Scepter (The Last Scribe Prequels)

by R. Lee Walsh

  “So, I hear Peach is getting pretty good at tattoos. Think she'd give me some of those?” I say, pointing at the elaborate Irin symbols inked around his arms.

  “Poke you with painful needles? I think it's safe to say she'd be delighted. But first, I think you and I should take a little side trip to Rochester.”

  “Now? Why?”

  “To see Hope. You know, to get the initial reaction out of the way. You and I could attend one of the Omega Alliance services and you can at least be in the same room with her for a few minutes. Maybe get a better idea of what she's like.”

  “What she's like? I don't need--”

  “Yes you do,” he interrupts. “Trust me. She's not the same little girl you left in Penfield.”

  ~7~

  “Welcome,” a smiling middle-aged woman says, handing Riley and I a church bulletin. Appearing as two non-nondescript elderly gentlemen, we follow another woman who ushers us to two empty seats near the front of the rapidly filling sanctuary that rivals Yankee Stadium in size. Piped music plays softly in the background while a choir made up of several hundred people in purple robes file into raised pews that sit behind the main stage. The atmosphere is casual, yet expectant, like an exciting theater presentation is about to take place.

  “I knew it was huge, but I had no idea,” I whisper to Riley, motioning to the three-level coliseum seating around the ground floor. A massive movie screen displays a dizzying number of church announcements while three smaller, yet still enormous screens strategically placed around the arena exhibit the church logo and live feeds of satellite services that will broadcast this one around the world simultaneously.

  “It takes fifteen thousand volunteers for each service and there are over twelve hundred satellite churches,” Riley whispers. “This building alone holds twenty thousand.” He points to a row of empty seats in the front row, just right of the stage. “The family sits up front. They won't come in until the service starts, but we should be able to see them pretty clearly from here. Once Elizabeth and the rest of the family are seated, John will take the podium for the opening prayer.”

  “You know quite a bit for a first timer,” I mutter, pretending to read my bulletin.

  “Who said this is my first time?” he replies, smiling at the young couple who were just seated next to us.

  Frowning, I wonder just how many times he's been here as we watch more and more people flood into the building, including Adam and Grace. They quietly take their seats in the empty row reserved for the family.

  The hum of thousands of whispered conversations rises steadily. When the band finishes tuning their instruments, Faith Matthews walks onto the stage. Tall, dark blonde and striking, she flashes the audience her famous mega-watt smile. Paula Temple, Elizabeth's older sister and the OA choir director, takes her place next to Faith on stage, nodding to the choir. A hush falls over the audience and the lights dim slightly as Elizabeth and John walk down the center aisle. Dressed impeccably in a purple suit, Elizabeth holds her husband's arm, beaming at the congregation and nodding at familiar faces. Their twelve year old son Joseph follows close behind them, smiling and shaking hands with people seated closest to the main aisle. John's eldest son Simon, who just turned twenty one, joins the procession from somewhere near the stage, his blonde hair glinting in the lights as he makes his way through the crowd. After seeing his family to their seats, John walks up onto the stage and a second hush falls over the crowd. Tall, dignified, with graying blonde hair, he welcomes everyone to the service with a gentle, yet commanding voice and says the opening prayer.

  After introducing his daughter, the lights dim until only Faith is illuminated by a spotlight and John leaves the stage. Wearing a purple dress that matches the choir robes, I notice the family is all dressed in some variation of black, purple and gold, the official colors of the Omega Alliance.

  The music starts and Faith begins to sing, her soft, clear voice echoing through the darkened arena. Riley elbows me as another person makes her way down the aisle, like a shadow passing through the crowd. Her dark, wavy hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail and she wears a long black skirt with a blue and black striped turtleneck--not the family colors. Keeping her head down, she quietly slips into the seat beside her mother. Focusing on the stage, she takes a deep breath, seemingly oblivious to the whispers that ripple through the seats around them and Elizabeth's tight lipped glare.

