I close my eyes, remembering what Mrs. Little is referring to. Three years ago, there was a slight uproar when a young woman named Anna Storm told Emmanuel she was calling the police after he took her into the Regulation Room. True to her word, two police officers arrived a few hours later. One of them, an Officer Marantino, informed Emmanuel that he was conducting a “thorough investigation regarding Anna’s abuse allegations.” He stayed for nearly eight hours, interviewing first Emmanuel, then Veronica, and finally numerous random adult Believers. No one admitted to ever receiving any kind of abuse by Emmanuel. Worse, after Officer Marantino asked to see the Regulation Room, he came out of it scratching his head.
“I can’t imagine what Ms. Storm is talking about,” he said. “That there is one of the nicest TV rooms I’ve ever been in.” He shook hands heartily with Emmanuel, nodded politely at Veronica, and left the grounds with his partner, shaking his head. No charges of any kind were filed and the abuse accusation was eventually erased from the record. Within minutes of Officer Marantino leaving the grounds, however, Emmanuel called for a mandatory meeting of all the Believers, including the children. His face was purple with rage and when he talked, spit flew from the corners of his mouth.
“If any Believer dares to call the police department to investigate my actions again, he or she will discover the real consequences of my wrath,” he roared. “Get out if you are not happy here! I am warning you! Get out!”
“Just tell us where you are, Mother.” Mr. Little pleads now. “Please. We’re not going to get the police involved, and Emmanuel doesn’t even have to know about it. Please, just let us come get the kids and we can forget any of this ever happened.”
Nana Pete shakes her head. “No one’s going to forget anything, Leonard. I know all about the Regulation Room.” There is a dead silence on the other end of the line. Nana Pete swallows hard and I can tell she is blinking back tears. “How could you let this go on, Leonard? How? They’re children! They’re my grandchildren!”
“Mother.” Mr. Little’s voice is shaky and light. “Just wait a minute, all right? Just hold on. Before you jump to any kind of conclusions, just let me explain … ”
“Nothing you say to me right now, Leonard, could possibly explain what you have been putting your children through. Nothing.”
“Mother!”
But Nana Pete clicks the phone shut again and turns the ringer off.
“Wow,” I say softly. “That was great. You were really strong.” But she is trembling. “Hey, it’s all right.” I put my arm around her and lead her over to the chair. “C’mere. Sit down. You’re gonna fall over.”
She sits down heavily and puts her purse on her lap. I keep my mouth shut, just in case I end up saying the wrong thing. After a few minutes, she turns and looks at me. Her eyes are sort of glassy-looking. “This is probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life, Honey. And I don’t even know what we’re going to do next.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “We have to get Benny fixed up and then we’ll just start driving to Texas. Okay? Just like we talked about.” Nana Pete swallows and nods her head, but I don’t know if she’s really listening. She’s getting scared; I can tell. Quickly I grab hold of her arm. “You know what else? You should probably take some pictures of my back with that camera you brought.”
Nana Pete looks at me, bewildered. “Your back?”
“Yeah.” I nod, pushing back the dread that is beginning to rise in the back of my throat. “I have belt marks on my back from the Regulation Room. Maybe you should take a picture in case we have to show anyone. You know, later, if we have to prove our case.” Nana Pete starts fanning herself with her handkerchief.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods, moving the handkerchief faster. “Little lightheaded all of a sudden. I’ll be okay in a minute.” After a few minutes, she drops her handkerchief back inside her purse and pulls out the camera. “Okay.” Her voice is shaking. “Let’s do this.”
I turn around and, before I lose my nerve, lift up my shirt and lean against the wall. Nana Pete gasps. I stare at a groove in the blue wall, try to imagine myself sliding into it, disappearing completely.
“That word,” she whispers. “Why did he write that word on you?”
The soft part behind my eyes burns, like I have a fever. Why does it feel that Emmanuel has, after all this time, managed to take a little part of me? “I kissed a boy,” I murmur. “Please. Just take the picture.”
I can hear Nana Pete bring the camera up to her face. She clicks once, twice, three times. The camera makes a whirring sound as each picture slides out. I pull my shirt down and sit in one of the blue chairs. Nana Pete puts the photos in her bag and sits next to me.
“Honey,” she whispers, drawing the backs of her knuckles against my arm. “We are doing the right thing.” I nod and keep my head down low, hoping she doesn’t notice the splash of tears that dampen the front of my pants. When she takes my hand in hers, I lean in a little so my head rests against the top of her arm.
After a while I close my eyes.
AGNES
To doubt is human. Even Saint Thomas the Apostle, after Jesus himself appeared to him and allowed him to place his hands in his crucifixion wounds, refused to believe that it was the actual risen Christ.