Burn (Story of CI #3) (28 page)

THE WIND PICKED UP AND IT FELT LIKE a giant blow dryer whistling across the stony dirt of the mission compound. It was morning, the morning after Cail had found Lalo sitting there with the pistol and held him tight in the laundry room.

Out in the courtyard, Cail closed her eyes against the gritty sand, trying to make herself go inside. The interior of the mission house was another kind of storm: everyone packing, trying to backup documents, getting ready to drive the Land Cruiser over to the airport.

Ashton the pilot was waiting there with the plane, ready to fly the Ancient Texts guys and their security out of the country.

Jonah was getting out of here and going back to tan, sleek-haired Jess.

Cail swallowed so hard she nearly gagged. She whirled around towards the door of the mission house, ducking inside out of the cutting wind and sand. The hallway was littered with dusty backpacks and light blue cases of water. Cail’s eyes slammed into Jonah's. He was kneeling on the tiles, leaning over a black laptop bag, stuffing sheaves of paper inside.

"Cail." Sweat dripped off Jonah's nose and ran across his lips. He swiped at it with the bottom of his untucked white Tommy polo. "Oh gosh. This is insane."

Cail's eyes wandered around the hall and she saw the three other guys who worked with Jonah. Caspian was helping the security guards haul boxes to the car, a bright red bandana tied around his curly hair. Dominick, the manuscript guy from South Africa, was standing tall at the head of the hallway, trying to get everyone’s attention

"Hey, guys.” Dominick cleared his throat. "I have something to say.” Everyone quieted down and sank to the cool tiles to rest and gulp lukewarm water. "Ashton says the plane can hold all seven of us, plus himself. Can't leave without the pilot." Dominick chuckled, leaning forward to gaze at all of them with intense chocolate brown eyes.

Cail lowered herself to the tiles a foot away from Jonah, who sat cross-legged, clutching the black laptop case on one knee, listening and sweating.

"What I want to say," Dominick pressed his lips together, "is that each of us weighs as much as two or three of those kids. They could all go with Ashton, instead of us. The plane already has permission to land in Italy, which is where we were gonna stop over for fuel. When the kids get there, surprise! Ashton forks over the asylum paperwork to the authorities."

Silence coated the hall. Cail sensed Jonah blink, hard.

"We could go on the next plane," Jonah finally got out.

Dominick nodded. "When Ancient Texts finds out what happened, they’ll send Ashton right back to pick us up. If Al-Qaeda gets in here, God only knows what they will do to those kids. I'm sorry, guys. I can't live with that."

Everyone started fidgeting. Jonah took a large drink of water, then set the bottle on the tiles with a visibly shaking hand. Cail found she wasn’t breathing.

She was thrilled at the idea of the kids getting out of here, even if it meant leaving Jonah behind. She would take care of Jonah until the plane came back.

"Ok," Jonah said at Cail's side. He wouldn't even look at her. "I agree. Let the kids go first."

One by one, the other guys also agreed. Dominick grinned at them all, looking relieved. “Alright, everyone. Let’s do this. We can leave out stuff right here until the plane gets back. Let’s get the kids and their things over to the airport and loaded up.”

Caspian tightened his red bandana and started towards the door. He looked pumped at the idea of getting the kids onto that plane. "If we're going to load the kids quickly,” he told Cail, “we'll need all the help we can get. I'll call over to the hospital and tell them the good news. We should head over there and start getting the kids packed up."

“I’ll be right over,” Cail promised as Caspian disappeared out the door. She untangled her legs and stood up, blinking back the sight of Jonah, white with fear at her side.

"Cail?" Jonah swallowed hard and looked up at her. He climbed to his feet slowly. "Can we talk a second?" he squeaked. She bit her lip and nodded. She was waiting, but Jonah just squeezed his eyes shut and stood there in front of her. "Not here. The laundry room?"

