Chapter Seven

Truth be told, I loved the feeling of his hand in mine. It sent a little thrill up my spine. What a surprise. We played together as kids. Sparred a lot too. He was all boy and I, more tomboy than girl. But I never imagined there could ever be sparks between us. I felt them yesterday, and I couldn’t help but feel them now. But something bothered me.

How close was he to Lindsey? Sparks or no sparks, I wanted to get to know Russ as a friend. Rushing into a relationship caused nothing but trouble for people. If they were getting serious, I would definitely not interfere. Randy and I grew up together, friends long before we started dating. We knew each other well, and that was important to both of us. We didn’t decide to marry in the heat of the moment. War changed our plans. No point living in what might have been. I wrangled my attention to here and now and looked around his apartment.

Same wood trim around doors, windows and baseboards and that radiator cover seat like the one downstairs, but no antiques. Definitely a bachelor pad. He had a couple of TV trays, a TV, a folding chair, a hand-me-down recliner with a milk crate beside it, a card table in the corner with a laptop on it, and not much on the walls.

“It’s way bigger than I need, but the price was right. I just moved in a few weeks ago.”

My gaze fixed on a large wooden cross featured prominently on the wall. Had he become a holy roller? He already pestered me about how I should go to church and grow in my walk with Christ. Maybe I didn’t want to walk with Christ. Had he ever considered that? I needed to stop feeling judgmental. Please, let this self-admonishment be enough to keep me from saying something stupid that I would only regret later. People are people. None of us is perfect, least of all me.

“Good thing we already had dinner. I don’t cook much.”

“Some things never change.” I smiled at him and ran my fingers through his thick, brown hair.

He turned his head and lightly brushed his lips against the palm of my hand. I thought my knees might buckle and give out on the spot.

He studied me closely. “What was all that about the ministry?”

Please help me hold my tongue. I can feel it slipping out of control. “What do you mean?” I noticed the bite I wanted to hide come out in the tone of my voice

“Lindsey loves that church and it’s helped her faith come alive.”

“Goody for her.” So he definitely knows Lindsey, and very well, too. “You told me you’re shopping. Have you ever gone with her?”

“It’s just online. I need a building with live people all in the same room.”

“Okay, so why are you mad at me?”

He shuffled. “I’m not mad.”

“Are you upset with me because I don’t attend services?”

“Kassidy, you’re someone I care about, so I have to be honest with you.”

Ooh, he called me Kassidy. This is serious.

“I’m not mad at you, but I am disappointed in you. And I’m worried about you.”

“Disappointed in me?” What kind of comment was that? My simmering anger came to a boil, despite my desire to keep it in check.

“Maybe it shouldn’t matter to me if you go or not, but I care about your soul.”

How did those three things get connected—him caring about me, attendance, and the status of my soul? “If you want to go to church, that’s great. That’s what you need to do. I would never ever tell you not to go.” I thought back through the events of the evening. “I think maybe you’re jealous.”

And you’re attracted to Lindsey, so you’re picking a fight with me to make it easier to blow me off.

“Jealous?”

“I could be wrong, but this is what I think. You want to impress Joshua because you’re the new kid on the block. We couldn’t talk shop, so I don’t know how long he’s been with the Bureau, but obviously it’s his lifelong career. You want to be next, so you are trying to impress him. His wife told you to bring me to dinner, and here I am. Everything was fine until he talked about Lindsey.”

He looked confused. “No, that’s not it. I’m not jealous.” He wrapped his arms around me and held me close. “I told you I care about you.”

Russ certainly had grown into a handsome man. I nestled into the warmth of him and wanted to kiss him, but not if he was dating someone else. Before the chemistry between us got out of hand, I pulled away. “Sure it is. I didn’t mean to make such an impression on him. I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “No, Kass, you were great. But everyone wants to impress people.”

“No, they don’t.” I dug my nails into my palms. He was still just as ambitious as ever, but not willing to admit it. “You should be glad they like me. It makes you look good by association.” Now that was just plain catty, and I shouldn’t have said it, but I never said I was perfect. Someone rein in my tongue, please.

He leaned in to kiss me. I could feel him getting more excited.

