The Blood We Spill: Suspense with a Dash of Humor (The Letty Whittaker 12 Step Mysteries) (15 page)

 A trumpet blasted outside the windows, scaring
the hell out of me. Baara leapt up and began lighting the candles while the
rest of the community settled in their seats. Most of them carried their
confession journals.

Scanning the crowd, I recognized Cheryl sitting
next to Naomi, the woman who had befriended her at the lecture. Cheryl looked
more relaxed than I had ever seen her. Her acne was clearing up too. I waved,
but her gaze was fixed on someone in the front and she didn’t notice me.
Following her gaze, I discovered Justus staring with equal intensity… at me. When
he caught me looking, he smiled as seductively as a man in church can smile.
Which happened to be a lot. Several women caught the exchange, whispering and
nudging each other. Face burning, I turned away and found myself staring
directly at Maggie.

She was four rows back on the left, seated in a
small group of people I had never seen before. In spite of the packed church,
the space around them was empty, as if an invisible barrier had been erected
between them and the rest of the community. Maggie didn’t look good. None of
them did, in fact. Her face was pale and wan, skin mottled with acne or
rosacea, with deep lines. She looked ten years older than the picture Reggie
had thrust at me back in Beth’s kitchen. I couldn’t stare at her without it
being obvious, but my curiosity raged.

Then the side door opened, and everyone’s
attention swung to it.

A
line of men
carrying seven-foot-high staffs and wearing white linen robes with cowl hoods
walked in, taking positions near each of the candle stands. Seven men. A memory
stirred at the sight, something in Revelation. Eli and Moses were last, barely
reaching their spots before another trumpet blast announced Father’s presence.
He entered wearing a shimmering golden robe, no hood, looking quite a bit like
a portly Oscar statuette. The congregation bowed their heads in ceremonial
greeting.

“Maranatha, children.”

“Maranatha, Father.”

“Are you watching, my children?”

“We wait on the Lord.”

“Will you be counted worthy?”

“We pray to the Lord.”

“The book of Luke tells us that destruction is
near. The time of the Lord will pit ‘nation against nation.’ There will be
great earthquakes and famines, fearful sights. But before all these
things—before all these things, my children—’they will lay their hands on you
and persecute you, delivering you up to the prisons.’ Luke 21:11-13. These are
times of trial, of tribulation. And there
is
persecution!” Father’s
voice thundered through the temple.

A sigh rose from the crowd. Someone began weeping.

“We have learned today of a great loss.” Father
paused to look at Maliah. “A loss of a dedicated apostle, a soldier of Christ,
a man who had committed life and soul to The Way.

He held his hand up to forestall the crowd’s
response. “But this was not an honorable death. This loss did not result from
battle against the enemy. No. This soldier
deserted
his army. He left
his brethren behind and sought refuge among sinners of the worst kind. No
matter where he is now, our greatest loss occurred when that soldier left The
Way.”

Maliah bowed her head as if in shame.

“We are told in First Corinthians 15:51-52 that
‘in a twinkling of an eye,’ we will be raptured. We will be taken up. But
children, beware. It can happen in reverse too. It can happen to you.” Abraham
pointed accusingly to various points in the audience. Moans rose from the
people who sat near. “In a twinkling of an eye, you can be lost to The Way.
Lost
for eternity. All the dedication, all the faith, all the hope—
gone
.
Shattered forever when a man casts his lot with the world. Choosing the world
means rejecting The Way.

“We live in a world that embraces shades of gray.
It teaches a shifting ethical code. They call it situational morality. It’s
easier! It makes people feel better… for the moment. And they call this
morality kindness,” Father sneered. “The only sin nowadays is to call something
a sin. To call someone a sinner. They say that’s unkind. But is it kind to let
our brothers and sisters be damned to eternal fire?”

A chorus of “no” ran through the church.

“Is it kind to let our neighbors embrace a dead
religion? There is coming a day, very soon, where the goats will be separated
from the sheep and those who have stood firm, who have patiently endured, will
receive the Crown of Righteousness promised us in Second Timothy.

