The Book of Lies

50

Ellis’s back was hurting as he reached the top step of the second-floor landing. He understood the Johnsels’ fears. In this neighborhood, there were real consequences for inviting a police officer into your home. But that didn’t mean he was staying outside, he reminded himself as he lugged the second body up the stairs. It was actually a blessing for the Johnsels. Being with God was far better than being in that prayer group they were screaming about.

The house was dark now, but Ellis was still smart enough to stay away from the windows. He’d learned that years ago when he and his dad began their life of hiding.

Back then, the rules were clear: With Mom dead, her family would be on the hunt for them. Ellis never questioned why. Looking back, he should’ve known something was wrong. So much of it didn’t make sense: Yes, Mom was dead. But his father never cried. There was no funeral. No grave. So rules were rules: No playing outside, no letting anyone spot you. Ellis used that same approach in school, in life—even as he rose through the ranks on the force. There were benefits to lying low and skills that came with growing up a ghost.

His dad learned—the Johnsels learned—Ellis was good at not being seen.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be found.

There was a low buzz as his phone began to vibrate. Ellis picked up without saying hello.

“Ellis, I know you’re there,” the Prophet said on the line. “Stay where you are. Cal . . . all of us . . . we’re on our way.”