The Soul Catcher (27 page)

Everett’s Compound

J
ustin Pratt felt an elbow poke his side, and only then did he realize he had dozed off. He glanced at Alice, who was sitting beside him, cross-legged like the rest of the members, but her head and eyes were facing ahead, her back straight. Two of her fingers tapped his ankle, her polite way of telling him to stay awake and pay attention.

He wanted to tell her he didn’t give a fuck what Father had to say tonight or any night, for that matter. And after last night he wished that Alice didn’t give a fuck, either. Jesus! He was so tired. All he wanted to do was close his eyes, just for a few minutes. He could still listen even if his eyes were closed. His eyelids started to droop, and this time he felt a pinch. He sat up and scrubbed a hand over his face, digging a thumb and index finger into his eyes. Another elbow. Jesus!

He glared at her, but she didn’t flinch from her appropriately adoring attention on Father. Maybe she liked what the guy did to her last night. Maybe she had really gotten off on it, and what Justin thought was a grimace had actually been her expression of orgasm. Shit! He was just tired. He needed to stop thinking about last night. He sat up straight and folded his hands into his lap.

Tonight Father was going off on the government again, a favorite topic of his. Justin had to admit that some of the stuff the man said did make sense. He remembered his grandfather telling Eric and him stories about government conspiracies. How the government had murdered JFK. How the United Nations was really a conspiracy to take over the world.

Justin’s dad had said, “The old man had a couple of loose screws,” but Justin loved and admired his grandfather. He had been a war hero, getting the Congressional Medal of Honor for saving his whole squad in Vietnam. Justin had seen the medal, as well as the photos and letters, one from President Lyndon Johnson. It was pretty cool. But it was all stuff Justin knew his dad despised. Probably another reason Justin loved the old man—they had something in common: neither of them had ever been able to please Justin’s dad. Then his grandfather up and died last year. Justin still felt pissed at him for leaving him. He knew that was a fucked-up attitude. It wasn’t his granddad’s fault, but he missed the old man. He didn’t have anyone to talk to, especially after Eric left.

He knew Eric missed Granddad, too, even if he was too much of a macho-shithead to admit it. Less than three weeks after the funeral, Eric dropped out of Brown University. That was when all hell broke loose at home.

“Excuse me, am I boring you?” Father’s voice boomed across the room.

Justin sat up, but he was already sitting about as straight as he could. He felt Alice gripping his ankle, so tight her fingernails dug into his sock and skin.

Shit! He was in trouble now. Alice had warned him that daydreaming during Father’s talks could lead to punishment. Oh, what the hell. So what if he sent him out into the woods again. Maybe this time he’d just take off. He didn’t need this shit. Maybe he could meet up with Eric somewhere else.

“Answer me,” Father demanded as the room grew quiet. No one dared turn to look at the guilty one. “Do you find what I say so boring you’d rather sleep?”

Justin looked up, ready to take his punishment, but Father’s eyes were staring off to Justin’s left. And now the old man sitting next to Justin began to fidget restlessly. Justin could see the man’s callused hands wringing the hem of his blue work shirt. He recognized him from the building crew. No wonder the poor guy was dozing. The building crew had been working around the clock to remodel Father’s living quarters before winter, which was ridiculous if all of them were to be moving to some paradise soon. Surely others on the crew would speak up and remind Father of the long hours they’d been working. But instead, everyone remained silent, waiting.

“Martin, what do you have to say for yourself?”

“I guess I—”

“Stand up when you address me.”

The members all sat on the floor during the meetings. Justin couldn’t figure out why the hell Father was the only one who got a chair. Alice had tried to explain that no one’s head should be higher than Father’s when Father spoke. Justin would have laughed out loud at that had it not been for the somber, almost reverent look on her face.

“We have traitors in our midst,” Father bellowed. “We have a reporter trying to destroy us with ugly lies. This is no time for any of us to be caught sleeping. I said stand!”

