“I’m feeling neglected.”
I kissed her cheek. “Maybe this journal has some First Twin prophecies in it.”
“That would be nice.”
I nudged her out of the way, so I could get back to work. She slid off me until she was leaning with her back against the wall with her legs stretched over my lap. I moved my notebook onto her knees and deciphered the rest of the sentence, one letter at a time, until I finished.
I read it out loud. “ ‘Liam will take my place and do evil.’ Ominous, but it doesn’t make any sense.” I flipped the page and looked at the last sentence on the previous page. Maybe the prophecy started here.
“Why don’t you take a little break?” Grace said. “Before your Grandma gets home?” She ran her finger around the edge of my ear.
I shrugged away. “Just let me decipher one more sentence. I think I found something.”
Grace pulled her legs up toward her, knocking my notebook askew and making me draw a huge line across the page with my pencil.
“Grace.”
She tossed my notebook on the floor and swung one leg over my lap, facing me, her little cheerleading skirt splayed out like a circle over my lap.
I dropped my pencil.
Her wide eyes blinked slowly at me. “You done?”
I smirked. “You know I’m not.”
“But you dropped your pencil.” She gestured with her chin but kept eyes locked with mine.
I laughed. “Because you’re distracting me.”
She dug her fingers into my hair, kissed me, and, well, she won. I guessed a little break would be okay.
But as soon as that thought registered, I remembered her mom, snapped out of it, and pushed Grace off me.
“What?” she asked.
“We’re not doing this. You shouldn’t even be in my house.”
Her hand crept across my chest and up to my opposite shoulder. “My mom won’t find out.”
I stood up and walked out the door, thoughts pinging in my head. Everything Lukas had said about Grace being controlling. What she’d told me Mr. S had said.
Behind me, my bedroom door flung open and slammed against the wall. “What is the matter with you?”
I gritted my teeth and continued into the living room. When I turned around, Grace was standing at the mouth of the hallway, arms crossed and glaring.
“We will honor your mom,” I said.
She grunted, like I was some sort of impossible human being—like I was the king of the Prude Patrol. I didn’t care.
“I’m leaving.” She opened the front door and walked out.
Figs and jam. “Grace.” I followed her onto the porch. It was dark out now, the streetlamp at the end of the driveway the only light besides those coming from the windows of my house. “It’s too dark for you to walk.”
“Jaz will come get me,” she said over her shoulder.
I followed her down the steps. “Grace, don’t do this.”
She spun to face me, her cheerleader skirt whirling out. “Don’t do what, Spencer?”
“Don’t be mad,” I said.
“She wouldn’t know.”
“I’d know,” I said.
A roll of the eyes. “You seemed to be enjoying yourself.”
That ticked me off. “That’s not the point. You came here, Grace. You entered my house without being invited. You let yourself into my bedroom. You started this.”
“It takes two, Spencer.”
I wanted to throw something. Instead, I counted to ten. “You’re right.” I tried again. “I’m sorry. Next time I’ll lock the front door.”
Maybe I should have counted to twenty.
Her glare sharpened. Yikes. If looks could kill . . . She took off across the lawn, cell phone at her ear.
I sucked in a deep breath, wondering if I should go after her. I didn’t want to, so I waited until she was off the phone, then eased down the driveway. Grace was sitting on one of Grandma’s decorative rocks that edged the driveway.
I shoved my hands into my pockets. I really, really wanted to go back to work on that journal right now, but I waited with Grace—tried several times to get her to talk—until Jasmine drove up in her royal blue Volkswagen Beetle.
“What’d you do this time?” she yelled out the window.
I raised my hands over my head and gave her the “I don’t have a clue” look.
She laughed as Grace climbed into the passenger’s seat.
I waved as Jasmine’s car rolled away, then I sprinted back into the house and got back to work translating that sentence.
Another ten minutes and I had deciphered it. I put it together with the other:
“My brother will betray me. Liam will take my place and do evil.”
At first I didn’t know what it meant. Take his place where? But then things started to click. Kimbal was my dad’s twin. The bank dude said something about Kimbal’s accident leaving scars on his face. But Kimbal didn’t have any scars.
I think my dad had been in that bank. I think he pretended to be Kimbal to sign the paperwork for me to get his journal. I think he put that envelope in my car.
And if my dad could pretend to be Kimbal and get away with it, then Kimbal could get away with pretending to be my dad.
I let that realization sink in as I considered the implications, but I couldn’t deny where the clues had taken me. The journal said, “My brother will betray me. Liam will take my place and do evil.”
I think Kimbal might have killed my mom.
REPORT NUMBER: 15
REPORT TITLE: I Ponder the Idea that My Dad Might Be Innocent
SUBMITTED BY: Agent-in-Training Spencer Garmond
LOCATION: Grandma Alice’s House, Pilot Point, California, USA
DATE AND TIME: Monday, November 26, 7:04 p.m.
I called Isaac. I called Mr. S. I called Prière. I told them all what I found, how I’d gotten it, and the part I’d translated. All three of them were on their way over. While I waited, I went to the kitchen where the lights were brighter and used my cell phone to photograph every page of my dad’s journal because I knew someone would take it from me, and I needed more time with it. I took pictures of my cipher decoding page too, just in case.
