Me: Keep talking like that and you will.
I giggle at myself, alone in the dark, staring at unassuming stars from my bedroom window. Tilting my head, I set my sights on the unseen heaven and offer up a prayer.
If you’re really up there, why is this happening? Why Courtney? Why any of us? Why is Dean Baker here, proclaiming your name?
Fix it.
Now.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Hide and Seek
Roland
“When did you start drinking coffee anyway? It’s not good for you.”
Kennedy licks the sugar glaze of a donut from her lips. “Says the person who’s on his third cup.”
“Touché.”
“I don’t know… somewhere in high school, I guess? Mom and Dan worship at the House of Nespresso, so our kitchen always smells like fresh-ground heaven. I wanted to partake, I guess. Look cool, hip.” She winks and I’m reminded of how much of her life I’ve missed.
Since she’s been part of my day-to-day it’s been easy for me to forget the void. The nearly twenty years before I got to see her on a regular basis. I can see it now—the daily stuff. When she tries a new lipstick or wears her hair differently. When she bends the rules of the dress code ever so slightly or slides her lip ring in the second she’s done with classes and home for the day. Those are all things I’d miss if I were still meeting her for lunch one afternoon every several months.
“Why don’t you call him dad? Dan.” I ask before I have enough time, or coffee to consider if the question is a good idea.
“Because he’s not,” she answers matter-of-factly, if not slightly annoyed.
I decide to drop it, but she picks it up.
“Sorry,” she says. “Just… I don’t know. He was always Dan. Which pisses me off a little, because my mom wouldn’t really acknowledge much of your presence in my history, but always referred to Dan as “Dan.” It’s like she didn’t want me calling anyone “Dad,” or something.”
I don’t want you calling anyone else dad.
“I get it,” I say, meaning it. “I put her through a lot.”
Kennedy nods, then comes the thick silence.
“Anyway,” I say, cutting it, “want to talk about last night?”
“Hardly.”
I twist my lips, trying not to laugh as she lays the teenage angst on thick. “Was it just a lot? Seeing yourself and everyone on TV?”
She grins. “Kind of. I don’t know. My little breakdown didn’t help matters, either.”
“Do you want to talk about that?” I ask about her spiritual questions.
“I just don’t get it. If, as we’re learning in your class, that Jesus is The Way, as he stated, then what becomes of the people who don’t follow that? Who either choose not to or don’t know, or… whatever…”
I take a deep breath, not knowing where to start. So, I prepare to go in easy, but she has more to say.
“Never mind that,” she says. “All of that aside, if God is who he says he is, then why do such shitty things happen to people. Good people. And, yeah, I know that Jesus said there would be trials. But trials and devastation are different, no?”
“Not necessarily,” I answer honestly. “Devastation is another trial.”
“It’s bullshit,” she says, and I choose to ignore her current slide into mild profanity. This stuff can be heavy. Especially when you get it all at once.
“Ugh,” she says like a seventy-year-old man shaking his fist at the youth of America. “I just can’t today. Can we continue this later?”
Her detachment, while on par for adolescents, is rare for her. “Sure, but are you okay?”
She looks fine. Put together as usual, no dark circles under her eyes and her hair is straight down and tucked behind her ears. Whatever’s going on seems to be situated in her brain and heart and hasn’t yet manifested to the rest of her. Hopefully I can get it out of her before then.
“Yeah,” she says apologetically. “I’m actually going to meet some friends at Word, then Jonah and I are going to grab lunch somewhere. As long as we can procure a chaperone.” Bitter.
“You like Jonah?”
Pink fills her cheeks instantly. “Do we have to do this?” Her face is fixed on her coffee mug as her eyes move up.
“Yes,” I say with a bright smile, bringing my dishes to the sink. “Does he treat you right?”
Her eyes widen. “On the one date, yes. And every other second. He’s a regular Prince Charming. Come on, it’s Jonah.”
