by Logan Fox
“It’s significant.”
“Everything in that book’s significant to bible belters,” Cass says. “Literal needle in a haystack.”
“That’s not—” I cut off with a sigh. “Screw it.”
I start searching.
inspiring bible verse luke…
Google autocompletes on that, so I give the first search term a try.
I tap on the first result, and it takes me to a bible website. I read the first verse of Luke chapter eleven.
It’s a prayer. A common one because even I’ve heard it before.
I guess Luke’s the forty-second book in the bible. Forty-two-eleven.
It was the combination to the safe, which is now missing, and the basement. What’s the chance it’s also the password used to encrypt the file on Gabriel’s computer?
But it’s not a pin number like the basement door…
“Library. Now.” I call over my shoulder, already headed in that direction.
“I haven’t had a smoke yet!”
“Save it!”
I have a feeling he’s going to need one when we’re done, anyway.
We race back to the library. I remote access my PC back in California and quickly add the entire prayer to my cracking program.
It takes milliseconds to parse.
The file pops open on the library’s computer.
I’m wrong, though.
Cass won’t need a smoke.
Neither of us will.
We need someone with a stronger stomach.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Zach
“You ever wish you could wipe out your memories?” Rube asks.
We’re in our Ghost’s bedroom. Neither of us would even consider sitting on the mattress, so we’re squeezed in beside each other on the blanket box at the foot of the bed.
I don’t even have to think about it. “No.”
“Not at all?”
We’re smoking a cigarette. It’s our third in a row—we’ve been putting them out on the carpet in a blatant show of disrespect.
It should feel petty, but instead it feels amazing. Like we’re extinguishing each and every one on the Ghost’s bare skin.
“No, because then they’d get away with it. All of them.”
“So revenge is better than forgiveness?”
I turn to him, narrowing my eyes. “I’m sorry, did I miss something? The last time I checked you were going to gouge out his eyeballs with your thumbs and then piss in the sockets.”
He looks away. “If we hadn’t come back here…”
I inhale deep.
Oh.
That’s what this is about.
“Rube, it’s not our fault. It’s not her fault. It’s theirs. Whoever took her. They initiated it, not us.”
“Would have had a hard time initiating anything if—”
I bang my fist on his thigh. “We’re going to find her. And we’re going to kill whoever took her, like we should have Gabriel.”
Rube is silent for more than a beat, so I look up at him. He’s frowning. “You don’t think it was Gabriel?”
I spread my hands like a prophet. “You really think it was?”
“Everything points to—”
“Exactly. Everything always points to him.”
Rube’s frown grows deeper. When he speaks, it’s slowly and carefully. “Yes, because he was the Guardian, and—”
He cuts off when I shake my head. “You know what. You’re right. Maybe it would be better if our memories were erased because we always storm in without thinking things through. We’re so consumed with rage, and hate, and revenge, we don’t ever stop to just…think.”
“You believe Gabriel was set up?”
I lay my hands in my lap, palms up, one on top of the other. I’ve been trying to meditate and shit—my therapist recommended it—but the only thing that happens when I close my eyes is that I’m immediately transported back to the basement.
It’s always been the case.
Which is why I get so little sleep. It takes a lot of effort to convince myself that I won’t wake up with some guy’s hand down my fucking pants.
“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” I tell him. “And I don’t know where Trinity is. And I don’t know if we’ll ever find her.”
I see Rube’s shoulders sag in my peripheral view.
“Maybe they’ll find something,” Rube says. “Apollo’s good with that shit.”
“It’ll have to be a fucking miracle they find.” I shake my head again. “I don’t think anything less is going to cut it. Not this—”
There’s a shriek of tires outside.
We’re up in an instant, storming to the bedroom window. It looks out on the street, to our SUV that’s just pulled up into the driveway.
Guess there’s no reason to be circumspect anymore. If anything, I hope we draw someone’s attention. If they come for us, at least then we’ll know who took Trinity.
Apollo jumps out of the passenger door, Cass a beat behind him. They race up to the front door.
Rube and I meet them halfway down the stairs. It’s crowded with the four of us, but that doesn’t matter.
Apollo’s holding out his phone. “Watch it,” he wheezes. “One of you—”
Cass snatches it. “Christ, Apollo, get some fucking exercise.” Then he looks at me, at Rube. “He figured out the password. He opened the file.”
“The one from Gabriel?” Rube asks, reaching for the phone.
Cass pulls it out of reach.
For a second, just one weird fucking second, I think he’s screwing around with Rube. That if he tried to go for it, Cass would pull it away again. Like driving away from someone before they can get in the car. But just a few feet. And then you apologize. And then do it again.
“Rube, my man,” Cass says quietly. Then he shakes his head. Looks at me. “I…don’t even know if we can.”
“Can what?” Rube growls, going for the phone again. This time Cass lets him take it.
“Watch it,” he says. Crosses his arms. He and Apollo share a look, and then drop their gazes. “We couldn’t.”
“It’s a video?”
They nod, still looking down.
Christ.
