WE ARE ONE: Volume Two

by Jewel, Bella

  Doesn’t he understand that every time he leaves I’m going to search harder? I open a search bar and look up the religious group that caused all of this mess. I read articles and eventually find out where they’re located. Heath knew a bit about them; would he be there?

  I make a spur-of-the-moment decision and decide tonight, I’m going to see if I can find this place. It’s probably not the smartest choice I’ve ever made, but I want to know more, not just about the mysterious stranger who saved me, but the people who would take so many lives without even blinking. Until then, I need some rest. I curl up in bed and cry myself into a deep sleep. Gerard is the last thing on my mind as I drift off, and I’m sorry for him. I really am. I failed as a wife and partner.

  I wake early evening, and it takes a good few minutes for me to realize where I am. Disorientated, I sit up and glance around. I recall the day and my chest sinks. Right—my husband and I broke up and here I am. I glance at the time. It’s getting dark enough for me to make the drive, so I get out of bed, shower, and change into a pair of jeans and a tank, then I get my keys and exit the hotel.

  I get into my car, punching the address into my GPS navigation, then I start driving before I have the chance to reconsider my plan. I drive south of the city for about an hour. I follow the directions down a dirt road that leads into the middle of some thick woods until finally I come to a massive barbed-wire fence. There are lights in the distance, a good few miles in.

  It’s going to be hard to see anything like this.

  I park my car off to the left of the main entrance near some thick trees, and climb out. I don’t have a flashlight, so I just move to the fence and slowly start walking around it. I shove through trees and keep to the fence line, using my fingers to feel for it. As I near the lights, I begin to hear faint voices. I shift closer, trying not to make any sound as the picture in front of me becomes clearer.

  I stop at some trees and peer through the fence, my fingers tangled in the wire as I bring my face close enough to get a good view. There’s a fire pit, and around it are a bunch of people dressed in white gowns, chanting and holding each other’s hands. I squint and try to see what they’re all dancing around, but it’s hard to get a good view past the roaring flames and their flowing clothes. I don’t know what they’re chanting about; I can’t hear clearly.

  I keep watching, mesmerized. They part after a few minutes and I see a girl in the middle of the ground near the fire, naked. She’s on her knees, her head lowered to the ground, her tiny body on display. Vomit rises in my throat and I watch in horror as a man, probably around sixty, steps forward and brings her up to her feet. She couldn’t be more than twelve.

  She’s so young. Long black hair flows around her body, covering most of her nakedness. The man grabs hold of her, pulling her to his side, resting his hand on her barely developed body. Vomit stings my throat. It burns like fire, and tears well in my eyes as a man comes forward and tells the crowd that the young woman now belongs to him, but will be given to all the males of the group as part of God’s will. God’s will.

  Oh my god.

  That girl needs help. Someone needs to get her the hell out of there. Panic grips my chest, and I start fumbling around for my phone only to realize I don’t have it. I need to call the police, child services—something. She’s too young for this. She’s too young. Maybe I should go in. Maybe I should demand they give her to me. Maybe . . .

  My thoughts come to an abrupt halt as a hand clamps around my mouth, and I’m jerked backwards.

  I scream, but it’s muffled.

  “Don’t move. Don’t scream.”

  That voice.

  Heath.

  My body goes slack, and I stop fighting, letting him pull me backwards through the trees. Only when we’re far enough away that we can’t see anyone does he let me go. He spins me around, but I can’t see him in the dark.

  “What the hell are you doing here, Lucy?”

  “Heath?” I croak.

  “Answer me,” he barks, low and throaty.

  “I . . . I was looking for you.”

  “You need to stop looking for me. You need to stop asking questions. You just need to go—do you understand? I don’t want you to ever come back here again. Do you hear me?” he hisses angrily.

  My heart sinks. “I just wanted to—”

  “No,” he growls. “No. I won’t ask you again.”

