The Follower

by Koethi Zan

  His mother was right about some things though. He couldn’t afford to make another mistake. If the department found out he’d stolen the official files and the physical evidence, he’d never be able to go back. Luckily, the case was cold and the department woefully under-staffed. And to be safe, he’d been sure to make friends with the file clerk. He’d spent six months buying that guy drinks at the Mighty Pint’s happy hour. After all that Guinness, he wouldn’t turn him in as long as the situation didn’t blow up too much.

  Adam slid his hand under the papers in the file and took out the photographs, paper-clipped together. He pulled them apart and flipped through them again, staring at each of the three in turn. The crime-scene photos. Three bodies, lying together in a pool of mixed blood, limbs sprawled in different directions.

  He was numb to it now. It might as well have been on television.

  He carefully replaced the paper clip and put the photos back in the file, closed it, and set it on the edge of the desk. He picked up the next one he’d laid out and gingerly placed it on the desk in front of him: ‘Laura Martin-1’. It was thick. His hands always shook a little when he handled this file in particular. This one brought him closest to the truth. This one had provided his first real lead two years ago. It was his Bible, his Rosetta Stone. He lifted it out of the file. The faded pages crackled as he turned them.

  The Rand McNally Deluxe Atlas of the United States.

  CHAPTER 10

  James was back.

  Cora could hardly believe it had happened at last. Thank goodness everything was in order. The house was clean, his usual meal ready just as though she’d known he was coming. Animals fed. Girl calm.

  Cora never left much to chance, though. When he was gone, she had a settled routine to prepare things for him the way he liked. Just in case. Because he expected everything to be ready when he was.

  Just as she had every evening he’d been away, that night she’d set out the best china on the Chantilly lace placemats she’d found in the dining room. She’d taken out the silver from the velvet-lined chest on the sideboard and given it a touch-up polish. On warm nights like this one, she laid everything out on the table in the gazebo out back. The previous owner had left it strung with festive lights that gave the scene a magical air. It always put James in a better mood.

  Despite her relief at being sufficiently prepared, the instant she heard his truck roaring up the drive she’d felt the panic rise in her throat. She would have denied that had anyone asked. She would have smiled right past the question. These were her secret trials and she must bear them. Faith did not always follow the easy path.

  She knew she’d been bad while he was away. She’d sinned against him. How had she ever thought she could keep secrets from James? He’d see the guilt on her face right away, would surely read her mind where she harbored those unclean thoughts.

  Meanwhile, the heart medallion was in her left pocket, a lucky charm she’d been carrying against her better judgment. The rest of the girl’s things were still in her closet. All the evidence of her transgressions he’d ever need.

  Her glance swept the room. It was too late to hide anything now.

  At the sound of his engine revving for the final hill, she ran to the window. Even through the dirty glass of his windshield, his face told her everything. His dark brows were pressed together, his full lips twisted into an angry scowl. He got out of the truck and slammed the door hard behind him.

  Her eyes traveled immediately to his hands. Even in the dim light of dusk she could see it. The right one, sure enough, clutched that old bowie knife. She knew what that meant. He’d had trouble on his trip and she’d be the one to pay for it.

  As expected, he came straight toward her when he walked into the house, banging the door behind him so that the window rattled in its sash. He grabbed her left arm and pulled her whole body to him, putting the knife’s edge up to the flesh of her neck, and running it gently along the skin. Her heart thudded but she knew better than to move.

  ‘Who’s here?’ He yanked her even closer to him as he said it and the blade sank into the flesh of her neck, just shy of penetrating it. She dared not resist him.

  Searching his glassy eyes, she tried to determine if he was in the grip of the Dark Spirits. They sometimes drove him to temptation, leading him to take things, to drink or to ingest those diabolical pills.

  ‘Answer me, damn it. Is there anyone else in this fucking house?’

  He gripped her arm harder. She felt it burn. There’d be a mark there tomorrow.

  Cora trembled, wanting to answer exactly right. The wrong words could increase the Dark Spirits’ hold.

