Obsession (5 page)

The air was so crisp, the silence of the crowd so profound, that the
c
hicka-dee-dee-dee-dee
of a black-capped chickadee
shattered it like crystal. Over the birdsong came the unmistakable wail of a baby. The child was the
real
reason everyone had sold their homes, handed over their life savings to the church, abandoned jobs, and in some cases, their families. The congregation pinned their hopes and dreams for a better world after End Days on the youngest Caulbearer. It was time to introduce Jake to his followers.

“Bring me the little one.”

Miriam, who’d been standing on the sidelines holding the child, climbed two steps on the ladder and handed him up to Zeke.

Jake wailed and cried, “Mama, mama, mama!”

Zeke held the child on high. “I command you all to look upon the Chosen One.”

Heads lifted, gazes locked onto the infant, and people wept.

“Did I not prophesize this to you? Did I not say he would be born with a caul? Did I not say you would know him when you saw him and you would shout with joy?”

An elderly woman, drawn and pale, beseeched him, “Father, help me, please. I have cancer. I’m in so much pain, please. Heal me.”

How awkward
. His usual tricks weren’t set up yet. Miriam always assisted him with the healings, bringing cancer-ridden victims to the front of the church. Using the old magician’s trick of distracting the crowd with his wife’s ecstatic movements, Zeke would pound on the petitioner’s back, shouting for the cancer to come out. Miraculously, the stricken would cough the “tumor” into Zeke’s hand. Miriam would then parade the rotten chicken livers around the church to show proof of the Reverend’s “cure.” Unprepared and out of poultry parts at the moment, he’d have to improvise.

“You may approach.”

The old woman struggled to her feet and wheezed her way to the base of the rock. “Lung cancer, Father. Years of smoking and sinful living caught up with me.” Tears rolled down her cheeks leaving tracks in the red dust on her face. “I’ve repented. Please help me.”

Zeke handed the child back to Miriam and climbed down from the altar. He placed his hand on the woman’s forehead. “Sister Rose, I feel your pain. I’m not sure I can help you at this late date. My time in prison weakened me.”

Miriam held the wriggling baby to her chest. “Father—”

Through gritted teeth, he said, “What is it my good wife?”

“The Chosen One.” Miriam nodded toward the ailing woman. “Let Sister Rose hold him. He’s such a comfort.”

Lock jawed, he forced a smile onto his face. “Yes, of course, my
darling
.”

Miriam placed the squirming child into Sister Rose’s open arms. Tiny arms and legs stopped flailing. The child placed his hands on the elderly woman’s pale cheeks and began to pat them. Enchanted by the baby’s touch, Sister Rose leaned her forehead onto the child’s, closed her eyes and smiled. Her labored breathing slowed, the wheezing receded, and splashes of pink bloomed on her face. Her eyes flew open.

“The pain. The pain is gone.”

Hysterical cries rose up from the crowd, and hymns of praise broke out in the crowd.

The woman held the baby close and rocked. Jake giggled. “Thank you, thank you, Lord for taking away my pain.” She held the child up and turned in a slow circle. “The prophesies were true. He is here.”

Miriam reached over to retrieve Jake, but Zeke grabbed the child. Opportunity was knocking, and he wasn’t about to let it pass by. “Yes, you’ve heard my prophesies, now you’ve seen the miracle. Sister Rose is healed, saved by the Chosen One.”

A wave of murmurs rolled over the crowd, swelling to a crescendo of praises.

“Return to your dwellings and prepare to celebrate the sacraments for the initiation of the Guardian of the Mothers of the Twenty-Four.” He paused and stared pointedly at Brother John. “Fast and prepare for the greatest event of your life.”

The Lord had given him the Chosen One, and now Zeke had proof of the child’s powers. Nothing and no one would be able to stop him.

****

Miriam stood at the side of Jake’s crib, covered him with a pastel quilt, and smiled. He reminded her so much of her little brother, Abram. She’d been ten years old when he’d been born, and she thought he was
her
toy. She’d fed him, bathed him, changed his diapers, and been responsible for all his needs. Sorrow pierced her breast at the memory of how she’d gone in to wake him up one morning and found him cold and gray, dead in his crib. The sudden death of the baby she felt was her own had very nearly driven her mad with grief and guilt. Years later when she’d been unable to carry babies to term, she often wondered if it was God’s punishment for not taking better care of Abram. Her heart ached for babies, and her arms felt empty. No matter how much the midwife and doctors told her it wasn’t her fault, she still felt as if there should have been something she could have done to conceive a child.

