Chapter 21
Gabby
Dressed for battle and ready to attack, I leave my house and lock the door carefully behind me. I have no car.
In my excitement, I forgot that small detail.
The crush of costumed children has passed, but Preston’s front light is still on. I’d forgotten he was waiting for me. I crunch across the fallen leaves and climb his steps.
He opens the door with a smile and a “Would you like some candy, little girl?”
One look at my face, and he realizes I’m not in the mood for jokes.
“Can I borrow your car? Mine is still held as evidence.”
“I guess so, or I can drive you somewhere.”
“You don’t want to come where I’m going.”
He looks puzzled. “Come in and tell me what’s going on.”
“I don’t have time. I got the address to the cult and I’m going now. Can I borrow your car?” I’m losing patience, I just want to go.
“You can’t go to the cult,” he says, surprised.
“I can and I am. The car? Yes or no?”
He searches my face, realizes I’m not giving up. “I’ll go with you.”
“I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t ask.” He grabs a coat and turns off the front light. “You’re not planning on going in, right?”
I don’t want to lie, so say nothing.
Once in the car, I tell him about how Haley got the address. I give him a short overview of my argument with Dustin and why I won’t call him.
His lips press into a hard line, but he keeps driving. “Don’t make me regret helping you,” he says after long thoughtful moments.
I can’t promise that, so say nothing.
We follow the map app on my phone out into the country. After many late night drives, I’m familiar with every road in the county. As we draw closer to the pin on the app, I realize I’ve driven this road before. I’ve been close to these girls, and never had a clue they were here needing help. I couldn’t have known, but I feel I’ve let them down just the same. I should have known. Should have come years ago.
The map shows we are at the location Haley gave. Bare branches hang over the back road, trees push in on all sides, stretching into the darkness. An ordinary mail box and a gravel track into the woods are the only hint to human habitation.
“I don’t see a compound, or a farm or anything,” Preston says. “Maybe Haley was wrong.”
I’d agree with him, except my tattoo started tingling when we turned on this road. It sends tiny shocks up my arm now. I can’t tell Preston about the tingles.
“Drive up this track and let’s see where it goes.” Preston’s shoulders tighten and I know he wants to argue. “Please,” I add sweetly.
Dried weeds and leaves cover the track and in places only the narrow gaps in the trees let us know we’re still on the road.
The burning on my arm increases as we drive and adrenaline pulses, making me jumpy. Far into the woods, we come to a gate. In both directions from the gate, a tall chain link fence reaches beyond the lights from the headlamps.
“What in the world?” Preston breathes.
I crane my neck to see the top of the fence. A double line of barbed wire stretches the length.
“It looks like a prison,” he says.
“It is,” I say and climb out of the car.
Preston scrambles after me. “What are you doing? You can’t go in the gate or the fence. Just get back in the car and we’ll call Lucas.”
His concern buzzes my head like a fly, pointless and ignorable.
“Turn off the car, they’ll see the lights.”
“Gabby, let’s go. This is bad.”
I turn on him, angry. “I’m not stopping. Now turn off the lights or drive away. Your choice.”
He reaches into the car and kills the engine.
The darkness feels complete after the glare of the headlamps. I blink a moment, adjusting. I feel Preston staring at me, his concern rolling off him in waves.
“What now,” he whispers. His voice sounds loud in the woods.
“Find a way in.” On impulse, I try the gate, grab the latch.
Electricity courses through me, knocking the breath from my chest and pushing me to the ground with a convulsion.
“Gabby.” Preston kneels next to me, leaves crunching under his knees.
I suck air and grab my chest. My neck hurts from the electric shock. “It shocked me.”
“I see that.” Preston looks at the gate. “Who electrifies a gate?”
“The same sickos who kidnap girls and murder young men.” I struggle to my feet, lean over at the waist until I get my breath back.
After the huge shock from the fence, the insistent tingle of my tattoo barely registers. Follow the fence, comes through loud and clear, though.
“There has to be a way in, both Addlynn and Nolan escaped.” I choose a direction and go off into the woods. I keep the fence on my right, careful not to touch it. I’m not sure if the whole fence is electrified, or just the gate, but I don’t want another jolt.
Preston follows reluctantly. Every few minutes he begs me to turn around, to call someone. I keep walking.
At the far corner of the property, the fence turns. I follow the turn. Buildings loom ahead on the other side of the fence. A house that obviously started life as a regular farm house squats in the center of a clearing. It’s been added onto many times, and the resulting building has a haphazard sprawling appearance. All but one window of the large house is dark. The lighted window has wavering light dancing behind the curtain. Candle light.
The wavering sends a shiver down my back.
Beyond the house, various barns and outbuildings carve dark shadows into the night sky. No security lights bathe the barnyards, no electric lights of any kind are visible anywhere. “Guess they only use electricity for the gate,” I mumble.
I continue along the fence, waiting for another message in my mind. Inside the fence, an outbuilding glows with light and life. I motion for Preston to stop and get down.
“What is that?” he whispers near my ear.
