Careless Rapture (23 page)

That night Emmerick had persuaded followers
to tie up Clay and then Emmerick had beaten him with his fists and
his words. Clay had almost taken pleasure in the blows. His own
father had never touched him, but somehow the pain felt right, the
hurt a comfort. It made him own his feelings of worthlessness. At
that moment he understood his sister, why she chose the worst men,
why his love could never be enough for her. He’d lain there waiting
for death to come so that the pain would subside. Morning came
instead.

In the church, he leaned back and stared up
at the ceiling, feeling as insignificant as the building meant to
make parishioners feel. His life always came to this. To sitting
alone.

He briefly rested his forehead on the pew,
pressing against the hard wood, then he stood and turned. He
halted. Jackie sat three rows back, staring at him. The tenderness
in her gaze twisted his heart.

He wanted to touch her. To tell her he was
sorry about the other night. To ask for another chance. Instead, he
asked, “What are you doing here?”

“I followed you.”

He walked to her and trailed his finger along
the length of the pew. “You were at the station?”

“Yes.”

So you saw my defeat?
“I’m working on
a new plan.”

Jackie touched his hand. “I don’t care about
a new plan. I don’t care about Emmerick. I care about you.” She
held his hand in both of hers.

Clay tried to pull away, tried to resist the
pull to be near her.

She wouldn’t release it. “You’ll have to make
me let go.”

He sat, too tired for another battle. She
didn’t speak; he didn’t want to. Soon the silence seemed to
diminish the pain and his haunting thoughts melted away.

“What happened when you ran away?” she asked.
“What did you do? How did you survive?”

He sniffed. “Didn’t you hear? I was part of a
cult.”

She let his hand go. “There’s no harm in
trying to find a family when you don’t have one.”

Clay rested his forearms on the pew in front
of them. “I stayed with my sister for a while, then went to England
to see my mother.”

“How did you get the money?”

“Sold some things I shouldn’t have—not drugs,
so you can get that look off your face. There are other ways to
make quick money, which I did, and went. It didn’t work out, so I
roamed a bit. Then I met a man who asked me how old I was. I lied,
he gave me a job as a courier. I transported things to the islands.
One trip there, I helped a guy in a barroom brawl; he happened to
be a PI and said he could use me. I returned to the States, met up
with my sister again. At that time she was with Prince—Emmerick. He
was an impressive speaker. I was in awe at first. Until I saw what
he was. I lasted two months, then left. My sister didn’t beg me to
stay and I never saw her again.” He smiled without humor. “A free
and easy life of fun and travel.”

Jackie rested her head against his
shoulder.

The simple gesture made his throat close,
preventing words. He could only wonder,
Why, Mischief? Why are
you here with me?

A shaft of light spread down the aisle as
someone entered the church. He heard Jackie sigh and something in
him sighed with her. He took a deep breath.

“Come by Saturday and I’ll cook you
dinner.”

She sat up and stared at him. “What
time?”

“Say, eight-thirty?”

She winked. “I’ll be there.”

When Clay
entered Hodder Investigations the next day, Brent came up to him
with such enthusiasm, he knocked over a pad of files, spilled
coffee, and tripped over the desk.

“Calm down,” Clay said. “What’s wrong with
you?”

Brent grabbed paper towels and mopped up the
mess. “I saw you on the show.”

Clay shoved a hand in his pocket and nodded.
“Hmm.”

Brent threw the paper towels away, then
looked at him, his eyes filled with awe. “Were you really in a
cult? Or were you just in character, ‘cause, man, if you were in
character, that was awesome.”

Clay walked into his office. “I wasn’t
acting.”

Brent followed. “So you were really in a
cult?” He hit his forehead with the flat of his hand. “I can’t
believe it. Not someone like you. I thought cults were only for
gullible losers.”

Clay put his jacket on the back of the chair,
then sat. “An apt description.”

Brent shook his head. “Nah, not of you.” He
sat and leaned forward. “Watching that show was like watching a
movie where the apprentice meets his master after years have
passed. I mean, the way you watched him as he tried to goad you.
You didn’t even flinch, hard as steel. Nothing he said could get to
you.”

Odd how it hadn’t felt that way.

