The Chosen One - Carol Lynch Williams Page 0,49

out of view because of the dust we’ve kicked up. I watch and scream his name.

Watch as they circle him.

I watch until I can’t see him anymore.

What have I done?

More blood on my hands?

Dear God. What have I done?

“HE’S A PROPHET, you know that, don’t you?”

I won’t look at Sheriff Felix. I refuse to look at him. Don’t look, just ignore him, I hate him, I hate his guts.

Instead, I stare out the window where Patrick was before. My eyes strain to see past the nothing that is there. We’ve gone too far for me to see him. We’re headed back. Headed back.

I look and imagine that he’s there.

He’s fine, Patrick is fine. I see him getting up, standing, fighting his way free. I keep my eyes looking to where he might be. He’s in the Ironton County Mobile Library on Wheels, tipping it back on the tires. He’s driving to save me.

“You hear me, Kyra?” Brother Felix says.

“I hear you,” I say.

“I got a testimony of him,” Brother Felix says. And his voice goes foggy with emotion.

Now I look at the police officer.

He glances at me, and I see his eyes have filled with tears.

“I know he rules. That he stands beside Jesus in power.”

I say nothing, just listen.

“I’d do anything to serve him,” he says. “I love him.”

Behind me, what’s happening?

I close my ears to Brother Felix.

Then I close my eyes.

After a moment, I pray again.

Dear God. Dear God. Please help him. Dear God, please don’t let this prayer be too late. Please keep him safe. Please, for Nathan. For his Emily. For me.

_______

THEY DO NOTHING to me.

Nothing.

Just send me home to Father and say, “Watch her.”

Mother Claire comes to me later. “Don’t try it again, Kyra,” she says. She’s wringing her hands. She never does that. “They’ve beaten you once. I’m surprised they didn’t beat you when they got you back.” She bites at her bottom lip. “Honey,” she says, “I have a really bad feeling. A really bad feeling. Promise me you won’t do it again.”

Her words scare the spit out of me. I mean I cannot even work up enough moisture to wet my tongue. I can’t answer her.

All I have in my head is Patrick. What happened to Patrick?

The next day, as soon as I see the Ironton County Mobile Library on Wheels van hidden near my stand of Russian Olives, like they’re trying to cover it but not, I know something is bad wrong.

The hairs rise on my neck. I slow my walk, pretending not to look, but looking anyway.

And then here comes the God Squad. Stepping out of the shadows the van makes. Two of Prophet Childs’s bodyguards. They’re big. I see them see me pretending I don’t see the van.

They watch me walk. Brother Nelson raises his sunglasses so I can see his eyes. He moves his head in a gesture like he’s saying, “You.”

They’ve parked it here on purpose. Where I can see it. To show me. So I know. Without saying a word they’re telling me to behave, to do what I’m told. Or else. Or else whatever they’ve done to Patrick, they’ll do to me.

I keep my walk steady, though I want to run back to my trees. Or run to the van. Search for Patrick. My lips have gone numb. I’m dizzy. My hands feel like they’re asleep.

I feel sick to my stomach. I’m going to throw up. Right here. Right now. Right in my yard with them watching me pretending not to see anything.

But I can’t vomit.

I have to just go on back in the house. Just go on back. With that cell phone that won’t even work tucked in my dress like I used to tuck Patrick’s books. Acting like I don’t know anything.

Oh, but I do.

I do.

I know, without seeing the body, that Patrick is dead.

WHEN THEY ARE GONE, as evening sets in, I sneak over to the van and peer in the window. The books are still spilled, all over the back on the floor. They didn’t throw away Patrick’s Big Gulp cup. It’s crushed on the passenger’s side of the van. Did I step on it after it fell? I don’t remember.

They didn’t even clean the blood out of the van. I see it spattered all over the windshield, gone brown. On the seat. In a puddle on the carpet. Pooled and dried and cracking on the floor.

It’s Patrick’s blood, I know.

Did they kill him in here? Where’s his body?

Somehow, I make