by J. T. Warren
“I shot Jacob Karras once in the chest and once in the head. I had been waiting in my car for hours for him to come outside. When he finally came out to get the paper, I pulled up and did what had to be done. Killing Jacob Karras is only one difficult thing I’ve had to do in His name, but it is something that still pains me. I don’t want you to think that killing another person, regardless of the reasons, is a joyful experience. It is, in fact, a glimpse into hell.”
Brendan saw the back of Dad’s car with the stupid bumper stickers as people stopped their cars on the highway and ran to the crashed vehicle to see what happened. Before any of those spectators could connect the bowling ball with the overpass, Brendan had left. He hadn’t seen the damage he had wrought on his sister, but he could imagine well enough how her face had been mangled, all her teeth shattered, her nose mushed into her face.
“We left the body because we felt it was the only way to push Mrs. Karras and her daughter into His order. There is no greater motivator for people to turn to God than loss. Dr. Carroll continued to treat Mrs. Karras, though he may have done more damage than good.
“Ellis and I tried to persuade them to come to our church but she screamed at us until we left. She called us devils and demons and said she would cast a spell to protect her home from us.
“We tried and failed. The Karras family fell off our radar. Until, that is, you called me with Tyler’s problem. Do you see how mysterious His ways really are? God has worked to bring me back to the same place where I killed a man because thy will must be done.
“I killed a man to protect my family: Ellis and the church. We must be willing to do horrible things for the greater good. Can you appreciate that?”
Brendan nodded.
“God’s will is not to be questioned. What seems like madness to us is His divine way. To question is to fall from His grace. We must remain empowered and be ready to do his will. Are you ready, Brendan?”
He didn’t have to think twice: “Yes.” He would do whatever he had to to protect Tyler. He had brought more grief to his family because he had been lost, but now he was found, and saved.
Ellis’s voice drifted again, off in his own world. “Sasha Karras.”
“Are you going to kill her?”
“No,” Dwayne said and laid the weight of his eyes on Brendan. “You are.”
PART FOUR
“Come to me, all you who are weary and carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.”
Jesus
1
Tyler sealed his fate (as well as Sasha’s and her mother’s) with a kiss. Sasha’s lips were dry and her breath smelled of rotting leaves, but he kept himself composed. He hadn’t come this far to ruin things now.
Back at Sasha’s house, they sat on her bed and said little. He rolled the Snapple bottle between his hands. He told her he had ground up Tylenol PM, that her mother would be fine and when the police arrived, she would be taken to a hospital for evaluation. Then they’d assess Sasha and give her whatever medical needs necessary.
“You’re trying to get rid of me,” she said. “I’ll get put in a foster home or something.”
“You’re almost eighteen. You can do what you want. I’m not trying to get rid of you. I love you. I want you to be safe. And our baby.”
Sasha wrapped her arms around her midsection. The sweatshirt sleeves hung loosely behind her so it appeared she wore a straight jacket.
You might be wearing one soon, he thought.
Neither of them spoke for several minutes. “Why?” she asked finally.
“Why what?”
“Why do you love me?”
It wasn’t simply enough to say he loved her, he had to offer some believable reason for him to have such emotion. She doubted him, but she didn’t want to.
“This last week has been the most fucked-up one of my life,” he said. “For the longest time I didn’t know what to think about what happened in the car by the lake. I was afraid I was changing into someone I didn’t know, someone who scared me.
“But that’s not what happened. No. What happened was when we were together my true passion for you over-flowed out of me with so much force that I couldn’t stop it. I pushed you too far, and I am sorry, but that moment made me realize that I love you.”
“You just wanted to have sex,” she said softly.
“You believe in soul mates?” Her eyes said she did. “I’ve always been drawn to you but never had the courage to do anything about it until last week. And once we were together, I discovered that we are destined to stay together. We are soul mates and that is something that cannot be denied.”
“You mean that?”
“Of course.”
“You don’t want me to get an abortion?”
He had not anticipated this question. How could he? He couldn’t even believe how convincing he had been delivering those lines about soul mates. He had tapped into some well of feminine knowledge that had turned him from an awkward teenager into a suave romancer. She was in the palm of his hand now.
All he had to say was Yes, I think it’s for the best if you get an abortion. He could sugar-coat it better than that, too. We are meant to be together and I want nothing more than to have children with you but we shouldn’t rush into it. We should love each other fully first before bringing in a child.
That wouldn’t work. She’d see right through it. Confessing that he really wanted her to terminate the pregnancy would crumble the entire tower of lies he had constructed.
“I want us to do what is right for us. There’s a reason you’re pregnant. There’s a reason we’re together. There’s a reason why we need to act now to help your mother. The reason might be destiny, it might be love, it might be God.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re sure you love me?”
He placed the Snapple down and hugged her. She rested her head on his shoulder.
“I’m scared,” she said.
“Me too,” he confessed.
* * *
Tyler had been ready to march right up to Sasha’s mother and offer her the beverage as some sort of peace-offering. Sasha said that wouldn’t work and took the bottle. If they wanted this plan to work, they had to play by her mother’s rules.
