Murder, Mayhem & a Fine Man

by Claudia Mair Burney

  I didn’t want to hear any more. It would break my heart. I’d seen men like Gabriel before, who choke the creativity of others because they are afraid of it.

  I touched the wall. “This kind of work has to be time-consuming. Do you get out much?”

  “Oh.” She looked startled. “Please don’t touch that. We can’t touch anything that belongs to Father. We only touch his things to clean them.”

  “He doesn’t want you to touch things in your own home?”

  She looked at me as if I’d said something shocking. “We don’t have things. Father insists that we give him all. We must totally transcend the things of this world so that we can receive his enlightenment.”

  “How convenient,” I said, before I could stop myself.

  “Father is wise above all.”

  She’d missed my sarcasm.

  We moved from the corridor into the kitchen—the least scary place in the house so far. But believe me, it was its own version of scary. The room looked as if someone had transplanted it from a bad Western movie circa 1970. Faded wallpaper of wagon trains adorned the walls. I didn’t think those wagon trains were the best choice for a kitchen—even in the seventies—but hey, I didn’t decorate the place. Still, the wallpaper gave the room warmth and matched the small, Western-style dining table surrounded by wooden chairs with backs that looked like wagon wheels.

  Elisa fumbled in the cupboards, searching for a bottle of water. They had plenty of bottled grape juice.

  “Elisa.” I glanced around me, to make sure Gabriel wasn’t coming. “You said some of you work outside the home. How many of you are in your…” I struggled for what word to use. “How many are in your group?”

  Wrong word choice.

  She laughed. “We’re not a ‘group.’ We’re children of Father. His chosen.”

  “How many children of Father are there?” I cringed as I said it.

  “Six. Four sisters and two brothers. Father does not count himself or the babies, but he favors seven. He’s been waiting for a new chosen one to reveal herself.”

  “Really,” I said, trying to remain calm.

  “Yes. We don’t count Father because he is eternal, and the babies…” Her voice trailed and she looked out the window over the sink.

  “What about the babies, Elisa?”

  She turned to face me again. “It does not appear what they shall be. That’s what Father teaches us.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Her green eyes darkened. “You should ask Father.”

  “I will ask him, but I’d like to know what you think it means.”

  She took a step closer to me. “You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t have come.”

  “God is with me, Elisa.”

  “Father is God,” she said. I saw in her eyes a weariness that I feared would kill her, but she wasn’t hostile toward me. She even seemed concerned.

  If I could gain her trust, I could find out the information I needed. Maybe get Susan and those children out of there, and Elisa, too. “Have you seen Susan?”

  “Are you his chosen one?”

  “His chosen one?”

  “He said another would come.”

  I had to go easy on her. “I’m not his chosen one. I just want to help.”

  “You can’t help me. If you aren’t his, you shouldn’t be here.”

  I moved closer to her. She nervously rummaged around a shelf. “Why shouldn’t I be here, Elisa?”

  She whispered, “He won’t let you go.”

  “He can’t keep me here.”

  She sighed wearily and turned to face me. “You’re already locked in. You can’t get out of this house without him.”

  “He’ll let me out.”

  “You don’t understand,” she said. “If he thinks you’re his, he’s going to keep you.”

  I refused to believe it. “Have you seen Susan? I can help you both.”

  “You can’t leave him if you belong to him.”

  I kept digging for more information. “Susan left, didn’t she?”

  She shook her head vigorously. “She didn’t really belong to him.”

  “Did she leave on her own, Elisa?”

  “He sent her away.”

  “Why?”

  “She wanted to be like the most high.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You have to ask Father to reveal the Scriptures to you. He will. He loves to share the knowledge of God.” Finally, she handed me the water. It had a twist-on plastic cap. Unopened. “Don’t eat or drink anything else he tries to give you,” she said. “And hope he sleeps tonight.”

  Her warning gave me courage. I touched her arm. “Elisa, what kind of drug does he use?”

