Chapter 22. Alice #2
The passenger door slid open, and a girl jumped out, another right behind her.
They had the same sort of smile as the man, like they were incredibly happy to see two strangers staring at them.
Both were similar looking, with long dirty-blond hair parted in the middle, makeup-free faces, and a thin leather braid around their foreheads.
Their bare feet peeked out from below their flowered prairie skirts.
The shorter girl had tiny bells on her belt that tinkled when she moved.
“Hello, travelers!” the man called out.
“Hey,” Simon said. “We were just about to leave. How about you move the van?”
The taller girl, with a dreamy smile and brown half-lidded eyes, walked toward Simon. Her beaded earrings swayed in time with her hips. Simon stepped back, but she circled him, her hands smoothing over his shoulders. She stopped at his side and looped her arm through his.
“You’re so strong!”
Simon’s face pulled into a scowl. The shorter girl, curvier, with dimpled cheeks, had moved to Simon’s opposite side, her hand wrapping around his bicep.
“Oh, you are strong. Can you help us?”
The blond man put his hands on his hips. “What do you say, brother? Can you lend a hand with unloading tables for our church sale? In exchange for the water.”
“Water’s free,” Simon said.
“So is help!” The man spread his arms wide and laughed.
Simon untangled himself from the girls. “We need to get going.”
“Time’s a construct, my friend. You can make it bend.” He made a movement with his hands, like playing an accordion, then walked to the rear of the van. His leather sandals slapped with each step. The doors swung open. Alice heard the scrape of metal.
The girls had given up on Simon, but they didn’t seem in a rush to unload anything. The taller one had stopped to braid a section of the curvy one’s hair, head tilted, singing a John Lennon tune. The curvy one joined in, their voices blending sweetly. “You may say I’m a dreamer…”
Simon looked between the girls and the van, his hands in fists, his body tense. Alice watched him. He wouldn’t hurt three people, would he? Surely not out in the open like this.
“We can wait in the RV,” she told him quietly.
A loud crashing sound came from behind the van.
Alice flinched. More scraping noises. The man was dragging out a long wooden table with metal legs.
He dropped it onto the pavement, then leaned against the van to watch the girls, still singing, hands raised to the sky, hips shimmying.
The man lit a marijuana joint and exhaled a cloud of pungent smoke.
The girls danced over to him. They took puffs of the joint and passed it around.
“Jesus. We’re going to be stuck here all day,” Simon muttered. He gave Alice a warning look, then motioned for her to follow him to the van.
The man held the joint out to Simon, who shook his head.
“Just here to help.”
“Great news, brother!” The man pinched off the end of the joint and slid it into his pocket. He and Simon lifted up the long wooden table, which had metal folding legs.
The girls were taking brown paper bags out.
“It’s old clothes,” the taller one said as she passed Alice a bag.
She picked up one for herself and hooked their arms together.
Alice was guided around the corner of the church along a brick walkway, then up the front steps.
The girl smelled of marijuana, campfire, and patchouli oil.
They moved through the short hallway into the main part of the church, which didn’t look like any churches that Alice had ever been inside.
The church was empty but for the colorful pillows arranged in a large circle. In the middle of the circle were bongo drums, candles, bells, and metal bowls. The air had the same marijuana smell as the girl, but now mixed with the cloying musk of sandalwood incense.
Alice was getting a headache.
The girls dropped the bags of clothes against the wall, where Simon and the man were setting up the table. Alice did the same.
“What kind of church is this?” Alice said.
“We’re the Church of the Divine Moon.” The tall girl pressed her hand against her heart. “Our leader, Phoenix, he’s studied in India. He’s amazing.” She gave another of those dreamy smiles. Maybe she wasn’t just stoned on drugs. She was high on devotion.
“Where is he?” Simon didn’t even try to hide his suspicious tone.
The blond man shrugged. “He moves around to wherever he’s needed. Sometimes he’s here or back at our farm. Do you want to meet him? You can join our drum circle tonight.”
“We’ve got plans.” Simon strode toward the door.
They carried in another load. Alice dropped the clothes, while Simon and the man set up a table. She caught Simon eyeing a door a few feet away that had been left ajar. Alice couldn’t see what he was finding so interesting. She wondered what he was thinking.
They made two more trips. Finally, the van was empty.
“Come back tomorrow for the sale,” the man said as he closed the doors. “We’ll have fruit and vegetables for sale, and the girls make goat-milk soap.”
“We have knitting too,” the curvy one said. “We dye the wool ourselves.”
