59. Tess
TESS
My fingers tapped against the metal casing on my laptop. It was a cheap machine, one I’d gotten at a yard sale for fifty bucks.
The piece of shit got the job done. And today that was playing endless live streams of Rubin — better known as The Messenger.
It had been a few days since we’d stumbled on Jane outside the club. And I couldn’t shake the pit that had formed in my stomach. Something about the whole thing had put me off.
And from the looks of it, Blade, Nash, and Cyrus couldn’t let it go either. Everyone had been on edge.
Valemont was changing. And fast.
I couldn’t help but feel like Rubin had something to do with it.
As soon as we’d gotten home from Lucky Strike, I’d made a few burner accounts and turned on The Messenger streams.
Somehow, it was all even weirder than I’d originally thought.
On the screen, Rubin walked from house to house, dressed in his dirty robes. For the most part, he ignored the cameras.
What I’d gathered in the days I’d spent watching was that he refused to touch the technology. According to him, these guys just started following him around one day — filming some kind of documentary.
Supposedly, the documentarians started to believe in his message and became his disciples. They followed him everywhere, live streaming every minute of Rubin’s “work”.
It was weird, all of it.
The way the cameraguy would chime in every once in a while to affirm what The Messenger was saying. The way Rubin would approach a stranger’s door and would sometimes bring the cameras with and others leave them behind.
Every time they came with, a new recruit was welcomed to the fold.
Probably staged it.
But I couldn’t figure out why.
Next to me, Butch rested his head on my foot. Curled up on the couch, I pet his head a couple times to help him settle in.
Sure, Rubin was always searching for divinity. Every piece of toast he ever ate at Promise was inspected for images of Jesus in the browned spots. Pastor Harris was his best friend. And every day was an attempt to claim he knew the most about the Bible.
We’d been friends — okay, more like acquaintances — back then. Despite playing along, I hated the religious stuff. It was a means to an end. If I prayed and studied, the nuns would give me extra pudding and let me read past bedtime.
It served me to participate. But as soon as the home was shut down and I moved to another home, I stopped reading any of that shit.
God wasn’t helping me. All that praying landed me in the gutter regardless.
None of that explained how weird Rubin was when he saw me.
“Turn that shit off.” Blade hissed behind me, standing over the back of the couch and watching the live stream. “He’s a psycho and that’ll rot your brain.”
Shaking my head, I refused and kept my eyes on the screen. “Ignoring him won’t make it go away.”
On my computer screen, The Messenger approached the camera and held his hands out to the lens. “It isn’t too late for all of us to cleanse Valemont’s soul, to rip out the evil at its core.”
“How did he recognize you?” Blade asked as she pulled a bowl down from the kitchen cabinets, letting it slam shut. “Have you seen him since?”
Shaking my head, I met Blade’s green eyes across the living room. “No. God, no. I was glad to not have to deal with his zealousness.”
I looked at Butch, pressing his dark fur with the tips of my fingers. “I have no idea how he knew it was me.”
So much had changed since the group home. I’d aged almost a decade, changed my hair, my entire aesthetic.
All of us had changed so much.
Fuck, if Nash didn’t have the most distinct eyes I’d ever seen, I’d hardly believe that the Freaks were the same kids I knew back then.
They were tall now, muscular. Tattooed to nearly every inch of their bodies.
Blade nodded. “Me either. You okay?” Her eyes softened as she asked, sticking a spoon in a bowl of cereal before moving around the counter toward the living room. She planted her ass in the kitchen stool and watched me closely.
“Yeah, just off.”
“Still thinking about Jane?”
“Mm.” I bit the inside of my cheek.
Before we could talk more, heavy footsteps came up the stairs. Cyrus appeared, her face serious. “Dom is here. Mask up.”