The Soul Catcher

CHAPTER 18

Justin pretended to sleep. The converted Greyhound bus was finally quiet, the rumble of the engine and tires a welcome lullaby. Thank God! No more fucking “Kumbaya” songs. Getting through that wacky “praise the Lord” and “Yahweh rules” at the too-long prayer rally had been bad enough. But Justin knew his head would surely explode if he had to listen to that crap for the three-hour bus ride home.

He had reclined his bus seat just far enough back that he could keep a half-closed eye on Brandon and Alice. They were sitting together one row behind him and across the aisle. The interior of the Greyhound bus was dark except for the track lighting on the floor, like little-bitty runway lights. He could barely see Alice’s silhouette, her head turned to look out the window. She had kept that same pose since they left D.C. Even when the rest of the bus had been wailing at the top of their lungs, he could see Alice’s lips move only when she occasionally looked back. Otherwise she kept staring out the window. Maybe she couldn’t stand the sight of Brandon, either. Hey, he could hope, couldn’t he?

With the seat reclined, he could watch Brandon a little easier. Justin kept his eyes on Brandon’s hands. The guy better keep those fucking hands off Alice. Once in a while, in the light of oncoming cars, he caught a glimpse of his face. Contentment. Fucking contentment, like he didn’t have a worry in the world. It still pissed Justin off that Brandon had rammed his way into the bus, practically shoving him aside and plopping down in the seat next to Alice as if it were marked his. The bastard took anything and everything he wanted without ever thinking of asking.

Justin heard the whispered murmurs before he twisted around and noticed Father coming from his private compartment in the back of the bus. Rumors were that it included a bathroom and bed for Father to catch up on his rest. Now, as he walked slowly up the aisle, holding on to the backs of seats to keep his balance, Justin couldn’t help thinking the man looked pretty ordinary in the shadows of the dark bus. What? The guy walked on water, but he had to hang on for a short trek down a bus aisle?

Justin kept his head pressed to the back of his seat, shifting slightly, so no one would think he was fully awake. He even snorted a little under his breath, a sound he had heard himself make other times in a half-conscious state.

Through the slits of his eyes, he could see Father stop, standing right at Justin’s head. His dark features made it impossible for Justin to tell through half-shut eyes whether or not the man was looking down at him.

Then he heard him whisper, “Brandon, go sit with Darren up in front for a few minutes. I need to talk with Alice.”

Brandon got up and obeyed without a word. Justin wanted to smile. Good, the bastard won’t be bothering Alice for a while. Maybe Father had noticed Brandon’s obsession with Alice. After all, he preached about celibacy being necessary in order for all of them to fulfill their mission. It was bullshit, of course, but he had witnessed the punishment imposed for disobeying. A couple who had gotten caught the first week Justin came to the compound were still being ostracized by the others.

“Alice, I wanted to commend you,” Justin heard Father say, though his voice was hushed. “You did an excellent job recruiting young people to come to the rally.”

“Justin and Brandon helped.” Alice’s voice was a whisper, but Justin’s radar seemed to be picking it up. He loved that soft, tender, sweet voice of hers. It sounded like a bird’s song, the words melodic, no matter what she said.

“That’s just like you to give some of the credit away.”

“But it’s true. They did help.”

Father gave a laugh that Justin didn’t recognize. He tried to remember if he had ever heard the man laugh.

“Do you have any idea how special you are, my dear girl?”

Justin smiled, glad that someone else noticed that important fact. Except Alice didn’t seem happy-the look on her face was almost a grimace. Too much modesty? She certainly needed to learn how to take a compliment, especially-what the hell?

Now, he could see what had quieted Alice. In the faint light of oncoming traffic, Justin could just make out Father’s right hand on Alice’s thigh. Justin kept his head against the seat but opened his eyes for a better look. Yes, the bastard’s fingers were sliding in between Alice’s thighs, moving their way up to her crotch. Shit! What the hell?

He felt a cold sweat wash over him, and a panic hammered in his chest. He looked back up at Alice’s face and this time she noticed him watching. She gave just a slight shake of her head, a definite “no.” At first, he thought it was meant for Father, but the man seemed fixated on the route his hand was taking. So the “no” was for Justin.

Fuck! Everything on her pained face told him she didn’t want what was happening, and yet she was telling him not to interrupt?

Shit! He had to do something. He couldn’t see Father’s hand anymore. It was too dark again, the stream of traffic having passed. But from the movement of the man’s shoulder, Justin figured he must be digging into her. Maybe by now, he had his goddamn hand down the front of her pants.

Justin laid his head back. He had to do something. Fuck! He needed to think. Suddenly he decided. He jerked and twisted, flaying his body back and forth in the seat, faking a nightmare as best he could. Then he slammed his body forward and yelled, “Stop it! Don’t do it!”

It was enough to wake everyone, and several people hung over or around their seats to look. Justin shook his head and rubbed his eyes and face.

“Sorry, everybody. Bad dream, I guess. I’m okay.”

He glanced at Father. The man was staring at him, the anger easily visible in the dim light. As he stood, he scowled down at Justin, holding that pose as if wanting everyone to witness his disapproval. How could he justify being angry about a nightmare? Of course, no one else would know the real reason for his anger. But Justin didn’t care if anyone else knew. He was just glad the pervert had stopped. He simply shrugged at Father. Then he shifted in his seat away from that piercing and condemning stare, mumbling an apology to the zit-faced dittohead sitting next to him.

Finally, he heard Father turn, but Justin waited until he heard the click of the back compartment’s door before he looked over at Alice. Her face was turned to the window again, but, almost as if reading his mind, she glanced at him over her shoulder and again slowly shook her head, only this time she didn’t look pained. This time, she looked worried, and he knew he was probably in a whole lot of trouble with their leader, their so-called fucking soul caretaker. How could he take care of their souls when he couldn’t even keep his fucking hands to himself?