  She seemed to struggle to answer.

  “I won’t tell him you told me.”

  She didn’t tell me. She walked over to the sink and opened the cabinet door underneath it. I saw boxes of cold and allergy medicines stacked on a box of mason jars. Hoses, coffee filters, ammonia, starter fluid, and, Lord, have mercy, strychnine—and that just for starters. Methamphetamine lab supplies right under the kitchen sink? That explained the potent chemical mix burning my lungs. I didn’t miss the fact that the house had both grape juice and strychnine readily available. My mind raced. “Where does he make it?”

  “Right here.”

  Poor Elisa.

  I thanked God for her generosity, but I still needed more. I had to tread carefully. Surely she knew that showing me that could get her killed. Her courage told me she wanted out. “Does he force you to use it?”

  “Not since I got pregnant.”

  I felt what was left of my heart drop to the floor. I couldn’t have been more affected if she were my own child, but I had to put my feelings aside. I didn’t know how long I’d be able to talk to her. “Does he sell it?”

  “Jonathan and Damon used to sell it for him, but now he’s using it all himself.”

  I went to her, placed my hand on her arm, and looked into her eyes. “Elisa, you have to know these chemicals are highly toxic. Even breathing them is dangerous.”

  She nodded.

  “Not only are you at risk, so is your baby. Meth labs have been known to explode. Let me help you get out of here.”

  In response she gently closed the cabinet door, headed over to the table, and sat. She stared at her hands clasped in her lap. “I can’t leave him. We’re going to have a baby together.”

  Again, I went to her. This time I knelt by her chair. I put my hands on her cheeks. “Listen to me, honey. Once, I knew a very bad man, and I thought I had to stay with him because I was pregnant. My baby died, and he almost killed me, too. If you let me help you, I promise you won’t have to have your baby alone. Please trust me. You don’t want to bring up a child like this.”

  She wouldn’t look at me. As much as I sympathized with her and wanted to comfort her, I still needed a little more information…

  “What about Susan? Did she use crystal meth, too?”

  “Yes, but he made her stop. He said it made her crazy.”

  Too many men at the jail came to me with drug-induced psychotic symptoms after using methamphetamines—symptoms that closely resembled schizophrenia. I wanted to press Elisa for more, but the fear in her delicate features told me she knew she’d already said way too much.

  Her wide green eyes regarded me. I could see both fear and compassion in them. “Don’t eat or drink anything he gives you, all right?”

  I took what she said to heart.

  Deliver us from evil.

  Chapter

  Twenty-four

  I TWISTED THE BOTTLE of water open and sat down in one of the seats that gave new meaning to the word “wheelchair.” I took tiny sips, trying to sift through the strands of thought dangling in my mind. I didn’t have long to make sense of anything because at that moment a nightmare came in.

  Actually, “nightmare” was too generous a description. That Amazon looked like she could be the sp
awn of Charles Bronson and Xena: Warrior Princess. She had the demeanor of Nurse Ratched in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. I could picture her distributing lobotomies as though they were Bayer aspirin. I wished she’d use such ministrations on Gabriel.

  Nightmare stomped over to me with frightening efficiency. “Hand me your purse.”

  Ask me nicely, I thought. “My purse?” I found parroting to be an effective time purchaser.

  “Hand me your purse.”

  I had to admire her focus, but I wasn’t through playing Polly-wanna-keep-my-purse. “You want me to hand you my purse?”

  She clenched her jaw and held out her hand.

  Next strategy? Go elementary school. “Huh?” I said.

  “I want your purse.”

  Go cosmopolitan. “It’s a Coach. I got it at the Coach boutique in Briarwood Mall ages ago. Had to save for three months. It’s their classic bucket bag. The black leather goes with everything, and this baby will still be around when I’m in the nursing home.”

  Nightmare Girl had come to the end of her patience. “Give it to me.”

  Back to parrot. “You want me to give you my purse?”