Justin watched the old man untangle his legs and crawl to his feet. He could sympathize with the guy. After three hours, he, too, had problems with muscle cramps. The old guy reminded Justin of his grandfather, thin and small, but wiry. He was probably stronger and younger than his weathered skin suggested. He shot a look at Justin, then looked away quickly, reminding Justin that he shouldn’t be watching. Out of the corner of his eyes Justin could see the others with their heads obediently facing the front of the room and their eyes cast down.

“Martin, you’re wasting everyone’s time. Perhaps instead of offering an explanation, you need a reminder of what happens when you waste everyone’s time.” Father waved to the two bodyguards, and the men disappeared out the back door. “Come here, Martin, and bring along Aaron.”

“No, wait…” Martin protested as he made his way to the front, stepping carefully around the members who sat in an unorganized fashion on the floor. “Punish me,” Martin said, weaving his way, “but leave my son out of this.”

However, the fair-skinned, blond Aaron was already making his way to Father’s side. Justin figured him to be about his age, only small and wiry like his dad, and strangely eager to assist Father.

“Martin, you know there are no fathers and sons here. No mothers and daughters. No brothers and sisters.” Father’s voice was back to its calm, soothing tone. “We all belong to one unit, one family.”

“Of course, I just meant—” Martin stopped when he saw the guards return, carrying what Justin thought was a huge, long hose.

Then the hose moved.

“Shit!” he said under his breath, then quickly glanced around, grateful no one had heard him over their own gasps. Because what the guards carried between them was the biggest fucking snake Justin had ever seen.

He stole a glimpse at Father’s face while everyone else returned to silence. Father was smiling, watching the crowd’s reaction and nodding as if in satisfaction. Suddenly, Father caught Justin’s eyes and the smile turned to a scowl. Justin looked away, lowering his head as well as his eyes. Jesus! Was
he
in trouble now? He waited for his name to be called and realized his heart had begun slamming against his ribs. In this fucking silence would the sound betray him?

“Aaron,” Father called instead, “I want you to take this snake and place it around Martin’s neck.”

There were no gasps, only more silence, as though the entire room of people was collectively holding its breath.

“But Father…” Aaron’s voice sounded like a small boy’s, and Justin cringed. Stupid kid. Don’t show weakness. Don’t show him you’re scared.

“Aaron, I’m surprised.” The reverend’s voice was soft and sweet, and it made Justin cringe even more. “Didn’t you come to me just last week and tell me you were ready to become one of my soldiers? One of our warriors for justice?”

“Yes, but—”

“Stop your sniveling, then, and do as I say,” he yelled, causing everyone to jump at the change in his tone.

Aaron looked from Father to Martin and then at the snake. Justin couldn’t believe the kid was considering it. But what choice did he have if he didn’t want that fucking snake around his own neck? Surely, this was only a test. Yeah, that was it. Justin didn’t know much about the Bible, but wasn’t there some story about God telling a father to kill his own son? Then at the last minute God stopped the guy. That had to be what this was.

Justin took a deep breath, but no relief seemed to come with his sudden realization. Instead, all he felt was Alice’s fingernails digging deeper into his ankle.

Aaron took hold of the snake. Martin, who had stood tall and firm all this time, began to sob, so violently he shook as Aaron and one of the guards wound the snake across the old man’s shoulders and neck.

“We must not be caught sleeping,” Father was saying, his voice calm again as though this was just another one of his instructive lectures. “Our enemies are closer than you think. Only those of us who are strong and obey the strictness of our rules will survive.”

Justin wondered if anyone was listening to Father’s words. He had difficulty hearing them over the pounding of his own heart, while he watched the snake squeeze and Martin’s face swell, turning crimson-red. The old man’s fingers clawed at the snake as panic overrode fear.

“All it takes is one person,” Father continued, “to betray us, to destroy us.”

Justin couldn’t believe it. Father wasn’t even looking at Martin. Surely, he’d call it off any second now. Wasn’t this enough of a test? The old man’s eyes started to roll back in his head, his tongue hung from his mouth. His head would explode. It was going to fucking explode all over the place.

“We must remember…” Father stopped and looked down at the puddle forming around his shoes. Martin had peed his pants. Father lifted one foot, his face contorting with disgust. He waved to his guards. “Remove the snake,” he said, as if only because he didn’t want his shoes soiled any more than they already were.

