Hold Fast (16 page)

“A mere technicality,” he says with a shrug. “Which will be corrected soon enough.”

“I will
never
be his wife!” With effort, I regain my calm, forcing my face to relax into an expression of serenity. “I’d sooner spend eternity in that hole with Daniel and Joshua than spend a single
moment
as wife to your son.”

“Oh, my dear child.” Emmanuel seems amused by my defiance. “You have a
much
grander destiny than that. You will come to accept your place in The Lord’s Plan. In time.”

I open my mouth to make a hot retort, but Jeremiah has recovered enough to silence me with a hard fist on top of the already black eye my mother had given me at the camp. He’s cocking his fist back for a second blow when his father stops him.

“You should perhaps go easy for now,” Emmanuel tells his son in a deceptively mild voice. “After all, if my dear daughter Courtney is unconscious, she may not absorb the full impact of today’s lesson.”

“Yes, father,” Jeremiah says, with a venomous glare at me.

Emmanuel looks at me, folding his hands as if in prayer. “You should pay attention, my daughter. My brother, your husband – your
late
husband, I should say – violated The Lord’s commands. I did not wish to see him come to this end, but Daniel’s unnatural acts doomed him. As The Lord’s word says: ‘their blood shall be upon their own heads.’”

“You’re a murderer,” I say. My cheeks may be swollen and bruised, wet with involuntary tears, and I feel a trickle of blood again from a re-split lip, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of crying. Never again.

“Hardly, my child. Hardly. Man’s law may say so, but we do not recognize the laws of Man. The Lord has commanded that sodomites be put to death, and the faithful must follow his commands." Emmanuel turns to look at the now-filled pit where his brother is buried, and his face shows regret, maybe even grief, but he hardens again before meeting my eyes. “Those who flout The Lord’s commands must pay for their sins, and those who try to thwart His plans? They must learn obedience to His laws, submission to His will. As your young Mister Pearse learned this afternoon.”

I lunge again, this time at the father instead of the son, but even my adrenaline-fueled strength is fading fast, and my mother is able to easily hold me back.

“
Fuck you!”
I shout at him, and with the last shreds of my defiance, spit at him. It’s more blood than saliva. Focused on my triumph – small, but the most I can manage, right now – I don’t see Jeremiah’s fist until it’s too late to avoid it. My head rocks to the side from the blow, bright lights flashing in my eyes and a strange sour metallic taste in my mouth. I fall back and my head hits something hard. My last thought is a wish for death.

My wish is not granted. I’m still alive. I know because I’m wet, cold and my head hurts. I slowly prop myself up on my elbows and look up. I can’t make sense of my mother’s triumphant expression until she starts speaking, “I understand your frustration, Brother Jeremiah,” she says with her false-patient schoolteacher tone, “but you have to see the good side of this. Her uncleanliness is a blessing in disguise.” The frown on Jeremiah’s face shows he’s also clueless about what she means. “Can’t you see? It means there will be no doubts, the child she will carry will be yours.”

I don’t need to look at my dress to understand. The wetness I feel is of my own body’s making, and I could almost laugh. Emmanuel searches the Bible for all the insanity and hatred he can find, and Leviticus 20:13 may have sentenced his brother to death, but the
eighteenth
verse has given me a reprieve. For once, I agree with my mother. This is a blessing. I’ve never been so happy to see that time of the month. Four days of safety. Maybe five. It’s not much, but it’s all I’ve got. It’s something, at least.

Heather helps me stand and silently walks me to the outhouse and then to the penance box. Was Andrea let out early? No, today was her third day.

Huddled on the dirt floor in the corner of the box, I clean myself up the best I can with some of the pile of rags that Heather threw in here after me. It’s a pitifully small pile, and I’ll have to use them carefully if it’s going to last. I don’t see them giving me fresh ones soon. However, with luck and planning I won’t need more than this: the fresh light of morning will help me gather my thoughts and figure out a way out of here.

I may have lost Sean, but – thanks to him – I now know someone waits for me outside this hell. I was wrong, before: there
is
still one bright spot in all the darkness around me. I do have one thing left in my life, one thing good and pure and clean, one thing that’s not spoiled by the hate and festering evil of this…
cult
.

I will find a way out. I will run and find my father.

* * *

V
oices
. I hear voices.

My face is wet. And that smell. I think a cat pissed on my face.