Why was it that when men felt conflicted, they always wanted to get physical? I turned my head and pulled away. “Russ, if you’ve got feelings for Lindsey, that’s fine, but don’t get all over me.”

“I like her, but I’m not interested.”

“Are too. Your pulse jumped when Joshua mentioned her. I watched it happen.” He probably wasn’t lying on purpose. Could be that he wanted to date her, and she turned him down.

“You’re the one who’s jealous.” He folded his arms without moving away.

“Russ, it’s okay. I’m not mad and I’m not jealous. I care about you a lot, too. I don’t want to lose track of you again, but I will not let you dishonor yourself with me if you’re with another woman.”

He shook his head in that way guys do when they’re thinking they’ll never understand the female mind.

I checked the time. “I better get on home. It’s a long train ride.”

“Can I drive you home?”

“Sure. Thanks.” He looked like a puppy whose favorite toy had been taken away from him. Men. But accepting his offer might have been a critical error on my part. Maybe I should have dealt with the commute.

He warmed up the car and once again opened the door for me. I found it endearing and told him so.

“Sometimes women think I’m putting them down when I open a door.”

“Not me. I think it’s charming, but I hope you won’t be offended if I open yours for you from time to time.” I hoped that told him I wanted to see him again.

After we had driven a few blocks, he said, “You know, Kass, I was serious when I said I’m concerned about you not having a church.”

Here we go again. That was one thing I did not miss about the Ozarks. People thought your soul—no, your church attendance—was their business, and they were constantly trolling for fresh meat. I felt my anger flair but worked hard to keep it at bay. “Thank you for your concern, Russell.” My voice came out with an edge. Better than screaming, but not as calm as I had intended. I shouldn’t have used his full name, but evidently, I swallowed a whole bunch of naughty pills this morning, and I just couldn’t help myself.

“Please don’t be mad with me, Kass.”

I put my hand on his leg. Truth was the best remedy here. “I’m trying not to be mad, Russ, but I admit I’m finding it difficult. What’s saving me is that you are important to me.”

“Don’t you care about your soul?”

I didn’t say a word for a long time. Only catty or just plain mean retorts came to mind, and I didn’t want to be that way. Losing him as a friend was not an option.

When I finally managed to calm myself, I asked, “May I tell you the truth. At least my perception of the truth?”

“All right.”

“And after I do that, will you promise that at least for tonight we can drop the subject?”

He grinned, which surprised me. “I’ll give you tonight, but don’t expect me not to care whether you’re saved or not.”

“Fair enough, Russ.” That salvation stuff made me so mad I could spit, but I didn’t want to pick a fight.

I dug my nails into my palms and forced a long, slow breath before replying. Skipping my tortured past entirely, I told him, “I admit I don’t know much about what God thinks. Honestly, I don’t think any person does. But this much makes sense to me. I truly don’t think God is as concerned with whether we go to church as about what kind of person we are.”

Russ leaned forward and opened his mouth, clearly wanting to protest.

I held up a stopping hand. “I’m almost done, and then we’ll talk about something else, remember? You agreed to my condition.”

He nodded and lowered his gaze.

“Church is full of imperfect people who make judgments based on what they believe God wants when none of us can know for sure. The last thing I’ll say is this: Some people like attending and others don’t, just as some people like football and others don’t. You don’t know what I or anyone else has been through. I say live and let live.”

I paused, hoping he would understand, but doubting it.

He nodded.

“What about you? Can you live and let live, or are you going to try and run my life for me?”

I let the silence grow. Let him think. Our breathing fogged the windows. Dots of blurred streetlights punctuated the moments.

He took in a breath. Held it. Let it go. “I promise to try.” He turned to me. “Good enough?”

I smiled. “Thank you, now watch the road.”

We sat in amicable silence for a few minutes until Russ asked, “What’s got you so concerned about that book?”

Maybe if I tell him what’s going on, he would understand. “I think it is possible that people who read the book are being killed.” Geez, that sounds really dumb when you say it out loud. Truth one, credibility, zero.

“Killed? How?”

“I don’t know.” This was a bad idea.

“How are they dying?”