My phone buzzed. I expected something from Mr. S, but it was Grace.
Grace: whut gams do u have this weeek? home or away?
Was she really going to act like nothing had happened? I did not understand her. I recalled Mr. S’s unit on psychology and figured she probably had some major daddy issues. Those probably didn’t mesh well with my possible abandonment issues. I sighed. I knew Grace. More than I’d ever known any other girl. I wanted to trust her, but sadly, I wasn’t sure I could.
The front door opened, and Grandma came in, followed by Mr. S, Isaac, and Prière.
“Are you okay?” Grandma asked, coming to hug and kiss me.
“I’m fine,” I said. “I thought you were at Bible study.”
“Prière called me,” she said. “You should have called me yourself.”
“Where is the journal, Spence?” Prière asked.
I motioned to the kitchen table where the little leather book sat on top of my notebook.
Prière picked it up and opened it. “You have found the keyword for the cipher?”
“Jonas,” I said, “backwards.”
“Backwards?” Isaac said. “What made you try that?”
I explained how all the names in the journal didn’t follow the cipher but had been spelled out backwards. “I’ve been studying it for the past three hours.”
“I need you to tell us again how this journal came into your possession,” Mr. S said, sitting down at the kitchen table. “And this time, on the record.” He set his cell phone in the middle of the table to record.
I sighed. Should have seen that coming, really. So we all gathered around the kitchen table, and I told them about the envelope someone had left in my car, and how I’d found a safe deposit key and sheet of paper wi
th an address and an account number on it—that it was for the Pilot Point Savings and Trust. I told them about my visit to the bank and what Mr. DeLeon had said about Kimbal’s scars. “Did my dad have any scars on his face?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” Prière said.
“No,” Grandma said. “He didn’t.”
I didn’t believe them. “Maybe he didn’t used to. But what if he got them in the fire, trying to save my mom?”
“Save her?” Grandma yelled. “He left her there to die!”
The room was suddenly very quiet, but I couldn’t let go of my theory. “I know that’s what it looked like, Grandma, and maybe that’s what happened, but what if that’s what we were supposed to think?”
She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. “I don’t understand.”
“What are you getting at, Spencer?” Isaac asked.
I took a deep breath, wanting to say it all before I was interrupted again. “I think my dad went to the bank, pretending to be Kimbal so he could get me his journal. I think he’s the one who left the envelope in my car. And I think Kimbal might have framed him for what happened to my mom. I also think Kimbal was the one you saw in the security footage, tying up my mom.”
“Spencer!” Grandma stared at me, obviously shocked. “How could you say that? After everything Dave has done for us over the years?”
She looked legitimately hurt, so I tried to explain. “Kimbal once told me he liked my mom before my dad even met her. We know he did something shady last year when I discovered that meth lab. He knew those creeps in Alaska. And Prière said to be careful around him. That’s plenty of reasons not to trust him.”
“And that makes him a murderer?” Grandma asked.
“Not alone, no,” I said, “but I managed to decode some of Dad’s journal, and I found this.” I grabbed my notebook and the journal and showed them my translation.
Prière took the journal from me and examined my work. “You have jumped to the conclusion that these lines are in reference to your mother’s death?” he asked.
Maybe I had. “That doesn’t mean I’m wrong,” I said.
Grandma shook her head slightly, making her gold hoop earrings sway. “I simply can’t fathom it. They would have gotten to you long ago if not for Dave.”
That was true. “Well, maybe he’s torn,” I said. “I’m sure there’s lots more to the story.”
“Torn?” Grandma said, tears in her eyes. “You accused him of killing your mother!”
I’d upset her. “It’s just a theory. Once I decode all of Dad’s journal, I’ll know more.”
“How do we even know that journal is real?” Isaac asked. “It could be a fake.
“This is not a fake,” Prière said, setting the journal back down on the table.
“Well, the account at the bank could be a fake,” Isaac said. “Your dad could have done all this to lure you to him. What if you’re playing right into his hand?”
Could that be true? I didn’t think so. “The account is real. The bank guy knew Kimbal, said it was a shame about the accident that had scarred Kimbal’s face. I haven’t seen Kimbal in a while. Was he in some kind of accident that I don’t know about?”
“Saw him yesterday,” Mr. S said. “No scars.”
“Okay, then. Someone who looks just like Kimbal but has scars on his face, went into the bank and signed me as a cosigner on that deposit box. Who else could it have been?”
“Why go through all that trouble?” Isaac asked. “Why not just grab the journal from the bank and put it in your car?”
I thought about it. “Maybe he wants me to know it’s him.”
“There are an awful lot of maybes in this scenario,” Mr. S said.
Frustration tightened my chest. “And you’re all trying awfully hard not to answer the most important question. Who else could it have been if the bank guy thought it was Kimbal?”
Mr. S sighed. “We could request the security footage from the bank.”
“I’ll do it first thing in the morning,” Isaac said.
That was a start. “Where was Kimbal the night my mom was killed?” I asked.
