The Vanishing

by Gary Winston Brown

  Saved from total collapse by the tenacity of a single bottom hinge, the broken door hung precariously in its frame. With little effort, Virgil pulled it free and stood it against the wall. An explanation for the damage would be necessary. But at this moment, a broken door was the least of his worries.

  44

  DESCENDING THE STAIRS required less effort. Virgil’s leg still burned with the intensity of white-hot embers, but the combination of hydrogen peroxide and Polysporin had considerably dulled the pain and permitted him to move at a much faster pace than he had expected.

  The dilapidated, broken asphalt road offered few level footholds. Virgil winced every time he mis-stepped and pulled on the wound. He traveled close to the buildings, stayed in the safety of their shadows.

  Voices in the distance. Laughter. The clatter of pots and pans.

  Communion Hall.

  Virgil peered around the corner. It was fifty yards to the front steps. He rolled up his pant leg and examined the dressing in the moon’s light. No blood. No visible evidence that he had been hurt. No reason for Fallon to suspect he was the quarry he sought.

  Defying the ravaging pain coursing through his leg, Virgil stepped out of the shadows, hobbled as fast as he could, reached the landing, opened the door to Communion Hall, and stepped inside.

  “‘Bout time you got here. Prophet was just askin’ where you’d gotten to.”

  The booming voice took him by surprise, made him jump. Reisa Stone, his closest friend, stood in the doorway to the dining hall. Shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows and holding a roasting pan, Stone all but absorbed the light attempting to peer out from behind him. He was a mountain of a man, nearly three hundred pounds, with a bodybuilder’s physique and a Hells Angels temperament. Tattoos adorned both arms from his wrists to his neck. His round, wire-rimmed glasses balanced precariously on the bridge of his nose, and a grey beard cascaded to the middle of his generous stomach. Over the years, Virgil had come to know and respect the man under the colorful mosaic and found him to be a dependable friend, an honest man, and a deeply devoted follower of the ways of the Brethren. However, in the dim candlelight of the vestibule, his hands adorned by gaily flowered oven mitts and sporting a pink and blue cotton apron with frilly lace trim, Reisa Stone looked as menacing as a biker at a country bake off.

  “Someone’s all dolled up for the prom,” Virgil teased. “Did you remember to shave your legs?”

  “Very funny,” Reisa replied uncomfortably. “While you’ve been out for a stroll, the rest of us have been makin’ dinner.”

  The aroma of the roast Stone held in his hands reminded Virgil how hungry he was. “Smells good,” Virgil said. He lifted the roaster lid and peeked inside.

  “It should,” Reisa replied. “It’s been simmering for the last few hours. What took ya anyway? Fallon’s been runnin’ around here, doing a head count, gettin’ on everybody’s nerves. Damn little weasel.”

  “Fallon gets on everyone’s nerves, Reisa,” Virgil replied. “What do you mean, doing a head count?”

  “It’s probably nothing. I overheard him talkin’ to Prophet, saying somethin’ about suspectin’ an intruder on the grounds. Said he thought he heard somethin’ out back of the workshop earlier. Whatever it is, it’s got him wound up tighter than the strings on my old Gibson. He’s been walkin’ around puffed up bigger than a rooster in a henhouse, checking everybody out.” Stone shook his head. “Never did like that little guy. Too weaselly for me. Even looks like a little weasel if ya ask me with that long, skinny face and spindly little toothpick body of his. All he’s missin’ is a tail. Like I said, just plain… weaselly.”

  “Fallon’s never topped my list of favorite people either,” Virgil replied. “But I wouldn’t worry about it. He’s probably overreacting, as usual. I didn’t see anyone out there.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” Reisa shrugged. “Well, don’t just stand there like you’re expectin’ me to set the table for ya too. Sky and Blessing are inside.”

  Safe.

  Thank God.

  “They’ve been waitin’ for ya for the past half-hour, so get a move on. By the way, you hurt your leg or somethin’?”

  “No,” Virgil lied. “Why do you say that?”

