A Deadly Influence (Abby Mullen Thrillers #1)(53)

CHAPTER 34


Abby sat in her car, the traffic sludging forward at a snail’s pace. She thought about Eden, envying the woman for her fuzzy memory of those last days in the Wilcox cult. If anything, Abby’s memories were just getting sharper by the day.

She now remembered the other children. She recalled a chubby boy, and a girl with glasses, and other faces, and even a name or two. The recollection of one of their last days sprang to mind. All of them—

—washing their hands, standing side by side above the large metal sink outside. Abihail was scrubbing her hands violently. She’d obtained a fresh metal scrubber from her mom, and it was doing a wonderful job. Her hands throbbed with that cleansing pain that she’d learned to love. Some of the other children just washed their hands with soap, but Eden had taught Abihail how to really get the job done, scrubbing away every bit of dirt. And Abihail had found out that when her palms were raw with pain, when they were scratched and bleeding, the grown-ups in their community treated her differently. They smiled at her more. Commended her on her devotion. The pain she felt was a sign of her purity.

Maybe soon, they’d let her work in the flower fields. All the bigger kids were working there now. Abihail had no one to play with throughout the day.

She finished, stepping away, spreading her fingers, tiny pinpricks throughout her hands. She joined everyone else waiting for Father Wilcox’s sermon.

Everyone seemed worried. The grown-ups were talking in hushed whispers, the children silent, looking confused and scared. Abihail didn’t know what was going on. She caught snippets of words that meant nothing to her.

“ . . . Chopper went by twice today . . .”

“ . . . think I saw someone watching . . .”

“ . . . Someone told the cops . . .”

Cops.

A jolt of fear shot through her. The cops wanted to tear down their Family. She knew that. They were guided by corruption and hatred.

Where was Father Wilcox? He should have been there, preaching, calming everyone down. When Father talked, everyone always relaxed.

Abihail stepped out of the crowd, went to Father’s study to see if he was there. But the structure was empty, the windows dark. Then she noticed a lone figure standing in the flower field, his white robe flapping in the wind, the setting sun casting its last rays on his face. Father.

She walked over to him hesitantly. “Father Wilcox? Everyone’s waiting.”

He didn’t budge, didn’t acknowledge her, staring straight ahead, his eyes distant. Abihail had never seen him like this. She’d seen him angry, of course. And often she’d seen him excited. But right now he looked sad. And tired.

After a few seconds, he said, “Consider the lilies, Abihail.”

She knew the rest, had heard it dozens of times in Father’s sermons. “‘How they grow,’” she said. “‘They toil not, they spin not . . .’” She paused, trying to remember the rest.

Father Wilcox smiled. “‘And yet I say unto you, that Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.’”

“I like lilies,” Abihail said.

“I like lilies too. The lily is the state’s wildflower; did you know that?”

“Yes, of course.” She didn’t.

“We’re just trying to spread beauty here, Abihail. Using God’s blessings to enrich the world. But the police are after us.”

“Flowers can’t be bad.”

To her surprise, Father laughed. “Out of the mouth of babes.” He knelt beside her. “You take after your parents, Abihail. You’re a very clever girl.”

She felt the blood rushing to her face as she smiled shyly. “Thank you.”

“What are your favorite flowers in the Garden of Eden?”

“The ones over there.” She pointed. “The tall ones.”

He looked at her thoughtfully. “Like I said, very clever. Why are they your favorite?”

There was a right answer to that; she was sure of it. But she’d just liked them since Isaac had taught her to hide there. “Because they’re beautiful?” They weren’t that beautiful, not really. They didn’t really work in a bouquet. Her mom never used them in the flower shop; they were too tall.

But still, that was where all the children worked every day now with small knives, cutting the pods.

“They’re our most precious possession,” Father said. “You know what they’re called?”

“Yeah,” Abihail said. “Poppies.”

A sudden honk made Abby start, lost in the past. She exhaled, letting her car drift slowly down the road, recalling the poppy field in the Garden of Eden.





CHAPTER 35


Carver waited for Abby in the monitor room, staring moodily through the one-way mirror. Abby shut the door behind her and stepped to his side. Karl Adkins and his attorney, Richard Styles, sat in the interrogation room together. Their eyes were shut, their lips moving softly.

“Praying?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Carver said. “Karl likes praying. He does it every time I ask a straightforward question about the case. If I say, ‘Karl, what do you think about the weather today?’ I get a long, exhausting answer. If I ask why he’s stalking Gabrielle online, I get . . . this.” He gestured at the one-way mirror.