The Soul Catcher (16 page)

Reston, Virginia

R.J.
Tully held down the button on the remote and watched the TV’s channels flip one after another after another. Nothing on the screen could distract him from the clock on the wall—the clock that now showed twenty minutes after midnight. Emma was late! Another night of breaking curfew. No more Mr. Nice Guy, no matter what her excuse. It was time for RoboDad. If only it were possible to access some mechanical part inside himself and let it take over without emotion getting in the way.

Nights like this made him miss Caroline the most. Probably a sign that parenthood had driven him completely over the edge. After all, shouldn’t a red-blooded guy miss his ex-wife’s sexy, long legs or even her to-die-for lasagne? There was a whole list of more likely things than missing her ability to sit next to him and reassure him that their daughter was just fine.

Caroline had always been so creative in their plans for punishing Emma, zooming in on the one thing she knew would bug the hell out of their daughter. Simple things like making her sort all the household socks for the entire month. Stuff he’d never dream of in a million years. Sorting socks was fine when Emma was eight or nine and caught riding her bike past the territorial limits they had set. But at fifteen, it was increasingly difficult to get her attention, let alone find meaningful ways of disciplining her.

He scraped a hand over his face, attempting to wipe away the sleep and the brewing anger. He was just tired. That’s why he was irritable. He left the TV on Fox News and traded the remote for the bag of corn chips he’d left on the secondhand coffee table. He had to sit up to make the exchange, and only now did he notice the remnants of his previous snack attack crumbling out from the folds of his Cleveland Indians T-shirt. Jeez! What a mess. But he made no effort to clean it up. Instead he sank back into the recliner. How much more pathetic could he get? Sitting here on a Saturday night, eating junk food and watching the late night news?

Most days he didn’t have time to feel sorry for himself. However, Caroline’s earlier phone call had set him on edge. No, actually, it had pissed him off. She wanted Emma for Thanksgiving, and was sending the airline tickets by FedEx on Monday.

“It’s all been worked out and scheduled,” she had told him. “Emma’s looking forward to it.”

All worked out and scheduled before she even checked with him. He had custody of Emma, something Caroline had willingly agreed to when she decided having a teenage daughter had become an inconvenience to her as a CEO and new dating-game member. She knew Tully could say no to a Thanksgiving trip, and she wouldn’t have a legal foot to stand on. So, of course, she had planned it beforehand with Emma, getting the girl excited, using her as a pawn. That way Tully had no choice but to agree to the trip. The woman headed an internationally successful advertising agency, why wouldn’t she be an expert at manipulation?

Putting his feelings aside, Tully knew Emma needed to spend time with her mother. There were things that only mothers and daughters should discuss, things Tully felt totally inept at, not to mention downright uncomfortable with. Caroline wasn’t the most responsible person in the world, but she did love Emma. Maybe Tully was simply feeling sorry for himself, because this would be the first Thanksgiving he would spend alone in more than twenty years.

A car door slammed. Tully sat up, grabbed the remote and turned down the TV’s volume. Another car door slammed, and this time he was certain it came from his driveway. Okay, he needed to put on his stern expression, his I’m-so-disappointed-in-you face. But what punishment had he decided on? Oh, crap! He hadn’t come up with anything. He slumped into the recliner again, pretending to be caught up in the news as he heard the front door unlock.

There were more than one set of footsteps in his entrance. He twisted around in the recliner and saw Alesha’s mother coming in behind Emma. Oh, jeez! What the hell happened this time?

He stood, brushing more crumbs from his T-shirt and jeans, running his fingers through his hair and quickly swiping his mouth. He probably looked like hell. Mrs. Edmund looked impeccable as usual.

“Mr. Tully, sorry to interrupt.”

“No, I appreciate you doing the chauffeuring tonight.” He watched Emma but couldn’t decide if her discomfort was embarrassment or worry. These days anything he said or did in front of her friends or her friends’ parents appeared to embarrass her.

“I just wanted to come in and let you know that it’s my fault Emma’s late
in
getting home tonight.”

Tully continued to watch Emma out of the corner of his eyes. The girl was an expert manipulator, just like her mother. Had she put Mrs. Edmund up to this? Finally, he crossed his arms over his chest and gave his full attention to the petite blonde, an older mirror image of her own daughter. If she had hoped to cover for Emma without providing an explanation, she was mistaken.

