Careless Rapture

by Dara Girard

  “I can’t allow that.”

  “You’ll have to.” The candle cast dark shadows against his face. “Then again, perhaps I could do you a favor and let you have one of them.” He flashed a malicious grin. “You’ve always wanted to play hero. Here’s your chance. Persuade one of them to leave with you. It will be fascinating to see my former protégé use the techniques I taught him. You were talented when it came to persuasion. So who will be your choice?” He stood behind Bertha. “Your mother? The one Rennie described as a slag? The one who left you? The one who hurt you by throwing you out when you needed her most? The one who always chooses the nearest man over you? Isn’t it ironic that she did it again? Left you for another man?” He rested a hand on his chest. “Me.”

  Emmerick moved to stand behind Amanda. “Or there’s the senator’s niece. That would be a great victory. Think of all the cheers and adulation you’d receive when you returned her home. But will she leave with you? You’re a stranger. I’ve told her a few things about you. How you deceived me. That you have an anger you barely tame. That you would use her to penetrate my world. You’re still just a poor runaway inside. With her you could finally belong. You’ve always wanted to belong—”

  Someone coughed. Clay blinked, pulling himself out of the sticky web of words Emmerick had started to weave around him. He’d begun to listen to Emmerick’s words and got caught up in the mind game—the challenge of outwitting him. But that wasn’t why he was here.

  “You can’t win,” Emmerick said. “They won’t betray me. They won’t betray this ministry.” He set the candle down. “So make your choice. Here’s your chance to be a hero.”

  “I don’t want to be a hero.”

  “Of course you do. You’ve always wanted to be the one who charges into battle. The one who fights alone. You want to save, you want to be somebody important.”

  “Yes, I used to. But now when I charge into battle I don’t fight alone.”

  “So you refuse my challenge?”

  “I suggest you surrender,” Clay said.

  Emmerick made a motion with his hands. The knives appeared again. “And if I don’t?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised because you don’t believe in surrender—peaceful or otherwise. A true charlatan.”

  “All messengers must accept the labels their present society will hurl at them. Surrender should not be confused with succumbing to one’s opposition. I don’t believe in this kind of surrender.”

  “You don’t believe in a surrender of any kind.” Clay folded his arms. “I believe you had a life-saving triple bypass a few years back. Why hadn’t you surrendered to your fate then?”

  He started, surprised, then cleared his throat. “There are moments when—”

  “You surrender.”

  “I refuse.”

  “Then my friends will make you.”

  That was the signal for Mack and the others to remove their hoods. Nobody moved.

  Emmerick smiled at the look on his face. “Were you expecting your friends to show up?” He motioned to one of the guards, who opened a closet. “Don’t worry, they did.”

  The guard led Nicolas, Mack, and Brent into the center of the room, their faces scraped and bruised, their hands tied behind their backs while masking tape covered their mouths.

  “No!” Jackie screamed, as a member grabbed her. She fought him until he put a knife to her neck and ended the struggle.

  The followers removed their hoods and stared at Clay as though he were a traitor.

  “I’m afraid you’re all alone,” Emmerick said.

  Clay stood as though his plan had fallen on him and left him paralyzed.

  “Thanks for sending the entertainment. You kept my followers busy while we awaited your arrival. The youngest one proved especially interesting.”

  The implication of his words broke through Clay’s paralysis. He lunged at Emmerick. Three members wrestled him to the ground. One pressed his head against the floor as though he wanted to crush his skull. He could feel grains of dirt pressing into his cheek.

  “Such anger,” Emmerick said, disappointed. “Let him face me.”

  One held Clay’s hands while another grabbed his collar and forced him to his knees.

  Emmerick stared down at him with cold disdain. “You shouldn’t have tried to defeat me.”

  Clay glared back, but said nothing.

  “Why are you here? I was good to you.”

  “You betrayed me,” he snapped.

  The acid in his tone melted the mask Emmerick wore, revealing the pathetic old man behind it. An old man with wounds as deep as his own. “I loved you. Was it wrong for me to show that? You were my son, like my flesh and blood.” He waved his fist. “I depended on you, I gave you everything, taught you all I knew. I clothed and fed you—you betrayed me. I didn’t kill your sister. I didn’t kill anyone. I released them, there’s a difference.

  “Be ashamed of yourself, for being nothing, for accomplishing nothing, for not using the talents given to you. Together we could have created a ministry that stretched the world. But you were too arrogant. Too proud. You had to be alone. But who have you saved? Your life is littered with the names of the dead, and look around you now—you’ve betrayed all those who have trusted you. Look at them. Look what you’ve done to them.” He grabbed Clay’s chin and forced him to look around the room. “This is your fault. You led them here.” He let him go and wiped his hands as though he’d touched something dirty. “Fortunately, I am a compassionate man. I have the power to forgive. I will allow you to leave with one of these people, though the choice is rather simple. Your mother, Amanda, your friends, or her?”

  Clay looked at them, then lowered his gaze. “I won’t choose.”

  “How about I make it easy for you? I’ll give you your friends and your female companion in exchange for the other two.”

  He didn’t raise his eyes. “No.”

