“Freedom,” he said firmly. “Our one goal here is freedom. Let me explain. Many people, if they came here and saw how we structure the young people’s lives and how we keep them accountable and push them personally and academically, they would say we’re all about discipline, or law. But we’re not. What we’re about is giving them the self-control, the self-discipline, they need to learn how to handle and make the most of freedom. Freedom without control is just anarchy. Those who want it come under the control of someone or something else—it’s the great irony. You pursue freedom, wholeheartedly and without any ability to discipline yourself, and you end up enslaved to addictions, or the abuse of other people who are stronger than you, or just the drives and whims of your own body. It’s the fastest way to total imprisonment, total bondage. But if you have the tools to control yourself, and the ability to think long-term and to set goals and walk with vision, not just drive, then you’ll not just find freedom, but you’ll know how to use it.”
He sat back in his chair, the smile back in his eyes. “You know, that’s what good parents, good homes, do for their kids. They raise them within certain parameters and help them discover themselves, and they equip them for life. The kids who come here have never had that, for the most part. They know they want to be free, but they’re living with all these fears and insecurities and habits that will just kill them down the road—literally or figuratively. My whole goal is to take every one of these young people and equip them to walk free.”
“I can only applaud that,” Reese said.
“Do you . . . “ she framed the question carefully. “Do you ever come out to the fishing village on the bay, about an hour west of here?”
He frowned. “No, can’t say I know where that is. Why do you ask?”
Reese bowed her head for a moment, then looked him straight in the eyes. “Are you in trouble?”
The question seemed to take him totally aback. “Why . . . I don’t know what you mean. Why do you ask that?”
“Legal trouble, anything? Under attack in any way?” She knew she was ignoring his question, but she was fixed. “Anything attached to that boy? Alex?”
Dr. Smith, in such fine form a minute ago, was clearly off his guard now. He spluttered and shook his head, and Reese stood. “May I use your phone?”
He recovered himself enough to say, “Of course. Just down the hall there, in the office. Dial 9 to get out.”
Reese nodded and headed to the office at a near jog, aware that Diane was glaring at her and that she was leaving all three of them totally confused.
Her hands were still shaking as she dialed the cell house, but for a different reason now. “Mary, hi. Can you put April on the phone? Thanks.”
She waited a moment until April picked up. “Just quickly, describe the man who came to get Nick. The one whose name was Vincent Smith.”
It only took a few seconds. “Thank you,” Reese said. “I’ll explain when I get home. Tell Richard and Mary to pray. Something . . . I have a bad feeling. We found something. But I’m not sure what yet.”
She hung up and went back to the kitchen. The other three were waiting, apparently not having bothered to converse. She couldn’t blame them. It wasn’t like she’d left Diane much to work with.
“Someone is impersonating you,” Reese said. “At least, someone has. I live in a . . . . a commune, sort of. A few days ago we took in a boy from a troubled neighbourhood after someone calling himself Dr. Vincent Smith tried to bully him away from his mother to come to his children’s home. But he wasn’t you. You don’t match the description—any of the description. I just wondered if you might know who he was or why someone might be using your name.”
“I have no idea,” Dr. Smith said, clearly trying to process too much at once. “I’ve never heard of anyone doing this before. You’re sure?”
“I’m sure,” Reese said.
“This home has a good name among those who know about it, although we are a private organization and rather selectively connected,” Dr. Smith said. “Someone might have been trying to use our reputation to get a foot in, though it seems they would be better served using a better-known name. But what . . . why . . .”
“The boy is special,” Reese said. “I know, all children are special, but this one . . .”
She stopped.
What in the world was she supposed to say?
That one of her sisters in the Oneness had painted this boy in a mural, and that meant he was significant and powerful and played some role in an unfolding spiritual war?
Susan’s shaky voice cut in. “Are you detectives?” she asked.
Reese’s expression softened, and she turned toward the woman. “No,” she said. “Not exactly. But we are trying to track down the imposter and find out why he wanted this boy. We’ll take it to the police once we have something to go on.”
“Impersonation is something to go on,” Dr. Smith said. “And attempted abduction, from what you described. Personally, I’d be much happier if they were involved.”
Reese nodded. “You’re right. We’ll call them and report what we know. Unfortunately that isn’t much—but we have a description of the man and can tell them that he gave a false name. I’m sorry to have misled you about why we were here,” Reese said, directing her apology at Susan. “You’re not what we thought we’d find. For what it’s worth, this place is remarkable.”
“And so are you,” Diane said, squeezing Susan’s hand again and standing. “I’m guessing from Reese’s tone that we need to leave?”
“I think so, yes,” Reese said. “I’m sorry . . . I just need to follow something else up, and I’m afraid we may lose our window.”
Dr. Smith reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a business card, which he handed to Reese. “Consider us friends, please,” he said. “I would love to be kept posted on what you find out.”
Reese took the card with a smile. “As much as I can,” she said. “And the same goes for you. If we can do anything to help you—if any trouble comes up—”
Diane had already written the cell house number on the back of another business card before Reese could pull her thoughts together. “Just call,” she said, handing it to Dr. Smith.