He waited. Mrs. Edmund fidgeted with her purse strap and pushed back an unruly strand of hair. Usually people didn’t act nervous unless they were guilty of something. Tully didn’t bother to fill the discomforting silence, despite seeing Emma squirm. He smiled at Mrs. Edmund and waited.

“They wanted to go to a rally at one of the monuments instead of going to a movie. I thought it would be okay. But afterward, traffic was just nuts. I hate driving in the District. I got lost a couple of times. It was just a mess.” She stopped and looked up at him as if checking to see if that was sufficient. She continued, “Then I couldn’t find them. We crossed wires as to the exact place I’d pick them up. Thank God, it didn’t rain. And all that traffic—”

Tully held up a hand to stop her. “I’m just grateful you’re all safe and sound. Thanks again, Mrs. Edmund.”

“Oh, please, you must start calling me Cynthia.”

He could see Emma roll her eyes.

“I’ll try to remember that. Thanks so much, Cynthia.” He escorted her out the front door, waiting on the steps until she made it safely into her car. Alesha waved at him and her mother joined in, the distraction almost causing the woman to back into his mailbox.

When he stepped back inside, Emma was in his spot, a leg over the recliner arm and channel surfing. He snagged the remote, shut the TV off and stood in front of her.

“You made Mrs. Edmund drive all the way into the District? What happened to going to a movie?”

“We met some kids during our field trip. They invited us to this rally. It sounded fun. Besides, we didn’t make Mrs. Edmund drive us. She said it was okay.”

“That’s almost an hour’s drive. And what kind of a rally was this? Were drugs and alcohol being passed around?”

“Dad, chill out. It was some religious revival thing. Lots of singing and clapping.”

“Why in the world would you and Alesha even want to go to something like that?”

She sat up and started taking off her shoes, as if suddenly dead tired and in need of getting to bed.

“Like I said, we met some cool kids on our field trip, and they told us we should come. It was sort of a yawner, though. We ended up walking around the monuments and talking to some kids we met.”

“Kids? Or boys?”

“Well, there were boys and girls.”

“Emma, walking around the monuments at that time of night could be dangerous.”

“There were like tons of other people, Dad. Busloads. They have tour groups. Real sight-seeing fanatics, rubbing their little pieces of paper on the wall and taking umpteen pictures with their cheap disposables.”

Tully did remember that there were several night tours of the monuments. She was probably right. They were probably just as safe as in the daylight. Besides, didn’t the monuments have twenty-four-hour security?

“You were really funny with Mrs. Edmund.” She smiled up at him.

“What do you mean?”

“I thought for a minute there you were gonna ground her.” She giggled and Tully couldn’t help but smile.

The two of them ended up laughing, eating the rest of the corn chips and staying up to watch the last half of Hitchcock’s
Rear Window
on
American Movie Classics.
Yes, his daughter was a chip off her mother’s block, already knowing what buttons to push. And Tully wondered, once again, if he’d ever get this parenting thing right.

J
ustin pretended to sleep. The converted Greyhound bus was finally quiet, the rumble of the engine and tires a welcome lullaby. Thank God! No more fucking “Kumbaya” songs. Getting through that wacky “praise the Lord” and “Yahweh rules” at the too-long prayer rally had been bad enough. But Justin knew his head would surely explode if he had to listen to that crap for the three-hour bus ride home.

He had reclined his bus seat just far enough back that he could keep a half-closed eye on Brandon and Alice. They were sitting together one row behind him and across the aisle. The interior of the Greyhound bus was dark except for the track lighting on the floor, like little-bitty runway lights. He could barely see Alice’s silhouette, her head turned to look out the window. She had kept that same pose since they left D.C. Even when the rest of the bus had been wailing at the top of their lungs, he could see Alice’s lips move only when she occasionally looked back. Otherwise she kept staring out the window. Maybe she couldn’t stand the sight of Brandon, either. Hey, he could hope, couldn’t he?

With the seat reclined, he could watch Brandon a little easier. Justin kept his eyes on Brandon’s hands. The guy better keep those fucking hands off Alice. Once in a while, in the light of oncoming cars, he caught a glimpse of his face. Contentment. Fucking contentment, like he didn’t have a worry in the world. It still pissed Justin off that Brandon had rammed his way into the bus, practically shoving him aside and plopping down in the seat next to Alice as if it were marked his. The bastard took anything and everything he wanted without ever thinking of asking.