“Looks like a meeting house, or their church. Raised voices filter out of the building and across the clearing. I can’t make out the words. The tiny windows dance with even more candle light. “Everyone must be at a service or something.”
I stand to continue down the fence, searching for where Addlynn and Nolan got out. Preston grabs my arm.
“We have to get out of here. You’ve proven it exists, now let’s call the police and get some help.”
I shake of his hand. “I’m going on.”
Beyond the meeting house, I find what I was looking for. A corner of the chain link fence has been raised, loosened by some animal maybe.
I reach for the hole, ready to push in.
Preston pulls me away. “You can’t go in there.”
“I have to.” My tattoo burns and sizzles. “It’s telling me to go.”
“What’s telling you? I don’t understand.” Preston is losing his patience, mine is long gone.
I yank my jacket and shirt sleeve up, exposing the delicate cross on my left forearm. “This is telling me.” I shout in a whisper.
“Your tattoo? Tattoos don’t talk.” He uses a voice you’d use on a child, or a simple person.
“Mine does.” I slide my sleeve back down and try to go through the gap again.
Preston grabs the back of my jacket and pulls me away from the fence. “Stop that and tell me what’s going on.” His voice now hard with anger.
I look through the fence, into the compound. I don’t want to tell him, but I need to get inside. “One of the gifts I woke up with after I nearly died was that God tells me to do things,” I start, unable to look at him.
Preston tries to interrupt.
“When I need to do something, my tattoo will tingle and I’ll just know where to go or what to do to help someone.”
I wait for h
is response, but he makes none.
“Like that time at the corn field. My tattoo stung and I knew I had to go and find that girl. And right now, my tattoo is screaming at me to go through this gap and get to that meeting house.”
I finally get the courage to look at him. His expression crushes something precious and tiny inside me.
“That’s crazy,” he says. Our new relationship is like a new green shoot of grass, delicate, yet full of promise. That shoot dries and crumbles with those two words.
“It’s not crazy. It’s what I do. It’s what I am.” I hate the pleading note in my voice. “Can’t you understand? You understand the touching things, this is just part of it.”
He holds my eyes in the moonlight for the slightest moment, then looks past me.
The dried dust from our precious green shoot blows away in the breeze.
With Preston, I’d let my usual armor slip away a little, had opened my heart to the possibility of trusting him. That armor snaps back in place, walling me against the hurt.
Without another word, I drop to my knees and force the gap in the chain link open further. I push my head and shoulders through and wiggle on my belly. The metal scrapes down my back as I climb through.
Preston doesn’t stop me this time.
On the other side of the fence, I turn to face him. “Do what you have to, Preston. I’m following my orders.”
“Why?” That simple word covers more than my current actions.
“It’s the only thing I trust. The only thing I have.” My voice threatens to break.
I turn away from the fence and hurry alone through the dark to the meeting house.
Chapter 22
Gabby
I reach the corner of the meeting house and crouch low in the grass. I don’t want to look back at Preston, but I can’t help myself. All I see on the other side of the fence is trees and shadows.
Preston is gone.
I rub the burn of my tattoo. “Just you and me,” I whisper.
Inside the meeting house, I hear a muffled voice. Further down the wooden wall, a window blinks with candle light. I crawl silently along the wall and sit under the window. I can hear clearer through the glass.
“You have been faithful and God sees that faith now. Addlynn and Nolan were not faithful. They did not believe with all their hearts the way you believe. They have paid for their betrayal. They have paid for going against our right and mighty cause.”
I inch closer to the glass and peek into the window. A man dressed in plain dark slacks and a white button down shirt stands at the front of the room. Rough wooden benches are lined before him, full of worshipers. A bank of candles stands behind him, a hundred pinpoints of light throw his shadow across the room and over the gathering.
“Tonight God is going to reward you for your faith. Tonight will be a night of changes, a night of growth. Tonight will be the night of new beginnings.”
The voice pauses, as if listening. I lean closer to the glass, my nose touching the cold pane. “Yes, tonight is a time of great change. We will usher out the evil that has dared impose upon us. We will show God our faith and you shall be rewarded.”
Another pause for effect, then the man continues. “Tonight, I bring you face to face with evil. Tonight I bring you an abomination, a sacrilege against our God.” I strain to see more, to see what this abomination is.
Rough hands grab my arms and pull me away from the window. I kick against the two men, but they drag me around the side of the building. “Let me go,” I scream, angry at myself for being sucked into the man’s speech instead of watching my back.
The men ignore my demands and carry me kicking and flailing into the meeting room.
“Sisters and brothers, I present you with evil incarnate. The witch of River Bend.” The man dramatically motions to me and all faces turn to stare.
I am the abomination.
My legs go limp and the two men hold me up, carry me forward towards the candles, towards the man.
“I am not evil,” I say. I twist hard to escape, but the men pinch my arms under their hands.
Every eye follows me, mouths agape. No one moves to help.
“We will drive the evil from this one.” The leader bellows. “Our good will overcome her and she will see the true way to God.”
