Chapter 8
Any person can be compelled to do anything.
—Dixie Lou Jackson, private comment
That evening, Dixie Lou continued her intense questioning of the she-apostles, a session that had been interrupted by the arrival of the Arab women. She wished she could only do this without witnesses, but she needed translators, and needed help to handle seven rebellious children, to keep them under control while she administered punishment. It was one of the responsibilities of leadership, something she had to do.
The she-apostles stood or sat on the sand, while Dixie Lou strutted back and forth in front of them, studying each defiant little face. Behind the children, translators, matrons, and councilwomen held the babies and kept the toddlers standing in place, no matter how much the children fussed and objected, though none of them cried. Dixie Lou found this interesting, the way they were not acting so much like tiny children right now. Maybe it had something to do with the harrowing escape from Monte Konos, and the challenges of battle and survival had matured them. Off to one side, she saw her son Alex watching her, his face reflecting his now-familiar attitude of disapproval.
Coming to a stop, Dixie Lou knelt in front of the flaxen-haired she-apostle, Candace. The two-year old squinted at her in the bright light, and tried unsuccessfully to free herself from the translator who held her hand tightly.
“You know what I want, don’t you?” the Chairwoman asked. In the moments before the translator repeated her words in ancient Aramaic, Dixie Lou thought she saw a flicker of understanding in Candace’s eyes, suggesting that she was faking, that she and her tricky little companions understood English.
Dixie Lou wondered, as she had since landing here, if their supposedly authentic gospels were reflective of true events at the time of Jesus Christ, or if these strange children had made everything up . . . or concealed information of tremendous importance. It was the second time she had questioned them on this matter, and this time she would get what she wanted out of them.
Candace stopped struggling, and stared back at her peevishly.
“All of you are concealing important things from me, information I need to know. I demand to know what it is.”
Dixie Lou glanced around, at the matrons, translators, and councilwomen. That morning, she had asked each of them if they saw what Candace did, vanishing when a bullet was headed toward her, and then reappearing a moment later. None of them admitted seeing it, but Dixie Lou remained convinced that it had happened. The solution to that particular puzzle was a critical part of the enigma of the she-apostles.
The children, even the tiniest, just stared at her blankly, emotionlessly. Obviously, they didn’t care one whit about Dixie Lou Jackson or what troubled her. The Chairwoman had a bleak, dismal feeling. She didn’t want to push the issue, didn’t want to interrogate these special children or even know what more they had to say. But she had to know it nonetheless, in order to do her job, and in order to survive.
In only a short period of time, since leaving Monte Konos, it was becoming a compulsion with her.
Taking a deep breath, because the biggest question filled her with fear, Dixie Lou said, “Tell me about the twelfth she-apostle.” Why should such a question terrify her so? Nonetheless, it did, inexplicably. She had to know why.
None of the children spoke. She found their expressions irritating, condescending.
“I’ll keep you awake all night if necessary,” Dixie Lou snapped, “as long as it takes. No sleep, no food, no water. We’ll see how long you last out here in the desert.” Again, her words were translated, but Dixie Lou thought she heard a tone of disapproval in the woman’s voice, a thin brunette with pageboy hair.
“Are you translating me word for word?” Dixie Lou asked her.
“Of course, Chairwoman.”
“Well, I hear something in your tone that I don’t like.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.”
“These little ones are smart. They pick up vocal inflections, facial expressions, even hand movements. If you show any objection to what I’m saying, it makes them more difficult for all of us to handle. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, ma’am. I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry if I sounded that way.”
Raising her voice so that all of the handlers could hear her clearly, Dixie Lou said, “Don’t think for one moment that these are only children. They’re little demons, more advanced than any of you can imagine. They deserve whatever I do to them, and more.”
“Demons, ma’am?” Deborah Marvel said. “But they recited holy gospels.”
“Call them tricksters instead of demons, if you wish,” Dixie Lou said. “It was only a figure of speech.”
Privately, though, the more Dixie Lou saw of these children, the more she was beginning to doubt their gospels, feeling that the children were lying for some reason. Her personal doubts were not anything she wanted to admit to anyone, or she would have to kill them afterward. The gospels of these children, and of the four who had gone with Lori, had taken on a life of their own. They had become the bedrock supporting the future of United Women of the World.
“I’ll deal with this one,” Dixie Lou said. Putting her face only inches from the Candace’s, she raised her voice. “Are you going to answer me?”
Her words were translated.
Candace remained immobile, said nothing.
On impulse, Dixie Lou swung an open hand, intending to slap the child very hard for disobedience.
Though she had been able to slap two other children earlier, this time her hand seemed to go into slow motion. The child, and all the she-apostles with her, vanished. Dixie Lou’s hand struck nothing, and as she went around in slow motion it threw her off balance, causing her to tumble onto the sand.
A moment later, the she-apostles reappeared, and time sped up again.
“Did you see that?” Dixie Lou asked, sitting up and looking at Deborah Marvel.
“Don’t try to hit these children again,” Deborah said, angrily.
“Are you threatening me?”
“Just don’t do it. I’m glad you missed. It’s wrong to strike them, no matter how uncooperative they seem to be.”
“Missed? They vanished into thin air, then reappeared!”
“What do you mean?” Deborah asked.
“You didn’t see it?”
“They didn’t vanish. They’ve been here all the time.”
“Did anyone see what I saw?” Dixie Lou demanded, looking at the women, settling for a moment on each face.
They all shook their heads, muttered in low tones. Dixie Lou could not understand why they didn’t see it, when she had, quite clearly. It was like the incident with the bullets. That time, only she and Lori seemed to have seen it, as if they had special eyes that could peer into an alternate realm.
The Chairwoman shuddered.
“Remember, these are unusual children,” Deborah said. “Maybe they don’t understand what you want to know.”
“My words were translated.”
“The children may still have trouble understanding.” Deborah paused, and added, with emphasis, “They are only children.”
After glaring daggers at the suddenly argumentative councilwoman, Dixie Lou took a deep, fitful breath and looked up at the heavens, with only a few stars visible because of a haze in the sky caused by the crescent moon being concealed behind clouds. The children had disappeared, an event that apparently took only a fraction of a second.
I saw it, and I will not forget!
For the moment, Dixie Lou backed off. But she intended to resume interrogations the following morning inside her command helicopter, conducting a one-on-one, intensive session with each child.
But she was not destined to get the opportunity. In a matter of hours, all seven of the authentic she-apostles would be gone . . . this time for good. Only the counterfeit Martha would remain behind.