“This is not the easy way. The easy way is the way
of the world, of infidels. The Crown of Life will not belong to them either.
The book of Revelation tells us that only those ‘who are faithful unto death’
will receive that crown.

“This is a time of testing. Right here. Right now.
The world has claimed one of our brethren. Satan has gained a soul, and he
delights in our loss. Make no mistake—he will be waiting and watching to see
who he can feast on next.

“We
are
being tested. We are being
persecuted. Our beliefs, our faith in The Way—all will be questioned by Satan’s
minions. They will mock us. They will cause us to doubt each other, to doubt
The Way. They will turn brother against brother, sister against sister, wife
against husband. They will lie, use trickery, cheat, and steal in their efforts
to destroy our community, simply because of what we stand for. Make no mistake.
They are not waiting on the Lord. They are not watching and praying for His
return. By rejecting The Way, they leave themselves ripe for Satan. Just as our
former brother did. Closed to The Way means open to Satan.

“Wrap your minds around this truth. Close your
eyes,” Father commanded. “Open your mind.”

Throughout the church, people closed their eyes,
faces turned heavenward, palms resting on knees or laps.

“Close your eyes, open your mind,” Father
continued in a hypnotic chant. “Open to The Way, closed to the world. Open to
The Way, closed to the world. This is your meditation. Join me now.”

The church began to chant, bodies swaying, many
with tears slipping past closed lids. Next to me, Baara’s breathing altered.
Panting rapidly, she began chanting faster and louder. Swaying. Her journal fell
to the floor with a thump.

Excitement rose to fever pitch. All around, moans
and sharp staccato cries of anguish broke out in counterpoint to the steady
rhythm of the chant. Several people, including Baara, broke the chant, speaking
in tongues. Long ululations of raw emotion erupted, hot and fluid—the secret
language of the Spirit reaching for heaven.

Next to me, Baara’s swaying became erratic. She
was sweating heavily, face pale, and when I touched her shoulder, she shook so
badly she vibrated and began to cry wildly. Big whooping sobs—like a child
scaring herself with her lack of control.

Rachel moved up on the other side, and together we
half led, half carried Baara outside. Martha and Beth joined us as we propped
her on the stairs. I knelt in front of the hyperventilating woman and, wishing
I had a paper bag, forced her trembling hands together and had her breathe into
the cupped palms. Rachel sat next to her, rubbing her back.

After several minutes, Baara started to breathe
more normally, color returning to her face. Inside, the hysteria leveled off.
We’d been sitting on the cold steps for twenty minutes before members began
leaving the temple. Most walked by us, but a few stopped to check on Baara and
to let us know we’d missed the announcement for a corporate fast. Starting
immediately, no food allowed and we were supposed to meditate three times a day
on the mantra Father had given us.

Oh, joy.

Priella was another who stopped, although she
didn’t comment on the fast. Standing next to Beth, shivering from the chill,
she asked Baara if everything was okay. Just then, Maliah swept out of the
door, Eli in tow, and came face to face with Priella. Both women froze, eyes
locked in silent battle. Maliah’s grip on Eli’s arm pinched. I saw him grimace,
peeling her fingers up. She never shifted her gaze from the younger woman.
Priella broke first, blushing and casting her gaze down.

Maliah’s lip curled in a sneer as she swept the
rest of us with a mocking glare. Grabbing Eli again, she descended the steps
and strode off across the driveway. Briefly—very briefly—I considered jumping
on her back like a puma and biting her ear off. Eli must have been practicing
ESP. He looked over his shoulder and shook his head.

Without meeting our eyes, Priella took off down
the stairs.

Martha called out to her, but Priella ignored it,
walking in quick, ungainly strides to the lodge.

“Hic!”

We all looked down. Baara, forgotten in the drama,
remained hunkered on the steps, mouth agape, eyes wide with residual emotion.
Tears and snot made her face glisten in the waning light.

“I got chiccups,” she said.

The four of us burst into giggles, pent-up tension
flying into the breeze that wrapped our skirts around our legs.

“It’s cold, girls.” Beth said. “Let’s get going.”

