DAY 13: “THE SUBSTITUTE”

Judge

I DON’T KNOW WHEN Eva’s presence started making me feel this twist of excitement and anger, but when she showed up at the funeral with Bouchet and Grace, I had to force myself not to go to her. They stayed on either side of her like bodyguards. She doesn’t need them; she needs me.

I spent the entire time trying not to stare at her; I still want to, but I can’t. They wouldn’t understand. I blame the Jessupites who treat her like she’s special. She’s not. She’s just like me. Once she understands that, she’ll be saved. I’d hoped Micki would teach her. I’d prayed on a clear message, but here she is acting like They want her to act, pretending that some people are better than others.

Sometimes I felt like Amy understood the truth. She was good that way, but there was a thread of corruption inside her body too. I think her mother created the appetite for filth, but it was fertilized by all of Them. She let so many of Them touch her. They left their own seed behind, and in time, she would have been roiling with corruption.

When I left her to be cleansed by the water, her body was purified. I smile as I think about saving Amy. I left a flower and even words this time. Sharing the truth is slower than I’d like, but being impatient was no good. Eva is worth slow, steady lessons. I feel like I imagine the best teachers do—considering my lesson plans and hoping that my star student will understand the importance of the material. I have to try different strategies though; I remember that talk we had freshman year on “learning styles.”

Running over Eva wasn’t clear enough. It wasn’t really a lesson, if I think on it. I was hasty. Killing Micki should have been a clear lesson. I left an amaryllis there. Pride goeth before the Fall. We learned that in church and in something we read in school. I sent flowers to the hospital. Now, I’ve written words and left flowers. Each flower is a message. There are words, and flowers, and they say the things I can’t tell her in person yet. Eva’s smart. She’ll see the lessons soon, and then she’ll change.

“Thy will be done,” I pray. Silently, I add, “By me.”

From my left, Grayson elbows me. I guess I was talking too loud. If he understood that I can talk to God Himself, he wouldn’t act like that, but he doesn’t know. Someday, maybe I’ll tell him.

“The funeral’s over,” Grayson mutters.

I guess he wasn’t reprimanding me for being loud. I let my gaze dart to her, noticing the black veil she wears. I know that her humility is because of my hitting her with the car I’d borrowed from the Phillips Garage. Maybe hitting her was a lesson too. God’s hands guide me in mysterious ways.

“Thank you,” I whisper silently. I know God listens, and I’ve realized over the past weeks that He speaks, too.

I watch as our classmates surround her. Her face is hidden behind a veil, but that’s allowed. It’s modest. So much changes every day. I have to study it all, look for the clues and plan my next messages.

Teaching is hard.

If she doesn’t understand the message I left with Amy, I’ll send a gift to her house.

“Let’s go,” Grayson urges.

That police officer is standing at Eva’s car, and I duck my head to hide my smile. It would be wrong to smile at a funeral, but I fill with excitement. They found Amy. They saw the message.

I glance at Eva one more time. I know she’s been taking medicines because I ran over her. It might be making her too confused to understand. I hope not. I hope she understands.

I wonder if Eva will call me, if she’ll realize that I am her teacher, if she’ll know that I alone can judge the unworthy and worthy. It’s God’s work I do, and by His hand and His secret messages, I’ve chosen her to be my helpmate in this mission. To the rest of the world she’ll be common, but to me—and only me—she’ll be special. I’ll treat her like she deserves, cherish her, protect her, and she will look at me with love.

“Let’s go out by the lake,” I suggest. “It’s hot enough that maybe there will be some girls we can pick up.”

Grayson gives me a look of shock. “We’re at a funeral.”

“So . . . no?”

“I didn’t say that, just . . . have some respect.” He shakes his head.

“Micki’s dead, and we should live life to its fullest. She can’t.” I glance toward Eva’s car. “Micki was a virgin; she’ll never get to have that kind of joy.”

“You’re kind of a freak,” Grayson says, but when we get into his car, he drives us toward the lake. The thought of being with a girl near where I sacrificed Amy makes me repress a shiver of excitement. Maybe someday, I’ll bring Eva to the very spot. We can make love while the water flows over us. Today, though, I imagine the police have it all blocked off while they look for clues I didn’t leave. Today, I’ll find another girl, a substitute for the girl God made for me.

DAY 13: “THE PICTURES”

Eva

“I NEED TO GIVE my respects to Micki’s parents and then go home,” I tell no one and everyone after Robert leaves. Murmurs of acceptance and wishes of health come from my friends, and then Nate is pushing my chair over to the grave where Micki’s parents stand sobbing.

“Thank you for coming,” Mrs. Adams says.

I’m not entirely sure what I say to them. It’s as if I’m on automatic pilot at funerals: I say the words that I’ve been trained to utter, and they nod politely. They mention the beautiful flowers my family sent to both the funeral and their home (which I knew nothing about) and the very generous donation in Micki’s memory (I’m not even sure which charity). I realize that the over-the-top donation and flowers were how my mother coped with her willingness to let me go without her.