Micah dodged around the nearest stalk of corn.
"Jedediah," he called, and there was a giggle. "Jedediah!" Micah paused, listened very closely, then darted to his right. He hadn't expected him to be so close, but close he was, because Micah ran face-first into the soft cotton fabric of a plaid shirt. There was a grunt and two surprised cries as the little boys tumbled to the husk-littered ground.
"Ow," complained Jedediah, pushing a curl of brown hair out of his eyes. "That hurt. Why'd you run into me so hard?"
"Why didn't you run away?" Micah countered as he got to his feet. He brushed off his black pants carefully. They had been given to him by Isaac; his outfit nearly mirrored the older boy's. Isaac had told him it was a great honor to be so blessed as he. Micah never knew quite what he was talking about, but the teenager had paid him attention and given him clothes to wear. He admired Isaac -- a lot.
"Didn't think you'd find me." Jedediah stood. He was a few inches taller than Micah and a year older, but he didn't possess the same respect that Isaac did. Jed was just a friend.
"Well, I did," Micah said firmly, and promptly gave him a shove. "And now you're It!" Jedediah stumbled.
"Hey, not fair!" he cried, but the black-haired little boy had already darted out of the cornfield and towards his house.
"There's no rule against it!" Micah smothered a giggle with his hand, ready to dodge behind the hedge in back of the house. "All's fair in--" He didn't get to finish, because there was suddenly a shock of black against the blue autumn sky. With a bump and a grunt, Micah was on his rump yet again, staring up at the forbidding figure above him. Then he grinned. "Isaac!" Isaac smiled calmly down at him.
"Good morning, young Micah," he said pleasantly. He extended a hand, and Micah took it, pulling himself up.
"Good morning, brother Isaac," Micah chirped. Isaac wasn't too much taller than him, and now that he was standing, it was a lot easier to see his face.
"Playing with your friend, I see?" Isaac gestured beyond Micah's shoulder, and he turned. Jedediah was standing at the edge of the cornfield, a troubled expression on his face. Micah nodded eagerly.
"Yes, and we're having lots of fun. Would you like to play?" Isaac smiled with adult patience and shook his head.
"There are things to which I must attend," he said kindly. Micah's face drooped a little.
"Oh." But he understood that Isaac was very busy, and that most of the matters were beyond his comprehension. He nodded in what hoped was a mature way. "I understand." Isaac's smile widened.
"Good. I am proud." Micah's heart nearly swelled; he gave the teenager a large grin.
"Thank you, brother Isaac!" he said, trying not to sound too eager. Isaac patted Micah's head of dark hair, then winced and returned his hand to his right shoulder. Micah frowned. "What's wrong?" Isaac rubbed at his shoulder gingerly.
"Oh, nothing." Then he smiled -- a large, unusual smile. "Your sister has an odd way of showing affection, does she not?" Micah frowned slightly.
"What do you mean?" Why were they suddenly talking about Rebekah?
"Nevermind," Isaac said complacently, and gave his head another pat. "I need to speak with Malachai, so if you'll excuse me--" He shot his odd smile at Jedediah, who winced and backed away into the cornfield. Micah nodded and trotted towards his retreating friend.
"See you later, Isaac," he called over his shoulder. Isaac didn't move for a moment; he paused, then said,
"Are you coming to tonight's meeting?" Micah's steps faltered. He whirled and nodded emphatically.
"Yes, of course!" Isaac smiled, a little too widely.
"Good. Very good." Then, with slow careful steps, he turned and walked away. Micah watched.
"Micah," Jedediah said tensely. "Come play." The dark-haired little boy paused, then glanced back at his friend.
"I'm coming," he chirped, and trotted into the cornfield. He glanced over his shoulder one more time, however -- and there was his sister's face in the window: pale, tight, and concerned. But it was time to play, not time to worry. So Micah chased his friend through the cornfields, his discussion with Isaac already fading behind him.
Rebekah turned away from the window. What was Isaac up to now? He'd destroyed most of their family already -- wasn't that enough?
"Bastard," she muttered under her breath, and headed for the bathroom. There had been a time when Isaac was her friend, but he was not known as Isaac then. Back then, he was William, and back then, he hadn't been disturbing or psychotic. No, he was just quiet -- but hadn't they always said never trust the quiet ones?
(Too late now, isn't it?)
Rebekah seized a hairbrush and pulled it through her long blonde hair thoughtfully. William was quiet and solemn, but not unlike herself. He could be funny at times, but it seemed that he was always too busy brooding over... well, over something. If she could've read his twisted little mind, she would've. But unfortunately, mind reading was not in her resumè.
(Would sure be useful though.)
Rebekah paused, watching her reflection carefully. She looked a little paler than normal, she noticed sadly, and shadows had begun to gather under her eyes. Other than that, same old Ellen. Quickly, she twisted her long blonde hair into a bun to keep it out of her eyes. Rebekah looked nothing like her little brother; he was dark-haired and dark-eyed, but she had dusty blonde hair and gray-blue eyes. They were both pale, but at least she had a little color in her cheeks. Rebekah set down the hairbrush and headed for the front door. There was someone she needed to speak with. Whether they were willing to speak with her was another thing, but it was necessary. Her little brother would be the topic of conversation, and Isaac as well. And there were some definite questions that needed to be answered.
