Servant

by J. S. Bailey

  “You will not distract me with false claims!” Randy bellowed in a voice entirely unlike the one he had used while conversing with Bobby at the church. “You will remain silent!”

  The woman let out a snicker. “Listen to the blind man as he jabbers!”

  “Silence! In the name of Jesus Christ—”

  The step on which Bobby stood creaked beneath his weight.

  He could have cut up the ensuing stillness with a knife and spread it over toast.

  “Who’s there?” Randy called, a new note of anger coloring his voice. “Speak!”

  Bobby opened his mouth. “I . . .”

  Randy appeared at the bottom of the steps, glowering like one with murder on his mind. His expression turned to one of disbelief when he and Bobby made eye contact. “What are you doing here?” Randy asked, his eyes round. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

  Bobby didn’t, but he had the feeling that whatever it was wasn’t good. “They followed me,” he blurted. “I needed to talk to you. I thought you could make them go away.” Tears sprang into his eyes. “You’ve got to help me! Please!”

  “Bobby, I’m not even going to ask how you got in, but this is a really bad time for you to be here.”

  Bobby dragged in a breath. “You can’t make me leave. Not until you tell me how to get rid of them.”

  With a pained expression, Randy glanced over his shoulder at whoever accompanied him. “If you could wait just a—”

  A sharp yelp cut him off, and Randy broke into a run in the direction from which he’d come.

  Bobby followed.

  The rest of the basement came into view as he descended the remaining stairs. Most of the décor was done in reds and golds, except for a sleeping area consisting of calming shades of blue.

  Randy rushed to untie a young woman who had been lashed to a kitchen chair. Her head listed to one side, and her watery blue eyes gazed unseeingly at the carpet.

  Bobby felt his jaw drop. “What did you do?”

  Randy ignored him. As soon as the woman was free, he laid her limp form on the floor, tilted her head back, and began to administer CPR.

  “Is there . . . should I . . .” Bobby licked his dry lips, suddenly overcome with the sensation that he was a distant observer viewing this scene from afar. Detachment. Classic sign of shock. “Do you want me to call an ambulance?”

  Randy shook his head as he pushed on the woman’s breastbone. He breathed into her mouth but she remained still. He repeated the process. No movement, no sign of life. After minutes that seemed like an hour, Randy placed his fingers on her wrist, and his expression twisted into one of unquenchable grief.

  Bobby knew then that the woman was gone.

  RANDY ATTEMPTED CPR for five more minutes, then shook Trish’s shoulders as if to throttle the life back into her. “Please don’t do this to me,” he kept saying. “Please don’t do this to me.”

  Bobby opened his mouth and closed it. He didn’t know what to say or do.

  Randy sat back on his heels and dragged a hand across his sweaty forehead, looking lost.

  “Who was she?” Bobby asked dumbly.

  Randy cleared his throat, his gaze lingering on the dead woman’s face. “Her name was Trish. She needed help. This wasn’t what it looked like, I can promise you that.”

  Good to know. “Did you . . .” Bobby took a deep breath in order to force the words out. “Kidnap her?”

  Randy gave his head a listless shake. “She came here of her own will when I told her she could be freed of what afflicted her. She told her family she was checking into rehab and wouldn’t be able to be reached for several days.”

  “Rehab.”

  “Yes.”

  Judging from what Bobby had heard from the top of the stairs, Randy specialized in the most unorthodox form of rehab imaginable. “It sounded like you were performing an exorcism,” he said, knowing how ridiculous the words sounded in his mouth. Priests performed exorcisms. Maintenance men mopped floors.

  Randy stood without answering and continued to stare at the motionless woman. He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. It’s never ended like this before.”

  Bobby gaped at him. “What do you mean, you don’t know what you’re going to do? You’re going to call the cops and tell them a woman died in here!” A wave of nausea swept through his gut. He hadn’t been in the presence of a dead body since he found his neighbor’s corpse in New York, and though this scene wasn’t nearly as gruesome, it still made him sick.

