by ML Banner
He handed the present to her, just the way he had bought it—the way the proprietor had said the cross should be stored.
“What is this?” Mimi asked. She looked at the blue velvet cloth, and then up at him expectantly.
“A present,” he grinned widely. “I found it for you earlier this year, during one of my weekend furloughs. Well, aren’t you going to open it?”
“Oh, what could it be?” she said, quickly unwrapping the folds of the soft cloth. “It’s a cross?” she asked.
Crap, she doesn’t like it, he thought. “It’s an antique, and I know how you like older things—”
“—those older things were Dad’s. Mom gave them to me after he died.”
“Well, I know how you’re searching for truth, and I thought... It was pretty, and I thought you’d like it.” He felt like he was rambling, trying to find some way to convince her that this was a cool gift.
“But it’s an idol, and we’re not supposed to follow idols. It’s a sin! But...”
“Don’t worry, I’ll take it back. It’s not a big deal, just a little something I thought you’d like.” Tom swiped the crucifix out of her hands, wrapped it up, and slid it into his pocket.
“Are you sure? I’m so sorry. I just can’t wear something like that. Thanks for understanding. Hey, won’t we be late for the concert?”
~~~
Nine Years Later
Heaven Ranch
Mimi was on her knees before Tom. Her eye shadow had mixed with her tears and streaked down her face, accentuating her sadness even more.
“I’m so sorry. I have no excuse for my behavior. I was lonely, even when you were here and not on one of your missions. Even when you were here, you weren’t here.”
Tom fell into the love seat, the strength in his legs emptying out at the same time as his anger. He didn’t want to leave her. They had a child. And he didn’t believe in divorce.
“I’ve only ever loved you, and I will always love you.”
His shoulders slumped. He felt empty. He had just confronted her with her infidelity, not long after telling Griff that he’d kill him if he so much as looked at his wife again. He toyed with the idea of leaving her, but he couldn’t. Not now.
“I know you’ll probably never trust me again. I completely understand. I was wrong and I’ve changed: I’ve even come back to my family’s Catholic faith. I’m even attending the church in Warsaw. That’s where I’ve been going every Saturday in the morning.”
Tom looked up at her watery eyes and got lost in them again. They were full of reticence and a desire to be forgiven. How could he not forgive her as he had learned he’d been forgiven in his own Christian faith? And she had dumped her religious cult of the week for her Catholic faith. That had to mean something. Perhaps she had changed.
“I can only ask for your forgiveness and give you my promise that I will be faithful to you, our marriage, and our family from now on. And I will always love you, Tom.”
Tom’s eyes were now overflowing dams. He squeezed her hands, which had been propped up on his knees while she had been pleading with him. He rose, and let go of her hands. “I’ll be right back,” he told her.
Tom returned from their bedroom, holding something. He handed it to her.
“What is thi—” She looked up at him, with that same anticipatory expression as when he first handed her the gift.
She unwrapped it, cradled it in her hands, turned it over, and looked back at him. “You kept this the whole time?”
“Yes, of course. Read the inscription,” he told her.
She did. “It says, Mimi, our love will live forever.”
30
Present Day
Tom brushed his thumb over the inscription, as if it were a mirage that might smudge if he rubbed at it. What else could it be? The inscription said, Mimi, our love will live forever.
“How could you possibly have this?” Tom demanded.
“My mother gave it to me... to give it back to you.”
If the wind had kicked up at that moment, Tom would have been blown onto the ground. Even without a breeze, he started to pitch backward and almost toppled over.
Tom was completely focused on the kid and the cross, and what it all meant to him, ignoring the battle around him, inside and outside the corral. Scarface had dispatched every threat that had run their way, and now turned his attention to Tom. Outside, other minions of the sheriff waited for their leader, who was being roused from a celebratory beer-coma, before committing their blood to his cause. Scarface slowly advanced from behind Tom, one hand clutching his silver dagger.
“What?” Tom glanced up from the cross’s inscription. “What do you mean, your mother?”
“Mimi, your ex-wife, is my mother... and the Teacher is my father.” The boy stopped abruptly, and almost scowled at Tom. He fluttered his hand in the air, like he was shooing away a pest.
And that’s when Tom heard a single footstep behind him. He spun on a heel, his hand finding his hunting knife. He was shocked to find Scarface was there. The man held his dagger like he was about to stab someone... him. “But...” Tom queried, turning back to the boy, “why?”
“Because I don’t want him to.”
Tom scowled, a mixture of confusion and anxiety, while he tried to put his mental arms around this FUBAR’d situation. Scarface didn’t abduct the boy, he serves the boy... and the boy’s father, and his mother, Tom’s ex-wife. Tom had been staring past the kid, trying to fit the pieces to this odd puzzle together. Then he glowered at the kid again, “But you led me here, with Drew’s toy soldiers.”
“Of course,” the kid said. His voice was emotionless, almost apathetic.
“But why?” Tom pleaded.