  “Easy,” Riley hisses, his hand on my arm like a vise. Without even realizing it I'd been straining toward her, my torso pushing heavily against him. Catching myself, I straighten in my seat, forcing my attention back to the stage.

  After what seems like an eternity, the music crescendo brings the house lights up as Faith's solo performance ends. The audience rises in unison and the applause is deafening. Hope puts two fingers in her mouth, her shrill cat-call rising above the cacophony. In the space of maybe five seconds I see Simon roll his eyes and John and Elizabeth exchange an annoyed glance. Adam leans forward to whisper in Hope's ear, a bemused smile on his weathered face. Tilting her head just slightly against his tanned cheek, her softened expression speaks volumes about their relationship. Blushing, Faith Matthews winks at her step-sister, then quickly leaves the stage while Paula Temple asks the congregation to rise and join in the next song.

  A half hour of lively worship music later, John rises to take the podium and in the time it takes for the applause to die down and the audience to be seated, Hope once again quietly slips away from the audience.

  Waiting for a few moments so as not to appear obvious, Riley and I also slip from our seats, following at some distance behind her. Exiting the sanctuary, we see her walk across the huge lobby, ignoring the curious stares of parishioners milling around the coffee shop and bookstore. When she enters an unmarked door next to the elevators, Riley pulls me to a stop. “That leads to the private offices,” he says. “Come on, I know where she's going. There's another way around.”

  “Just how many times have you been here?” I grumble, falling into step behind him.

  “Enough to know where she's going.” He points at one of multiple television screens broadcasting the sermon in the lobby. At the bottom of the screen is a ticker-tape announcement, requesting assistance in the third floor nursery.

  After a long trek up two flights of stairs and a dizzying array of hallways, we finally arrive at the locked entrance to the nursery. There's a numerical keypad next to the door. The sound of children laughing and playing echoes down the hall and we pause for a moment, discussing how best to proceed.

  “Volunteers?” a woman's voice rings out down the hall. Startled, we both turn to see Paula Temple striding toward us.

  “Mr. Storm, isn't it?” she continues, stopping in front of us. She offers her hand. “How nice to see you again.” Her coffee brown eyes are alight with amusement and her pixi-like features radiate a fierce intelligence.

  “Good memory,” Riley replies. “Please, call me Riley. This is my brother, Yuri. We saw the notice downstairs and thought we'd offer our services.”

  Turning a curious gaze on me, she once again offers her hand. “Paula Temple. I'm the children's church coordinator as well as the choir director. We tend to wear quite a few hats around here.”

  “Pleasure, ma'am,” I reply, trying to match her friendly tone. Smiling, I shake her hand, forcing myself to appear relaxed. “Anything we can help you with?”

  “Well, you're not the usual suspects, but any hands are welcome. Two of our best volunteers had flu symptoms and we thought it best not to have them around the babies. If you're willing, and know how to hold a bottle, we'd sure appreciate the assistance. I can offer you free coffee and any CD you'd like in the bookstore after the service.”

  “Not necessary,” Riley says. “We'd be more than happy to help.”

  Nodding in agreement, I study her features, comparing them to her niece. She meets my gaze with an amused smile, as if her and I share some kind of secret. “Excellent,” she g
rins, punching a four digit code into the keypad and opening the door. “Follow me.”

  The sound of children rises to greet us as we follow her down a brightly painted hall. There are five open doors with varying ages of small children playing, and a sixth door which is closed. I notice all the doorways have keypads next to them. Leading us to the closed door, she pauses to enter the code.

  “There are six nurseries in the main building. Two on each floor. This one, being up in the nosebleed section, is the smallest and usually the quietest. Personally, it's my favorite.”

  Holding the door open for us to enter, Paula leads us into a large, softly lit room. Beautifully decorated, the walls are pastel blue and the ceiling pink. Rocking chairs are strategically placed around the perimeter, with perhaps a dozen cribs in between. Hanging from the ceiling are dozens of mobiles, each with a biblical theme. Soothing music plays in the background and two older women sit rocking infants in the chairs. One dark haired girl wearing a black and blue striped turtleneck stands with her back to us, changing a baby's diaper at one of a half dozen changing tables.