“Did you ever think about creating your own
cult? I’m not into the crazy sacrifice stuff myself, but wearing
hoods could be cool.” His eyes widened as a thought came to him.
“Not white hoods or anything like that. No way.” He snapped his
fingers. “Hey, they don’t have to be hoods at all. How about
robes?”

Mack looked up from his laptop. “How about
you shut up and find something to do?”

Clay turned on his computer. “No, it’s all
right. Let him talk.” He couldn’t hide his past now; he didn’t want
to. He found Brent’s interest intriguing. He could see how unripe
minds could be a kind of drug for a man in want of power. A willing
follower is a great intoxicant—that was how Emmerick had captured
him. He’d been like Brent. Less eager, but just as curious, just as
determined to prove himself.

Emmerick had been a good man to emulate. Clay
had learned his stillness, his patience from a master of his craft.
Emmerick was a keen observer of emotions, the neon signs to a
person’s inner workings. The key to their mind—and their mind was
the greatest thing for a leader to possess.

Clay had felt the power of that control as
his protégé. One word from him could send a grown man into tears,
make a woman kneel before him, or make a group tremble. Clay had
mistaken it for reverence; he’d later learned it was fear. At the
time the difference didn’t matter; no one would have called Clay a
brilliant man. His teachers had laughingly referred to him as
someone with unknown potential. They didn’t know what to do with
him. He wasn’t the cleverest person, but with control he didn’t
need to be. Emmerick’s community made him somebody, told him he was
good at something. Clay could make people listen and believe.

He could twist people’s thoughts, make them
do as he wanted. As a recruiter for the community, there was the
thrill of gathering more for the flock. He’d gotten satisfaction in
being the wolf among the sheep, lurking undetected on the regular
city sidewalks, watching people pass, ready to capture another
gullible mind. It had taken practice, but Clay had been a quick
learner. He’d learned to modulate his voice, his tone, his manner,
and to keep his gaze steady without intimidation. He was a big man
and had to learn to put people at ease with a smile and a glance
that said, “Trust me.”

“Umm, Clay?” Brent asked in an odd tone.

“Sorry?”

“I asked what was it like?”

“Not very exciting. At the time he owned a
property in upstate New York where we all lived. My sister and his
other three wives lived in the main house. The others lived in
trailers. There were about twenty of us. There were no books, no
TVs, or radios allowed. We refused to have our minds poisoned by
the outside. We just studied devotion to our leader and his
cause.”

“Did you have orgies?”

Clay sighed. “No.”

“No freaky stuff like child brides, drug
parties, or drinking?”

“No.”

Brent frowned, disappointed. “Then what did
you do all day?”

“Mostly worked on the message. Created
fliers, kept people in order. Those who began to question too often
were dealt with swiftly and mercilessly. It was for their own
good,” he said sarcastically.

Brent scratched his head. “Doesn’t sound like
much fun.”

“It wasn’t meant to be fun.”

“Then why did you fall for it?”

I wanted a family. I wanted to belong
somewhere
. “I wanted a purpose and the community gave me
one.”

“Why do you call it a community?”

“Sounds better than a cult, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, I guess. How did you escape? I heard
it’s almost impossible to escape a cult—uh, community?”

“Not impossible. The trouble is how a
community traps your mind, not your body. Like an elephant that
learns to stay.”

“What?”

“An elephant trainer teaches a baby elephant
not to escape by chaining the animal’s leg to a huge log so strong
that the infant soon gives up trying to escape. As the elephant
grows he becomes so used to captivity that even if the trainer ties
a stick to its leg, the elephant won’t try to escape. The trainer
has the elephant’s mind and the elephant has no idea of its
strength.”

“Wow.”

“It’s escaping the poison of your thoughts
that’s the true test. There were no chains or bars. We stayed
because we were supposed to. To leave was to be a traitor, to turn
against God. A betrayal like that lingers. You’re left with
nothing. No family and nothing to believe in. You’re an outcast in
every way.” He twirled his pen. “I like to say I left, but in truth
I was kicked out.”

Mack stared, amazed, as though seeing Clay
for the first time. “So you really tried to kill him?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He stopped twirling the pen a moment, then
continued. “He was a perverse man and I took exception to it.”

