The Chosen (5 page)

“Andrew…my beloved Andrew. How have you been?”

The big black man moved into the half-light. He was bald and bare from the waist up. He had tied his T-shirt around his head like a turban and wore his shoes on his hands, leaving his feet bare.

When he saw Jay, his lips parted in a clownlike grin. A droplet of spittle slid from the corner of his lip down onto his chin as he pointed at the sack Jay was holding.

“Andy's hungry.”

Jay sighed. He hadn't realized the full extent of Andrew's mental incapacity when he'd joined the disciples, but he'd put his trust in God that his choices would be blessed, and had to believe there was a place for Andrew somewhere in the mixture.

“I brought you some food and water,” Jay said.

As he set the food out on a table, he noticed that the port-a-potty had been spilled and was lying on its side. Rats crawled in and out of it like ants at a picnic. Jay fought an urge to retch as he righted the pot with the toe of his shoe, then sprinkled quicklime all over it, both inside and out.

“Daddy…”

Jay looked up. He'd told Andrew to call him brother, but Andrew had gotten the message somewhat screwed up and persisted in saying “Daddy” instead.

“Andy's thirsty.”

Without thinking, Jay handed him a fresh bottle of water. Anxious now to get back to his own room, to his supper and a bed, he unloaded the canned meat and crackers onto the table, left an orange, as well, then bolted from the room. He could hear Andy muttering and laughing as he tore into the food.

With one last disciple to visit and feed, Jay went into James's room, almost as an afterthought.

At first, he thought James was just asleep, and then realized he was watching his every move.

“James, I've come with food.”

“Let me out.”

Jay frowned.

“You know that's not possible. You had your chance but chose to abandon me. I've explained how important it is for all of my men to stay with me, so you're just going to have to endure.”

“I'm not one of your men,” James cried.

Jay dumped the last of the meat, crackers and water near the man, then rolled an orange toward him, as well. He sprinkled some quicklime in the toilet, then said a brief prayer.

“Fuck you,” James said.

Jay frowned.

“You should not speak so disrespectfully in the presence of the Lord.”

James stared in disbelief.

“What? You think you're God?”

“No, no, of course not,” Jay said. “I'm speaking in the general sense.”

“Go to hell,” James muttered.

“Don't say that!” Jay cried. “Don't you ever say that.”

Then he stomped out, slamming the door behind him as he went. He stopped outside the door, then turned and leaned forward, momentarily resting his forehead against the surface.

Outside, a sudden clap of thunder rattled the roof, followed by a bright shaft of lightning. A torrent of sound began to fill the old building as wind picked up outside. It blew into broken windows with a high, whistling sound, racing through an unseen corridor, only to be sucked out through other openings like an invisible vacuum. The whistle turned into a moan and then a roar.

Jay glanced nervously over his shoulder, half expecting to see demons emerging from the shadows as he hurried toward his own room. The sound of his footsteps was muffled by the storm overhead. Something raced across Jay's path, darting into the shadows to his right. He resisted the urge to run. He had nothing to fear—not even the Devil himself—not as long as he was living a true and righteous life.

 

Saturday night had come none too soon for Ben. It was his first weekend off in more than a month, and while he had no special plans, the fact that he could go to sleep tonight knowing an alarm wasn't going to go off in his ear the next morning gave him a good feeling.

He'd given some serious thought to calling one of his female acquaintances—maybe share a meal and see where it went from there—but when he went through the names in his little black book, he drew a blank. The women were fine. He was the one who was getting picky.

Every time he thought of making love to a woman, a certain pushy female journalist kept coming to mind. He kept remembering the softness of her mouth, the scent of her perfume and the perfect fit of their bodies, wondering if she held her breath when she came or if she screamed.

He cursed himself for letting his mind go where his body had no business being. But it had rattled him enough that he opted to spend the weekend on his own, which was why he was in this little nondescript restaurant, eating dinner all alone.

His steak was cooked just right, and his fries were perfect—thick and just a little bit greasy. He was chewing a bite of steak and buttering a warm dinner roll when January DeLena walked into the place.

She was wearing a short black dress with a neckline that plunged close to her navel, and a hemline that barely covered her thighs. Her hair was loose and brushing her shoulders, and her long, shapely legs looked even longer with the three-inch heels she was wearing. He knew he was gawking, but he couldn't find the gumption to quit. She was looking around the room, obviously planning to meet someone for dinner, and all he could do was envy the lucky bastard who'd gotten to her before he had.

He was staring and couldn't seem to stop, but when she turned unexpectedly and caught him watching, he inhaled sharply. To his disgust, the half-chewed bite of steak he'd been eating was sucked right down his throat, where it lodged. At that point his knife slipped just enough that he buttered his thumb instead of the bread, then dropped the knife and knocked over his glass of Coca-Cola as he was reaching for his napkin so he could try to cough up the steak that was stuck.

He didn't see her look of shock as his face turned a dark, ruddy hue, nor did he see her racing toward him, because he was busy trying not to choke to death.

Suddenly January was at his table. He would have said hello, but he couldn't draw enough air to speak. Before he knew what was happening, she grabbed him from behind, yanked him up from the chair and began performing the Heimlich maneuver. To his complete humiliation, the chunk of steak popped out of his mouth and onto the table. He groaned, then inhaled deeply, grateful for the air that began filling his lungs.

