The Second Ship (The Rho Agenda #1)(74)
Roger pretended to wipe his brow. “Good. I wouldn’t want to be them then.”
“Believe me, they won’t want to be themselves either, once we get done with them on the basketball court.”
“Aren’t the district playoffs starting soon?”
“Two weeks.”
“Great. I’m looking forward to watching you play.”
“Thanks.”
The conversation was interrupted by the bus coming to a stop in front of the school. Jennifer and Heather came up beside Mark as he stepped off the bus.
“What was all that about?” Jennifer asked. “I didn’t know you even knew Roger.”
“I don’t. He just started talking to me for some reason. I actually didn’t think the nerd knew what basketball was. Apparently he’s a fan, though.”
Heather patted him on the shoulder. “Wow. That must be exciting for you.”
“Very funny.”
“Oops, there’s Raul. I’ll see you guys in class.”
Mark watched her walk across the steps and take Raul’s hand. Raul’s eyes briefly met his own, and although it was probably only his imagination, it seemed to Mark that Raul had smirked.
“Hey,” said Jennifer, “you’re getting a little rough on pencils aren’t you?”
Mark didn’t remember having taken the pencil from the side of his backpack, but apparently he had been carrying it. Now half of it lay on the ground at his feet, the other half having been crushed into small pieces in his hand.
“Must have gotten a defective one,” said Mark. “I’ll grab another from my locker and meet you at class.”
The tension Mark felt failed to abate as the school day progressed, leaving him feeling as if he were strapped to a medieval rack, each turn of the crank stretching him closer and closer to a snapping point. People around him sensed it and gave him a wide birth. Even Jennifer did her best to stay clear.
As the bell announcing the end of the last class rang and Mark headed for the basketball team meeting, Heather came up to him in the hallway.
“Good luck in the game tonight, Mark. Not that you need it.” Heather smiled, completely unaware of his foul mood.
“I suppose you'll be watching with Raul tonight?” Mark didn’t know why he asked or even why he cared. But he did.
“No, I’ll be sitting with Jennifer. Raul runs a private Bible study a couple of nights a week for some of the kids. Tonight is one of those nights.”
Mark raised an eyebrow. “A private Bible study group?”
Heather nodded. “Raul’s family is very religious, and I guess his miraculous cancer recovery made him even more so. Not surprising considering all he’s been through.”
“If you say so.”
Heather’s eyes suddenly narrowed. “Are you angry with me?”
Mark bit his lip. “No. It’s not you. I just had a hard time sleeping last night so I’ve been grumpy today.”
Heather’s smile returned. “Okay.”
“Listen, I hate to run, but I can’t keep Coach waiting.”
“All right. I’ll be cheering tonight from our regular spot. See you after the game.”
With a wave of her hand, she disappeared into the crowd. For several seconds Mark stared after her, then turned on his heel and headed for the gym.
From the doorway of the biology classroom, Raul Rodriguez watched him go.
Chapter 52
Beyond the walls of the casita, an enclosed patio was all that separated the small guest quarters from the main house. The Rodriguez family had added the small apartment-style cottage to their house as a place for the nurse to stay, during that time when Raul had been on heavy-duty chemotherapy.
Once it became clear that neither chemotherapy nor radiation therapy would save her son, Mrs. Rodriguez had removed the bedroom furniture and converted the main room of the casita into a small chapel, complete with a large altar at the far end. Even the windowpanes had been removed and replaced with stained glass.
The walls were adorned with crosses—hundreds of them, in all shapes and sizes, each with a hanging Jesus nailed through the palms and feet, painted blood running from the wounds, head topped with a bloody crown of thorns.
The altar at the back of the room had recently been removed to make room for a full-size wooden cross. This was a new addition, something Raul had insisted on. It leaned against the back wall at a forty-five degree angle, attached to a track so that it could be cranked up to stand vertically or inclined to a point where someone could lay across it.
Along the walls, candles mounted on small shelves cast flickering shadows that crawled among the crosses like roaches skittering into cracks in the walls.
Sitting on three benches that had been pushed all the way up against the wall sat four young men, all Los Alamos High School students, each of them at least a year older than Raul. Raul, clad in a long, white robe, stood at the head of the chapel, beside the inclined cross that jutted out across the room on its track. He signaled with a slight motion of his right hand, and one of the students rose to throw the deadbolt closed, securing the entrance against interruption.
Raul spoke, his voice resonating with an underlying power and confidence that belied his age.
“Welcome, my brothers. To the three of you who have already entered my service, I extend my blessing.” Raul inclined his head slightly toward the three students who sat on the bench to his right. Turning then to the boy who sat by himself on the center bench, Raul stepped forward.