Those Who Prey

by Jennifer Moffett

  “Amen.” I say it out loud with Heather this time.

  “But don’t forget that means there’s also a hell. And, people, there will be a judgment.”

  * * *

  The moment the service ends, Heather slices through the crowd like a boat hull cutting water. I follow her toward a hallway that appears to lead backstage. Suddenly nervous, I wonder if we’re supposed to be back here. As if sensing my reluctance, Heather turns to wave me forward before pushing through a door. Inside, Meredith is greeting a circle of people surrounding her, like a celebrity fielding autograph requests. An enormous cake decorated as a scaled atlas is displayed on a skirted table. Tall candles pierce the nations where the Kingdom already has churches.

  “Hey,” someone says over my shoulder. I turn to see Andrew smiling. He leans into me and pats my back in a distanced hug.

  “I didn’t realize you’re interested in an internship,” he says to me. Before I can ask what he’s talking about, Heather yanks my arm to keep us moving, too focused on keeping our spot in line to even say hi to Andrew. I shrug at him apologetically. Andrew gives a pretend grimace to the back of Heather’s head to offer me his sympathy. I try not to laugh as he walks away to talk to Ben on the other side of the room.

  When we finally get closer, Meredith’s eyes glint in recognition at Heather. “Hey, sweetie,” she says, but her eyes shift intermittently to see who is behind her.

  I step up next to Heather.

  “Well, hello, Emily. How are you?” Meredith says, beaming.

  “Great,” I say, still giddy from the energy of the crowd.

  “Look at your adorable outfit,” Meredith says to me. “My daughter Rachel has one similar. Did you know she just turned sixteen? I cannot be-lieve my baby girl is all grown up.” Her gaze shifts back to Heather, who fidgets with her hair and clothes under Meredith’s gaze. “Heather, honey. What in the world are you wearing?” Meredith asks with a small laugh.

  Heather’s disappointment overshadows her smile. “Oh,” Heather looks down at her outfit, smoothing the fabric with her palms. “Uh—it’s—”

  Meredith narrows her eyes at Heather, her smile never leaving her lips. “Don’t you think that skirt’s a little tight?”

  Heather’s cheeks immediately flame. I duck my head, as if looking at my shoes will make me less of a witness to Heather’s embarrassment.

  “Have you been praying and fasting like we talked about?” Meredith asks Heather while scanning the people behind us again.

  “Yes, of course, I—”

  A random girl shoves past us. Meredith hugs her and shifts her attention away from us for a moment. Another girl cutting the cake hands me a large piece and tries to give one to Heather, who quickly puts her hand up to pass.

  Meredith turns back to us as the girl who shoved me walks away. “Listen. I hope y’all stick around for the meeting. There’s something very exciting I want to share with both of you.” She’s looking directly at me.

  “Sure,” Heather says, her cheeks still blazing.

  Meredith tilts her head at Heather. “I really like the way you pulled your hair up.” Heather smiles. Her hair is twisted in the back and clipped so that a controlled mess of curls spills over just so. I notice Meredith’s hair is pulled up in a similar way but without the curls. “You too, Emily. Why, you and Heather could almost be sisters. What a perfect way to illustrate the idea of imitation,” she says, beaming with delight. “So creative!”

  I touch my curls that took so long to create. “She insisted.” I nudge Heather.

  “Well, I think you should wear it like that every single day,” Meredith says before turning to another student waiting for her.

  Even with the hair compliment, I can tell Heather is still upset about Meredith’s skirt remark by the way she pulls at its hem as we push through the clot of people blocking a cluster of chairs.

  We sit in silence as Heather continues to fuss with her clothes. “For what it’s worth,” I offer, “I think you look great.”

  Heather stops fidgeting and turns icy. “Meredith is the Leader’s sister. And my DP. She’s just holding me to the highest standards.” Heather’s eyes are proud and distant, taking on the exact aloofness Meredith had cut her with just moments ago. We sit down, and I stab my fork into the yellow fragment of Central America before taking a bite of cake. Just as I dig into the blue icing of the ocean, Josh walks up. My heart skips, and I try desperately to keep my reaction neutral with Heather right next to me.

