Fearless Read online

  “Me, too. Your shoulder’s comfortable.”

  “Hey, didn’t you want to get off in D.C.?” he remembered. The train had left D.C. more than an hour ago.

  “I need to go home first and see my dad,” I said quickly, hoping I was lying well enough to fool him. “I’ll go back into D.C. later today.”

  Zack nodded, seeming to buy my excuse. He glanced at his phone, scrolling through something on it, and panic surged through me. Was he finally reading that inevitable incriminating text, linking me to the attack on the hospital? But he seemed unmoved by whatever was in his inbox, and we exited the train.

  I took a cab home, then headed into my silent house, where my father was still asleep. I wanted to stay up so I could question him the moment he woke, but I was too exhausted. Sleep, my brain was telling me, you have to sleep. As if under its spell, I crawled into bed and immediately passed out.

  When I blinked open my eyes, it was almost noon. I sat up with a start. Stupid, I thought, you have Prophet Joshua’s entire organization gunning for you, and you take a big long nap?

  I could hear my father moving around in his office, and I summoned my courage. “Dad?” I called out, heading inside—only to see that Samantha was there, too, laughing uproariously at something my father was saying. They seemed surprised to see me enter.

  “Grace!” My father wrapped me in his arms. “What are you doing here?”

  I said quietly, “I wanted to talk to you.” But I can’t, because Samantha’s here, I tried to convey. It hit me then, what should have hit me months ago—Samantha’s timing was incredibly suspicious. She’d appeared in my father’s life right after I’d started working with the prophet. After years of my father keeping his relationships private, coincidentally now he decides to let this woman into our home? She must be a plant, by the prophet or by Dawn. There was no other explanation.

  “Is everything okay?” Samantha asked, frustratingly cheery as usual.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” I muttered back, wishing she’d get that stupid nice smile out of my house.

  But that stupid smile finally said something useful for a change. “I’ll give you two a minute.”

  As she left, my father looked after her. “She’s so sweet, isn’t she? I’m thinking of taking her to the conference in Johannesburg. What do you think?”

  That you’re making a terrible mistake? “That’s great,” I said, wondering if she was listening at the door. Ultimately, my father’s questionable romantic decisions were the least of my problems right now. I lowered my voice to continue, “I was actually wondering . . . can I ask you some questions about Mom?”

  My dad nodded through his confusion. “Of course.”

  Nervous, I tried to broach the subject as delicately as possible. “Is there anything I don’t know about her? Anything you haven’t told me?”

  He seemed puzzled by that. “Why are you asking?”

  “You saw her, right? Before she died?”

  “I did . . .”

  I took a deep breath, asking him the question I wished I’d been brave enough to ask years ago. “And she looked . . . normal?”

  He finally realized what conversation we were having. “You mean was she an Outcast?”

  “Yeah.”

  He looked at the ground, fresh pain washing over him. “Yes. She was an Outcast.”

  “Are you sure it was her?” I asked him. “There’s no way it was a different Outcast you saw in the hospital? Is there any chance she could be alive, somewhere?”

  The anguish was all over my father’s face. He’d lied to me many times, but I couldn’t imagine he was lying now. “I was there, I held her hand while she died. It was the single worst moment of my entire life.”

  Hearing the confirmation stung worse than I’d expected. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked him.

  “I wanted you to remember the good parts of her. Whatever it was she did . . . I knew it didn’t change who she was. But as a little kid . . . I wasn’t sure if you’d see it the same way. I should have known you’d figure out the truth eventually.” His pride was muted by a sad smile.

  “You don’t know what she did? Why she was Punished?” I pushed.

  “I don’t, I’m sorry.” But he looked away from me as he spoke.

  His avoidance was frustrating. “Dad, I’m eighteen. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

  He turned back to me, and he seemed torn. “I don’t know anything for sure.”

  “I won’t look at her differently, I promise,” I said, hoping not to provoke any feelings of guilt. “You can tell me.”

