by Kate L. Mary
“You really want to tell the police everything?” Jared asks me.
His knuckles are white as he grips the steering wheel, and he’s so focused on the road in front of us that he doesn’t even risk looking my way.
“I do.” I let out a deep sigh. “They have to be stopped. I was fifteen when I was handed to David, who was a man at that point. I had no choice, no say in what happened to me, and it isn’t fair. I wouldn’t be able to live my life knowing I was turning my back on all those other girls.”
Jared swallows, and his Adam’s apple bobs. “You’re right. I’m just worried about what will happen. About who will get in trouble.”
He’s thinking of his dad, of course. Although I have a suspicion Father David knows how he got out. There’s a good chance the authorities will go much easier on his dad than Father David ever would.
“It will all work out,” I tell him, because I can’t say what I really think, that anyone who gets in trouble deserves to. My mother included.
When I first brought up going to the police, Jared wasn’t thrilled by the idea. He agrees with me that what’s going on in there has to stop, but he remembers learning about Waco as a child, and the thought of everyone we know dying scares him. Which I understand. He also pointed out that men like David and Father David wouldn’t be the only ones to get into trouble. Mothers who handed their young daughters over to these men will have to be held accountable, too. Women like my mother.
I don’t know a lot about the outside world or their laws, but what he’s saying makes sense. If it didn’t, I wouldn’t have spent so many years blaming my mother for what happened to me. Not that it changes my mind. She should be held accountable for what happened to me just as much as Father David.
“You could really let your mom go to jail?” he asks, almost as if he’s reading my thoughts. There’s no accusation or disbelief in his voice, just curiosity, and I think he’s asking more so he can gauge my emotional state than anything.
“I could,” I tell him. “She gave me to David, but she also allowed Father David to hold me prisoner twice. She helped him, even.”
Jared sighs. “You’re right. I know you are, but I’m still worried about what will happen.”
“I know,” I say. “So am I.”
He risks taking one hand off the steering wheel so he can reach out and take mine. I slip my fingers through his and hold on, allowing his calming presence to work its magic.
Before long, the sun begins to rise, painting the horizon a brilliant orange that reflects off the puffy clouds dotting the sky. It’s my first sunrise on this side of the fence, and it makes everything seem like a dream, especially with Jared at my side.
We pass houses here and there, but the beginnings of a real town don’t come into view until nearly an hour after sunrise. We must be driving slower than normal, which neither one of us would know since we have no experience in these things. My hand is still wrapped around Jared’s when we drive into town, and I tighten my grip in excitement. He’s grinning, but the anxiety in his eyes matches the fear swirling inside me. This is where things get serious. Where things will change not just for us, but for everyone we’ve left behind.
The buildings increase in number, growing closer and closer together. We pass other cars and people walking down the sidewalks. A school bus. An old man with hunched shoulders riding a bike. A woman in tight black pants walking a dog. Every sight makes me twist in my seat to get a better look. The atmosphere is sunny and cheerful, with gardens full of bright flowers and hanging pots brimming with foliage. Trees dotted with white blossoms line the road as well, and in comparison I feel drab and worn in my white blouse that’s streaked with blood and dirt.
Jared and I don’t talk until he’s pulled into a parking space in front of a small square building. Mountain View Police Department is painted on the window, and in the spot next to us, sits a black and white car with the same words on the door. Almost like it’s been waiting for us to show up so it can speed off and imprison my torturers. I know the glee shooting through me is wrong, but I can’t find it in myself to care.
“Are you ready?” Jared asks after he’s turned the truck off and pulled the keys from the ignition.
“I think I have to be,” I say. Already, my legs are shaking, but I know I’m strong enough to get through this.
We climb out of the truck, meeting at the front where I once again slip my hand into his. Together we walk into the building.
The next few hours rush by like water sliding down a drain. Most of what’s happening I don’t understand, and before I’ve even had a chance to try to grasp the meaning, the people around me have moved on to something else. At times I’m bombarded with questions, but at other moments I find myself sitting alone for long periods of time, feeling almost useless and definitely invisible. When approached for information, I do my best to relay every detail of my life inside the Children of David. At times the memories are excruciating, but Jared is at my side through all of it, acting once again as an anchor so I don’t get swept away by the sea of pain swirling around me.
It turns out the local police know all about the commune since Father David and a few of the elders regularly come into town to get supplies, and the room registers very little shock at the news that we had a difficult time leaving.
The mood changes, however, when I talk about the betrothal ceremonies. It’s the most difficult part, relaying what happened to me on my fifteenth birthday, but when the words are out and I’m met with nothing but sympathy, I find a measure of relief. As if telling someone what happened has liberated me from my prison even more.
I have no proof that Father David killed Annabel and Abe other than his own words, but I tell the authorities about it anyway. Computers, I learned from my very short time outside the compound, carry a wealth of information, and I have no doubt in my mind that if a couple was killed in Texas three years ago, the police will be able to connect the dots.