“Oh. Ok.” Cail walked at Jonah’s side towards the laundry room, where she had found Lalo last night. Her heart hurt. Jonah let the screen door slam behind them, and the two of them were alone in the shade. Warm water still puddled on the tiles. Cail was barefoot, because she’d taken off her flip-flops when she sat down in the hall and forgotten to slip them back on.

She was not going to let herself admit that it was because she forgot everything else when Jonah had said her name.

"What's going on?" Cail felt herself wince as soon as she said it. What a ridiculous question.

They were in Timbuktu, surrounded by Islamist fighters who delighted in chopping the heads off foreigners. Jonah Jones was a long way from Nebraska. He was standing here with Cail, the girl who had nearly hurt him so long ago, and for all he knew she was all that stood between him and Al-Qaeda if they broke into the city.

Jonah had just volunteered to stay here and let seventeen little Malian children leave in the airplane his corporation had sent to save
his
life.

Jonah had moved to stand in front of Cail, who had her back against the laundry room wall. He had took off the glasses that were sweating themselves right off his face anyway and stuffed them in the pocket of his black pants. Jonah was staring off into the courtyard through the open door of the laundry room, covering his mouth with one hand.

Cail couldn't take her eyes off him. "You did the right thing. All you guys," she said, trying not to make it sound too gruff. But better gruff than cheesy.

Jonah jerked his eyes back to her and she saw him swallow hard. "Cail, I just…" His lower lip was trembling and Cail pressed herself against the freezing concrete, tried to shrink even lower. But that just left her looking up into his blue eyes.

"I just wanted to tell you," Jonah said, "that I'm sorry about what happened. You became this really cool person…but I guess, I mean…you always were. You were the only one who got me." Jonah's face twisted into something fierce and painful. "I'm sorry that things out of our control ruined that for us."

“Me too,” Cail whispered.

Cail realized she had both her palms splayed against the wall at hip level, chill against the concrete. Jonah took one of her hands and pushed their joined palms against the wall, Cail's elbow bent. With his other hand he cupped her chin and kissed her.

Cail had dreamed about this since she was fourteen years old.

But the reality wasn't near as lovely as she had dreamed.

Jonah wasn't the same person he'd been when he and Cail grew up in church. And neither was she. She liked a lot of things about him, but they were so, so different.

Jonah was in love with Jess, and they were getting married.

He was only kissing Cail because he was sure he was about to die.

In slow motion, she laid a hand on Jonah's cheek and broke off the kiss. "Jonah." She gripped his chin tighter and made him look at her. They were so close she could see the sweat beaded on his nose, golden yellow specks in the blue of his eyes.

Jonah I have loved you forever, but if you start to cry, I will never forgive you.

"Thank you. For what you said," Cail managed. No tears, thank God, but every line of Jonah's face was painted with despair. Cail felt his Adam's apple graze her hand as he swallowed hard. She untangled her other hand from Jonah's and cupped the other side of his chin, willing him to listen to her, look her in the eye.

"You are not going to die,” she told him. “Do you hear me? You are going back to the United States, and you are going to have that big wedding at Jess's Daddy's country club. You and Jessica are going to get married, and you're gonna live happily ever after." Cail blanched, because her eyelids were stinging.

Oh God, no. I can't cry. Please.

She released Jonah's face and dropped her arms to her side. And then, just because it was possible that they might be about to die, she flung her arms around Jonah and pulled him into her for a hug.

"I'm going to keep you safe,” she told him. “I swear. You stay right by me. Nothing's gonna happen to you." She let him go and they both looked down at the pistol that rode in the holster at Cail's hip.

"This time I'm on your side," she told him, chin lifted fiercely towards the sky. "I promise."

Nebraska

Fourteen years ago

Two months before the trial

CAIL CURLED INTO A BALL ON TOP OF the pea green carpet, hugging the vinyl cover of her Bible against her chest, trying to make it all go away.

Every muscle in her body clenched. She hyperventilated.

Across the ghostly screen in her mind, she saw the scene play out for the millionth time, like some evil being had selected it on the playlist of her brain and pushed loop play and there was no way to turn it off. In the vision, Cail was so close she could see the whites of his eyes, the sweat beading down his forehead next to the thin barrel of the pistol. There was a hollow click that echoed as Jonah Jones whispered, "Please."

