Chapter 11 Scarlett #2
“I didn’t tell him why,” Pastor Masters explained, clearly tired of this narrative. “The women drop them off at our daycares, he picks them up and shuttles them to the churches. That’s all. He believes he’s reuniting them with their families.”
Believes? Was he not?
“Until you decide to make him a Leader,” Thomas stated. “You would really risk that?”
“Yes.”
“And what if he turns on us? What if he steals the children away and disappears? What if he becomes some sort of moral god and does something as stupid as going to the police?”
“He won’t,” his father assured him.
“How do you know that, Garrett?” Mr. Alascer stated, his voice having shifted as well. “It’s quite a risk; one I highly suggest you stop taking.”
That was new. Mr. Alascer never agreed with Thomas.
“I’ve been given assurances. Now that’s enough, we must get back out there, or people might start to talk.”
No, they wouldn’t. The Leaders had meetings all the time, nobody would think anything about it, but I think they all knew Pastor Masters was done with the conversation. So, reluctantly, the others agreed, and we all shuffled out.
Pastor Masters must have believed in Azrael a lot to not have even a single doubt about him when everyone else did.
Doubt wasn’t allowed in the church, yet they all voiced their concerns, grumbling in response.
Allowing Azrael to take control of this part of the church’s business didn’t sit well with some of them.
We mingled through the crowd, Thomas speaking a word here and there to mourners of the church. Apparently, Mr. Louis had been loved by all.
All I knew him as was a toucher. He liked to squeeze me. Pinch my thigh and my butt. I was glad he was dead. I didn’t like the way his scratchy, dry fingers felt against my skin, but was Mr. Bastrom that much better?
No, he wasn’t. Even as a Pillar, the rules were only suggestions to him. He liked to push.
Things were shifting in the inner workings of the church, it felt like. From years and years of testing, to almost no time at all. From silent testing to openly discussing it with people like Azrael. From accepting them into being a Leader to some sort of initiation.
It all seemed…it felt like how I felt when I broke the rules. Like a knot in my gut. Like I was waiting for the pain to hit. That’s what it felt like in that room. It felt like they were doing what they could to fix something before it broke.
“I saw Mr. Bastrom wasn’t invited to your little meeting of the Leaders,” a familiar voice hummed.
I stopped when Thomas stopped, my heart skipping as my eyes searched for those familiar shoes.
“Yet he was just announced as one of you.”
“And?” Thomas pushed accusingly. “What’s it to you?”
I heard a little click followed by the sound of ticking.
Tick tock tick tock tick tock.
It was methodical and beautiful. Constant, unwavering. It reminded me of my favorite story.
“Oh, nothing, I suppose, just interesting.” Snap.
The clicking stopped and my mind felt so much heavier.
“We’re late for a very important date,” or something like that. I hadn’t read it in so long, but I did remember the stories I had created in my head because of it. The drawings and paintings I had created and hid under the couch or in my sheets so Thomas would never find them.
Tick tock. Down the rabbit hole I fell, except now, sometimes, in the middle of the night, I imagined a faceless man with a cane as the Hatter.
He was dressed in red, his top hat black, his cane topped with sharp branches.
It was sinful, I knew that, and I punished myself for even thinking of such things, but I couldn’t help it.
Azrael was so curious, so unwavering. It was hard not to imagine when I was all alone in the silence of my own tormentingly numb mind.
“Beautiful service for a man such as he. Too bad all those people had to die along with him. A church that had been so willing to join yours. Very interesting. What was he doing in Ireland, do you think?”
Ireland? What was an Ireland?
Thomas’s legs tensed. “He died in Colorado Springs, I have no idea what Ireland has to do with that, but what happened is what my father said happened. He died from a tragic accident.”
Because only the Leaders were allowed to know that The Family was after the church, although, if Pastor Masters trusted him so much, I didn’t think it would be long before he knew the truth.
From the sound of it, he already did.
“Tragic indeed,” Azrael purred. “I must be mistaking him for another Leader in another church I attend. Followers, his Favorites were men, very different from the other Leaders here, hmm? I can see why they chose to send him out, although…” he leaned in, “with what your father is planning, I can’t see why they decided to excommunicate him in a way such as that.
Tell me, what would you have done had he returned with his two Favorites? Successful and all that.”
“We would have praised him,” Thomas said through his teeth. “Those people deserved to die, and if he died in the crossfire, then fine, so long as we dented that family.”
It was so easy for Azrael to get under his skin, make him admit things he didn’t want to, but it only led me to more questions.
They had sent Mr. Nelson after The Family because he had picked two boys to be his Favorites?
No, that didn’t align with what Pastor Masters had just said, and not just that, but Azrael must have been mistaken.
Only women were allowed to choose male Favorites and vice versa.
I mean, it wasn’t against their rules, but it was very much looked down upon.
“Right, right, but if those boys had died, oh well.”
Thomas took a step forward. “Watch yourself, Mr. Thorin. You are crossing lines you shouldn’t be crossing.”
Had Mr. Nelson been excommunicated and decided to go after The Family to earn his way back into the good graces of the church or had he chosen to go after them himself? Someone was lying, and I didn’t like people who lied. It made me feel as if my skin was coated in hot, sticky tar.
“Am I? Because it seems to me that your intolerance of Louis’s choices is going to cause severe problems with what your father and I have been working on. Have you spoken to your father? In depth, I mean. So many children, so little time.”
“Keep your voice down,” he snarled.
“Why? We’re all friends here. Look at you,” he taunted, “sweating like a beaver in a burning forest, how delightful.” Azrael straightened.
“My mistake, I mixed up the names. It was Mr. Caliver that I was thinking about, not Mr. Nelson. Silly me. It’s hard to keep track with all of these churches I’m visiting.
Enjoy the memorial. Or don’t,” he added, turning his feet away. “Up to you.”