LITMIR.BIZ

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more hill than she could possibly endure on this day of endless hills.

      “I can take her,” Maggie volunteered before realizing she might be the worst possible person to comfort the girl. But surely, bathroom duty was something she could handle.

      “Do you mind, Abigail? Would it be okay for Agent O’Dell to take you to the rest room?”

      “Agent O’Dell?” The little girl’s face scrunched up as she looked around, trying to find the person her grandmother was talking about. Then suddenly, she said, “Oh, you mean Maggie? Her name’s Maggie, Grandma.”

      “Yes, I’m sorry. I mean Maggie. Is it okay if you go with her?”

      But Abby had already taken Maggie’s hand. “We need to hurry,” she told her, without looking up and pulling Maggie in the direction she had seen Cunningham point.

      Maggie wondered if the four-year-old had any understanding of what had happened or why they were even at the cemetery. However, Maggie was simply relieved that her only task at the moment was to fight the wind and trek up the hill, leaving behind all those memories and wisps of spirits riding the wind. But as they got to the building that towered over the rows of white crosses and gray tombstones, Abby stopped and turned around to look back. The wind whipped at her blue coat, and Maggie could see her shiver. She felt the small hand squeeze tight the fingers it had managed to wrap around.

      “Are you okay, Abby?”

      She nodded twice, setting her hat bouncing. Then her chin stayed tucked down. “I hope he doesn’t get cold,” Abby said. Maggie’s heart took a plunge.

      What should she say to her? How could she explain something that even she didn’t understand? She was thirty-three years old and still missed her own father, still couldn’t understand why he had been ripped away from her all those years ago. Years that should have healed the gaping wound that easily became exposed at the sound of a stupid bugle or the sight of a casket being lowered into the ground.

      Before Maggie could offer any consolation, the girl looked up at her and said, “I made Mommy put a blanket in there with him.” Then, as if satisfied by the memory, she turned back toward the door and pulled Maggie along, ready to continue with the task at hand. “A blanket and a flashlight,” she added. “So he’ll be warm and not scared of the dark. Just till he gets to God’s house.”

      Maggie couldn’t help but smile. Perhaps she could learn a thing or two from this wise four-year-old.

      CHAPTER 7

       Washington, D.C.

      Justin Pratt sat on the steps of the Jefferson Memorial, pretending to rest his feet. Yeah, his feet were sore, but that wasn’t why he wanted to escape. For hours they had been walking between the monuments, handing out pamphlets to touring groups of giggling and shouting high school kids. They had hit the city at the right time—fall field trips. There must have been more than fifty groups from across the country. And they were all a fucking pain in the ass. It was hard to believe he was only about a year or two older than some of these idiots.

      No, the real reason Justin had excused himself involved much more sinister thoughts than sore feet; illicit thoughts, according to the gospel of Reverend Joseph Everett and his followers. Jesus, would he ever get used to calling himself one of those followers, one of the chosen few? Probably not as long as he took breaks from handing out the word of God, only to sit back and admire Alice Hamlin’s breasts.

      She looked up and waved at him as if she had read his thoughts. He fidgeted. Maybe he should take off his shoes to play up the sore-feet thing. Or had she already figured him out? She certainly couldn’t mind. Why else would she have worn such a tight pink sweater? Especially on a bus trip where they were to spend the day handing out godly propaganda. And then later, in about an hour, they’d be at the fucking prayer rally.

      Jesus! He needed to watch his language.

      He looked around, checking to see if any of Father’s little messengers could hear his thoughts. After all, Father sure as hell made it appear that he could. The man seemed to be telepathic or whatever that term was for reading people’s minds. It was downright spooky.

      He grabbed one of the pamphlets so Alice would think he took their job seriously and maybe not notice that breast thing. The slick four-color pamphlets were pretty impressive with the word freedom in raised letters. What did Alice call it? Embossing? Very professional. It even included a color photograph of Reverend Everett and listed on the back the entire schedule of future prayer rallies, city by city. From the looks of the brochure, you’d think they could afford to eat something better than beans and rice seven days a week.

      When he looked back at Alice, a new group of potential recruits had surrounded her. They listened and watched intently as her face and gestures became animated. She was three years older than Justin, an older woman. Just the idea gave him a hard-on. She didn’t have much street smarts, but she knew stuff about so many different things. She amazed him. Like all the quotes of Jefferson’s she had memorized. She recited them before they got up all the steps to read them off the walls. She kicked ass when it came to that history crap. And she knew that one-two-three thing about Jefferson. That he was the first secretary of something or another, second vice president and third president. How could she even remember that fucking shit?

      It was one of the many things Justin admired about her. That had to be a good sign, that he didn’t care only about her great pair of tits, which had usually been the case with him and girls in the past. In fact, there was a whole list of things he liked about Alice. For one thing, she could make religion sound almost as exciting as if it were some fucking NASCAR race to heaven. And he liked the way she looked into her listeners’ eyes as though they were the only souls on earth for that moment. Alice Hamlin could make a suicidal maniac feel special and forget why he was out teetering on a ledge. Or at least, that’s how she made Justin feel. After all, he had been that suicidal maniac just a couple months ago.

      Sometimes he still felt it, that restlessness, that urge to just forget about everything and stop trying so hard to make it look like he had his shit together. Especially now that Eric had left him and was off on some mission.

      In fact, he had felt the urge as recently as this morning when he found himself wondering how he might take the blades out of his plastic disposable razor. He knew if the veins at the wrists were cut vertically instead of horizontally that a person bled to death much quicker. Most people fucked it up and did the horizontal thing. Cutting himself didn’t bother him. Getting his tattoo probably hurt a hell of a lot more than slitting your wrists.

      Alice was bringing a group of girls up the stairs toward him. She’d want to introduce him. Earlier she had told him he was cute enough to convince any girl to attend Father’s rally. Words didn’t usually mean a fucking thing to Justin. Not after a lifetime of people telling him stuff. But when Alice said stuff, it was hard not to believe her. So he didn’t mind. Besides, he enjoyed watching girls walk up steps. Of course, he’d much rather be watching from behind, but this view wasn’t bad.

      It was a chilly day and yet all three wore short-sleeved blouses. One even had on a tight knit top, cut short to show her flat stomach. It was a false indicator of a wanna-be wild side, since even from this distance, Justin could see the belly button was pierce-free. But it was still nice to look at.

      Now, if they’d just shut up. Did all high school girls have that same high-pitched giggle? Where the fuck did they learn that squeal? It grated on his nerves, but he smiled, anyway, and offered a cute little tip of his baseball cap that only seemed to set them off again, but an octave higher. Dogs had to be pitching their ears for miles.

      “Justin, I want you to meet some of my new friends.”

      Alice and the three girls stopped in front of him, right at crotch level, and suddenly he forgot about sore feet or even Alice’s perfectly shaped tits—for a few minutes, anyway. The tall blonde and her shorter counterpart shielded their eyes from a momentary and rare appearance of the sun. The third one, a short girl with dark eyes, looked older up close. She wasn’t afraid to

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