26. Levi
TWENTY-SIX
Levi
I’m still sitting on the couch trying to process what Ethan said when I hear a car. I get up and go to the window, thinking someone is coming, but it’s Ethan, leaving.
I run to the front door and out onto the porch, but the Porsche is too far away to even yell at. He’s almost at the gate. I run back inside for my phone, which is charging in the entryway—next to Ethan’s.
I race down the narrow hallway and through the kitchen, whipping open the patio doors to see Patrick running across the driveway.
He halts in surprise at the sight of me. “Where the hell is he going?”
“I don’t know! He just—I didn’t—” When Patrick pulls his phone from his back pocket, I shout, “He doesn’t have his phone!”
“Goddamn it! And you have no idea where he’s going? What happened, Levi? What’s going on?”
I don’t know how to go into what happened, or if I even should, so I stutter, “Um—we were talking—”
“Never mind!” Patrick turns and runs to the garage and punches in a code. The door rolls up, and Patrick races inside to get in the Mercedes.
He backs out fast, spraying rock as he swings the car around. My brain is working too slowly. It’s not until he’s driving away that I realize I should have gone with him.
Shit!
I stand there for a long time like something’s going to happen, but neither car comes back. Eventually, I go back inside and sit at the kitchen table. Then I pop up and race into the pantry, yanking open the drawer. A huge breath eases out of me when I see that the gun is still there.
I close the drawer and go to check my phone, but I still don’t have Patrick’s number. Ethan’s phone chimes with a text alert, flashing up a preview on the lock screen. I catch Ruby’s name and You need to something before it’s gone behind the lock screen.
I stare at his phone for a long time after it goes black.
Ruby knows.
This—Paul’s murder—is what they were talking about that morning she came over, when she told Ethan he needed to come back to the church. She talked about “that night” and some church board members who were there.
They all know. They covered it up.
Why would they do that?
That morning, Ruby said something about protecting Ethan, but I don’t believe that for one second. And if she wasn’t protecting him, what was she protecting?
I pick up my own phone and return to the sitting room. I sit on the couch and start searching.
I find what I found before. Articles about Ethan’s adoption by Paul and Ruby. Articles about Paul’s death. Images of Ethan at various ages at the church. Footage too.
I dig deeper than last time, I dig beyond just Ethan, and I find something that makes my blood run cold. It’s a transcript of an interview with Ruby talking about Ethan’s adoption. The interviewer asks whether it’s true that Ethan’s biological mother died by suicide.
I’m frozen, staring at that.
Then my mind goes back. It’s only flashes because I don’t remember all of it clearly and I was mostly caught up in my own feelings. But I recall how cold Ethan went when he saw my arms, like it flipped some switch inside him. He got weird. He got scary. He brought me here, to the cellar.
My screen has gone black, so I wake up my phone and read Ruby’s reply that their mission is to save Ethan and put him on a path to God.
But the God of High Castle Church is so cruel.
The sermon I watched was a weird mix of warning about every supposed sin and a promise of wealth for the righteous and faithful.
It was uncomfortable to watch—and clearly impossible for Ethan to endure.
He hasn’t been involved in the church for years, despite his continued contact with Ruby.
And Ruby… she’s more controlled than my mother was, but she doesn’t care about Ethan. It’s obvious in the interview, despite her words about saving him. Or because of those words. Like the only thing that needed help was his soul. Like she didn’t notice or care about him beyond that.
Everything is a set piece for the Castles, Ethan said. It was for show.
I look at all of it again. I look at it differently.
In the earliest picture of Ethan, he’s nine years old. The picture is a still from a video, so I watch it. Ethan is holding Paul’s hand as they walk out onto the stage of the church. Ethan is wearing a suit, and his dark hair is cut neat and short. His eyes are huge—and they’re completely empty.
He was quiet, he said, mostly nonverbal.
He says nothing in the clip while Paul greets the congregation and introduces them to their newest member.
This is greeted with applause. Ethan is still blank.
Then Paul leans down and whispers something in his ear, and Ethan smiles.
That’s what the still was. His smile. But it looks very, very different at the end of that clip.
As best I can, I look at things in chronological order.
I find one actual, real smile when Ethan is eleven.
But by the next year, his eyes are empty again.
He’s better at smiling. He sings in the choir.
He’s pretty convincing. But I can see it.
I can see, too, that he watches Paul constantly. And Paul watches him.