Chapter Fourteen

I
hung around,
waiting to talk to Maggie as she exited the temple. I don’t know how, but
either I missed their departure in the midst of the drama or they went out a
side door. After twenty minutes of teeth-chattering cold, I ditched Plan A and
went to our room to console my roommate.

Priella was already tucked into bed when I got in.
Although breathing deeply, her body nonetheless contradicted her closed eyes.
Her muscles lacked the soft luxury and trusting openness that occurs when we
let ourselves sink into sleep. Short of prying her eyes open with my fingers, I
had to play along.

The next morning, my hunger woke me earlier than
usual. I had eaten a decent supper and I often skipped breakfast, so there was
no rational reason why I woke up so ravenous. Priella’s bed was neatly made,
and she had slipped out.

When I went to feed the dogs, I found myself
hoping Eli would show up. The skunk was probably avoiding me too. Muttering
vile observations about the male gender I went about my assigned chore. My bad
attitude didn’t affect the dogs’ appetites any. They leaped and twisted around
my feet in a roiling mass as I set the bowls out. The noise was unbearable, and
they nearly tripped me twice. Only thing that kept me on my feet was the fear
that if I fell I would be their breakfast. The chaos worsened when I didn’t
feed them all simultaneously. Minor skirmishes broke out as I went back and
forth with the bowls. Hysteria erupted as the haves fought with the have-nots.

The quiet that descended after each had their
portion was like being released from a torture chamber. Panting like I had just
run a marathon, I leaned against the side of the barn and studied my charges. I
realized, except for Domino, I didn’t know their names. They had to have names,
right?

With a guilty start, it dawned on me that I hadn’t
fed Domino yet. He stood quietly near the fence, black eyes regarding me in
silence. As I approached with his food, he showed no discernible emotion.
Certainly, none of the demented joy of his kennel mates. He made no move even
as I slid the bowl through the opening. Not until I took two steps back did he
move forward and eat. In contrast to the others, Domino ate quietly and
efficiently.

As I lingered, two of the dogs wandered off.
Bellies full, the other two plopped in the grass by the barn. Over their
panting, I heard the sound of someone coming up the side path. My heart thumped
briefly in a hope-spasm, but even before the person rounded the corner, I knew
it wasn’t Eli.

Humming the theme song of a children’s show I
couldn’t quite lay name to, Baara trotted around the corner.

“Hi!” She broke out into a big smile when she
caught sight of me.

“Maranatha,” I said.

“Did you feed the dogs? ‘Cause that used to be my
job, but now you do it. I do the laundry and clean things.”

“They were pretty hungry.”

“That’s ‘cause they’re pigs. But not really.
Really they’re just dogs.”

“Very true,” I said. “You must know a lot about
them if they were your responsibility. Maybe you could teach me how to take
care of them?”

“I could help you. I know all about them.”

“How about we start with their names?”

“Oh, sure, that’s easy. This guy here is Domino.
He’s my favorite. I take him for walks now that Enoch is gone.” Her face
clouded over when she mentioned his name. I wondered how much she comprehended
about the situation.

“Is Domino safe?” The question distracted her.

“Oh, sure. He’s a good guy. Father says we gotta
keep him in the kennel ‘cause people are a-scared of him on account of he’s a
pit bull. But he’s really a good guy. Moses lets him run around at night.”

“How about the other dogs, Baara?”

“There’s Thunder. She’s my favorite.”

I assumed she meant the black lab or the boxer,
but Baara dispelled that thought immediately.

“When I get sad, she comes and lays by me and I
rub her belly and pet her nice long ears. They’re so soft and velvety.”

“Thunder is the basset hound?” I laughed.

“Yup, and that’s Jack,” she said, pointing to the
beagle. “And there’s Buster and Frito— He’s a little guy. And Gunner is black
like the night. They’re all my favorite.”

We moved up the path to the center of the
compound. “Well, if I could figure out how to get them all fed without them
going crazy and snapping at each other, I’d be all set.”

“That’s easy. Keep them in the cage till you get
the food all ready.”