“The deaths all look like accidents, but I don’t think they are.”

He shook his head and closed in on himself, taking away the warmth. I instantly knew I had made a bad move.

“How do you know?” Mr. FBI came out to play.

“Research.” Cryptic but true. Why didn’t I keep my mouth shut? Why did I think confiding in him would be a good thing?

“How do you know there’s a connection with the book?” He sounded distant and edgy.

“That’s the problem. That’s why I didn’t want to say much to Josh. Or to you, for that matter. I can’t prove there’s a connection yet, but my instinct tells me there is.”

“And you think women are dying because of reading a book? Kass, that sounds really whacked.”

Gotta love American vernacular. “I know.”

“That doesn’t make any sense at all.”

“I agree.”

“Are you sure you’re not making this up because it’s a ministry and you have this thing against churches?”

I wanted to open the door and walk home but knew that would be stupid ten times over. “No, Russell. Lots of church ministries sell things and have study groups and so forth.”

“Then why are you so suspicious of the Tippins? I’ve never heard Mandy speak, but I’ve listened to a couple of Jeb’s sermons. They’re Biblically sound. He’s a real good preacher.”

Words leapt out of my mouth before I could corral them. “So being a good preacher makes it all right that people are dying?” I hadn’t meant to blurt out such a ridiculous accusation. Please someone sew my mouth shut.

Reverend Jeb Tippin? First time I heard it, his name tickled something in the depths of my brain, but not hard enough to grab hold and figure out why. This time, it struck a nerve.

“Kass, I really think you’re messed up in the head or something. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be mean, but you really got the wrong idea.”

“Messed up in the head?” Just a few more blocks and we would be at my place. Then I could go home and throw myself into bed and sob into my pillow. “You think I’m making this up, don’t you?”

“Now hold on, Kass. I never said that, but I think, well, sometimes it happens when people stray from church, they get messed up, lose their way, because they’ve abandoned their faith and turned away from God.”

I could hardly breathe. Tears spilled down my face. Anger and heartbreak fought for attention, but anger won. How could he say that? Words leaped past good sense and out my mouth.

“First you think my soul is damned, and now I’m mentally unstable because I suspect that these ministers might not be all sweetness and light. How dare you judge me, Russell?”

He pulled up in front of my house. “This mansion is where you live?”

I nodded.

He opened his door.

“Don’t bother getting out of the car.” I wrenched open my door. “Did it ever occur to you that there may be reasons why someone is turned off by religion?”

“Not good, reasonable reasons.”

“You have no idea what my life has been.”

“How can I know what you’ve been through if you won’t tell me?”

“I tried to tell you, but you’ve already judged me and decided I’m damned and mentally ill.”

He had no answer.

“The evening started out very nicely. Thank you for the invitation,” I slammed the door and stomped inside.

****

Shaking from head to toe, I closed the apartment door and leaned against it. Beating my pillow seemed like a good idea.

“Kass, what happened?” Julie rushed up and hugged me.

It took a while before I could speak. I gave the short version of what happened at the end of the night, omitting the mentally unstable part. Even as upset as I was, I knew this wasn’t the time to talk with Julie about my fears. After a long crying jag and a cup of hot chocolate, I felt a little better. I should never have brought up my suspicions to him. Not yet at least. That had been a terrible mistake.

Better to find out sooner than later he cared more about his religion and career than the likes of me. He had ambition, and he didn’t need someone who saw colors or nasty spirits around people. He couldn’t accept me as I am.

Just as well I wanted him as a friend and not as a boyfriend. Although I had given myself permission to care about someone else, it still felt strange. Randy was dead; he wasn’t going to call and announce that he was on his way home from Afghanistan, but Russ’s affections left me confused between excitement, fear, and betrayal of the man I had chosen to spend my life with. I never thought there would be anyone else but him. His love was hard to casually lay aside.

After tonight, Russ might fade back into my past again. I doubted he wanted to talk to me ever again. We used to be good friends, in a strange way. I never expected to feel any chemistry with him, and sure never imagined he would be interested in me. What did church attendance have to do with living a good, honest life?