  Reisa gestured to Virgil’s wounded leg. “You got a spot on your jeans, just below your knee. Look’s like ya cut yourself. Anyway, hurry up. While we’re standin’ around here yappin’ my pot roast’s gettin’ cold.”

  Virgil looked down, checked his jeans. I shouldn’t have pushed it, he thought. Too much pressure coming up the steps. He touched the spot of blood with his finger.

  Warm.

  Damp.

  Spreading.

  “Daddy!” Blessing’s tiny voice trumpeted across the room. She ran to greet her father and nearly collided with Reisa.

  “Whoa! Slow down there, little darlin’!” Reisa laughed. He spun sharply to his left, deftly avoiding Blessing’s enthusiastic charge.

  “Hi angel,” Virgil said. “How’s my best girl?”

  “Fine, Daddy,” Blessing replied. “I was worried about you.”

  “You were? Why would such a pretty little girl like you be worried about me?”

  “I asked Mommy where you were. She said she didn’t know. How come you’re late?”

  “I had a little accident, princess. Nothing important.”

  “An accident?” Blessing paused. “Did you wet the bed?”

  Virgil tried not to laugh. “No, honey. I just fell. Now I’ve got a boo-boo on my leg.”

  “Yuck!” Blessing exclaimed sourly. “I hate boo-boos. Does it hurt?”

  “As a matter of fact, it does hurt a little.”

  “I’ll go tell Mommy you’re here.”

  Across the room, Sky set out the cutlery on the long banquet table. She smiled and waved.

  “You do that, angel. Tell Mommy I want to talk to her right away.”

  Too late. Blessing was already off and running.

  “Quite a girl, isn’t she?”

  Virgil turned. Fallon stood behind him.

  “Do you always sneak up on people?” Virgil asked.

  Fallon’s tone was disingenuous. “Forgive me. I apologize if I startled you. I was just coming from the downstairs storeroom. Thought I’d take a last look around before dinner.”

  “Look around?” Virgil said. “For what?”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Fallon said. “You weren’t here. I guess you wouldn't know.”

  “Wouldn’t know what, Fallon? Stop talking in circles.”

  “My, my, my,” Fallon exclaimed. “Aren’t we touchy. You seem nervous, Mr. Lutt. Is something bothering you? Anything you’d care to talk about? Confession is good for the soul, you know.”

  “It’s been a long day, Fallon. You should know. You were with me.”

  “Yes, I was. Until the last hour.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that within that brief period of time I believe someone has compromised our property.”

  “Compromised?”

  “Yes, compromised. As in broke in. Trespassed. Accessed without permission.” Fallon paused, assessed Virgil. “Am I speaking in a manner you are having difficulty comprehending? I can slow my speech if you like. Use smaller, less intimidating words.”

  “Don’t insult my intelligence, Fallon. I know exactly what you mean. What are you rambling on about?”

  “I heard a commotion earlier. When I investigated the situation further, I found evidence of an intruder.”

  “What sort of evidence?”

  “The kind that leaves a trail.”

  Virgil turned to walk away. “Are we going to do this ridiculous banter all night? Because if we are, I’ve got more important things to do.”

  Fallon grabbed Virgil by his arm, buried his thumb deep into his forearm, halted him mid-step.

  “What the…”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Lutt,” Fallon said. He relaxed his grip. “I don’t bel
ieve we’ve finished our conversation.”

  Virgil pulled away. “Oh yeah, we’re done,” he said. He placed his aching arm around Fallon and whispered in his ear. “Understand this, you little prick. If you ever try that shit with me again, the only thing compromised around here will be your balls on a fence puller. Am I making myself perfectly clear, or am I speaking in a manner you’re finding difficult to comprehend? Maybe I should slow down my speech for you. Use smaller, less intimidating words.”

  Fallon looked him in the eyes and smiled. “Yes, Mr. Lutt. I believe we have arrived at a mutual understanding.”

  “Right answer,” Virgil said. “Now run along like the good little whipping boy you are. I’m sure Prophet’s waiting for you. You wouldn’t want to be accused of shirking your responsibilities.”