“How do you get kicked out of a cult?” Brent
asked. “What happens?”

“I can only speak of my experience. I was
ceremonially stripped naked and left in a field.”

“What did you do?”

“I went back to my old life working for a PI.
He was kind enough to give me another chance.” He skipped over how
he’d stolen some clothes off a clothesline, shoplifted a bag of
beef jerky from a market, and slept under newspapers trying to
avoid the police and combat the hunger and despair that followed
him.

“You know, you should think of writing a book
yourself,” Brent said.

“No, thanks, I’d rather not put my past into
print.”

Mack clasped his hands behind his head. “You
know you’re going to be a curiosity now. I bet people will come up
with cases just to meet you.”

His statement wasn’t far from the truth. But
instead of cases, overnight they had received various religious
material from people professing their beliefs and offering Clay
their faiths in hopes he would find peace.

Clay looked at the stacks of mail on his desk
and Mack’s. He looked at Brent, who was helping them get through
them. He frowned. “I’m beginning to think the show was a bad
idea.”

Mack slit open an envelope. “Not necessarily.
This is interesting. At least people are aware of Emmerick.”

“And me.” Some considered him a soul in
torment, others a lost man—all wanted to help him.

“Whoa,” Brent said, staring at a picture. He
handed it to Mack.

Mack gave a low whistle. “It’s not all bad.
Look at this.”

Clay took the picture. It was a photograph of
a woman kneeling. She wore only a cross around her neck.

“She wants to share the love of the Holy
Spirit with you.”

Clay lifted a brow and handed Mack the
picture.

He tucked the photo in his pocket. “I’m
keeping this.”

“The rabbi’s prayer was beautiful,” Brent
said. “Think I could take that? My grandmother would love it.”

“Go ahead,” Clay said. He looked at the
letters, prayers, and books. “I don’t understand this.”

“I do,” Brent said.

Mack rolled his eyes. Clay ignored him.
“Explain it to me.”

“If you think about it, this is what life is
all about, right? Being connected to each other and helping each
other out.”

Clay shrugged, amazed by Brent’s simplistic
view. A part of his cynical mind had to admit that it made sense.
“I’m just glad it was a small local show. I couldn’t take any more
attention.”

“You’re just used to being a loner.” Brent
tapped his leg with a letter opener. “I was thinking last
night.”

“Really?” Mack said.

“Yeah,” Brent said, unaware of his sarcasm.
“I thought about why Clay joined that cult and now I know. In a
group you matter, you’re somebody.” He opened another envelope.
“I’m not lying. If you created a community, I’d join it in a
heartbeat.”

Clay looked at him, alarmed at the thought.
“Don’t say things like that. It’s foolish.”

“It’s true, though. I trust you. I know you
wouldn’t create something that would harm people.”

Clay stared at him with growing unease, but
an idea had begun to form in his mind.

***

Mack shook his head after Clay told him his
idea. “Too risky.”

“It’s worth a try. You saw Brent. He’s eager
and he’s ready to prove himself. He wants to know what
investigating is and this is a perfect opportunity to use him.”

“Brent is eager, but he isn’t ready yet.”

“He doesn’t have to meet him. The contact
could be through e-mails initially. That way we can monitor what
he’s being exposed to.” Clay picked up his pen and twirled it.
“He’s the perfect bait to draw Emmerick out. To—”

“Brent would be meat. Think about who you’re
considering. He has the intelligence of a tadpole. If you want to
get to Emmerick by e-mail, why not do it yourself or have me do
it?”

“No, because eventually I want them to meet
and Brent has the mind of someone he’d be drawn to.”

“He’s not smart enough to use on an idea like
this.”

Clay tapped the pen against the desk. “He’s
loyal. You heard him. He would do anything for me. He’d do exactly
what I tell him.”

“If he remembers. There are too many
variables to take a risk of him getting involved with a guy like
Emmerick. Brent talks big but you and I know he has a lot to learn
and could be easily influenced by a man used to preying on people.
Emmerick’s good. I saw him with you. If you put Brent out there, it
would be a battle for control over his loyalty—his mind. Are you
certain you would win? Brent could be a casualty of your
revenge.”