I wanted to be plain old mad at him, but I couldn’t. I didn’t think he had any business telling me how to run my life, but I had to admit to myself that he was right in one thing. I had lost my faith. He didn’t know what had happened to me, and I wasn’t sure I cared to tell him. It’s hard to confide in someone that your father thought you were so awful that he kicked you out of the house at age eight and said he never even wanted to read your obituary. How could someone do that to a child, especially his own?

Sometimes I wished that my mother had had a moment of indiscretion and conceived me with another man. What a terrible thing to think, but Pa was so awful I couldn’t imagine he was really my dad. I didn’t want him to really be, either, but that didn’t change the truth.

My thoughts went back to Russ, and I grabbed a big handful of the pillow in my fists and squeezed. No, I didn’t want to hurt him; I wanted to bawl and pitch a fit, but the apartment was too small for me to throw a big old fit with Julie there. The YMCA was closed, so I couldn’t go blow off steam at the gym, and going out late for a walk was not a good idea here.

What to do? No way could I go to bed right now; I was too upset. I was even too mad to take a bath, and no way would I be able to concentrate on a novel. After pacing around the living room for a while, I decided to transfer the audio files from my recorder to the computer. That took minimal concentration, but it wasn’t too passive either. And come to think of it, I had never listened to the recording with Amber. How had that come across in audio? Did that demon talk out loud? Maybe there was some evidence on the recording. Maybe I would have some proof of the demonic influence that could be tracked to the Tippins.

Jeb Tippin? Why was that name so familiar?

Hoping for something useful, I played the file through my headphones. Amber really did come across diffidently when talking about the book and ministry. Not quite like someone on drugs, but entranced, responding on auto-pilot. I held my breath as the recording came to the part where I asked Amber where she was taking her Freedom Journey. Right after she started to name the lake, which was when the demon took over and looked at me with those creepy eyes, static. Only when the demon left did the sound come back.

I never swore, but I came closer to it than I ever had at that moment. How would I get proof? Who would believe me? How could I stop the demons from attacking, and what was really going on, anyway? I hadn’t even told Russ very much, yet he turned on me. Should I say something to Julie? If so, how should I put it so she didn’t feel I was judging her? What a mess.

Julie stood in front of me wearing a blue chenille robe and a white towel like a turban on her head. She held a toothbrush with toothpaste on it, looking concerned.

I took off the headphones.

“You okay, Kass?”

“The audio from one of my interviews is messed up. That’s all. Not that big a deal. I have the notes.” I thought I smelled vomit on her breath. “Are you all right?”

“I think maybe I’m coming down with something. I’m so nauseous tonight.”

“I know you’re a generous person, but please don’t share.” Whitish bloblet followed her. Great.

Julie went off to bed, and I decided to visit the forum. I wanted to look at what LadyLinChgo and CameronD had written in hopes of figuring out if they were Amber and Lindsey. Nobody used pictures, so I couldn’t match photo to face. They all had avatars like a teddy bear or a sunset or a horse. Another clever move. And nobody used their real name. Members were encouraged to choose a nickname or a combination of first name and age or a hobby. They were urged not to share personal details about their jobs or families. Naturally, some people would do it despite the admonition, but this would make it more difficult to verify identity.

CameronD listed her age as twenty-four. One of her posts mentioned that she worked in a big department store. That very well could be Amber. She talked about being shy by nature somewhere else. That was helpful because that is how she came across to me. She came from a small town in Northern Illinois near a lake. Her family had a golden retriever while she was growing up, but she couldn’t have a dog now because she was renting and lived in the city. She missed taking the dog to the lake and playing fetch. She did not have many boyfriends. A couple of minor break-ups, then the big one hurt most because she thought she had found the one.

LadyLinChgo described herself as a socialite bookworm. People always told her she was pretty, but she spent more time studying than going out with boys. She enjoyed seeing movies and visiting with friends, so she wasn’t a total recluse. She didn’t care for parties, the beer drinking college scene, or the bar scene, but she loved people. Her husband started out great, but he got jealous when he saw anyone else looking at or complimenting her. He never hit her, but his company hired a supermodel clone, whom he left her to marry.

