Prism - By Rachel Moschell Page 0,56

He and Wara would be just on the other side of the thin wall, definitely within his ear shot in case of danger.

Basically ignoring his wayward oldest son, Pastor Martir walked among his younger children, forcing a smile and patting them each on the head. Noly pulled little Naveli onto her lap and kissed her.

“I’ve been talking with your brother,” Pablo addressed the whole family, “and he has some very good ideas of how to help us, which we’ll talk about tomorrow. Now it’s time for all of us to sleep, but first we’re going to pray. No matter what happens, God is always with us, and he keeps us all in the palm of his hand.”

Strangling on the need to escape this little moment of Martir family prayer, Alejo quickly stood up and moved towards Wara. “Excuse me. I’ll get out of your way so you can take care of your family.”

You sound so cold. As if they weren’t your family too.

But it had been so long, an entire lifetime. Naveli peeped at Alejo from long-lashed hazel eyes, lips purple around a giant lollipop. Alejo stared at her, then tore his gaze away and motioned to Wara. “I’m sorry, but you’d better come with me.” Everyone started, and Alejo faced his parents. “I registered us downstairs together. Besides, I told her I’d take care of her. I’m not letting her out of my sight.”

Alejo was surprised when Wara rolled out of bed without arguing and prepared to follow him. The zombie-like expression in her eyes, along with her lack of protest, actually worried him. Wara looked ready to collapse.

Equally as worrying was the fact that no one in his family protested his orders, at least not with words.

After all, I suppose you don’t argue with a man who’s just confessed to being a killer, even if he is your own son.

Wara stumbled next to him towards the door. Alejo left his family locked in the room, more disgusted with himself than he had been in a long, long time.

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THE DOOR SLID OPEN BEFORE WARA AND Alejo with a mute whine. Alejo flipped on the light switch and Wara pushed past him into the room, identical to the Martirs’ except that it held only two single beds. Past the point of absolute exhaustion, Wara stumbled over to one of the beds and kicked off her white flip-flops. The wool blanket covered worn, striped sheets, and she ripped back the covers and fell inside.

She forced her breathing to even, willing herself to sleep, just sleep. She was lying here in a hostel room with the man who tried to kill her and Noah. Only sleep would bring the blessed unconsciousness she craved.

But sleep wouldn’t come. Her frayed mind whirled around a single thought, faster and faster, polishing it to a weighty obsession. Finally, she flipped herself over on the lumpy bed to face Alejo, still visible in the dim light of the small bedside lamp. He was hunched over on the edge of the other bed, wearing the same gray t-shirt and cargo pants, head in his hands. For some reason, the thought crossed Wara’s mind that those were now his only clothes; Nazaret’s brother had literally left his old life with only the clothes on his back.

He could probably never go back and get any of his stuff from wherever he had lived, because now he was in big trouble. Because he had saved Wara’s life.

“Why did you do it?” she wondered out loud.

Alejo twisted to face her, hazel eyes rimmed in red. “The bus?”

“No—I mean yes. But first—why did you leave your group? You believed so much in what you were doing you were willing to even kill.” The words tasted bitter, like copper. “Why would you leave?”

Alejo drew in a breath, and it was sharp, hurried. He took his time, swinging his legs over to the other side of the bed so he could face her, eyes flickering back and forth.

The guy looked tortured. He raised his eyes to hers, slowly closed then opened them. “It started because of Jesus,” he said. “I realized that I can’t believe what I believe about him and be a Muslim. My group is made up of Muslims. But then there is Ishmael, our boss.” He hesitated, eyes flickering again as if seeing some painful scene across the back of his eyelids. Wara saw the exact moment he decided to go ahead with whatever it was he was going to tell her.

“Ishmael