  ‘Just me.’ She swallowed. ‘And the girl upstairs.’

  For a moment, he seemed to be unable to remember just who ‘the girl’ was. Cora knew this was not a good sign. He was in the grip of an evil force and she must be patient.

  He pulled away, his mouth going slack, a vague flash of confusion across his face. He mumbled something under his breath and stumbled backward, reeling slightly. He blinked, perhaps trying to focus, but he didn’t look directly at her. Instead, he pulled at his jeans that were held up by a worn leather belt that Cora had experienced intimately against her skin. She flinched from the memory.

  ‘I’m not asking about the girl. I mean the dark ones, the interlopers. The demon forces that seek to destroy me.’

  ‘No. No one else.’ She stepped back cautiously, taking advantage of the fact that his eyes had begun to swirl around the room. She hoped he might not notice her tentative retreat as she backed toward the door that led to the dining room, thinking about the knives in the top drawer of the sideboard. She would never hurt him, but might need to slow him down if it came to that, if this situation got entirely out of control.

  Her calculations were for nothing. He slid toward her and pulled her close, twisting the knife slowly before her eyes. She couldn’t help but close them.

  ‘Is somebody hiding out up there? They’ve been tracking my spirit across the land. They thought I wouldn’t know but I can feel them.’ His eyes scanned the ceiling. He was still, his head cocked to the side as though that would improve his hearing.

  ‘No, no.’ She shook her head a fraction of an inch. She opened her eyes despite her fear, and kept them fixed on him, her face as far from the knife as she dared.

  ‘Are you in league with them? Don’t think I won’t kill you too. Don’t think I’d spare you.’ He wasn’t looking at her. This wasn’t for her benefit.

  Cora shook her head. The word wouldn’t come out.

  Putting both hands on her shoulders, he pushed her down into a chair. The heart medallion made a tiny thud against the seat through the fabric. She tensed up, waiting for him to notice.

  ‘Swear it,’ he said, holding the knife up to her face again. He stepped back, looking around the room. ‘Wait, wait.’

  He grabbed the Book from on top of the refrigerator and placed it on the center of the table. It was jammed full of loose papers covered in his messy scrawl. The edges were yellowed, some stained and torn. It was a life’s work, the Book.

  ‘Swear it,’ he said through his teeth and then turned in a circle as if expecting to find his enemies surrounding him.

  Cora placed her hand on the Book and swore. Her voice was a whisper at first but he pounded on the table again and again until she was finally screaming it right along with him.

  ‘I swear there is no one else in this house. I swear it.’

  ‘You would never lie to me, would you, Cora? If you lie to me, the penalty is eternal damnation. It is written.’ His fist hit the table.

  ‘No, no.’

  ‘Say it,’ he commanded.

  ‘I would never lie to you.’

  She lifted her hand to stroke his cheek to soothe him, her heart plagued with guilt. She was lying to him about the girl’s things. She should just tell him everything.

  He grabbed her hand and slammed it back on the table.

  ‘Sa
y it again.’ It was not the right moment to confess.

  In a shaking voice she pleaded, ‘James, James, please. I love you. Our souls are as one, just as it has been revealed. I will protect you until death.’

  He studied her, his eyes bulging out of his face, then finally let loose her hand. Her head sank down onto the table as she watched him walk slowly around the kitchen, listening.

  ‘Maybe you weren’t guarding the house the way you should. Anyone could have slipped in here. Maybe that’s what you wanted. Is that what you secretly wanted?’

  Cora said nothing. She knew better. He would make his way slowly through every room of the house until he was satisfied. She trembled, suddenly afraid that she hadn’t been paying attention, that there were intruders hiding out up there waiting to jump him.

  She watched him turn the corner and heard his slow, stealthy steps up the stairs. Now she was the one with her eyes to the ceiling, listening to his footsteps on the floorboards above her head creaking as he crossed their bedroom.

  Panic washed over her. Had she shoved the black garbage bag far enough into the closet? She should have told him while she had the chance, before he found it on his own.