She found Malachai brooding in the barn.
"Craig," Rebekah said as she walked through the door. The red-headed teenager was comfortably sprawled in the hay, staring at the wooden rafters with disinterest.
"Try again, Rebekah," he said boredly, and began fiddling with a piece of straw. She stopped, frustrated, then smiled thinly.
"Malachai," she corrected. He looked up at her and grinned.
"Much better. You looking for Isaac?" Rebekah leaned against a wall of the barn, regarding him with something less than distaste. He was not an attractive boy, and that smile on his face wasn't helping.
"No, Malachai," she snapped. "I've already found him. Now I've hidden him, and it's your turn to find him." Malachai chuckled quietly, rolling the piece of hay between his thumb and forefinger.
"You're very sarcastic. Do you know that, Rebekah?" She tried not to sneer and was unsuccessful.
"Yeah, well. I've always heard cynicism was good for the heart." Rebekah fanned her face with a hand. The barn was hot and stuffy, making her grateful that her hair was off her shoulders, but Malachai was dressed in a pair of heavy jeans and a flannel shirt. It was amazing; he wasn't even sweating. God knows how long he'd been in here. "Actually, I need to talk with you, Craig," she said slowly, crossing her arms over her chest. He shook his head and clucked his tongue reproachfully.
"You slipped again, Rebekah." She sighed in frustration.
"Yes, I did. Now can I please ask you--" Malachai waved a lightly freckled hand gracefully at the hay beside him.
"Sit," he said pleasantly, and she sat. The redhead paused, then placed the straw idly in his mouth. "What do you want to talk about?" Rebekah wrinkled her nose. He looked like a cow, chewing on the hay like that.
"Isaac. Isaac and Micah." Malachai glanced up at the rafters again.
"Mm hm. What about them? Aside from the fact that they both look like they should be hanging upside down in some cave and fearing garlic." She narrowed her eyes. It was a shot against Isaac, but it was also a shot against Micah.
"Watch yourself, Malachai," she said quietly. He held up his hands in defense, chewing idly on the piece of hay.
"Forgive me. I forgot how protective you are about the boy." Rebekah squinted at him in an effort to hide her anger.
"Get rid of that straw. You look like you should be an extra on Hee-Haw." Malachai grinned and gave the hay another chomp.
"What about Isaac and Micah?" he repeated. She glanced down at the barn floor and kicked at it boredly with her bare toe.
"You've seen how much he looks up to him," Rebekah began slowly. "And Isaac -- he's not exactly someone I want Micah to be modeling himself after."
"Mm." Malachai smiled thinly at the rafters. "Not that Gatlin is overflowing with good examples." She almost laughed, but managed to contain it.
"And I'm afraid that Micah's learning... bad... things from him." Rebekah sighed softly and began sifting through the hay idly. "Plus, Isaac's been--" Her voice faltered. It suddenly occurred to Rebekah that Malachai's eyes were now on her. She had never thought that she'd be confessing something like this to Malachai, but ever since Abraham had--
"Go on," Malachai urged, breaking her thoughts. She went on.
"Isaac's been very... affectionate lately." Rebekah winced immediately at her poor choice of words, but he got the idea.
"And by affectionate," he said slowly, a smirk appearing on his face, "you mean he's horny as a toad." The comment caught her by surprise, and this time she did laugh.
"Yeah," she chuckled. "Yeah, that's pretty much it." Malachai's smirk widened; he gave the straw another chomp and spat it out.
"So what's the problem?" Rebekah frowned.
"Well, in case you can't tell, I don't feel the same--" He cut her off with a disdainful wrinkle of his nose.
"Cut the crap, Rebekah," Malachai said in a bored tone. "You mean that you'd rather cut off your own arm than show emotion towards Isaac." She laughed again, but this was low and under her breath. It was amazing how much this boy knew.
"Right again." But then Rebekah paused, looking strained. "You know Isaac, Malachai. If I don't feel the way he wants me to feel, he'll figure out some way to..." She trailed off and waved her hands helplessly. The 15 year old smirked knowingly.
"And you're afraid he'll use Micah," he finished. Rebekah shook her head slowly, staring at him in disbelief.
"You should be on the Psychic Hotline, you know that?" Malachai chuckled quietly.
"Blessed, aren't I?" Then he glanced at her, and his freckled face was serious. "Except I don't know what to tell you to do." Rebekah sighed in irritation, putting a hand to her forehead.
"Great. That just helps me out a hell of a lot, Malachai." She started to get to her feet, but he grabbed her arm firmly.
"I do have a bit of advice, however," Malachai said solemnly. "Watch Isaac. Keep a wary eye on him. Because if I know Isaac -- and I do -- he will do anything to change your feelings." Rebekah started to speak, but he held up a hand and continued. "I know, you're going to say that your feelings can't be changed, but Isaac believes that he can make anything happen." Malachai smiled thinly. "He did, after all, make the unthinkable happen." She shuddered inwardly and nodded.
"Okay. Thanks, Craig." He released her arm, not correcting her this time.
"Any time, Rebekah." Malachai paused, watching her leave, and added, "You be careful. This is Isaac's Gatlin now."