  “No, I’m not.”

  Randy’s response surprised him. “No? Then what do you plan on doing?”

  “I already said I don’t know.”

  “This is crazy!” The superhero part of him rebelled against his failure to rescue the woman, though he perceived that more to this situation existed than met the eye. “You said she’s got a family. Don’t you think they should know what happened to her?”

  “I didn’t say I was going to take her to the river and dump her.” Tears spilled unchecked from Randy’s eyes. “Oh, God, why would you let this happen? I was helping her!”

  His words made Bobby’s mind flash back to last night when he’d shown up for his shift at the Stop-N-Eat.

  “You’re fired,” his boss had said.

  Bobby’s breath had left his lungs like he’d been punched. “What?”

  “You are no longer employed by this establishment.”

  “But why? Is it because of last night?”

  His boss gave him a cold stare. “You left the restaurant unattended.”

  Bobby had tried to explain. “The robbers could have killed Chrissy and me if we hadn’t run. There weren’t any customers in here. I swear!”

  “You both left the premises while clocked in. You know this violates company protocol; you were informed of this when we hired you.”

  “What, you mean Chrissy’s fired, too? It was my idea, don’t punish her for it! I wanted to save her life!”

  “Miss Evans should have known better, just like you.”

  Though Bobby harbored no romantic feelings toward his female coworker, he felt it was his duty to protect her. As soon as the men came up to the counter demanding that he relinquish the contents of the cash register to them, he wadded up a hefty stack of bills and threw it at them before grabbing Chrissy by the wrist and fleeing with her through the kitchen and out the back door. They’d hidden behind the dumpsters at the neighboring Burger King while Bobby phoned the authorities.

  By the time the police arrived with sirens blaring, the armed men had vanished.

  In theory, the robbers should have been appeased by their gift of stolen cash. But Bobby had watched enough of the news over the years to know that innocent employees were often gunned down even after giving in to the robbers’ demands.

  Bobby wanted to take no chances. Besides, he had already known that something bad would happen that night, much in the way he had known that Randy would have died had he left the church in his own car. Bobby informed Chrissy when he clocked in that she should be on full alert in case something terrible should go down and had already formulated his escape route.

  He had done his best to help Chrissy but gotten them both fired as a result. Because of that he could sort of understand Randy’s pain, even if he didn’t fully understand what the man had been trying to do for Trish.

  “What do you think happened to her?” Bobby asked.

  Randy shrugged. “Heart attack? Aneurysm? I’m no medic, that’s Phil’s job. Of course my job was to free her. Guess it worked because they’re gone now, aren’t they? Oh, man. I should call Phil and see if he knows what to do. Let me see your phone.”

  AFTER RANDY called the man he referred to as “Phil,” they went upstairs, leaving the deceased where she lay. Bobby felt an odd compulsion to stay with Trish so she wouldn’t be alone, but Randy assured him it wasn’t necessary. Bobby insisted they leave the basement light on. The thought of a body lying still
in the dark gave him the creeps.

  As they emerged into the hallway, Randy stopped short, eyeing the open side door that Bobby forgot to close in his haste. “You broke in.”

  Since Bobby hadn’t damaged anything during his entrance other than his aching knuckle and elbow, he didn’t see how it could be considered such. “I didn’t break in. I found the key under the mat. Which if you ask me was a really dumb place to hide it.”

  Randy twisted the lock on the knob and gently shut the door. “I didn’t have anywhere better to put it. Why did you come?”

  “I had to get in somehow. I heard someone screaming.”

  “Not all the way from your house. Where’s the key now?”

  Bobby patted the pockets of his shorts. “I think I left it in the knob.”

  Randy let out a terse breath, opened the door, and jerked the key out of the doorknob. They went into the kitchen, neither of them saying a word. Because what could be said at a time like this? Bobby itched to call the authorities—it was his civic duty, he supposed—but he couldn’t risk having Randy come at him with a knife again.