  “Hi, Heather,” Josh says.

  “Josh,” she responds.

  He turns to me. “It’s good to see you, Emily. I haven’t talked to you in ages.” He’s almost laughing. “How’ve you been?”

  “Great,” I choke. Heather watches me closely, but it’s so hard not to smirk back at him. Josh’s eyes glint with mischief, and we share a knowing look: She didn’t find out. Suddenly, the loud screech of feedback startles everyone to attention. Meredith makes her way into the middle of the room, adjusting the microphone clipped to her dress, as students settle into empty chairs. Josh winks before walking off to lean against the wall beside Ben and Andrew.

  “I’m sure you’re all wondering why we’re celebrating with the largest cake we’ve ever ordered. Well, we’re here to talk about my husband.” She pauses and looks around the room. “As you probably noticed, he was too sick to be here today, but that’s okay because this isn’t just about our dear Will. This is about the most important mission of our lifetime that he’s been chosen to lead—the expansion of the Kingdom. We’re in the process of scoping out possibilities for churches in every single nation in the world. And we’re looking for young people just like you to serve as interns. I’m talking about exciting places like England, India, France, Italy.”

  Heather shifts in her chair. “Voglio andare in Italia,” she says slowly to herself. “I’ve prayed and prayed for this,” she whispers to me, grasping my forearm for emphasis. Heather’s sense of urgency permeates her grip. I’ve never been out of the country, and I imagine myself in Italy, the place where all the paintings and sculptures in my art history book come to life. I glance at Josh and my stomach flips as I picture him there with me, leading me through romantic piazzas. Am I even far enough through the steps to be eligible for an overseas internship? As Meredith describes far-away places where the Kingdom is making a difference, I listen, barely blinking, taking in every single detail until she extends her arms to accentuate her closing remarks: “As individuals, we can accomplish a lot. But as a Kingdom, we can accomplish anything.”

  As the meeting wraps up, Josh finds me again, leaning in close as he passes. “Talk to you tonight,” he whispers. I smile and instinctively check to make sure Heather didn’t hear. Luckily, she’s busy chatting with another girl, her back to us. The excited chatter from potential interns swells around us, yet it feels like Josh and I are the only ones in the room. He briefly touches my hand before walking away.

  breaking session: a confrontation-induced breakdown that occurs after confessing one’s secrets; often viewed as a spiritual awakening with the promise of acceptance and forgiveness; can cause a radical shift in identity

  Sins to Burn

  Let us pray have become Heather’s three favorite words.

  And her favorite way to end each prayer is exactly the same each time: “Forgive us our sins. Amen.”

  My sins were always an abstract idea, until Heather asked me to bring a list to our next meeting. We were finishing a BT when she sat there smirking like she had a huge secret to tell me and couldn’t wait any longer. “Your next step is the final step before baptism. And I told Meredith you’d be ready by the next house meeting. This is the most important step because it leads to total spiritual freedom.” She made a muffled squealing sound, but I couldn’t get past the words “sin” and “list” as the title of a task. “As in write them all down?” I kept asking.

  Heather assured me Josh wouldn’t be there; it was a previously planned girls
-only house study. Well, except for Will, whom I am very curious to finally meet in person. Even then, Heather promised she would be the only one to see my list. And while I didn’t love the idea of Heather knowing all my sins, I pushed past that to focus on the after-baptism perks: Spiritual freedom. A support system in Boston. And, of course, more time with Josh. (Out in the open. As a couple!) Just thinking about this made me giddy enough to swallow my fears and break out the pen and paper.

  By the time I arrive at Meredith and Will’s house on the day of my baptism, my list reads:

  Alcohol. (Heather said to include this.)

  Marijuana. (I tried it twice but didn’t get high.)

  Physical relationship with one high school boyfriend.