  “Sharon, Wanda, this is Mr. Storm and his brother,” Paula says, approaching the women in the chairs. I notice she doesn't use our first names. “They've kindly offered to lend a hand this morning.”

  After exchanging a brief surprised look, the women smile in welcome.

  “Don't get up,” Riley says, turning on the charm. “Looks like you've both got your hands full.”

  “We do at that,” the one called Wanda agrees. She looks down at the baby in her lap. “This is Emily and that strapping young lad is Jonah.”

  “And that young lady over there is Hope, my niece,” Paula interjects. She walks over to whisper something in her ear. Hope nods, then turns slightly to acknowledge us but doesn't say anything. We watch as she deftly tapes up a diaper and drops the other in the trash. She murmurs softly to the infant as she redresses it, then carefully lifts it to her shoulder. Turning to face us she pauses for a moment, then comes forward.

  “Sorry about that,” she says, looking curiously between the two of us.

  The focal point of my entire existence stands in front of me and and I can't speak. Everything about her is different and yet essentially the same. She wears kohl black eyeliner and two different earrings in her ears, her expression slightly wary. Her wide hazel eyes stare expectantly at me, waiting for some kind of introduction. She sees a balding elderly man, with wire rimmed glasses and a slight paunch. I see the thirteen years of her life I've missed in exchange for this moment.

  Breaking the awkward silence, Riley clears his throat. “And what's this little guy's name? Would you like me to take him?”

  Redirected, she smiles at Riley and gently transfers the baby to him.

  “That's Zach,” she says. “He's awake, but won't be for long after his bottle. I've got it in the warmer over by that sink, so if you want to just walk him around for a bit, it should be ready in about five minutes.”

  “Hey Zach,” Riley murmurs, holding the baby next to his chest. The infant stares up at him with clear blue eyes, the picture of contentment.

  “We have three more today,” Hope continues, indicating a few of the cribs. “They're sleeping now but Emily's mom, Helen, usually comes to check on her midway through the service, so be prepared. She's partially deaf and she tends to be a loud talker.”

  “Ah,” Riley says knowingly, swaying with the infant he's holding. “Wakes up the other babies?”

  “I'll say,” Paula interjects. “That's why we keep Emily in this nursery.” She smiles at Hope, shaking her head. “Remember the first time Helen took her to the main floor? Two hundred screaming infants.”

  “Don't remind me,” Hope mutters. “So, okay, before Helen gets here, why don't I show you two where everything is.”

  She turns to walk toward the changing station and Riley hisses at me.

  “Breathe, you idiot.”

  Blinking, I release the breath I've been holding since we walked in the room. Riley nudges me to follow them and I force myself to appear interested. After the grand tour, Riley takes the warmed bottle, settling into a chair. Not a minute later the door to the nursery opens and a harried looking woman with frizzy blonde hair comes rushing in.

  “Just thought I'd check on Em!” she says, her voice only slightly below shouting. Every baby in the room lets out a startled squeal, then a symphony of pathetic wailing begins.

  Fifteen minutes after Helen leaves and the babies are calmed, I sit with Jonah dozing in my lap. Hope holds Emily in a chair next to mine while Riley changes Zach's diaper, Wanda assisting him with the task.

  “He likes you,” Hope whispers, nodding at Jonah.

  “You think?” I reply, trying not to stare at her. “He seems okay with me, I guess.”

  Humming softly to herself, Hope rocks back and forth, staring off into the distance. I wonder if somewhere in her subconscious, she remembers me holding her as a baby. Does she remember the song I sang to her each night or miss the perfect rhythm of our hearts beating? I watch her feet moving up and down, every cell in my body aching to touch her.

  “We used to have a television in here too,” she murmurs. “But Aunt P made them take it out. She thinks it disturbs the babies. Anyway, I'm sorry you had to miss the service.”

