The Victim

by Jonas Saul

  But that was petty. It couldn’t be that simple. Something else had to be at play here, and Vivian wasn’t offering more. The end of her note said that Vivian was being blocked. There were rules on the Other Side. She wasn’t all-seeing. Her abilities to help were with Sarah and Sarah alone. She could guide her and try to keep her out of harm’s way, but in the end, things could still go wrong, like when she was kidnapped four years ago.

  “Okay, so now what?” Sarah asked out loud.

  Her sister remained silent.

  Sarah couldn’t stay in the hotel room. She had to be on the move or hide out somewhere until further instructions. Every police officer on the continent would be after her now that she had walked away from Waller’s pickup. She left him there unconscious after stealing his gun. The Rapturites were hunting her and had some kind of celestial help, although none of that made sense to Sarah. Could entities work through someone on this plane to do evil?

  She answered her own question. There were malevolent spirits that cause violent hauntings and poltergeists. Maybe Simon’s connection, Matthew, was angry at Sarah for something.

  She yanked the phone book out of the TV stand drawer and flipped through the yellow pages to martial arts. It was just after ten in the evening. She would walk the streets of Toronto for the night, watching her back, not staying in one place too long, not allowing Simon to catch up to her.

  In that time she would work her way to a Shotokan dojo. After what she witnessed Waller do to that cop earlier tonight, she needed to learn a couple of quick specialty moves to keep those needle-carrying, white-powdered Rapturites away from her.

  There was a Shotokan dojo six blocks from her on Jarvis Street.

  She collected herself, checked her hair, rinsed her mouth out to get rid of the taste of bile, and left the room, the cell phone in her back pocket and Waller’s gun tucked safely in her waistband.

  The next time the Rapturites got as close as they did tonight, she would empty Waller’s weapon into them.

  With her resolve back, Sarah walked through the lobby, grabbed a handful of the candies out of the bowl on the counter and hit the street running.

  Chapter 15

  Simon and Philip had followed Sarah as far as they could along the alley, but when they came out onto Yonge Street, Simon saw Detective Waller getting out of the front seat with the help of two strangers.

  Waller looked around, searching for something. Probably Sarah.

  Their eyes locked.

  Brother Philip nudged Simon’s arm. “Where did she go?” he asked.

  Simon nodded toward Waller who hadn’t stopped staring, his eyes growing wider.

  “You!” Waller screamed, pointing now.

  Simon backed away. Philip followed suit.

  “You did this,” Waller shouted. He struggled against the men supporting his weight.

  Simon was close enough to hear Waller telling the men to let him go. He was a police officer and he needed to arrest someone.

  Simon touched Philip’s arm. “I think we need to leave. Matthew will come again. We will get Sarah Roberts another time.”

  Philip nodded, showing his agitation.

  Together they walked briskly back up the alley, out the other side and headed east down Bloor Street away from the accident where a large crowd had collected. Paramedics had already covered the bodies of their brothers.

  Simon whispered a prayer for Andrew and James. Philip seconded Simon’s amen a moment later.

  “We lost a lot of our friends today,” Philip said, near tears.

  “We didn’t lose them,” Simon said. “All that has happened is God has taken them as he will take us soon enough. They were good men who have been Raptured.” Philip slowed his pace. Simon turned to him. “Are you okay, brother?”

  “What if we’re wrong? What if you’ve been lucky at guessing things, or maybe you actually do have some kind of power to foretell the future.” He kicked at a stone by his foot. “It’s just, they were my friends. If what we’re doing is right and just, why are they being killed and not Sarah?”

  “Brother James was weak,” Simon said. “Everyone could tell. At the apartment this afternoon, you saw his demeanor. Everyone did.”

  “He had questions, that’s all.”

  “What kind of questions?”

  They started walking again.

  “Like what happened to your parents?”

  “Brother Philip, do you really want to know my family history?”

  Philip turned sideways. “Actually, yes. If I’m going to agree to kill people for God, then maybe I deserve a little family story. Humor me while we walk.”

  Simon raised his forefinger. “Rapture, not kill.”

  Philip nodded.

  “Okay. I’ll tell you a condensed family story. But first we have to find a place to take our makeup and toupees off. Deal?”

  A police car headed their way. Simon suggested they spit into their hands and try to remove as much of the paste as possible and take off their overcoats. They tossed them in the nearest bush as the cruiser drove by, headed in the direction of the accident.

  “Let’s get out of this area. Waller made us. He might have called it in. They could cordon off this entire area any minute.”

  They picked up their pace. Within ten minutes, they were crossing the Bloor Street Bridge over the Don Valley Parkway.