Again silence descended around the table. I looked from face to face, but no one was looking back. Except Prière.
“I do not know,” he said. “I do not think anyone ever has asked.”
“Well, I’m asking now,” I said. “I think you should bring in Kimbal for questioning. Ask what he was doing that night.”
“If he is hiding something, that will only spook him,” Isaac said.
“We must go slowly,” Prière said, twisting one end of his mustache. “First we must decode this journal so that we have evidence. As I have told you many times before, prophecy requires an interpreter. This is why all intercessors must keep journals and write reports.”
“It’s also why you won’t say one word to Dave on this subject,” Grandma said. “I still think this is ridiculous. He’s been like a father to you all these years. He bought your school clothes every year . . . that computer.”
“Maybe he does it out of guilt,” I said. “Maybe whatever happened wasn’t how he’d wanted it to go. If he loved my mom, I’m sure he didn’t want her to die.” I mean, if Grace started dating Eli, I’d be ticked, but I wouldn’t go knock her off.
“No more speculation until there’s reason,” Grandma said. “Two sentences decoded from the middle of a paragraph in an old intercession journal isn’t enough to condemn a man.”
I wanted to say that she’d been condemning my dad for years, and he might very well have been innocent all along, but she had that look in her eye—the one that meant the subject was closed. Nothing I could say at this point would do me any good.
Mr. S told me to write up a report, and Prière took the journal—said there were people at the field office who could decode it faster than me. Isaac took the envelope, key, and account number for evidence. Then they all left, promising to get me more information as soon as they could. I wasn’t going to hold my breath.
Grandma went to bed, probably afraid I’d start talking about Kimbal again. I got that the guy had been around all my life, but I didn’t understand her unwavering loyalty. It was weird.
But as I lay in bed that night, I wondered if Grandma was upset at the very idea that I could be right and that all these years she’d been accepting help from the very man who’d killed her daughter. It upset me too, which was why I had to find out if it was true before I wasted any more energy blaming Kimbal or hating my dad. So I got up and worked until one in the morning, translating the rest of that prophecy. Here’s what it said:
When life seems to have found perfection, all will pass away. To cover his greed, my brother will betray me. Liam will take my place and do evil. Death will take from me the lives of my family. I will live alone, wandering and lost until the day comes when my own blood will set me free.
I know I wasn’t an approved interpreter by Prière standards or anything, but it wasn’t too hard to make sense of that. My parents had been happy, enjoying their lives, but Kimbal got greedy about something and betrayed my dad, who then lost my mom, me, Grandma and Grandpa, and even Kimbal. Dad had been hiding out ever since, alone, waiting for me to prove his innocence.
“. . . when my own blood will set me free.”
After that, I didn’t sleep well.
I had all three of my reoccurring dreams that night. First Mrs. Thomas in labor, then Anya in the hospital asking me for help, then Kimbal getting shot. All I could do was log them in my journal and hope that when the time was right, I’d understand what God was trying to tell me. Because right now, I just didn’t know.
● ● ●
Thursday, we had an away game against Viewpoint High School in Calabasas. Though I had a ton of homework, I sat in the bleachers with the guys, watching the girl’s JV game and cheering for Mary. The JV girls always played first, then the JV boys, then the varsity girls, with the varsity boys always playing last. These were long night
s, but I loved them. We won the game 75–67. So far our season was off to a great start.
The weeks passed by quickly, but nothing new from any recruiting coaches. I also didn’t hear anything from the field office about my dad’s journal. When I asked Isaac, he said I needed to be patient—it was an old case, he said, and it wasn’t high on most people’s priority lists. So I continued decoding on my own. So far I hadn’t unearthed anything of interest beyond my initial discovery. Until today when I decoded the word “twin.” An hour later, I’d uncovered a list of prophecies about the First Twin. About Grace.
The First Twin will be the first born in a set of twins.
The First Twin shall live in tyranny.
The First Twin will mentor the one who will mentor a generation.
To the false light will come truth by the word of the First Twin. Its flock will be shattered and torn.
The first two made sense. The third one didn’t. And the fourth matched what Grandma had said about the First Twin being instrumental in bringing down a major cult.
That might explain why Diane and MacCormack wanted to know the identity of this person. They must be worried that the Free Light Foundation was the cult that would be “shattered and torn.”
I couldn’t imagine Grace doing anything to destroy a cult the size of the FLF.
All this got me thinking about Grace, who’d left a Grace-shaped hole in my chest that ached for her. Arianna had told me several times that place was for God. I know what she meant, but me and God were good. This was more like having a best friend who moved away. Only Grace hadn’t moved away. But she’d quit the Mission League, and I’d barely seen her since that last fight.
Why did things have to be like this?
That night I had another dream about the woman in labor. Now that I knew it was Grace’s mom, I saw the resemblance. The next morning, when I logged the dream in my journal, I noticed the date: December 7. Grace and I had first kissed in Alaska on the seventh of August. If we hadn’t broken up (or whatever this was), today would have been four months for us.
Sheesh. Now I was getting sentimental about ridiculous milestones. Still, I sent her a text.
The Profile Match Page 14