When Angela had been born healthy and hearty, she’d rejoiced. However, the sweet taste of joy had turned to sawdust in her mouth when her adult daughter had rebelled and turned against the church and her family. Miriam’s fault, Father had said. Spare the rod and spoil the child. She’d been too lenient. At last, Miriam had been given a chance to redeem herself. After she’d shown Father the Chosen One’s true powers today, he had taken her aside and entrusted her to select the Mothers of the Twenty-Four.

Whispers of doubt slithered through her mind. What if she chose poorly? What if the women were infertile? What if Father couldn’t impregnate the women? Would Father be able to keep his followers if he failed to produce the Twenty-Four babies needed to fulfill the prophecy? Utopian visions needed to be fed to keep them alive and well here in the wilderness. Would Jake continue to produce the needed miracles to keep the dream alive?

Miriam shook her head. What was she thinking? Father was a prophet. He
knew
the future, would lead them to their destinies. No room for skepticism now. It was time to put her faith into action. Time to prepare the ground work for the future. And, in spite of the sharp pangs of her own petty jealousies, it was time to help Father in his quest for fertile young women.

Miriam nodded to Sister Rose, who had not left Jake’s side since her healing. “Will you be okay to stay with him?”

“Oh, yes, thank you, Mother, I feel so honored to be allowed to be alone with the Chosen One. You know I’ll protect him with my life.”

“We’re safe here. No need to repeat your vows.” When they’d been in the United States, every member of the congregation had sworn blood oaths, sealed with a tattoo, to protect Father, Miriam, and the Chosen One with their lives. “The biggest enemy this child has here is hunger. Just make sure he’s well fed if he awakes.”

After a wrong turn into a bathroom equipped with an overhead tank to flush the toilet, Miriam followed the signs to the Women’s Quarters, aided by a string of lights along the walls. Unlike the spacious cave she now lived in, this area hosted living spaces for the female members of the congregation, separate from the males.

A congregant fell on her knees and bowed her head when Miriam approached. She knew pride was a sin, but a thrill of pleasure ran up her spine at the gesture of respect. It felt wonderful to have someone look up to
her
and obey
her
every command. She smiled and offered the woman her hand.

“Save that for Father. Please rise, Sister Anne.” She hugged the woman. “It’s wonderful to see you. You’re looking well.”

“How may I help you?”

“I understand you were in charge of the committee responsible for identifying potential Mothers of the Twenty-Four. Were you successful?”

The woman’s averted gaze betrayed her nervousness. “We found a boarding school and an orphanage for the Indians, not far from the village on the next ridge. The graduates are the right age, eighteen.”

“Can you tell if the women are healthy?” She couldn’t bring herself to ask if they were attractive. Just the fact that they were younger—
much
younger than Miriam was hard enough to handle.

Sister Anne licked her dry lips and answered with her Chicago twang. “Seem to be. The girls are dark-skinned, pretty.”

Pretty. Why did she have to say that?

“Are they obedient? Smart? The Mothers of the Twenty-Four have to be both.”

“The ones we’ve met at the trading post are very shy. They stared at us, giggled. When the nuns spoke, they snapped to attention.” Sister Anne frowned. “In fact, they’re so obedient to the nuns, I don’t think we’ll be able to induce the girls to serve Father of their own accord.”

“Did Father ask you to
think
?”

The woman flinched as if struck.

She hadn’t meant to be so sharp. This dark place, these caves, the thought of Father with younger women—she pushed the image out of her mind. “I’m sorry. I’m tired and my tongue is taking liberties.”

The woman nodded. “It was hard for me to adjust, too. You’ll get used to living underground. The caves are cool in the summer, warm in the winter.”

Miriam sighed. “Back to the girls. Where do they get jobs after they graduate from school?”