  Bobby lowered himself into a chair, and Randy did the same, eyeing the cold pizza sitting before him with something like remorse.

  “I wish you’d chosen some other time to show up,” Randy said.

  “Look.” Bobby placed his hands on the table. He needed to be frank with the man. “If I hadn’t been so desperate, I wouldn’t be here, okay? So at least hear me out.”

  Randy lifted his head. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  Bobby took slow breaths to regulate his erratic pulse. “You know how something kept tapping on the window down at St. Paul’s?”

  Randy’s eyes narrowed. “What about it?”

  “It started happening at my house. Same sound as at the church. I went outside with a flashlight and found rocks and crap lying in the grass.”

  “And nobody was there?” Randy’s face became ashen.

  “Right.” Bobby’s heart began to hammer again so he tried to calm himself by picturing waves caressing a shoreline—one of his self-taught relaxation techniques. “I don’t know what kind of voodoo you’re involved with, but I want you to call whatever it is off of me because I haven’t done anything to deserve being harassed like that.”

  Randy stared blankly at him for a moment. “You think what I do is voodoo?”

  “Yes!” Bobby thought back to Joel Fontenot, a friend he’d had for a few years during grade school who had grown up in the Louisiana bayous. Joel loved to fascinate the class with tales of monsters and evil spirits that had supposedly been true accounts of things that happened to his family, though Bobby suspected Joel had invented most of it. “I mean, I don’t know. I’ve heard that people who mess with the occult accidentally open themselves up to demons.” Not that exorcising evil spirits in the name of Christ seemed like it would be a standard voodoo practice, but someone could always pervert a Christian rite into something unholy.

  “Oh, boy.” Randy paused as if formulating his thoughts. “If you can believe me, Bobby, I’ve never once practiced witchcraft, voodoo, or whatever else you’re thinking of. Just because a higher power works through me doesn’t mean it’s evil.”

  “Whatever decided to bombard my house certainly wasn’t good.”

  “And you’re absolutely right. Do you remember what I told you to do about it?”

  “You said to ignore it, but that obviously doesn’t help you any since they were having a blast bugging us at the church anyway.”

  Randy stiffened. “They’re not always there, you know. And there’s something else I said to do, too, if you’ll remember.”

  Bobby was too worked up about the evening’s many events to recall every single word of their conversation at St. Paul’s. “If you could jog my memory a little, it would be great.”

  A sudden knock on the front door made Bobby jump. “That would be Phil,” Randy explained, not bothering to do as Bobby requested. He got up, went to the door, held his eye to the peephole, and pulled it open.

  Bobby watched as a skinny man easily half a foot shorter than himself stepped into the living room. He looked to be in his late thirties, had a dishwater-blond buzz cut and glasses, and wore flannel pajama bottoms, a pair of old Vans slip-ons, and an Oregon Ducks t-shirt: the typical attire of one who has been forced from bed on short notice.

  A black zippered tote bag hung over his shoulder. Bobby wondered what was in it.

  “Whose car is that?” Bobby heard Phil ask once Randy closed and bolted the door behind him.

  “You’ll meet him in a second.”

  “I take it he’s the one I’m here to see?”

  “Not exactly.”

  Phil’s eyes narrowed in suspicion when Randy led him into the kitchen. “Then what’s going on? Ashley’s been sick and I don’t want to leave Allison alone with her for long.”

  “I’m getting to that. First of all, this is Bobby Roland, the kid I just hired to take my place at St. Paul’s. Bobby, this is Phil Mason, an old friend of mine.”

  Bobby dipped his head. “Hi.”

  Phil didn’t return the gesture. “I don’t understand.”

  “Long story,” Randy said before Bobby had the chance to answer. His hazel eyes glistened. “We have a problem downstairs.”

  Phil’s expression darkened, and his grip tightened around the straps of the tote bag. “Should this be discussed in present company?”

