TJ once believed death was a last resort, something drastic that needed careful handling. He might hate someone and believe they were irredeemable, but God was infinitely bigger, and could turn any life around.
He’d been an ignorant coward. Thankfully, he met the Elders, and they helped open his eyes to the truth: God chose TJ. If believers are God’s hands and feet, then they must be willing to act in His stead. TJ has to be willing and able to carry out justice through death. If violence and death wasn’t sometimes necessary for God’s plans, then why would he have given us the Registration? That’s a logic TJ can work with.
The first step was joining the Sin-Fighting Warriors and proving their loyalty by Registering those false prophets intent on leading the country to evil. Then, the real work began.
TJ is honored to be a part of such an important change in this country. Every life he takes brings the whole country closer to the promised paradise the Elders are envisioning.
That’s what he’s thinking about, while drawing the knife along the man’s throat. The hot blood, spurting free and sliding over his hand, is a physical reminder of the good he’s doing.
He drops the man, now gurgling and choking on his own blood.
“Should’ve chosen the right side,” TJ says, looking down at what is now a corpse. Moments like this test TJ’s faith, because this man didn’t have to die. If he’d never sold himself to the Elysians, then he never would’ve been watching this house and wouldn’t have died when he discovered TJ.
Squatting, he wipes the knife on the guard’s shirt and watches the flow of blood slow now that the heart isn’t beating. He sighs, reminds himself of the Elders’ promises, and stands to properly clean his knife and hands. Then he calls Elder Finnegan Reese.
“What is it?” Reese asks when the call connects.
“One of their Regulators found me.”
The Elder groans.
“I’m sorry,” TJ says, though it wasn’t his fault.
“How did he find you?”
“He was monitoring Sawyer D’Angelo’s home and saw me arrive. I’ve already dispatched him.”
“Why were you at the rebel’s house?” Reese asks.
“I was going to leave another message, per Elder—”
“Stop! No names on an open line,” Reese interrupts. Then, in a mutter to himself, “Fuck, won’t he just give it a rest?” He sighs. “Alright, I’ll talk to him, but for now, get rid of the body so no one finds it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We’ll need to move the child.”
TJ knows Elder Reese is thinking out loud, but asks, “Why? No one saw me drop them off yesterday.”
“What do you think Carter’s team is going to think, when the guard assigned to the rebel goes missing? They’ll assume they were killed for seeing something they shouldn’t. Then they’ll focus their search on anywhere and anyone remotely connected to the rebels.”
TJ frowns. “But, the child isn’t with the rebels.”
“Use your head!” Reese says. Even from a distance, his disappointment and frustration make TJ flinch. “Who technically owns the house?”
And TJ understands. The house is listed under a rebel’s name. If Elysian’s people decide to search every property connected to a prominent rebel, then they’ll eventually find Catherine and Anna.
“Would you like me to go collect them?”
Reese shakes his head. “No, I’ll handle that. I need you to make the ransom demand.”
“Now?” TJ asks. The Elders had told him not to give the ransom until Monday afternoon, after the Elysian bitch had plenty of time to become desperate. Also, the Eldress was going to take advantage of that desperation to fully befriend Lynell, something she’s uniquely qualified to do as the only female Elder.
“Yes, now!” Reese shouts. “It’ll throw them off the rebel trail.”
Of course, TJ thinks. He’s always considered himself a smart man, but the Elders’ wisdom keeps him humble. “Yes, sir.”
“Make it fast, then lie low before they can trace the call,” Reese says.
TJ knows what to do. He’s gone over the plan dozens of times: Kidnap Anna and Catherine without being seen or killing anyone. Drop them off at the secure lake house where the Eldress was waiting. Set believable false trails for Davenport. Wait forty-eight hours, then use the encrypted phone to deliver the ransom. Destroy the phone and return to the lake house to help guard the child.
The D’Angelo detour screwed everything up. The fucking guard whose blood is now dripping off the back porch onto the grass below ruined the plan. Anger fills TJ, dulling any lingering pre-Elder inhibitions that’d make the imperative next steps difficult.
“Yes, sir,” TJ says, before hanging up the phone. Then he retrieves a tarp from his truck, wraps up the body, and stuffs it in the back seat. He scrubs Sawyer D’Angelo’s back porch until there’s no hint of blood and departs without leaving any notes, peonies, or photos. There’s no time for such theatrics.
He has a body to cut apart, and a ransom demand to make.