The Chosen

by Sharon Sala

  As soon as January was safely inside, Jay pulled out of the alley and drove away. A few blocks later, he turned down a busy street and went to work. There was money to be made and more disciples to bring home to the fold.

  Eleven

  It began to rain just after sunrise. The sound was deafening on the warehouse roof. Every time it thundered, Matthew grabbed handfuls of his hair and wailed.

  Simon Peters sat with his back to the wall as if in a coma. His pants were urine stained, and the smell of feces was so strong within the chamber that men less hardened than these would have been unable to breathe without gagging.

  For once, Andy wasn’t happy. Not even the act of playing with himself could alleviate his fear. Thunder rattled what windows were left in the outer shell of the warehouse. Even the rats seemed uneasy about the storm and moved about without caution, seeking better shelter than what they had.

  Tom Gerlich was holding on to sanity by nothing but willpower. His army surplus clothing had been ragged to start with, but he’d been semi-clean. Now he reeked like a soldier who’d been weeks in the jungle without a bath or a change of clothes. Being chained with these men was too reminiscent of being caged with his fellow soldiers in a Vietnamese prison camp.

  The man who called himself Jimbo appeared to be in shock. He kept staring at the others as someone might stare at animals in a zoo. It was almost as if he couldn’t believe that he was there.

  And then there was John. He hadn’t stopped cursing since he’d come to and discovered he was chained to the wall.

  Tom watched the door intently, waiting for their captor to come back. He knew the man was crazy, but was hoping he could find a chink in the man’s insane reasoning that could give them an edge. If they only knew why they’d been brought here, it might help him find a way to get them out.

  It thundered again, this time so loud it made Tom’s ears ring. He winced, cursing softly beneath his breath at the panic that swept through him. It had been years since he’d felt this helpless, and he hated it.

  Then he looked up.

  The cab driver was standing in the doorway.

  “Good morning, my children,” Jay said.

  Tom could see the man’s mouth moving, but because of the noise from the storm, couldn’t hear whatever he said next.

  “Why are we here?” Tom shouted.

  Jay ignored him, choosing instead to put small sacks of food and water near each man while taking care not to get too close.

  Jim grabbed the sack of food and water, but also hit Jay with a request.

  “Hey, man, I don’t know what you’re playin’ at here, but I gotta use the facilities.”

  Jim could have been mute for all the good it did. The cab driver didn’t even look at him.

  John Marino was twenty-six years old. He’d been on his own for more than ten years and prided himself on being a survivor, but this was beyond anything he’d ever experienced. He didn’t know what was going to happen, but it couldn’t be good. The nutcase who’d done this was walking around dressed up in costume. And what was his deal? He wanted them to eat but didn’t care if they shit their pants?

  “Yeah, so do I,” John said.

  “We must suffer in small ways to do good in other ways,” Jay said.

  Tom Gerlich slapped the wall so hard that the furnace vibrated.

  “We? We? Where the fuck do you get ‘we’ from? You’re not chained up like some animal, sleeping in your own shit, and wondering when someone might decide to show up and kill you.”

  Jay turned on the man, pointing angrily.

  “Again you doubt me, Thomas. And again I tell you that I am about doing my Father’s work.”

  “Your father? Who was he, the Marquis de Sade?”

  “You do not belittle the name of God Almighty!” Jay screamed.

  Gerlich stared.

  “You’re serious? You actually believe that you’re the Son of God?”

  If Jay had had anything to throw, he would have thrown it, straight at his doubting Thomas’s face.

  “I never said I was His son. I never said that, and you can’t make me say it! You’re bad. You’re bad. Maybe I made a mistake with you like I made a mistake with Bart. Maybe I need to replace you, too!”

  Simon stood up and yanked at his chains. “Replace all of us!”

  “Yes!” others shouted. “Replace us, too.”

