Careless Rapture (34 page)

Emmerick moved to stand behind Amanda. “Or
there’s the senator’s niece. That would be a great victory. Think
of all the cheers and adulation you’d receive when you returned her
home. But will she leave with you? You’re a stranger. I’ve told her
a few things about you. How you deceived me. That you have an anger
you barely tame. That you would use her to penetrate my world.
You’re still just a poor runaway inside. With her you could finally
belong. You’ve always wanted to belong—”

Someone coughed. Clay blinked, pulling
himself out of the sticky web of words Emmerick had started to
weave around him. He’d begun to listen to Emmerick’s words and got
caught up in the mind game—the challenge of outwitting him. But
that wasn’t why he was here.

“You can’t win,” Emmerick said. “They won’t
betray me. They won’t betray this ministry.” He set the candle
down. “So make your choice. Here’s your chance to be a hero.”

“I don’t want to be a hero.”

“Of course you do. You’ve always wanted to be
the one who charges into battle. The one who fights alone. You want
to save, you want to be somebody important.”

“Yes, I used to. But now when I charge into
battle I don’t fight alone.”

“So you refuse my challenge?”

“I suggest you surrender,” Clay said.

Emmerick made a motion with his hands. The
knives appeared again. “And if I don’t?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised because you don’t
believe in surrender—peaceful or otherwise. A true charlatan.”

“All messengers must accept the labels their
present society will hurl at them. Surrender should not be confused
with succumbing to one’s opposition. I don’t believe in this kind
of surrender.”

“You don’t believe in a surrender of any
kind.” Clay folded his arms. “I believe you had a life-saving
triple bypass a few years back. Why hadn’t you surrendered to your
fate then?”

He started, surprised, then cleared his
throat. “There are moments when—”

“You surrender.”

“I refuse.”

“Then my friends will make you.”

That was the signal for Mack and the others
to remove their hoods. Nobody moved.

Emmerick smiled at the look on his face.
“Were you expecting your friends to show up?” He motioned to one of
the guards, who opened a closet. “Don’t worry, they did.”

The guard led Nicolas, Mack, and Brent into
the center of the room, their faces scraped and bruised, their
hands tied behind their backs while masking tape covered their
mouths.

“No!” Jackie screamed, as a member grabbed
her. She fought him until he put a knife to her neck and ended the
struggle.

The followers removed their hoods and stared
at Clay as though he were a traitor.

“I’m afraid you’re all alone,” Emmerick
said.

Clay stood as though his plan had fallen on
him and left him paralyzed.

“Thanks for sending the entertainment. You
kept my followers busy while we awaited your arrival. The youngest
one proved especially interesting.”

The implication of his words broke through
Clay’s paralysis. He lunged at Emmerick. Three members wrestled him
to the ground. One pressed his head against the floor as though he
wanted to crush his skull. He could feel grains of dirt pressing
into his cheek.

“Such anger,” Emmerick said, disappointed.
“Let him face me.”

One held Clay’s hands while another grabbed
his collar and forced him to his knees.

Emmerick stared down at him with cold
disdain. “You shouldn’t have tried to defeat me.”

Clay glared back, but said nothing.

“Why are you here? I was good to you.”

“You betrayed me,” he snapped.

The acid in his tone melted the mask Emmerick
wore, revealing the pathetic old man behind it. An old man with
wounds as deep as his own. “I loved you. Was it wrong for me to
show that? You were my son, like my flesh and blood.” He waved his
fist. “I depended on you, I gave you everything, taught you all I
knew. I clothed and fed you—you betrayed me. I didn’t kill your
sister. I didn’t kill anyone. I released them, there’s a
difference.

“Be ashamed of yourself, for being nothing,
for accomplishing nothing, for not using the talents given to you.
Together we could have created a ministry that stretched the world.
But you were too arrogant. Too proud. You had to be alone. But who
have you saved? Your life is littered with the names of the dead,
and look around you now—you’ve betrayed all those who have trusted
you. Look at them. Look what you’ve done to them.” He grabbed
Clay’s chin and forced him to look around the room. “This is your
fault. You led them here.” He let him go and wiped his hands as
though he’d touched something dirty. “Fortunately, I am a
compassionate man. I have the power to forgive. I will allow you to
leave with one of these people, though the choice is rather simple.
Your mother, Amanda, your friends, or her?”

