Cail looked to her parents' faces for reassurance, and the set of their jaws as the psychiatrist talked made her shoulders relax. Everybody knew that worldly people blamed everything on mental illnesses, because they didn't understand about God and demons and how things really worked.
Thankfully, the psychiatrist didn't talk very long. The man hadn't been very nice anyway, but what could you expect from someone who didn’t believe in God? There had been another psychiatrist who came in to talk with her, one who was friends with her Uncle Rupert. Uncle Rupert’s friend was much nicer.
Sweat pricked Cail's armpits as her lawyer walked forward to question her. Maybe that nice doctor would get to speak up in her favor, tell everyone she wasn't crazy and she was actually just really tuned in to what God wanted.
Cail had a special calling.
But the world would never understand that.
The next few hours were like a sick dream. They asked her if she knew she had obsessive compulsive disorder. They asked if she even knew what that was.
Cail didn't know. She knew there was some comedy show on TV about a guy that had it and Cail had heard a girl at church talk about the program. But she didn't watch TV, because it was more pleasing to God to spend time reading the Bible.
Her parents shook their heads gravely, and her mother closed her eyes tight to pray. Cail finally got to leave the stand. Her heart surged as she saw her Uncle Rupert's friend go up next, looking the part of every psychiatrist Cail had ever seen in a movie in a rumpled navy suit, polka-dot tie and thick glasses.
"Tell us about the relationship between OCD and violent behavior," Cail's lawyer asked the doctor. The lady judge leaned forward and propped her chin on one palm. The judge's hair was auburn red and crimped under primly exactly at her shoulders. She kept glancing in Cail's direction with something like morbid fascination. The psychiatrist who knew Uncle Rupert cleared his throat and rubbed his pale hands together nervously.
"Yes. Well," he said. "I am very glad you asked about this. Violent thoughts, or ‘harm’ obsessions as we call them, are a very common manifestation of OCD. Cail also had very strong religious obsessions: felt she needed to say prayers the right way, repeatedly. Repeat Bible verses. Not engage in worldly activities. Things of this sort. Obsessive behavior is sometimes not recognized right away, depending on a person’s environment. For example, a mother who greatly values cleanliness will actually praise a child who is always clean and orderly, even if it’s to the point of obsession. In Cail’s case, because of her family’s strong religious beliefs, obsessive religious behavior was considered a sign of devotion, not an illness.”
“Objection,” Jonah’s lawyer said. “Can we move on to the original question? Violence?”
The psychiatrist cleared his throat. “Yes. It is important to stress here that patients suffering from harm obsessions do not, I repeat, do not, act on these thoughts. The thoughts are caused by a chemical imbalance, and cause extreme distress to these patients, exactly because the violent thoughts are totally against who the patient is and everything they believe in. These are not real thoughts, based in the patient’s character or will. The thoughts are abhorrent to the patients. This is why the patient will go to such great lengths, do so many compulsive rituals, to get rid of the thoughts.”
Cail felt her mouth dropping open. She did sound like that imaginary patient the doctor was talking about. Of course killing Jonah was abhorrent. And she definitely felt compelled to make the thoughts go away. She would do anything to make them go away.
Cail slumped forward in her seat, tears quivering on her bottom lashes. Her parents were hissing angrily among themselves. Jonah's lawyer got to question the doctor now. The lawyer was a friend of Mr. Jones' and he was not a very nice man. Cail didn’t like her own lawyer very much, either, but thankfully, Cail hadn't had to spend much time with him. Her parents had helped her by meeting with the guy, making up some strategy to keep her out of jail.
Cail was grateful, because she was in too much shock to think straight.
"This is all very entertaining," Jonah's lawyer said as he paced in his suit. "But I think we are forgetting a key fact in our little fantasy about 'crazy people never do harm to anyone.' That girl," he stabbed an angry finger at Cail, "tried to kill my client."
