The Chosen by Sharon Sala Page A

chest, and began to sway back and forth. A moan slid from between his lips; then he let out a wail.
    What did this mean?
    Was God angry with him?
    Had He taken Bartholomew because Jay had done something bad?
    The niggling pain he’d been dealing with all day exploded into a full-blown blast at the back of his neck. He leaned forward until his forehead touched the floor. The scent of urine and blood and desecration filled his nostrils. He opened his mouth to pray and was only slightly surprised when he screamed instead.
    He screamed until his throat burned and his voice was gone—until the shock and rage within him were spent. Only then did he allow himself to look at Bartholomew again. Jay’s shoulders slumped. It wasn’t a bad dream. It was true. The man was dead.
    He covered his face with his hands as his mind ran the gamut of panic. What to do now? Only hours earlier it had seemed so simple—adding another disciple to the fold.
    He dropped his hands in his lap and closed his eyes.
    â€œLord, You know I never meant for this to happen. You know I would never step off the path You trod. Help me, Lord. Tell me what to do.”
    Jay sat for what felt like hours. Finally it was the cries from the others that brought him back to his senses. His face was expressionless as he took a key from his pocket and removed the chains from Bart Scofield’s wrists. Jay’s hands were steady as he grabbed Scofield by the feet and dragged him out of the room.
    Simon’s pleas for mercy rolled off his conscience. Matthew’s repetitive name, rank and serial number didn’t bother him tonight. Not even the unusual silence from Andy’s and James’s rooms caused him concern.
    He’d come to the conclusion that this man had been sent by the devil to test him, and because of that, Jay was talking himself into a righteous indignation. How dare this Bartholomew try to pass himself off as a disciple? As worthy?
    He was sweating by the time he got to the cab. He popped the trunk, dumped Scofield’s body inside and shut the lid. The shouts and screams coming from the rooms behind him distracted him enough that he remembered they hadn’t had food or water all day. He took a large sack from the back seat of the cab and retraced his steps.
    Simon Peters was hysterical when he entered.
    â€œWhat happened?” he screamed. “What did you do?”
    â€œThere was a traitor in our midst. I dealt with him,” Jay said, then set two cans of potted meat, a tube of crackers, an apple and two bottles of water on the table.
    As if it was nothing out of the ordinary, he stood there, calmly blessing the food for Simon to eat.
    â€œHave you been reading your Bible?” he asked.
    â€œLet me go,” Simon begged.
    Jay frowned. “Read the book of John. We will discuss it tomorrow.”
    â€œJesus Christ,” Simon sobbed. “You are one crazy motherfucker. Let me go. I swear I won’t tell. Just let me go!”
    â€œYou do not take the Lord’s name in vain!” Jay shouted, swept the food he’d put on the table back into the sack and strode out of the room, leaving Simon with a bottle of water for sustenance.
    He was still angry when he entered Matthew’s room. It displeased him to see the man coiled in upon himself and lying in his own filth. It appeared as if he was still pulling out his own hair. Jay stifled a curse. For two cents, he would take a hammer to this loser’s head and dump him, just like he was going to dump Bartholomew.
    Then he sighed. That was the devil whispering in his ear, trying to make him commit a sin. But that wasn’t going to happen; he was on the Lord’s path. The ache at the back of his neck was making him sick to his stomach. He set out Matthew’s food and strode out of the room. By the time he got to Andy’s room, his hands were shaking. He entered quickly, checking the whereabouts of the big man. He saw him in the