Trembling Page 19

  But as the day wore on, I began to wonder if it did.

  After a barrage of video, Noah and Gordon dug through the rest of their evidence. Police reports. Transcripts of interviews. Photographs of dead bodies. They showed me the pictures of the kitchen in the sorority house. There was blood spattered on the ceiling. They showed me a picture of Tami's body. Her face was mottled with bullet holes—her features barely recognizable. With everything they showed me, they pressed me. How could someone do these kinds of things and not be evil? How could I claim to love someone like this? Why couldn't I see that Jason was a monster?

  I refused to talk to them after a while. I refused to answer their questions. I didn't know what to say. I felt like I knew Jason well, but I was realizing that I knew very little about Jason's past. I had never really tried to get him tell me about it, because I had assumed that it was too painful for him to talk about it. It didn't matter. I loved Jason for who he was. I loved Jason because he was everything to me. So I didn't ask. I didn't demand he spell out everything for me. Besides, after we'd gotten to Florida, Jason had wanted to leave all of that behind him. He'd just wanted us to be normal kids. I wouldn't have ruined that by forcing him to dredge up old memories.

  I told myself that the Jason that I knew was a kind and good person. But I couldn't help but remember the way that Jason had ripped at my clothes in a hotel in Pennsylvania, the insistent way his hands had twisted my skin. I couldn't help but remember watching Jason quickly and systematically shoot the members of the Sons in my aunt's dining room. I couldn't help but remember Jason, just a few days ago, covered in blood, staring blankly as I tried to clean him up.

  Worst of all, I remembered things that Michaela Weem had said to me when we'd met her in November. Things like Jason was going to burn thousands of people and that he was going to eat me alive. Things like our combined power would drive men mad. And—

  It had!

  I didn't like to think about that. Jason and I had never talked about it. Maybe it was because it scared us too much to acknowledge that it had actually happened. But a group of ten or fifteen members of the Sons had all gone crazy. Right after Jason and I kissed. They'd been trying to shoot us and then they'd all just come completely mentally unglued, wandering around like frightened children.

  It had been easy for me to dismiss the event. I'd told myself I didn't believe what Michaela Weem had said. I'd told myself that she was crazy. I'd told myself that I didn't believe in fate or destiny. I'd told myself that as long as I believed in Jason, in us, then none of that mattered.

  But it did matter.

  It was time I was honest with myself, even if I wouldn't be honest with Jude and my brothers. I was terrified of Jason. I was terrified of Jason and me together.

  It had been easy, all of those months, to blame my uneasiness and fear on external sources like the Sons. If I were afraid of the Sons, I could fight them. I had control. I could learn to shoot guns. I could spin conspiracy theories about Mr. Sutherland and bells being put in my purse. As long as it was something outside of myself, then I could fight it. But the truth was, I was completely out of control.

  I didn't know who Jason was. I didn't know who I was. I didn't know who we were together. The Sons thought Jason was the Rising Sun—a messiah who would unite the world under one government. The Satanists thought Jason was evil incarnate—a monster who would destroy free will and enslave the world. The Satanists thought I was the messiah—the one sent to kill Jason and end his reign of terror. As for what the Sons thought of me, I had no idea. I'd thought that I was nothing more than a blip on their radar until Sutherland had showed me those email messages and hinted that the Sons thought that I was the Kali to Jason's Shiva. His dark half. Finally, there were Michaela Weem's prophecies. She said that her visions had changed when Jason had showed up in my life. She said that now she saw visions in which Jason and I did horrible things together.

  Whoever you asked, they thought that Jason and I were powerful. And they all thought that there was some sort of capacity for badness in the cards for the two of us.

  I was away from Jason now. Maybe I was getting a little bit of distance on the situation. I'd been raised to believe that I made my own destiny. I didn't want to believe that there was anything to what anyone else said about Jason and I. Especially when these people were trying to predict the future, something I regarded as impossible. But the Sons and the Satanists came from completely different backgrounds. They had nothing in common with each other. Except for the fact that they'd both picked Jason and me as either a messianic or destructive force. They disagreed about which was which, but that wasn't really important.

  Could it really just be a coincidence?

  Or could it be true somehow? Were Jason and I powerful? Did one of us or both of us together have the capacity to destroy the world?

  I didn't know what I thought about the stories that Gordon and Noah were telling me. I didn't know if I believed them. And I didn't know if it mattered to me if Jason were actually a killer or not. I was really more concerned, I realized, not with the fact that Jason might have killed people, but with the idea that Jason might have lied to me about it. I'd always thought that the first people he'd killed had been the members of the Sons who'd killed my parents. I did know that I had to face up to the evidence about Jason and me.

  As more and more of it piled up, I had to realize that Jason and I weren't normal. That we were vastly different than most teenagers. And that there might be something about us, something special, something powerful, something destructive. Even though the thought seemed insane, I was going to drive myself insane if I didn't accept it.