  “One last thing,” Fallon said.

  Virgil stared at him, said nothing.

  “The evidence I mentioned earlier. The kind that leaves a trail. I was referring to blood, Mr. Lutt. Like the kind running down your leg.”

  Virgil looked down at the smearing mass below his knee. “What about it?”

  “Anything you’d care to explain?”

  “Not to you,” Virgil replied as he walked away.

  45

  “WHERE HAVE YOU been?” Sky asked as she hugged her husband. “I was expecting you an hour ago.”

  “Sorry,” Virgil replied. “Something came up.”

  Sky sensed something was wrong. “You don’t seem yourself,” she said.

  Virgil looked down at his knee. “Guess I’m still a little shaken up.”

  Sky gasped at the sight of the blood on his pant leg. “Good Lord, Virgil! Did you cut yourself putting up the fence?”

  “No,” Virgil replied. He lied. “I tripped in the dark and fell down the stairs. Why do you think you always lead when we dance? Two left feet, remember?”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’ll be fine, honey.”

  “Maybe we should go back to the room. I’ll clean it up for you.”

  “Don’t be silly. It’s just a scratch. Besides, I ran into Reisa when I walked in and got a first-hand look at his pot roast. Nothing short of the need for amputation could keep me from that right now.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Sweetheart, I’m fine. Let’s go round up Blessing and eat. I’m starving.” Virgil looked around the room. “Where is the little munchkin, anyway?”

  “Probably helping her Uncle Reisa in the kitchen. When you’re not around, he dotes on her like she was his own daughter. Naturally, she soaks up the attention by the bucketful.”

  “That sounds like Blessing. By the way, have you seen Prophet’s daughter?”

  “Amanda?” Sky replied. “Not recently. She was helping in the fields earlier, though. Why?”

  “No reason. I just haven’t seen her around much. She keeps to herself quite a bit, don’t you think?”

  Sky nodded. “Now that you mention it, she does. She hardly said a word the entire time we were in the field this afternoon.”

  “This may sound odd,” Virgil said, “but do you know if Prophet adopted her?”

  “Not that I’m aware of,” Sky replied. “Why would you think that?”

  “Just curious.” Virgil’s troubled look belied the indifference in his voice. “She said nothing to you about her past that may have struck you as out of the ordinary?”

  “No.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Sky pressed. “Virgil, there’s something you’re not telling me. What is it?”

  Virgil hesitated. “It’s nothing. I shouldn’t have brought it up. Forget it.”

  “You don’t ask a question like that out of the clear blue without reason. What’s wrong?”

  In his mind, Virgil replayed the conversation he had overheard: ‘We’ve had a hard enough time concealing her identity… You should have killed her after you killed her parents… The FBI will come looking for her… again.’ What in the world was going on? Should he tell Sky what he had heard? He knew Fallon would soon figure out it was him he had been tracking. He simply hadn’t put it together yet. If only I hadn’t fallen! If I hadn’t cut my damn leg on the woodpile, Fallon would never have known it was me he was after. He’d still be running around chasing phantom intruders in the dark. But the conversation he had heard was real, and the consequences that could come from his knowledge of the facts would be grave. According to Fallon, Amanda’s parents had been murdered by Prophet, and Amanda was either involved in some way or a victim herself. Cassandra, Prophet, and Fallon knew about the killings. Were they co-conspirators as well? And now he knew. Why would Prophet want Amanda’s parents’ dead? What could they have possibly done to bring about such a fate? Prophet wasn’t a street punk, not a hired gun. He was a man of God, a seer, a visionary. His strength and leadership had kept them together through good times and bad. He had led them away from the anarchy of the outside world and the evil that men do to this small parcel of land which they were slowly transforming into paradise. No, it was impossible. He was mistaken. That was all there was to it. He had misunderstood their conversation, simple as that. Wasn’t it? Virgil’s mind whirled with indecision. No, he had heard them correctly. He knew because the churning in his stomach confirmed it. And there was Blessing and Sky’s safety to think about, not to mention his own. He wrestled with his thoughts: keep your mouth shut, leave it alone, forget what you heard. No, he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t walk away from this knowing if what he suspected to be true was true. If he was unwittingly living in the company of killers, then his world had become paradise lost. That was something he could not accept. His stomach pitched again.

