“I simply want Him to make sense.” Too much rancor in her voice. Dial down. Intellect, not emotion.
“No, Lee. That’s not what you want.”
“Excuse me?”
“Everything I just said to you did make sense, or you would have called me out and knocked my argument flat.”
Her stomach knotted. She lined up their two views. God as the Viewer of the cosmic play, jeering and throwing rubbish, preferring the human carnage. Or God as the … well, Father … wanting communion with people who chose to commune with Him because they preferred it to estrangement, because they comprehended estrangement.
“I’m going to push the boundaries a little bit here and tell you what I think you want.”
Heath, be quiet.
“You want God to subject Himself to your will. You’ve decided that what happened to Marcus isn’t just wrong—it’s a wrong perpetrated by God Himself. And you won’t forgive Him for it.”
Nausea welled in her throat. “Marcus should have been spared.”
“He was.”
She pressed a hand to her stomach. Battled the flood of everything she had done in the last week, fending off Marcus’s fever and his exhaustion and his pain. Fending off his death.
“I’m not saying he didn’t suffer, isn’t still suffering. I’m saying he’s alive. He’s healing, he’s safe, he’s free here.”
The gentle voice stabbed her head, turned her stomach.
“I don’t know how you and Marcus got here, but you can’t convince me God had no hand in it.”
The agent shaking Marcus’s bad knee … and Marcus fast asleep.
“He should have …”
“Done more? What would be enough for you?”
Violet’s question.
“Would you be willing to submit to Him if Marcus had never experienced any pain in his whole life? What about the rest of the world, they don’t matter to you?”
I’m a nurse, Heath. They all matter to me.
“Lee. Look at me.”
She wouldn’t. She shut her eyes.
He waited.
This was absurd. She wasn’t a child. She opened her eyes and tried to glare and probably failed, because her stomach still wanted to turn itself inside out.
“Talk to God,” Heath said. “Tell Him all of this.”
She had to clear her throat, but then her voice was level. “He’s aware of my thought processes.”
“Not to inform Him.”
“For what purpose, then?”
“I can’t answer that one. Just tell Him.” He stood up and smiled at her. Then he turned and walked back into the church.
Lee pressed her hands to her mouth and closed her eyes.
Something touched her back.
She jolted to her feet, jumped off the step, and turned. She reached back to brush a hand over her shoulders. Nothing there. Perhaps it hadn’t been a tactile sensation so much as … She shivered. You want me to speak about these things to You?
“Then I will not,” she whispered.
41
“Not because of fear.”
Austin let Lee’s words propel him forward, into the glassed-in conference room. Identifying the organization’s leadership had been impossible. No one used titles. Eventually, he’d asked someone random to point out a staff member (“you mean a church member? Sara is”), and he’d asked the church member to point out someone in leadership. She had pursed her lips, ticked options silently on her fingers, and then said, “I’m pretty sure Walt is here right now. As long as we’re housing y’all, we’re constantly rotating, but I think I saw him less than an hour ago.”
So strangers didn’t have the run of the building. The church was being subtle about it, but they recognized the need for supervision. That showed more sense than Austin had been giving them credit for. Probably more sense than he’d seen displayed at Elysium, which taught that people were too inherently sinless to rob you or harm your children.
When he stepped into the conference room, a man with a fringe of white hair and beard stood up from the long table. He offered a smile more cautious than welcoming. Good for him.
“Sara said you have information, and you asked to speak with an elder.”
“You make decisions for the church?” Austin didn’t let himself shift on his feet.
“I and others, yes. A board, elected by the members.”
Good enough. Austin nodded.
“Walton Cantrell.” He stepped forward and held out his hand.
Austin shook it firmly. See, I’m not a kid. “Austin Delvecchio. Sir, I don’t want you to discover this later and feel deceived. Actually, if I don’t tell you, you will have been deceived.”
Walton didn’t prod. He also didn’t reassure Austin that his sins were between him and God, and no one needed to tell anyone anything. This man seemed to be a sensible leader. Still, Austin’s mouth was dry. He cleared his throat against the silence, dug his wallet from his back pocket and held it out, open.
Walton backed up a step, stared from the badge to Austin’s face and back again.
“Michigan Constabulary. I’m an agent. I have no authority here, obviously, but back home, this is who I …” Am? Was? Would he ever have a word to finish that sentence?
“What are you doing here?” Walton’s voice was carefully level.
“I don’t know if you’ve met Violet DuBay, but I came with her and—”
“Violet? Does she know what you are?”
Something tightened in Austin’s face, in his gut. “She pushed me to tell you. She said you wouldn’t turn me out.”
There it lay between them, exposed, both of them knowing the test for what it was, tasting the flavor of manipulation. Don’t let me do it, Walton. Prove you’re smarter than that.
By turning him out? Was that what he wanted?
“I believe Violet mentioned more than one traveling companion,” Walton said.
So the girl had shared her biography with everyone here. “There are four of us.”
