The Faithful (31 page)

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

We left Chicago near dawn. Josh looked like he hadn’t gotten much sleep, and he was sullenly guzzling an enormous coffee. In the backseat, Sumner entertained me with stories and jokes. I found myself laughing far more than I should have, given the circumstances. At the first gas stop, I climbed into the front seat next to Josh.

“Are you all right?” I asked quietly, in deference to his mom who had just climbed into the backseat, but was already snoring. He hadn’t said more than three words all morning.

“I’m fine,” he said curtly, turning over the engine.

“Sumner’s not back yet,” I said when he put the car in gear.

“I know!”

His mom stirred.

“Shh. What’s the matter with you?”

He rubbed both hands vigorously over his face. “Sorry, I’m just tired.”

“Josh.” I put a gentle hand on his arm, but he jumped so I pulled it back. “I could drive for a bit.”

He looked at me with that stubborn expression I’d grown to know so well, and then his face softened. “Are you doing okay?”

I shrugged, taken aback by his gentleness. One minute he was as hard as a stone, the next he was as soft as a marshmallow. “I woke up without a headache this morning, so that’s good. But it’s a lot to take in, you know?”

“I’m sure Sumner’s a big help with that. I mean, since he’s been going through similar stuff.”

“I guess that’s true. He’s very funny.”

He nodded and turned away from me, his jaw tightening.

“Am I missing something?”

“Nope,” he said as Sumner opened the rear door and climbed into the Suburban.

“Check this out!” He tossed a bag over my shoulder. “They have the best snacks at this place!”

“Homegirls Potato Chips?” I asked, laughing.

“Those are for you,
homegirl
,” Sumner said. “Don’t worry Josh, I found something for you, too.”

“Ding Dong Mixed Nuts? Thanks.”

“And check this out.” Sumner yanked off his shirt—causing Josh to turn a watchful eye to the rearview mirror—and pulled on a new one. He puffed out his chest, showing off a picture of a corn dog.

“What would the corn dog do?” I read.

He looked at me sternly. “It’s a valid question. Next time we’re facing some
I Fidele
crazies, ask yourself what the corn dog would do. I guarantee a corn dog will never steer you wrong.”

“Okay, I will,” I said, giggling.

“You know what?” Josh said suddenly. “I can’t drive anymore. Ryanne, will you take over for a few hours?”

“Of course!” I said, startled.

“Why don’t you grab some shut-eye,” Sumner suggested. “I’ll keep her company in the front.”

“That would be great,” Josh said, although his tone was odd. He jumped out of the driver’s seat and climbed in beside his mother.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be careful,” I told him.

“Wake me up if you see anything that doesn’t look right. Move over to the right before an exit every once in a while, and watch for cars that do the same behind you. Keep your eyes on your rear and wing mirrors at all times.”

“Okay, boss. I’ve got it. Get some rest.”

“Ryanne . . .”

“What?”

“I’m always here.”

I glanced at him in the rearview mirror. His eyes were serious and somehow sad. “Don’t worry. I’ll wake you up if I see anything unusual.”

“Good.” He closed his eyes.

We made it to Elkhorn by late morning, but had to wait a couple of hours for Phil Lagrudo to return home. By the time we saw him pulling into the driveway, both Josh and Sumner were so antsy they were bickering back and forth like a couple of four-year-olds.

Josh was obviously concerned about the former sheriff’s safety, even wondering aloud if he’d had a visit similar to poor Kahina’s.

Sumner was growing increasingly agitated for different reasons. “It’s Ora. She’s in serious trouble. We need to get there pronto.”

“I’m doing the best I can,” Josh grumbled.

“Can’t we just take Annie Oakley with us?” Sumner asked.

“That’s my mother you’re talking about. And no, we can’t. I’m not going to put her in danger.”

“I don’t see why not. Any lamps we come across should be terrified just at the sight of her.”

“You’re not half as funny as you think you are, young man,” Mrs. Metcalf chimed in.

“Well, at least she thinks I’m young.”

The former sheriff had clearly spotted the Suburban parked across from his house as soon as he turned onto the street. His Chevy Impala slowed to a crawl. Josh quickly got out of the car and waved at him, smiling.

They went through the usual male greetings as the rest of us climbed out of the car. He gave me a kiss on the cheek. He shook hands with Sumner, his eyebrows rising in surprise when he heard Sumner’s name. Josh gave his head a slight shake and the sheriff picked up on it, turning to give Mrs. Metcalf a warm welcome.

“It’s so nice to see you, Anna. You don’t look a day older than the last time I saw you. The East Coast air must agree with you.” He tucked her arm through his and led her to the house.

She fluffed her hair with the other hand. “Stop it, you old flirt!” she cooed.

Josh rolled his eyes and followed behind them. Sumner and I took up the rear.

The former sheriff seemed amenable to taking in a houseguest. “Of course! Anna can stay as long as needed. I have a spare room with its own bathroom; she’ll be quite comfortable.”

