Servant

by J. S. Bailey

  “Would you like to contact your family to let them know you’re okay?”

  “I can wait,” he said. Ohio was three hours ahead of Oregon, and he didn’t want to needlessly disturb anyone’s slumber. He could call Charlotte in the morning and give her an abridged version of what had happened then. “How long am I going to be here?”

  “You can leave as soon as we’re sure you’re in the clear,” she said. “But first the police would like to ask you a few things.”

  Great. He’d already had his share of being interrogated by law enforcement this week. “Uh, ma’am? Before you send them in, is there anyone here to see me?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. I’ll tell them you’re awake.” She rose and disappeared through the door.

  Bobby closed his eyes. He was so exhausted that he wished he could postpone talking to the police until morning, too.

  The sound of approaching footsteps made his eyes flutter open. In walked Phil—still wearing Bobby’s Muse shirt, he noted with grim amusement—followed by none other than a red-eyed Carly Jovingo.

  “What are you doing here?” he blurted.

  Carly’s cheeks turned pink. “Because I’m a decent human being. You should try it sometime.”

  Ouch.

  Phil sat down in an empty chair and started rubbing his eyes. Carly remained standing, her arms folded tightly across her chest as if in defiance of something Bobby was unaware of.

  Neither of them spoke, so Bobby broke the silence by saying, “Lupe?”

  Phil gave a thin-lipped smile. “She’s going to be okay. Graham locked her in a shed and apparently planned to take care of her after . . .” He shook his head, and tears welled up in his eyes. “Sorry. But you’ll find this interesting. Father Laubisch showed up just as I was about to leave with Lupe, and he said he planned on rescuing her himself. I called the cops on him because I didn’t trust him any more than I could throw him, and while we were waiting for them to show up, he said he’d convinced Graham to split Lupe and Randy up so he could save her. Father Laubisch, that is. He told me he was the one who took Trish’s body as a stand-in for Lupe.”

  Bobby wrinkled his nose. “Wouldn’t she have smelled?”

  “She would have if Father Laubisch hadn’t put her in a freezer. Somehow Graham was behind Trish’s death, too. It’s confusing. But it had been Graham’s initial plan to—to reunite them and kill them together. If not for Father Laubisch, that very well could have happened.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “I know.”

  Bobby turned to Carly. “Where’s Joanna?”

  “She’s still at the safe house. Roger’s wife offered to stay with her so I could come here and be with you guys. But Phil kind of had to give away the safe house location because there wasn’t enough time for him to pick her up and drive her there himself.”

  “Desperate times,” Phil said with a sigh.

  A young nurse came in with a cup of cold water. Bobby took it gratefully and downed it in a single gulp.

  When she left, Phil’s face grew longer. “I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

  Phil didn’t know Bobby had chosen to step up and replace Randy in a last-second effort to be a hero. “I did it,” he said.

  The pair stared at him, uncomprehending.

  It looked like he would have to do some explaining. “I replaced him. Right when he was dying.”

  He’d thought Phil and Carly would be relieved by the news, but their stares turned into gapes. “I—I didn’t know what else to do,” he said, his words now coming out in a rush. “I saw him there in the barn, bleeding, and then he looked at me and asked if I’d take his place.”

  “Are you sure you’re the Servant now?” Phil asked in a low voice.

  Bobby nodded. “All the sudden it was like something was inside me, looking at everything I’d ever said and done, and I got scared and ran because I didn’t really know what was going on.” The sensation of being analyzed had not returned upon his awakening here in the hospital bed, but he could still feel that another entity was there with him. Was there within him.

  The sensation unnerved him, but he no longer felt frightened.

  Phil shook his head in disbelief. “Do you even realize what you’ve done?”

  “No, not really.” Don’t be afraid. “But it’s what Randy wanted.”

  “Randy isn’t dead,” Carly said.

  Now it was Bobby’s turn to gape. “But I saw him!”

  “He just came out of surgery awhile ago,” Phil said. “He had to have a blood transfusion and about a million stitches and got a bullet picked out of his leg. He’s asleep in his own room right now.” He paused. “Lupe is beside herself. She’s afraid he isn’t going to wake up. The doctors are cautiously optimistic, though.”

  Bobby sat upright. “I want to see him.”

  “Now? They probably won’t let you in. They almost wouldn’t let Lupe in, but she threatened bodily harm to anyone who stood in her way.”

  “I don’t care.” Bobby swung his skinny legs over the side of the bed. He was barefoot and felt like he was wearing a handkerchief for all the good the hospital gown covered him, but he didn’t care. “Here. Help me drag this thing,” he said, indicating the IV stand to which he was still tethered.

  “Bobby, he’s on a different floor.”

  He gripped the stand and rolled it toward the door. “Then we’ll take the elevator. If anyone asks, I’m looking for the bathroom.”

  “Uh, Bobby?”

  He turned. Carly was blushing. “What?”

  “You might want to put something else on first. You know, like clothes.”

  It was then he realized the hospital gown allowed anyone standing behind him to get a decent view of his back side. He yanked the sides of cloth together and said, “I think maybe you’re right.”

