How lonely she had been, especially when her parents had died in a car crash only a few months after she started college.
And then she met David her freshman year. After a whirlwind romance, they had married her sophomore year—she had only been eighteen but was ready to love someone and to be loved in return. And David had loved her, made her feel cherished. But then he was deployed to Afghanistan, and he, too, was now gone from her life forever. Two years now. She should be able to put his memory aside and move on with her life.
With her thoughts distracting her, she startled when Rayden jerked an arm into the air and swiveled in his seat. “Look!”
“What?” Her heart pounded furiously as she searched the area shrouded in semi-darkness.
“RV for sale. Hold on.” He made a u-turn and drove back a few hundred yards.
Gisa shook away her irritability at the scare he had given her. She climbed out of the car after him to examine the RV that stood under a utility light. It was a mini-motor home, aging, but still in good condition.
A man walked across the lawn from the house, his shoulders slumped, flashlight in hand. “You folks looking for a good RV?” he asked.
Rayden flashed a smile. “Yes, sir. Just what we need.”
“It’s small, about 24 feet. I’ll unlock it and y’all can check it out.” With an effort, he mounted the steps.
Rayden caught Gisa’s eyes for a second before they followed the man. Although the beige carpet and blue-plaid upholstery were worn, it was spotless. A fold-out bed was in the area over the cab, and it also had a kitchen/living room area in the center with a slide-out for more room. One tiny area held a bed and was crammed against a micro bathroom in the back.
Rayden and the man went outside to dicker over the price. Gisa poked around in the cabinets and saw they were fully furnished with pots, pans, and dishes. She opened the drawers finding silverware, even matches, and a small radio. The last drawer held a Bible. She stared at it for a second before slamming the drawer shut.
The small kitchen countertop was Formica finished in a fake wood grain. She slid onto the bench. The man had said the RV was twenty-four feet long. Did Rayden expect them to live in here for... for how long? Until she was, perhaps, sixteen weeks pregnant? That would be seven weeks! Almost two months with a man she didn’t really know? With a man the police were after. Someone she had a hard time believing? Dr. Cochran hadn't said that the baby was a clone—he had only said to trust Rayden. Did that mean to listen to him...to carry the baby to term?
But if this was her child... No, she couldn't think in terms of this being a child. It. That’s what she would do. Think of the baby as it.
She felt exhausted. Tomorrow, after a good night’s sleep, maybe she could figure things out.
Rayden came back in and held a key out to her. She studied him for a minute before reaching out her hand to take it.
“It’s ours,” he said.
“Ours?”
“Yes, ours. You can drive.”
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“I’ll ditch the car, some place where maybe the police won’t find it for a while—back to that place near the stream.”
His eyes caught hers for a split second before he left, as if pleading for her understanding. She hesitated before she stepped down into the cab area and slid into the driver’s seat. She clutched the steering wheel as she watched him walk away. She could drive home, drive away from all the turmoil. There was only a little over a month left in school—she hated to leave her students. Any kind of change was upsetting to them.
But if he were telling the truth, the Auserwhatis wouldn't let her go back to her old life. She could go to the police... but would they believe such an incredible story? And what would happen to Rayden if she did? Would she want him arrested? She shook her head slowly. No, she had seen the anguish in his eyes.
Her hands shook as she cranked the RV and followed his car. Then she waited by the road while Rayden drove down the rutted path. She glanced around nervously until he reemerged on foot. She turned the driving over to him and crawled to the back to sprawl across the bed. Sleep came immediately, despite the nausea, despite the doubts, despite the fear.
* * *
They drove over thirteen hundred miles in three and a half days. Rayden drove while Gisa dozed in the back. She slept as she had never slept before. When awake, she wondered if the drug Rayden had injected her with was making her sleep so, or was it the stress and her pregnancy? For whatever reason, she could barely keep her eyes open.
But at least the sleep staved off the nausea. And staved off her fears.
They kept to the back roads, progressively heading west. Rayden drove with care. Gisa noticed the RV still had the previous owner’s registration, and the tags were recently renewed. At least the police wouldn’t stop them because the tags were out of date.
Not until they reached Texas and passed a sign that said "Lindale" did Rayden allow her to drive. She was too sick to drive for very long and woke him up after only a couple of hours, when she made it to the other side of Dallas. The fatigue in his eyes made her feel guilty for not driving farther.
Rayden promised her they would find a place to stop soon. She drove again when they reached New Mexico. When they reached Santa Fe, they picked up groceries and some other supplies, including a few clothes. Gisa was glad to get into something a little cleaner. She longed for a shower.
By the time they drove into the RV park, late on the afternoon of the fourth day, Gisa was so exhausted and nauseated that she wished she had never chosen this path and had instead taken her chances with Die Auserwählten. But maybe the nausea would leave her now that they had finally stopped.
As Rayden hooked up the RV, Gisa prepared soup from a can and made sandwiches, without even bothering to look outside.
Rayden came in and washed in the small sink in the bathroom. Gisa set the food on the fake wood table, and they ate in silence, too tired to talk.
