door open. She was hunched over the toilet, sobbing so hard her whole body was shaking. He stood watching her, unsure of what to do. He wanted to take her in his arms, but was afraid of her rejection. After what had been done to her, he wouldn’t be surprised if she rejected all men.
Finally she sat up and leaned back against the wall. “It’s too much, Josh. It’s just too much!”
Tears were streaming down her cheeks in tiny rivers. She was clutching at her abdomen, as though searching for the life that had once grown in there.
“My baby!” she wailed. “I want my baby!”
He sat down next to her, squeezing his large frame into the small space. Hesitantly, he reached for her, ready to pull back if she flinched. But to his surprise she flew into his arms, almost knocking him over. She pressed against him, clutching at him with a ferocity that was startling. It was as though she were trying to escape her own skin and burrow into his. Trying to stake her claim within his blood and bones.
His arms found their natural home around her. He closed his eyes and buried his face in the lavender and silk of her hair. Josh held on, losing himself in her sorrow.
When t
hey emerged, Sumner was sitting in the same position, head bowed. Josh’s anger erupted.
“I don’t get it. How can you be responsible for kidnapping so many children! Don’t you have a soul?”
Sumner looked up, his eyes bleary and full of pain. “I didn’t know.”
“How could you not know? I don’t believe it!”
“Josh . . .” Ryanne implored, tugging at his shirt.
He pulled away from her, focusing all his anger on Sumner, the easy target. He was blind with rage. Overcome with fury for all the missing children he had chased, for the decades of his life he had sacrificed, but most of all for the woman who stood beside him.
The woman with the fault lines etched into her grown-up shell, lines that ran so deep he could see all the way down to the girl that was. To the innocence that had been stolen like a perfect rose plucked before its time. She broke his heart, again and again.
He poked a finger at Sumner. “You figured out which kids were worth kidnapping, and you sent out your minions to get them! You want to play innocent with me?”
“I gathered the information; it’s true! But until my awakening six months ago, I had no idea why I was doing it! I had no idea what was happening to those kids, I swear!” Sumner jumped up and began to pace. “I lived the last couple of decades with blinders on. I didn’t know anything, I didn’t question anything!”
“You were programmed,” Ryanne said softly.
“Yes! Programmed! But is that any excuse for what I’ve done? How many families have I destroyed? How many kids’ lives have I ruined? How in the world do I ever forgive myself? How!”
Josh stood there, stunned by Sumner’s outburst. Ryanne looked from one to the other, her face pale.
“I wonder what I was programmed to do,” she said.
The Faithful Page 29
