Michael pushed himself toward the edge. He wasn’t going to be a roadside kill like so many possums.
He heard ear-splitting thunder, and the first bullet entered just below his left shoulder blade. The initial sensation of a pinprick turned into fire in his chest as a lung deflated. Michael thought he saw the images of his mom and dad caught in the high beams and twisted a second time as another bullet sliced through him, entering centimeters from his spine just beneath his neck.
The momentum of the bullet propelled him forward. He lost all sense of control and, like a rag doll, keeled into the darkness below.
He rolled downward, his body thumping against exposed roots, his head whacking the base of a tree, and his mouth swallowing chunks of soil. He fell end over end into a clump of myrtle, dangled in the bush for a few seconds until the thin branches gave way, and landed gently in mud.
Michael wanted to cry out, but he had no strength, not even enough for tears. Opening his eyes was all he could bear. The world was silent, peaceful. Michael knew he was going to die alone.
He refused to go to his creator asking why this happened. A tiny voice buried deep in his memory whispered, “When the Lord is ready to call you home, open your arms and fly.” He recognized his Grandmother Celeste, who always said she had no fear of passing.
Michael figured he would see her first.
Right before he closed his eyes, Michael found joy in his agony. He discovered that everything he ever heard was correct: The passage to the other side did indeed begin with a bright light.
20
F IFTEEN MINUTES AFTER Jamie disappeared into Samantha’s bedroom, the torture continued elsewhere in the lake house. Ben held Arlene Winters still as Walt threaded a spliced electrical cord down the woman’s sinus cavity. She convulsed, over and over, but seemed not to care.
Ben felt ashamed. Was this how all Chancellors behaved? Was this what he was too young to see before crossing the fold?
Pieces of crap, he told himself. We’re nothing special at all.
“Size and disposition of Agatha’s allies,” Walt demanded of his prisoner. “Do they know our location? What is their next move?”
Arlene wet her blood-caked lips and smiled to show teeth.
“Time,” she whispered, her hoarse voice breaking the single word into two syllables. “Your … time … is coming. You ruined us.”
Walt balled a fist as he turned to Ben. “I’ve never understood their argument. Chancellors must evolve. This is for all of us.”
Ben lost patience for this business. The clock was ticking on his chance to show his little brother the flash drive that was Ben’s last meaningful gift, perhaps a way to defy the impossible.
“Walt, I have a proposal,” Ben said. “Since we’ve obviously been compromised, why don’t we just pack up and head into the woods? We won’t have to hold out but five hours. These people might be determined, but they don’t know the terrain.”
Walt smirked. “Of course we’ll leave. Soon.”
A cell phone sprang to life in the kitchen, its melodic ring at full volume echoing through the house. Ben and Walt froze as Grace shouted. She must have lunged for the phone, as it didn’t ring twice. Walt started for the door, but he didn’t make it all the way.
Grace was already talking into it as she entered the doorway.
“… no, no, no. Sheriff, I’m sure Alberta must have been mistaken. Hold on, Sheriff.” She looked up, her eyes darting in panic, her free hand palm-up to maintain silence. She held the phone tight against her chest.
“Sheriff Everson. He’s at the house. Calling to make sure we’re safe. Apparently, Alberta Weatherington said she saw us leaving right before the explosions. She thinks someone kidnapped us and set fire to the place.”
Walt seemed unconcerned.
“I’ll take it from here.” He grabbed the phone, shoved it to his chest, and faced Ben. “Work her over.” He pointed to Arlene. “I want answers before her heart gives out.”
Ben nodded but did nothing at first, listening to Walt as he stepped into the hallway and conned Sheriff Everson, his dramatic technique perfectly emulating a distraught family man whose house went up in flames. He turned to thanking God they weren’t inside and insisted they were at a hunting camp thirty miles outside Baton Rouge, Louisiana.
Ben heard no more, as Grace shut the bedroom door. The distractions piled up, and time wasted away. He knew what would come next: Walt would conclude they had drawn too much attention, and for everyone’s safety they should take enough supplies to carry them through the day in the deep woods. He would insist Jamie be bound and gagged for the journey and left that way until the re-sequencing concluded at 9:56. Ben searched for an alternative plan and felt the keys to the blue Dodge in his pants pocket next to the flash drive. Behind his back, tucked inside his belt, the gun that once belonged to Rand Paulus now called out.
“He knows.”
Arlene’s haggard voice shook Ben from his trance. The bloodied woman no longer seemed disoriented, as her eyes focused like lasers upon Ben. Her smile was satisfied.
“He knows everything,” she said.
Ben felt a lump in his throat. “Who? Walt?”
“I know about you and Ignatius …” She coughed blood. “What you did two years ago. Walt must know, too. He let it happen.”
Ben felt a chill. He wanted to believe she was desperate, throwing out whatever wild accusations might give her a final chance at life. He even understood. He used to enjoy visiting Denny’s and chatting with Arlene during slow hours. She carried herself with
