The Revelations of Preston Black (Murder Ballads and Whiskey Book 3)

by Miller, Jason Jack

  I said, “You get tired of stalking me in Morgantown, loser? I suppose if rape is a woman’s fault then ‘no means no’ means nothing to you. Suppose all these woman you got hanging around don’t mind your old school way of thinking.”

  I heard steps, which made me believe we were in a van or on a bus. Heavy steps that ended right where I sat. When Hicks spoke again his voice was right next to my ear. He said, “The Lord sayeth I will dash them against one another, even the fathers and sons and brothers and sisters together.”

  He grabbed my throat and squeezed. “I will not pity.”

  My lungs pulled with all their might, but could not draw a breath.

  “I will not spare. I will not have mercy.”

  He released me and I cried out with the rush of air into my lungs.

  “I will destroy.”

  The women—maybe two or more—called out an “Amen!”

  Hicks said, “I will prevail, for I have faith in the power of the Holy Spirit. You tremble before the Lord. I hear it in your voice.”

  I tried to speak, but he grabbed a fistful of my hair through the sack and pulled my face toward his. “The Lord is a man of war. The Lord is his name. What say you now?”

  Still gasping, I said, “Now the God of peace be with you all. Amen.”

  There was a pause. A regrouping.

  He said, “In the Book of Malachi, Elijah appears right before the awesome and terrible day the Lord God himself returns to earth. The harbinger of the coming Messiah? That’s me.” He pulled me forward again by my hair. A quick jerk that left me breathless. “I have raised the dead by breathing new life into these women, and before I save your soul by forcing you to submit to the Word, I’m going to bring down fire from the sky. Mark my word.”

  He pushed me to the floor with his palm and forced all his weight on my temple, trying to shatter my skull like a crystal bowl. The pain felt worse than a migraine. I tried to twist away, but he pushed even harder. He took his time, using slow, deliberate words, to say, “She that blasphemeth the name of the Lord shall surely be put to death, and the whole congregation shall stone her.”

  Then all at once he disappeared, leaving me with my tears on the cold floor.

  Like a paper coffee cup blowing across a parking lot.

  It wasn’t the loneliness so much—being alone used to be something I kind of liked. It was being without Preston. Since last February we hadn’t spent more than twelve hours apart. He helped my grandpap and uncles at the farm, bailing hay and chopping firewood, all so he didn’t have to go back to Morgantown by himself. Eventually he moved into an extra room at my grandparents’ house because nobody would approve of him living with me at my mom’s place.

  Instead of going to dinner or a movie on a date, we’d walk along the Blackwater or to the top of Cabin Mountain and watch Venus. We’d hold hands and look for ginseng or blueberries. In that way, on those days, we were reborn as a couple.

  When we went back to Morgantown in the fall everything looked different. The guys were all too young, too self-absorbed. Girls talked to me differently, complementing my hair or my nails or a piece of jewelry. Like my involvement with Preston had taken me off the market and placed me in a different, less threatening category. I enjoyed being treated like a woman instead of a girl. For once, the things I said had weight because they weren’t coming from the lips of a sugary teenager. My mom listened to me instead of always talking, and for the first time, we became friends. My relationship with Preston facilitated that change. It let me be reborn in a way too. I went from being a little girl trying too hard to grow up, trying to be taken seriously, to the little girl I’d always wanted to be.

  Now that I was alone, and empty and very, very far away from Preston, I was curious to see which version of me would materialize.

  In a feeble last attempt to break through Hicks’s circle of contradictions, I said, “And he that killeth any man shall surely be put to death.”

  Hicks had an immediate comeback, like I knew he would. From the front of the vehicle, he shouted, “The Lord God of Israel said to put every man his sword by his side, and slay every man his brother, his companion, and his neighbor.”

  “Whatever.” I got the last word. Always did. Under my breath I said, “And Elijah was taken up in a whirlwind of fire.”

  After a long drive on smooth highways—maybe an hour or more—I heard the crunch of gravel under the wheel wells, then felt the deeply rutted dirt roads that shook the springs beneath my resting head. We slowed to a stop. I heard more voices. The back door opened. They dragged me into the gravel.