  I look over at Riley who paces with an infant on his shoulder, an expression I've never seen before on his face.

  It occurs to me that the value of anything is determined by what one is willing to exchange for it. Glancing again at Hope, I finally understand why so many Irin were willing to risk everything.

  “I'm not,” I whisper.

  ~8~

  “Tell me about her,” I say to Adam as we walk in the field behind his barn. Riley's gone to meet with a local Sheva informant and I caught up with Adam after church requesting he meet me here. I knew he and Grace still divided their time between this place and Rochester.

  He pauses for a moment, staring out across the field. His sun weathered skin wrinkles around his clear green eyes as he squints against the sunlight. “Tall order for a short visit. Maybe you could be more specific.”

  I follow his gaze, staring out over the field. I have so little information about her day to day life since I left and even though the media paints an unhappy picture, I know there has to be more. “Is she happy?”

  “Happy? Well, like everyone, I suppose she's had moments. Her Pa taking off didn't help things. We tried to make things as easy on her as possible. Of course with her particular gifts, we had to keep her pretty sheltered. All in all, Elizabeth marrying John was the best solution. She grew up in a normal family and nobody thought twice about preacher kids being kept under strict supervision.”

  “So you planned their marriage?” I asked, stunned.

  Adam chuckled, shaking his head. “No, no, nothing like that. They met the usual way and fell in love. Funny, how life has a way of handing you just what you need without you even knowing it at the time.”

  I absorb this information while wondering how much of “life” was actually Riley's accomplice working behind the scenes. “John seems like a good man.”

  “He is. He did the best he could by all of them, including Hope. There's never been any love lost between her and his oldest boy Simon, but she gave as good as she got. Her and Faith got on like two peas in a pod from the moment they laid eyes on each other. Up until recently they were inseparable.”

  “Why recently?”

  “My opinion? Jealousy. When Hope was small, her writing was just a hobby and even though they all thought she was a bit different, no one paid much attention to it. Grace giving her that diary when she turned six was a stroke of genius. Faith is a talented gal, but her father calls the shots and his children are expected to use their gifts for the church. Since Hope made it clear she had no intention of sticking around after graduation or being a part of the OA, when she got accepted into that fancy art college in Portland this year, Faith didn't take it
too well. She started spending time with Roman Bender, a boy Hope can't stand to be around, and things have been pretty tense between them ever since.”

  “Is Hope seeing anyone?” I ask, suddenly uneasy.

  He sighs, then crosses his arms defensively. “The media's done a number on her reputation, but I can tell you for a fact that she's never even kissed a boy. Not that she hasn't had plenty who showed interest. She's a beautiful girl, but she's difficult to understand. She's also got a bad habit of telling people exactly what she thinks.”

  We both turn at the sound of Grace calling from the house. She's frantically waving for Adam to come back. Frowning, we both head toward her.

  “Hurry!” she yells. “We have to go back up to the OA.”

  “What in the world?” Adam mutters to himself, breaking into a swift jog.

  Grace rushes forward, meeting us at the edge of the yard. Pausing to catching her breath, she grabs Adam's arm. In the afternoon sunlight I notice how much she's aged in the last decade, while Adam still looks the same. “Somebody got ahold of Hope's diary and gave it to the media. There's pictures of it all over the news.”

  Adam scowls, his expression darkening. “I don't understand. I thought John had it locked up in his office.”

  “He did. Somebody broke in and took it.”

  “Why? Nobody outside the family knew he had it.”

  “Well somebody did and the media's having a field day. They're saying Hope's got mental problems.” She glances up at me, her face ashen. “I don't mean to rush you, but we need to go see if we can do some damage control before things get out of hand. When Hope finds out--”

  “Why did John have her diary?” I interrupt.

  She glances nervously at Adam, then back at me. “Someone suggested her diaries might contain information the OA didn't want people to know about.”

  “Like what?”

  “Who knows? Her reputation and the fact that no one's ever been able to translate what she writes has made it look suspicious.”