After that, Jared and I are left alone. We’ve been brought to a room so plain it almost looks like a cell. The walls are a sickly green and the floors gray, the tiles chipping and peeling in places. It’s completely unadorned, but the stiff couch and small table and chairs at the far end of the room tell me it’s meant to be a comfortable place for people like us. People who are not prisoners, but who the police want to keep a close eye on. There’s a tiny refrigerator filled with bottles of water, and a few magazines on the table. The covers feel garish against the blandness of the room, the smiling faces of beautiful people out of place, as if they’ve been captured from another world and brought here to serve out some kind of sentence.
Jared and I sit side by side. He holds a cup of coffee in his left hand while the fingers of his free hand stay wrapped around mine.
“What do you think they’re doing?” I ask after a few minutes of staring at the closed door.
Even though I know it’s ridiculous, I can’t help wondering if it’s locked. There’s been nothing threatening about these people, and they’ve been nothing but sympathetic toward us. Still, after a lifetime of staring at fences, it feels impossible to believe I could actually open the door and walk out if I wanted to.
“I heard someone mention the FBI.” Like me, Jared keeps his voice low. The room isn’t big, but it feels huge with just the two of us sitting here, and the echo bouncing off the walls whenever we raise our voices doesn’t help. “This is a small town, and I don’t think the police here have the ability to handle something so huge.”
I don’t have a clue what the FBI is, but I don’t ask. I’ll no doubt learn all about that and much more very soon.
Time seems to drag on, and I soon find it impossible to keep my eyes open. Jared, too, is struggling, so we curl up together on the small couch and do our best to get comfortable. As usual, when he places an arm around my shoulder, he keeps the pressure light, and it isn’t long before I can feel sleep pulling at me, making it impossible to keep my eyes open. Not that I’m fighti
ng it.
I wake when the door is thrown open and people pour into the room. Jared’s arm is still around me, and like me, he’s groggy from sleep. We try to sit up, to wipe the exhaustion from our minds, but the barrage of questions makes it difficult. The wave of interrogations that sweeps over us after that makes the previous questions seem like nothing.
Are there weapons on the compound?
Is the leader a violent man?
Are people punished often?
Do you think the members will put up a fight?
Most of what they ask us is difficult to answer, especially with as groggy as I am. Father David did display some violence before we left, but in general he wasn’t a violent man. He didn’t need to be, not when his followers obey him so blindly. But there must be some potential for violence in him, because he killed Annabel and Abe.
When Agent Lake first walks in, the air of importance following her awes me. At first it doesn’t make sense, because not only is she a woman, but she seems young compared to some of the men on her team, who have gray hair at their temples and lines at the corners of their eyes. Lake can’t be older than thirty-five, but she stands with her back straight and her head held high, giving commands to the local police as if it’s something she does a million times a day. I have no doubt it is, because when she looks at me, I can actually see the self-confidence in her blue eyes.
I’ve never been in the presence of someone like her, not even Annabel. She wasn’t a scared shadow of a person like the women I knew in the compound, but she was still quiet and soothing. Agent Lake, on the other hand, is sympathetic but determined, and her single-mindedness helps ground me in a way that even Jared’s presence hasn’t. She makes me believe I’ll see justice play out, that Father David won’t get away with what he’s done to me, and that David will have to answer for his crimes.
I want to be just like this woman.
“I know this is difficult, Willow,” Agent Lake says. “But we want to do everything we can to make sure no one ever has to endure what you have.”
When she leans forward, her blonde hair dips across her face, but when she tucks it behind her ear, she seems to barely notice. Her hair is sleek and stops just past her chin, and it makes me want to get a pair of scissors and cut my own hair off as well. To be free of the thick waves that feel like they’re on the verge of suffocating me at times.
“Willow,” Jared says, squeezing my hand when I don’t answer.
“I’m okay.” I swallow and nod and tighten my hand on Jared’s, but I don’t even have to look at him for support because Lake makes me feel secure. Safe. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”
And, for the first time in my life, I believe the words when I say them.
As far as the FBI knows, Jared and I don’t have a single possession—we didn’t tell them about the money we took—so they get us rooms at the only motel in town. They’re side by side, but the space separating us feels insurmountable after being away from him for days, not knowing if he’s alive or dead or when I might see him again. I stay in my room only long enough to shower, washing the dirt and blood from my body that I missed before we left the commune. The clean clothes I change into aren’t new, but I’m grateful for them, anyway. Someone at the police station told us the local church donated them, and the knowledge helps restore some of my faith in the existence of God.
I feel nothing like myself in the stretchy black pants and too-long red shirt, but that isn’t a bad thing. In fact, it’s a feeling I’ve been waiting for.
Jared opens the door to his room after one knock. Like me, he’s showered and changed, and the sight of him in something other than the plain clothes of the commune pulls me even further from the past.
“I don’t want to be alone,” I tell him, and he opens the door wider so I can step inside.
His room is identical to mine. Clean, but somehow grimy feeling at the same time. The carpet is stiff even through my socks, and the floral pattern of the bedspread looks like someone has vomited flowers onto it. The mattress barely gives when I lower myself onto the bed, and only slightly more when Jared takes a seat next to me.