When did we get a cat?

My head hurts.

Fucking
everything
hurts.

I grit my teeth and open my eyes, breathing only shallowly. I know there’s at least cracked ribs, but I don’t know how badly.

“He’s awake!” My mother’s voice. She’s relieved. “Sean, honey, can you hear me?”

“Yeah. I can hear you just fine. But I’ve got the devil’s own headache. Can you turn down the volume just a bit?” I start to move, try to roll over so I can push to my knees, but my mother stops me.

“No, sir. You lay
right
there.” Nurse-mode now, all brusque and business-like. “You’ve got one hell of a head injury, and I don’t need you moving. There might be some spinal problems.”

“Fine, okay, but can you at least wipe the cat piss off my face?”

“The what?” She’s confused, and I hear a man’s laughter. Bill’s here, too.

“Water and smelling salts, Sean,” he says. “That’s all that is.”

“Oh, good,” I say. “I had a pretty shitty day, and that would have just been the last straw.” It’s a weak attempt at humor. What the fuck happened to me? “Why am I laying on the floor?”

“We were hoping you’d tell us,” Bill says.

“Not now, Bill,” Mom shushes him, and puts a small, but very bright flashlight in face. “You know the drill, boyo. Follow the light.”

Light. A blinding flash of light. Pain in the back of my head. Something hit me in the back of the head. What? Why?

“Yep,” she says. “You’ve got a concussion there. Wiggle your fingers and toes for me.” I comply, and grudgingly my mother gives me permission to sit up slowly.

Bits and pieces are coming back to me. There’s something missing.

“I talked to you this afternoon, Mom. I told you… something, and you weren’t supposed to tell Bill about… whatever it was. But here you both are.”

“I didn’t tell him anything,” she says. “I told him I wanted to get away for a couple days, come up to the camp and lay out on the dock and work on my tan, and he got a couple days off approved at the last minute to come with me.”

“Your mother can be pretty convincing when she tries, Sean,” Bill says. “Now will someone
please
tell me what the
fuck
is going on here?”

I’m almost up and into a chair now, and a wave of dizziness catches me, and nausea with it. My mother gets a trash can in front of my face just in the nick of time to catch the flood of bile.

My shirt. The SEAL Team THREE shirt. It’s laying on the table. Courtney was wearing it earlier.

Where did she go? Wait, when the hell was this? I haven’t seen her in years.

Oh, fuck.

I remember everything.

“Mom,” I say. “You remember I mentioned about security concerns? It’s a good thing you didn’t get here a little earlier.”

“And it’s a
damn
good thing we didn’t get here much later! How long were you out?”

“I dunno. Since maybe a half-hour after we talked. What time is it now?”

“
Christ
, Sean. You were out for six hours, almost seven. You need a hospital. An MRI.”

“No,” I snarl. “What I need is the keys to my truck and some weapons.”

“Not. Happening.” Her voice is flat, definite.

“Will someone
please
tell me what in the name of
hell
is going on here?” Bill is confused, and he’s getting pissed off.

“Bill…” I don’t even know what to say. How to say it. “I’m sorry, man.” Christ. The emptiness. “I found her. And then I lost her again.”

“You found—no, no.” His face lights up. “My daughter? Courtney’s alive? How is she?”

“When I went down for my nap,” I say, “she was alive.” I have to close my eyes and fight down another wave of nausea. “But I don’t think she’s okay. I need to get back there. Get her out. Permanently, this time.”

“You’re not going
anywhere
, mister!” Mom is emphatic. “You need to let the cops handle this one.”

“No, Mom. That’s not going to work.” Shaking my head is pure torture, but I fight through it. What was it they said in boot camp and at BUD/S? Pain is weakness leaving the body. I’m going to be made out of solid titanium after this.

“What about Heather? Did you see her?” Bill asks.

“Yeah. I saw her,” I say. “Bill, she’s lost it. She’s completely around the bend. She had a razor blade to Courtney’s throat, and I truly believe she was willing to do it. To kill her own daughter, to save her from sin.”

Bill’s jaw drops.

I’m unsteady on my feet still, but with help, I make it into the passenger seat of Mom’s car. I give Bill the keys to my Blazer, but he comes back with bad news. My tires are slashed.

“Motherfuckers.” It’s one last bit of insult on top of everything else. “They really didn’t want me following them.”