  My throat grows tight. He doesn’t want to see me.

  “I’ve lost everything,” I whisper. “Please don’t make me leave.”

  “This is unsafe and dangerous. You need to leave and never come back.”

  “Not until you tell me why I can’t talk to you,” I protest weakly.

  He grabs my arm again and pulls me in the direction of where I parked my car. When we get to it, he reaches into my pocket, jerking my keys out and unlocking my driver’s side door. He pulls it open and twists, putting me in the front seat. The interior light is on now, and I can see him. My breath catches in my throat as he stares down at me, both hands on the roof of my car, his head bent down low so he can pin me with that silver glare.

  “How did you find this place?” he demands.

  I meet his eyes, and I can’t speak. I just want to throw myself into his arms. I want him to take it all away.

  “Lucy,” he prompts.

  “I found it on the internet.”

  “Fucking internet,” he mutters. “You need to stop searching for whatever it is you’re searching for.”

  “I was searching for you.”

  “Stop,” he growls. “I can’t keep telling you that.”

  “No,” I whisper, holding his gaze. “You drugged me last night, but you don’t get to keep doing that. You don’t get to keep running from me.”

  “Lucy,” he warns. “I’m protecting you.”

  “People think I’m crazy,” My voice trembles. “They think I’m losing my mind because the police won’t tell me where you are. They’re all acting as if you don’t exist.”

  “You ever think that’s how it has to be? You need to stop asking questions, stop searching. Just let it go.”

  “You saved my life,” I whisper, “then you disappeared, and now you want me to just forget it?”

  He sighs, and his eyes drop to my mouth for a few seconds before he looks away. “I can’t be anything to you right now. I’m working something serious and I need you to understand that.”

  “What they’re doing in there . . .” I say, my voice tightening as I recall that poor young girl.

  “Is fucked,” he mutters. “But it’s also incredibly dangerous. You need to trust me when I say to let it go.”

  “I can’t.”

  His eyes flash and then harden. “Lucy . . .”

  I reach up and my fingers graze his jaw, moving over the muscle that jumps and stopping when my palm cups his cheek. “You saved my life. You understand. I’ve lost everything, please . . .”

  He closes his eyes for a second, then reaches up and closes his big hand over mine, turning his cheek into my palm, closing his eyes and exhaling loudly. My bottom lip trembles. He opens his eyes and studies it before stepping back and letting my hand fall. “I have to go, Lucy.”

  “Don’t,” I cry, my voice trembling. “Please, don’t go again . . .”

  “This is for the best; trust that. Go home, get better, be happy . . .”

  “My husband left. I lost my baby. I have nothing left to be happy about.”

  His eyes flash and his jaw tics again. “I have to go.”

  “No,” I cry leaping out of the car when he steps away. “No, please.”

  He takes my upper arms, and I look into his eyes helplessly. “Lucy, get in your car and go.”

  “No.”

  “God dammit,” he growls. “You have to stop.”

  “Doesn’t it matter to you?”

  “Of course it fucking matters to me. I can’t get you out of my fucking mind. It’s taking all my power not to come for you
, but I can’t. Don’t you get that? I can’t. You need to go home and forget about me.”

  “No.”

  He cups my jaw in his hand and tilts my head back. “Go home, Lucy girl.”

  Lucy girl. My heart pounds.

  “No,” I whisper.

  He growls, low in his throat and then pulls me against him. My tiny body presses deep, molding into every part of him, and the comfort I’ve been seeking comes flooding back, like it always does when we’re together. He wraps an arm around my waist and lifts me so my face is the same level as his, then he brings his lips down over mine, soft at first, then rough and deep. I let him kiss me, even though I shouldn’t. I let him because it feels so damned good.

  He pulls back after only a few heartbeats.

  “Stop. Looking. For. Me.”

  “No,” I say again, my knees wobbling, but my voice firm.

  “Jesus,” he grunts.