People from surrounding tables who'd witnessed January's lifesaving technique soon recognized her and began to clap. The manager appeared, panicked that one of their customers had nearly perished at the table, swept the offending piece of meat up into a napkin and gave it to a passing waiter, had the spilled cola cleaned up and put a fresh tablecloth down before returning Ben's food to the proper place. During the cleanup, he offered January a complimentary meal for being the heroine of the hour.

“Oh…that's not necessary,” she said, batting absurdly long eyelashes at both the manager and Ben. “I'm meeting someone here for dinner, but thank you anyway.”

The manager thanked her one last time and left her alone with Ben. Before he could say anything, a couple from a nearby table came rushing over and asked January for her autograph. That started a small rush of diners who followed suit. January looked at him, smiled an apology for interrupting his meal, and proceeded to sign her name to everything from dinner napkins to a waiter's tie.

Ben was nodding and smiling and wishing her to perdition. If she hadn't come into the restaurant looking like a million-dollar hooker, he wouldn't have choked. And if he hadn't choked, there would have been no need for her to play the heroine. He wanted to tell everyone that he hadn't been in any danger and that she was a royal show-off, but that would have made him appear an unappreciative asshole. And the last thing he wanted was to draw any more attention and end up the lead story on the late-night news.

“Can this be over now?” he muttered, as January signed a final autograph.

She glanced at Ben, realized he was fairly pissed, and quickly brought an end to the show.

“Of course,” she said, and waved as the last of the people moved away. “Are you sure you're all right?” she asked.

He eyed the plunging neckline, measured it against his thundering heartbeat, and wasn't sure what to say without getting his face slapped.

“Uh…yeah. And thanks.”

“No problem,” she said, then glanced at her watch before giving the room another quick scan.

“So…who's the lucky man?” Ben asked, then wished he'd kept his mouth shut.

Referring to her date as lucky meant he envied the man, and letting January DeLena see him weak and wanting couldn't be good.

“He's late,” she said. “Do you mind if I sit with you until he shows?”

“Uh…yes. I mean, no, I don't mind.”

She slid into the empty chair at his table and then pointed at his food.

“That looks good.” Before he could comment, she'd swiped a French fry, dragged it through a pile of ketchup and took a big bite. “Umm, good. I'm starved.”

Ben frowned. He didn't share his food. Ever. But there was something about watching that French fry sliding into her mouth, and those perfect white teeth biting into it, that tied a knot in his belly.

“How do you eat your steak?” she asked.

“With my teeth.”

She blinked once, slightly surprised at his wit, and then laughed out loud.

The truth was, Ben hadn't been making a joke, he'd been trying to shut her down. But now that she thought he was witty, he decided to play it for all it was worth next time an opportunity arose.

“No, seriously,” January asked. “How do you like it?”

“Medium rare.”

Her eyes widened as the smile on her face spread.

“Me, too. How neat is that?”

He sighed, resisted the urge to pull his plate out of reach of her hands, and offered her a bite of steak.

“Oh, no, I couldn't,” she said, then waved down a passing waiter. “I'll have a margarita and a slice of cheesecake.”

The waiter hurried away to turn in the order, leaving Ben to figure out what was going on in her head.

“I thought you said you were starving,” he said.

“Umm, I am,” she said, and pointed to his fries. “Do you mind?”

She took another without waiting for an answer, ran it through the ketchup and this time shoved the whole fry in her mouth.

Ben groaned.

She frowned. “Are you all right? I mean…I didn't hurt you or anything, did I?”

“No. I'm fine…and by the way, thank you again for saving my life.”

“I don't know as I did all that, but it is scary not being able to breathe, isn't it?”

He started to argue, then figured honesty would get him further than his pride.

“Yes, it was scary. Are you sure you don't want to order something else besides a drink and dessert?”

She smiled. “Nope. If I'm going to be stood up, then I'm not going home hungry, and since I'm choosing, I'm choosing my favorites.”

He grinned. “Good thinking,” he said, and pretended he didn't see her picking French fries off his plate as he went on eating his steak.

“So, North…are you a native of D.C.?” January asked.

“No. Montana.”

January was surprised enough to quit filching French fries. She eyed his broad shoulders, remembered his long legs and slim hips, and tried to picture him in boots and Levi's instead of slacks and a suit coat. She also remembered what his mouth felt like on her lips, and that he'd had tears in his eyes for the little dead girl someone had turned into a hooker.

Ben felt slightly uncomfortable under her studied gaze but was afraid to ask what she was thinking.

“Where in Montana?” she finally asked.

“Outside of a little town called Hastings. My parents have a ranch. They raise cattle.”

“Brothers and sisters?”

“Three sisters.”

Her eyebrows arched. “Oooh, only son. Didn't follow in Daddy's footsteps. How did that go down?”

Ben frowned but didn't answer. He'd noticed an unattached man giving the room the once-over. As much as he hated to do it, he was guessing her date had arrived. He pointed.

“By any chance is that your date?”

January looked over her shoulder, rolled her eyes, then turned to Ben.

“Yes. Excuse me a minute. I'll be right back.”

“But, aren't you going to—?”

He didn't have time to finish his question; she was already gone. He watched her weaving her way through the maze of tables, saw the expression on the man's face go from late to lust and knew just how the sorry sucker felt. At least the guy was one up on Ben. He didn't have anything in his mouth to choke on except his excuse for being late.

Then, when he saw January turn her face away from the kiss the man meant to plant on her lips, he didn't bother to stifle a grin. It appeared to Ben that January wasn't a woman who liked waiting.