And then she pulled the trigger.

It was worse than any horror movie. Blood and brains splattered across the wall and doused Cail's arm in coppery crimson.

She curled up tighter into the carpet of her bedroom, so sick she could barely breathe.

She couldn't make it go away. Every fiber of her body told her that she was going to do this, she was going to take the pistol she was so good at using and she was going to put it to Jonah's temple and she was going to kill him.

She was going to do it, because the Spirit of God was inside her, telling her she had to do it. And she had to do it now, right now, because if she didn't God's wrath was going to be spilled out and how much worse would be the way Jonah would die if God himself killed him.

Cail squeezed her eyes shut against the tears that leaked down her cheeks. It actually felt like she might be about to black out from panic. She started to recite the list of Bible verses again, because even though she had gone through them over and over again tonight, the bloody image kept coming back.

This couldn't really be from God. The pressure inside her felt like so many other times God had insisted she obey and do something, but this just couldn't be. God wouldn't ask her to kill Jonah.

"For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts higher than your thoughts," said the voice in her head.

I have always obeyed you, Lord
, Cail sobbed into the carpet.
But this can't be from you.

She had to make it go away.

She had made it go away before, through prayer and resisting the devil. Today would be the same.

Cail staggered to her feet and brought the notebook that was hidden at the bottom of her desk drawer, then sat cross-legged on the carpet next to her Bible. She tried to calm her spirit before the Lord, but inside everything was on fire, burning up in a maelstrom of panic.

She repeated the verses, said the right words to resist the devil by the blood of Jesus Christ. She said them many times in a row, in case she hadn't said it right. Then Cail opened her notebook and started drawing, on a clean, fresh page, directly after the last drawing. The page was clean and white, very unlike her heart. She needed to draw, but it was so hard to concentrate when she felt like she was so dirty, so putrefied and full of sin.

Before she prayed about the violence she saw in her head, Cail was gonna have to pray and say the verses to purify her heart. That was the first step.

It took another hour before she could start drawing. Even though her whole hand quivered, Cail was very good at drawing. She sketched Jonah with one cheek plastered against the wall. When she had these horrible thoughts, the way it happened was a little different every time. Sometimes she would kill him at the Jones' house, sometimes behind the church.

It was always bloody.

She didn't have to use her imagination for the picture she was sketching in the notebook, because the hellish scene was still in front of her eyes, making her want to puke. She drew the raw fear in Jonah’s eyes and the blood, because the more of the evil she could capture, the more she could resist the devil by blotting it all out, in the name of Jesus.

Finally she was done drawing. Still shaking, Cail started to say the verses. She prayed over the red pen she would use to cancel it all out, getting the prayer just right by the tenth time. Then she carefully drew a big X over the sickening thing she had drawn, praying that God would cleanse her from the horrible thought and make all this go away.

But it didn't work.

Maybe she hadn’t made the X very well. The lines were looking a little bit crooked.

But Cail had already done this twenty-two times today.

She had drawn the picture and tried to make it go away by the word of God. What else was she supposed to do?

This wasn't working.

Right then she knew: this must be a very, very strong demon, trying to attack her and speak to her in a voice that sounded like God's. But why did the voice seem so much like the one she always heard, the one she knew as the Lord's?

Right now it didn't matter. The panic was making it too hard to think.

God needed her to be strong and courageous, to fight this in his power and strength. Crossing out a drawing in a notebook to cancel out the evil thoughts wasn't enough anymore.

If she could just cancel out the violent thought for real, not just on paper, she was sure it would go away.

Or at least it felt that way.

Head spinning, Cail changed into a corduroy navy blue skirt and a black sweater. There was a black beret on her dresser and she wadded her butt-length blond hair up in a bun and covered it with the hat. She pulled on tall black boots and entered the combination to her gun safe in the corner of her room. She saw her rifle case resting there but immediately rejected the idea. This demon had to be faced eye to eye.