Paul talks about sinful thoughts and repentance. He talks about purification. He talks about walking a righteous path. He’s compassionate in his sermons, like he knows the struggles of his listeners. He’s… fatherly.
So why did Ethan stab him six times? And what did he mean that it was during a session? A prayer session, he clarified. And why, if Ethan did that without justification, did Ruby cover it up? And not just Ruby. The church board.
Paul’s body was found in an alley. The articles say he was “ministering” to the poor when a homeless man, who was later found dead from a fall into a culvert, killed him.
I find pictures from the extravagant funeral.
Ethan isn’t there. He isn’t in any more church pictures until the one from a few days ago.
There are other pictures of him, though.
Charity events. A few of him getting into or out of cars.
Then there’s a picture I’ve already seen and have been avoiding.
The one of Ethan kissing me that day after we left the church.
There’s no photographer identified and no article, but it’s all over social media with a wild fight in the comments. There’s condemnation. There’s support. There’s all kinds of speculation. Some about Ethan, some about me.
I drag myself away from it. I don’t want to see any of that. I don’t care. But I do care about Ruby’s statement. She told Ethan she would make one, and I find it easily.
It’s a video. She’s in an elegant, luxurious sitting room.
She’s composed but has a serious, sad look on her face.
She says that Ethan’s struggles with sin weigh on her heart but that she has faith that he’ll return to God.
She says the fact that he came back to the church shows that he understands that homosexuality is a sin he must repent of. She says that she’s praying for him.
When I hear a car, I pop up and run to the window. My heart sinks when I see that it’s Patrick in the Mercedes.
By the time I reach the kitchen, Patrick is parking outside the garage. I meet him on the flagstone patio. His face is strained. He’s shaking his head before I can even ask.
“I don’t know,” he says. “I couldn’t find him. There’s no tracking on that car.”
“But…”
“If he doesn’t come back in an hour or so, I’ll go look again. I just… Fuck.” Patrick scrapes a shaky hand through his hair. “I need you to do something for me.”
“Oh my God, what?”
“In the car. There’s a bottle. I need you to get it for me. I need you to pour it out in the sink. I can’t fucking do it.”
“Okay?”
“Now, Levi. Please do it right now.” Patrick’s eyes are bleak and haunted.
I don’t understand, but I walk to the car. I open the driver’s door and crawl partway in to grab the whiskey bottle lying on the passenger seat. I crawl back out of the car and close the door.
I turn to find Patrick’s eyes, still bleak, locked on me. His arms are tightly crossed over his abdomen, and his jaw is set. As I walk back to the patio, his gaze never wavers, but I realize that it’s actually the bottle that his eyes are locked on.
I glance at him as I walk by. He’s not quite as tall as Ethan, but he’s big and intimidating.
He holds himself still as I pass by, not moving until I’m through the patio doors, but I can still feel the strength of his energy behind me.
I know I’m perfectly fine with him, but my scalp prickles nonetheless. Like Ethan, he can be dangerous.
I carry the bottle to the sink. Patrick follows, stopping about four feet away.
“Pour it all out?” I ask, wanting to make sure I understood.
“Every fucking drop.”
I frown at the oddness, but I pick off the seal, unscrew the cap, and upend the bottle. I glance at Patrick as the whiskey glugs down the drain. He’s watching the stream of amber liquid with an intensity I can’t read.
When the whiskey is gone, he closes his eyes and says, “Rinse it. I can fucking smell it.”
I run the water, rinsing the bottle and washing out the sink. “Better?” I ask when it seems clean enough to me.
Patrick’s eyes are still closed, but he nods.
I don’t know what to do with the bottle, so I stash it under the sink.
Patrick stays where he is for a long moment, taking several deep breaths like he’s trying to recenter himself.
When he opens his eyes, I ask, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Thanks.” The words are stiff, but then he breathes out and says more easily, “Thank you for doing that for me.”
“Do you want a cup of coffee or something?” It’s late afternoon, but I need something to do, and I think Patrick does too.
“Yeah. Sure.”
I’m scooping coffee into the filter when Patrick, who’s filling the pot at the sink, says, “I’m an alcoholic.”
I pause, my scoop hovering over the basket. “You didn’t drink it.”
Patrick turns off the water. “I’ve been sober for three years. But for a second…” He closes his eyes briefly. “That scared me. Thanks for helping.”