Devil's Advocate (The X-Files: Origins #2)(42)

When she realized her mind was wandering down the wrong side road and that her anger was rising, Dana stopped, closed her eyes, took several long yoga breaths, and realigned her focus.

“Martyrs,” she murmured aloud.

A few more minutes of reading made her realize that the topic was too big, so she backed up and decided to tackle the subject in sections. Since Maisie had been killed with the wounds of Jesus, she looked at the ways in which the twelve apostles died. It was a starting place. And it was the right place to start.

She dug a bunch of change out of her pocket and took the book over to the photocopy machine across the room. She made sure no one was watching her as she copied artwork of dead apostles.





CHAPTER 38

Craiger, Maryland

4:51 P.M.

Gerlach sat slumped in the passenger side of the black sedan, watching the front of the Abby from beneath the down-tilted brim of his hat. It was bright out, and he wore sunglasses to shield his pale blue eyes. His jaws flexed and bunched as he chewed gum.

“These kids have half a day off from school and they go to a library?” mused his driver.

Gerlach merely grunted.

The driver added, “You think they maybe went in the front and slipped out the back?”

The agent frowned. “Why would they? They don’t know we’re surveilling them.”

“Maybe they do. She’s supposed to have some gifts, right? Maybe she’s sensed us or something.”

Gerlach grunted again and sat up. “Why don’t you go and find out?”

“Me?”

“You. I don’t want her to see me.”

The driver smirked. “Why not? I thought you said your face wasn’t memorable.”

Gerlach turned slowly to study the man. “How would you like a very memorable facial scar?”

“I—” The driver stopped himself from responding.

Gerlach smiled. “Go find out what those kids are up to. Now.”





CHAPTER 39

Abigail Smith Public Library 4:56 P.M.

“Ethan!” cried Dana.

His head popped out from behind the chemistry shelf, looking alarmed. “What’s wrong? I’m still looking.”

“I found it,” she said urgently.

He hurried over, perched on the edge of the couch, and leaned in. Dana took him through it all.

“Look,” she said, fighting to keep disgust and excitement out of her voice. “Every single one of them died in some way close to how Jesus or one of the apostles died.” She turned over a drawing and placed it on a page in the book that described the death of James, son of Zebedee, also known as James the Greater. “Jeffrey Watanabe was decapitated. So was James.”

“Right,” said Ethan, looking at the entry. “But this says that James the Greater was killed with a sword.”

“He was. The Romans cut his head off.”

“Oh.”

She turned over the page for Jennifer Hoffer. “She was impaled on the steering column of her car. Thomas—Doubting Thomas—the one who needed to touch Jesus’s wounds before he believed that he’d risen, was run through with a spear.”

Ethan said nothing.

The next was Connie Lucas. “She was thrown from her car down a rocky slope, and the coroner’s report said that she died from blunt force trauma resulting from multiple impacts with the rocky terrain. James, son of Alphaeus, known as James the Less, was beaten and then stoned to death.”

Ethan swallowed hard.

“We already know about Maisie,” said Dana. “Chuck Riley had the same crucifixion wounds, but he was found hanging upside down from his overturned car. When he was about to be executed, Saint Peter asked that he be crucified upside down because he didn’t think he was worthy to die in exactly the same way as Jesus.”

“We can’t be right about this,” said Ethan in a small, sick voice.

They went through it over and over again, with Ethan trying to knock it all down with logic. However, it was that very logical approach that reinforced Dana’s theory. Finally they sat on opposite ends of the couch, staring at each other. A big clock on the wall above them sliced cold seconds off and let them drop to the floor.

“We … we have to tell someone,” said Ethan.

“Who?” asked Dana.

“My uncle.”

“How do we explain how we know?”

Ethan looked bleak. “We tell the truth, I guess. Which means I get grounded until I’m in my forties.”

“Crap,” sighed Dana, and then she brightened. “We could tell Two-Suit and … wait … No, he’ll want to know how we know. Same if we tell the narcs at school or Mr. Sternholtz.”

“Or anyone,” said Ethan.

“No matter who we tell, we’re going to have to explain how we know. It’s all going to come back to the fact that you broke into your uncle’s desk. Which means he’ll probably get in trouble at work.”

“He could lose his job.” Ethan got up and walked a few steps away, then turned. “What choice do we have, though, Dana? If we don’t tell someone, then the killer gets to keep on doing this. If it’s us or someone’s life, we have to do what’s right. We can’t be cowards. I don’t want to live like that. Sneaking around and snooping is one thing, but I won’t be responsible for letting someone else die.”