  They found a little bistro on the Danforth, near Pape Street. They rid themselves of their cosmetics and sat in the back of the bistro. After ordering bread and red wine, Simon started talking.

  “My parents were weak in some areas but strong in others. They were deadbeats, really.”

  “Yeah, but what happened to them?”

  “Matthew and I killed them after they killed Matthew.”

  Philip shook his head, confused. “What?”

  “They claimed it was an accident, but Matthew wouldn’t stop crying. It was many years ago. My father smothered him. For years, I feared he would kill me too, thought it was because we were so ugly, but he never came after me.”

  “What did the police say?”

  “They were never involved. It was ruled sudden infant death syndrome.”

  “It was that long ago?”

  Simon nodded. “And Matthew has been talking to me ever since.”

  The waitress approached with two glasses of red wine and a basket of bread.

  “Will there be anything else?” she asked.

  “We’re fine, thank you.”

  When she was out of earshot, Philip asked, “How do you know what Matthew tells you is true? I mean, that’s the kind of question Brother James asked before he was killed.”

  “Matthew saved your life, didn’t he? Matthew also taught us what drug would work the best to Rapture our choices quickly and painlessly. He even told me where I could get all that we needed to complete our tasks.”

  “I don’t know.” Philip looked down at his glass, shaking his head slowly.

  Simon sipped his wine. “What don’t you know, Brother Philip?”

  “Everything we’ve been taught since day one is thou shalt not kill and yet that’s what we’re doing. Something doesn’t feel right.”

  “Am I losing my number one man? Are you having issues with your faith? Do you feel your timing is right to be questioning God and all that he has given you?”

  “No, no, it’s not like that,” Philip said, raising his head.

  “Then what is it?” Simon asked as he ripped a piece of bread off and put it in his mouth.

  “I’m only talking out loud. If we were meant to Rapture Sarah Roberts, then why is it so hard? Why can’t His will be done?”

  “You remember what Sarah is?”

  “Yes, an Automatic Writer.”

  “Right. What does that mean?”

  “Someone talks through her. They’ve been working together to save people, help people. She’s one of the good ones.”

  “Right again. That’s why she’s been chosen for Rapture.
She’s one of the good ones. If Sarah Roberts was evil, we would abandon this mission and hunt others. This is about sending the good ones home. It always has been.” He sipped his wine. “Since we started the Rapturites, who has gone home because of us? Police officers and three of our own. All those people fall into the category of good men. All we’ve done in the eyes of the Lord are good deeds.”

  Philip nodded. He hadn’t touched his wine.

  “Drink up,” Simon said.

  Philip took his first sip.

  “Brother Philip, if what we are doing is wrong, think about it, would Matthew be allowed to talk through me? Would he be allowed to tell me where Sarah would be? If what we are doing is wrong, then that would be murder and would fall under the Ten Commandments. But it isn’t. We’re on a mission sanctioned by God himself, otherwise we wouldn’t hear from Matthew at all and you would be dead from the plane crash.”

  Philip sipped his wine. Simon moved the basket of bread closer to him.

  “It’s something like cryptophasia turned up in volume.”

  “What’s cryptophasia?” Philip asked.

  “It’s a special language twins are known to create which only they can decipher. We can even walk and move in unison—something our parents don’t have.”

  “Wow.”

  The waitress turned up the volume on the TV and said something to her coworker about how upset she was with what happened at the mall earlier.

  On the screen, CP24 posted the faces of Simon, Philip, Andrew, Thomas and James, one by one. The images had been picked up on mall security cameras. They had the identity of one male deceased but weren’t releasing it until next of kin were notified. Another was injured and couldn’t talk yet. The news reported that the deceased man had syringes on him with a substance that appears to have killed all the deceased at the Allandale Centre.

  Simon knew, even with his toupee off, the distinctive features of ectodermal dysplasia made him highly recognizable.

  “Let’s finish these and get out of sight. We can’t afford to be held by the police. If something like that happens, we’ll miss our opportunity to Rapture Sarah.”

  Philip nodded and grabbed his glass of wine. Simon could tell he wasn’t completely on board, but he wouldn’t waste any more time trying to convince him. They would only need one or two more days before they’d get another chance to grab Sarah, and then Simon would send Philip on his way to the great pie in the sky.

  After it was all done, Simon Peter would come out looking like a hero for stopping Philip’s crazy escapades. Simon would explain how Philip had brainwashed them. He had coerced them to participate in his scheme of Rapturing people. To prove his goodness, he would take over where Sarah had left off. Matthew would give him details to help someone and after he saved a life or two, the media would be all over him. One day they may even do an exposé on him.