Clay looked at them, then lowered his gaze.
“I won’t choose.”

“How about I make it easy for you? I’ll give
you your friends and your female companion in exchange for the
other two.”

He didn’t raise his eyes. “No.”

“Put aside your pride—they mean nothing to
you. Your mother doesn’t want you and neither does Amanda. Make
your choice!”

“No.”

Emmerick made his tone more indulgent.
“You’re really not in the position to be greedy. If you haven’t
noticed, you’re at a disadvantage here. I can have them toss you
out of here and leave you with nothing. I have before.”

Clay kept his gaze lowered.

“Or we could play a game of persuasion.”

Clay met his eyes. “I can’t outwit you.”

“And I can’t fight you. That leaves us at a
crossroads.”

“I have a solution.”

He raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“If you let them go, I’ll surrender.”

His voice faltered. “You’ll surrender?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“What do I have to lose? I haven’t amounted
to anything, I’ve hurt those I care about; all I’ve ever wanted was
to feel as though my life meant something. If you’ve truly forgiven
me, you’ll give me that chance.”

“Very well.” He handed Clay a small vial.

“Clay, don’t,” Jackie said as he opened the
vial. “Your life does mean something. Let go of me!” she yelled to
her guard.

He held her tighter, his knife pressing
against her throat with such force that blood seeped through.

Clay noticed the blood. “Keep still. He’ll
hurt you.”

“I don’t care,” Jackie said, feeling the hot
sting of the knife wound. “Don’t do this, please. We can find
another way. There has to be another way.”

“There isn’t. If I do this he’ll be forced to
keep his promise.” Before she could protest, Clay drank the
contents.

Emmerick motioned with his hands and the
guards released them.

Jackie ran to Clay as the vial dropped to the
floor. She gripped his arm, tears filling her eyes. “Why?”

“I’m okay,” he said.

Emmerick smirked. “Yes, you will be for the
next half hour.”

Mack came up beside Clay. “Let’s get you to a
hospital,” he said, trying to sound calm, though he wasn’t.

Brent took his other arm. “You’re going to be
okay. Come on.”

Emmerick looked at Clay with amusement. “And
once again you have your chance to be a hero.” He clicked his
tongue. “Unfortunately, you did a rather foolish thing. I’ve
released your mother and Amanda, but as you’ve noticed neither has
made a move toward you, They are loyal to me. Their minds belong to
me. I hold their truths. So here is your great contribution and, in
the end you’ve discovered your life was worthless.” He smiled
cruelly. “No one is worth dying for.” He went to the door. “Come,
followers.”

No one moved.

“I said come.”

One of the guards turned to Clay and fell to
his knees, the other followed, and soon all the members fell on
their knees, their heads bowed to him.

Emmeriek, stared, stunned. “Get up! What are
you doing! He is a traitor. I am your leader, your adviser. Get up,
I say!”

No one moved.

Nicolas approached Emmerick. “Seems they’ve
lost faith in you. In the face of such kindness one can easily spot
a fraud. You’re under arrest for the abduction of Amanda Heldon.”
He read him his Miranda rights as he led him away.

Clay looked at all the bowed heads. “No, you
mustn’t do this.”

One member, a young pimply-faced youth with
wide gray eyes said, “We’ll do whatever you say. We want to honor
your sacrifice.”

“Then make my death mean something by living
life fully by being free. Go into the world and be free. The world
is yours.”

Amanda cautiously walked toward him. “But why
did you do it? You could have taken your mother. You don’t even
know me.”

“I do know you. I’ve been you. You saw his
Web site, right?”

She nodded.

“And he sent you e-mails telling you how
clever you were and how you weren’t alone. He seemed like a
friend.”

She nodded again.

“So you met him. It was in a crowded place
because you would never meet with a stranger alone. You talked and
ate and then you don’t remember a thing.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“And you woke up groggy, frightened. You felt
foolish, didn’t you? You’re a smart girl, how could you fall for
this? He told you a lot of bad things about yourself,” he said,
aware of how Emmerick would have controlled her mind. “But they’re
not true.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Thank
you.”