  Lightning cracked somewhere nearby, followed by one long continuous roll of thunder. It passed, leaving Jay shaking with rage. Before he could speak, a pain so sharp that his head felt sliced in two pierced his right eye. He grabbed at his face as he dropped to his knees.

  “Shut up! Shut up!” he screamed. “This is your fault. It’s all your fault!”

  “Replace me,” Tom kept shouting, as he yanked and rattled his chains. “Let me go! Let me go, too!”

  Jay staggered to his feet with the heel of his hand pressed hard into his eye.

  “I didn’t let him go, you stupid bastard! He’s dead! He’s dead! He was the wrong one! Are you the wrong one, too? Are you, Thomas? Are you the wrong one, too?”

  Gerlich shuddered. He’d opened a can of worms that he didn’t know how to contain. But before he could say anything, the big black man began to cry.

  “Andy’s scared,” he whimpered, and cupped his hands over his ears. “The sky is loud. I don’t like loud.”

  Jay shuddered as the pain began to subside.

  “Neither do I,” he said. “Neither do I. Please, you don’t understand. I need you. I need all of you to make this work.”

  Simon Peters had been one of the first to be kidnapped. He had no home, no friends and no money. He, more than anyone there, wanted to understand why he’d been taken.

  “Why?” he asked. “Why us? Help us understand.”

  Jay shoved his hands through his hair, then twisted his fingers in the long locks and pulled. In a sick way, the pain in his scalp alleviated the pain inside his head. He was tired—so tired. Tired of trying to make amends. Tired of trying to make sense of things that were all mixed up in his head.

  Finally he straightened, combed his fingers through his hair and beard in an effort to maintain some control, and then lifted his chin. His words rang out in strong, sonorous tones.

  “I’m dying.”

  Simon Peters rattled the chains on his ankles.

  “So the fuck what? Are you planning on taking us with you?”

  Jay spun, facing Simon angrily. “No. No. The first time I died, I went to hell. I’m trying to make amends. Can’t you see? Don’t you understand? Why doesn’t anybody understand? I’m trying to live like Jesus. I’m trying to live the perfect life.”

  Simon was dumbfounded. “By kidnapping? By killing?”

  Jay started to shout, but the sound came out like a scream. “Why, Lord, why? Why can’t they understand?”

  He began waving his hands above his head as if he were batting away flying missiles. Spittle was running from the corner of his mouth, and his eyes wouldn’t focus.

  Then suddenly he stopped and his body stilled, his hands high above his head. For a few moments he didn’t speak; then he turned his palms up to the heavens.

  “By living as He lived…with His disciples, preaching to the masses. I will be saved. I will be saved.”

  Tom Gerlich shuddered, then swallowed around a knot in his throat. Disciples? He’s gathering disciples? Then it hit him. He stared at the other men chained to the inside of the blast furnace and thought about their names. There was his fellow vet, Matthew. And his own name was Thomas, of course. And the others. The horror of what he was thinking was too incredible to be true.

  “You.” He pointed to Simon. “You’re Simon.”

  “Simon Peters.”

  Tom groaned in fear and went on reciting the other men’s names.

  “Andy.”

  “John.”

  “James.”

  “Jimbo—James, too.”

  His eyes narrowed as he spoke the nam
es aloud, more to himself than to them. “Simon whom He also called Peter, Andrew, John, James, Matthew, a second James, and Thomas.” Seven of the twelve disciples. Then he amended the count. At one time there had been eight. Bart. Bartholomew. Only he’d been the wrong one.

  Tom felt sick to his stomach. “Okay, men, there’s a lesson in here for all of us. We are well and truly fucked.”

  It was raining when Ben got to January’s apartment. Despite what she’d said, he brought his favorite CD and a dozen brownies from his neighborhood bakery.

  He knocked, then sniffed appreciatively as the scent of something warm and spicy wafted out into the hall. Before he could identify the smell, the door opened.