“I think you need to start from the beginning,” my mother says. “Keep talking, anyway. I don’t want you falling asleep for a while yet. We need to get you looked at.”

“It’s a long story,” I warn them.

“Then you’d best get started,” Bill tells me. “I need to hear it. Everything.”

“We’ve got plenty of time on the ride,” my mom says. “We’ll go straight to Maine Med. Further away, but I can get you straight in there, and I don’t think Waldo County even has a twenty-four-hour emergency room anymore.”

It’s almost a two-hour drive to Portland, and I tell them everything. Well,
almost
everything. My mom is wheeling me in through the automatic doors of the emergency room by the time I finish.

“I can’t hardly believe this, Sean,” she says. “I mean, I believe
you
, but how does a group like this just not get noticed? I mean, how do they stay unknown?”

“It makes sense,” Bill says thoughtfully. “Nobody ever heard of David Koresh until the very end, and then
everyone
heard about how Waco ended. The idiots with their comet and purple Nikes, same thing. Jonestown.”

“Bill, those guys were amateurs,” I say. “This asshole Emmanuel, or whatever his real name is. He’s the real deal. He’s one-hundred-percent pure, USDA grade-A batshit crazy. And he’s got these other fucks locked down tight under his thumb.” I pause while an orderly walks past us in the hallway, continuing only once he’s clear. “That’s how they do it, though. The public image, it’s just harmless eccentricity. They don’t let anyone else see the truth, see what’s on the inside. Whenever that comes out, things always unravel.”

“Once we get finished up in here, Sean,” my mother says, “we’re going straight to the State Police barracks and you’re telling this whole story all over again.”

“No, Mom.” It’s my turn to be firm, now. “That’s exactly what we’re
not
going to do.”

“And why not?” My mother rounds on me, fists balled up on her hips. “Why in God’s name
wouldn’t
you get the police involved?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I say with just a touch of sarcasm. “Calling the cops has always worked
so
well in the past. Ask the poor bastards that got the building burned down around them by the cops in Waco. See how they feel about it. Besides, the first hint of police asking questions? Heather gets off the leash.” I drag a thumb across my throat.

“So what do we do about it?” she asks. Bill and I lock eyes. He reads my intentions clearly, and after a long moment, he nods.

“You probably don’t want to know,” I tell her.

“Oh, God. Sean--”

“Mom. Don’t bother. It’s happening.” I speak calmly, softly, and her face blanches. She opens her mouth to speak, but I raise a hand to stop her. “No.”

“I… I’m going to find the X-ray tech,” she says, blinking rapidly, and flees the small room. I sigh as the door closes behind her, and the deep breath shifts damaged ribs.

“
Fuck
, that hurts,” I say, wincing. “In the grand scheme of things, this is about the least serious thing that’s ever sent me to the body shop, but there’s just something about ribs, y’know?”

“Yeah.” Bill nods sagely. “They don’t break out the good drugs for the minor stuff, and so you feel
all
of it.” He looks at me again, thoughtfully. “So. It’s like that, is it? For you?”

“Sorry, I’m not tracking.”

“You and my daughter.” For the second time today, I’m being weighed and measured. His face is an unreadable mask.

“Oh.” How do I answer this? What the fuck do I say to him? ‘Yeah, I’m in love with your daughter, and oh by the way I’m sorry I fucked this all up and I promise to do better next time?’

“Yeah. I figured as much.” Bill breaks what has become an uncomfortable silence, then leans back in his chair and runs his fingers through his hair. “What a mess. But she
does
want to see me? You’re sure?”

“Yes. Yes,
sir,
” I say. “She’s believed you were dead all these years. She tried to get away from them twice before, and it went… hard on her.” The scarring on her thigh is vivid in my mind, and the memory of the moment of fiery passion when I saw those marks burns even hotter now with the added fuel of rage. “
Very
hard.”

“And she feels the same way? About you? As you do about her?”

“Yes, sir,” I say. “She does.” Bill smiles at this, eyes distant, lost in memory.

“Tell me more,” he says. “Not just what happened, you’ve already gone over that. Tell me about
her
. What’s she like now?”

“She’s warm, and kind. Caring. Brave. And strong. So strong.” I close my eyes, lean my head back against the cool cinderblock wall. “And she’s beautiful,” I whisper. “So very,
very
beautiful.” When I open them again I watch Bill’s own eyes get misty, and he swallows hard.