  “I’m staying at Hotel Belair. If you want to see me for real, so we can talk about all of this, then come and find me. If not, I will keep coming here. I’m not going to stop because I’m invested now. I was there; I saw what those monsters did, and I saw what they’re doing to that girl. I’ll go to the police, with or without you. The choice is yours.”

  He opens his mouth to speak, but I get into my car and slam the door, effectively cutting him off.

  Then I drive away, feeling the strongest I’ve felt in weeks.

  * * *

  He doesn’t come.

  I stay in my hotel for two nights. He doesn’t come. Each passing hour, my heart sinks because it just makes me realize I made a mistake. Maybe he really doesn’t want me to look for him, and that scares me. What could he be into that is so dangerous he literally can’t contact people? Or maybe he just wants me, and my craziness, to go the hell away.

  I am acting exactly like what they’re accusing me of at the moment.

  I went home this morning to collect my phone. It was sitting on the kitchen bench, and beside it, a note from my dad. I called him as soon as I left and assured him I was safe, but staying in a hotel for a little while because I wasn’t ready to go back to the house and face it all. He begged me to talk to Gerard, and I promised I’d call him, but I don’t know if I’m ready for that yet, either.

  I just arrived back at the hotel room after going out for some Chinese food. I’ve been sitting on my laptop for hours, researching everything I can about cults and how they work. The more I read, the more terrified I become over the fact that they’re so deranged and twisted. Worse, that one person can manage to change the minds of so many. Do people truly believe God would want these things?

  Extremists. That’s what they’re called. Their mission is beyond extreme. It is horrifying.

  I shove a piece of cashew chicken into my mouth when my phone rings beside me. Gerard’s name flashes on the screen and I reach for it right away, picking it up and answering. “Hi,” I say softly after I’ve swallowed my food.

  “Lucy,” he says, and his voice is brisk. “I’m just calling to let you know I’ll be needing access to the house to get my things tomorrow.”

  The coldness in his voice hurts me. He’s never spoken to me like that.

  “And tell her she’ll need to find a lawyer to handle the divorce papers and a settlement,” his sister yells from the background.

  That explains why he’s so cold. Anytime Heather is involved, his mind is instantly warped. She’ll be loving this.

  “You have a key, Gerard,” I whisper, my voice too tight to make an appearance. “You can go in whenever you want. Can’t we talk about this?”

  “I don’t wish to enter until I know that you’ve granted permission. It makes me feel better.”

  Bloody lawyers.

  “Listen,” I say, trying to stop the hurt from coming into my voice, “I know things have been hard, but can’t we talk about this like adults and without your sister interfering?”

  “Are you still looking for that man?”

  “Gerard . . .”

  “Then we’re done, Lucy. This is for the best. I’m not going to argue; it doesn’t need to be a messy divorce. All we need is to sort this out and then move on civilly.”

  “You’re really just willing to hand it all over, after everything?”

  “I can’t take it anymore, and you’re not willing to try either, so yes.”

  “Our relationship has changed. And, you’re asking me to tell you I’m crazy, and that’s not going to happen, because I’m not.”

  He sighs. “I’m not going over this again. You’ve made your choice. I’ll be at the house at ten a.m. tomorrow.”

  “Are you going to protest if I come and talk with you?”

  He goes silent for a few minutes. “If that’s what you need to do, but my mind is made up.”

  Then he hangs up on me.

  Jerk.

  I shove more chicken into my mouth when a knock sounds out at my door. Narrowing my eyes, I stand and walk over, opening it. I gasp when I see Heath, his face bloodied, standing at my door, his body coated with sweat.

  “Oh my god,” I rasp. “What happened?”

  “Can I come in?”

  I nod and step aside and he walks in, his long muscled legs striding across the room until he finds the bed, where he plants his ass down and stares at me. I stare back at him. I’m not exactly sure what he wants me to say or do. I never thought he’d show up, but here he is, bleeding and angry.