“Thank you,” he said. “I may just do that.”
Reese paused as they turned to go. “About Alex . . .” she said. “Keep a careful eye on him. I know you’re already watching, but watch even closer. I don’t think he’s safe.”
She didn’t bother to explain. Halfway across the street to the car, Diane commented, “Well, that was an enigmatic closing.”
“He’s possessed,” Reese said. “I saw it on his way out. I know they don’t know what we are, but I hope they’ll take my warning seriously.”
Diane stopped. “Wait, what are you saying?”
“I think we did find the hive,” Reese replied. “Or at least one of its offshoots.”
She got into the car, and Diane slid in beside her. “Explain what you mean.”
“A hive is a collective of possessed human beings,” Reese said. “It usually lives together, at least at first. A hive can look frighteningly like a Oneness cell, and even claim good reasons for its existence, but the heart is different—totally, completely different. Where his goal for those kids”—she nodded toward the house—“is freedom, a hive’s goal is to enslave. But it won’t stay centralized in one place. It will send out feelers. Possession often spreads from one person to another. Not exactly like a disease, because every person has to open the door to it individually, but by using human agency to convince others to open those doors. That children’s home is a target. The hive wants to spread from Alex to the other kids.”
She grimaced. “I think Dr. Smith is a good foil. His wife and Susan too. They really love those kids, and that will make it hard for the hive to spread. But it’s going to try. The impersonation has something to do with that—the fake wasn’t just trying to ride on the home’s reputation. He’s trying to bring the real Dr.
Smith down somehow.”
Diane gave that a moment of thought as they sped off, too fast for the residential neighbourhood.
“Almost anything could have happened to Nick,” she said. “And his mother would have told police it was Dr. Smith who took him.”
“Which, if it didn’t lead to prison, would at least lead to slander and a legal battle,” Reese finished. “And if it was all horrific and traumatic enough, it could turn even someone like Vincent Smith into a different man. Maybe a man who can be seduced into a hive himself.”
Diane thought about that for another moment.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“School,” Reese answered. “We’re going to follow Alex.”
* * *
Tyler woke up when the sun came streaming through his window with a force far too great for early morning.
He had not prayed the night before. He had fallen asleep.
He realized this with a surprising sense of disappointment in himself. And frustration. Because he knew that as Oneness, he had a job to do in the world. Something about serving it and holding it together. And he didn’t even know how to do the most basic part of that.
A lot of good he was.
“Care to say what’s eating you?” Chris asked.
Tyler jumped. He hadn’t noticed Chris standing in his doorway, leaning on his noncasted shoulder.
“I can’t pray,” Tyler said. “The most basic job of the Oneness, and I can’t do it. I’m just feeling a little useless is all.”
“You’re wrong,” Chris said, looking behind as if to ascertain the hallway was all clear. As apparently it was. “Praying is not the most basic job of the Oneness.”
“What is?” Tyler asked, irked that Chris was pretending to know more than he did.
“Love,” Chris answered.
Ouch. Maybe he did know more.
“Why are you here?” Tyler asked. “I was sleeping.”
“It’s the crack of ten,” Chris answered. “And if you keep sleeping, they aren’t going to believe we’re well enough to leave. I came to rouse you and tell you to act like a man and come eat a man’s breakfast. I don’t know about you, but I am ready to get out of here.”
“Coming,” Tyler said, groaning as he pushed himself up. There was something about last night . . . something other than his failure to pray. Something he’d wanted to tell Chris. What was it?
The memories came back to his groggy mind. Rick. The hitchhiker.
The hitchhiker.
The hitchhiker with freaky black eyes.
Tyler half-leaped from the bed and nearly stumbled over his own feet. Chris was already out of the room and halfway down the hall.
“Chris, wait,” he called as he pulled on the khakis he’d been given yesterday. “Hold up a minute.”
Chris reappeared. “What?”
Tyler hesitated. “Why are you up so late?”
“Slept like a log. I tried to wake up earlier but couldn’t.”
“Couldn’t?”
“I don’t know what they’re giving us, but they’re drugging us all up a lot more than I like.”
“Listen, Chris, I talked to the truck driver last night. He woke up. Ran out of pain meds.”
Chris raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”
“Yes, and he said”—Tyler finished pulling on a shirt and headed for the door—“he said he can’t remember anything about the wreck, but he had picked up a hitchhiker and they were talking. And then he blanked out or something, because he can’t remember anything else. But he said the hitchhiker was a college kid with freaky black eyes.”
He stopped triumphantly.
“The Wizard,” Chris said.
“That’s my guess.”
Chris whistled. “So that accident wasn’t an accident.”
“Not that I’m an expert in the demonic, but I wouldn’t think so.”
“Which means,” Chris said slowly, “that maybe something wants us to be here.”
Tyler hesitated, his triumph needled by conscience and concern for these people. Chris was already antagonistic toward them, but Tyler still wasn’t convinced he knew enough about them. They said they were Oneness. They cared about each other and took in strangers. They weren’t demonic as far as he could tell.