“There aren’t any jobs here. The silver mines dried up ages ago, leaving ghost towns. Women weave baskets and sell them to tourists. Some move to the city of Chihuahua to work as maids.”

“What if we told them we had jobs and wanted to hire them?”

"If they come to work here and don’t return to their village, they’ll have the authorities all over us.”

“Tsk, tsk. Ye of little faith. We need young women to assist us with educating our children and with child care.”

“Father said we weren’t allowed to marry or have babies, that it was selfish.”

“We will have children. Twenty-four of them.”

“But—”

Miriam held up her hand. “Enough. I’ll take care of the nuns and getting the girls here. Your job will be make sure they
stay
here.”

Chapter Three

Angie winced at the sound of rocks hitting the underside of her hired car and wondered how she’d explain the dents and dings to Rent-A-Ride. Should she start with the sinister and surreal story of the rat-faced psycho-cop? Or would they be more likely to believe that she allowed a complete stranger to drive the vehicle on a side-of-the-mountain dirt trail with a stomach-sickening drop two inches away from the tires? On second thought, she hadn’t paid for a second driver. Better not share that story. A giggle percolated up from her belly and shook her shoulders.

“You okay?” The man in question shot her a questioning look. “Want to talk about it?”

She shook her head. Speaking about the assault and near rape would only give psycho cop more power over her. Neither he nor her father deserved free rent in her psyche.
Both
were going to pay.

“Raul is a disgusting rat bastard. Should have his nuts cut off. I’d do it, but that pleasure belongs to the boss lady.”

She bit her quivering lower lip. As a child, her father’s oft-repeated, “I’ll give you something to cry about” had forced her to suppress tears—or risk more severe punishments. Even now as an adult, without his threats and fists to enforce them, crying was an anathema to her. Instead, much like a basketball pushed underwater too long, her emotions would explode to the surface in the guise of mirth. With the exception of Jake’s abduction, whenever she’d been in out-of-control situations, a snicker would lead to a guffaw, then a tee-hee-hee, and before she knew it, uncontrollable hiccupping fits of laughter would kidnap her body. One time a client had insisted on taking the stand to defend himself. Once there, he’d protested his innocence loud and long, called the trial a joke, and donned a big red clown nose. Completely taken off guard, Angie had laughed so hard, she’d fallen down. The judge had fined her a thousand dollars for contempt, despite the fact she’d no idea the pot-head was going to pull the prank. Just recalling the look on the judge’s face was enough to put her over the edge. A little snort escaped. Too late. No going back now. It was a good thing she was sitting down.

“Something wrong?”

“No.” She stuffed her fist in her mouth in a vain attempt to suppress the sound of her giggles.

“It’s okay, you can cry.” He reached over and patted her hand. “You’re safe with me.”

Of
course
she was. Hadn’t she just been rescued from a psycho cop by a Mexican drug lord named Alejandro? Wasn’t this same man now driving her battered rental car on a road so close to the edge of a thousand foot drop that she could see the gravel rolling down the cliff? And weren’t they going to meet a woman who allegedly had killed seven people? Safe? She never felt safer in her life. Angie exploded in gales of laughter.

“What’s so funny?” His gaze flicked between her face and the treacherous road.

“N-n-nerves.” She snorted and lost it again.

For a heartbeat, Alejandro stared at her as if she’d completely lost her mind, then he returned his attention to the road. “I’ve never really heard contagious laughter before today.” He chuckled. “Isabel’s gonna have a good time with you.”

The car rocked, and it sounded as if metal and stones rained down on the roof.

“What now?” If it weren’t for bad luck, she’d have no luck at all. “A rockslide?”

Alejandro shook his head. “One of Isabel’s pet goats.”

The creature bleated in confirmation.

“Goats? As in goats with
hooves
are on the roof of my rental car?” When had her life turned into a Fellini movie? What was next? Naked women and circus dwarves? The four-legged stowaway tapped overhead, as if excited to be heading home. She envisioned the creature looking much like a dog on the stern of a boat, feet dancing, eyes closed, ears flapping in the wind, tail quivering with excitement. “I can’t take it back with hoof marks. I’m going to have to set it on fire and throw it off a cliff.”