The Revelations of Preston Black (Murder Ballads and Whiskey Book 3) (18 page)

When they pulled the bag off my head I
saw fog parting to reveal a few cold, blue stars. They didn’t blink back at me,
and I knew that I was alone. Water dripped from wet leaves. My feet got cold in
the dewy grass. In the black distance I heard peepers.

Hicks handed me off to two men who
pulled me past an old swimming pool and through a large clearing. Hicks and
some of the women followed. Pale light from two rows of little white summer
camp cabins illuminated a trio of crosses built on a small mound at the far end
of the field. There were various vehicles scattered about. Pickup trucks and
white church vans and old hatchbacks. One of the vans had a “Living Waters
Pentecost” decal running beneath the side windows. The other said, “New Life
Tabernacle.”

They led me toward the biggest
building I could see. A long white structure with milk crates and cardboard
boxes stacked near a screen door. When I looked at the sky one last time before
they pushed me into an old produce freezer, an urge to ask for help, to ask
that Preston be kept safe, washed over me. One of the men cut through the tape
wrapped around my wrists with a penknife.

“I’ll send Truly for you in the
morning.” Hicks spun me, so that I faced him. He pushed his finger against my
sternum, backing me into the freezer. “Ain’t got so much to say now, do you?”

“You don’t know me well enough to make
that kind of statement,” I said, forcing my chin up. “Hatred feeds hatred. It
never eliminates it. Only love can eliminate hate. This is the way of the
universe.”

Hicks jerked to a stop, turned and
pointed his finger. His lips parted as he scoured his memory for the translation,
the book and verse. But it wouldn’t come to him as easily as the others had.

“It’s not from the Bible.” I saw my
chance to end the day with a bit of a win, and took it. “It’s from the Lord
Buddha. That’s why you don’t know it.”

He slammed the door shut and locked it
without another word.

And I let that be my bedtime prayer.

Rule
number one is to stay alive.

If I get hurt, or worse,
nothing else will matter.

Rule number one is to stay
alive.

Eat what you are fed. Ask for
bathroom privileges with a ‘please,’ always.

Somebody will come. Preston has
already called the police and my family. The label and our fans will help. They
are already out looking. I have to stay alive until they find me.

Rule number two is don’t
provoke.

Stop it with the attitude.
Don’t engage Hicks. Don’t look at him the wrong way. Be compliant. Stop showing
off. Who cares that you went to Sunday school? Hicks doesn’t. He thinks you’re
a witch and is going to stone you or beat you or drown you the first chance he
gets. Hicks is insane. Hicks isn’t motivated by logic. Hicks has an agenda, and
I am part of it no matter what I do, so don’t provoke him. If you break rule
number two, you’re going to break rule number one.

Rule number three is don’t run.
Don’t think about running. Don’t look for escape routes. You don’t even know
where you are so you may as well be Belle in Beast’s castle.

Rule number three is a
provocation. Breaking rule number three means breaking rules one and two. You
won’t get away. You’ll be caught, and hurt.

Rule number four…

“What is rule number four?” My head
ached after last night. I shivered for twelve straight hours. I didn’t sleep at
all.

Rule number four is to prepare
for a long stay. Mentally prepare yourself to be here for weeks. Or a year.
Remember that Preston and Ben and Pauly and Jamie and Mom and Chloey will look
for you as long as they think you are alive. Be a prisoner, a hostage, whatever
they want. Don’t be a corpse. Don’t break rule number four—or three, or
two—because they all end with breaking rule number one. Don’t ever, ever, ever
break rule number one.

I wrote the rules in the dust on the
old wood floor with my finger as they came into my head.

Rule number five is to make a
friend. Doesn’t matter who it is. Get one person to recognize that you are a
human being. That you love and can be loved. That you have a soul. You don’t
have to stay in touch and meet for lunch, but you have to make one of these
people like you.

Rule number six…

Rule number six made me very sad to
even think it.

Don’t ever give up. If you are
locked away in this room twenty years from now you do not give up. You never,
never, never forget that there is a light that shines for you out there. You do
not cry. You do not feel sorry for yourself. Hope is the only thing you have
that they cannot take from you. Don’t give it to them. Nurture it like you
would nurture a kitten. If you forget that, you’re dead.

My belly rumbled.

Rule number one is to stay
alive…

The sun had climbed well into the sky
before somebody came to get me. My little cell grew warmer as the hours wore
on. The smell of old dairy rose from the dry wood. Too faint to be nauseating,
the sweet smell of old protein, almost like ice cream that had dried in a paper
cup, reminded me of days on my pap’s farm. I had my jacket rolled into a little
ball while I wrapped myself in Preston’s coat. If I stuck my nose right against
his collar I could still smell him.

I tried to nap, but couldn’t. People
came and went outside, singing and talking. Kids and men and women. Sounded
mostly like kids and women. I sang to myself to drown them out.

The click of the cooler door brought
me to my feet. Hicks’s girl, Truly, waited there with a crown of thorns tattoo
peeking from beneath her jet black bangs. Bright red ink meant to look like
blood dripped from the sharp black spines that jutted from beneath her
hairline. I only noticed because I thought she was bleeding at first, although
it did surprise me. Otherwise, she looked quite beautiful. When she extended
her arm I saw the same contusions on her wrists and forearms that Hicks had.
Black and blue blotches, like she shot up every few days, at least. When she
gestured for me to get up I saw a tattoo complimentary to the one on her
forehead splattered across on her palm. A long iron nail exiting the tattered
flesh of a bloody hole. She saw me roll my eyes.

“You know what Leviticus says—” I
remembered my rules and stopped myself.

She handed me the shoe I thought I’d
lost last night as I stood and stretched. She gestured for me to step outside,
still without saying anything. Once I’d finished yawning, she brushed grass and
leaves off my back and shoulders. My belly rumbled, and she gestured for me to
walk.