It took both guards and Aaron to pull off and unwrap the snake. Martin collapsed where he stood. But Father continued as though this had only been a minor distraction, stepping over Martin’s body and turning his back to him as the old man crawled away.

“We must remember there are no loyalties, no bonds except for the greater good of our mission. We must free ourselves from petty desires of the material world.”

Father seemed to be addressing a specific group, especially one woman, who sat in front. Justin recognized her. She was one of the entourage that the reverend kept close at prayer rallies, one of the group of about a dozen members that was bused in for the meetings. They all still lived and worked on the outside and had not yet entirely joined the community. Alice had explained that these were people with important ties to the outside, or ones who had not yet fully proved themselves to Father.

As the meeting ended, Justin watched Father go to the woman, giving her both his hands to help her stand and hugging her. Probably feeling her up and getting in a few extra squeezes. Justin couldn’t help thinking she looked like one of his mom’s country club friends, wearing a navy dress and that bright red scarf.

I
t was at this time every evening that Kathleen O’Dell still craved a tumbler of bourbon, a stirred—not shaken—martini or even a snifter of brandy. She stared at the tray with the porcelain gold-trimmed pot and watched as Reverend Everett poured a cup of hot tea for her, Emily, Stephen and himself. All the while, she couldn’t help thinking how much she hated tea. It didn’t matter if it was herbal, spice or served with lemon or honey or milk. Just the aroma made her want to gag.

The tea reminded her of those first weeks from hell when she quit drinking. Father had stopped by her apartment several times a week, generously giving of his precious time to brew for her a pot of his special tea made from leaves shipped from some exotic place in South America. He claimed it had magical powers. Kathleen swore it made her hallucinate, causing painful flashes of bright light behind her eyes. That was before it made her stomach rock violently. Each time, Father stood patiently over her, telling her how God had different plans for her, or more precisely, telling the back of her head while she vomited her guts into the toilet.

Now she smiled up at him as he handed her a cup, pretending this was exactly what she craved. She owed this man so much, and yet he seemed to ask for so little in return. Pretending to enjoy his tea seemed a small sacrifice.

They all sat in front of the roaring fireplace in the soft leather chairs Father had received from a wealthy donor. Everyone sipped the tea, and Kathleen put the cup to her lips, making herself do the same. There had been little conversation. They were still a bit stunned from Father’s powerful performance. No one doubted the need for Martin to be taught a lesson. How dare he fall asleep.

She could feel Father watching the three of them, his diplomats to the outside world, as he called them. Each played an important role, assigned tasks that only he or she could deliver. In return, Father allowed them these private meetings, gracing them with his time and his confidences, both rare and special commodities. He had so many obligations. There were so many people who needed him to heal their wounds and save their souls. Between weekend rallies and daily lectures, the man had little time to himself. So many pressures, so much to expect from one person.

“All of you are very quiet tonight.” He smiled at them, sitting down in the large recliner set closest to the fire. “Did tonight’s lesson shock you?”

There were quick glances between them. Kathleen sipped her tea again, suddenly a preferable action to saying the wrong thing. She watched over the rim of her cup. Earlier, during the meeting, Emily had almost fainted. Kathleen had felt the woman leaning into her while the boa constrictor choked Martin, turning his face into a puffy crimson balloon. But she knew Emily would never admit to such a thing.

And Stephen, with his soft and…She stopped, trying to keep a promise to herself not to think of Stephen in that way. After all, the man was quite smart and certainly had other qualities that had nothing to do with his…Well, with his sexual preference. But she knew Stephen had probably been shocked and too much in awe to say anything. Perhaps that’s why Father’s eyes now met Kathleen’s and stayed there, as if the question had been addressed to only her. But they were friendly eyes, coaxing her, making her feel, once again, as though she was the only one whose opinion he cared about.

“Yes, I was shocked,” she said, and saw Emily’s eyes grow wide as if she were going to faint again. “But I understood the importance of the lesson. You were very wise in choosing a snake,” she added.