  Notebook of fairly explicit poetry from my creative writing class.

  A B in high school chemistry (my only B ever).

  My “Sin List” doesn’t look so bad to me, especially considering my upbringing. I can’t imagine what my high school friends’ lists would look like, or, even worse, Tamara’s. She spent an entire month at an oceanfront rehab facility in California the summer after her sophomore year of college. My dad said they could have saved tens of thousands of dollars by sending her out to one of the barrier islands with some food and a tent until she simply decided not to drink so much. Patti didn’t tell him about the various pills she found rattling around in Tamara’s purse.

  I’ve always been the good girl, the levelheaded one who drives everyone home. Yet here I sit across from Heather, staring at the lavender walls of Meredith’s teen daughter’s bedroom. I’m nervous about handing over my list, my heart pounding so hard I’m scared if I look down, I’ll actually see it pumping against my chest.

  “This is it,” Heather says with a strained smile, the same kind a teacher uses when she isn’t sure whether a student will succeed or fail. “Your final step to salvation.”

  My eyes keep flicking toward the door, longing for an escape, as Heather opens my list. I focus on items in Rachel’s room as a distraction—a ruffled pillow, a jam box, a poster of Amy Grant bending mid-snap in an animal-print blazer. The plastic eyes of stuffed animals stare at me blankly from the bowl-shaped cushion of a papasan chair. I jump at the sound of a door down the hall slamming and look to make sure our door is shut all the way.

  “I know this is scary, Em,” Heather reassures me, placing her hand on mine with a warm smile. “But I have to know your exact sins in order to help determine your spiritual weaknesses. It’s my job to help you find your way on the path to righteousness.” She looks back down at my list with a serious expression.

  Josh told me this would be intense, though I had no idea how intense until now. This will be over soon. How bad can it be? I sit quietly rubbing the sweat from my palms onto my jeans. Heather’s eyebrows furrow as she reads. When she finally looks up, she isn’t happy.

  “Emily? You are going to have to be completely honest with me here. I have to know specifically what you’ve struggled with so you can come to grips with your sins. It’s the only way to become closer to God.”

  “Okay,” I say warily. Did I leave something out? How would she even know?

  “Do you trust me?” she asks. It almost sounds like an accusation.

  I blink. “Of course.”

  A brief smile crosses her face before she homes in on my list. “On number three, for example, what exactly does ‘physical relationship’ mean?”

  “Um …” I trail off, knowing I’d been vague. I never felt comfortable discussing anything sexual, even in front of friends. Dad and I never had “the talk” when I was younger, though Patti told me to ask her anything I wanted to know. She did say she might need a glass of wine first. I never ended up asking questions. Instead, I silently gleaned everything I needed to know from girlfriends at school, and more often, Tamara.

  “Look,” Heather says, putting my list aside. “As your DP, anything you tell me is completely confidential. In order to help you, I have to know everything. If you can’t even make the leap to trust me, how are you ever going to fully trust in God?”

  “This is just … difficult,” I stammer. “It’s weird talking about things like this.”

  She heaves a dramatic sigh. “Okay. I can make this a little bit easier, but you have to promise to answer every single question honestly.”

  “Okay.” This will be over soon. This will be over soon. This will be over soon.

  “Have you only been quote-unquote physical with this one particular boyfriend from high school?” She uses her fingers to emphasize the quotations.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you actually have sexual intercourse with him?”

  “Yes.” I mumble it quickly.

  “How many times?”

  “Once.” I try to block the awkward memory. Eric Bolton. It was something I’d rather not remember. At the time, I wasn’t sure whether I felt disappointed because it was such an unpleasant mistake, or relieved that the big ordeal was finally over.

  “Did you ever have oral sex with him?”

  I pick at my nails while staring at them intently. “Yes,” I admit.

  “Who performed it, you or him?”

  “Both,” I whisper. My face is on fire. I look down at a polka-dotted hair scrunchie peeking out from under the dresser and cringe as I hear Heather scribbling something onto my list.