When Simon didn’t say anything, the silence growing awkward, Alice said, “Sure, maybe.”
Simon walked back toward the RV, Alice following, but he stopped near the rear bumper, and turned to watch the others leave. Alice had to stand with him.
The van reversed onto the road. The tall girl waved out the window and the man honked the horn. Alice gave a halfhearted wave.
As soon as the van was out of sight, Simon walked to the RV door and yanked it open. He stood on the lower step and poked his head inside.
“You okay, babe?”
“Yeah, but who were those people?”
“Gimme a minute.” He closed the door before Jenny had a chance to say anything else, then gestured for Alice to come with him.
“What’s going on?”
He was walking fast. She hurried to keep up with him as they rounded the corner, jogged up the steps. He let himself into the church, moved quickly over to the wall. She still didn’t know what he was doing or looking for. He reached for one of the bags of clothes, dumped it out.
“Grab one,” he told her, and, confused, she picked up a bag and emptied it. The clothes were an assortment of men’s dress shirts and women’s blouses, slacks.
“Come on.” Simon pushed through the open door into the room beyond.
A kitchen, with wood cabinets, yellow countertop, white fridge, and stove. A small table by a window. Two chairs. She ran her gaze around the space, then saw all the mason jars lined up on the counter, filled with dried green marijuana. She frowned. This didn’t bode well.
Simon picked up one of the jars and lowered it into his empty bag.
Alice set her bag down next to his. Tidily arranged nearby were all sorts of what seemed to be smoking apparatus—bongs, glass tubes, ceramic teapots, decanters, and vases with spouts. One looked like an old man with a beard. Alice lifted it up, wondering how it worked.
“I don’t care about those,” Simon said. “Grab the jars.”
The door suddenly opened behind them. Alice whirled around and saw a man, tall, with long black hair, bronzed skin, and dressed in a white tunic.
“Sorry,” he said, smiling. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” He walked to the counter and set down a metal thermos, keys, and a folded newspaper. “Are you friends of Tasha and Misty?”
Simon was standing stock-still, his hand grasping the paper bag.
“We helped them unload the van,” Alice said.
“Yeah?” The man turned away from the counter.
“You interested in joining? My name’s Phoenix.
I lead the prayer sessions.” He took a couple of steps toward her, reached for her hand, and clasped it between his palms. He smiled at her, his brown eyes warm and sincere, then his expression changed.
He tilted his head, frowned with concern. “Is everything okay, sister?”
“I’m fine.” She tugged her hand from his grasp.
Phoenix looked to Simon, and for the first time he seemed to notice the brown paper bags. He stared at them, then back to Simon. Alice’s stomach plummeted. The silence seemed to grow and stretch. Phoenix was still looking at Simon.
Studying him.
Oh no. The newspaper.
Phoenix blinked, then shook his head. “Oh, hey, I just remembered I’ve left my breakfast in my car.” He spun toward the door.
“Keys?” Simon held out his arm, keys dangling from one hooked finger.
Phoenix hesitated, then turned back. The moment he touched the keys, Simon picked up the metal thermos with his other hand and swung for Phoenix’s head. Phoenix ducked to the side, and Simon got him in the shoulder with a thud.
In an instant, the two men were locked in a struggle, swinging and punching, stumbling against the wall, the fridge, rocking it on its feet. Phoenix was larger, but Simon was fast on his feet, weaving and ducking blows, while hammering out with the heavy metal thermos.
Alice pressed against the cabinets. She didn’t know what to do or where to go. They were moving all over, grappling with each other. They crashed into her. Her arm flung out, slapping into the collection of bongs. Some rolled off, shattered on the floor. Brown liquid spread.
Simon bent Phoenix backward over the stove and choked him with his forearm. Phoenix was pushing under Simon’s chin with one hand, his other trying to get Simon’s arm off his neck. He was twisting, kicking out. His feet slipped on the smooth tiles. His thong sandals squeaked.
“Stop! Simon, stop!” Alice yelled.
Simon smashed the thermos into Phoenix’s face with a terrible cracking sound. He lifted the thermos again and paused with it in the air. Phoenix’s nose was a bloody mess. His lip split. He was making a wheezing sound, and his face was dark, eyes bulging.
Alice was grabbing at Simon, yanking on his arm.
“Stop! Stop!”
He flung his arm wide, smacking Alice hard across her chest. The bottom of the thermos punched the muscles in her arm. Black spots floated in front of her eyes, the edges going dark.