Obsession (10 page)

Sister Anne asked, “What do the girls do when they graduate?”

Sister Teresa pushed her wire-rimmed glasses back up her nose. “Some go to Chihuahua and find work as nannies or maids. Most get married, go back to their caves and cabins, and have lots of babies, just like their mothers and grandmothers.”

Miriam sensed an opportunity. “How does that make you feel?”

The nun gave her a sharp look. “It’s not my job to judge. The Provincial Mother reminds me that I must honor their customs, while teaching them reading, writing, math, and Catholicism. I don’t want them to lose their culture, but I hate to see my girls go back to subsistence farming and goat herding. They deserve a better life.”

Now they were getting somewhere, Miriam thought. “What if we could help your girls to have a better life?”

“You have jobs?”

“Oh, yes, very good ones.” She gave the nun a winning smile. “Your girls would be valued. Not goat-herders, but child care workers for a sacred trust.”

Sister Teresa leaned forward. “Tell me more.”

“Like here, they’d have their own quarters. Your orphans would be protected from bad influences.”

“Not all of the girls are orphans. In fact, most of them have families who love them very much. Would they be able go home for monthly visits?”

Miriam put her hand on her heart. “You have my word on it.”

“How many nannies do you need?”

“Oh, we’re thinking at least a dozen.”

“Twelve girls? There are so many children?”

“Yes, we have many little ones to care for.”

“Let me think on this. Ask the
ejido
for their opinions.”

She didn’t like the sounds of that. “I’m sorry. Who is that?”

“A government approved council of elders,” Sister Anne translated. “They control the town.”

“Do we need to be there?” Miriam racked her brains for a strategy to overcome this unexpected obstacle. She could have used the Chosen One’s powers to persuade them.

“No,” the nun shook her head so hard, her wimple slipped back on her head. “They don’t like
chabochis,
outsiders.
It took ten years for them to trust me. You’re in luck, the monthly meeting of the
ejiditarios
is tomorrow. I’ll take your proposal to them.” She stood, signaling the end of their meeting. “Do you have a place to stay tonight?”

Miriam shook her head.

“Please be my guests.”

Returning empty-handed to Edmondstown was not acceptable. Not to mention the long trek back. It was a momentary bump in the path, that was all. In twenty-four hours, Father’s plan would be set in motion. “Yes, yes, please. That would be perfect.”

“Excellent. You can stay in the dormitory, meet my girls. You’re going to
love
them.”

Miriam smiled. “Oh, yes, I’m sure we will.”

****

Still shaking, Zeke stood in the middle of his spacious white living room and pointed a long finger at Aaron. “You did this to me. You’re the only one who knows the nooks and crannies in this place well enough to have an accomplice hidden, ready to swap places with that woman.”

Sister Ellen frowned and cast a furtive glance at the engineer.

“Guilt is all over your face, Ellen. Don’t think I don’t see it.”

Aaron stepped in front of the trembling woman. “Ellen is one of your most loyal followers.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Her foundation paid for our windmills, the majority of our construction costs—and sends monthly payments to our friends here in the government to keep nosy police and politicians away. Think, man. Why would she play a trick on you?”

Zeke peeked around Aaron. Tears ran down Ellen’s cheeks, and her eyes were red and puffy.

Where had that witch come from?

“Let her go, Father.”

Shoulders slumped, he nodded. “Go back to your quarters.”

“I’m so sorry I didn’t please you.” Tearful, she grabbed his hand and kissed it.

He yanked his hand away. “Just go.”

She scurried away, leaving Aaron and Zeke alone.

“I’m telling you the woman was a stinking, filthy, maggot-ridden
witch
, not Ellen.”
Why wouldn’t Aaron believe him?

Aaron furrowed his brow. “Have you had any headaches since you arrived in Edmondstown?”

“Not as bad as the ones I have when the Lord speaks to me during my spells, but yes, some.”

“Sleep disturbances or feel like you have the flu?”

Zeke nodded. “Hard to sleep, strange dreams when I do.”

“Sounds like altitude sickness. You should see the doctor, get some medications.”

“But the visions—were so real. She
reeked
of methane and sulfur, like some creature from hell.”

“You’re overworked, overextended, Father.”

