by Rose, Karen
Ephraim was rattled and he didn’t like it at all. Everything had been going so well. He’d had Mercy in his hands. In my fucking hands. He unfolded his body from the floor and sat in the seat behind June. Much more comfortable.
Until a car came from the other direction. He blinked hard, the oncoming headlights making his headache worse. Fucking asshole, hitting me with a goddamn cane.
He’d seen the blond man sitting in a wheelchair all by himself, but he hadn’t given the guy a second thought. He was in a wheelchair, for fuck’s sake. He had not anticipated that the guy was going to have freaking ninja skills.
The whole evening had been a clusterfuck. I should have pulled my gun. That crack on the head had jostled his brain for a few seconds, and before he knew it the blond bastard had pulled his own gun. By the time Ephraim could have pulled his, there were too many people surrounding them. He would have had to shoot his way out and he didn’t have that many bullets.
His gun was old – thirty years old. He’d procured it shortly after they’d started Eden and had kept the gun a secret all this time. It didn’t make sense to advertise that he owned a weapon, even to his fellow Founding Elders. Especially to the Founding Elders, because they were all lying bastards. Takes one to know one, after all. Hell, the others probably had secret guns, too.
Unfortunately his gun wasn’t a model kept in Eden’s gun locker. Those were all hunting rifles, their use closely monitored by Brother DJ. Ephraim had only a few rounds of ammo left, all as old as the gun itself. He’d have to get more.
Because next time I’ll be prepared. Except that he’d lost the element of surprise. Now Mercy would know he was coming, and she and that Fed brother of hers would make plans.
They’ll be ready next time.
So will I. Because there had to be a next time. He needed Mercy, preferably alive. He needed to prove to Pastor that DJ was a lying sack of shit and needed to be dealt with.
Hopefully by meeting his fate with ‘wolves’. It was Eden-speak for someone who’d questioned authority and had been quietly killed in the middle of the night. It might be one person, or a couple, or even a whole family. It depended on how widespread the rebellion ran.
It was Ephraim’s job to deal with the rebellions and it was one of his favorite Eden responsibilities. Mauling the body postmortem to make it look like ‘wolves’ was just icing on an already fun cake. It was also an important job because it kept the innocents from wandering at night. It convinced those who were considering questioning them not to do so.
‘You can pull off at this exit,’ Ephraim said and June obeyed. If she weren’t so old, he’d take her back to Eden, but she was nearly as old as Pastor. She wouldn’t be able to pull her weight and they already had too many elderly members who sponged off the rest of them.
When he was in charge of Eden, he’d help their elderly meet their Maker expeditiously. That way, he’d get rid of the dead weight and the few who remembered the community’s beginning at the same time. Win–win.
June took the exit, slowing as they approached the end of the ramp. ‘Where—’ She faltered, letting loose a loud hiccuping sob.
‘Turn right,’ he said, irritated with her.
She did and he was pleased to see that it was a farm road. Nobody around.
‘Pull into that little road on the left.’ It was an orchard. Lots of cover in the trees. It wasn’t picking time yet, so it could be a while before her body was found.
June did as she was told, crying in earnest now. ‘Don’t. Please don’t.’
‘Be quiet.’ He opened the side door and got out, then opened her door and shoved the pistol into her ribs. ‘Put the car in park and get out.’
‘You promised!’ she wailed. ‘I did what you said!’
‘And I said be quiet!’ he barked, yanking her from the driver’s seat. ‘Walk. When we’ve gotten far enough, I want you to face one of the trees and count to five hundred. I’m taking your car, but you can flag down help on the road.’
She stumbled, her body shaking with her sobs. Wheezing in breaths, she finally made it into the orchard.
‘This one,’ Ephraim said. He’d make it quick. No reason to torture her further. ‘Face the tree.’
She did and he shot her in the head, then once again as her body hit the ground to be sure she wouldn’t survive to report him to the police. The shots echoed in the quiet of the early evening, and Ephraim ran back to her minivan to get away quickly in case the sounds of gunfire drew attention. He hadn’t fired a gun in a while and had forgotten how loud they were. Should have just broken her neck. Would have been quieter. He’d remember that in the future.
