The Chosen by Sharon Sala Page B

stranger,” the little nun called.
    â€œOkay,” January said, waving as she walked away.

Six
    T he phone was ringing as January walked in the door. She dropped her purse on the hall table and then moved toward the kitchen, intent on letting the answering machine pick up. The machine kicked on, and her message began to play. It wasn’t until she heard the caller’s voice that she stopped. A chill of foreboding made her slow to react, but as the man continued to talk, she moved to answer.
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    As soon as Carpenter heard January’s cheery greeting and invitation to leave a message, he leaned back against the inside of the phone booth and closed his eyes. It was the answering machine. He needed a warm body, not a machine. He cursed before he could stop himself, then silently begged God’s forgiveness.
    The pain in his head was worse than it had ever been. The stress and grief from what had happened to Scofield were weighing heavily on his conscience. He wanted to believe that he’d read the signs wrong, that just because a man named Bart had gotten into his cab didn’t mean he was “the one” God meant for him to claim. But what if he was wrong? What if he’d just damned himself to an eternity in hell because he’d killed one of God’s disciples?
    A sudden pain went from one eye to the other. It was so sharp and unexpected that he screamed. At that point, his ears began to ring, as if someone had hit him hard at the back of the head. The air inside the booth was hot, accentuating the odor of stale cigarettes and unwashed bodies that lingered there, but he had to pull himself together. When the prerequisite beep sounded, signaling for the caller to begin speaking, he took a deep breath and made himself concentrate.
    â€œJanuary DeLena. Always on the prowl for that story, even though I asked you to leave me alone. Don’t deny that you’re still looking for me, because I saw you today. I heard you. You and that nun. Why won’t you leave me alone? I have things to do that don’t concern you.”
    January grabbed the receiver.
    â€œHello? Hello?”
    Tears were streaming down Jay Carpenter’s face. The pain in his ears was so severe that, at first, he didn’t hear her answering.
    â€œHello? Are you there?” January repeated.
    Jay shuddered, then closed his eyes, making himself focus.
    â€œLeave me alone.”
    â€œTell me about the missing men,” she demanded.
    He flinched. How could she know? He made himself calm. She didn’t know anything. She couldn’t possibly. For whatever reason, she was just guessing.
    â€œI don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.
    January was guessing, but she wasn’t going to pass up this opportunity to push a few buttons just to see what popped up.
    â€œMatthew, Simon, James, Andrew and Bart. Those are their names, aren’t they? What did you do with them, and what was wrong with Bart? Why did you kill him?”
    â€œHe was the wrong one,” Carpenter muttered, unaware that he’d just given himself away.
    January gasped. She had not expected that.
    â€œWhat do you mean, the wrong one? Are you admitting that you abducted, then killed, Bart Scofield? Why? Why did you do it, and where are those other men?”
    Carpenter shook his head like a dog shedding water, but it didn’t stop the pain, and the buzzing in his ears became worse.
    â€œI didn’t say that.” He slid to the floor of the phone booth as his legs gave way.
    â€œYes, you did,” January said. “Why was Bart Scofield wrong?
    â€œI don’t know what you’re talking about,” Carpenter said, and wondered if that was himself he heard whining. “I called to tell you to stop looking for me. You’re messing everything up.”
    January could tell something was wrong with the man. His voice was shaking, his words slurring.
    â€œMessing up what? What are