Brenda Novak - White Heat

Bart waved her away and led Ethan toward the stairs. He didn’t want her or anyone else to see the Holy One in such a state. Despite his open acceptance of drug use, he had an image to uphold. He could not appear to be letting it get the best of him. “It’s fine. Go back to your dishes.”

“Maybe you should invite her in.” Ethan was still talking about Mrs. Sinclair. “Maybe if we give her an audience, we can convince her Courtney was never here.”

“No.” Bart wasn’t willing to even consider it.

Ethan’s voice dropped to a whisper. “We could take her to the pit, teach her to mind her own business.”

The pit was used for their most sacred, and secret, rituals. There was one key to the heavy metal door; Ethan held it. Only the Brethren, their wives and select Covenant members knew what went on there, and they’d all taken an oath not to divulge the smallest detail. It was part of the Covenant of Brotherly Love. So far, they’d been able to maintain absolute secrecy. Each person knew what would happen if he or she talked. But a greater deterrent than the threat of harm was the fact that they were all involved. Telling would incriminate the whistle-blower as much as the rest.

“That would just make the problem bigger,” he said, and helped Ethan up the stairs.

“She won’t leave us alone. She’ll keep coming.”

“No, she won’t.” Hoping to distract him, Bart changed the subject. “I’m afraid this isn’t any happier news, but I received notice from the investigator we hired a few weeks ago that Martha’s suing the church.”

Ethan stumbled again. “What? Where’s she getting the money to do that?”

Bart stabilized him until he could recover his balance. “Who knows? Donations, maybe. Or she’s made friends with some sympathetic and overzealous lawyer. She’s got the whole outside world feeling sorry for her.”

At last they reached the landing. “You told me you were going to bring her back!”

“I am.”

“When?”

“As soon as I can.”

Ethan seemed to lose direction until Bart gently guided him toward his room. “What does she hope to gain?”

“The return of her property.”

They hesitated outside the door to the suite where they each had a room. “She deserves to lose the small amount she gave up when she joined us,” Ethan said. “She’s the one who broke her covenants. She’s the one who disobeyed. That whore’s possessed by demons.”

“When we get her back, you can cast them out.” The idea of an exorcism excited Bart. He loved watching Ethan in action. It was a sight to behold. And, as the only woman who’d ever defied them and lived to tell about it, Martha was the perfect candidate for this painful and degrading process. It galled Bart to think she was in the outside world, walking around, saying anything she wanted, after the effort they’d exerted to keep their actions, thoughts and practices to themselves. Eighty percent of the compound didn’t know as much as she did. Besides taking the Covenant, she’d participated in some of the rituals in the pit.

Bart lowered his voice to a whisper. “You should know that several of the Brethren disagree with bringing her back here.”

“Who cares? I’m the only one who matters.”

Bart swung the door wide. Fortunately, the women were dressed and leaving. He waited until they were gone to continue. “You and I know that. But they might make trouble. And we can’t risk a division. Internal strife leads to self-destruction.”

“What do they expect me to do?”

“Nothing.” Bart pushed Ethan down onto the bed. “They prefer to let the scandal die.”

“The only way it will die is if she dies with it. What we’ve built is too good to allow Satan to destroy it. We’ll use the minds and hands God gave us to protect His work.”

“Of course you’re right, Holy One. I’ll see that it happens.”

Ethan had been whispering, too, but in his current state his whisper was loud enough that anyone within ten feet could hear. Sister Maxine was around. As a frequent visitor to the pit, she was almost as trustworthy as Bart, but this wasn’t something Bart wanted anyone to hear. Not yet.

Searching for the dope that was all too tempting for Ethan, he went through the dresser. When he found it, he shoved it in his pocket.

“What are you doing?” Ethan cried. “Why are you taking that?”

“So you can sober up. When your mind’s clear, we’ll call another meeting with the Brethren. They need to feel included. They’re getting upset thinking you’ve gone rogue.”

“I’m the Holy One. This is my church. I can do whatever I want.”

“We have to at least pretend to listen to their opinions. You’re the one who made them Guides, granted them a voice.”

“Half of them would’ve left if not for that.”

“And now we’ve got to consider their input, that’s all I’m saying. We’ll enlist their help and then we won’t have to worry about internal problems. About unity. We need unity more than ever.”

Ethan shook his head. “But we won’t be able to convince them to act. They’re too scared.”

“Now that she’s filed a suit, things will be different. This will rekindle their anger. They can’t afford to be dragged into court any more than we can.”

Ethan fumbled with the bedding as he tried to cover himself. “Martha will ruin us if we don’t do something.”

Maybe Ethan was thinking more clearly than Bart had assumed. It was amazing what he could do, even when he was high. “We’ll put a stop to her,” Bart said.

“Wait…” Ethan’s lucid moment gave way to confusion. “What will we tell everyone when she goes missing? The police will come here first.”

“We’ll say we haven’t seen her. They can’t do anything unless they can prove otherwise. The Lord will stand by us and so will our people.”

“Right. We don’t know what happened to her. Like Courtney,” he said.

“Like Courtney,” Bart repeated and hurried to the gate, where he told the hysterical Mrs. Sinclair that she had to leave or he’d call the cops and have her forcibly removed.

Willcox seemed like a big city compared to Portal, but it was infinitesimally small by L.A. standards and looked like the set of a John Wayne movie. According to some trivia Nate had mentioned, the building designated as city hall had once been a train depot for the Southern Pacific Railroad. Not far away, on Railroad Avenue, sat several Old West-style buildings with plank walkways and wood overhangs. In this cluster of buildings Rachel saw the Willcox Cowboy Hall of Fame—A Tribute to Rex Allen, the Singing Cowboy. She supposed he’d either been born in Willcox or he’d died here—maybe both.

“Interesting place,” she said as Nate slowed the truck to a crawl in accordance with the new speed limit.

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