“I’ll be honest. You seem to be trying to do the same. I don’t understand how Christians accepted traveling with a Constabulary agent. Even once you’d left Michigan, you could have turned them in to any state at any time.”
And why he hadn’t was one of the things he’d sort out when he got to Australia. “They’ve known for the entire trip. How it happened is … a long, unpleasant story. But I have no intention of causing trouble here. I can’t legally, anyway.”
Walton eyed him, crossed the room, and turned back around. “Are you armed?”
“Not right now.”
The pistol nestled under his left arm, snug, safe, concealed by the loose-fitting shirt he’d shrugged over a crew-neck tee, left unbuttoned. Violet’s eyes would grow sad if she knew about the lie, but he wasn’t walking a plank even for her.
Best case scenario, Walton was armed and would try to put him down. Simple solution, final answers. He’d have a case to cite when he told Violet not to trust these people. He’d have a reason to walk away from Christians and their incomprehensible belief system. Maybe even a reason to go home, stop Jason somehow, and get back to work.
On the minus side, he might have to shoot somebody’s grandfather.
And lose his girl.
Walton studied him a moment, nodded, folded his arms. “I respect your decision to come forward.”
Part of Austin wanted to sigh his relief, and part of him wanted to smack the wall. “I assume you don’t want me to stay the night.”
“You’re not asking to join our membership. You’re asking for food and shelter.”
“Actually, I’m informing you of the fact you’ve had a Constabulary agent in your church for a few hours, and he might be back around occasionally to visit his friends. With your permission.”
“You have no money, son.” Walton’s eyes smiled, though his mouth remained tense.
How could he …? Austin huffed. “Violet.”
“You’re welcome to stay tonight. Long term, I’m not sure what we’ll decide. There is, of course, freedom here to put your past behind you and have it kept private. There’s also the fact that you represent—not saying you still are, but you represent—a vivid, real threat to many folks here. Seems they shouldn’t be kept in the dark about it, find out by accident later … what have you. But I guess we’ll deal with all that another day.”
Austin stopped his hand halfway to mussing his hair. “So you can make the call to give me a bed tonight.”
“Make the call?”
“It’s not something that needs a vote?”
Walton chuckled. “Jesus wouldn’t turn you out on the street because of your past. None of my fellow elders would expect me to either.”
How odd.
“I assume your service weapon is with your other belongings.”
The lie itched now. He nodded.
“And you’ll respect our property and leave it there.”
“Of course.”
“I don’t feel the need to force this issue, son, because your gun isn’t the only one on the premises.”
The man lifted his suit jacket. A silver handle jutted from a leather holster at his hip.
“It isn’t common knowledge, but you’re somewhat of an uncommon stranger.”
These people were sensible, after all. But he didn’t pull on you, even thinking you were unarmed.
“Thank you, sir.” For several things.
“You’re welcome, Austin.”
42
She couldn’t remember all their names. Faces blurred in front of her as the travelers, gathered in the youth lounge, looked up at her. Some of them sprawled on faux leather sofas with wide cushioned arms. Several played foosball in a far corner.
“Come on in, join the party,” someone said.
Lee searched for a familiar face, someone she could ask. There, by the coffee machines—Juana of the broken dish. Lee steeled her nerve and crossed to Juana.
“Hi, Lee.” Her smile looked ready to bolt for cover.
“Marcus isn’t in our room. I thought he might be here, but …” But he had been exhausted less than two hours ago.
“Oh, right. Will took him outside or something.”
Will? “I don’t understand.”
“Hey, Will!” Juana beckoned to a slim ponytailed redhead who looked to be in his twenties. “Where’s Marcus?”
“At the park.”
They must have a friend named Marcus. Lee kept her tone level. “I’m speaking of a new arrival, a fugitive. Brown hair and eyes …” Five-foot-eleven, muscular, broad shoulders … She cleared her throat. “He was injured recently. He’s … thin.”
Will nodded. “Yup. Marcus Brenner.”
He was waiting for her confirmation. “Yes.”
“He said he wanted to be outside for a little while, so I got one of the wheelchairs from the closet, and then he asked if there was a park somewhere. It’s not even a ten-minute walk, so I took him over there and gave him my cell number in case he needed anything, and for whenever he’s ready to come back.”
The room spun, but a deep breath steadied it. “Marcus shouldn’t be outdoors at this time of day.”
“He told me he got sick awhile back. But he said he’s okay now.”
Of course he did. Lee clenched her teeth.
“Are you Lee?”
“I am.”
“Yeah, he said you might come looking for him.”
“If he wanted to tour the park, why didn’t he text me?”
“Well …” Will shrugged. “He said you’d been traveling a few days, close quarters and stuff. And you could both use a break.”
True, under normal circumstances. “What direction is the park?”
Juana was moving away from the conversation. Before Will could answer, Lee turned to her. “Thank you for your help.”
“No problem.”
“And I apologize for damaging your property.”
Juana blinked, then gave a small smile. “I know you didn’t mean to.”