  When they pulled the bag off my head I saw fog parting to reveal a few cold, blue stars. They didn’t blink back at me, and I knew that I was alone. Water dripped from wet leaves. My feet got cold in the dewy grass. In the black distance I heard peepers.

  Hicks handed me off to two men who pulled me past an old swimming pool and through a large clearing. Hicks and some of the women followed. Pale light from two rows of little white summer camp cabins illuminated a trio of crosses built on a small mound at the far end of the field. There were various vehicles scattered about. Pickup trucks and white church vans and old hatchbacks. One of the vans had a “Living Waters Pentecost” decal running beneath the side windows. The other said, “New Life Tabernacle.”

  They led me toward the biggest building I could see. A long white structure with milk crates and cardboard boxes stacked near a screen door. When I looked at the sky one last time before they pushed me into an old produce freezer, an urge to ask for help, to ask that Preston be kept safe, washed over me. One of the men cut through the tape wrapped around my wrists with a penknife.

  “I’ll send Truly for you in the morning.” Hicks spun me, so that I faced him. He pushed his finger against my sternum, backing me into the freezer. “Ain’t got so much to say now, do you?”

  “You don’t know me well enough to make that kind of statement,” I said, forcing my chin up. “Hatred feeds hatred. It never eliminates it. Only love can eliminate hate. This is the way of the universe.”

  Hicks jerked to a stop, turned and pointed his finger. His lips parted as he scoured his memory for the translation, the book and verse. But it wouldn’t come to him as easily as the others had.

  “It’s not from the Bible.” I saw my chance to end the day with a bit of a win, and took it. “It’s from the Lord Buddha. That’s why you don’t know it.”

  He slammed the door shut and locked it without another word.

  And I let that be my bedtime prayer.

  Rule number one is to stay alive.

  If I get hurt, or worse, nothing else will matter.

  Rule number one is to stay alive.

  Eat what you are fed. Ask for bathroom privileges with a ‘please,’ always.

  Somebody will come. Preston has already called the police and my family. The label and our fans will help. They are already out looking. I have to stay alive until they find me.

  Rule number two is don’t provoke.

  Stop it with the attitude. Don’t engage Hicks. Don’t look at him the wrong way. Be compliant. Stop showing off. Who cares that you went to Sunday school? Hicks doesn’t. He thinks you’re a witch and is going to stone you or beat you or drown you the first chance he gets. Hicks is insane. Hicks isn’t motivated by logic. Hicks has an agenda, and I am part of it no matter what I do, so don’t provoke him. If you break rule number two, you’re going to break rule number one.

  Rule number three is don’t run. Don’t think about running. Don’t look for escape routes. You don’t even know where you are so you may as well be Belle in Beast’s castle.

  Rule number three is a provocation. Breaking rule number three means breaking rules one and two. You won’t get away. You’ll be caught, and hurt.

  Rule number four…

  “What is rule number four?” My head ached after last night. I shivered for twelve straight hours. I didn’t sleep at all.

  Rule number four is to pr
epare for a long stay. Mentally prepare yourself to be here for weeks. Or a year. Remember that Preston and Ben and Pauly and Jamie and Mom and Chloey will look for you as long as they think you are alive. Be a prisoner, a hostage, whatever they want. Don’t be a corpse. Don’t break rule number four—or three, or two—because they all end with breaking rule number one. Don’t ever, ever, ever break rule number one.

  I wrote the rules in the dust on the old wood floor with my finger as they came into my head.

  Rule number five is to make a friend. Doesn’t matter who it is. Get one person to recognize that you are a human being. That you love and can be loved. That you have a soul. You don’t have to stay in touch and meet for lunch, but you have to make one of these people like you.

  Rule number six…

  Rule number six made me very sad to even think it.

  Don’t ever give up. If you are locked away in this room twenty years from now you do not give up. You never, never, never forget that there is a light that shines for you out there. You do not cry. You do not feel sorry for yourself. Hope is the only thing you have that they cannot take from you. Don’t give it to them. Nurture it like you would nurture a kitten. If you forget that, you’re dead.

