The Prophet (Ryan Archer #2) (6 page)

Alexander stood with his hands in his pockets, facing her from a few paces away, his back to the door. It was an outside door. It opened to one of the courtyards.
 

“What are you feeling inside, Tatum?” he asked.

She wanted to lie and say she felt brave, but the thought of lying to Alexander made her feel even worse.

“A little scared, I guess,” she said.

His eyes twinkled. “Of course,” he said. “That’s only natural. Just try to remember all we’ve learned together. Remember, the fear is all in your mind. It isn’t real. Fear isn’t of God. It comes only from Satan. Satan wants you to continue to live in fear and darkness. God is inviting you to step into the light. You can do this, Tatum.”

His smile made her feel braver, but still not brave enough.
 

“Whenever you are ready,” he said. He waited patiently.

Tatum didn’t want to disappoint him, but she was afraid she might. She didn’t feel the strength to do what he was asking her to do. Her belly twisted with anxiety. There was a throbbing in her head, the kind of pounding ache she always felt at the thought of bright sunlight shining down onto her skin. Beyond the door behind Alexander was the outside world, a world filled with sunlight, and he had asked her to be a brave girl and step out into it with him. He had taught her many things over the past few days, and he was convinced she was ready for this first step. Tatum wasn’t so sure. A massive wave of anxiety swept over her.

“I can’t,” she said, and immediately regretted the words.

“You can,” he countered, and again the sparkle in his eyes offered her courage. “One step at a time.”

Tatum swallowed, her throat suddenly as dry as sandpaper. She unzipped the hooded sweatshirt, overcome with the familiar impulse to cover her head with the protective hood. She shrugged the sweatshirt off her shoulders and let it drop to the floor. Beneath she wore a plain pale blue T-shirt, her arms bare and exposed. She could feel sweat gathering under her arms and at the palms of her hands. Her legs felt so weak she could barely stand. She stood on the cool tile in bare feet, her creamy white toes already anticipating the touch of the warm grass beyond the door.

Her pulse raced and her breathing grew more labored. It felt like she might hyperventilate.
 

“Are you ready, Tatum?” Alexander asked.

No … no … no, I am not ready for this!
she wanted to scream. She wanted to scream and run away in the opposite direction and hide in the closet of the bedroom where she had been sleeping. She imagined what awaited her, the sun in the sky and its rays cascading to earth to burn the flesh from her body. The thought of it alone paralyzed her with dread.

She nodded her head.
I can do this,
she told herself.
 

“Step closer,” he said.

She tried to swallow but couldn’t. Her throat had closed. She took a small step toward him.

“Take my hand,” he said.

She lifted her arm and he took her hand. His hand was large and warm.
 

“Close your eyes,” he said.

She could barely keep her balance the dread was so great. She closed her eyes and felt the walls begin to close in around her. Then she heard the sound of Alexander unlocking the door and turning the doorknob, and then felt warm air push into the room and it smelled like newly mowed grass. A tear formed in one eye and rolled down her cheek. She didn’t want to burn. She knew the fear was all in her head, but that didn’t make it any less real to her dysfunctional mind.

“Walk forward,” he said. “No worries, I have your hand.”

She stepped beyond the threshold and felt the sidewalk underfoot and then the familiar texture of the lawn.

“Take a deep breath,” Alexander said.

She tried but couldn’t. She couldn’t breathe. She needed to vomit.

“Take a deep breath,” he told her. “You are doing fine, Tatum.”

She didn’t feel fine. Whatever the opposite of fine was,
that
is what she felt.

“Praise God,” he said, and quoted a passage of scripture from the New Testament. “The Savior has granted you this strength today. Isn’t that right, Tatum? Can you feel his strength?”

Another tear spilled from her eyes and clung to her chin. She nodded, yes.

“I’m so proud of you,” he said, and she could hear the pride in his voice. “How do you feel?”

“I just want to go back inside,” she pleaded.

“First, open your eyes,” he said.

Every ounce of her being resisted, but at last she forced her eyes open. In an instant, all the fear was erased. It was nighttime, the moon visible in the opening above the trees.
 