“And why do you say that, Kathleen?” Father leaned forward, encouraging her to continue, as if anxious to hear why he was so wise. As if he didn’t already know.

“Well, it was a snake, after all, that contributed to Eve’s betrayal and the destruction of paradise, just like Martin’s falling asleep could betray all of us and destroy our hopes for building our paradise.”

He nodded, pleased, and rewarded her with a pat on the knee. His hand lingered a bit longer than usual tonight, the fingers splaying onto her thigh, caressing her, making her feel warm—so warm she could feel his power radiating through her panty hose, through her skin, almost sending a shiver through her veins.

Finally he removed his hand and turned his attention to Stephen. “And speaking of our paradise, what have you learned about our possible transportation to South America?”

“Just as you thought, we’ll need to do it in several waves. Trips, perhaps of two or three dozen at a time.”

“South America?” Kathleen didn’t understand. “I thought we were going to Colorado.”

Stephen wouldn’t meet her eyes. He looked away, embarrassed, as if he had gotten caught revealing a secret. She looked to Father for an answer.

“Of course we’re going to Colorado, Kathleen. This is merely a backup plan. No one else knows, and it must not leave this room,” he instructed. She studied his face to see if he was angry, but then he smiled and said, “You three are the only ones I can trust.”

“So we are still going to Colorado?” Kathleen had fallen in love with the slides he had shown them of the hot springs, the beautiful aspen trees and wildflowers. What did she know about South America? It seemed so far away, so remote, so primitive.

“Yes, of course,” he reassured her. “This is just in case we need to leave the country.”

She must have not looked convinced, because he reached for her hands, taking them delicately in his as though they were fragile rose petals.

“You must trust me, my dear Kathleen. I would never let any harm come to any of you. But there are people, evil people, in the media and in the government who would be pleased to destroy us.”

“People like Ben Garrison,” Stephen said with an uncharacteristic snarl that surprised Kathleen and garnered a smile from Father.

“Yes, people like Mr. Garrison. He was only able to spend a couple of days inside the compound before we discovered his true mission, but we’re still not certain what he saw or what he knows. What lies he might tell the rest of the world.”

Absently, he still held Kathleen’s hands in his and began caressing the palms while he continued to address Stephen. “What do we know about the cabin? How did the feds even find out about it?”

“I’m still not sure. Perhaps a disgruntled ex-member?”

“Perhaps.”

“Everything is lost,” Stephen answered, looking at his hands, not able to meet Father’s eyes.

“Everything?”

Stephen only nodded.

Kathleen had no idea what they were referring to, but Father and Stephen often talked of secret missions that didn’t concern her. Right now all she could focus on was how Father’s large hands seemed to be massaging her small ones, making her feel special but at the same time, much too warm and suddenly much too uncomfortable. She wanted to pull her hands away but knew that would be wrong. Father only meant it as a gesture of compassion. How dare she think otherwise. She felt her cheeks flush at the mere thought.

“We have one loose end,” Stephen said.

“Yes, I know. I’ll take care of that. Will we need to…” Father hesitated as if looking for the correct word. “Will we need to accelerate our departure?”

Stephen pulled out some papers, along with a map, went to Father’s side and got down on one knee, showing him the items. Kathleen watched Stephen, concentrating on his gestures. He constantly amazed her. Though tall and lean with flawless brown skin, boyish features and a sharp mind, he appeared timid and quiet, as if always waiting for permission to speak. Father said Stephen was brilliant, but at the same time, he was too humble for his own good, slow to take credit and a little too ordinary in his mannerisms to stand out. He was the type of man who would not easily be noticed. And Kathleen wondered if that made his everyday job more or less difficult.

She tried to remember what it was that he did at the Capitol. Though she spent hours with Stephen and Emily in conversations like this, she knew little about either of them. Stephen’s position sounded like an important one. She had heard him mention something about his level of security clearance, and he was always dropping the names of senators and their aides whom he had talked to or whom he would get in touch with. Whatever his position was, it obviously helped Father and the church.