Justin heard the whispered murmurs before he twisted around and noticed Father coming from his private compartment in the back of the bus. Rumors were that it included a bathroom and bed for Father to catch up on his rest. Now, as he walked slowly up the aisle, holding on to the backs of seats to keep his balance, Justin couldn’t help thinking the man looked pretty ordinary in the shadows of the dark bus. What? The guy walked on water, but he had to hang on for a short trek down a bus aisle?

Justin kept his head pressed to the back of his seat, shifting slightly, so no one would think he was fully awake. He even snorted a little under his breath, a sound he had heard himself make other times in a half-conscious state.

Through the slits of his eyes, he could see Father stop, standing right at Justin’s head. His dark features made it impossible for Justin to tell through half-shut eyes whether or not the man was looking down at him.

Then he heard him whisper, “Brandon, go sit with Darren up in front for a few minutes. I need to talk with Alice.”

Brandon got up and obeyed without a word. Justin wanted to smile. Good, the bastard won’t be bothering Alice for a while. Maybe Father had noticed Brandon’s obsession with Alice. After all, he preached about celibacy being necessary in order for all of them to fulfill their mission. It was bullshit, of course, but he had witnessed the punishment imposed for disobeying. A couple who had gotten caught the first week Justin came to the compound were still being ostracized by the others.

“Alice, I wanted to commend you,” Justin heard Father say, though his voice was hushed. “You did an excellent job recruiting young people to come to the rally.”

“Justin and Brandon helped.” Alice’s voice was a whisper, but Justin’s radar seemed to be picking it up. He loved that soft, tender, sweet voice of hers. It sounded like a bird’s song, the words melodic, no matter what she said.

“That’s just like you to give some of the credit away.”

“But it’s true. They did help.”

Father gave a laugh that Justin didn’t recognize. He tried to remember if he had ever heard the man laugh.

“Do you have any idea how special you are, my dear girl?”

Justin smiled, glad that someone else noticed that important fact. Except Alice didn’t seem happy—the look on her face was almost a grimace. Too much modesty? She certainly needed to learn how to take a compliment, especially—what the hell?

Now, he could see what had quieted Alice. In the faint light of oncoming traffic, Justin could just make out Father’s right hand on Alice’s thigh. Justin kept his head against the seat but opened his eyes for a better look. Yes, the bastard’s fingers were sliding in between Alice’s thighs, moving their way up to her crotch. Shit! What the hell?

He felt a cold sweat wash over him, and a panic hammered in his chest. He looked back up at Alice’s face and this time she noticed him watching. She gave just a slight shake of her head, a definite “no.” At first, he thought it was meant for Father, but the man seemed fixated on the route his hand was taking. So the “no” was for Justin.

Fuck! Everything on her pained face told him she didn’t want what was happening, and yet she was telling him not to interrupt?

Shit! He had to do something. He couldn’t see Father’s hand anymore. It was too dark again, the stream of traffic having passed. But from the movement of the man’s shoulder, Justin figured he must be digging into her. Maybe by now, he had his goddamn hand down the front of her pants.

Justin laid his head back. He had to do something. Fuck! He needed to think. Suddenly he decided. He jerked and twisted, flaying his body back and forth in the seat, faking a nightmare as best he could. Then he slammed his body forward and yelled, “Stop it! Don’t do it!”

It was enough to wake everyone, and several people hung over or around their seats to look. Justin shook his head and rubbed his eyes and face.

“Sorry, everybody. Bad dream, I guess. I’m okay.”

He glanced at Father. The man was staring at him, the anger easily visible in the dim light. As he stood, he scowled down at Justin, holding that pose as if wanting everyone to witness his disapproval. How could he justify being angry about a nightmare? Of course, no one else would know the real reason for his anger. But Justin didn’t care if anyone else knew. He was just glad the pervert had stopped. He simply shrugged at Father. Then he shifted in his seat away from that piercing and condemning stare, mumbling an apology to the zit-faced dittohead sitting next to him.

Finally, he heard Father turn, but Justin waited until he heard the click of the back compartment’s door before he looked over at Alice. Her face was turned to the window again, but, almost as if reading his mind, she glanced at him over her shoulder and again slowly shook her head, only this time she didn’t look pained. This time, she looked worried, and he knew he was probably in a whole lot of trouble with their leader, their so-called fucking soul caretaker. How could he take care of their souls when he couldn’t even keep his fucking hands to himself?