“I know, but I’m going to keep checking in. All kinds of people can look good on paper.”
She stops chewing, her eyes flashing to me. Accusing and questioning. It’s only for a second, so short I feel like I imagined it when I watch her sip her coffee. But it was there. Something I said triggered it.
All kinds of people can look good on paper.
Is she hiding something?
“I’ve got meetings at the church most of the morning, then I’ll be working on my sermon this afternoon. Meet back here for dinner? I’ll cook.”
“Sure, but I’ve gotta work. Early dinner?” Her eyes are eager and I mentally rearrange my schedule.
“Of course. See you at five?”
“See you then.” She slides from her stool and places her mug in the sink before turning to me. “I know bad things happen,” she says, reaching for my tie. “But does God offer no protection on this side of the grave?”
I’m silent as she loosens the knot, straightens the tie, then reties it as if she’s done this a million times before. Giving the knot one last tug, she puts her hands down and gives an approving nod when she takes a step back.
Tilting my head, I give her the best answer I can. “It’s so, so complicated.”
Tilting her head, she hits me back with a retort. “I don’t think Jesus meant for it to be.”
“We’ll have to talk about the it sometime soon, okay? Because I can say with some certainty we’re not talking about the same it.”
“Okay. Go, you’ll be late. Go be the super hero for Jesus today.”
I give her a quick hug, stopping short of kissing her forehead. “You, too, kiddo.”
Walking over the small hill where New Life comes into view, I flash back to my early walk with God, when I had the same questions as she does, only I had a bottle in my hand while asking them.
If I can spare her that pain on her journey, I will.
At all costs.
But, I won’t get anywhere with her if I push. Especially with how much like her mother she is. So, I’ve got to back off.
Or she’ll never tell me what she’s hiding.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Breathe
Kennedy
As soon as Roland left, I hooked my iPhone to the stereo system in the living room and cranked up my “Rage” playlist. It helps me think.
An hour later, I’m left with few answers regarding what to do about Caitlyn’s sister. I’m not on Facebook anymore, but I did hunt her down on Instagram, and saw more of the same. Pictures of food she enjoyed at a restaurant, forests, sunsets… no mention of God, though. Anywhere. No inspirational quotes. Nothing even defaming. Just… nothing. She posts very few pictures of her face, instead focusing on her shoes or accessories, or skipping herself all together and targeting her surroundings. A carefully curated page designed to prevent anyone to get to know her on any sort of substantial level.
Huffing, I pace the floor, unable to even attempt schoolwork until I get this pow-wow with Caitlyn and the guys over with. Jonah’s sent me a few cute texts about looking forward to seeing me later, and I’ve responded with a similar tone, but I can’t shake the doom. The dread that lies before us. Caitlyn was right. It’s much worse than any of us could have imagined.
And, she’s right in saying we can’t really do anything without her sister’s consent. I’m sure there are anonymous ways to handle such situations, but that’s simply not my area of expertise. That will involve bring
ing my mother in, or at least one of her colleagues. Because we can’t force Courtney to go through this again. And that’s what doing it without her consent will bring.
The doorbell rings, which is odd since I’ve never once heard it used. I just noticed there was one. Rolling my eyes, I shut off the music and pad toward the door, preparing to ward off any salesman that might be there.
I was wrong.
The quivering of my nerves registers his presence before my brain does.
It’s him.
“Hello, Miss Sawyer,” Dean Baker says in a fake-friendly tone. “Is your father home?”
“Sorry,” I answer through the screen door. “He’s got a board meeting at the church. I don’t know when he’ll be back.”
One side of his bloated mouth twitches into something like a grin. “I didn’t come here to see him. May I come in?”
Not a chance.
“Um…” I falter, wishing someone was here with me. “I don’t…” Don’t know what you’re doing here. What you want. Why…
“This will only take a moment, Kennedy.” He nudges the door open. His tone is bright. Like he’s always called me Kennedy. Like he’s my friend.