But shoot, he couldn’t even manage to pray. How was he supposed to tell something like that?
“Maybe,” he agreed slowly. “But I don’t think that necessarily means these people are in on it, if you know what I mean. Just because demons are pulling strings doesn’t mean everybody’s a puppet.”
Chris gave him a look and disappeared back into the hallway. Food smells greeted them as soon as they pushed their way out of the storeroom at the bottom of the stairs—bread, tomatoes, something else. Not breakfast food. Everyone in the community, Tyler suspected, got up and ate way before the crack of ten.
When they stepped into the kitchen, no one would meet their eyes. Julie was there, and the other younger women from yesterday, but they kept their expressions downcast. Every movement spoke nerves and unhappiness.
Lorrie appeared in the doorway. Her expression alone was unveiled—and hostile. She folded her arms and nodded.
“You’ll wait in the dining room,” she said. “Jacob will be in to speak with you in a minute.”
“Have we done something?” Chris asked, belligerent.
Lorrie’s eyes fixed on a surprised Tyler. “Why don’t you ask your friend here?” She gestured to the dining room.
Tyler and Chris exchanged glances.
“Let’s go,” Chris grumbled. “I think I’d welcome the chance to have a little heart-to-heart with the kingpin.”
Trying to ignore the miserable, sinking feeling in his stomach, Tyler followed Chris to the dining room to wait.
Chapter 7
Reese and Diane pulled up outside the schoolyard and sat in the morning air for a few minutes, their windows rolled down so they could see clearly and the shouts of children playing on the yard of the elementary school right next door carried over. They had the car angled so they could see the big double red doors at the front of the high school.
“I wish I had a way in there,” Reese said. “He might not come out.”
“I’m not sure I really understand what we’re doing here,” Diane said.
“If I’m right, and Alex is part of a hive, then he’s not working alone. Most likely his other contacts are here—at school. Or else he’s sneaking off during school to meet with them.”
“Dr. Smith said he had gone out at night.”
“Yes, but just once or twice. That’s not regular enough. Either he’s getting contact from other students or he’s playing hooky.”
“So you hope he’s playing hooky,” Diane finished. “So you can follow him.”
“We. Yes.”
“He’s not going to come out the front doors,” Diane pointed out.
“I’m not exactly looking for him.”
“What are you looking for?”
“Demons.”
Diane cleared her throat. “Invisible demons?”
“I’ve been tracking this hive a long time,” Reese said. “And I am very, very familiar with how it feels. I can usually sense them.”
“Is that why you’re so convinced this kid is part of the hive and not just an individual case? Because he felt familiar?”
“Actually, no,” Reese said. She gave a tight smile. “Because he recognized me.”
She leaned back against her seat and sighed. The shouts and laughter of children at the elementary school were growing louder, like the longer they played the more wild and enthusiastic they got. Oh, the tenuous joy of recess.
Their earlier conversation came back to mind.
“You didn’t betray him,” Reese said.
“What?”
“Douglas.”
Diane kept her face forward, staring toward the high school doors.
Reese kept going. “That you wanted it for him so bad
ly only shows how much you loved him.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Diane said.
Reese closed her mouth and sat back again.
Compared to the wild and rambunctious playground next door, the high school seemed dark and imposing. And utterly still.
“Why now?” Diane asked after a few more minutes of waiting. “We could have stayed at the home and talked until he came back from school. I don’t think they would have kicked us out. At least, not until you got so intense on them.”
“He saw me on his way out,” Reese said. “And whatever’s living in him knew me. He was terrified. I think they’ll try something today if they can. At the very least they’ll try contact, and Alex will lead us to the rest of them.”
“And then we’ll die,” Diane said. “Because we’ll find ourselves in the middle of some horde, alone and totally outnumbered.”
“We’re not alone,” Reese said. She grinned. “And we don’t always die when we’re totally outnumbered.”
A flicker of movement at the side of the school caught Reese’s eye—and she was out of the car and running before Diane could move or think. With a shout forming in her throat, the older woman opened her door and tried to rush out. Reese was already across the street and over the fence. A long, black sword had formed in her hand. She was running, another, skinnier figure was running a ways ahead of her, feet pounding pavement—and then Reese caught up and drove her sword right through the back of a teenage boy in black who screamed and dropped to the ground.
Diane, stuck at trying to clamber over the fence, stopped and gaped. The shout died in her throat.
What had Reese just done?
The boy was writhing on the ground. Reese was crouched beside him, her hands on his shoulders, holding him down. The sword was nowhere to be seen.
Diane was out of breath when she caught up. The boy glared up at her with a look so hateful it stopped her in her tracks.
“Reese . . .”
“Help me,” Reese got out.
Diane just stood there, lost. When had she seen this last? A teenager . . . the black clothes . . . the hatred. All that was missing was the wild, drug-high eyes, the insanity of the boys who came and killed her husband.
Hive Page 12