Once he’d driven back to the main road, he took the next side street and pulled over again. There he raided her purse, taking her cash and credit cards. The cards he’d drop in a dumpster somewhere, along with her phone. It would make an adequate motive for her death.
She didn’t have much cash – under fifty dollars. But every little bit helped.
Ephraim had money of his own – a lot of money. The problem was, it was in offshore accounts managed by Pastor, and Ephraim could only get funds through the old man. That would also change once the old man died.
He would have killed Pastor years ago if the wily old bastard hadn’t kept the bank codes for the offshore accounts safely tucked in his own mind. To Ephraim’s knowledge, nobody knew the codes except for Pastor. He alone dabbled in the accounts. In the old days, Pastor would slip away to the city, where there were bankers on his payroll. Nowadays he did it online with Eden’s one computer.
The money had continued to grow, as had their percentages of the pie because half of the original Founders were dead. Ephraim’s brother, Edward, had been murdered by that little bastard Gideon, and DJ’s father, Waylon, had had a heart attack, the two dying within days of each other, seventeen years before. Doc had died twenty years ago, but he’d been ancient when they’d set up their first camp. Now the only two left of the original Founding Elders were Pastor and Ephraim. And DJ, who’d unfairly been given Waylon’s share. Given that DJ was younger than all of them, he could control all the money once Pastor and Ephraim were gone.
And there was no way Ephraim was going to let that happen. He’d lived in the middle of fucking nowhere for thirty fucking years and some of that money had been his before coming to Eden. Edward had earned it and Ephraim was his brother’s only living heir. DJ would not touch a penny of that money. Especially given that he’d lied about having found and killed Mercy after her escape.
So Ephraim needed to get Mercy and drag her back to Eden. He’d botched tonight’s attempt, but he’d be successful the next time. He’d considered showing Pastor a video clip of Mercy from that CNN interview, but Pastor still believed that the Apollo moon landing was a Hollywood trick. DJ had shown him what was possible with Photoshop and now Pastor didn’t believe anything unless he saw it with his own eyes.
So I need Mercy. I want Gideon, but only so I can kill him. The man held no value other than to satisfy Ephraim’s need for vengeance.
Buckling up – no reason to give a cop cause to pull him over – he headed back toward the interstate, just as his phone rang. It was a basic smartphone, provided by Pastor, but Ephraim didn’t use it often. The sole person he had left on the outside was his mother and her dementia was so progressed that she didn’t know him anymore, and he only left Eden a few times every year.
‘Yeah?’ he answered. If it was DJ, he couldn’t let on that he knew Mercy was alive. Ephraim wondered if DJ even knew. He had to assume that he did, otherwise he wouldn’t have gone to so much trouble not to bring back any current newspapers that covered Miriam’s murder and Mercy’s abduction by a serial killer. And that covered the locket.
Fucking hell. That stupid locket. Stupid wedding photo. The man with the cane had recognized him. That photo had to be in the hands of the authorities. That s
everely limited Ephraim’s options for moving around freely. Fucking hell.
‘Ephraim?’ It was Pastor, and Ephraim straightened in his seat out of habit. It pissed him off.
‘Yes, Pastor?’
‘When are you returning? You were supposed to be back this morning.’
I’ll come back when I feel like it, you old fucker. But Ephraim didn’t say that out loud. He wouldn’t cross Pastor until he had the bank account information. ‘I ran into some difficulties. I need another few days.’
‘Difficulties?’
Shit. It was Pastor’s mild tone. Nothing good ever came from Pastor’s mild tone.
‘I hit my head,’ Ephraim said. Which was technically true. That blond asshole’s cane had clocked him but good. ‘I have a possible concussion and I’m laying low until I can drive safely.’
It was a ridiculous lie, but the best he could conjure on the spur of the moment.
‘Oh, good heavens,’ Pastor said, abruptly concerned. ‘I knew you had to have a good reason. DJ thought you might have decided not to come back.’