Shocked at his boldness in my own home, I take a step back—and a moment to get my bearings. If there were ever a poster for “stranger danger,” this guy would be the headshot. All the warning bells going off in my head make it hard to concentrate on what he’s saying. Because it’s not paranoid warning bells this time. This time I know. I know what’s inside that barreled chest of his.
Darkness.
Evil.
“Did you enjoy the program last night?” he asks of Jesus Freaks.
“Sure. It was fine. A good representation.” My voice trembles as he paces through the hall and into the living room.
“That was quite an award-winning performance you gave with Miss Martinez the other day.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I fold my arms in front of me. “We had a talk that was a long time coming. Were you spying on us?”
I’d all but forgotten about Joy. I know it was less than a week ago, but it’s like time on this campus operates differently than in my head. It speeds up and slows down to accommodate its own agenda.
He chuckles. The first time I’ve heard such a noise from him. Though, if he had a handlebar mustache, he’d be twirling it between two of his greasy fingers. “Spying? No. I’ve seen some of the footage they’ll be airing next week. Not all of it, but enough.”
Enough for what?
“Alrighty then, thanks for the talk.” Dropping my arms, I gesture to the door.
“You know what I find amusing?” he continues, with no clear plans to leave.
I shake my head, my throat squeezing in on itself. “I don’t.”
“That you’ve got everyone fooled.”
Ice runs down my spine as he takes two steps in my direction. His face is grim, menacing almost.
“Fooled?” I swallow hard.
“You think you’re going to win everyone to your father’s side, perverting the gospel and this school on your way down.”
While I don’t know what he’s talking about in regards to my father, as I’ve never heard Roland talk about being on anything other than the side of Jesus, hearing him use the word “perverting” lets loose from its cage the one thing in me I’ve worked so hard to keep locked up since I got here.
My tongue.
“The only thing perverted around here, Dean, is you.” My nerves are trembling with such force I can barely feel my hands.
“Resorting to name-calling Miss Sawyer? I thought it would be beneath your intellect.”
Taking one solid-despite-myself step toward him, I let it fly. “And I thought it would be beneath a self-professed man of God to rape a student, and force her to have an abortion.”
Like a large mouth bass, his lips sag away from each other for a brief moment, but it’s enough for confirmation.
Got him.
“I don’t know how many have suffered at your hand,” I continue. “But mark my word I will find out.” Taking a deep breath, my voice lowers to that of a villain. Talking to him on his terms. Surly and laced with vengeful promise. “And, I will delight in watching your little empire tumble block by block as each woman comes forward from your closet of secrets and tears you apart.”
“You sound awfully sure of yourself, little girl. Sounds like someone has spent a lot of time watching TV and scouring the Internet to fabricate some—”
“Courtney Braverman.” I summon the name of Caitlyn’s sister. It works. Dean Baker’s eyes widen and his teeth clench. As an act of self-preservation I back toward the door, holding it open. “Good day,” I say, praying this is enough to get him out of the house.
But for the moment I have an angry rapist staring me in the face. And I’m alone in the house.
Please, please, please.
Dean Baker clears his throat, pacing toward the door as if it’s his next victim. “Ah, yes. A troubled young girl. It doesn’t surprise me that she’d blather on about—”
“Don’t,” I snap. “Don’t you dare blame her. For anything.” Then, I lie. “The truth is about to come out. And, wouldn’t you know? We’ve got cameras and eager TV interns ready to make their name in the business. It’s just a matter of choosing who the lucky one will be to air your filthy, wretched laundry.”
He lunges forward, pinning my back against the banister of the stairwell. His sweaty hand locks around my throat. So tight I can’t tell if the pulse I’m feeling is mine or his.
“You put a stop to it,” he commands, wild eyes moving across my face. “Or those same interns will be privy to the shameful sexuality of your friend Silas.” A grin spreads across his mouth as my frightened eyes collide with the confusion of his statement.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t breathe.
