Sinless

by Sarah Tarkoff

  Ciaran paused, his back to me. If he could pick out my hiding place, I’d be found. And I didn’t know what would come next.

  He waited there a long time. I couldn’t tell if he’d spotted me, but I dared not breathe.

  I’ll never know if he did see me. Because the next thing I heard was the last thing I would have expected in that moment. It was loud, and it took me a moment to recognize it. A sound I’d never heard in person before, but must have heard in a movie as a small child because it had an echoing familiarity. Later, I’d call the sound a gunshot. Ciaran cried out, and then fell. I wanted to run over, find out what had happened, but I knew not to.

  A second figure approached Ciaran’s body. I don’t know how the man was moving that soundlessly, but there he was, crouched over Ciaran. Confirming he was dead? I stared in horror at their silhouettes, trying to make sense of the scene in the dark. I was confused—it all felt surreal, but I knew that whatever danger Ciaran had posed to me, this mysterious figure could be a much greater threat. While the man’s back was to me, I silently moved to the other side of the tree. Out of sight. But I was too curious not to peek out, to watch as he pulled out a phone and started typing. Illuminated by the light of the screen, the man’s face was disgusting, marred by Outcast-level disfigurement. Had I wandered into some Outcast encampment? Did they shoot trespassers? How many more might be out there?

  But then I saw the shooter pull out a small pill bottle, open it, and pour something into his hand. He swallowed it, no water. Instantly, his face transformed, regaining its healthy complexion, its symmetrical nature. And as it did, my stomach convulsed with panic. I recognized that face. It was one I’d seen many times.

  The shooter was Macy’s brother, Zack.

  Book Two

  Chapter 1

  I tried to process what I’d just seen. My best friend’s brother, murdering my would-be date rapist. And craziest of all, that Zack had some kind of pill to counteract Great Spirit’s Punishment for his crime. It all defied any sense of reason. Had some devil-like power seized control from Great Spirit, and mankind hadn’t been informed?

  And more importantly—did Zack know I was here? If he’d followed Ciaran into the woods, wouldn’t he have known Ciaran was following me? Zack looked around, but his eyes never paused on me. Instead, he slung an unmoving Ciaran over his shoulder with ease. I’d never realized how strong Zack was. My mind spun. What possible connection could these two people have had to each other? When Zack warned me against dating Ciaran, was he already planning his murder?

  As the sound of Zack’s footsteps faded, I couldn’t imagine ever moving from that spot. How was I supposed to go back to school, face my friends or my father, after witnessing that scene?

  But as the wind grew colder on my bare and bloodied feet, I knew I couldn’t stay in the woods. I began a countdown in my head, a number of seconds I was sure would be enough for Zack to be gone. Then, snapping branches under my toes, I made my way back to the road. Ciaran’s car was there, but the keys were gone—they must have been in Ciaran’s pocket. With no idea how to hotwire it, I set off on foot, headed in the direction I assumed was home. Of all the nights to forget my cell phone.

  I don’t know how long or how far I walked, but I finally found civilization. It was an old roadside tavern, which after the Prohibitions had been converted into a more Great Spirit–friendly meeting place. Young people sipped nonalcoholic cocktails and danced to a DJ playing Top 40 hits. I slipped in—no ID needed, though I did get odd looks from a few patrons. I found a college-age girl alone at the bar. “Can I borrow your phone?” I asked her. “I’ll bring it right back.” The kind of statement you had to tack on to prove your honesty to strangers—your unchanging face would prove you weren’t lying. Sure enough, she handed it right over.

  An outlet now in my hands, I thought of what to do. I should call the police, right? I stepped outside for privacy, nervous about what to say, how to phrase this kind of situation. I pressed the numbers 9-1-1.

  “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?” said a workmanlike female voice.

  My voice cracked as I said, “I think my friend got shot.”

  “What’s your name and location?”

  “I’m Grace, and he’s not here anymore.”

  “He got up and walked away?”

