It made sense too, perfect sense, and I couldn’t believe I’d been so blinded, so naïve to buy into the man’s entire façade.
Then I thought of my brief encounter with Samael and what he told me.
“Moses?”
“Yeah.”
Still staring out the window, I asked, “Did you and Joey kill my parents?”
He didn’t answer for the longest time. Then he said, “What do you think?”
“I don’t know what to think anymore.”
• • •
WE STOPPED AT a McDonald’s just after entering Elmira. Moses used the drive thru and ordered us breakfast. Once we got the food he parked in one of the empty spaces and turned off the engine.
He handed me my Sausage Egg McMuffin, hash brown, and orange juice without a word. Then he unwrapped his own meal and began to eat. Five minutes passed in heavy silence before Moses spoke.
“No, Christopher. Joey and I did not kill your parents.”
I glanced at him, stared into his dark and serious eyes. “Why didn’t you just say that before?”
“I was too shocked you had even considered the possibility. I didn’t know what to say.”
“It was Samael. He ... he put these ideas in my head.”
Moses nodded. “He’ll do that. You have to be prepared. You have to decide what it is you believe in and stick to it, no matter what.” He paused. “Now I think it’s time I should be totally honest with you. I could have told you earlier, but I ... I didn’t think it was a good idea.”
My stomach tightening, I said, “What wasn’t a good idea?”
Without a word Moses reached behind him into the small backseat which was littered with newspapers and discarded fast food bags, empty soda cans and water bottles. He rummaged for about a minute until he handed me a folded up piece of paper. I was about to ask him what it was before the words on the front caught my attention.
Below a sketch of a church was written
Trinity Church of God
May 25, 2003
267 Ashmore Road
Lanton, PA 17359
in bold letters. At the bottom of this was a list of names, the first that of Reverend Matthew Hatfield, then—
“What the hell?”
I glanced up at Moses. He stared back at me, nodding slowly.
At the very bottom of the list, underlined, was this: Special Guest Speaker: Moses Cunningham.
“Like I said before, Joey told me about you even before you came here. He knew who you were and where you lived and we stopped in Lanton three weeks ago. Joey wanted to see you, to somehow get a sense of who you were. I managed to speak at Trinity that Sunday, the day after your parents were murdered, and then Tuesday we headed up here to New York. Neither of us had gotten a chance to see you, but Joey said it didn’t matter, since you’d be coming here soon anyway.”
“But my parents,” I whispered. “You knew they were going to die.”
“Yes, we knew. At least, Joey did. He told me about it but it was only that Friday afternoon and by then it wasn’t like we could have changed anything.”
“You could have prevented it. You could have saved their lives.”
“That’s true, we could have. But sometimes you have to let bad things happen for the greater good.”
“That’s utilitarianism bullshit.”
“No, Christopher, that’s life.”
“But you knew ahead of time. Both of you did. You could have called the police, told them what was going to happen. Maybe they could have stopped it. Maybe then my parents would still be alive.”
“Christopher, I know this, believe me I do. But you have to accept the fact that everything happens for a reason. Your parents being murdered happened so that you would come here to Bridgton. It’s not fair, I know it’s not, but that’s how it works.”
“How God works, you mean.”
He was silent for a long time, staring down at the steering wheel. Finally he said, “It’s not about God. I mean, not completely. It’s about fate. It’s about how the world works and how each and every person in it faces life. We have the freedom to decide what course we want our lives to lead before we die. Every second of every day we’re able to change it any way we want. Sometimes I look back and regret some of the choices I’ve made. Like coming to Bridgton. I told you, I didn’t want to come here, I knew what was going to happen to Joey, but I had no choice. It was something that needed to be done, so I did it. Just like your parents, Christopher. I did nothing to prevent it because it had to happen.”
I sat very still and silent. Breathing slowly. Thinking about things. Thinking about my parents. Thinking about Moses and Joey. Thinking about them knowing of my parents’ murder before it even happened. Thinking about ...
“The knife,” I whispered.
“What was that?”
I looked at him, my jaw set, my hands balled into fists. “Joey’s present to me—where did it come from?”
“Christopher—”
“Goddamn it, Moses, tell me.”
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. “The night before we left Lanton, Joey had us drive to a specific point of the Susquehanna River. He went into the water and kept diving until he found what he was looking for. He said”—Moses swallowed—“he said you’d want to have it. Because it had already been used for evil, but when the time came, you would use it for good.”
I had to close my eyes, place a hand to my head. The inside of the car had begun to spin. “So that knife ...”
“Yes,” Moses said. “It was the weapon used to murder your parents.”
Chapter 29
“Unbelievable.”
“Henry.”
“Ridiculous.”
“Henry, please.”
“But look at this line!” Henry said, waving his arms around. “There’s no excuse for this.”
Moses and I stood behind Henry and his wife, an old couple that looked to be in their sixties. We were lined up along the sidewalk outside Elmira High School’s gymnasium, where the graduation was now taking place because every weatherman in the tri-county area had been promising rain. The line itself stretched out from the entrance where metal detectors were placed and continued around the building where it disappeared. So far we’d been in line for twenty minutes.