“Ah, so you don’t know everything.” He tightens his grip around my throat enough that I start to panic, clawing at his hands and working on a scream, “Trust me, little girl, in this world, that knowledge leaking out would prove to be a certain social death for your friend. If not literal. Don’t you push me.” His hand tightens again and my field of vision takes on a soft edge as oxygen struggles to reach my brain. “You’re not the first mouthy pain in the ass that’s crossed this campus, and I’m sure you won’t be the last. But I promise you, I’ll keep you quiet.”
Finally he releases me and turns for the door. I lunge after him, gasping, choking, coughing. But I plow my hands into his back anyway as if I have any hope of knocking him off balance.
“Oh,” he turns, unfazed. “And this meeting never happened. Or not only will Silas go down, but I’ll make your life a living hell.” He takes one long step in my direction, dropping his head to be in my eye line. “I recommend you don’t test the ways I can accomplish this, Miss Sawyer. I can make you wish you got off as easy as Courtney. Now, I bid you good day.”
Just like that, he’s gone and I collapse in the entryway, exhausted from adrenaline and oxygen deprivation.
I knew Courtney wasn’t the only one, but I had no way of knowing how deep his reign of terror ran. Because I didn’t do my research. My mouth got ahead of me and I have no guarantee that he won’t somehow screw with Caitlyn now, or contact Courtney.
Silas? What?
Silas’ sexuality? A resurgence of adrenaline brings me to my feet as every interaction I’ve had with Silas thus far paints an obvious picture I would have seen out in the real world within minutes.
Of course Silas is gay.
My hands rub over my face several times as I clear away the cobwebs between what’s true and what’s not. Standing, dazed, in the entryway, I’m left questioning if Dean Baker is bluffing, but I don’t think he is. It was too specific, too real and unreal at the same time.
I have to tell Caitlyn what I’ve done. I’m going to have to talk to my mother, I think. And probably Roland. Because the trapdoor has
released me into the most terrifying free-fall I could have imagined.
What have I just done?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
House of Cards
Kennedy
I’m late to my meeting at Word with Jonah, Matt, and Caitlyn. When I approach the same booth Caitlyn and I sat in yesterday, it’s evident by the withdrawn looks on the guys’ faces, that she’s filled them in on the gist. She has her computer opened toward them, showing them pictures of her sister pre and post Dean Baker.
I don’t remember the walk down here. My adrenaline crash seems to have been counterbalanced by a protective shock. The kind that prevents athletes from fully realizing they’ve got a bone protruding from their skin after a fall, only for my emotions. My spirit.
Matt’s the first to notice I’m here. He always is and I wonder if he will always be.
“Kennedy?” His eyes sear right into me. “What’s wrong?”
I tried to put on my game face. Seems it was strangled out of me.
“I…”
I sit next to Caitlyn, and Courtney’s bubbly image staring back at me through the screen.
I’m sorry I betrayed you.
“Kennedy?” Jonah slides his hand across the table, reaching for me. But I don’t move.
Instead, I start with the selfish part. The part I hope will soften the blow when they discover I’ve actually ruined everything.
“Dean Baker came to my house. My dad wasn’t home.” I speak in short, broken sentences to keep the important information at the forefront. “He was saying how I didn’t know anything and I don’t have anyone fooled… and he attacked me.”
Jonah and Matt jump forward as if there isn’t a solid wood table between us. Jonah leaves the booth and kneels beside me. “What happened?” He eyes the computer, and me, silently asking the unaskable.
“Not that.” I shake my head. “I have to back up… and tell the whole story,” I eek out, tears blurring my vision. I eye them all carefully, ending on Caitlyn, pleading. “Just please stay seated and silent until I can tell the whole thing. Promise?”
The Broken Ones (Jesus Freaks #3) Page 23