The little prick. He’d like it if I never came back. Then he’d get control of Eden and the money. It wasn’t like DJ wasn’t already skimming off the top of whatever payment he brought back to the community. Pastor was insane to have given DJ sole responsibility over transporting their products to the buyers and taking the payments. The prick was stealing from them. It was obvious to Ephraim. Unfortunately not to Pastor, and the old man ruled with an iron grip.
‘Of course I’ll be back,’ Ephraim said, injecting a little aw-shucks into his words. ‘When have I ever not come back?’
‘That’s what I told DJ. He has so little faith.’
Ephraim rolled his eyes. Pastor had been drinking his own Kool-Aid for too long. All the praise and worship had blown his sense of reality. No one in the know had any faith, except in sex, drugs, and cold hard cash.
‘I’ll be back, Pastor. I just need to take it easy for a few days. Is there anything wrong? Did you need me back for anything special?’
‘No. Just checking on you, like a good shepherd cares for his flock.’
Oh please. ‘I have a splitting headache, Pastor.’ Very true. ‘Is it all right if I call you back tomorrow?’
‘Yes, I’d like that. Call me every day, so that I know you’re okay. Where are you staying?’
‘In Santa Rosa. With Regina.’
The madam operated the only place of business that Ephraim frequented. She kept a stable of young faces, replenishing them with fresh talent whenever Ephraim was due to visit. He paid her well, and she protected his privacy. Win–win.
‘I see,’ Pastor said. ‘Should we target more of the younger girls for Eden? I hate that you have to go elsewhere for your needs.’
My needs. Pastor sounded so Victorian sometimes. ‘That would be amazing. I can ask Regina if she knows of any runaways that would suit.’
‘You do that,’ Pastor said warmly. ‘I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Go take some aspirin.’
‘I will,’ Ephraim promised. ‘Gotta go.’
He really wanted to check into one of the hotels close to the airport, but he didn’t dare now. He had no doubt that his fuckup this afternoon had put Mercy’s Fed brother on alert. If the authorities put his photo on the news, a hotel clerk could recognize him and turn him in.
So he headed toward Santa Rosa. He’d be safe at Regina’s place. He had some research to do and she always let him use her Wi-Fi. His first task would be to identify who that blond guy with the cane was. That asshole was going down, and Ephraim was going to make it hurt. With the blond guy out of the picture, and Gideon gone, Mercy would be unprotected.
She’d walked away with him in a daze, her eyes blank. It would have creeped him out except that he remembered her having done that during the year they were married, every time he visited her bed. She’d just tune out.
It was still a little creepy, actually, but at least he knew she wouldn’t put up a fight.
Eden, California
Saturday, 15 April, 5.35 P.M.
Pastor was on the move. He’d sent out a search party of most of the compound’s men, including Amos, to look for Brother Ephraim. But he’d sent them as the daylight was waning, when they’d be less likely to see anything – a trail, any markers Ephraim had left behind. A body.
Amos didn’t care if they found Ephraim or not, alive or dead. He wanted to know what Pastor knew. He needed to know.
Because some small part of him still wanted to believe that Pastor loved them all, that he was the shepherd he’d always claimed to be. That Amos and all of Eden’s residents were safe in Pastor’s care.
A larger part of him knew that such blind faith was folly, and that was what had gotten him into this mess to begin with.
Amos fell behind to the back of the pack and waited for them to walk far enough ahead that he was left in the encroaching shadows. That was all right. He didn’t need light to see. He knew these woods. He always knew the woods, familiarizing himself with the terrain whenever Eden moved to a new location. He was the carpenter, the woodworker. He spent hours examining the trees, picking out the best specimens for his work.
Now he crept quietly through the forest in the direction that Pastor had gone. And, sure enough, after a few minutes, he heard the man’s voice, full and rich, with its ‘preacher cadence’.
‘Well, where is he?’ Pastor demanded.
Amos frowned and went still.
Who was he talking to? Pastor had walked off by himself.
‘You said that last time,’ Pastor snapped, although no one else had spoken. ‘Fetch him. Now.’
Amos crept closer and blinked. Held tightly in Pastor’s hand was a slender . . . box. It looked like a deck of cards. Except it was lit up, illuminating Pastor’s scowling face as he spoke.