Tears flowed down her face. There had not been anything to fear. She had made herself sick for nothing. The relief she felt was overwhelming. She put her hands to her face and wept.

“This was a test from God,” Alexander said, “and you proved to Him that your faith is great. You will be greatly rewarded.”

Then he helped her inside and embraced her as her sobbing finally subsided.
 

TEN

The black Mercedes with the dark windows didn’t need to follow the Land Cruiser too closely because a tracking device had already been put in place to allow them to track it from a distance. The two men in the car waited patiently in freeway traffic, perfectly aware of Ryan Archer’s exact location. The Land Cruiser was half a mile of ahead of them. That was fine. They would catch up soon enough. There was no hurry.
 

The Mercedes wasn’t a typical model that rolled off the line in Germany. The entire car was bulletproof. The tag was legal but registered under a corporate name with an official address in Salt Lake City, Utah.
 

Both men were dressed in tailored suits specifically fitted to hide the handguns worn under their jackets. Both stood over six feet tall and were wide in the shoulders and muscular. Both had dark hair and square jaws.
 

The red blip on the GPS led them through the maze of Los Angeles streets. They had followed Archer for the past few hours and he had seemed completely unaware of their presence. He had made no attempt to shake them, so they were confident they had been successful in their effort to remain invisible. Their job was to watch, follow, listen, and react in whatever matter the situation eventually dictated. There would be no hesitation to use the guns.

The red blip was cruising down the 101. They watched as it exited toward the Hollywood Bowl.

* * *

Archer stopped outside a gate and parked out of the way. The sprawl of the Hollywood Bowl loomed before them. Cory seemed to know her way around. He followed her through a door in the gate and she waved at the guard.

“That’s Liz’s uncle,” Cory said.

Archer had been to concerts at the Bowl a few times. He couldn’t name the bands he’d seen or the women he’d taken to see them. He glanced up at the Hollywood Hills and spotted the Hollywood sign to the northeast. Smith’s house was up there somewhere.

“We hang out here sometimes and listen to the bands rehearse. Pretty awesome,” Cory was saying.

The rest of the girls had already arrived. They were clustered on the front row, staring up at an empty stage.
 

“I’m ready for my solo,” Cory announced, striking a pose in front of her friends, jamming on her air guitar in dramatic fashion. The other four girls applauded and laughed.

“Archer,” Cory said, by way of introduction, “meet Danielle, Liz, Lucy, and the effervescent Mocha. Girls, meet Archer.”

Mocha was black with a very bright white smile. She wore tight dreads and bright pink lipstick. She leaned forward off her seat and offered Archer a fist bump.
 

“You look pretty chill,” she said.

“I’m going to take that as a good thing,” Archer said.

Her smile brightened.

Lucy had a short dark bob and dark eye shadow. She was short and thin, with no apparent figure at all. She didn’t smile or say a word. Liz wore a skirt and a denim jacket. Her blonde hair was long and straight. She held eye contact with Archer but didn’t speak. Danielle had wavy red hair with dark streaks, and like Cory, had been blessed with a more mature, curvy figure. Her green eyes drifted from the stage to Archer, then dropped to her feet. She seemed to squirm, like she was restless or uncomfortable. Archer’s presence appeared to set her at unease.

A breeze flowed down from the top of the hill, warm and sweet, carrying the smells of evening. The lights were on though there was no event scheduled, and the empty venue looked hauntingly beautiful and sad. The band shell, with its distinctive set of concentric arches, looked even more massive standing against the muted night sky.
 

Archer had the photos of Tatum Cloud with her friends stuffed into his back pocket. He brought them out and fanned them in his hand.
 

“I know you girls must have very busy lives, so I promise not to keep you long,” he said, “but your friend Tatum has turned up missing. I need to know if any of you have seen or heard from her in the past few days.” He passed them the photos for closer inspection.

“What’s up with Tatum?” Mocha said. “That girl goes missing like every other month.”

“Her parents are concerned,” Archer said.

“Pish posh,” Lucy said. “What parents?”
 

“Jimmy and Shay.”