  My belly rumbled.

  Rule number one is to stay alive…

  The sun had climbed well into the sky before somebody came to get me. My little cell grew warmer as the hours wore on. The smell of old dairy rose from the dry wood. Too faint to be nauseating, the sweet smell of old protein, almost like ice cream that had dried in a paper cup, reminded me of days on my pap’s farm. I had my jacket rolled into a little ball while I wrapped myself in Preston’s coat. If I stuck my nose right against his collar I could still smell him.

  I tried to nap, but couldn’t. People came and went outside, singing and talking. Kids and men and women. Sounded mostly like kids and women. I sang to myself to drown them out.

  The click of the cooler door brought me to my feet. Hicks’s girl, Truly, waited there with a crown of thorns tattoo peeking from beneath her jet black bangs. Bright red ink meant to look like blood dripped from the sharp black spines that jutted from beneath her hairline. I only noticed because I thought she was bleeding at first, although it did surprise me. Otherwise, she looked quite beautiful. When she extended her arm I saw the same contusions on her wrists and forearms that Hicks had. Black and blue blotches, like she shot up every few days, at least. When she gestured for me to get up I saw a tattoo complimentary to the one on her forehead splattered across on her palm. A long iron nail exiting the tattered flesh of a bloody hole. She saw me roll my eyes.

  “You know what Leviticus says—” I remembered my rules and stopped myself.

  She handed me the shoe I thought I’d lost last night as I stood and stretched. She gestured for me to step outside, still without saying anything. Once I’d finished yawning, she brushed grass and leaves off my back and shoulders. My belly rumbled, and she gestured for me to walk.

  I knew girls like her back home. Holier than holy. Singing with praise bands, organizing protests at Planned Parenthood. Using their love of Christ as a justification to tattoo their foreheads, never mind that the Old Testament strictly forbade it. Girls whose pencil skirts and high collars came off the first time a pretty pastor like Elijah Clay Hicks came a witnessing.

  Morning had turned into afternoon during my sleepless night on the plywood floor of my little cell. Birds squawked and chittered in the tall pines, swooping down every now and then to grab a drowsy fly. Rows of little white buildings reminded me of summer camps I’d never been to. Summer camps were for city kids, or kids in movies. Wire mesh over the windows broke the illusion though. Crude wooden crosses had been nailed over windows and doors, to roofs. Bible verses and meaningless commands had been painted on the white wooden siding. Some of the words were large, like they’d been painted on with a brush. In between the larger words were longer passages written with a black marker. I didn’t see anybody else. But I heard singing, disjointed spirituals that sounded too much like hypocrisy to my ears.

  She led me up the steps into the old dining hall. It smelled of food already eaten. Maybe a breakfast, because I smelled bacon. Or maybe a breakfast and a lunch. Crumbs and straw papers littered the tables. When I sat down at a bowl of instant grits I knew my patience and complacency last night had been a mistake. I should’ve fought harder at the truck stop.

  Truly stood across the table from me. As she sat, she said, “Reverend Hicks said I should let you know about this place. It’s an old prison camp. The closest road is miles away. We had the fence electrified to keep people out but it works just fine keeping people in.”

  I pushed the bowl back across the table.

  By the way she spoke I could tell she lacked smarts. Her words didn’t possess confidence or the force of wit. If anything, her demeanor was a vulnerability—a trait I could exploit later. At least now I knew why Hicks kept her around. I knew where she sat in his chain of command. Just below him. On her knees.

  “He said you’d try to leave, and that I was supposed to say something to you. Give you my testimonial, you know? He believes my story can help you come to Jesus.” She sat across from me, and tried to take my hands into hers. “You know, I used to be a lot like you. Hanging out with bands and bikers, drinking and drugging.”

  “You are nothing like me.” I banged my fist on the table. “You like being led around by the nose. That’s where the differences start. I will not waste time listing the rest.”