  She was wearing gray slacks and a silky blue off-the-shoulders blouse. Her hair was hanging loose around her face and neck, and her arms and feet were bare. Ben stifled a groan.

  “You look beautiful,” he said softly.

  “And hello to you, too,” January said. “I hope you brought your appetite. I got carried away with the food.”

  “I brought Willie Nelson and a dozen brownies. Will that suffice?”

  January grinned. “Yes, and oh, yes,” she said, then took him by the hand and pulled him inside.

  She locked the door as he handed her the brownies, then pulled off his jacket. She started to hang it in the coat closet when he stopped her.

  “Wait. Don’t forget Willie,” he said, and slipped the CD out of the pocket.

  She hung up the coat and then laid the CD near the stereo, beside some others she’d chosen.

  “Something sure smells good,” he said.

  “The best Mexican food this side of Tijuana,” she said.

  He didn’t bother to hide his surprise and delight.

  “Mexican! Lady, you are a witch for sure. It’s my favorite food.”

  January smiled. “Mine, too.”

  He sniffed again, this time identifying some of the aromas.

  “I’m smelling warm tortillas and fajitas. What kind?”

  “Beef and chicken. I also have quesadillas, chips and salsa and a pitcher of margaritas.”

  “You must have cooked all day.”

  “Tia’s Taco Tavern did. I don’t cook, remember?”

  He grinned. “And I don’t dance, so let’s eat. At least we know we can do that right.”

  “You pour us a couple of margaritas while I set out the food. The glasses are chilling in the freezer.”

  He took a chip and dunked it into the bowl of salsa sitting on the dining table, then popped it into his mouth before he got the glasses from the freezer. With a careful hand, he filled them to within an inch of their salty brims, then carried them to the table.

  January had transferred the food from the takeout containers to bowls and platters, and set the table with her favorite yellow stoneware.

  Ben eyed the spread, appreciating the ambiance she’d created. “Honey, you might not cook, but you dish up just fine.”

  January beamed. “I hope you’re hungry,” she said.

  “For you…always.”

  January’s smile slipped. The look in his eyes was hotter than the spicy food on the table. She wasn’t sure how to respond.

  He grinned, then winked and eased the moment by pulling out her chair.

  She sat, shivering slightly as he leaned down and kissed the bare skin behind her ear before sitting across from her.

  Without missing a beat, he took another chip and dunked it in the bowl of salsa between them.

  “Open wide,” he said, and popped it in her mouth.

  She rolled her eyes as she chewed.

  “Good old Tia,” Ben said, and grabbed one for himself.

  And so it began. The time went as fast as the food that had been on the table. Before Ben knew it, January was pouring coffee and bringing brownies to the table.

  “I’m so full I shouldn’t be eating this,” she said, as she took a big bite of one of the brownies he’d brought.

  “We’ll dance it off,” Ben said.

  “Ah yes, the dance lesson,” January said, as she licked the chocolate off her fingers. “I need to put on some shoes.”

  “You have any combat boots?” Ben asked.

  “You can’t be that bad,” she said.

  “Yeah, well, we’ll see what you say about that later.”

  “Are you finished?” she asked, rising.

  He wiggled his eyebrows and blasted her with a dark, pretend leer.

  “With you…never.”

  This time, she laughed.

  “You know something, Detective? You could be dangerous.” Then her expression changed. “Speaking of dangerous, have you had any luck finding our man?”

  “The street preacher? Unfortunately no. But the whole department is on it. Street cops, vice, homicide…they’re all carrying pictures. We took Brady Mitchell’s sketch and compared it to the man in the film clip. It’s the same guy, all right. We made copies of his close-up and distributed it with the sketch, as well. If he’s spotted, there will be no mistaking him.”

  January fidgeted, telling herself that it couldn’t matter if they knew she remembered where she’d seen him. If they were looking, they were looking everywhere. Still, she thought she would ask.

  “You’re covering the parks, right? A lot of the homeless roam the parks, especially during the summer months. It’s a lot cooler there, you know.”