  I was sinking in my thoughts, drifting away. I didn't see the documents that floated in front of me. I didn't hear Noah's or Gordon's voice anymore. I lost track of all the things they showed me. None of it mattered anymore.

  There was only one thing that mattered, and I told them when they were finally finished. The floor of the abandoned room was littered with papers and manila folders. I was sprawled Indian style on the floor, surveying my brothers, Jude, Lilith, and the evidence. The afternoon sun streamed through the windows, giving everything a lazy, tired glow. I looked them in the eye, one after another, and I said, "It doesn't matter. I won't kill him. I'll never kill him. I don't care what he's done."

  I knew that was true, too. Even if I became convinced that Michaela Weem was absolutely right, and that lurking somewhere inside Jason was the monster she said was there—dangerous, destructive, violent—even then, I couldn’t kill Jason. I loved him too much.

  Everyone stared at me as if there were something completely wrong with me.

  Jude's phone rang. We all turned to look at him as he answered it. He didn't say much, just listened. I watched his face contort in a mix of rage and pain. He ripped the phone away from his ear and dashed it against the floor.

  No one said anything.

  Jude seethed, pacing in a frenzy.

  Finally, Noah said, "What? What is it?"

  Jude stopped. "It was him," he said.

  "Jason?" asked Noah.

  "I have to go," said Jude. He crossed the room to a suitcase that sat in the corner. Knelt by it. Twisted the combination. Opened it. He took out the keys to the van. So that was where they kept them, was it? Now, if only I could figure out some way to get down here to that suitcase. Maybe tonight. But how was I going to get past the combination?

  "Wait, you can't just go," said Noah. He was on his feet, moving to intercept Jude.

  "I'm going," Jude said, weaving around him.

  Gordon had stood up too. "You can't hurt Jason!" he called after Jude. "Azazel has to—"

  "Fuck Azazel," retorted Jude, and he was out the door.

  We heard the van start and drive off.

  "Dammit," said Gordon, staring after him.

  * * *

  Less than twenty minutes later, the door to the house burst open and Jude came barreling back in. He was carrying a bundle of c
loth. It had red stains on it. Was there something inside it?

  Gordon got to his feet and stalked over to Jude. "You can't just run off like that," he said. "You can't just take the van. What if there was an emergency?"

  "Emergency?" repeated Jude. "This was an emergency."

  "What happened?" asked Noah.

  Jude clutched the bundle tighter. "If he'd only been there when I'd gotten there, I would have—"

  "You wouldn't have done anything," said Gordon sharply. "Because this isn't just about you."

  "But it's about my mother!" Jude said, his face twisting like he was about to cry. "He's got mymother. Do you understand that?"

  "What happened?" said Noah.

  "What happened?" repeated Jude. "What happened! That bastard!" And Jude choked up.

  "Jude?" prompted Noah.

  Jude flung the bundle of cloth at Noah. Noah caught it awkwardly. He knelt and set it on the floor. Then he stared at it. It was close to where I sat. I could see it better now. It looked like a ripped piece of dress or skirt. And the red stains had a brown tint to the edges. They were some kind of liquid. The liquid was still wet.

  I refused to let my brain make the logical connection. Jason wouldn't have . . . Jason had been bluffing, like I'd thought. When Jude called his bluff, he hadn't . . . He couldn't . . .

  "Unwrap it," Jude ordered, his voice harsh.

  Noah hesitated.

  "Do it!" Jude said.

  Gingerly, Noah began to pull away at the edges of the cloth, peeling it back so that he could see what was inside.

  Abruptly, he jumped back and cried out a little, tossing the bundle away from him.

  It landed right in front of me. I swallowed hard, but I couldn't help myself. I leaned forward. Looked inside.

  It was a finger.

  hapter Twelve

  Text message transcript between Jason Wodden and Hallam Wakefield, 03/15/09, 05:15 PM

  Jason Wodden: any tips for cauterizing a wound?

  Hallam Wakefield: are you hurt? where are you?

  Jason Wodden: am fine. not my wound. have u done it before or not?

  Hallam Wakefield: tell me where you are!!!

  Jason Wodden: can't. i tried to do it and botched it. wound still bleeding heavily.

  Hallam Wakefield: give me your location.

  Hallam Wakefield: jason?

  I let out a little gasp. Muffled it immediately with my hand. I wanted to look away, but I couldn't. The severed finger sat inside the stained cloth, blood still seeping from it. It was a woman's index finger. She had a long, manicured nail. "Oh," I whispered, shaking my head. "Oh, oh, oh."

  Gordon pushed past Jude to see what was in the bundle. He turned on his heel and went back to Jude, grabbing Jude by the shoulders. "How did you get this? What happened?"