He pulled Josh aside. “What’s going on, Metcalf? Do you need help? These old bones maybe don’t work quite as well as they used to, but I’m still more capable than most young bucks.”

Josh seemed to seriously consider the offer before shaking his head. “I probably could use your help, boss. But I also need to keep my mom safe. I’m sorry to stick you with a babysitting job; please be honest if it’s too much trouble.”

“It’s no trouble at all.”

“How have things been around here? Anything of concern?” Josh asked.

“Just one incident of note, but all has been quiet ever since.”

“What happened?”

I noticed Sumner was creeping a bit closer, listening in on their conversation.

“A couple of young guns were shot dead in their car a few blocks away. Strangers to the area, and it has some local folks scared that gangs are moving in. But I’m not so sure.”

“Why is that?”

“Sheriff Bothwell’s been keeping me in the loop. They were shot with a 9mm, which isn’t the weapon of choice for the gangs around here. Also, whoever shot them did a piss-poor job of it, seriously sloppy work. Gang hits tend to be a lot cleaner.”

Josh looked up at Sumner, his eyes tight. Sumner, for his part, was stifling a grin. “Is that so?”

“That’s not the strangest thing. The two victims are still sitting in the morgue. Can’t identify them and no one is stepping up to claim them. No ID and nothing came back from CODIS. It’s like they came out of nowhere.”

“Really. And the vehicle?”

“Bought with fake papers. Good ones, but fake nonetheless. I was thinking maybe it had something to do with your case.” The former sheriff was watching Josh carefully.

Josh shrugged. “It might at that.” The two men seemed to have a silent conversation, at the end of which the sheriff nodded. What he was in agreement about, I couldn’t tell.

“Excuse me, Phil?” Mrs. Metcalf chimed in. “Could you point me to the ladies’ room?”

“Of course!” Lagrudo took her arm and led her toward the back of the house, leaving both Josh and me staring at Sumner, who was grinning like the cat that ate the canary.

“I guess I owe you a thank-you for saving the sheriff’s life,” Josh finally said.

Sumner shrugged, smiling. “That’s just how I roll. Now how about you, me, and homegirl over here hit the road?”

Mrs. Metcalf pulled me aside just before we left, much to Josh’s obvious dismay.

“It’s just girl talk—none of your business, Joshua!” She shooed him away when he tried to intervene. He left, his cheeks burning as he climbed into the driver’s seat of the Suburban.

“What is it, Mrs. Metcalf?” I asked.

She turned to me, looking up into my face with sharp speculation. “You take care of yourself, dear, and that baby.”

“I’m not preg—”

“Never mind that now. Whether you’re pregnant now or you’ve already birthed your babe, a mother is a mother and one mother knows another. Do you get my meaning?”

“I . . . guess so.”

“The time will come when you need to make a choice as to the baby’s father. Make the right choice, dear. Funny doesn’t put food on the table, or keep you and yours safe through the night. You get me?”

“Mrs. Metcalf, I really don’t think—”

“Choose the man who loves you so much, he would die to protect you.”

“I don’t know what—”

“Yes you do, dear. In your heart, you do. Now, be a good girl. Protect that baby.” She gave me a soft kiss on the cheek and turned away. Lagrudo helped her over the lip of the front door and waved solemnly before closing it behind him. I was surprised to feel my eyes stinging with tears.

“Finally!” Sumner said as I opened the door. “Did she give you any tips on how to kill an armchair from fifty paces?”

I climbed into the passenger seat beside Josh and glanced sideways at him, but he wouldn’t look at me. His jaw was set, his eyes focused on the road as he pulled away from the curb.

“I think
you
could use those lessons,” I joked. “It was just girl stuff. Nothing important.”

Josh’s right hand was resting on the gearshift. I placed a tentative hand on his forearm. I could feel the muscles underneath my hand jumping with tension, but rather than pull back I gave his arm a gentle squeeze.

He glanced at me shyly. His blue eyes were full of unease, but whatever he saw in my eyes made him smile.

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

The ropes were cutting into Ora’s wrists and ankles something fierce. They were rough cordage, used for binding broken tools or tying down tarps and horse blankets.

Which would it be? she wondered. Death by hanging or death by fire?

Sumner was on his way.

She could feel him closing in, but doubted he would arrive in time to save her. And Phoenix? Where was he? She simply couldn’t reach him at all, or Ashlyn. She didn’t even try to reach Lexy; she was afraid of what she might find.

And where was her father? Would he really allow his daughter to be executed?

But she’d forced him to choose between her and the Doctrine. He lived for it, and he killed for it. She’d always known that, so it was time to put on her big-girl panties and face the truth. And the truth was he didn’t love her enough to save her. Or he loved
I Fidele
more.

Either way, she would lose.

She closed her eyes, wishing they would just get on with it. The waiting was killing her nerves. At first she thought they were waiting for dusk, but the hours passed and some endless time later twilight gave way to dark.