Her nausea made her crave an orange, her daddy’s kind of orange. When she was little, he would roll one back and forth across the table, pressing down with his calloused palm. At the right moment of suppleness, he would flip open his sharp pocketknife to carefully cut a wedge from the end. She received the treat and squeezed until every drop of juice was extracted, and it lay deflated in her small hands.
Right now she felt like that squeezed orange, all of the juice sucked right out of her.
Rayden clicked on the TV. Gisa, without saying goodnight, went to the bed, drew the curtain, and pulled back the mauve and turquoise comforter. She crawled between the sheets, almost asleep before her head hit the pillow.
THE NEXT MORNING Gisa woke more rested. She ate a few crackers and then took a shower. Hard water stains surrounded the drain, but the white shower curtain was clean and there were no weird smells to make her nauseated. She dressed and walked into the kitchen, surprised to see the curtains still drawn where Rayden had slept.
“Rayden?”
When he didn’t answer, she walked closer and repeated his name. Still no response. With trembling hands, she pulled the curtains back. Rayden was gone.
A stab of fear made her tremble. Why had he left her here, alone in a strange place?
She checked the door and found it locked and that, at least, made her feel better. She placed her hand on the doorknob and stood for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest. She released her hold and backed away.
She switched on the TV to distract her thoughts. But fear nibbled as she sat on the couch. She startled when someone rapped on the door.
Hands shaking, she jumped from her seat. “Who is it?”
“Me.” Rayden’s voice filtered through the closed door.
Gisa's hand trembled on the lock, but she managed to open it and stepped back to let him in.
“Where have you been?” she asked, trying to sound angry, but feeling more relief than anything.
“Just went for a walk. I left a note.
” Sweat glistened on his face, and he wiped his brow.
Her eyes followed his every movement. She moved farther away before she spoke again. “Where?”
“Where did I go? Or where’s the note?” He pushed past her and slid into the seat at the table.
“Both.” She flopped down on the small couch and rubbed the back of her neck.
“The note’s on the refrigerator.”
Her eyes followed to where he pointed. Sure enough a yellow Post-it stuck to the small, white refrigerator door. How had she missed that?
“I just needed some fresh air. I met some people from Alabama.”
“What?" She frowned. "Do you think it’s a good idea to mingle with others?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes you have to trust people. They’re from Mobile. A retired couple, the Pierces.” He rubbed his hands against his jeans. “We’re going to have to depend on someone sometime. I’m running out of money.”
"But how can you trust them?" Gisa leaned forward on the couch. Was he putting them in danger? He was right, though. If they didn't have much money, they would need help. Why had she thought he had an unlimited supply? She sighed.
But... how did he happen to have so much money in cash? Who carried cash around nowadays?
She raised her head to meet his eyes. “How did you pay for the RV, anyway?”
“Don’t get upset.” His fingers tapped against the table, and he looked away from her. “I took a friend’s credit card and used it.”
“You stole a credit card? And the old man accepted it? How?”
His finger traced a circle on the table, slashing a line through it, before he looked up. “His cell phone had that capability. And yes, I borrowed a credit card. I'll pay him back when I'm able. What does it matter? I’m wanted for murder anyway.” He sounded weary, and his shoulders slumped forward.
Despite herself, she felt sorry for him. “Whose credit card?”
“The guy I borrowed the car from. I left him a note.” He put his head in his hands.
Gisa’s eyes widened. Any sympathy she felt evaporated. “You stole the car, too?”
He raised his head and threw her a swift glance. “The guy’s a friend.”
“And he’ll understand about the stolen card and the murders.” Her voice dripped sarcasm. "And don't you think the police will be able to trace this guy's card?"
"I told you I left a note. Hopefully, my friend hasn't reported it. Anyway, I tapped it out at a couple of different ATMs. I've thrown the card away, so we'll have to stretch the cash." He frowned. "I know what I'm doing, Gisa."
She laughed harshly. "It looks that way. I'm stuck in this tiny RV, thousands of miles from home, with a thief and a suspect in a murder case."
Rayden half rose and bumped the table. He extricated himself, straightened to his full height, and moved toward her. Gisa would have stood, too, but standing meant she would brush against him in the tiny space. Instead she leaned back on the couch cushions, looking up at him.
“You know I didn’t kill those people.” His voice wasn’t quite steady.
She should feel afraid as he towered over her, but anger reigned. “How do I know what you did?”
“If you didn’t believe me, why did you come?” His eyes narrowed and hardened.
“Good question.” Her breath came in quick gasps, and a vein began throbbing in her temple. “And you still haven’t told me everything you know. Why are the police after you?”
He stepped back and rubbed his chin, his eyes clouding. “Die Auserwählten have infiltrated the police force.”
Gisa laughed harshly. “Your story gets wilder and wilder.”
He sighed. “I don’t care if you believe me or not!” He walked to the refrigerator and yanked it open.
Gisa took the opportunity to stand and stumble out the door.
She looked around dully.
Why had she thought she could trust him? A thief and a possible murderer. What was wrong with her? She shook her head and walked away from their camp area and stopped.
Flatness surrounded her, and she shuddered, hating this feeling of exposure. The door opened behind her, pushing her feet into motion. She strode away without looking back. The sign to the hiking trail pointed right, and she followed it. A man wearing a cap jogged by, the smell of cigarettes trailing behind him. No one else was on the trail when Rayden caught up with her.
