Slain (30 page)

I don’t sit with the youth group today. Mom leads us both to her regular seat, front and center, the last place I want to be. It’s a challenge to everyone, a proclamation of my innocence. I’m actually thankful for her faith in me, maybe it’s stronger than I thought. Maybe she’s stronger than I thought.

Dad’s service is about seeking the forgiveness of God. I wish I could preach a sermon about subtlety.

He booms from the stage. “Isaiah 1:18 says, ‘Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be white as snow; though they are red as crimson, they shall be like wool.’ It’s a powerful thing, isn’t it, the love of Christ?” Amens everywhere. “That means that no matter our sins, no matter the terrible things we have done, no matter the darkness in our hearts, Jesus is ready to put His arms around you. To envelop you in His love and make you white as snow.” He strolls the stage, letting us ponder the words.

“We’ve recently had a terrible reminder about the impermanence of this life, about the sins that can overtake our hearts, haven’t we?” Hmms and nods from the crowd. “My heart is broken for our church today. At times like these it’s difficult to understand the plans Our Heavenly Father has for us. But there’s a lesson here, I think, a tiny ray of hope in our darkness. Because while life on Earth is limited, the Kingdom of Heaven is eternal. I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Jesus is cradling that little girl in His arms right now.” Soft hallelujahs echo from the ceiling.

“I know that He’s drying her tears, and dressing her in His finest linens. Revelation 19:8 says, ‘And to her was granted that she should be arrayed in fine linen, clean and white: for the fine linen is the righteousness of saints.’”

He says it again for emphasis. “‘The righteousness of saints!’” He’s holding her hand and saying, ‘My dearest child,’” he smiles now, “‘My dearest child, welcome to the Kingdom of Heaven.’”

 
I’m seething. How dare he claim to know her soul? He didn’t even know her name until she died. And using her like this, as an object lesson, as though her whole life was only for the purpose of illustrating some stupid idea to others? June’s life was wasted, and saying it wasn’t, saying that she was used by God, that her life was snuffed out just so others can believe? It makes me burn.

The deacons are lining up at the front, and I know what’s next. “This morning, I’d like to invite you to follow that child’s example. Jesus is waiting for you. He’s waiting to wash your sins white as snow, to turn your private sorrows into joy. Won’t you come forward right now and confess your sins to Him?”
 

A thousand eyes buckshot toward me. Mom grabs my hand.

“Come on, sweetheart.” Her eyes are brimming, and I realize why she chose her regular place so near the front. It wasn’t her having faith in me, it wasn’t her standing by my side. She wanted to be close so I can seek forgiveness for my sins. The thing to worry about now is my soul, my ticket to heaven, the only thing that can save me. Because my guilt isn’t a question in her mind anymore. It’s absolute.

“Mom.”
 

“Come on, baby. Let’s go pray, okay?”
 

The singers take their places. The band starts up, slow and reverent.
 

“
What can wash away my sins?

Nothing but the blood of Jesus.

What can make me whole again?

Nothing but the blood of Jesus.”

“We’re waiting to pray with you, so come forward,” Dad says, in that dripping cadence that’s supposed to make me believe he cares.

Mom takes my other hand in hers. “I’ll be right there with you.”
 

I see then that it doesn’t matter what I do. If I step forward, I’m guilty. If I stay, I’m rebellious. The band gets to the chorus.

“
Oh! Precious is the flow

That makes me white as snow-oh!

No other fount I know,

Nothing but the blood of Jesus.”

Others are flooding toward the front. Deacons step forward to pray with them.

“It doesn’t matter what you’ve done,” Dad says, “Jesus sees your sinner’s heart. He knows! Come now, come today, and let Him forgive you. Let the blood of Jesus wash away your sins.”

But asking for forgiveness would be a lie. It would be more than one lie. I didn’t do anything that needs forgiveness, and even if I did, I don’t believe it’s possible to be saved anymore. I turn to Mom, “No.”
 

“Oh, Emma.” She’s crying now, “please.”

Dad sees us from his place on the stage and looks right at me, “Please don’t shut your heart to God. Repent. Make your wrongs right.” Then he sets the microphone down on a chair and walks straight toward us as the band continues to play.

“This is all my hope and peace.