  “Now,” she said through clenched teeth.

  And elementary school again. “Why?”

  She snatched my purse off my arm, nearly dislocating my shoulder. I sized her up. She was at least six feet tall and two hundred and fifty pounds. She could probably beat me like cake batter, but I was fast. I’d have to outrun the cow.

  She left the room, carrying my three-hundred-dollar bag.

  Elisa intervened. “They’re going to check it for weapons.”

  “I’m not packing any. I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

  “You’ll get it back. They just want to make sure you don’t have anything harmful.”

  “By ‘they’ you mean…”

  “That’s Beryl, Father’s most devoted child.”

  I didn’t remember Beryl, and she was unforgettable. “She’s been one of his longest followers?”

  “She’s first in rank, not chronology. His first child is Jonny.”

  “Jonny who?” I played dumb. “What is his last name?”

  “He doesn’t have a last name anymore. We give up our earthly families for the family of God.”

  “Was it Vogel?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Surely you must have some idea?”

  She stared at me. “This is not a good place for questions like that.”

  I studied her face. She was trying her best to warn me of the precarious position we were in, God bless her. I backed off.

  She stayed focused on my purse. “He won’t let you have anything bad to read,” she said softly.

  “I don’t have any books in my purse except for a small New Testament.”

  “You can’t have that until Father says so. He has to make sure you understand the Scriptures first.”

  Other than my keys and identification, the items in my purse were just girlie things: A hairbrush, makeup, a gel pen, a highlighter, two miniature Snickers bars, and my wallet. I had credit cards in my wallet, and about forty dollars in cash.

  The cash I could replace, but they could do some damage with my credit cards. My keys gave them access to my car and my home. And if those people ate my chocolate…

  I tried not to awfulize. I’d get my purse back as soon as they made sure I wasn’t a threat.

  They would see that I wasn’t a threat, right?

  I wasn’t quite sure whom I was asking.

  “Elisa, the girl in Gabriel’s room—Faith—how old is she?”

  “Twenty.”

  “Who is the other woman in your family?”

  “Catherine, and now, I guess, you. He’s been waiting. He needed another one after Susan.”

  “How does he pick the members of his family?”

  “He makes Jonny and Damon find them. He tells them what he wants, and they get them for him.”

  “How?”

  “Like they found me. They took me away from infidels.”

  “Took you away?”

  “They delivered me from the hands of evil and gave me unto the Father.”

  I knew Gabriel was bold, but my God, he had his henchmen snatching women off the street? I reached across the table and clasped her hand. “Oh, sweetie. What happened to you?”

  “I am Father’s, and Father is mine.”

  “Tell me what your last name is.”

  “I don’t have that heathen name. It is gone from me.”

  I knew if I could get her to reclaim her name, I might be able to get her out of here. “I will help you, Elisa. Tell me, please, who are you? Who are you?”

  She hesitated. I saw such sorrow in that child’s eyes, I could hardly bear it.

  “I used to be Elisa St. James.”

  “You are still Elisa St. James.” I squeezed her hand. “I will remember that.”

  I moved my hand when I heard footsteps creaking in our direction. It was burly Beryl. She didn’t have my purse. “Father wants to speak with you. Follow me.”

  What choice did I have? I followed her to Gabriel.

  Chapter

  Twenty-five

  THERE ARE TIMES when it is necessary to empty yourself of preconceptions to the best of your ability. These are times of deep concentration on nothing. I needed to free my mind of the images of Elisa, Vogel, Crawford—and Adam.

  This would be a difficult role—perhaps the hardest I would play in my life. This was for Elisa, Susan, the children. It was for Bell—broken Bell—seven years ago. I would play this role, and maybe I would free them.

  Beryl took me to a room, smaller than the others. The room was understated—opposite of the brash living room. I presumed it expressed a different part of Gabriel.