  He sat down, trying to find the right words. “In the months before the American Revelation, I was working a lot. Prophet Joshua had asked for my help, and there was nothing more important to me than serving Great Spirit. But your mother might have felt . . . ignored? In any case, she started coming home later and later. She wasn’t acting like herself. She was evasive, she wouldn’t tell me who she’d been meeting with.”

  My breath caught in my throat. “You think she was having an affair?”

  My father shook his head, still unable to verbalize his suspicions. “I never would have suspected it. That wasn’t the woman I thought I knew. But after she died, after she was Punished . . . it made a certain amount of sense . . .”

  It did. The mother I knew would have felt guilty for hurting my father. My mind spun, trying to figure out if it could possibly be true. “You never found out who it was?”

  My father let out a chuckle at that. “No. Although years later, I learned the rumor going around in our worship center before the Revelations was it was Prophet Joshua.”

  His tone was light, happy he could finally find something to laugh about amid all this darkness, but my blood ran cold. My father might think the prophet wasn’t capable of such a transgression, but I knew better. I knew who, what, Joshua really was.

  It could be a baseless rumor, a dead end. Or it could be a new lead, a seed with the potential to grow into the truth. There was only one person who could tell me for sure. But was I willing to walk right up to a man who was probably waiting to torture me, just to find out?

  I’d made a decision when I jumped out of that taxi—finding my mother was worth risking everything I had. Was that still true?

  Thankfully, that voice inside my head whispered, nudged me: Don’t give up.

  3

  The train ride into D.C. was a blur of indecision. Even a few blocks away from Walden Manor itself, I was still trying to talk myself out of this crazy plan. Approaching Prophet Joshua and accusing him of adultery? It was madness. But as I rounded a corner, my destination in sight, a scolding tone stopped me in my tracks. “Grace. We need to talk.”

  Zack’s voice had become my least favorite sound in the world. This time, I didn’t have the patience to face him down, to play our stupid little game. Why even bother? I prepared to bolt—if Zack was here to capture me on the prophet’s behalf, I would never be able to find my mother. But he grabbed my arm before I could make my escape. “Grace! What the hell is going on?”

  I shook my arm, freeing myself. “Stop it. Stop following me around, stop pretending to be my friend.” I took a moment to revel in the shocked look on his face. Right now, all I wanted was for him to go away.

  But he didn’t, and his voice held a warning. “Grace, I’m not an idiot. What’s up? Don’t lie to me.”

  I puffed up my chest a little. “Why, so you can run and tattle to the prophet on me?”

  Zack seemed genuinely offended. “For the record, I’ve been covering for you all day. Reporting that nothing’s out of the ordinary. But sure, yeah, if that’s what you really think of me.” I knew I should be trying harder to protect what was left of my cover, but I was too angry at him to care. I stayed silent as Zack continued his interrogation, undeterred. “Why are you looking for your mother?”

  How did he know that? “My mother’s dead,” I corrected him.

  “What about all the questions you as
ked your father? About whether he was sure he held the hand of the right dying Outcast? Why would you ask him that?”

  A shiver ran down my spine. Our house was bugged. I’d always suspected it, but hearing it was a reality made my skin crawl. “How did you hear all that?” I demanded. Even though I knew the answer, I wanted to force him to say the words.

  Zack didn’t even flinch. “The prophet asked me to bug your house. Answer the question.”

  I took a deep breath, trying to find a way to spin this. “In one of my classes at NYU, we were talking about the Revelations . . . it made me stop and think and realize there were so many things I don’t know about my mom, how she died.”

  “But why the urgency?”

  “It wasn’t urgent,” I insisted.

  Zack didn’t buy it. “You told me you were in some huge hurry to give that folder to Samuel, but instead you go home to grill your dad?”

  “You’ve never lost anyone, you don’t know what it’s like,” I shot back. Though I was trying to cover, the anger behind my words was all too real.