Intention was irrelevant. The dish was broken. Lee tried not to stare at her. “I … thank you.”
Before the moment could become more awkward for either one of them, Juana gave a quick nod and walked away.
A few minutes later, Lee slipped on her ivory jacket, pocketed her phone, and set out. Will’s directions were easily followed, and soon she strode up the dirt path to enter the public park. Dusk would fall soon. She had to get Marcus back to the church.
She ignored the playground and processed the rest of her options. Will wouldn’t have taken him far from the entrance. Picnic tables sat at random in a small clearing, and she walked from one end to the other, but he wasn’t there. Her chest began to tighten. She texted him. I’m at the park. Where are you?
She sat on a bench and waited. No response.
Anything could have happened to him.
She headed for the nature path. Marcus would have been drawn to the canopy of trees over the wood-chip walkway.
The park must not close at dusk, because this path was already lit on both sides with small globe lanterns, hanging by chains from three-foot shepherd’s hooks. Should she call out? Lee fast-walked, peering ahead.
A wheelchair stood in the grass, several feet to the left of the path. Empty.
Lee ran.
His voice reached her as she neared. “And for the Bible. I didn’t think Violet would still have it. And for the food tonight. There was so much.”
Where was he?
There. Lee froze.
Marcus lay a few feet from the wheelchair, his right arm under his ribs, his face toward the ground, his left arm keeping him raised mere inches above the grass. His good knee bent slightly. His other knee held none of his weight.
“And for the water. And the ice cubes. And the beds. And the blankets. And for the windows in the church. For the light. God—” His voice broke. “Oh, God, all the light everywhere.”
A quake began in Lee’s feet, spread up her legs.
“I—I think that’s everything from today, Jesus.” Marcus coughed, and his arm tightened against his side. “Thank You for it.”
She marched off the path, and her feet made barely a swish in the trimmed grass. He gave no sign of hearing her. Lee stopped a few feet away, relaxed her shoulders and clenched her hands.
“Get up,” she said.
Marcus jolted, pushed up on his good knee. “Lee.”
“The ground is cooling. You’ll become chilled.” Her voice sounded digital and dead.
He leveraged up from the ground and knelt with all his weight on one knee. “I’m staying here.”
“You completed your list of gratitude. You’re ill. You need to come with me.”
“No.”
“Fine.”
She wasn’t going back to the church. She would take the last of their money, walk to a hotel, and go to bed. He could shiver out here all night in his devotion to God, and in the morning he would shiver with fever, and Violet and Heath and everyone else would pray for God’s will, and when Marcus was dead in the ground they would speak of heaven and God’s will. She walked back to the path and followed it out of the trees. A cricket’s chirp silenced to her right as she passed it.
She reached the edge of the path and stopped. Behind her, many yards distant, a slow crunching of wood chips came not from footsteps but rolling wheels. The sound stopped often, then restarted.
She turned back and met him past midway. He panted, arms and body straining.
“Have you thanked God for the wheelchair?”
Marcus stared up at her, the
waning light throwing a shadow over half his face. “What?”
“For the phlegm that clogged your lungs and the pain every time you had to cough it up? For the boot that kicked your ribs until they broke? After all, how could you comprehend being rescued from Mayweather unless he first beat you nearly to death?”
A muscle jumped in his jaw. “Don’t do this.”
“I’m only calling on you to be consistent. Bow your face to the ground and thank God for the Holocaust, Marcus. Thank God for every time a child has been molested. Thank God that I was attacked and raped in a parking garage.”
He closed his eyes. “Lee.”
Deep in her chest, something pricked. But if she tried to find it, identify it, control would be lost. “Do you want to pace while you try to form a response? Stand up and pace. If God isn’t cruel, He won’t let your knee give out.”
Marcus gripped the arms of the wheelchair and leaned forward. “Stop.”
Heat poured through her body. She felt nothing, because logic had regained the upper hand. Marcus wouldn’t be able to refute her words.
“This isn’t about me,” Marcus said.
“Clearly, it is.”
“This is you. And God. Just like always.” His eyes burned into her, steady, unflinching.
“No. We’re discussing your determination to thank a God that left you to be—”
“He did not leave me.” Marcus pushed halfway out of the chair, both feet on the path.
“You were—”
“No. You listen to me.”
His gaze held hers, and the prick became a pang. The heat, the words, sputtered in her chest.
“God was there. Every minute. With me.”
“And prevented nothing.”
Marcus slammed a fist against the arm of the chair. “No. Hate God on your own. Spit in His face every day for the rest of your life. But don’t you use me for your new excuse.”
Use him? Her pulse throbbed. “I know you. And I know God should have spared you.”
“You don’t know anything about it. Anything. You weren’t there.”
He pushed the rest of the way to his feet. He swayed, then steadied. He stared down at her from his full height, the first time he’d stood over her since … before. His shoulders hunched, the shirt hung on his frame, yet his physical presence wasn’t diminished.
Take and Give Page 26