For a moment, we just stare at the wall in silence, each of us lost in thoughts that are probably so similar people wouldn’t be able to tell them apart.
“It’s been a long day,” he says at last.
“It has,” I murmur in reply.
“Agent Lake said my dad probably wouldn’t get in trouble.”
My gaze is still focused on the wall when I put my hand over his, which is resting on his leg.
Everyone knew young girls were being handed over to older men, but since the FBI can’t charge them all, they’re only going after the main culprits. David, who raped me when I was fifteen, a word I’d heard back on the ranch but one I didn’t know the meaning of until today. Father David, who not only had a hand in all the betrothals, but who killed two people and held Jared and me prisoner. Me twice. My mother, who knowingly assisted in my rape, imprisonment, and torture. Possibly a few others, depending on the testimony they can get from the girls in the commune.
Even before Lake told me that getting testimony would be the most difficult part, I knew it. For some of these people, the Children are the only thing they know, and breaking away might be scary. Especially for the women and girls who’ve been raised to depend on the men in the commune. Not all of them feel betrayed like I do.
Of course, my concern for Jared’s dad goes much further than the FBI, but it’s something we haven’t spoken about. If Father David throws Jared’s dad into the cellar and deprives him of food and water, he won’t last long. He’s been so sick, and with each passing day it’s seemed like he’s died a little more.
“How long do you think it will take them to get ready to raid the compound?” I ask.
“Lake said they have to get warrants and backup.” When I lift my eyebrows questioningly, Jared says, “More agents.”
“Oh.”
Lake came with a team, but I guess it isn’t enough. I don’t know how many people you need to raid a compound that has little to no weapons and almost no way of fighting back, but I’d guess they’ll want to be prepared for anything. As far as Jared and I know, there are no guns on the premises, but Lake pointed out that we weren’t privy to everything Father David did. She has a point. He could have anything hidden away in the compound, and we’d never know.
“What do we do after this?” I ask when Jared says nothing else.
“Try to find your family. Although we have no identification, and you don’t even have a birth certificate. I’m sure the FBI could help us out with that, but I have no clue how long it will take. Then there will be the trial. We’ll have to testify.” Jared lets out a deep sigh. “We could be here for a while.”
This is something I’ve been told nearly a dozen times today. When I gave my original statement, when I repeated it for the FBI, when it was read back to me and I signed my name at the bottom of the page. It seems like everyone wants to make sure I understand how the system works so I’m prepared for the fact that I’ll have to sit in front of the people I’m accusing, as well as strangers, and repeat the things I’ve already said. They all act like they think the news will make me take off running, but in truth, I’ve found I’m almost looking forward to it. I’m not immune to nerves when I think about it, but there’s something satisfying about knowing I’ll be able to look Father David in the eye and make him listen to what he’s done to me. David will be harder, but I’ll do it. It’s my mother, however, that I look forward to the most, knowing she’ll be forced to hear me for once.
“At least we’re together,” I tell Jared.
He nods in agreement, and when he flips his hand over so he can lace his fingers through mine, I smile.
We’re alone in a room, sitting on a bed, but I’m not afraid. No anxiety shoots through me when he leans forward, his gray-brown eyes holding mine as he silently asks permission to kiss me. I nod and my eyelids slide s
hut as he closes the distance between us, pressing his lips to mine. They linger there, soft and gentle, before slowly starting to move. I follow his lead for once, letting him set the pace. His hand moves up my arm, and the pounding of my heart increases. It isn’t out of fear, but desire. Desire to be close to this man, not just now, but for the rest of my life.
Our kisses are sweet, made sweeter by the realization that there’s no danger of being caught. It’s the first time I understand what freedom really feels like, being here in the motel room next to Jared while our lips explore one another. The sensation has the affect of not only pushing away my inhibitions, but of making me want more from Jared. Making me want to give him more. For the first time, I’m able to run my hands up his arms, over his shoulder, and to his face. I hold it between my hands while we kiss, feeling his jaw flex beneath my fingertips, savoring the rough texture of his skin. It should terrify me. Should bring back images of David and the night of my betrothal, but it doesn’t, because I’m the one doing the touching. I’m the one who’s reached out and taken control of the situation.
Jared and I end up lying on the bed, kissing and touching. He’s generous with his caresses, but he never strays from the skin already exposed. Fingertips brush down my arms, as light as a spring breeze blowing across an open field. His thumb moves across my cheek as he cups my face in his hands. He traces the dip at the base of my neck where my collarbones meet. Most people would probably consider this moment innocent, possibly bordering on childish compared to what could happen, but to us, the intimacy is life changing.
That night, I don’t return to my room, but instead curl up next to Jared. I’ve never looked forward to sleep the way I am at this moment. Not only because I’m positively exhausted from the escape, lack of sleep the night before, and the long day of questioning, but because I know with Jared’s arms wrapped around me the way they are, there’s no way David will be able to haunt my dreams.