  “No,” she rebutted, forcing calmness into her voice as a sign of control and authority. “I just learned how to hear the voice of God for myself instead of waiting to hear a prophecy from someone else. That’s what people like you do.”

  Basking in the importance of her own voice, she closed her eyes. “I can pray for an hour or more, alternating between tongues and English the whole time. Then, I sit and listen for his voice. Just listen. At first I could only hear a couple of words, but now I hear longer sentences. You know, God wants to talk to us and Elijah is only trying to teach people how to listen. I have been slain by the Spirit in Elijah’s presence and he tells me I’ll be able to do it on my own before too long. All you need is desire to seek Him, and you can feel that too.”

  “You hear what you want to hear and tell yourself it’s divinity. Grow a spine and take responsibility for your life and your actions.” Even as I said it I knew I’d broken at least two of my rules. Three, if I could’ve been making friends with her. “You like being with Elijah because he’s as close to a rock star as you’re ever going to get.”

  She began to rebut, but I cut her off. “The reason I’m telling you this is because when you speak, it sounds like recitation. You can take offense if you’d like, but I’m telling you what I hear in your voice.”

  Truly glared at me, but could not hide her anger.

  “It’s called doubt. You speak it like a second language. While you’re thinking about that, maybe I can have one of those apples.” I pointed to a large bowl of fruit on the end of a stainless steel counter. She watched me walk across the room, ready to yell or pounce the moment I broke for the door.

  “Would you like one?” I asked, even though I knew she wouldn’t reply. I could almost feel her relax as I made my way back to the table.

  Rabbits run when they are scared. I’m not afraid yet.

  “Truly, what are you meant to say to me that’s going to make me see what parents and grandparents and eighteen years in both a Catholic and Protestant church haven’t made me see?” I took a bite of the apple, and chewed slowly while she thought. “You’ve observed that I know scripture as well as Elijah Clay Hicks, which is more than you can say.”

  I set the apple on a napkin and took her hand. “It’s okay though. Your beliefs are your beliefs. I’m not going to tell you they are wrong, or try to change you.”

  She traced small figure eights on the tabletop with her fingernail. I’d hit a nerve.

  “It
’s not my business. I can accept you as you are. Tell me how you ended up with Elijah. We can talk.”

  For the longest time she sat there, thinking, and I worried that I’d lose this game if I was the only player. I finished my apple and wrapped the core in a napkin, then sat quietly for a long time.

  Without any type of prodding, Truly took a deep breath and spoke. “He pulled me off the street. I’d been picked up for solicitation, but the judge offered rehab and a reduced sentence if I got clean. Supposed to be at the treatment center on a Wednesday morning, but Elijah found me Tuesday night. On my way to have a little fun. You know, get a little something in my blood to make the detox worthwhile? Can’t remember the exact details, because I was already pretty wasted. I know I had the needle in my arm though.”

  The more she talked the older she got, like telling the story had sped up her metabolic clock. Her eyes yellowed, and looked more tired than they had just a minute ago. Small crow’s feet appeared at the corners. If she looked twenty-five when I first saw her, she looked at least forty or forty-five now. “Elijah saved me though. He took me and talked and talked.”

  “He took you—a lot less violently than he took me, I might add. That’s the key part of what you said. How is that humane or acceptable? How is it Christ-like?”

  “Doesn’t matter anymore. All that matters is Elijah did for me what I couldn’t quite do for myself.” She stood, and pushed herself away from the table. “I wanted more than anything to belong to something, and that’s why I whored, you know? Because they liked me when I was face down on a bed. But I belong here. This is my family. Elijah saved me, in the truest sense of the word.”

  “If I’m not mistaken, Jesus saves. Not Elijah.” I tapped my nails on the table and shook my head, scolding myself for my arrogance. “Hicks has a thing for collecting dirty tricks. Sounds to me like he releases his frustration by dominating women he desires but can’t be with.”

  Somebody came up the wooden steps onto the porch.

  Truly distanced herself from the table as Hicks bounded into the room. “My God has created another amazing day, hasn’t he, Miss Katy?”