Cail figured Jonah was probably here somewhere. She had been terrified to look. Even when on the stand she hadn't let her eyes wander farther than her parents. Seeing the look on Jonah’s face would kill her.
But her plan couldn't last much longer.
Jonah's lawyer asked a few more questions, then said something that caused reality to fuzz. "The defense would like to call Jonah Jones to the stand, please."
How was it possible that she and Jonah were here, about to face each other in court?
She was supposed to marry Jonah. This was what God wanted. They would stand in front of their church together and Cail would wear a modest white dress. They would have eight kids with names from the fruits of the spirit and they would grow up in the same church as Cail and Jonah had.
She wanted to believe it was all still a test.
She remembered what the doctors had said, about OCD. That chemicals in her brain made her feel like she had to pray and read the Bible and always be a good person.
It couldn't be. That would mean God hadn't spoken to her.
Ever.
Cail could hardly stand the pain in her chest.
Then she saw Jonah, climbing up the stairs to the little wooden booth where she had sat. He was wearing a slate blue dress shirt and khaki pants and the braces that wouldn't come off until next year when he was twenty one. He looked skinny and very unhappy. Even from here Cail could tell his long fingers were shaking.
She couldn't take it anymore. Cail nailed her gaze on the floor and forced herself not to sob while Jonah’s lawyer interrogated him, then gave the floor to her own lawyer. She wanted to melt into the floor and disappear, be anywhere but here.
"Honey." Cail's mom poked her shoulder and hissed into her ear. "God is going to get you through this. God's will is going to prevail. Don't you forget that. The truth will come out. All those hours you spent keeping a diary and writing about God's good works…God is going to use it."
Cail blinked fast, unsure if it would be possible to feel any more sick. Her lawyer was up front holding a stack of books, and all of them were her diaries. She recognized the rose-printed cover of one, emblazoned with a Bible verse in cursive and a hot pink ribbon bookmark.
Her diaries were here. In the hands of her lawyer.
Her parents must have given them to him.
Cail's tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth as the lawyer finished some speech to the crowd, then turned and winked at Jonah Jones.
"And so," the lawyer said, slick in his dark suit, "I would like to submit to the court that the definition of OCD that the good doctor Hendricks has given us today is correct. These patients don't want to hurt anybody. It’s true that the obsessions aren’t based on real feelings, but are in fact totally abhorrent to the patient, against everything the patient really wants. And I can prove to you today that the last thing my client Cail wanted to do was to hurt this boy. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is because she was crazy-eyed, wild-hearted in love with him."
She didn't see Jonah's reaction. She didn't see anything but tears swimming in her eyes. She buried her burning face behind her long hair, desperate to hide from the world.
She had never spoken a word to Jonah about how she felt about him.
But now the whole world knew.
Cail's lawyer read on and on, sappy words that she had scribbled in her diary, lovesick and sure that God wanted her and Jonah to be together forever.
But now it all sounded awful. Profane.
She was the defendant. She was here because they said she tried to kill Jonah. And now the lawyer was reading out loud how much she loved Jonah, adored every dimple in his cute little face.
Cail retched and thre
w up all over the sleeve of her modest white sweater.
Kiss me Before I Die
THE WIND PICKED UP AND IT FELT LIKE a giant blow dryer whistling across the stony dirt of the mission compound. It was morning, the morning after Cail had found Lalo sitting there with the pistol and held him tight in the laundry room.
Out in the courtyard, Cail closed her eyes against the gritty sand, trying to make herself go inside. The interior of the mission house was another kind of storm: everyone packing, trying to backup documents, getting ready to drive the Land Cruiser over to the airport.
Ashton the pilot was waiting there with the plane, ready to fly the Ancient Texts guys and their security out of the country.
Jonah was getting out of here and going back to tan, sleek-haired Jess.
Cail swallowed so hard she nearly gagged. She whirled around towards the door of the mission house, ducking inside out of the cutting wind and sand. The hallway was littered with dusty backpacks and light blue cases of water. Cail’s eyes slammed into Jonah's. He was kneeling on the tiles, leaning over a black laptop bag, stuffing sheaves of paper inside.
