Careless Rapture (22 page)

“Who cares what I want?” she said. “You’ll do
what you damn well please anyway.”

He placed another cracker on top.

“Not all women want a man to fight their
battles for them,” she continued, “There are little battles that
women fight alone. Sometimes a woman just wants a man to be there,
be a strength she can draw from when her own begins to wane, be a
comfort when she feels unsafe with the thoughts in her mind. But
you wouldn’t understand that kind of battle because you fight yours
alone.”

“If you need—”

“No, I don’t need you. There. Don’t you feel
better? You’re free. She glanced at the stack of crackers and
frowned. “Are you building a tower or a large cracker
sandwich?”

He placed another cracker on top of the
stack.

She took the cracker off and ate it. “At
least the sex is good so we can still have an affair. I just had a
brief lapse in judgment.”

“I disagree,” he said, in a voice so low it
came out as a grumble. “I think you judged me very well.”

“I’m not judging you.”

“Unless I misunderstood you, I’m supposed to
read your mind. I’m supposed to know when you’re scared or
frightened or whatever, and act according to the invisible
guidebook of handling women’s woes, right?”

“Don’t—”

“I’m not finished.”

She bit her lip.

“Wouldn’t it have been easier if you’d told
me why you wanted me to stay? Do you think if you were scared that
I would walk away?”

“No, but--”

“That if you were worried I’d ignore
you?”

She shook her head.

“So you’re angry at me for something I wasn’t
even aware of.” He shook his head, disgusted. “Just like a woman
not to tell me the truth.”

“Just like a man to be totally blind to it,”
she countered.

“And what would that be? Being the dumb male
that I am, I can’t figure it out on my own.”

Jackie raised a brow.

Clay waved a dismissive hand. “Besides
love.”

“You can’t just brush that aside.” She
paused. “Wait, I’m wrong. Yes, you can.”

He twirled the knife between his fingers. “I
didn’t ask you to love me.”

“No, that was my misfortune.”

He set the knife down.

“I wanted you to stay because you wanted to,
not because I needed you to.”

He stood, restless. “Exactly. You wanted me
to be someone I’m not.”

“I wanted to give you an excuse to stay.”

He took a deep breath, trying to keep his
voice level. He would not lose his temper. “I don’t need an excuse.
When I want to I’ll stay.”

“No, you won’t. You wouldn’t dare risk being
that vulnerable.”

“I need to leave.” He walked to the door.

Jackie jumped to her feet. “Yes, run. Run
away from what you’re afraid of.”

Clay spun around, his temper ignited. “I’m
only afraid of one thing and that is—” He abruptly stopped. “I
think we’ve both had enough of this.”

Jackie sat back down and grabbed another
cracker. “You’re right. Bye.”

Clay stared at her. He hadn’t expected it to
end like this. He’d expected it to end clean, swift. This felt as
though some bodily organ had been ripped from him, leaving its
veins and ligaments dangling. A part of him whispered that he
should fight for this, another told him to let go. She didn’t give
him a chance to decide; she stood. “It’s been fun. Good night.” She
went to her bedroom and slammed the door.

Clay stared at the cracker crumbs on the
table and the cheese hardening on the knife blade, then grabbed his
jacket and left.

In her room, Jackie didn’t wait to hear the
front door close before she began pulling the sheets off the bed.
She didn’t want his scent on anything. She wanted to wash him out
of her life. She wanted to forget him. She pulled off the duvet,
the pillowcases, the sheets, tossing them on the floor with more
force than necessary. Once finished, she stared at the bare bed.
She’d stripped it clean, but she knew it was not enough. Nothing
would ever be enough to erase the memories. She fell on her bed,
face forward, determined not to cry.

Clay walked out into the still night and
headed to his car. It was over. He and Jackie were through. He was
fine with that. Everything eventually came to an end, he was old
enough to know that. However, it was the first time he’d ended a
relationship and felt as though he’d been dumped. Funny how she’d
wanted to know what he was afraid of. He shook his head at the
irony. His biggest fear was being kicked out. It amazed him how
often he was.