  Randy gave a slow nod. “He’s already been clued in to some things, so it won’t make any difference at this point if he hears anything else.”

  “Clued in?” Phil raised his eyebrows at Bobby as if demanding an answer. Bobby gave him his best I-have-no-idea-what’s-going-on look, which seemed to satisfy the man for the time being.

  Randy led the way out of the kitchen and into the basement. Bobby brought up the rear, a large part of him wishing he’d chosen to stay in bed.

  Phil brought a hand to his mouth when he laid eyes upon the deceased. “What in God’s name happened?”

  “She just died.” Randy’s voice became choked with emotion. “She was fine one moment and like this the next.”

  Phil approached the woman with so much caution that Bobby thought he was afraid she’d leap up and come after him. “I doubt she was fine. How long ago did it happen?”

  “I called you as soon as I knew she was gone. I tried giving her CPR for almost ten minutes.”

  “Why didn’t you have your buddy here call me the moment she collapsed?”

  “I was preoccupied.”

  Phil knelt down beside her and placed his hand on Trish’s forehead. “Hmm.” He unzipped his bag, pulled out a stethoscope, and held the end against her chest for a minute or so before setting it aside.

  His lips began to move in silent prayer.

  A lump of emotion rose in Bobby’s throat but he quickly swallowed it. He couldn’t cry. He didn’t even know the girl.

  But he did know that she had a family, and that she’d been so desperate to be cured of what afflicted her that she went home with a stranger and entrusted her life to him. She’d had hope. And what did it give her? An untimely death in Randy Bellison’s basement.

  He snapped back to attention. Phil had concluded his prayer and was speaking with Randy.

  “If I’d still been the Servant, I might have been able to save her,” he said in a low voice. “If there’d been any life left in her, she would be up doing cartwheels right now.”

  “Your ability has waned that much? You never told me.”

  Color rose in Phil’s cheeks. “Why do you think I didn’t patch you up after you were shot? I couldn’t even cure Ashley of her stomach virus. It’s been too long since then.”

  “Six years is long?” In contrast, Randy’s face was a shade grayer than before. “I wish you’d told me about this. We might have been able to do something about it.”

  Phil gave his head a shake. “No, we couldn’t have. I don’t even have a tenth of the ab
ilities I used to. I feel dried up inside. Like I’m already getting old.”

  Bobby cleared his throat, feeling much like he’d just arrived on a planet where the citizens were real-life Rescue Men, minus the capes and spandex tights. “Uh, guys?”

  They stared at him, looking as haggard as men who had gone a week without sleep.

  “I really think you should call the cops about this.” Heck, the cops had even shown up when he’d called 911 about his father’s heart attack, and there hadn’t been anything suspicious about it.

  Randy shook his head. “They’ll wonder what she was doing here in the first place.”

  “You could tell them she was rooming here,” Phil said. “Maybe she was a runaway and you offered her refuge.”

  “She already told her family she was going to rehab. The stories won’t match up.”

  “So she was lying to her family. That’s true enough, isn’t it?”

  “No.” Randy gave his head another shake. “I don’t want to bring any attention to myself. I’d end up on the news again, and then what would stop Graham from showing up on my porch with another gun?”

  “I understand your concern,” Phil said, “but real estate information is a matter of public record. All he would have to do is enter your name in a search engine to find you.”

  “This is Graham we’re talking about here. He doesn’t know how to turn a computer on, much less run an Internet search.”

  Phil gave him a grim smirk. “He didn’t own a gun either, remember?”

  Randy scowled at him and rubbed his shoulder.

  “And he could always follow you home from work.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “I have an idea,” Bobby said, even though it would in all probability be met with staunch opposition.

  Two heads swiveled his way in unison.

  “You could anonymously drop her off at a funeral home.”

  “A funeral home.” Randy’s tone was dubious.

  “Yeah, at the back door, maybe.”

  “That wouldn’t be suspicious at all,” Phil mused. “They’d only have to start an investigation as to how she ended up there.”