  “I do know,” he said, with a quiet sadness I wasn’t expecting. “I have.” I saw the grief sweep across his face, and for a moment, I had compassion for him. The truth was, I didn’t know Zack, not well enough to understand whatever pain and anguish lay deep inside him. And even at my angriest, I still didn’t want to hurt him.

  “Who was it?” I asked gently, but Zack just shook his head.

  “It doesn’t matter. What matters is, I know how you think. And right now, you think your mother’s alive. The way you talk about her, it’s as though there are stakes still.” He must have seen on my face the accuracy of his guess.

  I tried to remember what I’d said to my dad. “They just found her lying on the ground outside our worship center. Couldn’t it have been some other Outcast woman that my mother was mistaken for? How could they prove it was her, how do we really know? And if there was some mistake . . . if she’s out there . . .”

  Zack looked at me with sympathy. “I get it. I do.”

  “Yeah?”

  His voice went quiet. “I’ve never lost a parent, but . . . I know that feeling. When one moment changes your whole world, and you’d give anything to go back to before, to make sure things turned out differently.” Instinctively, I reached out a hand to touch his arm, to offer him some kind of comfort when he looked so sad. “Thanks,” he said.

  His moment of empathy weakened my defenses, made me feel like I could confide in him, at least about this one thing. “Wouldn’t you want to know anything you could, about someone so important, that you lost so young?”

  Zack shook his head, immediately on edge. “Not if that meant questioning the morality of a prophet.”

  “Why? Do you think it’s true?” I tested him.

  As usual, Zack’s expression betrayed nothing. “I have no idea. But if you go in asking questions, he’s going to ask some back. Ask me things, ask your friends things. Questions maybe you don’t want to answer.” Zack’s words felt pointed—they hinted he knew what my answers to those questions might be.

  “What does it matter to you?” I asked, fishing a little.

  “Seriously? You think after all the time we’ve spent together, I don’t care what happens to you?” Despite myself, his words gave me a little shot of adrenaline, a little jolt of pleasure.

  But I tried to squelch those feelings. “So now you’re pretending we’re friends? Whatever friendship we have is based on you lying to me, and following me around, and reporting on me to the prophet. That’s not healthy, that’s not mutual respect. If you really care about me, then stop. Stop doing it. Be on my side, for real.”

  I could see my words punching a hole right through him. “I am on your side,” he swore.

  “Seriously? That’s the best you’ve got?” I spat back, realizing how much pent-up anger I had toward him. He was the personification of everything I hated—the prophet, this situation, this whole crappy world. I couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop myself.

  I saw Zack working to restrain whatever comeback he wanted to throw at me. His response was reserved, measured. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I haven’t been a good friend to you. But I’m trying to be one now. Don’t go to Prophet Joshua with this. I promise you, you’ll regret it.”

  But my gut was telling me that Zack was wrong. Though usually the thought of facing down the prophet would have terrified me, in this moment, the prospect didn’t scare me one bit. The search for my mother had imbued me with a kind of bravery I’d never experienced before, an eagerness to waltz right into the prophet’s office and tell him whatever I needed to in order to find her.

  If my mother was alive, she was at the center of something big—something both Dawn and Zack were trying to keep me away from. Which meant I needed to find out what it was, as soon as possible.

  I allowed my face to slip into an expression of resignation. “Okay. You’re right. I’ll keep my distance,” I promised.

  Zack nodded, seemingly placated.

  Now, I just had to get a meeting with Joshua.

  4

  Once I’d evaded Zack and made my way into that familiar, ornate Walden Manor waiting room filled with desperate Outcasts, paranoia overtook me. Did I really think I could pull this off? But I quieted those anxieties. If I was going to survive this encounter with the prophet, I had to appear calm.

  And indeed, a kind of calm did come over me as I entered Samuel’s office and faced down his smug smile. After the hospital bombing, Dawn had told me to expect the worst, and the worst hadn’t come. And somehow, intuitively, I’d known it wouldn’t—some inner knowledge had told me to jump out of that car, that I’d be safe if I did. It was the kind of inner knowledge I’d always attributed to Great Spirit showing me the way.

