A House Divided

The girl on my couch took a sharp breath like she’d just been pulled up from the bottom of a lake.

Her back arched.

Her eyes flew open.

And every person in my living room—myself included—jumped like we’d just witnessed a resurrection.

Which…

if I was being honest…

looked uncomfortably close to what had just happened.

The big man in the leather jacket dropped to his knees beside her.

“Kris?”

His voice cracked on the word.

The small brunette blinked twice. Looked around the room like she’d forgotten where she was.

Then she focused on him.

“Gene?”

The big man let out a shaky laugh and grabbed both her hands.

“Yeah.”

He swallowed hard.

“Yeah, I’m here.”

Across from them, the beautiful dark-haired woman withdrew her hand from the woman’s forehead.

She smiled as though she’d expected this outcome the entire time.

Which, for reasons I couldn’t explain, annoyed me.

Maybe because everyone else in my house looked shocked.

She looked entertained.

Blue light rolled across the living room wall again.

I turned toward the front bay window.

The campus police cruiser sat sideways at the end of Mary Jane Lane, blocking both lanes. The same officer who’d asked for my autograph stood behind his open door with a radio pressed to his mouth.

The school-owned football rested on his passenger seat.

My signature was still visible through the windshield.

The officer wasn’t coming to check on us.

He was watching the house.

Keeping everyone else away.

I didn’t know whether Shaw had flagged him down after leaving or whether something else had brought him back.

Either way…

my morning continued to improve.

I cleared my throat.

Loudly.

Nobody noticed.

I cleared it again.

Still nothing.

So I did what I’d spent fifteen years doing whenever a room full of oversized egos forgot who was running the huddle.

I took command.

“All right.”

My voice cracked through the room like a whistle.

Heads turned.

Even the dog looked at me.

“Everybody sit down.”

No one moved.

I pointed at the man in the leather jacket.

“You. Couch.”

He looked like he might argue.

Then he glanced at the woman whose hands he was holding and sat beside her.

I pointed at the dark-haired woman.

“Chair.”

She smiled at me like we were dancing.

I didn’t like that.

I pointed at the wild-eyed man with the dog.

“You and your dog stay where you are.”

He obeyed instantly.

Interesting.

Finally, I looked at Marcus Reed.

That one hurt.

Marcus wasn’t some random stranger who’d wandered into my morning.

He had been my teammate.

My friend.

The first man I ever tried to pull out of the river.

Lost River—the name, the ministry, the mission—came later.

Helping Marcus had convinced me I could do this. That experience had become the foundation beneath everything I built afterward.

And now he stood beside my kitchen counter with a bottle of stolen pills in his pocket.

I held out my hand.

“Bottle.”

Marcus didn’t move.

“Put it on the table.”

He slowly removed the bottle and set it down.

The pills rattled inside.

“Sit.”

He obeyed.

Good.

I stayed standing.

“Now…”

I looked around my own living room.

At the dog.

At the biker.

At the dark-haired woman.

At the woman who had apparently returned from the dead.

At the man with the week-old beard who still hadn’t let go of the dark-haired woman’s hand.

Then back at all of them.

“Who in the hell are you people?”

Silence.

The man with the dog slowly raised one hand like we were in sixth grade.

“My name is Bodhi. Bodhi Lewis.”

He hesitated.

“I write children’s books. Princess and Mr. Sullivan. Maybe you’ve heard of them?”

I hadn’t.

“Oh, I know you,” the biker said.

Everyone looked at him.

“What?”

He frowned.

“I read.”

The woman beside him patted his arm affectionately.

“Anyway…”

Bodhi motioned toward the black lab.

“This is Sasha.”

The dog thumped her tail once.

Then Bodhi looked at the dark-haired woman.

His expression changed.

“And this is my wife.”

Wife.

Present tense.

Interesting.

“She disappeared,” he continued. “Three years ago.”

His jaw tightened.

“I’ve been looking for her ever since.”

The dark-haired woman squeezed his hand.

Sasha watched them from several feet away.

No wagging tail.

No joyful reunion.

She stayed close to Bodhi and kept her dark eyes fixed on the woman wearing his wife’s face.

I pointed at the man in leather.

“You.”

“Gene.”

He jerked a thumb toward the woman beside him.

“Kristy Lee.”

Then he pointed at the dark-haired woman.

“We brought her.”

Simple.

Efficient.

Didn’t smile.

Didn’t trust me.

I understood him immediately.

I looked at the dark-haired woman.

“And you?”

She smiled.

“Rachel.”

That was it.

No explanation.

No story.

Just Rachel.

Somehow, that bothered me more than if she’d lied.

“She’s a witch,” Gene said. “Don’t believe anything she tells you.”

Bodhi’s head snapped toward him.

“She’s my wife.”

Gene looked at him.

“You weren’t there.”

“You don’t know her.”

“She puts the wrong songs in your head.” Gene shook his head. “It’s weird, man.”

Bodhi stepped closer.

Sasha moved with him.

Not toward Rachel.

Between them.

Rachel’s smile never changed.

