The Wright Way

Chapter 27 - The Wright Way

I wake up to the chirping of birds and the warm touch of sunshine. It makes its way through the leafage above, decorating my surroundings with irregular yellow spots. One of them, blissfully warm, rests on my chest, while my left arm that happens to be in a shadow from the bush I'm lying under, feels like an icicle.

I lie still for a moment, ignoring the grass prickling at my skin, just looking up and listening to the birds. Having no watch, I can't tell what hour it is, but the sun stands pretty high, so it's probably close to midday.

My stomach rumbles, as if supporting that theory.

Joshua is lying curled into a ball a few feet away. Apparently, he got up some time during the night and retrieved his clothes from the branch on which I'd hung them to dry. He has his pants on, and his T-shirt is partly covering him like a blanket.

I hum disapprovingly. Sleeping under a wet piece of clothing must have felt colder than it would have felt without. Well, he's a grown man and can make his own stupid decisions.

My own clothes are still hanging from the branch. Slowly, I get up to check them, and my muscles announce their displeasure. My back is particularly cranky, given that it had to bear Joshua's weight not only while we crossed the river, but also later, retreating deeper into the forest.

I stretch. My boxers are still wet, and they cling unpleasantly to my skin. The only piece of closing I have left on for the night, they're dry on the front, but the other side, on which I've been lying, is not so lucky. Have I not been so exhausted, sleeping wouldn't have been possible given how cold I was. Spooning could have kept us warm but neither of us was up to offering it—or accepting, for that matter. In the end, neither of us had any problems with falling asleep.

I walk over to my clothes. They're almost dry. I go to Joshua, pick his T-shirt and hang it next to my things. He lies in the sunny area, so I expect that removing the dirty rag of a shirt from him won't wake him up, yet it does.

Slowly, he unwraps himself from his fetal position, and props himself up on one elbows. His body seems very pale against the backdrop of green grass, his skin too tender for a natural environment. Not a tanned, outgoing type, he looks out of place in the wild, even though the outlines of his lean body suggest it's fit enough to fight for survival.

He blinks at me, squinting in the sunlight, and then, as if suddenly realizing he's naked from the waist up, he sits up and puts his hands around him. That reminds me of his reluctance to change in front of me in my apartment. I, once again, feel puzzled by this inexplicable shyness that he doesn't exhibit in other situations.

"You have a good body," I say honestly. "I don't know why you're so eager to hide it."

Surprisingly, he smirks.

"I didn't know you're into admiring dudes' bodies."

"I had more contact with your body last night than I ever intended to," I say, stretching my back that still doesn't feel right. "I can at least look at what I've been dragging around for half the night."

"Just give me back my shirt."

"It's drying."

He outstretches his hand and holds it in the air expectantly until the I give in, remove the shirt from the branch and throw it at him.

"Thank you," he says, putting it on.

"It's wet. You'll catch a cold."

"Probably have already. My throat is sore." He flattens the wrinkles of the shirt against his chest and stomach, and then looks up at me again "So, what's the plan? You said when the sun is out, you could tell the direction."

"I can. We'll go until we reach the highway and then we'll catch a ride."

He nods. "Or we can just ask them to call the police."

"The police?" I stop my stretching and turn to look at him.

"Of course." He shrugs. "Those guys are after us. We must call the police." He frowns, eyeing me. "If you're worried about that Barnaby guy you've pushed off the cliff, it was self-defense. I'll tell them."

Slowly, I come over and crouch in front of him.

"You can't report the Wrights, " I say. "They're my family."

He gapes at me.

"Are you nuts? They're a sect!"

"They're not. That's what media wants you to believe, but they're not."

He stares at me for a while, sheer disbelief in his eyes.

"Are you crazy?" he says at last. "They're the sectest sect I've ever seen! They broke into your house, in the middle of the night, dressed like some KKK bunch, and they wanted to kill me, and by now they probably want to kill you—are you going to fucking defend them?"

"Shush," I say, wincing. "They don't normally do that."

"Normally? How do they normally go about killing people?"

"That's enough," I say. "It was an unusual situation. They're about saving people, not killing them. You can't report them. I saved your life, so you owe me that."

"You're the one who had endangered my life in the first place!" He gets up. "Why on earth didn't you tell me you were related to those psychos?"

"You didn't tell me much about yourself, either."

"Well, my relatives don't show up in the middle of the night with homicidal intentions! You know what, I'm gone." He turns around and makes a few steps before stopping and turning to glare at me again, his hands on his hips. "All right, which way?"

"Do you promise to not call the police if I tell you?"

He looks around, then up at the sun, then points right. "That way? I know it is." He makes a few steps before hissing and bending down to remove something from the sole of his bare foot.

"They're my family," I say again. "You don't snitch on your family."

"Snitch?" He straightens up. "Boy, you're delusional. Also, you're not one of them anymore—you ran away last night, remember?"

"One thing is to leave them, and another to sell them to police. Also, it won't help."

That gets his attention. Slowly, he turns to me.

"Explain," he says.

"The police commissioner, you know," I say. "Jeremiah Wright?" I wait, but he still doesn't get it. "Wright?" I say again.

"It's a commonplace surname," he says slowly. "Are you saying he's–"

I nod. "Uncle's cousin."

His eyes widen. "How is he in his position? A member of a sect as a police chief?"

"He plays it safe," I say, choosing to ignore his choice of words. "He's even supported a couple of lawsuits against the Wrights and spoken to the media unfavorably about them."

"But he's still in?"

"Of course, he's in. Once in a while, when something really serious needs to be covered up, Uncle gives him a call."

He peers at me for a while. "But something can be done, I'm sure. Not all of the police are under your Uncle's wing."

"They follow orders," I say. "Orders come from above. And the above is infiltrated by Uncle's people."

"Hmm," he says. "I did see a few headlines, and heard rumors, and there was that documentary predicting they would be the new Jonestown." He shrugs. "Frankly, I wasn't playing attention. But if you don't intend to go to the police, what else do you propose we do?"

I sigh. I've been turning that question around and around in my head, looking for ways out, and they all boil down to one thing.

"We must disappear," I say.