  “No, the murderer carried him away.”

  The operator was startled. “Murderer?”

  “This guy came out of the woods and shot him.”

  The operator didn’t know what to make of this. “He murdered your friend. And then was Punished so little, he was still able to carry your friend away?”

  I was quickly realizing the futility of all of this. I was afraid to mention the pills, or Zack’s name. I didn’t know what Zack was involved in, so I didn’t want anything to be easily traced back to me. But I tried one more thing. “He was Punished, but then he got better.”

  “He just got Forgiven on the spot?”

  “I guess.”

  “So where is your friend now?”

  I couldn’t send them to Zack’s house. Besides, I doubted he’d be keeping Ciaran’s body in the closet, across the hall from his little sister. Though if he hadn’t buried Ciaran here in the woods, I couldn’t imagine what else his plan might be. So all I said was, “I don’t know.”

  “If this is a crank call, you should hang up before your Punishment gets worse.”

  The operator’s disbelief was enough to scare me into saying, “Never mind, I’m sorry.”

  I hung up, not sure what to do now. It was the middle of the night. The GPS on this stranger’s phone said I was still miles from home. I was scared enough to make one more call—to my father, who I knew was still in D.C., an hour away.

  Thankfully, he answered, a little dazed, barely awake. “Hey, Dad, can you come pick me up?” As I hung up, I began to panic. Somehow I was going to have to explain all of this to a cleric.

  Chapter 2

  My dad arrived as the tavern closed, anxious out of his mind. “What happened to Ciaran?” he asked.

  I was honest. “I don’t know.”

  “He just left you at this bar? Alone?”

  I would have told him everything, but my conversation with the 911 operator had made me wary. What I’d seen wasn’t easily explainable, and my father was the last person I wanted judging me the way that operator had. So I stalled. “It’s a long story.”

  “I’d like to hear it.” There was that fathering instinct.

  “It’s okay, Dad. We had a fight. I’m just glad to be away from him now.”

  My dad sensed I didn’t want to talk anymore. He let an uncomfortable silence settle in for a few miles, while I pondered what to do next. I remembered my father’s explanations when Jude died, his desperate attempts to make sense of a world outside of what he understood, and how he’d failed me in that crucial moment. But still he was my best spiritual resource, so I finally worked up the courage to ask him, “How does Great Spirit decide what’s good and evil?”

  My dad was quick on the draw. “The prophets of each country interpret Great Spirit’s message . . .”

  “But Great Spirit Himself . . . what if someone did bad things, but Great Spirit didn’t Punish them?”

  My father was confused. “Great Spirit Punishes all sinners.”

  I tried a different tack. “Let’s say there was a way to avoid Great Spirit’s Punishment. Do you know anyone who’s done that?”

  At this, my dad seemed to get concerned. “I know that the devil is still very much with us.”

  This was news to me. My father rarely spoke of the devil. The Universal Theology was much more positive, and talking of any higher power other than Great Spirit was frowned upon—the various deities of Hinduism, for example, were all said to be different manifestations of Great Spirit—there could be nothing else as powerful. So to hear my father talk like this now . . . I asked, “How? How is the devil with us?”

  “He’s vying for power in
unseen ways.”

  I pressed him further. “Does the devil work like Great Spirit works? Can he make people beautiful and ugly? Why don’t you talk about the devil, if he’s still out there?”

  Perhaps I’d reached the limit of my father’s knowledge. Maybe he was keeping something from me, the way he often did. But he evaded my questions. Instead, he asked, “Have you seen something, sweetheart?”

  I wanted to tell him everything. About Ciaran being blessed by Great Spirit, about Zack and the pills, all of it. And I was about to. It was on the tip of my tongue. But then my father continued, “You know the story of Job?”

  “Of course.”

  “Sometimes we don’t know why Great Spirit does the things He does. Sometimes He’s simply testing us, to see if we’ll keep the faith.”