“You know how I feel about drugs.” His head throbbed, reminding him of the Phenobarbital hangovers he used to get when the quacks treated his so called seizures. They just wanted to stop him from communicating with God.

“I understand. It’s just to get you through a rough patch. Please. We need you to be strong for us. We need you to be healthy.”

“Fine.” Exhaustion seeped into his muscles, and he had an overwhelming urge to go to sleep—if only he could. “Send him in.”

Aaron stepped out into the corridor and returned with Warren and his little black bag. “I’ll leave you to take care of Father.” Aaron saluted his leader. “Feel better.”

“You have something non-addictive?” Zeke asked the physician.

“Have a seat, Father. Let me take a look at you.” Warren lifted Zeke’s eyelids, shone a light in, asked how many fingers he saw, and told him to raise his arms and smile. “Not a stroke.”

A stroke?
He hadn’t considered that possibility. He needed a cure for whatever ailed him. “Hold on. No need for drugs.” He leaped to his feet. The room swirled, and he grabbed a chair back to steady himself. Should he wake the child? Yes, yes, the Chosen One was needed right now. Zeke took the still sleeping baby into the living room.

“Watch this, Warren.”

The physician frowned.

A skeptic, was he? Well, Zeke would show him. “Wake up, little one.” He jiggled Jake and tapped him on his feet.
Damn kid.
“Come on, now. I
need
you.”

Jake jerked awake, took one look at his grandfather’s face, and screamed.

“Jake, it’s Grandpa, you know me.”

The baby shrieked like a banshee, his voice echoing off the hard stone walls. Zeke’s head throbbed and pounded.

“There, there, Grandpa didn’t mean to startle you.” He stood with the infant on his hip and rocked back and forth on his feet the way he’d seen Miriam do it. What was wrong with the kid?

Warren cleared his throat. “Father, let me take the child, put him back to bed.”

“No, I have it under control. He’s going to cure this headache, this altitude sickness, whatever it is and he’s going to do it right now.”

The sobbing child arched his back and clawed at the air.

Zeke could not believe the lungs on the brat. “Calm down, kid. You’re fine. Knock it off.”

Warm liquid trickled down Zeke’s arm at the same time the unmistakable odor of feces filled his nostrils. The insolent brat had
purposely
pooped and peed on him. Pain stabbed his eyes, and his vision blurred. The child was just like Angie. He began to shake the brat. “Why you little—”

Warren snatched the child out of Zeke’s hands. “Father, please, calm down, you’re only making things worse. It’s the altitude sickness making you unbalanced. Let me give you a shot, please. You’ll sleep and feel better. I swear.”

What was wrong with the kid? He’d cure everyone except his grandfather? The little ingrate. Zeke rubbed his temples.

“The Chosen One may be suffering from altitude sickness, too,” the doctor suggested.

The Chosen One was a
healer
. He’d cured Rose. Miriam had told him he’d healed her broken leg on the plane. When he’d abducted the child, the idiot day care worker had told him the child had never been out sick, not even one day. Why would he be now? Was the altitude messing up the child’s abilities, too? Zeke needed the baby’s gift to maintain his powerbase.

“Give me the shot and call for Sister Rose.” The prick of the needle was nothing compared to the sting of the boy’s rejection.

Had Angie, the child’s Jezebel of a mother, planted the seed of the serpent’s tooth in Jake while in her belly? Zeke needed the child—but there were
limits
, after all, on how much a man of his importance would take.
Limits.

Chapter Seven

Alejandro pulled Angie upwind from the grisly find, away from the irate vultures. Still screaming and sobbing, the woman trembled in his arms and repeated, “No, no, no.” He clutched her to his chest and tried to get through her hysteria with soothing words. “It’s okay, they can’t hurt you. See the vultures are leaving now, they’re afraid of
you
.” Truth be told, he was afraid of her, too. What the hell happened to her? One minute she was sassy, taunting him to go faster, making him crazy with desire and thinking about taking her to bed. The next minute she blew past him, straight to the shed and the flock of feeding buzzards. He found a spot of shade and set her down on a boulder.

He wished he had water to offer her. A horse trough sat by the shed, empty and coated with red dust. He spoke in a low voice, the one he used to interview skittish confidential informants. “Wanna talk?”