  Jude was sobbing. Huge tears were spilling out of eyes. He didn't talk. He didn't look at Gordon. He just cried.

  Gordon shook Jude hard. "Stop it," Gordon ordered. "Talk to me, Jude."

  "He called me," Jude said through his tears.

  "We were all here when that happened," said Gordon. "What did he say?"

  "He said . . ." Jude's sobs cut him off.

  Gordon shook Jude again. "What did he say?"

  "He said, 'Your mother has something she'd like to tell you.' And then I heard her screaming and screaming and screaming. And then he hung up." Jude sniffled. "When I got there, I found this. It was still warm."

  "Oh," I whispered. "Oh. Oh."

  "Jesus," said Noah.

  He did it. He did it. He actually hurt Michaela because I didn't show up. Oh God. Oh God. Jason.

  "There was another note," said Jude. "It said that if I didn't bring Azazel tomorrow, I'd find more pieces." He shuddered.

  "She's his own mother," said Gordon, dropping Jude's shoulders and coming to look at the finger again. "How could do that to his mother?"

  "He's evil," whispered Noah. "He's just pure evil." He looked at me. "And you won't kill him."

  I stood up then. "It's a trick!" I screamed.

  "What?" said Jude.

  I advanced on Jude. "It's a trick," I repeated. "It's not a real finger. It's not a real finger. You're just trying to get me to kill Jason. You're all lying to me!" I shoved Jude then, hard.

  He stumbled back from me, surprised. There were still tears in his eyes and his nose was running. He recovered, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand, a movement that made him look so much like Jason, it hurt. "You think I'm faking this?" he demanded.

  "You faked everything else," I shrieked, shoving him again.

  Jude shoved me back.

  "Hey," said Gordon, grabbing me and pulling me away from Jude. "Don't shove my sister."

  Jude flipped him off. "Her fucking boyfriend is cutting up my mother!" he yelled. "I'll shove her if I feel like it."

  Gordon put me behind him. "Jude," he said. "Give me the keys to the van."

  "No," said Jude. Jude reached behind Gordon and grasped my wrist. He yanked me over to him. "No," he said. "No, I'm taking Azazel, and I'm taking the van, and she's going to tell me where the hell Jason is."

  I tried to pull away from Jude. "I don't know where he is," I said.

  "Jude," said Gordon, "let go of Azazel." He moved forward, reaching for me.

  "No," said Jude, and he reached into his jacket and pulled out a gun.

  Gordon stopped moving.

  "Shit," said Noah.

  "Put down the gun, Jude," said Gordon, but his voice was shaking.

  Jude aimed the gun at Gordon, then at Noah. Then he put the gun to my temple. In a sick sense of déjà vu, I remembered Jason holding me this way, tight against his body, a gun to my head. But I'd trusted Jason. I didn't trust Jude.

  "We're going," said Jude. "Don't try and stop me."

  Jude backed up, dragging me with him.

  "Jude," said Noah, "let's talk about this."

  "One more word," said Jude, "and I blow her head off."

  I didn't think he was serious. After all, his big plan was to get me to tell him where Jason was, which he couldn't do if I was dead. But I didn't know. Jude was pretty upset. I willed Noah and Gordon to shut up.

  They stared after us as Jude led me to the car, their eyes wide and luminous.

  Once outside, Jude threw open the door to the van and forced me inside. He slammed the door after me and hurried around to the other side. I watched him as he started the car, backed up the van, and pulled away from the house. I turned away from him once, to see that Noah and Gordon had both come out on the ruined porch of the abandoned house and that they were gazing after the van as it left. Then I turned back to Jude.

  Jude was steering with one hand. The other hand was gripping the gun so tight that his knuckles were white. I thought about saying something to him. I decided not to. He was the one with the gun, after all. He was in charge.

  We drove in silence for some time. The road ahead of us wound through the backwoods of Georgia. Eventually, we emerged in Shiloh, the small town where I'd met Michaela Weem just a few months before. Jude drove up and down the streets, looking around. Did he think he was just going to see Jason, walking around?

  "He's got to be here somewhere," Jude said more to himself than to me. "He's close. Close enough to cut off her finger and leave it there still bleeding. Where is he?"

  I didn't say anything.

  "Where is he, Azazel?" he said, rage filling his voice.

  "I don't know," I said softly.

  "And if you did, you wouldn't tell me, would you?" he said.

  It didn't really seem wise to answer that question. "I don't know where he is," I repeated.

  Jude swallowed. "You understand why I'm so upset, don't you?" he asked.

  What was this? Was he looking to me for reassurance? He was the one with the gun.

  "She's my mother," he continued. "She's all I've ever had. Maybe sometimes I got angry with her. Maybe sometimes I even hated her, but I can't let anything happen to her."
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