Kristy Lee shifted on the couch.

“He’s not wrong.”

Bodhi looked at her.

Rachel didn’t.

Her attention remained on Gene.

“I warned you what would happen if you brought her.”

“You said she’d die.”

Rachel glanced at Kristy Lee.

“What do you think death looks like?”

Gene’s hands curled into fists.

“You made her sick.”

Rachel’s smile deepened.

“Can you prove it?”

Gene started to rise.

I raised both hands.

“Enough.”

He looked at me.

“This is my house. Nobody threatens anybody in my house.”

Rachel tilted her head.

“And if it isn’t a threat?”

I looked at her.

“What else would it be?”

“A promise.”

The room went quiet.

She smiled again.

Soft.

Beautiful.

Dangerous.

I understood why Gene didn’t trust her.

I turned to Marcus.

“Your turn.”

He stared at the bottle on the table.

“What’s your connection to all this?”

He swallowed.

“John.”

I frowned.

“John who?”

“Bartender,” Gene said.

“Friend of mine,” Bodhi said at the same time.

They looked at each other.

Gene narrowed his eyes.

Bodhi looked confused.

Marcus gave a quiet, humorless laugh.

“That sounds like John.”

I looked from one man to the other.

“Is John with Lost River?”

Marcus shook his head.

“No.”

“Then who is he?”

“I don’t know how to explain John.”

“Try me.”

Marcus looked at Gene.

“John told me a big guy named Gene would call when he got to California. Said I should send him here.”

Gene nodded once.

“That’s what he told me to do.”

Marcus turned toward Bodhi.

“He gave me Bodhi’s number. Told me to call him and say Rachel would be here.”

Bodhi looked at the dark-haired woman.

“And she is.”

Sasha released a quiet sound from deep in her chest.

Not quite a growl.

Close.

I looked at Marcus.

“Why here?”

He finally met my eyes.

“John said you were the last one.”

A cold feeling moved through me.

“The last what?”

Marcus looked away.

“He didn’t say.”

Before I could ask another question, Sasha’s ears lifted.

Her head snapped toward the front bay window.

A low growl rolled out of her chest.

Different this time.

Louder.

Focused.

The hairs on my arms stood up.

Bodhi noticed it too.

“What is it, girl?”

Sasha barked once.

Sharp.

Not fear.

Warning.

I moved first.

Because it was my house.

Because someone had to.

And because I was still pretending ownership made me the man in control.

I parted the blinds with two fingers.

The campus officer remained at the far end of the street, cruiser positioned across the road.

He was no longer alone.

Movement appeared at the opposite end of Mary Jane Lane.

A black SUV rolled slowly past the house.

Too slowly.

Tinted windows.

No visible plates.

It kept going.

A second SUV followed.

That one stopped half a block down.

Engine running.

A black sedan pulled in behind it.

Then another.

The street was being closed from both directions.

I didn’t say anything.

Didn’t need to.

Behind me, pills rattled inside plastic.

I turned.

Marcus stood beside the table with the bottle clutched in one shaking hand.

His face had gone pale.

Not nervous.

Not confused.

Recognizing.

And just like that…

I knew.

“Marcus.”

He didn’t answer.

“Look at me.”

He stared at the bottle.

My voice dropped.

“Marcus Reed.”

His eyes finally found mine.

Suddenly, I wasn’t looking at the man I had helped.

I was looking at the man I’d first found.

Hungover.

Scared.

Broken.

“They told me they could help.”

His voice barely made it out.

Gene stood.

Rachel went still.

Bodhi pulled Sasha closer.

And me?

I felt something cold settle in my chest.

“Who?”

Marcus swallowed.

“I don’t know exactly. I heard one of them call it the Order.”

Nobody spoke.

Marcus looked at the floor.

“They pulled me over two nights ago.”

His voice shook.

“They found the pills.”

He squeezed the bottle.

“I was still on probation. Third violation. I knew I was going back in.”

He looked sick now.

Actually sick.

“They said they could make it disappear.”

I stared at him.

“What did they want?”

His eyes moved toward Gene.

Then Kristy Lee.

Then Rachel.

Then Bodhi.

Finally…

back to me.

“They said if anybody called asking for Preacher, I was supposed to find out where they were going.”

His voice cracked.

“And tell them.”

The words settled over the room.

Heavy.

Ugly.

Marcus couldn’t hold my stare.

“I’m sorry, Dan.”

I didn’t blink.

Didn’t move.

I wasn’t angry.

Not yet.

Anger comes easy.

Disappointment?

That’s the one that cuts.

Marcus wasn’t only my friend.

He was my beginning.

The first success.

The story I had told from church stages all over the country.

Proof that men could change.

Proof that I could help them.

And now the Order was outside because Marcus had sold them our address to save himself.

Then—

DING-DONG.

Nobody moved.

Nobody breathed.

The bell rang again.

Longer this time.

Every person in my house looked toward the front door.

The fear on their faces told me they knew exactly who was standing on the other side.

The ball had already been snapped.

And I was the only man in the room who didn’t know the play.