A uniformed police officer walked up and down the line making the same announcement—“Be prepared to empty all metal objects from your pockets”—while two other officers near the front checked bags and purses and camera cases.
As one of the officers checked Henry’s wife’s purse, Henry said, “This is insane! I was just at my granddaughter’s graduation last week and we weren’t forced to go through this circus.”
“This is standard procedure, sir,” the officer said. His voice was flat and bored.
“Standard procedure?”
“Mike Boyd is the keynote speaker, sir. This is for his safety.”
“His safety? But I didn’t even vote for him!”
“Shush now, Henry,” the old man’s wife said.
Disgusted, Henry shook his head and kept mumbling. He took off his Wilson Golf cap and wiped his brow. Putting it back on, he noticed me watching him, and no doubt needing someone in his corner, he said to me, “Young man, don’t you think this is absolutely absurd?”
My hands had been working in and out of fists since we got out of the car. My body was shaking. I couldn’t get the thought of Joey’s present out of my mind, or the idea that Moses had known all along, or the fact that I had actually held the thing that had caused my parents’ death, that I was in fact in possession of it. I’d never hated anyone so much as I hated Moses right then, and hearing Henry’s words now, I nodded.
“Yeah,” I said, looking at Moses for the first time. “It’s fucking unbelievable.”
• • •
TWO WOMEN STOOD inside the entrance. They both held programs and handed them out to everyone who entered. Behind them was a table where another woman in a wh
eelchair sat, and behind her was a short corridor that led into the gymnasium. A sign on an easel beside the table read YOU WILL NEED TICKETS FOR FLOOR SEATS.
In the hallway itself people—some teenagers, mostly adults—made their way toward the table or off to either the left or right. There were stairs on both ends farther down that took you up to the second level. After accepting our programs, Moses asked me which way I wanted to go.
“Don’t fucking talk to me,” I muttered.
“Christopher—”
“I said don’t talk to me.”
He took a moment, then started off toward the right. I was going to give it a few seconds before I followed him, but that’s when I saw Sarah.
She had appeared down the end of the corridor. Standing with her arms crossed, she wore a bright yellow dress, the hem coming down to just below her knees. On her feet were leather sandals. She was talking to another girl who looked to be about the same age, wearing jeans and a black T-shirt and who looked to be ... well, trailer trash.
“Christopher, what is it?”
Moses was staring at me. From the look on his face I could tell he thought I’d just had a feeling.
“Keep walking, preacher man.”
He stared at me another moment, then turned and started away.
I walked toward the corridor, ignoring the table and the woman, until she said, “Excuse me, do you have a ticket?”
I glanced at her. “Ticket?”
She sighed. “Yes. Every graduating student’s family is given two tickets for seats on the floor. Do you have one?” She said this like she’d said it a hundred times already (which she probably had), and when I shook my head she continued, “Well, then I’m sorry, but you’ll have to sit upstairs on the bleachers.”
“I just need to talk to a friend of mine,” I said. “She’s right there.”
And I pointed, as if that made any difference, but the woman simply shook her head. “I still can’t let you through.” Then she turned her attention to the front doors, waiting for those people lucky enough to possess tickets.
It didn’t matter, though. Sarah was done talking with her friend and had walked away, disappeared from sight down the throat of the corridor. I didn’t know why, but I felt disappointed. Also, I felt angry, because she’d ignored my warning about not coming here today. But who was I kidding? Had I really thought she was going to take me seriously, a guy she hardly even knew who’d probably spooked her more than anything else?
I turned away, ready to track down Moses, and almost walked straight into my uncle.
Dean wore a light tan jacket, faded jeans and boots. He was sucking on a LifeSaver, and when he spoke I could smell a mixture of cigarettes and peppermint.
“Tell me something. Why am I suddenly filled with this unsettling dread? Is it that you’ve got no reason being here in the first place? Or is it that I’ve finally come to the conclusion you’re just bad luck?”
“There’s no third option?”
“No, there’s no third option.”
I shrugged. “Well, then I don’t know what to tell you.”
Dean gave me his cold hard stare. “Moses Cunningham is here too, isn’t he.”
“Who?”
He reached forward, gripped my arm. “What the fuck is going on here?”
I forced myself to stare back at him, to not break eye contact, to ignore his hand squeezing my arm and everything else in the world right at that instant. “What do you mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean. There’s something going on between you and Moses Cunningham and I want to know what it is. I’ve had a background check done on him. He’s a ghost. Nothing’s come up on him since he moved away from Ohio six years ago. He has no line of credit. He hasn’t paid his taxes in years.”
“And since when did you start working for the IRS?”
He squeezed my arm tighter. “Don’t screw with me, Chris. What is going on here?”
“You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you.”
“You’ve said that before.”
“You didn’t believe me then.”
“And why should I believe you now? All I ever get from you is bullshit anyway. Hell, I could have you and that ... that pastor taken out of here so quick it’d make your heads spin.”
