by J. S. Bailey
“He hasn’t given me a reason not to. After all, he saved my life.”
Phil sighed. He hoped talking to the police wouldn’t take long but knew it would. Carly was smart enough to call for help if the Roland kid tried to hurt either of them, but the problem was she didn’t know the safe house’s address. Didn’t it take awhile to trace a cell phone’s whereabouts?
He gnashed his teeth together and tapped on the accelerator. If they ended up at the police station for too long, Phil would call one of the others and tell them where the safe house was so they could go there and make sure everything was okay with Bobby and the girls. It would defeat the purpose of keeping the location a secret, but sometimes you had to do things you didn’t want to in order to protect the innocent.
“And why does he keep hanging around you?” Phil asked. “Graham could have sent him to catch you unawares.”
“I thought that at first, but I don’t think so now.”
“Why, then? He barely knows you.”
Phil heard Randy shift positions on the floor behind him. “I don’t know that he’d ever admit it to anyone, but he seems to have a messiah complex. Whenever someone appears to need help, he’s there to help them.”
“It could be a ruse.”
“Yes, it could be. But it could also be that he really does want to help us solve the issue with Trish. Plus it seems like he’s kind of lonely. Maybe he just wants a friend.”
“Hmph.” Phil didn’t buy it. As he turned out of the long lane toward Autumn Ridge, he vowed to stay close to Randy’s side for the next few days to see if the Roland kid tried to pull something. If he didn’t, good for Bobby. If he did . . .
“Are you at least scared about what’s going to happen in regard to Trish?” Phil asked in order to change the subject. “Because it seems to me you’re taking this surprisingly well.”
“Worrying isn’t going to expand my life expectancy. I’ve been through worse.”
“Always the optimist.”
“I try to be.”
They both fell silent. Phil focused his attention to the two-lane road before him, praying to God Randy was right about the visitor at the safe house and praying even harder that Randy wouldn’t go to jail.
BOBBY WATCHED from the front window as the old Taurus grew smaller and eventually disappeared as it rounded the bend in the driveway. Pangs of loneliness made him hungrier for companionship than he had been for food.
The feeling unnerved him. Bobby had been a loner for as long as he could remember, largely because few people had ever given him notice other than his father and doting stepmother. And Jonas. Bobby cracked a slight grin. He and Jonas were about as alike as fire and water. Jonas, the athletic one who played three different sports. Bobby, the skinny one who fainted in the sun.
He wondered what had changed and why.
He sat down at one of the eight chairs surrounding the dining room table which, by the smell of it, had recently been polished. Randy was right. Bobby would be doing nothing right now if he were at home, especially since Caleb had gone away to parts unknown. But what would he do here?
Already feeling the edginess of one locked in a cage, Bobby rose and went to the living room at the other end of the house. The piano he’d seen from the entryway was a black baby grand that bore not even a speck of dust. Bookshelves lined two of the walls, overflowing with tomes bearing titles like Daily Devotions and The Ten Commandments: Covenant of Love. White doilies covered the end tables on either side of the plaid couch. A stack of Guideposts sat on the coffee table beside a vase full of fake roses.
The room contained no television and no computer. Nothing electronic that he could see unless he counted the clock on the wall.
Bobby ran his hands through his hair. Randy and Phil hadn’t been gone five minutes and he was already going stir-crazy.
He sat down on the piano bench and stared at the keys. His stepmother loved to play the piano and had encouraged Bobby to play, too, once upon a time. She’d taught him the basics herself: which note was which, the difference between sharps and flats, common major and minor scales, and so on. He had even appeased her by studying under a retired concert pianist for three years before he’d opted for professional guitar lessons instead. The guitar presented a greater challenge to him. It hurt his fingers more, too. But the beautiful sounds he was able to conjure forth from the instrument made all the pain, calluses, and practice worth it.
Too bad Phil didn’t stock his safe house with a greater array of musical instruments than this. Bobby hadn’t played the piano in years.
His hand and elbow still ached from trying to burst into Randy’s house the night before. Ignoring the dull pain, he placed his hands on the keys and closed his eyes, willing himself to remember something, anything, if only to alleviate his boredom for a little while.
Nothing came to mind. At least nothing that had to do with music. His thoughts kept circling back to ones of the lifeless girl lying on the floor in Randy’s basement. Gone from the world so young, not much younger than Bobby himself. What had been her life’s purpose? Did it make any difference that she had ever lived at all?
He had to quit dwelling on it before depression rendered him miserable.
Bobby opened his eyes. His left thumb rested on the first D below Middle C, sparking something in his memory. A piece had begun on that note: one he’d known well but stored away in the archives of his mind like an old memento that no longer meant anything.
He gave the key a tentative tap. His foot found the pedal, and then his right hand gravitated toward an inverted D chord.
Without giving the music any conscious thought, he began to play, slowly at first but then faster as his hands recalled the melody.
The notes washed over him as he traveled back in time to a year which he had forgotten, and he could hear an audience of parents and grandparents clapping, and his no-nonsense father was there, too, clapping with the rest of them even though the man found music as pointless as sending rockets to the moon.