There’s a mess of noise from the phone. Rube turns it on its side, lifts his chin a little. But he’s holding it. He’s watching it.
I shift a little, peering over his arm at the screen.
Darkness. Then a flash of light. Pale blue carpet. Neat, clean. Suggestion of furniture which quickly resolves into a dark blue chest of drawers painted with big yellow stars. There’s a red toy robot on top, and a random assortment of He-Man action figures.
Jesus Christ.
But Rube says nothing.
And we keep watching.
The view pans to a bed. There’s a little boy sitting on the side. He has tear tracks down his face and his red Spiderman T-shirt is damp with spilled tears. He’s still hiccupping, and as the person holding the camera phone goes closer, he lifts a little fist and wipes it over his eyes.
“Hey, Justin,” someone croons softly. “Don’t cry.”
The boy frowns hard at the person holding the camera. “I wuh-want my muh-m-mommy.”
“Oh, I know. I know. She said she’ll be here any minute now.”
I glance up at Cass and Apollo. They’re staring at us now, both wide-eyed, like they’re waiting for us to shout Uncle.
The kid’s not even in a basement. Yeah, I couldn’t go down into the dark earlier, but he’s in a bright and sunny room.
Pussies.
But then I hear Rube swallowing. I look back at the screen.
It’s gone black.
My stomach clenches.
Light returns. It shows a slim figure walking away from the camera that resolves into a young, pretty woman.
Late twenties.
Dark, curly hair.
Bright blue eyes.
Freckles.
She goes to sit
beside the little boy, and puts an arm around his shoulder. He cringes away, but she just ducks her head a little closer.
“Would you like some cookies and milk while you wait for Mommy?” she asks.
The little boy looks up at her, wary, and shakes his head.
“Are you sure?”
He drops his head a little. Sniffs.
She scoots closer. “I tell you what, Justin. Let’s have a nap, me and you. And when we wake up, your mommy will be here.”
Justin shakes his head. “I’m not tired.”
“I know.” She moves a lock of hair off his forehead, and looks straight at the camera. “But it will make the time go by so fast.”
Rube clears his throat. “Is that Monica?” he asks, looking up at Apollo and Cass.
“Who else?” Cass says. Apollo nods.
Rube doesn’t look at the camera again. “How does this help?”
Cass frowns. “Gabriel said Apollo should show this to Trinity. I’m guessing he told her Monica was involved, and she wouldn’t believe him.”
“Yeah, she didn’t mention any of that to us,” Apollo adds.
I’m looking at them too, but I can still hear what’s going on. The rustle of fabric. The cooing sounds Monica makes.
Rube goes to turn off the cell phone, but I stop him. His head whips to look at me. “Really?” he murmurs. “You really want to watch?”
“It’s not in a basement,” I tell him.
“Does it matter?” His voice drops low and deep. “You know what’s going to happen. Why the fuck do you have to watch it?”
“Because it’s not in a basement!”
Apollo leans back from my yell. I rake my fingers through my hair and snatch the phone from Rube’s hand. I move my finger over the time bar.
There’s a brief snatch of Monica’s voice.
…show my husband what a handsome boy you are, Justin…doesn’t that feel nice…don’t cry now…
“This didn’t happen in a basement. This boy isn’t one of us.”
“And that makes it okay?” Cass begins, indignation rife on his voice.
“Just fucking listen to me!” I pause the video, hesitate as I check the screen, then hold it up Cass. “There. See?”
Cass glances at it, and then immediately looks away. “Jesus Christ, you’re a sick fuck,” he mutters, and his face goes a shade whiter.
“Not…fuck…” I grit my teeth. “Look past the fucking bed. Behind it. There’s a window. See? The curtains are open.”
“Yeah, sure, I believe you,” Cass says, but only looking at me out of the corner of his eye, not at the screen. “First prize, Zach.”
“Wait…are you saying…” Apollo reaches for the phone, but then plucks his hand away. “Is there like a landmark or something?” he glances at Cass, bumps him with an elbow. “We could use it to triangulate the location of the house.” And then his face falls. “But this must have been taken years ago. What’s the point?”
“The point is, she didn’t bother trying to hide anything. She didn’t pull the curtains. She used the boy’s real name.” I tap my fingernail on the screen, but then hurriedly lock the phone when the video starts playing again.
Everyone goes rigid, jaws clenching, glaring at me.
“Sorry,” I murmur.
They don’t need to hear that.
Fuck, I didn’t need to hear that.
“She felt comfortable enough to shoot a video on her phone and not worry about someone finding it.”
“It was password protected,” Rube says.
“Yeah.” Apollo might have been trying to sound cheery, but his words just come out all wobbly. “Want to know what it was?”
Rube and I look at him. He drops his eyes. “Forgive us our sins,” he says, sounding much less happy than before.
I push past them, unlocking the phone again. I turn down the volume and head into the living room, then hurriedly detour and go into the kitchen instead.
I don’t need to be sitting next to a pool of my own blood trying to work this shit out, that’s for sure.
Cass follows. He makes me a cup of black coffee and sits opposite me as I watch the whole video.
