The Chosen (28 page)

“We're here,” he announced, then stepped inside, pulling her with him. “My dear disciples, look who's come! It's none other than Mary Magdalene. Now you understand why it was so important for you all to be with me. Now you can see why I need all of you, and Mother. I needed you all to be with me when she came.”

January entered with a hand over her nose and breathing through her mouth, but she still would have sworn she could taste the scent. At first she could see nothing but Jay's face. It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the lack of light, and when she finally saw what was there, she screamed, and then screamed again.

It echoed within the furnace and into the men's heads, setting off a cacophony of cries and wails that, to January, sounded as if they were coming from the pits of hell.

She swung at Jay with every ounce of her being and caught him unexpectedly on the chin. He went down like a felled ox. Her hand was on fire, but she didn't have time to think of herself as she moved from man to man, asking them their names and promising that help was on the way.

“You've got to run, lady,” Tom Gerlich said. “You've got to get away from here as fast as you can before he comes to. Get help. Get us all some help.”

January grabbed his hand without care for the filth on his skin and clothes, and then held it to her breast as she would have a child.

“It's okay,” she said, then choked on a sob. “Help is on the way…help is already on the way.”

“He's waking up!” another cried. “Run, lady. Run!”

January turned and looked just as Jay lifted a hand to his face and moaned. As she did, her gaze fell on the body that had been a man named Matthew, and rage swelled within her so fast that it took her breath away.

“You devil! You're not going to get away with this,” she screamed, and darted past him and out of the furnace.

Her legs felt weak, and she kept swallowing bile as she ran toward the light at the other end of the building. Sirens were screaming all over the place. She started to cry.

Ben. It was Ben.

And then something hit her from behind. With a cry of dismay, she went down.

F
our police cruisers slid to a halt at one end of the warehouse, as a half-dozen more appeared in the doorway at the opposite end. The surveillance van was right behind them and pulled into place only seconds later.

Ben and Rick jumped out of their car before it stopped rolling. They'd seen the blip that was January through twelve-plus miles of D.C. traffic. Ben had cursed and prayed and begged God in every way he knew how that they would get there in time to save her from harm.

Uniformed officers were standing just outside the open doorways, waiting for orders, and on Ben's word, followed him inside, while a second group entered from the other end.

At first all they could see was a derelict building. Holes in the roof. Doors hanging on broken hinges and debris everywhere.

After they moved past a stack of wooden pallets, they saw a yellow cab parked a few yards down, near a group of doors that must once have led to offices. Suddenly they heard a series of three heart-stopping screams.

“Son of a bitch,” Ben said, and started to run toward the sound, scattering rats and pigeons in his wake.

Only moments later, a figure appeared out of nowhere, running in the other direction. It was January. He recognized the clothes she was wearing. His joy that she was still alive was short-lived when he saw a man giving chase.

Too far away to get a clean shot, he just kept running, hoping the second wave of cops could get to her before she got hurt.

 

Jay couldn't believe that she'd struck him again. Not after he'd sworn harm to the Mother if she didn't obey. By the time he came to himself enough to function, she was already out the door. His head was pounding as he scrambled to his feet. The pain added to his fury as he bolted after her.

He caught her in midstride, and they both went down, her body cushioning his fall. Within seconds, he had her on her back and his fingers were around her throat.

“You've ruined it!” he shrieked. “It's all your fault! You've ruined everything for me!”

January couldn't breathe. She was beating at his arms and clawing at his face, but she couldn't reach anything vital. His fingers were pressing harder and harder on her windpipe, until she knew she was done, and then, just when she thought it was over, he bucked, then froze. After that, everything seemed to happen in slow motion.

January was screaming and crying as she crawled out from under him, and he was holding both hands over his heart as blood spilled through his fingers.

“Damn you!” January cried, as she thought of those poor men. “God damn you to hell!”

“No,” he begged, as he staggered to his feet, then turned and looked at the man with the gun.

It was Ben.