The moon rose in the sky outside her window, and she watched it with avid concentration. It was full and robust, a late-autumn moon. Soon the stars joined it, cold and hard.

And she understood. They were waiting for midnight. For the witching hour.

Eventually she heard them gathering in the side yard. Her family. There was the shuffle of feet and stifled giggles, quickly hushed by the older children. She sensed their excitement and their nervousness. Something big was happening. Something new. They had been pulled from their cozy beds and asked to take part in a sacred ritual. To perform a duty.

They’ve been asked to gather rocks.

This little tidbit came to her as all golden gems of knowledge did: with quiet certainty. For a moment she was nonplussed, and then the meaning behind it hit her in the stomach. Like a rock.

“Holy shit—they’re going to stone me to death.”

Ora shook her head, mouth opening in a silent wheeze of terror. She hadn’t thought of that one. Mentally she’d been prepared for fire, or for hanging. While neither sounded good, this was somehow way worse.

All those children.

She’d read them stories and kissed their skinned knees and let them crawl into her bed when they couldn’t sleep. They were her family, and it was bad enough that they were going to watch her die. But to have them take part in it?

Her heart kicked up into a panicked gallop. She pulled against the ropes, straining her arms and legs in a desperate attempt to break free, but only succeeded in cutting deeper tracks into her already tender skin.

“I guess your dad made you a good deal after all, Lexy,” she muttered, closing her eyes over a gush of hot tears. They rolled down her cheeks and pooled in the corners of her mouth. Salt and despair.

At that moment, she would have eagerly spread her legs for every Priest on The Ranch. She would have borne a busload of Phoenix’s freak-children, or kissed Father Barnabas’s ass, or blown up the entire world if it would have saved her own pitiful life.

She was embarrassed by her own weakness, and she felt like such an idiot. Her life was done before it had any value.

Ora the Spoiled. Ora the Selfish. Ora the Nothing. She would be forgotten before the first pile of dirt settled over her bones.

Then they were coming for her. The Priests. Wearing their ceremonial white robes. As one, they stood before her. Father Palidor with his dour, bearded face. Father Gabriel with his nervous, soft eyes. Behind them stood Father Cassiel, Father Zaniel, Father Thanos, and Father Manning. And behind them stood Fathers Angelo, Javan, Sachiel, Khoury, Caton, Taurin, and Mandek. Fathers Raynor and Montego stood off to the right and Fathers Tierney and Hagan stood to the left. And at the very back was the newest member of the Priesthood, Father Mannix. He looked away.

Together they formed a phalanx that surrounded two central figures, dressed in the crimson robes of the High Priests: Father Barnabas and Father Narda. Her dad wouldn’t look at her.

“Well, dear!” Father Barnabas said with gritty good cheer. “Are you ready?”

Ora looked at her dad, standing hooded inside his crimson robe. His gaze was on the floor. She looked at Father Gabriel, and he turned away. She looked at Father Palidor. No help from that sour old bastard. Father Thanos had the decency to look ashamed. But he was weak; there was no help there. She allowed her gaze to travel from one Priest to the next, letting it rest on each of them individually. Assessing them. Marking them. Her Priests. Her Fathers. Her teachers.

Finally, she looked at Father Barnabas. She forced herself to meet his eyes. His black, cheery, insanely jovial eyes.

“Fuck you,” she said, and spat on his crimson robe. It was quite a big loogie, and it clung to the front of his otherwise pristine robe in all its slimy glory. She was quite proud of it, actually.

There was a moment of shocked silence, and Ora waited for Father Barnabas to smash her head into the concrete floor. She welcomed it. After all, it would be far better than what he had planned for her.

But instead he laughed. And his laugh was a screech. It burned her skin and froze her blood.

“Come on then, dear!
Let’s get this show on the road,
as they say.”

Father Zaniel untied her. Father Angelo helped her stand, and then she was lifted and carried from the room. They brought her out into the cool autumn night, and the smell of horses and torch fire filled her nostrils. The wind tickled her cheeks with cold kisses.

Just outside the door was a wooden cart, one that was usually pulled by a horse and used to carry loads of hay. There was no horse strapped to it this evening, though. A tall wooden stake had been attached to the center of the cart, and four long chains dangled from it. The chains ended in metal cuffs.

They lifted her onto the cart, pushed her up against the rough wood of the stake, and clipped the metal cuffs around her ankles. They untied her wrists and lifted her arms above her head. The metal bracelets found their cold home around her wrists.

Once she was chained, Father Barnabas climbed up onto the cart and stood before her. He flicked one long fingernail at her blouse and the soft material fell away from her skin, shredding like confetti to be carried away in the wind.

“No,”
she moaned.
“Please . . . no . . .”

Her pants fell away in similar fashion. And then her bra and panties.

Father Palidor handed him a can and brush, and with giant strokes he painted her naked body with red paint. Her skin shrank away from the icy wetness, and she whimpered. The smell of copper assaulted her nostrils, and in horror she realized that it wasn’t paint.

It was blood. Lamb’s blood.