  Except he wouldn’t shun them like Sarah Roberts had. He would welcome them and explain how it all works. Eventually he would be hired by the government or someone rich and Simon would never want for anything in his entire life again. Looking the way he did made it even better, adding to the eccentricity of it all.

  He sipped the last of his wine thinking about how he would enjoy killing Philip.

  Doubting Philip, I’m going to make you hurt bad. Real bad.

  Chapter 16

  Sarah slowed her pace near the dojo. The lights were still on. A brochure taped to the window advertised late-night classes on weekends.

  Inside, a dozen people wearing white karate uniforms milled around, sorting through gym bags and talking.

  It wasn’t long before most of the attendants began to file out. She couldn’t believe how perfect her timing was. She had wondered if it would be days before the dojo opened, but here she was, and the instructors were here too. She could talk to them, express how serious things were for her and see if they would be interested in staying a little longer tonight to teach her a few of the basics.

  After being kidnapped by Gert five years ago when her dark visions started, Sarah had wanted some kind of basic training to help survive a life of performing Vivian’s bidding. She had joined the local gun club and learned how to shoot like a professional. Vivian had remained quiet during that time, only talking to her intermittently, giving her small tasks to deal with.

  Caleb, her father, had known an ex-boxer who agreed to teach Sarah proper punching and how to block. Street fighting was what she wanted to learn. Survival moves for the street. But the boxer friend had limited skills in that arena.

  She had tried Tae Kwon Do but didn’t last. They focused on kicking and Sarah was better with her hands. There was something about sticking her foot in someone’s face that didn’t appeal as much as jamming a fist upside their jaw.

  Most of her skills were learned and then adapted to the street. When things got tense, she relied on guts and a knowledge that she wouldn’t be in the mess she was in if it wasn’t for Vivian. Her sister wouldn’t send her into something that would see her maimed or worse.

  It was this sense of security that got her in trouble sometimes, although she couldn’t shake it. The nerve to stand up to people, against the odds, seemed to be off-putting to most, especially because she was a young girl who weighed one-hundred-thirty pounds. Her stomach was flat and hard. The extra weight she carried was muscle from training at the gym when she was home.

  She missed home. She hadn’t been there in several months. The last time she’d seen her parents was when they gave her a bunch of money and sent her to Europe in search of Armond Stuart. After he was killed in Hungary, she flew back to Toronto to help Drake Bellamy, which she did. But now he was dead. Her captors, Hank and Rod were gone. All her old enemies were dead. Just when she thought her life could go back to normal, the Rapturites had shown up.

  “Who the hell are the Rapturites anyway?” she mumbled to herself.

  The night air cooled. She shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself. The last of the students closed the door. Inside, four men stood in a circle, talking like friends. They all appeared to be instructors.

  She needed them to teach her a few tricks. If the Rapturites got close enough to touch her, she would die. Black belts probably had this kind of talent, but whatever knowledge they could impart to her within a few hours of training might save her life.

  She stepped inside, taking one last look to make sure the white-powdered men weren’t following her. She quietly locked the deadbolt.

  The four men stopped talking and stared at her.

  “What? Have I got something on my face?” Sarah asked.

  No one answered.

  She looked over her shoulder and wondered if they saw her lock the door. She was the visitor, here, not the owner. But she had to take precautions. They would understand once she told them some of what was happening.

  Floor mats covered the first half of the gym. Mirrors lined one wall. Along another, bins were filled with equipment like skipping ropes, earth balls and yoga mats.

  What kind of martial art is Shotokan?

  After what she saw Waller do tonight, she was sure this was what she needed a dose of, but the foursome staring at her weren’t making her feel welcomed.

  “How can we help you?” the oldest one asked.

  He was cute, but he looked weathered, like he’d been through something traumatic. He took an extra step to balance himself. The other three fanned out a couple of feet. All four waited to hear what she had to say. It seemed funny to Sarah that it was the smallest one who came across as the most aggressive. He cracked his knuckles and bent his neck sideways until it cracked, as if he was preparing for a fight.

  “I need your help,” she said.

  “What kind of help?”

  “This may seem strange, but I need a crash course in hand-to-hand combat. Is there anything you can teach me that would enable me to keep someone’s hands off me?”

  “Are you in a situation where someone’s hands are on you against your w
ill?”

  She realized how that sounded. “No, nothing like that. I just don’t want to be touched. Well, what I mean is …”

  “We have programs, classes you could join—”

  “No, I can’t.”