Clay stepped
into the Channel 23 TV station and walked through the plain
building as though heading to his past. He was about to face the
man he’d demonized and killed in his dreams. Once he reached the
studio, he saw the camera operators working on the equipment and
setting up the lighting. He spotted the makeup artist powdering the
host’s face, then glanced at the three chairs on the stage. His
eyes traveled to the far side of the studio. Then he saw him.

The years hadn’t altered him much. Emmerick
was still a slim man with skin the color of crushed coffee beans.
He had refined features that seemed to crowd in the middle of his
face. The Afro was gone, replaced by gray braids that hung down his
back. His brown eyes had become more watchful than arrogant—they
would have to be to keep him out of an asylum this long. The
problem with Emmerick was that he wasn’t crazy. That was what made
him dangerous.

Emmerick turned and saw him. Clay nearly
grinned at the shock of recognition that flew across the older
man’s face. He waited as Emmerick came toward him, stealing himself
against the anger that had begun to rise. Age had slowed his gait,
but not rid it of its strength, its purpose. Whatever that purpose
was.

Emmerick held out his hand. “It’s been a long
time.”

Clay ignored the friendly gesture and folded
his arms. “Yes.”

“A part of me is not surprised to see you
here.”

“We were destined to meet again, you’d say,”
Clay said in an ironic tone.

“Yes, destiny—”

“Save your breath, old man. Your tune hasn’t
changed and I’m not in the mood to listen to you sing.”

Emmerick nodded and backed away. Clay allowed
the makeup artist to powder the shine off his face, and nothing
else. Soon the host approached them with the requisite plastic
smile, her hair effectively pulled back to give her attractive
blond features a professional appearance. She explained how the
show would progress as they were fitted with microphones. Then they
were directed to their seats. Clay sat across from Emmerick,
ordering himself to be still. He knew the camera would exaggerate
any telling signs of unease and he would not allow Emmerick that
advantage.

“And five, four, three, two...”

“Hello, I’m Amy Brennan, thanks for joining
us at
Just Talk
. Today we are going to discuss the growing
trend of alternative religions in the District. Our two guests are
Lamont Emmerick of the Careless Rapture Ministry, the author of
Divinity for the Spirit
, and investigator Clay Jarrett, a
Christian.”

Clay sent her a look. He hadn’t mentioned any
religious affiliation. It was clear Amy had her own agenda in mind.
He had to be careful not to fall into it.

“Now, Mr. Emmerick, tell us about your
ministry.”

“My belief is an all-encompassing encounter
with the good of the universe. Living in harmony with the various
spirits that surround us.”

“And Mr. Jarrett, you disagree?”

“I don’t disagree with people’s beliefs
unless it causes harm to others. Emmerick encourages those who are
ill to forgo treatment.”

“But there are other faiths that don’t
believe in using traditional science to heal,” Amy said.

“He has gone one step further by encouraging
patrons to choose death.”

Emmerick smiled. “We are all going to die
eventually. My belief is that if the universe has touched you with
disease, you should surrender. It is in that state of giving when
your rapture will come.”

“So you think those that have cancer are
meant to die?” Amy asked, intrigued by his smile.

“Instead of seeing it as a curse, you should
see it as a blessing. An invitation to surrender to divine peace.
Science interferes with the natural order of things. Would they
have lived years ago?”

“We used to have a high birth-mortality
rate,” Clay said. “That has changed because our knowledge has
changed.”

“We also keep those people stuck to life
support as vegetables for our own benefit, not theirs. Where is
their sanctity, where is their peace?”

“Not all people end up as vegetables. Some
come out of comas.”

“And some don’t.”

Clay could feel his patience thinning. “It is
not your job to tell people what—”

“People do it every day,” Emmerick
interrupted smoothly. “Rabbis, priests, and yogis teach followers
how to live, how to seek the sanctuary of the spirit that we all
desire. It is our right to have that. I am a messenger like them:
Am I to be persecuted, as they would have been years ago, because
my beliefs are currently not popular?”

“Your message is self-serving. You target the
weak—those that are destitute, ill, alone.”