“Which means?” Tyler asked.
“Take off your clothes,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
He stripped to his boxers, laying each piece of clothing carefully on the bed in case he had to get dressed rapidly. What happened to his other clothes? Were they still soaking in the tub? Little pictures of monkeys speckled his boxers; Mom had bought them for him for Christmas. He told her that no girl would want to see monkeys on a guy’s boxers. She had laughed and said he didn’t know much about girls.
Sasha returned with a chalice in one hand and a carving knife in the other.
“Nice boxers,” she said.
“What’s with the knife?”
“Trust me?”
He paused just long enough to reveal the truth. “Sure.”
She placed the chalice and knife on the nightstand next to the bed. He could snatch up the knife and bury it in her back. That thought bothered him. He might be doing something immoral right now, even sinister, but he would never, could never, be so malicious and evil. If this plan failed, he’d have to accept fatherhood and hope Dad understood that sometimes people fucked up. Sometimes they fucked up real bad.
From her closet, Sasha removed two black robes. She tossed one to him and told him to put it on. The robe was actually a cloak with a hood. While he slipped it on, Sasha took off her sweatshirt and jeans. She stood before him in bra and panties.
Despite the fresh bruises swelling across her midriff and legs, despite the tiny bugs of spray-paint on her face or the dark shadows beneath her eyes, Tyler wanted her. The way she stood, so frail, the way her eyes widened, so innocent and exposed, sent a fresh rush of warm blood through him and he grew hard.
She unclasped her bra and her breasts flopped out. They were so lar
ge and so perfectly designed that he wanted to take each one in his mouth right now and then throw her on the bed and enter her once more, reveling in her warmth.
“Sasha, I …”
She slid off her panties, tossed them in the corner. Her small patch of pubic hair was the final reveal and he could barely control himself. There was no fear freezing him like the last time, only hot lust beginning to boil.
She noticed his excitement and smiled. She slipped her own black cloak on in one easy move and then approached him. “Do you want me?” she asked. Her hands touched his chest and then slipped down to his stomach. Her fingers teased the corners of his groin.
“Yes,” he whispered. In one instant, she had gone from weak and afraid to confident and in complete control. She knew that the one true way to control a man was to do it through sex.
“You’re still wearing your boxers,” she said.
* * *
This time when they made love, she moaned with every inward thrust and tore at his back with sharp fingernails. Her eyes rolled back in their sockets and she begged for him to go deeper and deeper. When he said he was going to come, she wrapped her legs around his waist and whispered in his ear: “Come inside me, baby. Please.”
Afterward, he fell asleep against her, almost unable to believe how much his luck had changed.
2
Anthony sat in the kitchen and waited. He wasn’t waiting for anything in particular, he was just waiting. It was easier than actually getting up and walking down the hall and staring at Chloe.
He almost got up once to call the police. Brendan was missing, after all, and he knew exactly where to find him, but he couldn’t push himself to make the call. Ellis and his people would expose the truth about Dr. Carroll and Anthony would be in cuffs before morning. He’d be no help to his boys then.
The dying red and orange rays of the sun bathed the inside of the kitchen. He had once found this nightly display to be calming. He and Chloe had joked many times that they didn’t need to go to some tropical paradise for romantic evenings beneath gorgeous skies; they had only to get take-out and dine at the kitchen table.
Those memories of eating at this table, slurping up chinese food and pene ala vodka from Styrofoam containers should have made him laugh. They’d buy the cheapest red wine they could find and drink it right from the bottle. They’d eat the foul food and try not to gag on the acidic wine and then they’d make love, sometimes right on the kitchen floor. Those times had all been before the kids, of course. Parenthood pretty much ended their romantic excursions in the kitchen. Instead of laughing, he almost started to cry.
Now, the final glimmers of the sun painted the room in dark red hues that reminded Anthony of Dr. Carroll’s blood staining the bed sheets. How had Anthony gone from making love to his wife next to this very table to sitting here contemplating her murder?
It seemed preposterous, completely insane, and yet here he was.
There were only two options. He could smother her with a pillow, something they used to joke about during long nights where they’d lay in bed and talk for hours. She hated when he shoved a pillow over her face, said she was afraid even though she knew he’d never hurt her.
Using a pillow would work, considering her drugged state, but he hated the idea of doing it knowing it was something she genuinely feared. Perhaps in some other world, Chloe would understand that he had been put in an impossible situation and that her death was necessary to save Brendan and Tyler. Even if such a place did exist, killing Chloe by a means she actually feared was mean and cruel.
The other option made more sense anyway and required of Anthony almost nothing. All he needed to kill his wife waited for him in the master bathroom. Good old Dr. Carroll had left him more than enough meds for the task.
Maybe that was the whole idea from the beginning.
He could grind up the pills and pour them down her throat. She’d never even wake up.
And, after the pills took her away, if he couldn’t stand what he’d done, there were plenty of pills to take care of him, too.
But that defeats the whole point, the Logical Voice said. Then Brendan will be theirs for good. If that’s what’s going to happen, you might as well stop wasting time and get on with it.
As usual, the Logical Voice was right.