Stephen finished with the papers, stood and retreated. Kathleen realized she hadn’t paid attention to a word of the conversation. She looked to Father’s face, checking to see if he had noticed. His olive skin and bristled jaw made him look older than his forty-six years. There were new lines at his eyes and at the corners of his mouth. So much pressure he was under, too much for one man. That was what he often told them, but then said he had no choice, really, that God had chosen him to lead his followers to a better life. He finally pulled his hands back, away from Kathleen’s, and folded them together in his lap. At first, Kathleen thought it was in prayer until she noticed him kneading the hem of his jacket, a subtle but disturbing gesture.

“Those who want to destroy us draw closer each day,” he said in a hushed tone, confiding in the three of them. “There are ways I can destroy some of our enemies, but others can simply be stifled for the time being. Everything stored at the cabin was for our protection, our security. If all is lost, we will need to find some other way to obtain protection. We must protect ourselves from those who wish to destroy us. Those who are jealous of my power. What concerns me most is that I sense betrayal within our own ranks.”

Emily gasped, and Kathleen wanted to slap her. Couldn’t she see this was hard enough for Father? He needed their strength and support, not their panic. Although she wasn’t sure what Father meant by betrayal. She knew there had been members who had left, several recently. And then, of course, the reporter—that photographer who had pretended to be a lost soul to gain access to their compound.

“No one shall cross me and go unpunished.” Instead of angry, Father looked sad when he said this, glancing at each of them as if appealing to them for help, though this strong, miraculous man would never ask for such a thing, at least not for himself. It made Kathleen want to say or do something to comfort him.

“I’m counting on the three of you,” he continued. “Only you can help. We must not let lies destroy us. We cannot trust anyone. We mustn’t let them break up our church.” The calm slowly transformed to anger, his hands turning to fists and his face changing from olive to crimson. Still his voice remained steady. “Anyone who is not with us is against us. Those against us are jealous of our faith, jealous of our knowledge and of our special graces with God.”

He pounded a fist on the chair arm, making Kathleen jump. He didn’t seem to notice and continued as if the rage had taken control. She had never seen him like this before. Spittle drooled from the corner of his mouth as he said, “They’re jealous of my power. They want to destroy me, because I know too many of their secrets. They will not destroy everything I worked so hard to build. How dare they even think they can outwit me. That they can destroy me. I see the end and it will come in a ball of fire if they choose to destroy me.”

Kathleen watched, uncomfortable yet unflinching. Perhaps this was one of Father’s prophetic fits. He had told them about his visions, his tremors, his talks with God, but no one had witnessed one. Is that what was happening now? Is that what caused the veins at his temples to bulge and his teeth to clench? Is this what it looked like to talk to God? How would she know? She had stopped talking to God ages ago. Right about the time she started believing in the power of Jack Daniel’s and Jim Beam.

However, Father did seem to have special powers, certain knowledge, almost psychic abilities. How else was he able to so keenly zero in on people’s fears? How else was he able to know so much about things the media and the government kept from everyone?

She had been shocked at first when he told them about the government putting chemicals like fluoride in the water to cause cancer or about the government injecting healthy cows with E. coli to cause a national panic. About the government putting listening devices in cellular phones and cameras in ATM machines, all to record their every move. Even the magnetic strips on the back of credit cards contained personal tracking devices. And now with the Internet, the government could see inside people’s homes anytime they went online.

At first she had found it all hard to believe, but each time, Father read to them articles from sources he said were unbiased, some in prestigious medical journals, and all backing up his knowledge.

He was one of the wisest men Kathleen had ever known. She still wasn’t sure she cared whether or not her soul had been saved. What Kathleen O’Dell did care about was that, for the first time in more than two decades, she believed in someone again and that she was surrounded by people who cared about her. She was an integral part of a community, an integral part of something larger and more important than herself. That was something she had never experienced.

“Kathleen?”

“Yes, Father?”

He was pouring more tea for them and frowned when he noticed she had hardly touched hers. But instead of lecturing her on the healing qualities of his special tea, he said, “What can you tell me about breakfast with your daughter?”

“Oh, that. It was nice,” she lied, not wanting to confess that they hadn’t even ordered breakfast before Maggie bailed out on her. “I told Maggie that perhaps we could do Thanksgiving.”