And later, his piano teacher’s voice: “I’m so sorry you’ve decided to quit, Bobby. I thought you were going to go all the way with this.”
“It’s just not for me,” he’d said. “This isn’t what I’m meant to do.”
“And what are you meant to do?”
Bobby had been as baffled then as he was now. “I don’t know.”
There was the sad truth.
What is your life’s purpose? Will it make any difference that you ever lived at all?
He ended the piece without even remembering its name.
The unexpected sound of sniffling behind him nearly sent his pulse through the ceiling.
He whirled.
The two young women had left the upstairs room and now stood no more than six feet away from him. One had tears in her eyes. The other gaped at him like he’d just been dropped off by a flying saucer.
“Hi.” Bobby stood up, feeling heat wash over him not for the first time that hour.
“That was beautiful,” the first girl murmured as she wiped a tear from her cheek. She looked to be about nineteen, but unlike the late Trish, she had mousy brown hair tied back in a ponytail and wore a yellow summer dress. “That’s the song they always play in weddings, isn’t it?”
Then Bobby remembered. The piece was a simplified version of Pachelbel’s Canon in D Major. A cousin of his had asked him to play it during the entrance procession at their wedding but he had declined, citing nerves and lack of experience as his excuse.
“Yeah, it is,” he said. He held out a hand. “I’m Bobby.”
She gave him a soft smile. “I’m Joanna. And this here is Carly.” Her hand was surprisingly warm when he took it. Smooth, too.
He let go as quickly as he could before he made an idiot of himself.
Joanna’s auburn-haired friend scrutinized him with a green-eyed gaze. “You’re not one of Randy’s,” she said. “If you were, he would have called Roger in before you got here.”
Bobby d
idn’t dare ask who Roger was. If he acted like he knew more than he did, this girl might impart some knowledge to him that he didn’t currently possess. “No, I’m not,” he said, hoping he sounded more confident than he thought he did. “Randy’s just letting me stay here for a little while. Getting a feel for the place, I guess.”
A crease formed between Carly’s eyebrows. “But why would he leave here without you? Shouldn’t you be with him at all times if that’s the case?”
Evidently Randy had not informed her of Trish’s death. Maybe she didn’t even know about the girl. “Something came up. He said he’ll be back as soon as he can, but I don’t know how long that will be.”
She nodded. “Poor Randy. It seems like too many things are coming up for him lately, and not in a good way.” Her face brightened. “Except for you, I guess. He’s been looking for a replacement for a long time.”
Replacement? Bobby felt his insides turn to ice. Somehow he doubted she meant the maintenance job at the church.
He continued to play along, even though every cell in his body screamed at him to ask her what she meant. “I know. I guess last year was really hard on him.”
“You can’t even imagine.” Carly glanced to her friend. “Joanna, if you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to Bobby alone for a little while.”
Joanna dipped her head. “That’s okay. I’ll be up in my room.” She turned and disappeared up the stairs leading out of the entryway.
Carly took a seat on the couch and placed her hands on her knees. Though she wore no makeup, her short khaki pants and orange sleeveless blouse made her look like the kind of nice girl he’d want to ask out if he ever worked up the courage to do so, not the street walker type that other guys seemed to be into these days. “Sit down,” she said.
Bobby obeyed, opting for the matching plaid recliner instead of the uncomfortable piano bench.
“What all has Randy told you?”
Bobby’s mind raced to come up with a quick response. “He performs exorcisms. Allegedly.”
“Allegedly.” She laughed and tucked a stray wisp of auburn hair behind her ear. “Priests perform exorcisms. Randy drives out demons.”
To hear something so remarkable stated so bluntly made Bobby want to laugh, though he did a good job at keeping a straight face. “Isn’t that the same thing?”
“The end result is the same, but the methods are somewhat different. He should have told you that.”
“He must have forgotten.”
“Typical.” She rolled her eyes. “Okay. I’ve obviously never performed one myself, so forgive me if I’m a little shaky on the details. In a traditional exorcism, the possessed has to first be examined by medical professionals to make sure he or she isn’t actually suffering from a condition like schizophrenia or epilepsy. A thorough analysis of the patient can take months. Plus, the priest who’ll perform the exorcism has to get permission to do so from his bishop.”
That surprised him. “What for? If someone really is in that condition, wouldn’t it make sense to get the job done as soon as possible?”
She shrugged. “Thoroughness takes time. From what I understand, not any priest can be an exorcist. He has to be of good character and be right with God, or the exorcism won’t work. He has to have unfailing faith. He has to believe he’ll be able to cleanse the possessed through the power of Christ, and not through any power of his own. Not many can do it.”
Bobby found himself nodding. “So what makes Randy different?”
Carly’s expression faltered. “You should know that. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
He just stared at her. His lies had pushed him into a corner from which he wouldn’t be able to easily escape.
“You’re not Randy’s replacement at all.”
“No,” he said. “I’m not.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“Waiting for him to get back so I can go home, that’s what. Did Phil make you and Joanna hunker down in the back of his car on your way here, too?”