‘I see. When he is no longer indisposed, can you have him call me?’
Call him? Call him? That thing . . . that tiny thing was a . . . a phone?
No way. Wow. He remembered car phones, and Eden newcomers had whispered about how small the devices had become, but this . . . Wow.
Pastor must have ended the call, because he looked up to the sky and murmured, ‘Dammit, Ephraim, what have you done now?’
Amos held his breath, listening for the next words, but Pastor tapped the thing in his hand and held it to his ear. ‘Ephraim?’
Amos stiffened. Ephraim had a phone too, obviously, and was not lost in the wilderness. Which was a shame.
‘When are you returning?’ Pastor asked. ‘You were supposed to be back this morning.’ Then he frowned. ‘Difficulties?’
Oh. Amos knew that tone. When Pastor spoke gently like that, it was never a good thing.
‘Oh, good heavens,’ Pastor said, sounding abruptly concerned. ‘I knew you had to have a good reason. DJ thought you might have decided not to come back.’ Then he rolled his eyes heavenward again. ‘That’s what I told DJ. He has so little faith.’
Brother DJ was involved, too. Of course he was. Amos had never liked the young man, especially after Brother Waylon died. Amos had loved Waylon Belmont like a brother, but the man’s son had been coddled to the point of ruination.
‘No,’ Pastor said. ‘Just checking on you, like a good shepherd cares for his flock.’ Another eye roll. ‘Yes, I’d like that. Call me every day, so that I know you’re okay. Where are you staying?’ A pause. ‘I see. Should we target more of the younger girls for Eden? I hate that you have to go elsewhere for your needs.’
Target. His needs. Amos leaned against a tree, his knees suddenly weak. Younger girls. They’d brought in younger girls for Ephraim.
They gave him my daughter. Mercy. Bile rose in Amos’s throat and he had to focus on not throwing up.
‘You do that,’ Pastor was saying warmly. ‘I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Go ta
ke some aspirin.’
Pastor tapped the screen again, then slipped the phone – which was still blowing Amos’s mind – into his pocket. Exhaling impatiently, he turned for the compound.
Amos held himself as still as stone, not risking a single breath, a single twitch.
Pastor walked by within about twenty feet of him, muttering, ‘Damn the day I let you in. Should have kicked you to the curb years ago. Would have if it hadn’t been for Edward.’
Amos waited until he could no longer hear Pastor’s footsteps and made his way to where the man had been standing. There were some large boulders on the ground that Pastor had been sitting on – and it appeared that one of them had rocked a little when he stood up.
Crouching low, Amos looked around to make sure he was alone before tentatively pushing at the boulder. Which really did move. Way too easily.
He pushed a little more and the boulder rolled back, revealing that it was hollow. And that it was hiding a small satellite dish. Amos had seen these back in the 1980s, before he’d come to Eden. His neighbor had been the first on their block to get a satellite dish for cable TV. But here?
He stared for a long moment, trying to make sense of it all. Then remembered where he was supposed to be. He returned the boulder to where it had been, then backed carefully away, into the forest. Retracing his steps, he caught up to the search party, still looking for signs of Brother Ephraim.
‘Brother Amos,’ one of the others called. ‘We were worried. We thought we’d have to send a search party for you, too.’
Amos made himself smile apologetically, hoping that no one could hear the nervous pounding of his heart. ‘Sorry. I thought I saw a movement in the woods, but it was only a fox.’
The group of men, most of whom Amos would have called friends, gave him a good-natured ribbing about getting lost in the woods and the difference in size between Ephraim Burton and a fox.
Should have said that I saw a snake, Amos thought. Would have been closer to the truth.
Sacramento, California
Saturday, 15 April, 6.55 P.M.
Jeff Bunker ignored the ringing of his phone, focusing instead on his laptop screen. He still had five minutes to make this deadline, dammit, and he wasn’t going to let his editor rush him into making a mistake. He’d been working this Mercy Callahan story for the past six weeks, ever since a brutal serial killer had been brought down practically in his own backyard.