  “Put aside your pride—they mean nothing to you. Your mother doesn’t want you and neither does Amanda. Make your choice!”

  “No.”

  Emmerick made his tone more indulgent. “You’re really not in the position to be greedy. If you haven’t noticed, you’re at a disadvantage here. I can have them toss you out of here and leave you with nothing. I have before.”

  Clay kept his gaze lowered.

  “Or we could play a game of persuasion.”

  Clay met his eyes. “I can’t outwit you.”

  “And I can’t fight you. That leaves us at a crossroads.”

  “I have a solution.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “What?”

  “If you let them go, I’ll surrender.”

  His voice faltered. “You’ll surrender?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “What do I have to lose? I haven’t amounted to anything, I’ve hurt those I care about; all I’ve ever wanted was to feel as though my life meant something. If you’ve truly forgiven me, you’ll give me that chance.”

  “Very well.” He handed Clay a small vial.

  “Clay, don’t,” Jackie said as he opened the vial. “Your life does mean something. Let go of me!” she yelled to her guard.

  He held her tighter, his knife pressing against her throat with such force that blood seeped through.

  Clay noticed the blood. “Keep still. He’ll hurt you.”

  “I don’t care,” Jackie said, feeling the hot sting of the knife wound. “Don’t do this, please. We can find another way. There has to be another way.”

  “There isn’t. If I do this he’ll be forced to keep his promise.” Before she could protest, Clay drank the contents.

  Emmerick motioned with his hands and the guards released them.

  Jackie ran to Clay as the vial dropped to the floor. She gripped his arm, tears filling her eyes. “Why?”

  “I’m okay,” he said.

  Emmerick smirked. “Yes, you will be for the next half hour.”

  Mack
came up beside Clay. “Let’s get you to a hospital,” he said, trying to sound calm, though he wasn’t.

  Brent took his other arm. “You’re going to be okay. Come on.”

  Emmerick looked at Clay with amusement. “And once again you have your chance to be a hero.” He clicked his tongue. “Unfortunately, you did a rather foolish thing. I’ve released your mother and Amanda, but as you’ve noticed neither has made a move toward you, They are loyal to me. Their minds belong to me. I hold their truths. So here is your great contribution and, in the end you’ve discovered your life was worthless.” He smiled cruelly. “No one is worth dying for.” He went to the door. “Come, followers.”

  No one moved.

  “I said come.”

  One of the guards turned to Clay and fell to his knees, the other followed, and soon all the members fell on their knees, their heads bowed to him.

  Emmeriek, stared, stunned. “Get up! What are you doing! He is a traitor. I am your leader, your adviser. Get up, I say!”

  No one moved.

  Nicolas approached Emmerick. “Seems they’ve lost faith in you. In the face of such kindness one can easily spot a fraud. You’re under arrest for the abduction of Amanda Heldon.” He read him his Miranda rights as he led him away.

  Clay looked at all the bowed heads. “No, you mustn’t do this.”

  One member, a young pimply-faced youth with wide gray eyes said, “We’ll do whatever you say. We want to honor your sacrifice.”

  “Then make my death mean something by living life fully by being free. Go into the world and be free. The world is yours.”

  Amanda cautiously walked toward him. “But why did you do it? You could have taken your mother. You don’t even know me.”

  “I do know you. I’ve been you. You saw his Web site, right?”

  She nodded.

  “And he sent you e-mails telling you how clever you were and how you weren’t alone. He seemed like a friend.”

  She nodded again.

  “So you met him. It was in a crowded place because you would never meet with a stranger alone. You talked and ate and then you don’t remember a thing.”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “And you woke up groggy, frightened. You felt foolish, didn’t you? You’re a smart girl, how could you fall for this? He told you a lot of bad things about yourself,” he said, aware of how Emmerick would have controlled her mind. “But they’re not true.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Thank you.”

  Brent pulled on his arm. “Come, we have to go.”

  They all went outside. The rain had stopped, drops of water dripping from the roof and off the trees. The followers bowed to him one by one, then drove away in the van. Amanda went with the police.

  “I’m not afraid to die,” Clay said, as Jackie clung to him and Mack sent him worried glances.

  “We’re not going to let you,” Brent said.

  As Mack opened the door, Clay took a moment to lookout at the gathering mist as it swept past the cabin. Like a phantom, it enveloped the field and trees in a hazy scene as though trying to relegate it to memory. He let the haunting memories of those he’d lost mingle with it. Suddenly a sharp pain penetrated his skull. He stumbled to his knees.

  Mack swore, catching him before he hit the ground. “What’s wrong?”

  He couldn’t speak, the pain squeezing his jaw shut.

  “Emmerick said reaction time was a half hour,” Mack said.

  Jackie touched his face. It felt sticky and cold. “Then why is he going down so fast?”

  “Maybe he’s allergic,” Brent said.

  Bertha sent him a look of disgust. “He just drank poison, you daft twit.”

  “I know, but Emmerick said—”

  “Either Emmerick lied or mixed it with something else.” Mack struggled to lift Clay into the car. “Somebody, help me,” he cried.

  Brent came to his side. “Call an ambulance.”

  “An ambulance won’t reach us out here.”