“What have you done? What have you done?” he whispered. Then, as he began to topple, he cried softly, “God forgive me,” and went facedown onto the floor like a felled tree.

January's throat was on fire, and she was gulping in oxygen as fast as she could take it in. Never had air tasted so sweet. Ben hurried past the fallen man and grabbed her, holding her to him in silent desperation.

“I'm all right. I'm all right,” she said, as he tried to check her for wounds. “You have to call for ambulances. There are so many, and they're so hurt. So dreadfully hurt.” Then she started to cry.

“Who's hurt, honey?”

January pointed toward the other end of the building.

“Mother Mary Theresa is in the first room on the right. She's burning up with a fever. You've got to get her to a hospital.”

Ben sent two officers in that direction, as January led him toward the furnace.

“The rest are in there. I don't know what it will take to set them free.”

“Who, honey? Who are you talking about?”

“The missing men…they're in there. One's dead, the others aren't far behind, and oh, Ben…their bodies…their faces.”

He ran toward the doorway, then inside. He wasn't in there more than five seconds before he came staggering out.

“Rick! Radio for ambulances. At least a dozen. And get some firemen in here. We need cutting torches and bolt cutters, ASAP.”

Rick could tell by the look on his partner's face that now was not the time to ask questions. He began relaying messages, while more uniformed officers moved into the furnace.

One came out and threw up. A couple of others staggered out wiping away tears, only to run back in with first-aid kits and blankets from the trunks of their cars.

As the rescue began, Ben noticed the barred door across the way.

“Have you been in there?” he asked.

January shook her head.

“Wait here,” he said.

“No,” January argued. “I'm seeing this through to the end.”

He lifted the bar on the door, then walked inside. January was right behind him.

“Sweet Jesus,” Ben muttered, and then ran out of the room to get some water and blankets.

January moved closer.

Jude was lying with her face to the door and her eyes closed. She'd heard the chaos outside. Even recognized the gunshots, and assumed that this was going to finally be the end. She was ready to welcome death as she had never welcomed a new day, and was waiting for it all to be over. She'd heard the bar come off her door, then the footsteps, and braced herself for the worst.

“Just get it over with,” she said, and wished her voice hadn't cracked. She would have liked to be tough all the way to the end.

Instead, there was a gentle hand on her face, and then on her arm.

“Are you Judith?”

Jude's heart stopped, then started again with a chaotic thump. It took a few breaths before she dared open her eyes and look. When she did, she saw a woman bending over her.

“What did you say?” Jude asked.

January touched Jude's face again, wiping the dried blood from a cut on her forehead while skirting the bruises.

“I said…are you Judith?”

It was the first time in more than eighteen years that Jude had heard her true name from someone else's lips. She nodded.

“The police are here. You're going to be okay.”

Jude took a deep breath, but it turned into a sob. Horrified that she was crying like a baby, she tried to stay tough, but the harder she tried, the harder she cried.

Ben ran back into the room with a blanket and a bottle of water.

“Is she all right?” he asked.

January had already seen the blood on the woman's clothes.

“I don't know,” she said, and then covered Jude's body with the blanket.

“I'm all right,” Jude blubbered. “All I need is a hot cup of coffee, a three-hour bath and a box of tampons, and I'll be good to go.” Then she looked up at Ben. “Are you really a cop?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Jude nodded as the sound of sirens could be heard.

“I need to go,” Ben said. “I'll be back.”

“We're fine,” January said.

When they were alone, Jude looked away, as if ashamed of what she was about to say.

“I thought I was going to die,” she stated, and then tears came anew.

January put her arms around Jude's neck and gave her a brief hug.

“I know, I know. So did I.”

“How did you know I was here?” Jude asked.

“Your friend Mitzi, from the Club Lesbo, reported you as a missing person.”

Jude struggled to maintain her emotions.

“I didn't think I had any friends,” she finally said.

“Well, you have one, and a very good one,” January said. “She wouldn't quit until someone listened.”

Jude looked up then, staring straight into January's face. She saw the cuts, the blood and the fresh bruising.