"Cail." Sweat dripped off Jonah's nose and ran across his lips. He swiped at it with the bottom of his untucked white Tommy polo. "Oh gosh. This is insane."
Cail's eyes wandered around the hall and she saw the three other guys who worked with Jonah. Caspian was helping the security guards haul boxes to the car, a bright red bandana tied around his curly hair. Dominick, the manuscript guy from South Africa, was standing tall at the head of the hallway, trying to get everyone’s attention
"Hey, guys.” Dominick cleared his throat. "I have something to say.” Everyone quieted down and sank to the cool tiles to rest and gulp lukewarm water. "Ashton says the plane can hold all seven of us, plus himself. Can't leave without the pilot." Dominick chuckled, leaning forward to gaze at all of them with intense chocolate brown eyes.
Cail lowered herself to the tiles a foot away from Jonah, who sat cross-legged, clutching the black laptop case on one knee, listening and sweating.
"What I want to say," Dominick pressed his lips together, "is that each of us weighs as much as two or three of those kids. They could all go with Ashton, instead of us. The plane already has permission to land in Italy, which is where we were gonna stop over for fuel. When the kids get there, surprise! Ashton forks over the asylum paperwork to the authorities."
Silence coated the hall. Cail sensed Jonah blink, hard.
"We could go on the next plane," Jonah finally got out.
Dominick nodded. "When Ancient Texts finds out what happened, they’ll send Ashton right back to pick us up. If Al-Qaeda gets in here, God only knows what they will do to those kids. I'm sorry, guys. I can't live with that."
Everyone started fidgeting. Jonah took a large drink of water, then set the bottle on the tiles with a visibly shaking hand. Cail found she wasn’t breathing.
She was thrilled at the idea of the kids getting out of here, even if it meant leaving Jonah behind. She would take care of Jonah until the plane came back.
"Ok," Jonah said at Cail's side. He wouldn't even look at her. "I agree. Let the kids go first."
One by one, the other guys also agreed. Dominick grinned at them all, looking relieved. “Alright, everyone. Let’s do this. We can leave out stuff right here until the plane gets back. Let’s get the kids and their things over to the airport and loaded up.”
Caspian tightened his red bandana and started towards the door. He looked pumped at the idea of getting the kids onto that plane. "If we're going to load the kids quickly,” he told Cail, “we'll need all the help we can get. I'll call over to the hospital and tell them the good news. We should head over there and start getting the kids packed up."
“I’ll be right over,” Cail promised as Caspian disappeared out the door. She untangled her legs and stood up, blinking back the sight of Jonah, white with fear at her side.
"Cail?" Jonah swallowed hard and looked up at her. He climbed to his feet slowly. "Can we talk a second?" he squeaked. She bit her lip and nodded. She was waiting, but Jonah just squeezed his eyes shut and stood there in front of her. "Not here. The laundry room?"
“Oh. Ok.” Cail walked at Jonah’s side towards the laundry room, where she had found Lalo last night. Her heart hurt. Jonah let the screen door slam behind them, and the two of them were alone in the shade. Warm water still puddled on the tiles. Cail was barefoot, because she’d taken off her flip-flops when she sat down in the hall and forgotten to slip them back on.
She was not going to let herself admit that it was because she forgot everything else when Jonah had said her name.
"What's going on?" Cail felt herself wince as soon as she said it. What a ridiculous question.
They were in Timbuktu, surrounded by Islamist fighters who delighted in chopping the heads off foreigners. Jonah Jones was a long way from Nebraska. He was standing here with Cail, the girl who had nearly hurt him so long ago, and for all he knew she was all that stood between him and Al-Qaeda if they broke into the city.
Jonah had just volunteered to stay here and let seventeen little Malian children leave in the airplane his corporation had sent to save his life.