I knew girls like her back home.
Holier than holy. Singing with praise bands, organizing protests at Planned
Parenthood. Using their love of Christ as a justification to tattoo their
foreheads, never mind that the Old Testament strictly forbade it. Girls whose
pencil skirts and high collars came off the first time a pretty pastor like
Elijah Clay Hicks came a witnessing.

Morning had turned into afternoon
during my sleepless night on the plywood floor of my little cell. Birds
squawked and chittered in the tall pines, swooping down every now and then to
grab a drowsy fly. Rows of little white buildings reminded me of summer camps
I’d never been to. Summer camps were for city kids, or kids in movies. Wire
mesh over the windows broke the illusion though. Crude wooden crosses had been
nailed over windows and doors, to roofs. Bible verses and meaningless commands
had been painted on the white wooden siding. Some of the words were large, like
they’d been painted on with a brush. In between the larger words were longer
passages written with a black marker. I didn’t see anybody else. But I heard singing,
disjointed spirituals that sounded too much like hypocrisy to my ears.

She led me up the steps into the old
dining hall. It smelled of food already eaten. Maybe a breakfast, because I
smelled bacon. Or maybe a breakfast and a lunch. Crumbs and straw papers
littered the tables. When I sat down at a bowl of instant grits I knew my
patience and complacency last night had been a mistake.
I
should’ve fought harder at the truck stop.

Truly stood across the table from me.
As she sat, she said, “Reverend Hicks said I should let you know about this
place. It’s an old prison camp. The closest road is miles away. We had the
fence electrified to keep people out but it works just fine keeping people in.”

I pushed the bowl back across the
table.

By the way she spoke I could tell she
lacked smarts. Her words didn’t possess confidence or the force of wit. If
anything, her demeanor was a vulnerability—a trait I could exploit later. At
least now I knew why Hicks kept her around. I knew where she sat in his chain
of command. Just below him. On her knees.

“He said you’d try to leave, and that
I was supposed to say something to you. Give you my testimonial, you know? He
believes my story can help you come to Jesus.” She sat across from me, and
tried to take my hands into hers. “You know, I used to be a lot like you.
Hanging out with bands and bikers, drinking and drugging.”

“You are nothing like me.” I banged my
fist on the table. “You like being led around by the nose. That’s where the
differences start. I will not waste time listing the rest.”

“No,” she rebutted, forcing calmness
into her voice as a sign of control and authority. “I just learned how to hear
the voice of God for myself instead of waiting to hear a prophecy from someone
else. That’s what people like you do.”

Basking in the importance of her own
voice, she closed her eyes. “I can pray for an hour or more, alternating
between tongues and English the whole time. Then, I sit and listen for his
voice. Just listen. At first I could only hear a couple of words, but now I
hear longer sentences. You know, God wants to talk to us and Elijah is only
trying to teach people how to listen. I have been slain by the Spirit in
Elijah’s presence and he tells me I’ll be able to do it on my own before too
long. All you need is desire to seek Him, and you can feel that too.”

“You hear what you want to hear and
tell yourself it’s divinity. Grow a spine and take responsibility for your life
and your actions.” Even as I said it I knew I’d broken at least two of my
rules. Three, if I could’ve been making friends with her. “You like being with
Elijah because he’s as close to a rock star as you’re ever going to get.”

She began to rebut, but I cut her off.
“The reason I’m telling you this is because when you speak, it sounds like
recitation. You can take offense if you’d like, but I’m telling you what I hear
in your voice.”

Truly glared at me, but could not hide
her anger.

“It’s called doubt. You speak it like
a second language. While you’re thinking about that, maybe I can have one of
those apples.” I pointed to a large bowl of fruit on the end of a stainless
steel counter. She watched me walk across the room, ready to yell or pounce the
moment I broke for the door.

“Would you like one?” I asked, even
though I knew she wouldn’t reply. I could almost feel her relax as I made my
way back to the table.

Rabbits run when they are
scared. I’m not afraid yet
.

“Truly, what are you meant to say to
me that’s going to make me see what parents and grandparents and eighteen years
in both a Catholic and Protestant church haven’t made me see?” I took a bite of
the apple, and chewed slowly while she thought. “You’ve observed that I know
scripture as well as Elijah Clay Hicks, which is more than you can say.”

I set the apple on a napkin and took
her hand. “It’s okay though. Your beliefs are your beliefs. I’m not going to
tell you they are wrong, or try to change you.”

She traced small figure eights on the
tabletop with her fingernail. I’d hit a nerve.

“It’s not my business. I can accept
you as you are. Tell me how you ended up with Elijah. We can talk.”

For the longest time she sat there,
thinking, and I worried that I’d lose this game if I was the only player. I
finished my apple and wrapped the core in a napkin, then sat quietly for a long
time.

Without any type of prodding, Truly
took a deep breath and spoke. “He pulled me off the street. I’d been picked up
for solicitation, but the judge offered rehab and a reduced sentence if I got
clean. Supposed to be at the treatment center on a Wednesday morning, but Elijah
found me Tuesday night. On my way to have a little fun. You know, get a little
something in my blood to make the detox worthwhile? Can’t remember the exact
details, because I was already pretty wasted. I know I had the needle in my arm
though.”

The more she talked the older she got,
like telling the story had sped up her metabolic clock. Her eyes yellowed, and
looked more tired than they had just a minute ago. Small crow’s feet appeared
at the corners. If she looked twenty-five when I first saw her, she looked at
least forty or forty-five now. “Elijah saved me though. He took me and talked
and talked.”

“He took you—a lot less violently than
he took me, I might add. That’s the key part of what you said. How is that
humane or acceptable? How is it Christ-like?”