The Chosen (27 page)

His cell phone rang just as he was finishing up a report. He typed in the last two words, then checked the caller ID and started to grin.

“Hello, honey.”

“…we'll all be together again.”

Ben's heart stopped. That wasn't January's voice, but the next one was.

“You don't want to do this,” January said. “You have to let me go.”

 

“But that's impossible,” Jay said. “You have to be with me. It's the only way to heaven.”

“You can't get to heaven with blood on your hands,” January said.

“Shut up!” Jay shouted, then slammed the window shut between the seats and hit the button to release the sleeping gas.

January heard a soft hissing sound; then everything began to go blank.

“Help me,” she mumbled. “Help…”

 

After that, Ben heard nothing more from January, only the faint sounds of traffic.

He flew out of his seat with the phone still in his hand.

“It's going down!” he yelled.

Everyone's function had already been determined, so when Rick heard Ben's panicked call, he reached for the phone. His first job was to contact the surveillance van that was down in the parking lot, while Ben headed for Borger's office.

Ben barged in without knocking.

“Captain, he's got her.”

Borger didn't have to be told twice.

“I've got backup on the way,” he said. “The surveillance van is outside. Ride with them.” Then he pointed to Ben's phone. “Is she still on the line?”

Ben put the phone to his ear. The silence was sickening.

“No.”

“Get going,” Borger said.

Ben turned and ran.

 

Someone was carrying her, but January couldn't move or speak. She didn't know what she'd inhaled, but she knew it was going to make her sick.

A moan slid out from between her lips.

“Poor Mary Magdalene. Life was never easy for you, was it?”

January felt breath against her face and wanted to scream. She didn't know what was going to happen to her, but if it happened soon, she was going to be helpless to fight against it.

“Wha…”

“Don't talk,” Jay said. “Save your strength for later.”

Later? Oh, dear God. Was that an ominous promise or a deadly warning?

Metal banged. Dust motes lifted from the surfaces on which they'd been lying, and thickened the air.

“Put…down,” January mumbled, and tried to push at Jay's hands, but she was too weak to make an impact.

Jay smiled down at her as he carried her into his room, then laid her on the cot. He'd thought about putting her in the room with Mother Mary, but it didn't seem right. Jay's take on Christ's life had always been skewed, but now, with the tumors sucking the life from him, it was off the wall.

Mary Magdalene's purpose in the Bible was vague. Biblical scholars had their own take on her place in Jesus's life. Jay just knew she was supposed to be there.

And she was so beautiful, his Mary Magdalene. The others were going to be so happy to see her. This was going to make all the difference.

But she was coming to now, and he didn't have much time. She would fight him when she could. That was inevitable. But he couldn't let her get hurt. Her presence was too vital to making everything work.

He wasn't sure what he needed to do next, but she was within the fold where she belonged. Everything else would come in its own time.

Her eyes were open now, glaring at him in mute fury. She tried to make her arms and legs work, but mobility took longer to return than consciousness.

He sat down on the side of the cot, then splayed his hand on the middle of her belly. It was, at the same time, both suggestive and threatening.

January's panic rose. She hadn't counted on this, but then she hadn't counted on a whole lot of what had been happening the last few months.

“Don't touch…me,” she finally managed to say.

Jay purposefully left his hand on her belly just a little bit longer to prove who was in charge. Then he moved it to her face, tracing the curve of her cheek with his thumb.

“Mary Magdalene. Right under my nose all this time.” He stood, then moved to the end of the cot. “They had a very special relationship—Jesus and his Mary Magdalene.”

January rolled over and tried to sit up, but when she moved, the bed turned into a carnival ride. It was all she could do not to throw up.

“Oh God…oh God…please help,” January whispered.

Jay smiled.

“See, already you intercede for me.”

January wanted to scream, but she could barely breathe without gagging.

“I'll be back shortly,” he said. “There are some people I want you to meet. In the meantime, drink this. It'll help you wake up.”

Seconds later, he was gone.

January's hopes rose. People he wanted her to meet? Maybe it was Mother Mary and the missing men. Was it possible that they were all still alive?

Please, God…please let Mother Mary T. be all right.

January felt her bra, taking comfort in the tracking device still safely in place, and pictured the authorities racing to this location. But just in case, she needed to be able to think.

A little leery of Jay Carpenter's motives, she sniffed the cup he'd set on the floor. It smelled like coffee, and the cup appeared to be clean. Retaining her senses was imperative if she was to come out of this in one piece, so she took off the lid and tasted it. It was lukewarm coffee—strong and black. By the time it was gone, she was able to stand.

She stumbled to the door and tried the knob. As she'd expected, it was locked, but she'd had to try. She circled the room, hammering on the walls, calling out to anyone who might hear.

There was an ice chest in one corner, and an empty grocery sack with equally empty tuna and Vienna sausage cans, as well as some cracker wrappers. Three bottles out of a six-pack of water were on the floor near the sack. She opened one and then splashed some on her face before taking a small drink.

She thought of Hank, waiting for her at the scene of the accident, and knew it was only a matter of time before the cops figured it out.

Frustrated, she beat on the door again, shouting to be freed.