Jonah had moved to stand in front of Cail, who had her back against the laundry room wall. He had took off the glasses that were sweating themselves right off his face anyway and stuffed them in the pocket of his black pants. Jonah was staring off into the courtyard through the open door of the laundry room, covering his mouth with one hand.
Cail couldn't take her eyes off him. "You did the right thing. All you guys," she said, trying not to make it sound too gruff. But better gruff than cheesy.
Jonah jerked his eyes back to her and she saw him swallow hard. "Cail, I just…" His lower lip was trembling and Cail pressed herself against the freezing concrete, tried to shrink even lower. But that just left her looking up into his blue eyes.
"I just wanted to tell you," Jonah said, "that I'm sorry about what happened. You became this really cool person…but I guess, I mean…you always were. You were the only one who got me." Jonah's face twisted into something fierce and painful. "I'm sorry that things out of our control ruined that for us."
“Me too,” Cail whispered.
Cail realized she had both her palms splayed against the wall at hip level, chill against the concrete. Jonah took one of her hands and pushed their joined palms against the wall, Cail's elbow bent. With his other hand he cupped her chin and kissed her.
Cail had dreamed about this since she was fourteen years old.
But the reality wasn't near as lovely as she had dreamed.
Jonah wasn't the same person he'd been when he and Cail grew up in church. And neither was she. She liked a lot of things about him, but they were so, so different.
Jonah was in love with Jess, and they were getting married.
He was only kissing Cail because he was sure he was about to die.
In slow motion, she laid a hand on Jonah's cheek and broke off the kiss. "Jonah." She gripped his chin tighter and made him look at her. They were so close she could see the sweat beaded on his nose, golden yellow specks in the blue of his eyes.
Jonah I have loved you forever, but if you start to cry, I will never forgive you.
"Thank you. For what you said," Cail managed. No tears, thank God, but every line of Jonah's face was painted with despair. Cail felt his Adam's apple graze her hand as he swallowed hard. She untangled her other hand from Jonah's and cupped the other side of his chin, willing him to listen to her, look her in the eye.
"You are not going to die,” she told him. “Do you hear me? You are going back to the United States, and you are going to have that big wedding at Jess's Daddy's country club. You and Jessica are going to get married, and you're gonna live happily ever after." Cail blanched, because her eyelids were stinging.
Oh God, no. I can't cry. Please.
She released Jonah's face and dropped her arms to her side. And then, just b
ecause it was possible that they might be about to die, she flung her arms around Jonah and pulled him into her for a hug.
"I'm going to keep you safe,” she told him. “I swear. You stay right by me. Nothing's gonna happen to you." She let him go and they both looked down at the pistol that rode in the holster at Cail's hip.
"This time I'm on your side," she told him, chin lifted fiercely towards the sky. "I promise."
Hyperventilate
Nebraska
Fourteen years ago
Two months before the trial
CAIL CURLED INTO A BALL ON TOP OF the pea green carpet, hugging the vinyl cover of her Bible against her chest, trying to make it all go away.
Every muscle in her body clenched. She hyperventilated.
Across the ghostly screen in her mind, she saw the scene play out for the millionth time, like some evil being had selected it on the playlist of her brain and pushed loop play and there was no way to turn it off. In the vision, Cail was so close she could see the whites of his eyes, the sweat beading down his forehead next to the thin barrel of the pistol. There was a hollow click that echoed as Jonah Jones whispered, "Please."
And then she pulled the trigger.
It was worse than any horror movie. Blood and brains splattered across the wall and doused Cail's arm in coppery crimson.
She curled up tighter into the carpet of her bedroom, so sick she could barely breathe.
She couldn't make it go away. Every fiber of her body told her that she was going to do this, she was going to take the pistol she was so good at using and she was going to put it to Jonah's temple and she was going to kill him.
She was going to do it, because the Spirit of God was inside her, telling her she had to do it. And she had to do it now, right now, because if she didn't God's wrath was going to be spilled out and how much worse would be the way Jonah would die if God himself killed him.
Burn (Story of CI #3) Page 27