  He sat in the corner on a pristine, white natural-fiber futon placed on the bare, tiled floor. The walls were also white and Martha Stewart clean. Next to the futon stood a small, flat basket table like the one in Jonathan’s living room. I sat on the floor, facing him. My heart thundered inside of me.

  I hoped he was in a talkative mood. I’d appeal to every trick available to me to stroke his ego, and Adam had taught me many.

  He motioned for me to sit and dismissed Beryl. She left, a tight smile on her face.

  A lock clicked. We’re locked inside this room. A sense of panic rose in me like bile, and I pushed it back, burying it deep.

  A tangible comfort hung around my neck, hidden underneath my high-collared blouse—Jazz’s prayer beads. I wanted to reach for them.

  “You are as beautiful as you were seven years ago. Tell me, Amanda, why did you go away? You only came to study three times. Didn’t you like my teachings?”

  Play this role, Bell. For the women and kids.

  “I wasn’t ready for you.”

  He actually licked his lips. “And are you ready now?”

  “I—I don’t know.” I didn’t mean to stammer. Fear moistened my skin with sweat.

  “Are you afraid of me?”

  I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to.

  Just then, I heard the lock click again, and in came burly girly. In her right hand she held a tray with a plate of fresh fruit and bread, and two wineglasses that appeared to be full of grape juice. She walked through the room, as adept as a waitress in a fine restaurant. I had to admit, he’d trained them well. She carefully placed the food and drinks on the basket table.

  My throat felt raw and burning. I needed to cough, but I couldn’t risk taking a drink of what was in those glasses. I longed for my bottled water, left standing on the table in the wagon-train kitchen.

  God, don’t let him ask me much.

  Gabriel leaned back, positioning himself against the wall. He watched me for a long time with his intense, methamphetamine-driven stare. “Tell me about yourself. What have you done in the years since I saw you last?”

  I coughed, and quickly tried to recover, clearing my throat. “I went to school—off and on. Wor
ked a few jobs. Over the years I thought about your teachings.” I hoped he wouldn’t discern this double-talk. I’d have to be careful.

  “What did you think?” he asked.

  I could smell him. He reeked of patchouli and his own revolting scent—a metallic, chemical odor.

  “Your teachings were unforgettable. From there I went to study at a seminary to try to understand the little that I’d heard you teach in those three sessions.”

  “You can’t find what I teach in any school.”

  Thank God.

  I nodded. “I grasped that,” I said, followed by a cough that practically hocked up a lung.

  “Drink?” he said, like the devil himself.

  “No, thank you.”

  My answer displeased him. He eased himself nearer to me, and I knew he’d finished indulging me. He got right to the point. “I will teach you the things of God, little Amanda.”

  I didn’t reply.

  He laughed a soft but sinister laugh. “Don’t be frightened of me.”

  “I feel like things are moving a little faster than I thought they would.”

  “We have plenty of time. I just want to talk to you. Tell me how you found Jonny. He’s a good kid, isn’t he?”

  Interesting. He didn’t strike me as insincere, even if his sincerity was perverted. I didn’t understand. What was this freak asking? “Pardon me?”

  “Tell me how you got together with Jonny after so long.”

  Stay cool, Bell.

  “I happened to be in the neighborhood last Wednesday. I saw the house, and I remembered being there before.”

  “You stopped in?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did Jonny remember you?”

  Where is he going with this? Take it easy, girl.

  “He didn’t say.”

  My lungs, thankfully, seemed to settle down, though I did feel a little wheezy.

  Again, Gabriel offered me a drink. “Have a sip of your wine.”

  What a clown. Sky-high on dope, but he serves grape juice and calls it wine. “I don’t want anything,” I said.

  His jaw tightened, and again, that foul grin spread across his face. I’m losing ground. C’mon, Bell, slow him down. You’ve talked to worse at the jail.

  Gabriel rubbed his hands together, fidgeted a bit. “Jonny must have remembered you. I certainly did. Jonny and Damon. They’re good sons. Jonny should have brought you to me.”