  “All right,” Virgil confessed at last. “Yes, something is wrong. Very wrong. But we can’t discuss it right now. Not here.”

  “What are you talking about?” Sky persisted. “And what has this got to do with Amanda?”

  “I’ll explain everything to you after we put Blessing to bed.”

  “Why not now?”

  “It’s not safe to talk now.”

  “Not safe?”

  Virgil cupped his wife’s pretty face in his hands. “Listen to me, Sky. Everything’s going to be fine. But you’re going to have to believe what I tell you later, even if it seems, well… crazy. Will you do that for me? Please?”

  The frightened look on Sky’s face spoke for her.

  “But Virgil…”

  Virgil pressed his finger gently against her lips. “Later, Sky. I’ll tell you everything. I promise.”

  46

  “HE KNOWS,” Fallon said.

  “What are you talking about?” Krebeck replied.

  “Lutt. He overheard our conversation. He knows you killed Amanda’s parents.”

  “How can you be certain? Did you confront him? Did he admit to it?”

  “He didn’t have to. Remember the blood I showed you earlier?”

  “Yes.”

  “Look at his leg. It’s a mess.”

  “That doesn’t mean he knows anything. It means he cut his leg.”

  “Don’t be a fool, Joseph,” Fallon said, “and don’t speak to me like one. I’m not one of your catatonic followers. I’m the guy who has been keeping your ass out of the gas chamber.”

  “You’re not exactly cut from holy cloth yourself,” Krebeck replied. “The woman and the child? Remember?”

  Prophet’s words resuscitated fond memories. The musty smell of hay bales stacked high in an old barn… the whinny of horses in the adjoining stalls… the woman, her legs spread, rocking to the hard thrust of him… the chanting of the witnesses during her ceremony of purification and indoctrination. He had forgotten her name. No, wait. Anne. Yes, that was it. Not that it really mattered. He hadn’t wanted to take her brat, too. She was just a toddler, collateral cargo, of no particular use. But the mother had insisted. And with all due respect, she had been an excellent fuck. It was the least he could do.

  Finally, he spok
e.

  “You and I both know this is bullshit, Joseph. Engage their trust, sprinkle in a little God the Father this and Praise the Lord that, then watch them follow like lambs to the slaughter. That was the plan. It’s quite pathetic when you realize the only purpose they really serve is to insulate us from the outside world. ‘Those who can’t be found can’t be prosecuted.’ Isn’t that what you said?”

  “You’ve benefited from this as much as I have, Fallon.”

  “I’m not denying that. But I’m telling you we have a problem. And his name is Virgil Lutt.”

  Prophet paused. “How do you propose we handle this problem?”

  Fallon shrugged. “No different from any of the others.”

  “Fine. But do it quickly and quietly. Make it look like an accident.”

  Fallon nodded. “In two days, Stone and I plan to explore the west ridge of the mountain. I’ll bring Lutt. The path on the cliff side of the ridge is narrow, two feet wide at best. It can be dangerous if you don’t know where you’re going. One wrong step and the fall could be fatal.”

  “Spare me the drama,” Prophet replied. “Just get it done, and soon.”

  47

  “GOODNIGHT, MOMMY.”

  “Goodnight, precious girl,” Sky said. She kissed Blessing on her nose, tucked the bed sheets tightly around her, and blew out the bedside lantern. Darkness fell upon the room.

  “I love you, sweetie.”

  “I love you more, Mommy.”

  “Want me to leave the door open?”

  “No. You can close it. I’m a big girl now.”

  “I know you are. Goodnight.”

  As Sky closed the door, Blessing called out nervously. “Mommy?”

  “Yes, honey?”

  “Maybe leave it open just a little.”

  Virgil sat on the edge of the bed; his leg turned toward the pale glow of the lamp. He examined the wound.