“We’re going to see her again, Sean.”

“Yes, sir. We will. I just got her back, and I’m not losing her again. Not like this. Not ever.”

“If there’s anything I can do to help? Anything at all,” he says. “I’m probably not much for a ruck march or a firefight anymore, not with the peg leg, but I’ll be there if you need me.” He’s sincere, and there’s a grim purpose on his face that mirrors the one in my own heart. “I want my little girl back, Sean.”

“So do I, sir. More than anything in the world.”

“For what it’s worth, son, you have my blessing. I wish you both joy of each other, and many happy years together.”

“But first, we’ve got some obstacles to get thro-” I cut off sharply as my mother returns with a doctor. “We’ll talk about that later.”

“Sean, Sean,
Sean
. What have you gone and gotten yourself into?” I do a double take at the sound of his voice, and my head protests the sudden movement with waves of agony. I know Portland’s a small place, but seriously- Jimmy Moloney? He’s a doctor now? He’d been two years ahead of me in high school, we’d played football together in the fall, lacrosse in the spring.

“Oh, Jesus,” I groan. “Mom, couldn’t you have found someone around here that didn’t get their M.D. out of a Cracker Jack box?”

“Show some respect, boyo!
Doctor
Moloney is a bright young resident here, and I have absolute faith in his ability to look you over.” Mom gets an impish gleam in her eyes, and continues: “But yeah,
Jimmy
was a little punk.”

“You wound me, Ms. Pear- sorry, Ms.
Dwyer
.” He laughs, and my mom pats him affectionately on the arm. “Still not used to that, yet. Now, let’s have a look at you, buddy.” Jimmy puts the X-rays up on a light box on the wall, and hums tunelessly while studying them, tracing details of the images with the tip of a finger, then consults the notes from the initial intake nurse.

“Somebody worked you over pretty good,” he says, raising his eyebrows and whistling. “And this isn’t the first time, by the look of the films. You’ve got enough metal in you that I don’t dare put you in an MRI.”

“Yeah, it’s been an interesting few years.”

“Looks like it,” he says. “So what happened tonight?”

“Shaving accident,” I lie.

“Right, of course. What were you shaving? A silverback gorilla?”

“Nah, it was your mom,” I say, and Jimmy laughs. “Her beard’s pretty thick, and all that back hair?”

“Well good! That’s less work for the yard guy to handle,” my friend says. “He charges by the square mile, after all.” I laugh, and then instantly groan from the stabbing pain in my chest and the blinding headache.

“Oh,” Mom breaks in, “it hurts to laugh, does it? Good!” She turns on Jimmy, and he holds up his hands placatingly, his face contrite. “Your mother’s an angel, Jimmy Moloney, and you know it!”

“You’re right, Ms. Dwyer. You’re right.” Mom turns away from him in disgust, and Jimmy flips me off over her shoulder. It’s a struggle not to laugh, never mind the pain. I don’t want to piss off Mom.

“Give it to me straight, Doc,” I tell him, and Jimmy shifts back to professional mode.

“Sean, you’ve got two broken ribs, well and truly broken, and six more are cracked. The shape of the bruising, location of the cracks, it looks to me like you must have been standing right in front of the plate at Fenway during batting practice, and someone was swinging for the fences. You’ve got a solid concussion, and if it came from a baseball bat then you’ve got the world’s hardest head, because you somehow managed
not
to get a skull fracture.”

“Oh. Well, if that’s all, then no problem,” I say. “I’ll just be on my way, then.”

Mom rolls her eyes at me.

“Sean, no bullshit here--sorry, Ms. Dwyer--dead serious, Sean, you need to stay off your feet for a bit. The ribs aren’t going to do much but hurt. They’re not going to shift and puncture a lung, or rip the pericardium or aorta or anything, but you’ve got a lot of pain ahead of you during the recovery. Ribs aren’t serious, but your head? That’s a whole different matter.”

“Let’s assume that weeks of bed rest are not an option,” I say. “How long?”

“I want you off your feet for five days, minimum, and I’d really prefer ten,” he tells me, and he’s serious. “Doctor’s orders. No shit, Sean. You were unconscious for a
long
time. Waking up after that and just carrying on with your day? That’s Hollywood shit. It doesn’t happen in the real world. Most people out that long don’t wake up afterwards. Ever.”