A large wooden cross stands in front of the bank of candles. To my horror, the men push my back against the cross. They peel off my jacket and sweater and leave me standing in a t-shirt, exposed. They take off my gloves and pull my hands to the sides of the cross and tie my wrists to the beam.
I shake with terror, but find my voice. “This is sacrilege,” I scream. “This is the cross of Jesus, you can’t do this.”
The leader laughs. “No, this is the sacrilege,” he says and points to my tattoo. “She dares wear the mark of our God on her skin.” The crowd gasps and shifts in their seats for a better look.
“It’s just a tattoo,” I plead. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Doesn’t it?” the leader’s face is so close to mine, I can see the sweat on his brow, the yellowing of his eyes. “You’ll enjoy this,” he says near my ear. “Brother Zeke,” the leader turns back to the crowd. “Tell us.”
A large hulk of a man stands up from the front row and joins the leader. Zeke towers over me, blocks my view of the crowd. He locks eyes with me and I quiver in response. His eyes are dark pools, empty of sympathy. “I see you got my invitation, I knew you would come,” he growls.
He spins to face the crowd and they cheer him. He raises his thick arms, drinks in their praise. “I have had a vision,” he declares. The crowd cheers again, their fervor making me sick. “I have seen this woman. I have seen this mark on her arm. I have seen the evil inside her. She wants to stop us, to destroy the perfect world we have built here.”
I scan the crowd, searching for anyone who might help me. All faces focus rapt attention on the man. Even through my fear, I notice the unusually high number of young women and girls in the crowd. They outnumber the males by at least two to one. Several young women are obviously pregnant. The abundance of youth and innocence a sharp contrast to the viciousness on display.
“God told me she would come tonight. God told me to rid the earth of her evil. To teach her.”
“Teach her,” the crowd responds in unison. Their reaction makes me dizzy. These people, these children, are sick.
I struggle against the ties at my wrists. They cut into me, but they won’t loosen.
Zeke takes an unlit candle from the table nearby. “With this flame, I will purify her,” he says dramatically. The candle is an exact match to the one left on my kitchen table, to the one used on Addlynn. He lights the candle with another from the bank of candles on the table behind me.
Holding the candle high, he prays his distorted prayer. “Lord, let this flame burn the evil before us. Let this flame show her the truth, our truth. Let this flame make her part of us.”
Zeke turns his eyes to me. Tiny reflections of the candle dance in the dark pools.
“Burn her,” a young woman screams.
“Teach her,” a young man adds.
A very small girl near the front stands and says to me, “Join us. Join us, sister.” The horrible words spoken in her tiny, innocent voice shatters the last of my calm.
I kick at Zeke and pull on my ties. I need to escape this madness. Zeke laughs out loud. “The evil in her is afraid,” he bellows. “God will win.”
“Burning me won’t make me one of you,” I shout.
Zeke leans so close to my ear, I can smell the soap he uses. “They don’t know that,” he hisses. “They only know what I tell them.”
I turn my face away from him to put as much distance between us as possible.
“I won’t do it. I won’t let you burn me.”
He moves closer to my ear, so close, my hair moves from his breath. “You don’t have a choice. This is going to be fun.”
He looks again at the crowd. “G
ive up your evil ways, witch, and join us.” With a flourish, he turns the candle on me.
I kick wildly, this time catching the candle. It spins out of his hand and the flame goes out in midair. The candle hits the floor, the thunk of the landing loud in the suddenly quiet room.
Zeke takes a giant step towards me, his fist bunched, ready to strike. I cower from the blow. “Zeke!” the leader catches his attention just in time. “The ceremony. Nothing matters but the ceremony.”
Zeke stops mid-strike, and gains his composure. He picks up the candle and re-lights it. The fervor of the crowd has waned and he raises the candle again, trying to regain the momentum. “Lord remove the evil from this woman, make her one of us.” He shortens the prayer this time. His dark eyes are on me again, but he stops at the table and removes something from a drawer. The glint of a large knife shines in the candle light.
He raises the knife in one hand, the candle in the other. “By the flame or by the blade, God will win.” His voice echoes off the wooden walls.
The crowd squeals. Shouts of “blade” mix with shouts of “flame” in a disgusting contest.
Zeke advances on me, eager to inflict pain. “Open your palm,” he commands.
I squeeze my hands shut and shake my head.
“You will obey,” he hisses. I try to kick him away again, but he’s on to that play now.
“Open your palm and let yourself be cleansed, or I will cleanse you by the blade.”
I buck against the cross, refusing his demands. My wrists sting from the ties cutting into my skin. I kick and struggle, but I can’t escape. He motions to one of the men to hold me. The man pries the fingers of my left hand open, one by one.
“No, don’t,” I scream. “Not that hand.”
Blind panic pumps through me. I know their fake ceremony won’t make me one of them, but the burning might make my hand not able to sense things. I squeeze my fingers closed as hard as I can, but the man holds them open.
“Please don’t,” I sob. “I’ll do anything you want. Just don’t burn that hand.”
Zeke holds the candle closer, draws out the moment for dramatic effect. “God, remove the evil from this woman,” he shouts, then thrusts the candle close under my palm.
Message in the Fire Page 13