  IN ORDER to spare his dignity, Bobby had Dr. N. called back into the room so he could be discharged. When an officer who had been waiting a short distance down the corridor came in to speak to him, Bobby promised he would answer all questions once he had seen his friend.

  Now back in the sweaty, dirty clothing that the hospital staff had thankfully not sliced off of him; he, Phil, and Carly made the journey up to the next floor together in silence.

  Lupe Sanchez leapt up from a chair in a small waiting area when they stepped out of the elevator, taking Bobby completely by surprise by giving him a bear hug that nearly crushed his ribs. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she sobbed into his shoulder. “If it weren’t for you, I . . . he . . .” She pulled back from him and wiped her eyes. “Phil told me what you did.”

  “I don’t think he told you everything I did,” Bobby said quietly, praying his face wasn’t as red as it felt.

  She gave him a questioning look but didn’t press the issue.

  Some other men and women he recognized from the beach photos shared the waiting area with Lupe. All stared at him with round eyes.

  “Can I go see him?” he asked when nobody made a move to lead him to Randy’s side.

  Lupe gave a wordless nod. “Just for a minute. He’s . . . in bad shape. Come with me.”

  Bobby was aware of multiple sets of eyes following him as she led him down a hallway and into Randy’s room. He was grateful nobody tried to stop them.

  Bobby felt all the blood drain from his face when he saw the figure lying in the hospital bed. Randy, too, had an IV. A monitor on a stand beside the bed showed the man’s heart rate and a bunch of other statistics Bobby didn’t know the meanings of.

  Randy’s chest rose and fell with silent regularity. It was the only outward sign that he lived.

  “I told you it was bad,” Lupe whispered, reading Bobby’s thoughts.

  He took her hand without hesitation and gave it a squeeze. “He’s going to be okay,” he said. “He’ll wake up soon and be his normal self.”

  “If not for you, it could have been worse. You were the answer to my prayers.”

  He
didn’t doubt that, but it still made him feel uncomfortable. All his life he’d dreamed of being lauded a hero, and now that the moment for that had finally come, he wanted to receive no recognition for it whatsoever. God was the real hero. Bobby had just been in a convenient position to do what God had expected of him.

  Bobby couldn’t look away from the man he had known for just a few short days. “Randy,” he said in a low voice, “I don’t know if you can hear me or not, but I did it. I said I would replace you, and I did.”

  Lupe’s eyes grew as round as goose eggs. “You did what?”

  “I did what I had to do.” And God knew he had been crazy to do it. But when faced with the alternative, there had been no real choice in the matter, had there?

  Lupe’s expression broke into the first real smile Bobby had ever seen on it. “He would be proud of you.”

  They went back out to the waiting area and Phil motioned him aside.

  “So what happens to me now?” Bobby asked.

  Phil gave a light cough. “In ordinary circumstances, you would be trained by your predecessor until you’re ready to perform your duties.”

  “Trained?”

  “You’ll see.” Phil’s expression broadened into what looked to Bobby like a sinister smile. “Don’t you worry. All of us are going to be here for you, no matter what might happen. You might say we’re in this together.”

  And Bobby knew he had to believe him.

  LATE THAT night, after answering the police’s questions as best as he could (he’d feigned amnesia whenever they pressed certain points involving premonitions and such), Bobby went home with Phil. He’d considered making a brief stop at the bungalow to pick up some fresh clothes and his toothbrush but couldn’t bring himself to set foot in there while the world remained dark.

  Phil turned on a light as soon as they came through the door. “If you’d like, sleep here on the couch tonight. I talked to Allison before you woke up. She and Ashley plan on coming home tomorrow morning. Would you like a beer?”

  Bobby took his shoes off by the couch and rubbed his eyes. “I’m only twenty.”

  Phil allowed a tiny smirk. “Since when has that ever stopped anyone? But suit yourself. I just might have some Sprite in the fridge, too.”

  Bobby couldn’t object to that. He followed Phil into the kitchen-slash-dining area and sank into one of the chairs, feeling as though he had aged a decade since he crawled out of bed that morning.

  Phil opened the refrigerator and got out a can of Sprite and a bottle of India Pale Ale for himself. “So. What am I going to do with you now?”

  Bobby shrugged. “You’ll have to start liking me a little more.”

  To his immense surprise, Phil threw his head back and laughed. “Blindly trusting every hooligan who shows up on your doorstep can get you stabbed in the back when you least expect it.”

  “I’ll do my best not to stab anyone, then.”

  “After seeing what you did today, I have to believe that.”

  They fell silent as they nursed their drinks. The digital clock on the microwave read 12:01 am. Even though Bobby’s body longed to succumb to exhaustion, his mind remained wide awake. “There’s something I’ve been wondering,” he said.

  Phil raised his eyebrows.

  “When that guy with the gun confronted me in the woods, it seemed like there was a grayish sort of thing inside my head. Did I just imagine that, or was it really there?”

  Phil took his time answering. “As the Servant, you’ll start noticing many things you never thought you’d see.”