Brent pulled on his arm. “Come, we have to
go.”

They all went outside. The rain had stopped,
drops of water dripping from the roof and off the trees. The
followers bowed to him one by one, then drove away in the van.
Amanda went with the police.

“I’m not afraid to die,” Clay said, as Jackie
clung to him and Mack sent him worried glances.

“We’re not going to let you,” Brent said.

As Mack opened the door, Clay took a moment
to lookout at the gathering mist as it swept past the cabin. Like a
phantom, it enveloped the field and trees in a hazy scene as though
trying to relegate it to memory. He let the haunting memories of
those he’d lost mingle with it. Suddenly a sharp pain penetrated
his skull. He stumbled to his knees.

Mack swore, catching him before he hit the
ground. “What’s wrong?”

He couldn’t speak, the pain squeezing his jaw
shut.

“Emmerick said reaction time was a half
hour,” Mack said.

Jackie touched his face. It felt sticky and
cold. “Then why is he going down so fast?”

“Maybe he’s allergic,” Brent said.

Bertha sent him a look of disgust. “He just
drank poison, you daft twit.”

“I know, but Emmerick said—”

“Either Emmerick lied or mixed it with
something else.” Mack struggled to lift Clay into the car.
“Somebody, help me,” he cried.

Brent came to his side. “Call an
ambulance.”

“An ambulance won’t reach us out here.”

“They can meet us somewhere.”

Mack staggered to his feet. “There isn’t
enough time. Let’s lift him One, two, three.”

Clay cried out in agony. Their hands felt
like knives piercing under his skin. “Let me die,” he whispered
through parched lips.

“Ignore him,” Jackie said. “Get him in the
car.” After an effort they got Clay inside the backseat.

“We need to call for help,” Brent said.

Jackie took out her mobile phone, then swore.
“I can’t get a signal.”

Mack sighed. “Get in the car.”

Brent looked hopeful. “There was a house a
couple miles back. They’ll have a phone and they have a field. I
think I saw a field.”

“So what?”

“It’s big enough.”

Mack turned away, irritated. “Get in the car
and shut up.”

Brent seized his arm, determined. “Just
listen. It’s big enough. I know where it is. Let me drive.”

Mack shoved him away. “Stop talking and get
in the damn car.”

“But I know the way. Give me the keys.”

“No!”

Brent grabbed Mack’s collar and pushed him
against the car. “I know you don’t like me very much, but I don’t
care. Let me do this. I can help.”

Mack’s eyes clashed with his. “Let me go,” he
said with cold anger.

Brent tightened his grip. “First, give me the
keys.”

“Give him the keys,” Jackie said. “I don’t
know what he’s talking about but he’s the only one here with an
idea.”

Mack reluctantly handed Brent the keys.
“You’d better be right.”

Brent jumped into the car and started the
ignition. “Don’t worry, I am. The field’s big enough.”

Mack clenched his teeth. “For what?”

Brent only smiled and sped down the gravel
drive.

Brent was
right. The field was big enough for the MedEvac helicopter to land.
Within ten minutes, Clay was whizzed away to the nearest trauma
center.

Clay didn’t remember much after leaving the
cabin. He remembered moments of agonizing pain, times he wished
they would just let him die. Then the pain stopped. But his throat
felt like sandpaper, his tongue like a stone in his mouth. He
couldn’t open his eyes and moving his limbs felt like needles
sticking into his flesh. After a few minutes, he realized someone
held his hand. The hand was warm, firm—too big to be a woman’s. He
squeezed the hand to make sure. Yep, it was a man’s.

“That’s my boy. Jackie, he squeezed my hand.
That’s the way. Keep squeezing. You always did have a strong
grip.”

Clay’s heart pounded. He knew that voice.

“Come on, do it again,” his father said. “Can
you do that for me?”

He squeezed his hand again, wishing he could
open his eyes so he could see his father’s face. To his annoyance
tears seeped from under his lids and spilled down his cheeks
instead.

Oscar Graham clumsily wiped his son’s face
with a tissue. “You’re going to be okay. Just rest. I’m here.”