“Get him out.” I glare at Zion in the rearview.
He and Gray jump at my words, then drag Craig from the car and slam the doors.
“Looks cold.” Noah holds his hands over the warm vents. “I fucking hate this.”
“Why?”
“It’s just so… so…” He throws his hands up. “Why do we have to do it?”
I cock my head and study him. “So, you don’t mind the fact that Craig is going to be drowned to within an inch of death, but you do mind that we’re the ones who have to get our hands dirty?”
“When you say it like that, I sound like a psycho.” He shrugs. “I mean, in a perfect world, no, Craig wouldn’t be punished like this. But…”
“But what?”
“But he failed his Maiden, and he failed the Prophet.”
I clench my eyes shut. “And here I was beginning to think you were finally getting over the hump of our father’s bullshit.”
“You saw the flames.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “We both saw what he can do.”
“We saw a parlor trick! And we were stupid kids!” I wonder if I can slap the belief out of him, just rear back and knock him senseless. But it won’t work. If my father’s taught me anything, it’s that true believers will hold onto their blind faith no matter what. I grind my teeth. “He’s just using you like he does everyone else, Noah. None of this is real. You aren’t here because you believe. You’re here because of what he’ll do if we try to leave again.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “I may disagree with some of the stuff he does, especially when it comes to Mom, but he’s the real deal, Adam. You have to know that. You saw it!”
“I don’t know what I saw, and neither do you.” I slam my hand on the steering wheel. “You have to snap out of it!”
A car pulls up, its tires crunching on the gravel. The driver steps out and opens my father’s door as Noah and I fume. But this discussion is tabled now that Dad has shown up.
“Let’s get the waders on.” Noah opens his door and steps out.
I force my anger to recede and adopt a placid expression. My father doesn’t need to see anything that goes on inside me. I’ve become good at hiding in plain sight.
Despite the façade, I can’t help the eager way I pull on my waders and grab Craig for his date with oxygen deprivation. The water is frigid, chilling me through the thick rubber of the waders. Craig stiffens and shivers as we haul him into the pool.
His screams and cries for mercy are hidden by the black water as Noah and I shove him under. He kicks, splashing us, as my father intones, “For we were all baptized by one Spirit so as to form one body—whether Jews or Gentiles, slave or free—and we were all given the one Spirit to drink.”
When he finally stops moving, we pull him up. I slam my open palm against his back, and he coughs up water, then takes a huge gulp of air.
“… and this water symbolizes baptism that now saves you also—not the removal of dirt from the body but the pledge of a clear conscience toward God.” My father nods toward us.
We slam Craig beneath the glacial water, his struggles filling me with a rare sense of satisfaction. He didn’t listen to his Maiden’s cries for mercy. I saw her, the one with the dark hair and the bruises. The one who was screaming the night when Delilah fought with all her might to try and save her. Sarah, the one who led the escape attempt.
“Let him up, man.” Noah shakes my shoulder.
I didn’t notice Craig had gone slack again. We pull him out of the water, and I land blow after blow on his back until he coughs and sputters, then starts begging.
I grin and shove him back under.
Some parts of me—the worst—are the only ones I ever let show.
I walk up the slight rise to my father’s house. Castro stands out back smoking a cigarette. He flicks the butt at me as I reach for the back door. Pausing, I do a quick calculus on whether I could kill him and get rid of his body before my father or anyone else asks questions.
“Problem, pendejo?” He taps the pistol strapped beneath his arm.
“Fuck you.” I push inside the house and slam the door in his face, flipping the lock out of nothing more than petty spite.
He spits a litany of curses in Spanish.
“You ever wonder why he hates you so much?” Noah drains a tumbler and leaves the glass on the bar.
“I don’t give a shit. And since when did you drink before noon?”
He wipes his mouth on the back of his sleeve. “Everyone has their vice.”