Malachai watched Rebekah leave out of the corner of his eye. Well, there was no question why Isaac had a thing for her. She was one of the best looking girls in Gatlin. If only she didn't have such a mouth on her.
"Malachai," came the voice from the shadows. He jumped a little bit, then scowled.
"Isaac." Malachai regained composure and leaned back into the hay. "How long have you been lurking around in the darkness like that?" Isaac emerged to sit by him in the straw.
"I just got here." He cocked a dark, wary eyebrow at Malachai. "I see you've been talking to Rebekah." Malachai's lips split into a big, obnoxious grin.
"Mm hm. Yes I have." Isaac hadn't sat entirely; he had only crouched down low to the ground and was now rocking thoughtfully from the balls of his feet to his heels. Weird kid, Malachai thought darkly.
"What did she say?" Isaac had tried to sound casual and failed completely. Malachai chuckled, snatching another piece of straw to fiddle with.
"Would you like me to pass her a note during study hall, chief?" he said drily, and smirked. Isaac's pale cheeks flushed a light pink.
"Watch yourself, Malachai," he growled. Malachai blinked.
"That's the second time today I've been told that." He placed the straw in his mouth and spread his hands obligingly. "Go on. What did you want to say?" Isaac's face cleared; he rocked slowly from the balls of his feet to his heels.
"I need to have a discussion with you, Malachai. About many things." Malachai sighed in irritation.
"Since when did I become the psychiatrist of Gatlin? Take a number, the doctor will be with you in a moment."
"I've had just about enough of your sarcasm," Isaac snapped. Malachai paused, then smiled a little.
"If sarcasm is something you can't handle," he said carefully, "then you best give up on the Balding girl." Isaac tensed and shook his head.
"No," he said quickly, "no, I can handle it." Malachai chuckled under his breath.
"Careful, Isaac. You might start to sound desperate." Isaac blushed again, but he scowled beneath it.
"Malachai." His tone was warning, and Malachai shut his mouth -- for the moment. After all, the little jerk couldn't boss him around forever. He was nearly two years older than Isaac, for Christ's--
"Sorry. Go ahead." Isaac took a deep breath and began.
"I-- I really like this girl--" Malachai smirked, unable to hide it. Mr. Cool-And-Collected, Mr. Self-Control was stumbling over his words.
"Go on. Her name is Rebekah Balding. It's not that hard to say." Isaac frowned at him, pausing.
"How did you know?" Malachai tapped his temple in a mysterious way.
"A little birdie told me." He waved a hand impatiently. "Now go on." Isaac looked a little wary, but he continued.
"Well, I have a feeling that she doesn't like me." He paused and rubbed at his shoulder, an odd smile on his face. "The fact that she almost broke my arm this morning only adds to my suspicion." Malachai nearly laughed out loud.
"Yeah. That's a pretty good hint." He gave the straw a thoughtful chew. "Go on." Isaac hesitated, rocking back and forth slowly.
"See, I'm sure she just doesn't know that she has feelings for me--" Malachai covered a snort with his hand. He couldn't help it -- 'Oh, no, Isaac, I figured out that I do like you, I've just been missing it for the last few years.' -- the thought was just too funny. Isaac didn't find it as amusing. "Don't laugh at me, Malachai!" he cried, and for a moment he sounded like a normal, hormonal teenager. It made Malachai blink in surprise.
"Okay. Okay, I'm sorry. Go on." Isaac's distressed frown slowly smoothed; there was Gatlin's good ol' psychopath. He continued.
"I'm trying to figure out a way to -- to make her see." Malachai stared up at the rafters, still chewing on his piece of straw. A small smirk was playing on his face.
"I think you lost all chances of 'making her see'," he said quietly. Isaac straightened.
"What do you mean?"
"Do you remember last summer," Malachai murmured, "when the new rule came about? The one about the Age of Sacrifice being established?" Isaac nodded slowly.
"Ye-e-e-es," he said, the word drawn out.
"Then I'm sure you remember the first to be sacrificed." Malachai smiled thinly at Isaac, who had begun to frown again. "Oh, sure you do. You made specific orders to have him killed first." Isaac's frown became a dark scowl.
"This is not our topic of conversation, Malachai--"
"It was that Abraham boy," Malachai went on relentlessly. "What was his name...? Abraham... Timely?" Isaac's rocking faltered.
"I warn you, Malachai," he said quietly, but Malachai didn't listen.
"Oh, yes. I certainly remember. You had him sacrificed first, that poor Abraham Timely, and we all knew--"
"Shut up!" Isaac jerked violently backwards, face drawn and paler than usual. Malachai was on a roll, however, and didn't obey.
"We all knew, Isaac," he said darkly, turning on the younger boy, "that he wasn't 19. He wouldn't be 19 for 3 or so years, but you had him sacrificed anyway. But the question is--" Malachai paused, tapping his chin in mock thought. "--why would you have him sacrificed before the Age of Adulthood?" Isaac fell off his heels and landed hard on his backside.
"Because he was a blasphemous, insubordinate sinner," Isaac whispered, but Malachai shook his head with a small smile.
"Oh, no. I don't think that was it. I think that the reason Abraham was sacrificed first was because he was the only boy that Rebekah would pay any attention to. And you hated it, didn't you, Isaac?" Isaac jerked to his feet violently and pointed a finger at Malachai.
"You," he gasped, chest heaving with irregular breaths, "will be punished. Severely." Malachai didn't falter; he smiled pleasantly up at Isaac.