I wished him a hundred years of misery. That wasn’t a very good attitude to take, I suppose, but how awful. I figured the new marriage would not last long. When a guy discards one person for another or breaks up a marriage to be with another, statistically they are likely to have a wandering eye. Misery begets misery, with or without divine judgment.

At least with LadyLinChgo, I could ask the Bentleys a few things and figure out for sure whether it was her or not. I wouldn’t have that chance with anyone else, except maybe Olivia’s sister, if I could figure out her handle. She lived in Atlanta and was a biker, so that made it more likely I could find her, assuming she had joined. Olivia didn’t know that much about Shondra’s daily life, but those details might be enough for a start.

I looked at other profiles to find out what commonalities existed among women who took the Freedom Journey. The bubbly types who loved people and were well connected in their communities did not go. They may have done the Releasing Ritual, which was what Tippin would demonstrate live, but they did this at home alone or with a friend and found it helpful. Some of the bubbly ones joined the ministry community, and others did not.

The well-connected ones, whether they were bubbly or shy, came across as if they didn’t need the Ritual of All Rituals. They were doing well enough once they got over the grief and hurt that they didn’t feel a need to take the trip, according to their posts.

Now I had more information. Participation in the online community or in the ministry itself was not a predictor. I had some recycled computer paper filled with notes comparing journey-takers vs non-journeyers. I needed to figure out how I could predict who would do the ritual and who would not.

The best predictor I could find for the ultimate sojourn was aloneness or lack of belonging. None of the well-connected ones mentioned a desire to go. So there must be something in their psychological profile that makes the lonelier ones better candidates. Finally, I thought I might be onto something.

Next, I cross-referenced the journeyers with the media clips about unusual deaths of young single women found dead smiling. Twenty-two correlated, though I could not prove for a fact that those who died were involved with the Tippins. I knew those women died smiling, and not from good love. I typed up my notes in normal words instead of shorthand, so I could show them to someone. Who? I didn’t know the answer to that yet.

The scream of an alley cat rent the silence of the night, making me jump out of my skin. What was it with stray cats lately? But I had to thank him, because only then did I realize how late it was. Working so long on the computer made me feel stiff. I hadn’t noticed how long I had worked. Typical me. I stretched my cramped muscles and rolled my stiff neck. Time for bed.

But although exhausted from what had been another long day, my mind stayed active as ever. I couldn’t get those women who died smiling out of my mind. And now, Amber had taken her Freedom Journey. Was she now dead with a smile on her face like the others? Could I have somehow made a difference if I had not been afraid? Maybe if I had figured out what to do or say in time, I could have gotten that demon out of her.

What a coward I turned out to be.

I hadn’t allowed myself to go with the flow. Doubt overtook me, and I let it win. When I was little, doubt never mattered. I never truly knew what to do with Mrs. Cole or any of the others. I just trusted that God would guide me and somehow everything worked out right. Now, I felt like neither God nor any other guidance was there for me.

Back then, I could surrender. Not anymore. Pa beat the trust in God out of me nearly every day and kicked it out of me for good when I was eight. Years of grief clutched at my throat and silent tears soaked the pillow. It took a long time for the soundless sorrow to purge itself, at least for the moment, from my heart.

Finally, the last of the tears sat in the corners of my eyes, and my breathing slowed. A warm presence like an electric blanket enveloped me. For the first time in years, I did not feel alone. I had an ally. Randy’s spirit? If so, why just now, not sooner?

I turned my head to catch a glimpse of whatever it was. A shimmer of silver fluttered away like a butterfly on the breeze, and I was left alone again in my room.

Amber’s face came into my mind. This time her image was see-through instead of solid. Something new again. I could not ever recall a time when I saw a ghostly image in my mind like that. Maybe just my overactive imagination and the nagging worry about what had happened to her.

Most women my age only had to worry about finding a reasonable rent, holding down a job, and the usual relationship issues. Why was I so lucky? Thinking about all that made my brain hurt and left me wrung out from the emotional rollercoaster of today.

The alarm clock startled me, and I realized I had fallen asleep, if briefly. How much of that was a dream? Was Amber dead? Or was my imagination running away with me?