  “I’ll get some ice,” I say, eyeing his swollen hands.

  I rush to the small fridge and pull it open, reaching into the top and pulling out the ice in the little cooler above the fridge section. I wrap it in a towel and walk over, handing it to him. He takes it and presses it against his knuckles while I study his eye. It’s swelling, and a small cut beneath it is what’s causing the bleeding. “I’ll get another towel for your eye.”

  I rush into the bathroom, soaking a towel, then I bring it out, kneeling in front of him and pressing it to his face. He hisses and my eyes meet his, holding them, and suddenly the air in the room thickens. He’s here. He’s really here.

  “Ah,” I whisper. “Are you okay?”

  He studies my face, his eyes dropping to my mouth, and then his jaw tics. “You’re messing with my head.”

  “So you got beaten up?”

  He shakes his head. “I got into a fight with my fucking brother; it had nothing to do with you.”

  “Okay then,” I say softly.

  “You’re just messing with my head in general.”

  I look away. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to make your life difficult.”

  “I’m giving you one night, Lucy. I’ll stay here; you can ask me what you want and I’ll tell you what I can. I’ll talk with you, but there is one condition . . .”

  “Name it,” I rasp.

  “You gotta stop looking for me, and you’ve gotta stop asking about me.”

  “So when you walk out tomorrow, I’ll never see you again.”

  His eyes flash. “For now, that’s how it has to be. Go fix things with your husband, find your life—make yourself happy. Trust me when I say you can’t have that from me.”

  That hurts, but I try not to let it show. “My husband wants a divorce, and so do I.”

  His eyes flash again. “He can’t know about me.”

  “You want me to keep letting them think I’m crazy.”

  “No, you can tell them you were wrong and I wasn’t real, and nobody will think you’re crazy.”

  “That would be a lie.”

  “Life is a lie, Lucy girl. Deal with it.”

  I flinch and lean back. “I don’t like your conditions.”

  “They’re the only ones you’re going to get.”

  I sigh. If he’ll give me a night with him, then so be it, I’ll take it. Maybe one night will give me the answers I need. “Just so we’re clear, I’m not sleeping with you.”

  He grins, and it absolutely transforms his face. “Clear, hone
y.”

  “Stop grinning at me like that,” I mumble, standing and taking the towel back into the bathroom where I rinse it off.

  I return a few minutes later and he’s standing, staring down at my laptop.

  “Next condition,” he growls pointing to the page on the screen detailing the history of cults, “stop looking this shit up. It’s dangerous.”

  “Sorry, you’ve already made your conditions. And it’s free information; I can look at it if I like.”

  He glares at me. I raise my brows and hold his glare.

  Neither of us break.

  “This place got room service?” he finally grumbles. “I’m thinking it’s going to be a long night.”

  I smile.

  His eyes drop to my mouth and he mutters, “Christ, thought you were beautiful before, then you go ahead and smile.”

  My heart flutters.

  I get the room service menu.

  * * *

  “So why were you there that night?” I ask, watching him chow down on his steak. I just had Chinese, so I’m letting him eat his heart out. Even eating, he is perfection. Slightly skewed perfection, but that’s what makes him unique. He isn’t what you’d expect—he’s so much more.

  “I can’t tell you much about that,” he says, his gaze locking with mine. “All I can say is that we had an idea that it was going to happen.”

  “And you didn’t think to cancel the game?” I gasp, crossing my legs and leaning against my headboard.

  He watches me from the table, shoving more steak into his mouth and chewing before answering, “There have been quite a few threats made on the place before, and we had to answer to every one—nothing happened. They were threats more than anything. We can’t cancel every game; people would start questioning it, and the second something like that becomes public knowledge, all hell breaks loose.”

  “So why do you think they picked that night?”

  “We had a police conference. Most of the officers were in meetings, and they must have figured they had a good chance of pulling it off. They were right.”

  “So you are a cop.”