“Because they need the message more. No one
sees them. How many homeless people do you pass on the streets
without looking them in the eye? They are invisible to us. I’m sure
you understand that intimately.” He smiled with cruel
confidence.

Clay didn’t reply.

“But I see them. The universe sees them and
they are made part of a world that would throw them aside.” He
leaned forward, his eyes lit with a private knowledge. “The truth
is this is a personal vendetta. You already have a bias against
people like myself.”

“What you are doing is—”

“Perfectly legal. Not all people believe in
my practice.” He paused like a seasoned speaker. “Your sister did,
however.” He turned to Amy. “She had been a follower of mine and
she died. Tragically. But her death is not a tragedy. It was a
release from a life filled with suffering. She was ultimately
rewarded for her loyalty and obedience.”

“To you or to your universe?” Clay quietly
asked.

His gaze pierced the distance between them.
“You should know the answer to that. You used to be a believer
once.”

Amy jumped in. “Is that true, Mr.
Jarrett?”

Clay didn’t reply right away, almost feeling
the camera coming in for a close-up. “Yes.”

Emmerick nodded, pleased with the
acknowledgement. “You came to me with nothing. A lost teenage
runaway lacking education, little hope of a successful future, with
your own traditional beliefs in shambles. I taught you how to
survive, didn’t I?”

“Yes.” Clay couldn’t say much else without
betraying himself, without admitting that Emmerick was prodding a
wound he’d thought he’d healed. He knew how Emmerick worked, that
he would prod that wound until fresh blood seeped through.

“Everyone had turned you away, but I didn’t.
I gave you something to hope for.” He turned to Amy. “He was one of
my best recruiters. One of the most powerful speakers around.” He
looked at Clay. “I was proud. You were the son I never had.”

“You weren’t my father.”

Emmerick clasped his hands in his lap,
unperturbed by the venom in Clay’s tone. “I was a father figure.
Like Rennie was a mother figure to you. I gave you guidance. Just
because you turned against the faith doesn’t mean you need to start
a crusade to destroy it.”

Amy piped up, seeing a perfect angle. “So, as
a former member of the Careless Rapture Ministry, were you involved
in any, as you would say, harmful activity that causes you to be
here today?”

“The ministry had a different name then,”
Clay said. “The name is as changeable as the beliefs.”

Emmerick shook his head as though
disappointed. “Your bitterness hurts me. I would suggest you try my
book to ease you of your anger. You were always one for anger.” He
pulled down his collar to reveal a thin scar. “Do you remember when
you gave me this? You’d wanted to kill me because of your sister’s
passing. I had to talk you down from your rage. I saved your life
as you did mine and that brings me to my book. The lessons the
universe teaches us.”

It went steadily downhill from there.
Emmerick combated Clay’s every statement with some damaging
information from the past. He was better than Clay had
remembered—too subtle to seem threatening, with a calm, patient
manner that didn’t allow Clay to argue with him without Clay
looking aggressive. So Clay retreated by using vague terms and
neutral statements. Soon the program was over. They ceremonially
shook hands, both knowing Emmerick had come out the victor.
Defeated, Clay left the studio.

A half hour later, he sat in the silence of
the Church of Holy Spirit. The silence allowed his thoughts to
punish him. The majestic vaulted ceiling hung overhead while a
European stained-glass altar with gilded images of saints and kings
faced him. He watched an old woman kneel before the brass candles
and bow her head, and gripped his hands to keep from being consumed
by the memories of Melanie, Gabriella, and Rennie, who’d never get
the chance to be old. He’d failed them all and now Jackie, too.
He’d lost her when he’d started to treasure what they had.

She was right. He had run. He’d run before he
destroyed what he held dear. Alone, he was safe. Everyone was safe.
He loosened his fists. There was no need for pity. His life was a
series of choices and he would not regret them all right now. He
had to think, to plan. The thin scar on Emmerick’s neck flashed in
his mind. He did try to kill him, and didn’t regret it. But
Emmerick had been wrong—his sister had been alive then. Clay had
tried to kill him when he’d come into his room one night and tried
to betray his trust in a way no father figure should. He saw his
evil then and wanted to destroy him.