Nothing but the blood of Jesus.

This is all my righteousness.

Nothing but the blood of Jesus.”

“Please, Emma,” he whispers to me when he reaches us. “Please don’t shut your heart to God. He wants to heal your heart. He does.” He leans in close. I wiggle away.

“No.” My voice is louder than I mean it to be. People turn to gape.

Pastor Pete sees us. He steps down off the stage and makes his way through the crowd already praying at the front, a throng of people seeking forgiveness for petty sins, more guilt ridden than guilty.

“Can I pray with you, Emma?” he asks. People are staring now, without shame. The whole row behind us has stopped singing.

“I won’t ask for forgiveness for something I didn’t do.” His heart breaks a little for me. I can see it. There’s sympathy in his eyes, but whether it’s because he believes me or because he thinks I can’t own up to my mistakes is impossible to tell.

“Then let’s just pray, okay?” It isn’t a request. He starts before I agree.
 

He lays his hands on me, right there in the front row. Before I know it, others do too. They crowd around me, all of them grappling for a piece of my salvation.
 

I can’t breathe. They’re pushing each other farther and farther in. Hands reach and hold. Layers of hands around me, three people deep.
 

I wrap my arms around myself. Their voices rise louder and louder, some shouting, some wailing, some speaking in tongues, all blending into a confusion that drowns out every thought in my mind. It would be so nice, so easy, to float away on it. But I don’t. I look up, but there are too many hands above me to see anything. The air is thin inside this bubble, and it is so hot.

I sink to the floor. As I do I hear them swell to bursting. They think I’ve been slain in the Spirit. Maybe they’re right. Maybe I’m finally experiencing it for real this time. Maybe God feels like drowning.

T
HERE
’
S
A
KNOCK
ON
my door at six the next morning, then it opens. It’s my dad.

“Wake up. Time for school,” he says. This isn’t something he usually does. It’s my mom who wakes me every morning. He starts to leave, and I stop him.

“Dad?” I ask. “Please don’t make me go to school today. Please.“ I can’t handle it today. Not after church yesterday. Not after the video. I can’t handle all their eyes on me, hating me. And besides, shouldn’t I be expelled by now? If it hasn’t happened yet, it will happen today. Why even go?

“I’m not going to allow you to hide from the repercussions of your actions, Emma. School is non-negotiable.” His face is grim, stony. “I expect you to be ready to leave in forty minutes.” He walks out.

I dress quickly and stuff my school books into my backpack, feeling sick at the thought of walking down those halls.

Breakfast is a lesson in being seen and not heard. I eat quietly and quickly, sneaking glances over to my mother, who’s at the dining room table buried in her Bible. I want to beg her to let me stay home, but there’s no way I’m interrupting her devotional this morning. It wouldn’t matter. She won’t defy my dad, and he has his mind made up.

I put my dishes directly in the dishwasher and even wipe down the kitchen counter. By the time forty minutes have passed, I’m waiting for them in the family room, ready to go.

They drop me off in front of the school. As I’m walking away, I hear the window of the passenger side come down.

“Emma?” It’s my mom.

I turn back. “Yeah?” I ask, my eyes wary but hopeful.

“I love you,” she says, and grabs my hand. Tears spring to my eyes. Maybe there’s still a chance to fix all this. I don’t know how, but maybe. Maybe she’s still on my side.
 

I rush forward and hug her through the open window. “I love you too,” I say.

No one says a word to me as I make my way toward my locker, and I’m thankful for it. I open it up, put my schoolbooks inside. Then I hear someone behind me. I turn around. It’s Paige. She has a look of determination on her face, the hard focus she gets in tennis before she goes in for the kill.

“Hey,” I say. “What’s up?” The words feel too normal, too wrong.

“Everyone says I shouldn’t talk to you at all, Emma, but I think you deserve to at least hear this from me.”

“What?”
 

“We can’t be friends anymore. You’re not the person I thought you were.”

I’ve dreaded this moment for months—the moment when she finally realizes that the gulf between us is too great. But still, hearing her say it is so much more painful than I ever imagined. It feels like my air has been cut off, like I’m sinking into the deep of the ocean. I can see the light sparkling above me, and the blue sky, and birds, but it’s too far, and I’m too heavy.