  “They can meet us somewhere.”

  Mack staggered to his feet. “There isn’t enough time. Let’s lift him One, two, three.”

  Clay cried out in agony. Their hands felt like knives piercing under his skin. “Let me die,” he whispered through parched lips.

  “Ignore him,” Jackie said. “Get him in the car.” After an effort they got Clay inside the backseat.

  “We need to call for help,” Brent said.

  Jackie took out her mobile phone, then swore. “I can’t get a signal.”

  Mack sighed. “Get in the car.”

  Brent looked hopeful. “There was a house a couple miles back. They’ll have a phone and they have a field. I think I saw a field.”

  “So what?”

  “It’s big enough.”

  Mack turned away, irritated. “Get in the car and shut up.”

  Brent seized his arm, determined. “Just listen. It’s big enough. I know where it is. Let me drive.”

  Mack shoved him away. “Stop talking and get in the damn car.”

  “But I know the way. Give me the keys.”

  “No!”

  Brent grabbed Mack’s collar and pushed him against the car. “I know you don’t like me very much, but I don’t care. Let me do this. I can help.”

  Mack’s eyes clashed with his. “Let me go,” he said with cold anger.

  Brent tightened his grip. “First, give me the keys.”

  “Give him the keys,” Jackie said. “I don’t know what he’s talking about but he’s the only one here with an idea.”

  Mack reluctantly handed Brent the keys. “You’d better be right.”

  Brent jumped into the car and started the ignition. “Don’t worry, I am. The field’s big enough.”

  Mack clenched his teeth. “For what?”

  Brent only smiled and sped down the gravel drive.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Brent was right. The field was big enough for the MedEvac helicopter to land. Within ten minutes, Clay was whizzed away to the nearest trauma center.

  Clay didn’t remember much after leaving the cabin. He remembered moments of agonizing pain, times he wished they would just let him die. Then the pain stopped. But his throat felt like sandpaper, his tongue like a stone in his mouth. He couldn’t open his eyes and moving his limbs felt like needles sticking into his flesh. After a few minutes, he realized someone held his hand. The hand was warm, firm—too big to be a woman’s. He squeezed the hand to make sure. Yep, it was a man’s.

  “That’s my boy. Jackie, he squeezed my hand. That’s the way. Keep squeezing. You always did have a strong grip.”

  Clay’s heart pounded. He knew that voice.

  “Come on, do it again,” his father said. “Can you do that for me?”

  He squeezed his hand again, wishing he could open his eyes so he could see his father’s face. To his annoyance tears seeped from under his lids and spilled down his cheeks instead.

  Oscar Graham clumsily wiped his son’s face with a tissue. “You’re going to be okay. Just rest. I’m here.”

  Clay kept hold of his father’s hand and drifted off to sleep.

  ***

  As evening set, the sun lengthened the shadows in the room, bathing the area in a rosy-peach hue. Jackie adjusted Clay’s bedclothes before she headed to the cafeteria for something to eat. She’d been in the hospital since he’d been admitted. When he finally opened his eyes, she wanted to be the first person he saw. She wanted him to know he was never alone. Someone knocked on the door and she turned. “Come in.”

  Nicolas entered the room. “How is he?”

  “They’ve had to give him drugs to stimulate his heart, but he’s going to recover.” The doctors weren’t certain, but she was.

  He set a small potted plant on the side table next to the cards and flowers Clay had received. “I can’t believe he did what he did. I keep seeing it in my dreams.” He shook his head. “It was foolish in a way. We could have co
me back for Amanda. We could have come up with another plan.”

  “Yes, but by doing what he did, he freed them all. Not just one.”

  Nicolas fell silent, staring at the oxygen mask over Clay’s mouth. “You’re right.”

  “Good.”

  He stood by the bed, then turned to her, his eyes a startling blue in the dying light. “I still don’t believe in God or souls and all that stuff, but he helped me to gain a faith of a different kind. In my job I’ve seen people do cruel things to each other.” He shook his head, grim. “I’d lost my faith in the goodness of man. In dignity, in honor, in truth, even in love. He gave those back to me. When he wakes up, thank him for me.”

  “Thank him yourself.”

  “Can he hear me?”

  “He can squeeze your hand.”

  “That’s just a nerve impulse.”

  “I believe he can hear you, however, you can believe whatever you want to.”

  Nicolas rested his hand on the bed next to Clay’s. “I still don’t know why you did it, but thanks anyway.” He wasn’t sure whether it was because he wanted to believe or if it actually happened, but Clay’s little finger moved to touch his.

  Days later, Clay opened his eyes and regained his speech. He’d lost some vision in his left eye due to nerve damage and his left hand trembled a bit, but otherwise he was expected to make a full recovery. Although pleased with the constant flow of well-wishers, he wished they would stop—until Drake entered the room holding Marcus.

  Marcus bent over to kiss him on the cheek, then asked, “Is your boo-boo all better?”

  “It’s getting there.”

  “Don’t you know poison can kill you?” Drake said.

  Cassie entered the room with Ericka. “He wanted to make sure you knew that,” she said to Clay, and kissed him on the cheek. “Next time just read the label.”