  “Sometimes Great Spirit does terrible things, just to prove He can?”

  “That’s a very human way of looking at it. I don’t think Great Spirit uses quite the same logic that we do.”

  I was no Job. I wasn’t going to be able to keep the faith. The 911 operator, who would have heard if anything like this had ever happened before . . . even she thought I was crazy. How could I explain it to Paul Luther, the last person who would believe anything that might fly in the face of Great Spirit’s word? And that’s what everything I’d just witnessed was—the surest proof that everything I’d ever believed in was a lie. As I listened to my own thoughts, I began to feel a deep and immense guilt, the first time in my life I’d ever felt it—a guilt that perhaps I no longer believed in Great Spirit at all.

  As I was thinking through this, my father looked at me, concerned. Casually, he added, “If you need to talk, let me know. You know how Great Spirit feels about those who doubt.”

  I glanced at my face in the side mirror and was shocked. I was deteriorating, slowly but surely. Being Punished. For my sins, for my doubt, for my dishonesty. And it was happening fast.

  “We all lose faith sometimes,” my father said. “Talking about it can help.”

  “I’ll be fine.” I craned my neck as far out of view of my father as I could. In the mirror, I watched my skin losing its glow, looking older, worn out. This Punishment was already far harsher than any childhood indiscretions, and because it was due to my dwindling faith, I wasn’t going to be able to pray my way out of it, like I’d done so many times before. My father was right—Great Spirit Punished no one more harshly than those who doubted Him. This Punishment could kill me, and there was nothing I could do about it. I was in great, immediate, life-threatening danger.

  As we got out of the car, and I began to drag myself to my now mercifully close bed, my father commented, perhaps trying to lighten the mood, “I like your coat. Is it new?”

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  I could only think of one way out of this situation. And I really, really didn’t want to do it. I needed to get my hands on Zack’s pills.

  Chapter 3

  It was suicidal. Walking up to a murderer and saying, hey I saw you kill my friend, can I have one of your magic pills? Or to steal them . . . that could be even riskier. But I already had plans to carpool to school with Macy that morning, and when I woke up to see my face growing more and more ragged, my unbearably stupid plan began to form.

  I drove over to Macy’s in a hat and sunglasses, which ultimately did nothing but draw attention. When she opened the door, she could tell right away. She grabbed the sunglasses off my face and stared at me in shock. “What happened to you?”

  “I lied to my dad,” I said honestly. No need to make this Punishment worse for no reason.

  “About what?”

  “About where I went with Ciaran last night.”

  Before Macy could ask me anything else, another voice jumped in from the next room. “How’d it go?”

  My heart skipped a beat as Zack entered the foyer. Watching me, casually, as though nothing had happened, as though the boy he was asking me about wasn’t the one he’d killed in cold blood last night.

  I tried to keep my voice level. “You were right. I don’t think we’re soulmates.”

  Zack just stared. Trying to read me, maybe. “Sorry to hear that. It sounded like you liked him.” He seemed so sincere. My spine tingled.

  “I did.”

  Macy was busy rolling her eyes. “Weren’t you leaving?”

  Zack smirked. “Be nice to your big brother.”

  “I’d be nicer if you left.”

  “Why do you care?”

  “Because Grace doesn’t want to tell you about her date, she wants to tell me.”

  “I want to hear about Grace’s date, too,” he teased, looking at me expectantly. Was he really doing this to me? Did he know I knew, was he twisting the knife? Or was he fishing for information?

  “What do you want to know?” I asked, as innocently as I could.

  “What was he wearing? What were you wearing?” he asked jokingly, faux-girly.

  Macy pushed him toward the door. “Uh-oh, you’re late for work.”

  “Was he a good kisser?” Zack kept teasing.

  Macy glared at Zack and stepped in front of me protectively. “Zack, go. Now.”

