The best place for you to hide.
It seemed wrong coming from the reverend, but sometimes Gideon misunderstood the big concepts. God did drown the world. He did turn Lot’s wife to a pillar of salt. It all made sense when the reverend explained it. Cleansings. Punishment. Creative destruction. “I thought you’d be angry with me.”
“Of course not, Gideon. You’re a child and wounded by fate. You should also understand that necessary things are rarely easy things. If they were, then there’d be no distinction between men of will and those of low character. I’ve always believed you to be the former, and no imagined failing could dissuade me of that conviction. You’ve always had an eager soul. Your mother can see that, you know.” The reverend touched Gideon’s hand. “The question now is, if you’re still willing to help me.”
“Of course. Always.”
“Good boy. Good. This may hurt a little.” The reverend stood and stripped the needle from Gideon’s arm.
“Ow.”
“I want you to get dressed and come with me.”
“But the doctor…”
“Who do you trust more, the doctor or me?”
The preacher’s eyebrow went up, and the stare between them held, one of them unflinching and hard, the other unusually frightened. “My clothes are in the closet.”
The preacher crossed the room and found the clothing. At the bed, he offered the first real smile Gideon had seen. “Come along now. Quickly.”
“Yes, sir.”
Gideon climbed shakily from the bed. He was weak. His chest hurt. He got one leg in his pants, then the other. When he straightened, he saw the preacher’s blood. “Your neck is bleeding.” He pointed at the preacher’s neck, and when the old man touched it, his fingers came back red. Gideon saw then that the collar was bloody, too, and that a purple bruise was spreading along the side of his neck. It all felt wrong: the preacher in red flannel and bleeding, the way he’d stripped out the needle and sent Gideon’s father off to get drunk.
“How did you hurt yourself?”
“It’s like I told you, son.” The preacher tossed a shirt at the boy. “The necessary things are rarely the easy ones.”
*
After that nothing felt exactly right. The way he looked Gideon up and down, how he checked the hall and spoke too quietly. “Balance okay? You can walk?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then walk normally. If someone speaks to you, let me respond.”
Gideon followed him out and kept his head down. He knew it wasn’t right, what they were doing. The doctor had been clear: A week at least. Those are delicate stitches in your chest. We don’t want to knock them loose.
“I think I’m bleeding.”
They were alone in the elevator, Reverend Black watching floors tick down. “That’s normal,”
“Is it a lot?”
“It’s fine.” But, he didn’t even look. They went from the fifth floor to the second, where the elevator stopped and a nurse got on. She looked at Gideon, then at the gash on the preacher’s neck. She opened her mouth, but Reverend Black cut her off. “What are you looking at?”
The nurse shut her mouth; faced front.
Out of the elevator other people stared, too, but no one stopped them. They went through the ER and out the glass door. In the parking lot, Gideon struggled as they moved faster through the crowded lot. He felt weak. The sun was too bright.
“This is not your car.”
“It runs.”
Gideon hesitated. He’d been in the preacher’s car before, a minivan with immaculate paint and a cross on the plates. This one was small and dirty and, in places, rusted through.
“Let’s get you situated.” Reverend Black pushed Gideon into the car, then strapped him down and slid behind the wheel.
Gideon wrinkled his nose. “It smells funny in here.”
“How about some quiet while we drive?”
The reverend turned the key and drove them through town and out to the poor side of things. Air whistled through his teeth as the car moved, and Gideon thought at first they were going to the old, white church on its skinny lot. The thought comforted him because he’d always felt safe in the church. He liked the hymns and the candles, the cushions and wood and velvet hassocks. The church was little, but Gideon felt the warmth of it, too. The preacher had a deep voice, and his wife was like the perfect grandmother. Elizabeth would often drive him to Sunday service. She wouldn’t go in, but was always waiting for him when he came out, and that, too, was special. But they passed the turn for the church. He watched it fade as the preacher drove instead to the hillside road that dropped into the dim, cool shade that seemed to lie so often on Gideon’s house. “We’re going to my house?”
“I need a special favor. Will you do that, son? Grant me a special favor?”
“Yes, sir.”