  Then there was a crash from above. The house shook.

  ‘What is this?’ he yelled.

  She jumped up in terror, rushing toward the stairs. He’d found the bag. Now she’d pay for her betrayal.

  She found him sitting on the floor next to the bed, a small braided area rug twisted around his ankle. He’d only tripped.

  She was saved.

  ‘Who put this here?’ he said, holding the tattered cloth up between his fingers, a look of disgust on his face. He’d fallen in an awkward position and for a moment looked weak. She wanted to rush to his aid, but held back, waiting for his signal.

  ‘I did,’ she said, trembling, but knowing the answer was obvious. He just wanted to hear her confession, as usual. ‘That was wrong of me.’

  ‘Have you let a conflicting spirit possess you? One who plots to overthrow my kingdom?’

  He wadded the rug into a ball and threw it at her as hard as he could. It unraveled in the air, landing on the floor between them, which only infuriated him more.

  His face went red and his hands folded slowly and deliberately into tight fists. He stood up with some effort, regained his balance, then shoved her back against the wall with a brute force that surprised her, even after all these years.

  ‘You must be punished for your waywardness.’

  He snatched up the rug with one hand, whipped it into a thin, hard roll, and then slammed it across her chest, over and over. Each fresh hit stung and then throbbed. Cora took it as best she could, whimpering but not loudly enough to provoke him further.

  Finally, he stopped. Sweat poured down his beet-red face. He panted quietly, staring into her eyes.

  She didn’t move, trying not to blink. The pain meant nothing to her anymore, but her body tingled with fear and her muscles twitched slightly as she held them rigid, determined not to move. She watched him, waiting, hoping to keep her face clear of any expression that might set him off again. The Dark Spirits were powerful that day. Their wrath must not be triggered further.

  ‘Now you will know not to stray from the Path,’ he said. His voice had lost its energy though and she felt relief spread out over her.

  ‘As it is written,’ she said, bowing her head.

  He threw the rug down at her feet. She put it back in its proper place by the bureau, and then followed him meekly out of the room. It could have been so much worse.

  They could have dinner now.

  CHAPTER 11

  Cora had been a daydreamer since she was a child. Because of that, they’d thought she was stupid and had always put her in the remedial classes. After a while, she’d gone along with it. What difference did it make? She couldn’t get a diploma anyway because her name changed with each move and her records mysteriously never transferred from one school to the next.

  Now it was worse, though, because her mind was not clean. She couldn’t concentrate. It was that girl – that girl stirred everything up. For years, she’d managed to keep her sinful memories at bay, but in these last few days she couldn’t purge the thought of the months they’d spent in Minnesota. The year she turned fourteen. The worst of her life.

  It was the first time she’d had something like friends her own age. She’d realized only too late how they’d taken advantage of her. She hadn’t known anything about real life back then. Johnny Mavis, Reed Lassiter, Joy Marcione. They’d manipulated her. Tricked her.

  The first day of school she stood in front of the crowded classroom.

  ‘I’d like you all to welcome Laura Martin,’ Ms. Thompson said. Cora winced slightly upon hearing the name her father had picked that time. It took her a few weeks to get used to each new one.

  Most of the students didn’t look up from their notebooks, so Cora felt enormous relief when a girl in the far back corner with long curly dark hair, dyed with streaks of pink, blue and green, fluttered her fingerless-gloved hand at her and winked. There was an empty desk and she leaned her head toward it. Cora’s heart flooded with gratitude as she made her way over.

  ‘Where’d you come from, Laura?’ The girl scooted her desk closer to Cora’s.

  ‘Around,’ Cora said. She knew better than to give too many details. ‘We move a lot.’

  The boy next to her, with coppery hair, a tiny silver nose ring, and a tattered leather jacket, put out his hand.

  ‘Reed.’ She took it. Shook his hand. Sealed her fate.

  Three weeks later the four of them, Joy, Reed, Cora and their friend Johnny, who had left school the previous year, sat on a beat-up couch in the basement of a run-down building on the edge of town. This dingy apartment belonged to Joy’s father. He’d tried to rent it out but it had stayed vacant now for years. The rats had taken it over, and so had the kids.