"Fine. But then, in my distressed state, I just might let something slip to Rebekah -- something like the truth about Abraham's death." Isaac's dark eyes widened. So did Malachai's grin. "Would you like that, Isaac?"
"That's -- that's blackmail," Isaac gasped. It was giving Malachai great pleasure to see him so panicked.
"And that's murder, dear Mr. Chroner," Malachai responded pleasantly. Isaac stared at him, dark eyes angry and -- thankfully -- frightened. He lowered the accusing finger slowly.
"This discussion never happened." Isaac turned and, without another word, stalked out of the barn. Malachai smirked after him. That would teach the little psycho to come to him for advice.
Rebekah approached her house, walking slowly, arms crossed thoughtfully over her chest. Malachai had been right about one thing -- Isaac did seem to think that he could make anything happen. Well, now he's met his match, she thought bitterly, and stepped up to the door. Almost mechanically, she felt for the key beneath the mat. It took her a moment to remember that she didn't need it, that the locks didn't work, and Rebekah scowled darkly. She wanted things back the way they were.
"That's not bloody likely," she muttered, and walked inside. "Micah!" Rebekah's voice echoed off the walls eerily; it was something that she had done for a long time. No reply. He was still playing outside. Just to be sure, she ambled over towards the living room window. It had a picturesque view of the cornfields. Rebekah pulled the curtain back and immediately saw the little boys; they were in some sort of playful wrestling match with the newly-found Mordechai. She smiled a little. Even though they were both bigger than Micah, he had managed to pin Jedediah and was working on the blonde-haired boy now. Their voices drifted dimly through the glass.
"No fair!" cried Jedediah from beneath Micah, but he just giggled.
"I love you, Nathan," Rebekah said softly, and smiled. He was still her little brother, no matter what Isaac did to him.
And speaking of Isaac...
She was suddenly hit with a faint whispering of intuition.
(over there)
Rebekah frowned, rubbing at her forehead.
(look over there look I say)
She glanced around outside.
"Where?" she mumbled, not sure who she was talking to.
(keep looking you'll see)
Sure enough, she did see. Rebekah's eyes fell on the dark shape slipping through the corn.
(told you)
"What's he up to?" she muttered, still clueless as to who she was addressing. The young woman crept to the window in the kitchen, where she could see him better. Isaac was walking slowly through the rows of corn, pale face turned up to the blue autumn sky. It took one long moment and a considerable amount of squinting for Rebekah to realize that he was crying. "Oh, crap," she said under her breath, feeling a pang of guilt. Great job, you made him cry, her mind hissed. You're such a great example in this chaotic town. Isaac paused, closed his eyes, and let the sun shine on his tear-streaked face. Then he kept walking. Rebekah groaned quietly and slipped to the back door. Guilt was not something she handled well. Besides, she thought, if it were Micah or Jedediah or Mordechai out there crying in the corn, I'd be out there in two seconds. He's still just a kid, just like the rest of us.
Rebekah walked tentatively into the cornfield.
"Isaac?" she said quietly, half of her desperately hoping he wouldn't hear and that she could go back to the house. He apparently didn't hear; the corn kept rustling, and soft sniffling sounds were following it. "Oh, crap," she said again, and hurried after the noises.
"Forgive me," Isaac whispered. Rebekah froze, thinking he was talking to her, then relaxed as he went on. "Father, I do not know what to do. Please help me." She crept a little closer, able to glimpse his jacket through the rows of corn. About five feet away, she stopped -- curiousity overcoming her -- and watched as the tears continued to roll down Isaac's pale cheeks. "My one true Father," he said softly, apparently unheeding to the fact that he was still crying. "My light, my salvation, please bless me with the knowledge of what I should do. My feelings, they blind me, and the true path is lost in the confusion--" Rebekah frowned and leaned closer, trying to hear more, but all she succeeded in was snapping a corn stalk in half. Isaac whirled. "Rebekah--" He looked shocked at first, then frightened, and finally his face twisted into an angry sneer. "How much did you hear?" She straightened.
"Not enough, I don't think," she replied steadily. Isaac raised one dark eyebrow at her, which looked funny, considering that the tears were still rolling down his face. He didn't notice, obviously.
"Are you aware that the interruption of one's prayer is extremely rude?" Rebekah smirked, unable to fight it.
"Are you aware," she countered softly, "that you're crying?" Isaac's eyes widened; he wiped the tears away quickly with his sleeve.
"Go away," he muttered childishly. Rebekah paused, feeling one fleeting hunch that she should ask him what was wrong.
"Are you okay?" The question was out before she could stop it. Damn my humanity, she thought drily. Isaac frowned a little, looking suspicious.
"Do you care?" he asked in a small voice. Rebekah flinched.
"Well... yeah," she admitted, and something in Isaac's eyes softened. "I mean, no one should have to be all alone when they cry." She spoke from experience -- Rebekah had cried every night for three weeks after her parents were killed.
"Do you really want to know what's wrong, Rebekah?" Isaac's voice startled her; it was soft and careful and surprisingly vulnerable.
"Yeah," she said slowly, and offered a tentative smile. She couldn't be as cold as she usually was with Isaac, not when he sounded like a human being. He paused, swallowed, and opened his mouth to say something. That was when someone shrieked.
"OW!" Rebekah whirled.
"Micah," she murmured, and darted out of the cornfield. Isaac watched her leave mournfully.
He had been that close.