  Basic logic still told me Zack was right, that this was a terrible idea. But after all my hand-wringing, hoping for some kind of sign from the universe about what my purpose might be, here it was: a big flashing neon sign saying, PURPOSE, THIS WAY. I had no idea where Great Spirit might be leading me, but I felt certain of one thing: if I trusted the feeling in my gut, Great Spirit would protect me, would lead me to my mother. And with that brazen confidence, I told Samuel, “I want to talk to Joshua.”

  Samuel looked at me like I was crazy, which, to be fair, maybe I was. “Joshua? I’m sorry, was the president not available?”

  I ignored the derision dripping from his voice and stared him straight in the eye. “He was having an affair with my mother. Before she died.” It felt incredibly satisfying to catch him off guard.

  “Where—where did you hear that?” he stuttered.

  “It was the rumor in our worship center, before the Revelations,” I said evenly.

  I expected him to shut me down. To tell me I was wasting his time. But instead he cast a skeptical eye at me and murmured, “Wait here.”

  Maybe he was amused by my request. Maybe he knew something I didn’t. Or maybe I was wrong about Great Spirit protecting me and my number was finally up. I’d find out soon enough. As he left the room in an officious huff, I tried to maintain my sense of calm. I had to trust that I’d been led here for a reason.

  I waited in Samuel’s office an interminable amount of time. It would have been so easy to rifle through his drawers, go through his computer, but Samuel struck me as the type who might have a hidden camera. So I sat, and I waited, until an aide finally entered and ushered me toward Joshua’s office. I took each step with a sense of calm and purpose—my plan was working.

  Joshua himself was waiting for me inside, an expression of deep annoyance on his face, despite his gracious, welcoming words. “Grace, so good to see you again.”

  “You, too, Prophet,” I said, humbled. Standing in his presence, I was reminded of just how much power he wielded. To the rest of the world, this man was divine perfection embodied . . . how could I possibly bring up the affair? It was blasphemous, what I was about to accuse him of. But it was too late. I wa
s going to have to.

  His eyes were innocent, curious. “I hear you have a question about your mother?”

  My stomach lurched with fear, but I pressed forward. “I heard a rumor, that . . .” I forced myself to say it: “She was having an affair before she died.”

  His voice betrayed no hint of emotion. “With me.” Looking at his handsome face, I understood why my mother might have been tempted.

  “Yes,” I squeaked out.

  His tone was gentle, avoiding any condescension. “And you want to know if it’s true?”

  It would be easy enough for him to lie, unless I convinced him that I already had the evidence. I straightened my shoulders, steeled my voice, finding a confidence I never knew I had. “I already know it’s true. I’m here to ask you why.”

  My plan had succeeded in throwing him off guard, at least. “Oh?”

  I tried to ignore the absurdity of coming to the great prophet with something like this and stood my ground. “I can’t ask her. So you’re the only one left who can explain what happened.”

  Joshua seemed strangely impressed by my boldness. His eyes searched mine, intrigued. “Why not let her rest in peace? Why dig up painful secrets?” It was almost an admission, the way he said it.

  I watched him carefully, knowing I was treading on dangerous ground. “Some secrets are more painful buried,” I said. “At least for me.”

  He nodded. “You want to know why she was Punished? You think it was my fault?”

  “Do you think it was your fault?” I asked tentatively.

  “I think if anyone is responsible for the actions of Great Spirit, it’s me,” he said in his magnanimous, prophety, meaningless way. “It’s my job to guide every human being in this country toward Forgiveness. What kind of prophet would I be, to let that kind of harm come to someone else?” That was the very question I would have asked, if I didn’t know the truth about him, the truth about this world.

  “Do you feel guilty?” I asked, moments later remembering that he knew as well as I did what it meant to feel guilty in this new world.