He stood, walked down the hall, stopped at the open bedroom door. Chloe and her sister lay as completely asleep as they had been a few hours ago.
Stop wasting time and get on with it.
He approached the bed.
Chloe was curled in a fetal position beneath the sheets. Her face had, for the moment at least, regained some of its lost firmness, its youth. Here lay the woman he had pledged his life to. The woman he vowed to honor and cherish. The woman for whom he had once stood up in the middle of a crowded New York City restaurant and exclaimed, I love you, Chloe Belmont, and I want you to be my wife. People applauded. Chloe cried when he slipped the ring on her finger.
He caressed the side of her face. A slight tremor of life shook her body. It was like the tremors that shook her body when she orgasmed.
He kissed her forehead. “I love you, Chloe Williams, and I always will.”
* * *
Ellis’s cleaning crew had taken everything with them, including the blood-stained tire iron. That, however, was not a problem. Before he got in Chloe’s car, he took the Craftsman Rip-Claw Hammer from his tool box. Ellis wouldn’t know what hit him.
3
The Giant Jesus twitched on the wall. The smell of flowers filled the room, but Brendan knew it was from the candles and wondered if there was something more significant to that. Did the use of scented candles in place of real flowers signify some coverup? What would Bo Blast think if he were here on his knees before a giant crucified Jesus with people all around praying for a successful night in which God’s work was to be done? Would Bo find the candles odd?
Ellis was on Brendan’s right and Dwayne on his left. They had been in this position for several minutes, heads bowed, hands folded before them, the flickering flames of the candles the only sound.
Other people had been in here, enraptured in prayer, when Dwayne opened the door and told him it was time to ask for God’s blessing and then fully embrace what lay ahead. “You must do it with no hesitation,” Dwayne said.
For my family, Brendan told himself.
The room grew warmer and exhaustion pushed down Brendan’s eyelids. He fought to keep his eyes open but the lids got heavier and heavier like industrial garage doors. Sleep gripped his body and he spasmed suddenly out of it.
The Giant Jesus’ head had rolled from one side to the other. Jesus had been staring down to his right, eyes seeking mercy from the spectators. Now, the head was tilted to the crook of his left shoulder and those looming hollows focused directly on Brendan.
He could have screamed, almost did, but it had to be an illusion. He was remembering the statue incorrectly, that’s all. Exhaustion and anxiety were screwing with his head, making him see things.
Unless it’s God making you see those things.
This thought deserved refutation, but he had none to offer. God, he thought with awe.
When Ellis spoke, his voice startled Brendan, shooting a cold shiver through him. “Lord God, whose we are and whom we serve,” he said, “help us glorify you this day, in all the thoughts of our hearts, in all the works of our hands, as becomes those who are your servants, through Jesus Christ our Lord.”
“Amen,” Dwayne said and several people in the room echoed the sentiment.
Without looking at Brendan, Ellis said, “Now, repeat after me: Lord Jesus, in whom I seek empowerment, I give you my hands to do your work.”
Brendan repeated the line.
“I give you my feet to go your way. I give you my tongue to speak your words.”
As Brendan repeated what Ellis said, an invisible weight settled on his shoulders. These were not simply words; this was a statement of commitment, a devotion to s
omething much larger and greater than anyone could comprehend.
“I give you my mind that you may think in me. I give you my spirit that you may pray in me.”
This was something priests said before they earned the right to administer communion. This was what warriors recited before they took the field with battle axe or machine gun.
“I give you my whole self without doubt.”
This was permanent. This was forever.
“Amen.”
Jesus blinked. His head moved, but perhaps it had never moved at all. Not an illusion; that was a sign that the pledge had been heard and acknowledged. Brendan was devoted to God now, and God would show him the path to empowerment. Almost a minute passed before anyone spoke.
“Are you ready?” Dwayne asked.
Though he didn’t know what to say, Brendan said simply, “I am.” Those two words had come from somewhere deep inside him, a place God had touched.
“Do you want God to save you?” Ellis asked.
“My family,” Brendan said. “Mom, Dad, Tyler.”
“But not you?”
He wanted everything to be like it used to be. That could never be. Delaney was dead. “I want them to be happy, with or without me.”
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“Remarkable.”
Ellis had a familiar expression painted on his face, one Dad had given him many times. Pride.
“Dwayne will tell you what you need to do. Don’t be afraid. You are one of God’s disciples now. The way may be dark at times, but in the darkness there is a gateway to the illumination of the soul. It can lead you to wonderful places.”
Brendan wanted to tell him he had heard that before but he kept his mouth shut. This was a serious moment, a solemn one in which he was pledging his loyalty to a cause impossible to fully comprehend.
“The time is now,” Ellis said. “Are you ready?”
“I am.”
* * *
A few minutes later, Dwayne was explaining how to burn a house down.
4
“It’s time.”
Sasha’s voice brought him out of the darkness of sleep. It took him a moment to recall where he was and realize he had to keep the charade going because his plan had not yet hit the crucial part. He had heard a phone ring. Had that been in his dreams? He had to grab the cell. Paul was waiting.