She stiffened. “As a matter of fact, we were taken here in the back of a windowless van.”
“Why?”
“To protect the security of the safe house. Only Phil and his wife know where we are.”
“You mean Randy doesn’t even know?”
“He wouldn’t let Phil tell him.”
Phil must have carted a blindfolded Randy here earlier in the morning, probably because Randy didn’t want to go back to a house that had a dead body in it. “What in the world are you people hiding from?”
She folded her arms. “Hiding isn’t the point. It’s for protection.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Is there anything you do get?”
Anger flared up inside him at the sound of her annoyed tone and he clenched his hands into fists. “No, because nobody seems to think it’s necessary to explain anything to me.”
“How can I explain anything to you when I don’t even know who you are?”
Not that again. “Listen. The past twenty-four hours have been crazy. I nearly had my throat slit in a parking lot, I’ve been hounded by poltergeists, my roommate ran away, and I got stuffed in the back of a car so I could be dumped off here and left completely in the dark about who you people are.” He glanced around the room until his gaze rested on a crucifix hanging over the doorway. “You’re some kind of religious cult, aren’t you? And Randy thinks he’s the son of God who can cast out demons with the wave of a hand.”
Her green-eyed glare could have brought a pot of water to boil. “I’d be careful about what you say.”
“Why? Am I right? Does Randy have some kind of messiah complex?”
“Bobby, please keep your voice down. You’re going to upset Joanna.”
Bobby didn’t currently care who he upset, but he lowered his voice anyway. “Is she part of your little cult, too?”
Carly’s face turned the approximate color of a beet, no longer looking like the friendly girl next door. “Joanna is a very troubled young woman who’s staying here to recuperate. That’s what we do here. Once the possessed have been cleansed, they’re sent to stay here with me, Roger, or Beverly to receive prayerful counseling and companionship until they’re ready to reenter society.”
Joanna had been possessed? He tried but failed to reconcile her tear-streaked face with Trish’s unearthly screams. “How did she get that way?”
“How does anybody ‘get’ that way? You must be as clueless as they come.”
Bobby ignored the jab. “And how can you be a counselor? You’ve got to be younger than I am.”
“And how old is that?”
“Twenty.”
She laughed. “Sometimes the experience that comes with age arrives a little sooner for some people. But not for you, apparently.”
“You don’t sound like somebody who should be counseling people.”
“I bet when Jesus got mad and started flipping tables in the temple people didn’t think he sounded much like their savior, either.”
“So you’ve got a messiah complex, too?”
“I do not!”
“You just compared yourself to Jesus.”
“It was an analogy.”
“You’re giving me a headache.”
Carly stood up, her eyes blazing. “And you’re a jerk.”
She stormed from the room. Bobby wanted to follow her but tact told him to stay put. This was like the old days all over again. The days of not being able to keep his mouth shut and getting a black eye as a result. Oh, his stepmother had loved him, good little child that he was, but she didn’t know what he did to his peers while out of her sight.
Bobby had finally learned that he couldn’t expect to get his way by yelling at people—the very reason he’d developed his self-meditation technique of envisioning ocean waves caressing a beach. Relaxing in such a way defused his anger before he did something he would later regret.
Today’s stress pushed all thoughts of meditation f
rom his mind. Instead of gaining Carly’s trust so she would open up, he had just formed a gulf between them that would grow even wider if he didn’t try to make amends as soon as possible.
He counted off fifteen seconds, took a deep breath, and left the living room.
Carly stood in the kitchen sipping an ice water. Red spots of indignation still colored her cheeks, and when he entered the room she eyed him as she would a cockroach.
His words seemed terribly insufficient even before he said them. “I’m sorry.”
She set the glass down and wiped a bead of water from her lips. “That’s it?”
“What else do you want me to say?” He sat down on the same stool he’d used before and stared at the marble tabletop so he wouldn’t have to look her in the eye, hoping the act of submission would make her soften up a bit.
“I don’t know; ‘Forgive me for acting like a toddler’ might be more appropriate.”
“Forgive me for acting like a toddler. You don’t know what I’ve been going through these last couple of days.”
She gave a curt nod as if accepting his statement. “But you just told me. Runaway roommate, near-death in a parking lot, poltergeists. Fun stuff.”
He lifted his head. “I didn’t know you were listening.”
“I always listen.” She sat down on the other side of the island and leveled her gaze at him. “And I remember everything, too. Which is why it’ll serve you well to choose your words wisely around me. If I run into you sixty years from now, I’ll always remember you as the one who accused me and Randy of having messiah complexes.” A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Which is actually pretty funny when you think about it. Who almost slit your throat?”
“Randy.” A phantom tingle ran across Bobby’s neck where Randy had pressed his blade against it. “It was a minor misunderstanding.”
Carly’s face became a mask of concern. “But why would he—on second thought, I don’t want to know.”
“Does it bother you that Phil took me here after that?”
“I suppose he has his reasons.” Her expression became more relaxed. “And I guess if Randy and Phil trust you to be here, I can, too.”