“Wh-what?” Tears still streamed down her stricken face. Sure, the gruesome scene had looked like something out of a Hitchcock movie, but her reaction was way out of proportion. Buzzards ate dead things. What was the big deal? She seemed to be looking over his shoulder, as if she was looking at someone behind him.

He placed his palms on her cheeks and forced her gaze to his. “I need you here with me. Tell me what’s going on.” If she didn’t snap out of it soon, she was off the mission. No way could he take an unstable person, male or female, out into that godforsaken wilderness. Lives depended on good planning and calm ops. “Angie, can you hear me?”

Her green eyes focused on his, and she took a deep shuddering breath. “Is th-that the body of the cult member?”

Startled, he dropped his hands
. Isabel wasn’t stupid. She didn’t crap where she ate.

“No, the guys took his body far away from here and buried him, God only knows where.”

“Raul?”

He shook his head. “No. It’s a dead pig. Struck by lightning. Then the coyotes got to it. Looks like the ranch hands did a lousy job of disposing of its remains.”

“A pig? You’re sure?”

“Yeah, it happened last week. Tio and Pepe told me there were guts everywhere.” He stopped when he saw her face blanch. “A mess.”

“Not human?”

He put three fingers up in the air. “Scout’s honor.”

She shook her head, and her ponytail flicked at her cheeks. “You must think I’m an idiot.”

What could he say? That he was worried about her compromising their attempts to find the cult compound and save her son? He offered an olive branch, a fib. “Hey, if I had thought that was a person, I would have had the same reaction.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re lying.”

Perceptive, wasn’t she?
He shrugged. “If it was someone I knew, I’d be upset, too.”

She cocked her head. “Upset, but not hysterical.” She sighed and covered her face. “Now you’re convinced I’m a hazard to the rescue mission. You’re going to go back to Isabel and get me locked down in Casa Ramirez.”

“What are you, a mind reader?”

Her voice came out muffled from behind her hands. “A litigator. I read people’s faces, body language, the little tells. You don’t want me at your poker game.”

Alejandro squatted down to eye level and touched her shoulder. She looked into his eyes, and his chest felt tight, as if someone had reached inside and squeezed his heart. Why did she have to be so beautiful and vulnerable? Pity and the desire to protect this driven woman pierced his macho armor. Didn’t he have his own agenda, his own need for justice and revenge? “I won’t pull you off the mission—if you’ll tell me something.”

Her brow furrowed. “What?”

He really needed to know if she’d flip out again. The only way to predict that was based on previous behavior. Today’s meltdown was not an auspicious indicator. “Isabel didn’t give me much information. She likes to keep things close to the vest. I need to know who you are, and what happened just now.”

Angie passed a shaking hand over her face and took a deep breath. The words tumbled out, as if they had needed someone to unplug the emotional stopper that held them back. “I’ll give you the short version. Born on a chicken farm to two died-in-the-wool religious fanatics. My father is a self-ordained minister on a mission from God. He thinks. I think he’s Satan in human form. Over the years, however, not only has he buffaloed my mother—poor woman—but also a couple of thousand followers.”

Angie’s shoulders stiffened, and she drew herself up a little taller with each sentence, her resilience and strength returning to her bit by bit.

“My mother was raised Amish. Believes women are the weaker vessel. She does whatever he tells her to do. I was home-schooled. And I was a real farm girl. Lots of physical labor. No brothers or sisters to share the work with me. Not much fun, I can tell you that. The chickens were my classmates. I was only allowed to play with the children of other cult members. Brain-washing one-oh-one. Isolate and brainwash. Repeat the same crap day after day until everyone chants in unison. Until—” She closed her eyes and tilted her head back. “Oh. God. This is so hard.”

He took her small cold hand in his larger warm one. “Tell me. Please.”

“I was ten. My mother found a teenager, a runaway.” At first Angie’s tale about her good times with the lovely Janice cheered Alejandro. At least the poor child had had some glimmer of what the outside world was like, a role model of someone who wasn’t totally programmed by the cult. But when she reached the part about Janice’s disappearance, Alejandro knew the ending of the story would be bad. Angie had been eleven, Esteban’s age, when she found her friend’s body. He stood, stretched his legs, and paced. “Did you go to the authorities?”