“That’s a joke,” Lucy added. “They’re never around. That’s why Tatum does this kind of thing, to get their attention. How did they notice she was gone?”

“It was the housekeeper.”

Lucy snapped her fingers and shot a fiery look at the other girls. “Knew it.”

“I haven’t talked to her in a month,” Liz said.

“That seems like a while,” Archer said.

“Rehab,” she replied.

“What does that mean?”

“I’ve been in rehab, douche bag. I’ve been home ten days.”

Archer wasn’t surprised. “You seem young for that.”

“I was young my first stay. Eleven years old.”

“Think you can stay sober?”

“If I want to, if I try.”

“Alcohol or drugs?”

“All of the above. I’m an equal opportunity abuser.”

“What do your parents think?”

“It runs in the family. It’s an inherited disease.”

“Tatum called my cell Sunday night,” Mocha said, “but I didn’t have it on me and the call went to voice mail. I didn’t hear it until late on Monday.”

“What did she say?”

“Nothing really. She was just checking in. She had the new Radiohead download and was pretty excited about it.”

“How did she sound?”

Mocha shrugged. “She sounded like Tatum.”

“Have you guys tried reaching her the last couple of days?”

Cory and Lucy nodded.

“Straight to voice mail,” Cory said.

Lucy nodded agreement.

“Sometimes she has her moods and wants to be left alone. She gets depressed a lot,” Lucy said. “I guess living in the dark all the time makes a person feel like shit. Makes sense. I’d be moody as hell.”

Archer leaned his back against the stage and buried his hands in the pockets of his jeans. Danielle had yet to offer a word. He watched her for a beat but was careful not to stare. She was visibly uncomfortable.
 

“What about you, Danielle?” Cory asked. “Have you been around Tatum lately?”
 

Danielle hugged her arms around herself, her green eyes enhanced by a generous application of eye shadow. She stared at the ground.
 

“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe, I guess.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” she repeated. “We hung out, like, Monday or Tuesday, or whatever, but I haven’t heard from her since.”

“Where’d you hang out?” This time the question came from Mocha.

Danielle was clearly irritated with the questioning. She huffed, and pushed her hands through her hair, slouching in the seat. “Just
around
.”

“All day?” Cory asked.

Danielle shrugged, then offered a reluctant nod.

“You skipped out on school?”

Danielle sighed, and nodded again.

“Sweet,” Mocha said with a devilish grin.

Archer listened and studied. He let the girls talk, let them ask the questions, because that way the answers, if there were any, would simply pop up organically. They would resist him in a way that they wouldn’t resist each other. He could steer the conversation, but had to be gentle with them and probe gingerly.
 

“She doesn’t go out in the day,” Cory said. “So, where’d you hang?”

“This is stupid,” Danielle said. “We just went
wherever.
”

“Why do you sound so defensive?” Liz asked.

Danielle squirmed again, as if coming out of her skin.

“Just
because,
” she said. “I was with a guy, and we were fooling around, ignored Tatum all night, and then I left with him and left her alone. Then when I got back she was gone. Now she’s not answering her cell and I haven’t heard from her. I feel
guilty
. If something bad has happened, I’m gonna feel like shit.”

“Who was the guy?” Cory asked.

Danielle shrugged. “You don’t know him.”

“Where did you leave her?”

“A friend’s house. We went there to smoke weed and fool around.”

“Is he the dude with the Mohawk?” Mocha asked, smiling.

Danielle shot her a sideways look and didn’t blink for a long moment. Then she nodded.

“Dude needs to lose the Mohawk, but his bod is seriously ripped,” Mocha noted.

“Who is the friend with the house?” Archer asked.

Danielle’s eyes floated in space for a beat, then she glanced at him. “Her name is Cecile. She lives in Culver City.”

“Was it her house?”

“I have no idea.”

“How long were you there?”

“Overnight and all day.”

“What was Tatum doing while you got high and messed around with Mohawk?”

“Hid in a bedroom, I guess. I didn’t see her much.”

“Wow, you are a sucky friend,” Lucy said, averting her eyes and shaking her head. “You
know
how terrified Tatum is of the outside world. And yet you just abandoned her. What a shitty thing to do.”