Jay heard her and frowned. He wanted the men to see her, but not like this. Then it occurred to him how he could control her rage. Mother Mary would help.

He hurried to Mother's room, expecting to see her sitting on the side of the cot, or at the least in prayer. What he didn't expect was that she was still in the same position she'd been in earlier that morning.

“Mother? Mother Mary?”

She didn't answer, and her skin was hot to the touch. He ran a hand over her forehead, smoothing back the short wisps of hair that had stuck to the skin, and for the first time saw her as more than the habit in which she'd spent the better part of her life.

She was very thin, with tiny bones. And her skin was so fair that he could see the bluish-purple tint of veins just beneath the surface. Her fingernails were clean and clipped. When he put a hand on her back, he realized he could feel every bone beneath his palm.

Nervously, he felt for her pulse. It was erratic and thready, but it was still there.

A sharp pain hit him right behind an eye.

“No,” he muttered. “Not now.”

He ran to the table, poured some water onto a handful of paper towels, and when they were thoroughly wetted, he folded them up and carried them back to the cot to put on her forehead.

“Mother Mary, can you hear me?” he asked.

She sighed, then groaned.

A second pain skittered up the back of his neck, then settled behind his right ear.

“No, damn it! Not now, I said.”

“Help,” she mumbled.

“Yes. Yes. I'll get help,” he said, and ran out of the room, leaving the door ajar.

When he burst into his own room, January was taken aback. He was bathed in sweat and breathing rapidly. He grabbed her arm without explanation or ceremony, and held her fiercely.

“Come with me,” he said. “You need to pray for the mother.”

January's mind went blank. She wouldn't let herself panic until she saw the truth for herself.

Within seconds, they were out of that room and into the next. Even after they were there and January saw the tiny woman in a cotton shift, lying on a cot, she didn't recognize her as the wiry, independent little nun. Then she saw the familiar black-and-white habit folded and lying on a nearby chair, and she gasped. “Oh, no!”

She ran to Mother Mary T., then went down on her knees. Mother Mary Theresa's skin was hot and dry.

January turned to her captor.

“She's burning up with fever. We have to get her to a doctor.”

“No. No. We go nowhere,” Jay said. “Pray for her. That's all she needs, just prayers.”

January jumped to her feet. Waiting on the police suddenly seemed a dangerous thing to do. She came at Jay, delivering two good blows before he put her on the floor with a strike from his fist.

The impact was hard and painful, and she tasted blood as she crawled to her feet.

“Fine,” she said, as she doubled up her fists. “You want to play rough. I can play rough.”

She came at him again, and again he hit her.

“Know your place, woman!” he shouted, as she fell to the floor.

January rolled over onto her knees and pushed herself up. There was a cut near her left eye that was beginning to bleed, and another cut on her lower lip, which had started to swell. A tiny drop of blood rolled from her nostril down onto her lip, which she wiped on the back of her sleeve.

“You're not going to get away with this,” she said.

Jay pointed to the nun. “You come at me again, and she's the one who's going to suffer.”

January stopped, then tilted her head slightly, listening for the sounds of approaching sirens, but she heard nothing.

It frightened her. Why weren't they here? How long could it possibly take to track her down? Then a horrible thought invaded. What if the devices weren't working? What if they had no idea where she was?

She glanced down at Mother Mary T. and then back up at Jay. The man was demented. Of that there was no doubt. So how did one deal with a madman?

“What do you want me to do?” she asked.

Jay shook his head, like a dog shedding water, then grabbed her wrist. This time his grasp was not only firm, it was painful, only January didn't let on. She was too afraid of dying.

“Come with me,” Jay said. “You must meet my disciples. They will have many questions of you. You will reassure them that all is well.”

She made no comment.

Jay yanked at her arm.

“Do you hear me?” he shouted.

January nodded.

“We're going to the end of the building,” he said. “And when we get there, I expect you to be smiling. If you run from me, the Mother will suffer.”

She nodded, blinking back tears as he dragged her out of the room and started the long walk. As they went, January could see sky through missing pieces of roof, as well as pigeons roosting in the rafters overhead. All along the floor, there were signs of rat infestation and other inhabitants—street people who'd once been inside long enough to make small fires to stay warm.

She wondered how he'd managed to stay undetected, then realized she had no idea where they were. She'd just assumed this place was within the confines of D.C., but for all she knew, they could be miles away from the city.

“We're almost there,” he said, and pointed toward what appeared to be an enormous furnace. “Remember what I said…no arguing with me, or the Mother will pay.”

“Yes, I remember,” she answered.

When they were within a few yards from the opening, January stopped.

“Come on,” Jay said. “It's just a little bit more.”

But January's inner alarms were going off all over the place.

“What's that smell?” she asked, and then realized she was whispering.

“Nothing that matters,” he stated. “Now come on.”

Still she stood her ground.

“I think I'm going to be sick,” she said.

He squeezed her wrist tighter.

“I think you're not,” he warned. “Now move.”

January's stomach knotted as she let herself be led. Every inch of skin on the back of her neck felt like it was crawling with ants, and she had an overwhelming urge to pee. When they were only a few feet from the doorway, she started to pray silently, begging for strength.