  “Anal sex?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure? Lots of people do it that way because they think it technically won’t count as their first time.”

  “I’m pretty sure I would remember that.” I laugh nervously.

  Her eyes flare as she leans forward. “This is not a joke, Emily,” she hisses. “We are at war with the temptations lurking in this world. This is your soul we are talking about here. If you don’t feel broken by the cross of Jesus, then you should just go back to your dorm without me.”

  Her earnestness catches me short. My eyes burn with tears.

  Heather sits up and composes herself. “Are you still in contact with this guy?”

  “What do you mean?” I swipe my trembling finger across my eye and dry it on my jeans.

  “Do you see him when you go home? Has he been up here to visit?”

  “No and no,” I say. I broke up with Eric way before I left for college, and I still feel guilty about it because he really liked me. Eric was the type of person I thought I was supposed to be with, yet I honestly didn’t like him that much. Plus, I’d already realized my happiness would be contingent on leaving home, and I wasn’t going to let anyone get in my way.

  “Do you miss him?” Heather asks. She tilts her head as if concerned for me.

  I pause, wondering what she wants me to say. I don’t want Heather to think I’m cold-hearted or slutty, or anything, but I’m relieved we live in different states. Eric seemed needy afterward. Tamara, who, of course, found out about it, explained how the significance of your first time is a huge myth, and how the act itself is just a trial run. I found myself embarrassed by him afterwards, by things like his hair growing a little too long in the back, or the fact that his truck always smelled vaguely of fishing and sports equipment. It surprised me how little I cared when Eric started seeing Rebecca Randall, a popular girl on the dance team. It was actually a relief.

  “No, I wouldn’t say that I miss him,” I finally say to Heather.

  She eyes me suspiciously.

  “Anyway, he has a serious girlfriend now,” I add.

  Heather sighs with relief. “Good. That will speed up the process, because any relationship like that would have to be completely cut off before you could be baptized.”

  At least Josh is already saved.

  “Have you ever been sexually abused by a family member or another adult?”

  “What?”

  “Emily, it’s okay to tell me. It’s part of letting God heal your past so that you can move forward. I have to know absolutely everything.”

  “No, I’ve never been abused.” />
  “Raped?”

  “No.”

  “What about girlfriends? Have you ever experimented, like kissed or touched another girl?”

  “No.” I’m staring at the floor.

  “Not even the girl in the photo in your room? The one where you’re both wearing bikinis in a boat?”

  “No! Heather, are we done yet? I messed around with one guy. What else do you want me to say?”

  “Okay, fine.” Heather throws her hands up in frustration. “There is no need to be so defensive and prideful with me. These are your mistakes, Emily. And as your DP, I am personally responsible for allowing you to admit them so we can ask God to take care of the rest. If you don’t feel like doing that, then God help you on Judgment Day.”

  “But—”

  “James 5:16 says: ‘Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed.’ If you refuse to reach a point of godly sorrow, then all of your progress will be for nothing.” Heather rearranges her curls, a habit she uses for dramatic effect, and something I actually caught myself doing yesterday. “Now, on to other things.”

  The process turns out to be far from over. By the time Heather is done with me, my list expands from a mere five items to thirty-seven sins, including masturbation (#8), my specific thoughts during masturbation (#9), rebellious attitude (#15), not imitating my DP—her—to my best ability (#29), and being confirmed into a different church when I was younger (#34). When she’s done, I’m clutching my Sin List like it’s the only hard copy of the combination to a nuclear bomb.

  Just as I stand up, Heather says, “Wait. I know this has been very uncomfortable for you. I have one last thing, though,” she says. “And it’s really important.”

  I sit back down, my heart racing. What else could we possibly have left to cover? I’ve just told her the most embarrassing things I’ve ever told anyone before now.

  Heather looks at me and pauses before speaking. “Have you ever hated God?”

  A twinge of guilt pinches my chest. I’m suddenly afraid.