  “It’s all covered, trust me.”

  “Good,” she said. “Let’s dance.”

  The sudden change of subject should have been a warning sign, but Ben was too interested in getting January in his arms to notice.

  “As soon as I help you clean up, I’m all yours,” he said.

  It didn’t take long to pack away the leftovers and load the dishwasher, and all the while, January thought about the secret she was keeping. It seemed stupid, even childish. The Sinner was obviously dangerous, but instinct led her to believe that if she told Ben North, he would put a stop to her detective work, and that would impact her own credibility as a journalist.

  She couldn’t be controlled by her own fear or someone else’s rules when it meant getting the story. So she kept quiet, promised herself that she would tell him if things changed and she believed that it would matter, and finished the dishes, then went to put on some shoes.

  “Remember those boots,” he called, as she disappeared down the hall to her bedroom.

  “Have faith,” she countered, as she stepped into some flat-heeled shoes and then glanced in the mirror.

  The dark-eyed, dark-haired woman looking back at her seemed calm and assured. January knew that was a lie. She was so nervous she was shaking. But it wasn’t the dance lessons that were bothering her, it was what would come after. They would make love. She wanted it and, at the same time, she feared it. She didn’t want to get hurt, but she wanted Ben North badly enough to take the risks.

  “Here I come, ready or not,” she called.

  Music was already playing. It was honky-tonk. She rolled her eyes.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” she said, as she entered the room.

  “What?” Ben asked.

  “Black-and-white ball, tuxedos, ball gowns, gold, diamonds, enough hair spray to stop a hurricane, and you want to practice dancing to that?”

  “Well…I just…”

  She ejected the CD and pointed to the middle of the room.

  “Go stand there, please.”

  He did as she asked, and when the strains of what he called elevator music filled the room, he grimaced. A tuxedo and dancing to this music? He had to be crazy.

  Then he looked at the woman coming toward him and sighed. He was crazy all right—falling crazy in love.

  She walked into his arms, put one hand in his and her other hand on his shoulder.

  “It’s a waltz,” January said.

  When they didn’t move, she arched an eyebrow.

  “You’re the man, which means you’re leading, remember?”

 
Sweat beaded suddenly across Ben’s forehead.

  “Well, hell,” he muttered. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Here goes nothing.”

  He stepped off with his left foot, ran his knee into her thigh, and caught the edge of the little toe on her right foot with his other shoe. It wasn’t a true stomp. He only slid into her. Still, the pressure was strong enough to make January wince.

  “Oh God, I’m sorry,” he said, then added, “I warned you.”

  “It’s fine. I’m fine. We’ll start over, and this time, lead with your right foot. Like this. One, two, three…one, two, three…one, two, three.”

  Ben stepped off with his right, slid into the second count with his left and tried to turn her on the third count. He slammed her into the wall. There was a long moment of silence as he gazed at her in horror, waiting for whatever came next.

  January looked somewhat startled, then shook her head, as if to reposition her brain.

  “No harm done,” she said, and stepped back into proper form. “We’ll try that again. Remember…begin with the right foot and then—”

  In two steps he dragged her past the sofa toward the foyer and was working toward a dip when January’s fingers dug into his shoulder. Instinct told him he’d done something wrong. Good sense told him he needed to stop and ask what, but he was in dip mode, and it was too late to stop.

  “Oh Lord,” January muttered, as he bent her over backward. Her hair caught on the coatrack on the way down and dragged it halfway across the hall on the way up. It came free just as Ben realized what had happened, but before he could stop, it came loose and fell onto the floor with a loud thump. The look on his face was somewhere between horrified and mortified.

  “I’m sorry. Are you all right?”

  January didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Her head hurt where her hair had been pulled, and she could no longer feel the toes of her left foot. However, the look on Ben’s face told her that he was the one suffering most.

  “I’m fine, and you know what? We’re going to try this a different way.”