I continued staring back at him without a word. It was slight, but I’d noticed the hesitation there in his voice. A word had been on the tip of his tongue, a word he had caught an instant before it was too late. Nigger, he had wanted to say, he had wanted to call Moses.
“Have us taken out?” I said. “For what reason?”
“Suspicion. They received a threat last night about Mike Boyd. Who’s to say that threat didn’t come from Moses Cunningham himself?”
“And why would Moses do something like that?”
“I don’t know, Chris. You tell me. You’re both such great friends all of a sudden.”
I said nothing, and neither did he. We simply continued our staring contest, waiting for the other to break.
Finally I said, “Are we done?”
He nodded. “For now. But stay on your toes. I don’t know what you’re up to, but I’ll figure it out. And believe me when I tell you, I can’t wait until you’re back in Lanton and out of my life.”
I should have left it at that. I should have let him have the last word, to let him turn and walk away. But I didn’t. Instead I grabbed his hand still gripping my arm, pushed it away, and said, “You know what, Dean? The feeling’s mutual.”
Then I stopped ignoring everything else in the world and remembered where we were again. From the corner of my eye I saw people making their way toward the stairs. After another second, I stepped around my uncle and filed in with the crowd. I didn’t realize until I reached the stairs that I was shaking.
• • •
I FOUND MOSES a few minutes later. He sat by himself near the top of the bleachers overlooking the gymnasium. A little farther down, a trio of teenagers wearing all black lounged themselves over three rows; two were wearing headphones and bobbing their heads. It was nearly ten minutes before graduation was to begin and already the place was packed.
The top of the gym was a circular cement track bordered by white four-foot high steel rails. The floor itself was a wooden basketball court. Besides the usual painted lines for the key and three-point arc, there were other thinner lines used for volleyball and badminton and whatever other sports were played during P.E. Wooden bleachers were pulled out and faced each other on both sides of the court. Nearly every space was filled, except for this section which would no doubt soon start filling up fast.
Wires raised both basketball backboards so that they were out of the way. A stage was set up beneath the one backboard, with chairs and a podium and a lectern and a long table with diplomas on top. Above this stage was a long blue banner with the words
CONGRATULATIONS CLASS OF 2003
in bulky white letters. The school’s band all sat clustered off to the left of the stage, and above the murmuring din of people talking an occasional trombone or clarinet or cymbal could be heard. Rows of chairs were lined up facing front, down the entire court with a walkway in between. The first twenty rows were empty, while the rest were filled with whoever had been fortunate enough to acquire tickets.
It took me a while to spot Sarah and her father. They were near the back, a few seats in. Sarah sat reading her program (or Billy Budd) while Henry Porter chatted with someone behind them.
Directly across from the stage, down the walkway toward the other end of the gym, were two opened exit doors. Sunlight streamed in onto the court. Though I didn’t have the best position, I could see that was where all the graduating students waited. A sea of blue-robed teenagers stood talking outside.
There were only three uniformed officers spread throughout the gymnasium, at least from what I could see—two on the floor, one walking the track.
Moses didn’t look up when I sat down beside him. He had his program open,
seeming to read while his eyes scanned the crowd.
“Everything okay?” he asked, not looking at me.
I didn’t answer.
He sighed. “Christopher, I know you’re upset with me, but right now you can’t let your emotions overtake you.”
“Thank you for the insight, Dr. Phil. I sincerely appreciate it.”
Minutes later the band started playing. The crowd quieted as they found their seats. Parents got their cameras ready. Four rows down, the one kid in black who wasn’t wearing headphones nudged his two friends, who took theirs off. I glanced at Moses and saw his eyes were closed. I knew he was praying, and for the first time in a long while I felt like praying too.
Graduation had begun.
Chapter 30
New York’s former governor Mike Boyd never got a chance to make his keynote speech. Jeffery Snyder was halfway through his salutatorian address a half hour into the ceremony when there was a scream. More screams followed. Commotion began on the floor and moments later someone shouted, “Stop, drop your weapons!” and then there were three consecutive gunshots followed by silence.
It all happened within the space of two minutes.
And in those two minutes, a familiar feeling passed through me and I saw and felt everything. How this happened, even now I can’t explain, but I saw and felt everything because, somehow, I was there.
• • •
I’M SITTING NEXT to Moses in the bleachers, watching the crowd, and when that cold pang slices through my soul I close my eyes—
BLINK
—and when I open them again I’m no longer next to Moses, I’m no longer even in the bleachers. Instead I’m standing on stage, in front of everyone. A mass of students in blue robes sits in the seats before me, their parents and grandparents and other relatives sitting in the seats behind them. Many of their eyes are trained on the student standing at the lectern to my left, not seven feet away. It’s Jeffery Snyder, the second in his graduating class of two hundred and fifty one, and right now he’s in the middle of his speech. His voice is low and monotone, and he keeps clearing his throat and looking down at the note cards scattered in front of him.
The Calling Page 23