  Smoke filled the air and an old Sonic Youth album blasted on the stereo as Johnny lit the joint Cora held. She took a long, slow hit, just the way they’d shown her, and then passed it along to Joy.

  She’d never felt better, never felt that she’d belonged anywhere like this. She hoped it would last. That her father would let them stay put here, if only for a little while. A few months. Maybe even a full semester of school.

  She glanced over at Reed, who was staring at her, a tiny half-smile on his face. He made her nervous.

  ‘What?’ She tucked her knees up under her chin, eyeing him watchfully.

  ‘Nothing. Just thinking.’ He leaned over, grabbed her toe and pinched it harder than was strictly necessary. She swallowed her cry, pulled it back, and tucked her foot under her uncertainly.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘The Shakers.’

  ‘Here we go again,’ Joy said, rolling her eyes.

  ‘I mean,’ Reed leaned in, whispering ominously, ‘Laura, what do you really know about the Shakers?’

  She laughed, unsure of herself. ‘I’m going to have to go with “nothing”.’

  He was always coming up with these wild ideas.

  ‘Surely you know something. Come on.’ He looked serious now.

  ‘Um, they make furniture?’ She paused. ‘They don’t use electricity?’

  ‘Yes to the first, no to the second. Failing grade, Laura. But what about the important stuff? I’m talking Mother. Ann. Lee. One bad-ass bitch.’

  ‘Never heard of her,’ Cora said, smiling up at him. ‘This was like, I don’t know, two, three hundred years ago. This girl had one major fear. No, not the devil. Don’t say the devil. I know that’s what you were thinking. I can read your mind.’ He leaned over and put the fingertips of both hands on either side of her head, pushed in hard, and then let go.

  ‘No, sex, Laura, sex. She was, like, totally phobic. Then lo and behold, her dad was like, yo, you’re going to marry this dude. Probably some creepy old bastard friend of his. Then she had four kids. Boom, boom, boom, boom.’ He punch
ed the air each time. ‘One right after the other.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Cora hung on his every word. He was like a snake charmer.

  ‘Well, they all died. Every one of them died as babies. So what did that crazy bitch think? Did she think, hey, antibiotics haven’t been invented yet, so child mortality is, like, really high? No. No, Laura, she did not think that.’

  ‘Can’t imagine what then,’ Cora said, trying to mimic his playful tone.

  ‘You are so fucking sick, Reed,’ Joy said without looking up from the Us Weekly she was flipping through.

  ‘No,’ he went on, ‘she thought it was punishment for having sex. Kind of fucked-up logic, now isn’t it?’

  ‘Nuts,’ agreed Cora obediently.

  ‘Anyway, that just makes the bitch crazier. She gets all wild with that religious shit and claims to be the Second Coming of Jesus Fucking Christ.’

  He paused for effect.

  ‘How do you like that for cojones? Downside, they threw her ass into an insane asylum. That worked out for her in the end though, because in there she had these, like, intense fucking visions. Like, better than acid. And guess what they told her?’

  ‘No idea. What did they say?’

  ‘That the only way to be rid of sin is to avoid sex. Like completely. Those Shakers, man.’ He paused, watching Johnny pass the joint to Joy.

  Then he leaned toward her conspiratorially, whispering, ‘You know why they’re called Shakers?’

  Cora shook her head, wondering if he was putting the whole thing on, waiting for the punchline.

  ‘Because they would shake when they were praying, like dancing but shaking, you know, shaking the sin out of them.’ He bounced up and down, his arms and hands flailing, his head bobbing from side to side.

  ‘Well, that’s a lot more interesting than I might have guessed,’ Cora said hesitantly, not sure what he was getting at or why he was telling them all this.

  ‘Yeah, wild, man. Not many Shakers left, obviously.’ He grinned. ‘There’s something to it, though. Something to her vision, don’t you think? That all sex is sin?’