  Zack leaned around his sister and winked at me. “Fine, but I want the full report tonight.” And then he left, to go to . . . work. To kill some other innocent kid? I didn’t know what Zack’s actual job was, and I was too scared to raise any red flags by asking Macy about it now. My father’s words about the devil rang in my ears—could Zack be on the side of the devil? Killing off those Great Spirit had chosen for important roles in life?

  I was torn from my tortured reverie by Macy. “Don’t worry. Before we go to school, I’ll fix your face.”

  The way she said it, I wondered . . . could Macy have these pills, too? Could they be some kind of family thing? I was full of hope. “How?”

  “My secret formula.” I followed her up to her room, where she pulled out . . . a makeup kit. No magic, just mascara. She continued, “I never thought I’d be doing this to you.”

  “Why not?”

  She gave me a look like, really? “You’re Grace Luther. Come on.”

  I stared at my reflection. “Do you have to do this a lot?”

  “Sure.”

  “For what?”

  “Swearing. Sometimes I say mean things to my brother and Great Spirit gets mad. That’s usually worth it though.”

  “That’s it?”

  She hesitated. And then she told me about a time when we were in middle school, when she’d volunteered to feed her neighbors’ cat while they were abroad. Right before they returned to the country, Macy realized she hadn’t been to see the cat in weeks. Though she quickly hurried over to feed it, not long after the owners returned, the cat died. Macy never told them she’d shirked her duties, and they never assumed she bore any responsibility. I tried to assuage Macy’s guilt, but I knew I couldn’t hide the shock and judgment on my face—not with makeup, not even with this Punishment. I wondered how many other things people had been keeping from me, thinking I was this Goody Two-shoes who couldn’t handle it.

  “Sometimes,” she said, “when I think about it, that’s when Great Spirit Punishes me. Just to remind me, I guess. But I’ve gotten pretty good at not thinking about it.” She applied a final coat of lip gloss. “What do you think?”

  My face did look better. “You’re an expert,” I said. I meant it as a compliment; hopefully she took it as one.

  “Let’s go. Makeup won’t do us much good if we’re both late for school.”

  As she headed for the stairs, we passed Zack’s room. My opportunity was right in front of me, my best chance for survival. Makeup could only cushion the blow. If my body’s deterioration continued at this rate, I’d be dead by nightfall. “Can I use your bathroom before we go?” I asked.

  Macy nodded, and I headed back up the stairs, down the hallway. I closed the bathroom door to seem to anyone who passed like I was inside. Then I slowly turned the knob of the closed door ne
xt to it. Zack’s room.

  It looked like any young man’s bedroom in any suburban home. The walls were still covered with posters of the bands Zack liked in high school. His debate club trophies. I’d never been in here before. It was cleaner than I expected. Perhaps that came with the occupation of trained killer.

  I glanced under the bed and hesitantly opened a closet. No dead bodies, at least so far. No pill bottles lying on his dresser either. I took a cursory look through his drawers, didn’t see any pills there, nor in the chest by his bed.

  On the floor was a suitcase—his things from D.C., I imagined. I unzipped it. Rooted through his clothes. As much as Zack now terrified me, I still felt a twinge of guilt violating his personal property like this. After a few minutes of searching, I started to panic. Of course Zack’s pills were well hidden. What if I never found them?

  But before I could explore further, I heard a sound at the door, and I saw the doorknob turn. It was Zack.

  Chapter 4

  I barely had time to jump under the bed as Zack entered and closed the door behind him. I was sure he must have seen me, must have been able to hear me. To my ears, my breathing was the loudest sound I’d ever heard.

  But Zack continued his phone call—he’d walked in on his cell, and he put it on speaker as he searched through his drawers for something.

  “Just give me one second—I can send the report now. Did you ever find a signal on the girl?” The girl. Could he mean me?

  The voice through the speaker said, “We triangulated her cell signal to her house. She wasn’t anywhere near the truck.” Ciaran’s truck. My cell phone was at my house when Zack murdered Ciaran. I was the girl. Could this mean Zack didn’t know what I’d seen?