“I’m sorry, Gisa.”
“Sorry for what? Stealing a car? Stealing someone's credit card? Ruining my life?” Her voice rose with each word.
“Shhh...”
“Don’t shush me!”
“I didn’t ruin your life. I’m trying to help you. How can I make you believe me?” He took her by the arm.
She tried to twist away. “Let go of me.” Hadn't he proved he was capable of violence by drugging her? Fear churned in her stomach. She kept her face averted, not wanting him to see that she was afraid.
When he released her, she swirled around to face him, gritting her teeth, letting her anger override the fear. “Don’t ever touch me again.” She slowly backed away while trying to keep her face composed.
“The Pierces,” he whispered, and his teeth flashed white in the morning sun.
“What?” Her brow furrowed. With the adrenalin rushing through her, it took a moment for her to understand his words.
Rayden stepped forward with his hand outstretched to greet the couple, a gray-haired man with a dimpled smile and a slightly stooped, frail-looking woman with wavy white hair.
“We meet again,” the man said. “And this must be your wife, Pam.”
Rayden looked beseechingly at Gisa, and she moved forward, southern manners manifesting subconsciously. She held out her hand, and the man took it in both of his, giving hers a little pat.
“It’s so nice to meet up with fellow Alabamians,” his wife said.
Gisa managed a smile. “Yes, it is.”
“You folks get to travel much?” Mr. Pierce asked, his arm linking with his wife's.
Gisa glanced at Rayden then back at the Pierces. “This is actually our first trip.”
Mrs. Pierce smiled, as if in on a secret. “How do you like New Mexico?”
Gisa covertly studied the Pierces. They seemed like a typical old man and woman. She managed a smile. “Not enough trees. It seems kind of bare to me."
“That’s what makes it so beautiful here. Nothing to obstruct the beautiful sunsets and sunrises.” Mr. Pierce’s eyes twinkled.
Gisa searched the landscape. No towering oaks, sycamores, or hickory nut trees. No tree branches arcing to the sky. No thick canopy of leaves to protect you from the hot rays of the sun. No. All was stunted growth, an ugliness, and the sun glared too brightly in the sky. Gisa refocused on the Pierces. Were they whom they seemed to be? Just because they were old and frail didn't mean they weren't part of Die Auserwählten.
“Won’t y’all join us for supper tonight?” Mrs. Pierce asked.
Before Gisa had time to answer, Rayden nodded his head.
“We’d be happy to.”
“Around six?” Mrs. Pierce asked.
“Perfect. We’ll see you then.” Rayden raised his hand in farewell as the Pierces continued down the trail.
Gisa began walking and Rayden fell in beside her. She didn't object; all her anger had dissipated.
GISA DIDN’T TRUST the Pierces. She didn't trust Rayden. She felt pitted against the world. But Rayden was all she had. She couldn't walk away. Where would she go with no family or friends? Who else did she have besides the man walking next to her? Somehow, some way, she would have to learn to trust him. She couldn't tolerate the feeling of isolation and desperation washing over her. She gave Rayden a sideways glance. Surely, he hadn't killed anyone. Surely he wasn't capable of that type of violence.
But wasn't that what everyone said about shooters who killed dozens of people? Could a person really know someone else? Friendship...all relationships came down to taking a chance.
; “Pam?” she asked. “And I guess you’re Jim.”
“James, actually.”
Gisa had a sudden urge to laugh. Instead she kicked at the rocks, stirring up puffs of dust that trailed behind them as they headed back. They climbed into the RV.
Pam and James. Appropriate. And he would have to be enough for her right now—until she figured out what else to do. Perhaps she couldn't fully trust, but she could put aside some of her doubts and fears.
Weariness now engulfed her as she went in and flopped on the couch. Rayden rummaged in the cabinets, pulling out a bowl and a box of cereal.
“Do you want something to eat?” he asked.
“No, thank you.”
Rayden sat down next to her. “Gisa, it’s not like you think. My friend is someone I can depend on. He'll understand about... everything.”
“He must be a really good friend.” She fought to keep sarcasm from dripping off her words.
“He and his wife are my best friends. We go to the same church.” He crunched on his cereal, his eyes thoughtful.
She stared at him in surprise. The same church? Rayden didn’t look like any Christian she had ever seen. Capable of violence? A thief? “How can you believe in a God that has allowed all of this to happen to me?” She threw him a look. “To us?”
“I can't forget in the darkness what I've seen in the light.”
She rubbed her temples. “Is that a quote?"
"Stephen Lawhead. Kinda paraphrased."
"Never heard of him."
Rayden dropped his gaze. "Gisa, I want to ask you something..."
She looked at him curiously and waited for him to continue.
He looked up and caught her eyes. "David..."
Her heart leapt in her throat. "What about David?"
"How well did you know him?" He finished his cereal and set the bowl down.
"I knew him as well as anyone can know anyone else. Why do you ask?"
"Wasn't he the one who stored his sperm at the facility? Did he choose it on purpose, do you think?"
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