Cat Patrick: Revived

“I think it’s the right move,” Megan says. “You’re taking control.”

“Love you, Megs,” I say.

“Love you more.”

When I finally go to bed, I imagine Matt’s car being driven off the road and have to shake my head to fight off the thought. I toss and turn for hours, thinking of one gruesome scenario after another. I lie on my left side and the thoughts are there. I switch to my right—no escape.

Finally, I force myself to remember that Matt isn’t Nora: He won’t tell.

Then again, I think as I flip to my stomach, it seems that God paid me a visit, so maybe he’s watching me. And if he’s watching, then maybe he already knows, anyway.

In the morning, anxiety slams into me. Then I think of Audrey singing to Matt and me at the breakfast table and I smile. I climb out of bed, shower, and go to find Mason before school.

Unfortunately, he and Cassie are on their way out.

“We need supplies,” he says. “We’re headed to the store. Want to come?”

“Not really,” I admit.

“I’ll let you drive,” he offers.

“Sold.”

Cassie sits in the back and I buckle into the driver’s seat. I’ve only had two lessons, but I have my learner’s permit now, so I sort of know what I’m doing. Even so, easing the tank out of the driveway is no easy task: I run over a patch of yard in the process.

I do better on the main roads, and somehow I manage to get us to the supermarket in one piece. Mason and Cassie put on parent faces as we walk inside, and I bounce along after them, giddy from driving.

The store is unusually busy and the lines are so long that I start to worry that I’ll be late for school. We split up to shop and manage to do it pretty quickly. Then, even though we’re pressed for time and it would be faster if Mason drove back to the house, I don’t pass up the opportunity to pilot the return trip, too.

More confident this time, I have no trouble at all, not even with the sharp turn onto our street. But just when I blinker to pull into the driveway, Mason’s hand flies to my knee.

“Stop,” he commands.

“What?” I say, slamming on the brakes. I look at the street in front of me and behind. I’m afraid I’ve run over something or someone.

“Shh,” he hisses.

Confused, I look at Mason’s face. And that’s when I want to scream.

Mason is a different person, one I’ve never seen before. Every muscle in his body is tense. His eyes are narrow, piercing. His jaw is clenched. And even though I didn’t see him grab it—didn’t know he had it on him—he’s holding his gun.

“Back down the street,” Mason says. Suddenly, I can’t remember how to put the car in reverse. I fumble with a few things before Cassie pops up from the backseat and pulls the gearshift down to R. Slowly, I manage to creep backward a few dozen feet away from the house.

“I’ll go,” Cassie says to Mason. “You stay with her.”

“No, I’ll do it,” Mason says. “Drive away. Check in ten.”

Cassie nods once.

In seconds, Mason is inside the house, I’m ducked down in the back, and Cassie is driving a little too fast for residential streets. Only when I peek out the window at the house as we’re speeding away do I realize what freaked Mason out in the first place.

The front door is wide open.

“Are we moving here?”

“No, it’s just a safe house,” Mason says.

I’m standing in a dirty living room in Hayes, Texas, frowning at my surroundings in disbelief. I feel like I was teleported here when, really, it took thirteen hours by car. And still, I know nothing. Mason and Cassie were engrossed in their too-quiet conversation or calls from other Disciples the whole way. And with no one to talk to, the weight of too many nights with too little sleep got to me. The only scenery I saw was the backs of my closed eyelids.

“Why would God tell us to come here ?” I ask, feeling the need to cough because of the thick layer of dust in the house.

“He didn’t,” Mason admits. I spin around. Cassie glances up from her tiny computer, then looks down again.

“Mason, what are we doing here?” I ask, starting to get anxious.

“We’re retreating into the shadows,” Mason says. “We’re not sure what happened today—who broke in and why they did it—so we’re taking a step back for a while. We’re going to watch and wait.”

“But… didn’t that directive come from God?”

“No, it came from me,” Mason says, standing tall. “God is acting out of character lately. We don’t know who broke in. It could have been him.”

“WHAT?” I ask. “You think God broke in to our house?”

“It’s possible,” Mason says. “But it’s just as possible that someone completely unassociated with the program did it. That’s why we’re stepping back.”

“And watching,” I say.

“Yes.”

It reminds me of the approach God recommended for Nora. Even if Mason doesn’t, I know how well that worked out.

“So, how are we watching?” I ask.

“Several ways,” Mason says as he removes his computer from its case. “James and David are flying to Omaha as we speak to do a sweep for bugging devices and to conduct a more thorough check for missing items. As you know, I was in a bit of a rush.”

“Speaking of which, where’s my book bag?” I ask. “You got it, right?”

My notes on Case 22 are in my backpack, tucked inside my math textbook.

“I’m sorry, Daisy—I only packed your clothes and your computer. I didn’t get your schoolwork.”

I shake my head at him. “Will you ask someone to send it overnight?”

“You want a government agent to FedEx your backpack?” Mason asks, a smirk on his face.

“Yes,” I say flatly.

“Maybe,” he replies. “We’ll see if one of them can get it out.”

Instead of making a snide remark, I change the subject. “How long are we staying here?” I ask.

“A week,” Mason says. “Probably no more.”

“Probably?” I ask. “What about school? I’ll be held back for all I’ve missed between Audrey and this.” The mention of Audrey’s name slugs me in the side.

Mason pauses and eyes me in a way that makes me nervous. He shifts his shoulders so he’s fully facing me; his expression is somber but sympathetic. It’s the mask you’d wear while breaking the news about Santa’s existence to a hopeful child. I half expect him to crouch down to eye level.

“I wanted to talk to you about that,” he says quietly. And then, he deals me yet another of many blows today: “We’re thinking of homeschooling you for a while.”

Instantly on fire, I open my mouth to protest, but Mason’s phone rings again. He holds up his left index finger— just a minute— while he answers with his right hand. Deflated, I blow out my air and run both hands through my hair, pausing in the middle of the movement to consider ripping some out. I look at Cassie, who’s still typing away. Then I look at Mason, who, seemingly energized by his conversation, is talking loudly, offering opinions, and arguing with animated gestures that the person on the other end of the line can’t even see.

And me?

I stand here in the middle of a strange living room, wishing I could go back two months and start all over again in Omaha.

But would I be able to change anything at all?

When he feels me staring at him, Mason covers the phone with his hand and whispers to me.

“Go start getting settled,” he says. “It’s only temporary, but you can still arrange the bedroom how you like.”

He winks at me then, like this is some big joke. It only makes me more irate; there’s no one to listen to how I feel about homeschooling or safe houses or any of the rest. I storm out of the room. And as I walk down the hallway in search of a bedroom, the kind of pissed that slamming doors and screaming doesn’t even help, I realize that for the first time in my life, I feel like giving my dad the finger.