“Because I knew we would need your help, and because you needed to do this.” The kid paused, and then like a teacher instructing his pupil, he burrowed his eyes into Tom. “You needed to become what you were meant to become. All these years, you have been surviving, but you haven’t been living. This is why I convinced those idiots to abduct me and to come to your ranch. My mother told me all about you and why she had left you and that you were lost.” He paused again and glanced up into the sky, as if awaiting the words to come down directly from God Himself. “I wanted to help you find your way. And it looks like you have. You needed to go through this, so you could find your new home. And prepare them for battle.”
Tom was dumbfounded and rendered utterly speechless. If his life depended on saying just one thing, he would have perished right there. His vision swam, and at that moment, even though he never had done so before, he thought he might faint.
“It’s time,” said Scarface. “We must leave, now.”
“Very well,” said the boy.
Scarface shot both black eyes at Tom. “And if you follow us, I will not hesitate again. Do you understand?”
Tom blinked once and nodded, still speechless.
“He won’t follow,” said the boy. “He has somewhere to go: a place where he’s needed, to his new home. But Tom, you must leave now, because others are coming. You must get to your new home and prepare them.”
The kid turned from Tom, and both he and Scarface hopped over the fence and raced into the night. Even after they had ducked out of sight, Tom didn’t move. His eyes followed their shadows, cast from the nighttime auroras and fires he’d started. Like two demons racing back to Hell, their images danced upon the back of a large building and then disappeared into the night.
There were other shots fired, close by. Only then was Tom shaken from the dream. Or was it a nightmare? He looked around and didn’t see a soul alive. Surrounding the corral was carnage he hadn’t seen since his days in Syria. And it all happened while he was zoned out. It was time to go. He did have someplace to go, someplace that needed him.
He wrapped up the cross and slipped it into his pocket, leaped over the fence and ducked into the cover of the trees. He’d follow a northerly path, slowly working his way around the town and t
hen back west, toward his destination.
As he started the process of putting miles between him and Warsaw, and getting closer to Cicada, his mind wondered about his ex-wife. He wondered what happened to her and how in the world she had gotten involved with this Teacher.
31
Eight Years Earlier
Her eyes locked onto the billboard’s message. “Suffer from pain no longer. Miraculous healings every day at 6PM.”
A small thump against her chest and the boy’s heartbeat reminded her of her responsibility. She scooted the infant and sling over to her other side and glanced at her now uncovered watch.
A man in overalls brushed past her and darted into the tent’s opening. An obese woman in a thin flower-print dress ambled inside from her other side.
It was 5:59. She wasn’t late. She could still make it.
“Mom, take him for a bit, would you? she asked, carefully sliding out of the sling, while supporting the baby’s weight, so as to not wake her sleeping child.
A giant blueberry-colored sun hat tilted upward, revealing a look she knew too well: disappointment. Her mother held her gaze for a long moment before finally answering. “Sure,” she said, removing her take-me-out-to-the-fair hat to accept her grandson. “The two of us will go over to the food tent and feast on some apple pie and ice cream. Don’t plan on us saving you some.”
The infant didn’t move while he was being repositioned and Grandma nestled her cartwheel hat back onto her crown. She tilted it precisely just a little for effect, but mostly because her long process of holding up her daughter felt appropriate for once again dumping her burdens onto someone else. She glanced at her grandson and chided herself for thinking he was a burden. It wasn’t even her daughter’s separation from her husband, who was a good man, even if he was a prepper who wanted to live in the boonies. She understood her daughter’s need to break free after her first grandson had died so horribly.
What made her want to frustrate and delay her daughter was her daughter’s constant need to find the latest religion of the day. If she’d just stuck to the Catholic faith she was raised in, she would have been fine.
“Do you have him all right?” Mimi asked.
“Yes, go on now,” her mother answered, flashing a weak smile that almost looked penciled on, like her eyebrows.
“Thanks Mom,” she said, forcing her own smile before turning and marching inside.
“And Mimi,” her mom called out, waiting until Mimi stopped, “don’t be too long.”
The infant boy’s eyes popped open and locked onto his mother.
“I won’t. I just want to see what it’s all about,” she said while sliding into the tent.
The little boy, lifted his arm out and his head lurched forward, causing a flop of bright red hair to point in the same direction.
~~~
It was like an electric shock, she thought to herself, as the preacher slapped her head with his palm. And then she felt all the energy drain out of her, through her heels. The world tilted and then cart-wheeled end over end, and she was floating on air.
Her mind fluttered, grasping for some sense of firmament. It was like a dream, but all the unknown sensations made her panic.
Then her eyes flicked open and people were standing over her, gazing at her like she was some foreign creature from the deep that had washed up on the beach. And from the crowd of faces, the preacher reached out his hand, his beaming smile welcoming her ashore.
She reached up and grasped for him and he pulled her up easily and then held her by her waist. Her eyes found his and the panic she had felt only moments ago was replaced by peace. For the first time in months, the pain she had been carrying around had also slipped away. The heartache that had burned through her soul, leaving her empty and spent, was gone. This man had taken it all from her.