  “What causes it?”

  “I’m getting to that. Now say I’m your average criminal. I like to steal because I don’t want to work for what I earn. I’m probably not going to have an aura of any kind.” Phil paused to relish another sip of his beer. “Now say I’m a twisted man. I want to have dealings with Satan himself because he seems so much kinder than God. God just has so many rules, you know? Any smart person would know that turning away from God would set you free. Maybe I pray to Satan. Maybe I want to do his bidding on Earth.”

  Bobby knew that Phil only played the devil’s advocate for the sake of example, but his words still gave him a chill. “And that’s the kind of person who would have that aura.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Do you think Graham has that aura?”

  Phil shook his head. “He didn’t have it when I was the Servant, and Randy never saw it either. Those who are possessed have a darker aura, which you’ll see soon enough.”

  Bobby scratched at his head in the sore place where the gunman had hit it. The police had been unable to catch him since he’d bolted away so fast, and a manhunt was currently underway for him. It was suspected that he had thumbed a ride from a passing motorist.

  “You said something earlier about Graham being behind Trish’s death,” he said.

  “Not just behind her death. He was behind her entire involvement with Randy. Father Laubisch has been on the inside, scared out of his wits as you can imagine. He was too afraid to come forward or stand up for himself. He said that Trish was supposedly a ‘friend’ of Jack Willard, though I’d hardly call what they had ‘friendship.’ Trish had a heart defect and wasn’t expected to live for long, anyway. Graham got it into his head that it would be fun to send her to Randy and have her die under his care. She willingly had herself possessed. I can only pray she’ll be forgiven for her ignorance. Graham probably sweet-talked her into it. But what’s done is done.” Phil dragged a hand across his forehead. “Bobby, I have to thank you for doing what you did, and please forgive me if I’ve seemed cold. God saw great potential in you, and if I can’t trust his judgment, then I can’t trust anybody.”

  As Bobby finished his Sprite, he couldn’t help but agree.

  RANDY FLOATED in a dream world. Shapes and colors whirled all around him. He saw clouds, he saw trees, he saw a lovely dark-haired lady dressed in violet walking toward him on the sand.

  He felt at peace, but something was missing. The tangible presence of God had gone.

  At first this realization sent a spike of fear through his heart. What had happened? Had he failed his Maker?

  The images in his head shifted, and he saw himself strapped to a piece of wood that reminded him all too much of a cutting board, he being the slab of meat that was to be chopped into pieces.

  Graham and that other man were there, and Bobby, too.

  That was it. The reason Randy could no longer sense the Spirit was because Randy had passed the mantle on to Bobby so Randy could die in peace.

  Only Randy had survived. He didn’t know where he was or how long it had been since the altercation in the barn, but the steady thudding of his heart was a strong indication that he had yet to kick the bucket.

  He allowed himself a smile. Bobby, the Servant? The kid had so much to learn, but he would learn it all in time.

  Randy was flying now, high above the ground. It was winter. It was summer. It was all times rolled into one. He caught sight of Bobby working out in a gym doing push-ups and sit-ups and lifting weights, and then Bobby was with Phil drinking a Sprite, and then . . .

  Randy’s insides froze with the onslaught of terror.

  “Bobby!” he shouted, though Bobby could not hear him. “Something’s after you! Get out of there! Now!”

  Bobby and Phil remained in Phil’s house. The pair kept on talking as if nothing in the world were amiss, and nothing bad happened to them for as long as Randy watched.

  Where was the danger? Was it here and now, or there and someday?

  Randy knew one thing only.

  It was coming.

  Bobby’s story continues in

  SACRIFICE

  No author writes a novel alone, and the one you hold in your hands is no different.

  For providing the main inspiration for this novel, I thank my husband Nathan Bailey. This story would not exist if not for you.

  For helping me spot errors I was too blind to see, I thank Nathan
Bailey, editor Robin Harnist, Katie Cross, and Gregg Hart.

  For answering some of my medical-related questions, I thank Katie Cross and Todd Rosenhoffer. If the hospital procedures that appear in this story are incorrect, blame me, not them.

  For being my friends for all these years and (sort of?) understanding my borderline-insane author brain, I thank Laura Custodio and Jennifer Habetz. I still remember the days of passing stories around in a notebook with great fondness!

  For having my back and being my unofficial support group, I thank the wonderful writers at Read Write Muse, especially LaDonna Cole, Donna Kilgore, Laura Custodio, and Katie Cross, who have each slogged through my work at various points in time to help make it beautiful. (Seriously, I think at this point I owe Katie my life.)

  I thank my parents, whose encouragement and support brought me to where I am today.

  And I thank the Most High God, who designed me to write.

  As a child J.S. Bailey escaped to fantastic worlds through the magic of books and began to write as soon as she could pick up a pen. She dabbled in writing science fiction until she discovered supernatural suspense novels and decided to write her own. Today her stories focus on unassuming characters who are thrown into terrifying situations which may or may not involve ghosts, demons, and evil old men. She believes that good should always triumph in the end. She lives with her husband in Cincinnati, Ohio.

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