Cail grabbed the M1911 pistol, loaded it, then packed it into a backpack. She snuck downstairs and out of the house, easy to do since the rest of her family was at church.

It made the panic grow even more to realize she was missing church tonight, but she’d had to stay home because of the headache. And the panic.

There must be a lot of praying going on right now, though, with everyone at Sunday night church. Cail felt a little bit relieved. All the prayers going up into the heavens would make things easier for her. Everyone knew that prayers made the demons weak.

She could almost see the glowing angels watching her from the side of the road, arms crossed and nodding with approval as she went off to battle the devil. Maybe tonight the battle would be won. She would be free to serve the Lord in peace.

Cail barely noticed a thing on the seven-block walk to the Jones' house. The smurf-blue two-story was mostly quiet. Of course the Joneses would also be at church. She knew Jonah wouldn't be, though. He'd told her himself when she asked him at the service this morning.

The poor boy was still living like a pagan.

Doubt pinched at her again. Could the urges to kill him be from the Lord? Because maybe this was all just Jonah's punishment for rejecting God?

No.

She was going to finish this.

She would not allow these evil thoughts to control her anymore.

Cail followed the amber glow of light to one of the den windows. She peeped over the sill and felt her heart melt. Jonah
had
stayed home from church and was sprawled on the couch, asleep under his mom's yellow afghan. Some stupid show was on with half-naked people singing on a stage with magenta and lilac lights. Jonah's lashes rested on his cheeks and his wire-rim glasses were on the coffee table. One of his hands had fallen open and was trailing to the floor. The remote control had tumbled onto the braided rug.

Once Cail got the victory over the devil in this, God was going to work to bring her and Jonah together. Something in her heart surged, as she realized that this was the key.

She loved him so much.

The panic attacked a thousand fold. Cail suddenly couldn't breathe. Because now she was here, at Jonah's house, looking at him a few feet away through the glass. And in her hand was the M1911. It was loaded.

She could kill him.

There was no way she would kill him!

She loved Jonah Jones.

This was just a test. She had to cancel the thoughts all out, and they would go away. The battle would be won.

Cail slipped silently through the grass to the oak front door, catching a glimpse of her dark reflection in the beveled glass panel. She turned the knob, knew exactly how to slide the door over the faded carpet so that it wouldn't squeak. She had spent so much time here.

She was inside. Cail hurried silently across the entryway and dining room towards the den, pretty sure the rest of the Joneses were at church but not wanting to make any noise just in case. She knew her face must be pale as the moonlight outside. Her black shirt clung to her spine, slick with sweat. Her heart slammed against her chest, demanding to get out.

This was the part where she killed him.

Cail fought a choking noise and glanced at her arm in horror, afraid she would see the dark red blood and Jonah's brains all over the wall.

No!

She would make it go away.

"Greater is he that is in me, than he that is in the world." She repeated it under her breath, many times, standing there in the dark entryway, around the corner from where Jonah napped on the couch. Then she went on to the next verse. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and clamped her fingers around the pistol and said the right prayer, so the demons would have to go away and the awful idea that she could kill Jonah would be erased from her mind.

Using God's word and the blood of Jesus she cleansed her mind from the whole thing.

Cail lost all track of time.

Until she heard the word, "Police!"

She really didn't want to stop. She wasn't done yet and the panic was still there. But there were people yelling and someone repeated
police.
She opened her eyes and nearly swooned, trying to understand the scene around her.

She was on the couch, the itchy orange and green plaid one in the Joneses' den. She was sitting on one knee, and the M1911, the one that killed Jonah in every nightmarish scene that played through her head, she was gripping that pistol with knuckles as white as clay, pressing it against Jonah's temple.

Jonah was on his back under the afghan, breath shallow, quivering under the steel against his temple, blue slits for eyes.

"Police!" the deep voice came a thousand times louder now, shaking the very timbers of the house. They were behind her in the entryway. "Drop your weapon!"

Cail dropped the pistol with a thunk to the braided rug and passed out on top of Jonah.