It makes me sick to my stomach to the point where I want to go puke up everything I ever ate…but near the end, Monica picks up the phone again and takes it over to the bed. As she’s arranging it on the nightstand—bright blue like the dresser, with a night light shaped like Mickey Mouse—there’s a clear shot of the window.
So clear, you can make out the horizon.
I freeze that frame, take a screenshot. It’s got Monica’s left eye in it, near the bottom. Her face is tilted down, but she’s looking at the phone.
Probably imagining her husband’s delight when she shows him the clip.
That eye sure is beautiful.
If you don’t look too hard.
Because if you do, then you can see pure evil coiling in the darkness of her pupil.
Forgive us our sins?
Bitch, not now…not fucking ever.
Chapter Forty
Trinity
Exodus, Matthew, and Ephesians say you must honor your father and your mother. They don’t mention whether that still applies if your parents sold their souls to the devil.
“Who were they? Those boys you were with?” my father asks.
I guess I don’t have to call him that anymore. I’m not his daughter. I should feel relieved, but instead I feel violated.
It wasn’t my father who lived upstairs in that house with me and my mother.
It was an impostor.
A stranger.
But they made me call him Dad. And they made me obey him.
The impostor walks closer. Calm, collected.
My head snaps to the side when he backhands me. Pain blossoms on my cheek, and I see stars when my eyes squeeze shut involuntarily.
“Who were they?” he asks again, so quiet I can barely make out the words over the sound of blood roaring in my ears.
“No one,” I manage, blinking back tears of pain and terror.
They tied me to a chair, Hoody and Polo, while the impostor and the woman watched. I’m in a den or a study. Plushly carpeted, thick drapes—drawn. It was gloomy inside until Hoody turned on a desk lamp.
There are lots of books on the wall here. A big desk. It looks a lot like the study Dad had at home.
No, not Dad.
The impostor.
He’s standing in front of me, legs hip-distance apart. Casual, but ready.
For what? Does he expect me to be overcome by some feat of superhuman strength, shred these ropes, and make a go at him? I don’t believe in miracles.
I thought I didn’t believe in God either, but on some level I must have faith. Because I know the Devil’s standing in front of me, and if there’s a Devil, there must be a God.
“Trinity, child…” The impostor crouches in front of me. “There will only be more pain if you insist on being uncooperative. Do you understand?”
“They’re just a bunch of boys,” I tell him.
“What were you doing with them?”
“What does it matter?” I yell.
I glare up at him, but the second our eyes meet, I drop my head.
I’m not brave enough to stare Satan right in the eyes. Especially when those eyes belong to the man I thought of as my father for close to two decades.
The impostor sighs as he stands. He turns to Hoody, and they walk to the study door. Even though their voices are low, I can hear what they’re saying.
“You got their plates?” Keith asks.
“Zachary Price. Dana Point, California.”
My heart starts pounding.
Shit.
I guess it doesn’t matter what I say, the impostor knows they’re not just some random guys.
“Find them. Kill them.” Keith looks at me over his shoulder. I wasn’t expecting a look of fatherly adoration or anything—he’s never looked at me like that.
My
entire life, I don’t think I ever did anything that made him proud, or gave him a reason to smile. I just always thought that was the kind of man he was—severe, chaste, Old Testament.
But now it’s all starting to click into place.
It wasn’t that he didn’t love me.
He didn’t have to, because I wasn’t his. But I’m sure even the parents of adopted kids feel more for their children than he ever did—ever could have—for me.
Because there’s not a trace of emotion in his voice when he says, “Kill her too.”
And then he turns and leaves, not even bothering to look back.
My mouth falls open. The woman who brought me here comes in front of me and holds out her gun. But it doesn’t have the same menacing effect as before.
Keith Malone just shredded my life to pieces.
And now I’m going to die.
Finally, the fear comes back. It shoots through me like needles of cold steel. My stomach twists, and I start dry swallowing like there’s something stuck in my throat.
This can’t be happening.
This can’t fucking be happening.
I struggle, but the ropes are tight. I scream, but that just makes the woman frown.
She curls her finger around the trigger. I close my eyes, holding my breath as I wait for the inevitable.
“Jess, wait.”
A hand lands on the woman’s shoulder. She looks at it, glances behind her. “What?”
“I’ll do it,” Hoody says.
“Christ, Nick, there’s no time for that shit.” She shakes him off, points the gun.
“You go on ahead. I’ll catch up.” Nick wraps his fingers around the hand holding the gun. She twists it, snarling at him with irritation, and it goes off.
I scream.
My body’s stiff as I wait for death or pain…but there’s nothing. Just my pounding heart and the ice-cold flash of adrenaline pouring through my body.
“Fucking retard,” Jess mutters, but her voice is moving away. “I’m leaving in ten, with or without you.”
My eyes fly open. There’s a hole about an inch away from my left foot. I manage a choking breath, and then there’s a hand around the front of my throat.
Nick uses his thumb to prop my chin up, forcing my eyes to his. “How many times do you think I can come in ten minutes, Missy?”