“Paige, please.”

“It’s like I never knew the real you at all. You lied about so much, Emma.” Her voice starts to break. “Why would you do that? I thought we were friends. No. I thought we were something bigger than that. Something better. I thought we could trust each other. Do you know what it’s like to feel like you can’t trust your best friend anymore? I’ve never felt so lonely in my whole life.”

“You can trust me. Let’s just sit down and talk, okay?”

“All you had to do was say you were sorry and tell me the truth. You know that, right? I would have—I don’t know, I would have at least tried to understand.”

“I’m so sorry. I—”

“Too late. I know God says we’re supposed to forgive, but I don’t know how to do that right now. I’m sorry.”

She turns and walks away. Down the hall, a group of girls—Ruth, Naomi, and Katie—surround her and squeeze her tight. I want to die. The part of my heart that’s always been her is gone.

There’s a jolt from behind. Not hard, but a surprise. I stumble, fly forward, land on my face. There’s a scuffle of feet near my eyes.

“Back off, man, she’s not worth it.” I look up to see Mike holding Nicolas back. Nicolas. From me. Chuck and Ben are there too.

“Is it true?” Nicolas asks.

“What?” I say from the floor, pushing myself up to a seated position, shocked into tears.

“Come on, guys. Let’s go,” Chuck says.

“Did you do it?” Nicolas asks. “Because of me?”

“Nicolas,” I plead. How could he think that? He knows me. He might have even loved me once. Maybe not real love. Maybe just a baby sort of love, but still. “No. I—no.”

“How am I supposed to believe that? You’re a liar, Emma. A total liar.”

Chuck tugs Nicolas away. The boys shuffle off, consoling Nicolas. As they go, Mike puts a fist to his mouth and fake-coughs, “Slut.” Some of the other guys snicker. Only Chuck looks back with any sort of remorse on his face. My cheeks are wet and hot.
 

I hate that he made me cry. I hate that they all watched me break. It’s so stupid. I feel so stupid.

Then Miss Hope walks up and offers her hand to me on the floor. “Come on. Get up.”

“Go away,” I plead. “Please just leave me alone.”

“I can’t do that, Emma. I think you need to talk to someone about all this.”

“I don’t want to talk, especially not to you,” I say. I sound like a child who just dropped their ice cream cone. I can’t help it. I want to hit her, just for looking at me.

She kneels down on her heels and crosses her arms over her chest, exasperated.

“What did you think was going to happen, Emma?”

I wrap my arms around my legs and bury my face in my knees.

“Huh? Did you think you could go on deceiving everyone and get away with it?” she asks, “Yeah. I saw that video too. And let me tell you, I was very disappointed. Very disappointed. How could you do something like that? I thought you knew better. I thought you were a good example that I could tell other girls about.”

Fuck her. Fuck her and her high horse and her stupid fish mouth. I’m not going to sit here and listen to this. I stand up and swipe the tears away from my eyes.

“Well you were wrong. I’m not good. I’m bad. I’m everything everyone says, so go ahead and do whatever you’re going to do to me because I just don’t care anymore.”

I stalk away, and she grabs my arm.

“You still have a chance. “For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.””

“Oh, fuck off!” I tear my arm away from her and race down the hallway. I don’t know where I’m going. I can’t go to class. I can’t leave, or I’ll lose the little favor I have left with my parents. I have nowhere to go.

I dart outside and head over to the football stadium. I just need a minute to collect myself. Just a minute. Then I’ll know what to do. There’s a gym class running laps on the track, and another group playing soccer, but no one seems to notice as I climb the bleachers on the far side of the field.

I sit down and take in air until my breaths are slow and even again. What should I do? Where should I go?
 

There really is only one thing to do. I have to find my parents and beg. Maybe they’ll let me homeschool until the end of the year. Other students have done it. Cassidy Long did it when she got knocked up. Maybe if I leave for a while this will all blow over and everyone will forget about me.

I stand up and walk down the bleachers. I’ll go to my mom’s office right now, ask her to call in my dad.
 

I’m just about to the bottom when I see something strange. Three big, muscular men dressed in black and accompanied by Principal Hendricks. They’re walking straight toward me. I see Principal Hendricks point to me and say something to them. The men pick up their pace. I stop.