He asked her something and she didn’t know what it was, but she found herself smiling and nodding and saying, “I don’t feel the pain anymore.”
And then she cried. It wasn’t just a few tears, but a geyser-like flood of tears.
She had done a lot of that in the months right after her first son had died. But those tears were tainted by loss and anger at her husband for all that he did to her and their son. Even when their new son was born, she was filled with hatred for him and adding one more painful element to her tortured soul.
Now she was shedding tears of joy. It was like she had had all of this pent-up happiness that had been stored away, until the time she would give herself the ability to experience it. It was time, and this amazing man helped her get it.
Once again, she was shocked at how disconnected she felt as she was now turning—he was twisting her by her hips. And then he was holding her hand and the other faces in the audience were clapping and saying, “Hallelujah!” And while her tears streamed down her checks, her face beamed now, ignoring the embarrassment of all the adulation cast upon her.
She gushed her happiness in front of these strangers and this amazing man who saved her life.
The preacher twisted her back around so that she was facing him now. She felt more electricity this time.
He spoke in soft and reassuring words that were just above a whisper, but she heard him perfectly, even among the din of the revelers in the tent and the gospel singers praising the Lord. “You and your son have found a home with me, child.”
She could barely speak. Her heart rattled so hard in her chest, she feared it might break her ribs, from the inside. She felt this amazing love for this man she’d just met, but who had already changed her life.
Her hand still clutched his, even though they were both sweaty and hot. She dared not release it. “What’s your name?”
“My followers call me Teacher.”
Unconsciously, her free hand reached up and twirled at her red curls.
32
A few miles outside of Kansas City
Present Day
During the three-day walk back to God’s Army, Scarface and the boy operated silently, except for their footfalls. Even their nights of locating appropriate shelters, breaking into them and eating their meals were done in complete silence. But their unspoken words hung heavy in the air.
By the second night after leaving their captivity, they had caught up with the GA’s trail: the footprints of a thousand followers and their resulting detritus was not unlike the path of destruction burrowed into the Midwestern landscape after a twister.
It was only after they had started to pass the first few stragglers at the end of the herd that Scarface finally asked the boy what had troubled him. “I still have two unanswered questions.” He paused and looked at the boy to make sure he was paying attention. “First, why didn’t you tell him?”
The boy had been anticipating this query since they had parted with Tom Rogers in Warsaw. Still, the boy chose not to make it easy for his helper. “Tell him what?”
“That you were his son, and not the Teacher’s.”
The boy didn’t even feign incredulity. “Everyone knows I’m the Teacher’s son, and not Mr. Roger’s. What makes you convinced otherwise?”
Scarface snickered at the kid’s ability to word-wrestle with the best of them. Although a bit bizarre, this kid was every bit his intellectual equal. “There’s your physical resemblance, which is remarkably similar to Tom Rogers and your mother, but not to the Teacher. Then there’s the timing of when your mother left and found the Teacher. But most glaring are your words. I’ve been reviewing everything you’ve said to me and others: you’ve never actually stated that the Teacher is your biological father. You’ve chosen your words carefully each time, so that everyone would just accept that you are the Teacher’s child. He too buttresses this familial connection by referring to you as one of his sons. And of course, everyone knows your mother is one of his wives. But we all know the same words can easily be used about adoptive fathers and sons. And there are so many other reasons why it’s obvious to someone who pays attention to the details. So in sho
rt, we can just say I know Rogers is your father.”
That knowing and somewhat malevolent grin crept up the kid’s face until it was as prominent as an upturned horseshoe when Scarface concluded. It disappeared when he spoke. “Fair enough. I’ll just say that Tom Rogers didn’t need to know anything more than what I told him. What’s your second question?”
“There you go, playing the politician and not answering the question directly, although your face tells me everything. Fine, I’ll accept your answer and play along. Second question: why go through with all of this? I just don’t understand your wanting to take it this far... what was the point of this whole exercise?”
“I thought you of all people would have understood this. He would have never left his property, and he would surely have died there, if he had remained. He had to leave to become the man he was preordained to be: a warrior for his people. Tom Rogers was being held back by the tragic loss of his first son, and his wife, and finally he was being held back by the property he built for them. And they were gone. When I had you burn down his hou—”
“—Wait a minute here. You didn’t have me burn it down; that was me! I chose to burn it down.”
“Are you forgetting that I came up with the idea to begin with?”
Scarface’s head reflexively buffeted away from the kid, as if he had been slapped across his face. The words were just as shocking, as if he were physically accosted.
The kid was correct though; Scarface recalled the kid’s subliminal words from that night: “If only you could find some gasoline, you could burn down the house and kill the traitors without wasting bullets.”
Damn this infernal kid.
Scarface wasn’t about to give the kid the satisfaction by attributing “his” decision to burn down the house to him. “Regardless...” he puffed. Then a little more calmly, “Explain what you just meant when you said Roger was, ‘preordained to be a warrior for his people?’ And before that you said, ‘Prepare them for battle.’”