“He do that to you?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“How come?” Jude said.

“I don't know what you did, but I thoroughly pissed him off,” January said.

Jude laughed. It wasn't a big sound, and it didn't last long, but that she could still find joy in something surprised them both.

Jude quickly stifled her smile and looked away. It was a brief acknowledgment of a shared fear, although nothing more was said.

January's wounds were fresh. Jude's were not, and yet they'd both suffered in a similar fashion. The bond was not one they would forget.

“You're that television reporter, aren't you?” Jude asked.

“Yes.”

“Is he dead?” Jude asked.

“Yes.”

Jude shuddered.

“What was wrong with him? What the hell was he trying to prove?” she asked.

January grimaced at Jude's choice of words. “That's just it,” she said. “It was hell that started him down this path, and if I had to venture a guess, I'd say it led him straight back there in the end.”

Then she heard Ben calling her name.

“I've got to go,” she said. “But I won't be far. Just outside the door. Okay?”

Jude pulled the blanket up beneath her chin, then shrugged.

“Just don't let them forget I'm in here.”

“Not a chance,” January said, and hurried outside.

Ben was standing over Carpenter's body. He'd turned it over and was staring down into the dead man's face.

“What?” January asked.

“What do you make of that?” Ben asked, as he pointed to the expression on the street preacher's face.

January looked, then shivered.

Carpenter's eyes were wide-open, as was his mouth. His face looked as if it had frozen in the middle of a scream. But what was strange was the texture of his skin. It had what she could only describe as a sunburned appearance, which hadn't been there before. When she squatted down for a closer look, she could see what appeared to be tiny blisters beneath the surface.

She gasped, then stood up and stepped backward, putting as much distance between herself and the body as she could.

Ben slid an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. “Did you see that?” he asked.

She nodded.

“What happened to his face?” Ben asked. “Was he like that before or—”

“No.”

“I've never seen lividity appear so quickly, but he went facedown when he died,” Ben said, then squinted as he looked up and around. “The light's not so good in here. Maybe you just didn't notice before.”

“I was as close to his face as a person could be,” she argued. “It didn't look like that earlier.”

Ben shook his head. “That doesn't make sense.”

“It does to me,” January said.

Ben frowned. “I thought you said—”

“I said it didn't look like that earlier. I didn't say I didn't understand.”

“Then what?” Ben asked.

“Remember him claiming that he'd already been to hell?”

“Yeah? So?”

“So his face has been burned. It looks to me as if he just made a return trip.”

“Christ Almighty,” Ben whispered. “Do you know what you're saying?”

“Yes. And you tell me what else besides the fires of hell would have burned and blistered a dead man's skin.”

Ben stared down at the man for a few more seconds, then suddenly took January in his arms and pulled her close.

“After what he did to you, and to the rest of these people…”

“Let it go,” January said. “It's over. Now can we please go to the hospital? I need to make sure that Mother Mary is going to be all right.”

 

By nightfall the story was on every television station in the nation. Psychiatrists and medical doctors debated the whys and wherefores of tumor growth that might have caused a man to enact such a fantasy. Religious scholars, pastors and priests all had an opinion as to why a man might believe it was possible to earn his way into heaven so literally. Psychics were claiming that his name and initials were clues to what had happened. Jay Carpenter. J. C. Jesus Christ. And then the name “Carpenter,” the same trade that Jesus had been trained in.

But January knew that trying to figure out why this man had chosen to sacrifice others to reach his own goals was a moot point. No one was ever going to understand why he'd done it. Jay Carpenter had probably never understood it himself, and now it was over. Wherever his immortal soul had landed, it wasn't coming back.

Bart Scofield's murderer had been brought to justice.

The man responsible for the kidnappings was dead.

The focus was, as it should be, on the survivors.

 

The appearance of the kidnapped men caused a sensation at the hospital. Removing the filth from their bodies was the first step in treating their wounds, and every staffer who could be spared showed up in E.R.