Those Who Prey

by Jennifer Moffett

  “I’m very serious, Emily. Are you angry with God for anything that’s ever happened to you?”

  I’m searching her face for clues, but her expression doesn’t change. Something inside of me is resisting the urge to even consider a response. “I don’t think so,” I say carefully. I grip my knees. It never occurred to me to be angry at someone else for the wave of darkness that sometimes falls over me, and how once I inexplicably wanted to walk straight into the ocean at night with no plan to swim back. How the only thing that stopped me was knowing it would kill my father. And how sometimes I wake up with specific childhood memories, but I don’t even know if they’re real or imagined. I know I can never let myself form these words, even in private.

  “Okay. Let me ask it this way. Do you blame God for taking your mother away from you when you were a little girl?”

  Yes.

  Her question—and my mind’s immediate response—knocks the wind out of me. It’s not just God I blamed. The image of my father that day on the beach—reading, not paying attention, complacent—pops into my head. Why was she out there alone? Why did he let her go out there? Why didn’t he save her? Guilt and resentment mixed with a raw anger rise up with such force and speed I can’t stop them. I try to press them down, down, down, until I can almost ignore them again like I’d been doing my whole life. My heart aches more than I can stand as tears begin running down my cheeks.

  Heather swoops to my side, her arm around me. She lets me cry into her shoulder. “It’s okay,” she whispers. “This is why we confess, Em. I can tell you’re broken. We just have to remember we can’t carry our sins on our own.” She pulls away with abrupt optimism.

  She places my Sin List in my hand and I immediately fold it, trying to hold back the nausea rising in my throat. When I stand up, Heather has to steady me. Wiping my eyes one last time, I take a deep breath and follow her out of the room. I would do anything to make this horrible feeling go away.

  Meredith is waiting for us in the kitchen amid an elaborate display of finger foods and fresh-baked cookies, all artfully arranged on their counter in a still life of normalcy. She smiles at me and raises her eyebrows in an I’m-rooting-for-you expression. I smile back weakly. Her gesture is kind, but it seems incongruous to the weight of the situation. How could no one have ever warned me about the seriousness of this piece of paper earlier in my life? Maybe I would’ve made different choices had I known. Maybe everything would have been different.

  “Emily,” Meredith whispers excitedly, pulling me back to the present moment. “I want you to meet my husband.” She turns and waves toward a hallway, summoning a tall attractive man with wire-rimmed glasses.

  “Well, hello. You must be Emily. I’m Will.” He leans forward and shakes my hand as I squeeze my folded-up Sin List in the sweaty palm of my other. “And no mister last name formalities with me.” He winks. His relaxed attention is comforting, and also sort of exhilarating, like when a professor wants to chat about an A+ assignment after class. Will even looks a little like my lit professor: young and approachable, with a quiet magnetism, definitely the opposite of Meredith’s overly charismatic brother on stage at church.

  Will places his hand on my shoulder as he leads me to the French doors that open to the backyard. He leans down to whisper, and his skin seems pale beyond the normal northeastern winter pallor. “Now, Emily. This part can be trying, but the best thing to do is stay focused.” He pats my shoulder twice. “Just remember this is one of the most important decisions you’ll ever make,” he says. I force a nervous smile, still gripping my Sin List, and follow him out to the flawlessly landscaped backyard where the other disciples and their DPs are waiting. Heather is beaming at me, her pride on full display.

  “Follow me,” Will says to the group of us about to be baptized, and leads us across the paved patio. We’re all clutching similar pieces of paper, as he arranges us in a semicircle beside their stone-lined swimming pool. A teepee of wood is mounted in the grass near the deep end; a large cross-shaped structure looms several feet behind it. As Will slips off his shoes at the edge of the pool, I notice a large Band-Aid peeks out from under his rolled-up sleeve when he lifts his arm to signal directions.

  Finally, he begins: “New disciples! This is a very important—probably the most important—step in your path to salvation, so you’ll need to follow my exact instructions. First, I need you to close your eyes and hold your right hand out, palm up.”

  I hold my hand out, my other hand clutching my Sin List. A small object drops into my right hand. Its cool touch feels like metal.

  Will raises his voice several notches. “Can anyone tell me what you’re holding?”

  No one answers. I swirl the sharp object in my hand, too anxious to speak.

  “A thumbtack?” someone to my left guesses.

  “Yes, but it’s far more powerful than a mere object. It’s your ticket out of sin. Far away from Satan’s grasp,” he says.

  A few awkward “amens” break through the nervous silence.

  “Now I want each of you to squeeze the tack—just a little bit—into your palm,” Will says. “Can you feel that?”

  My tack is sideways. I readjust the sharp point.

  “Do you have an inkling of an idea as to what Jesus must have felt when they hammered those nails into his hands? You know why it was necessary, don’t you? He had to because of you. Do you know the agony he felt when you committed—and when you continue to commit—all of those sins on your lists?” he bellows. “You murdered him with your prideful behavior. You murdered him with your rebellious attitude. You murdered him when you went too far with your boyfriend. You murdered him when you took that drag off a cigarette, or that sip of beer.

  “And it kills him—all over again—when you choose to stand there and ignore his Word. It’s the only thing he asks of you. That piece of paper you’re holding in your left hand hurts him more than ten thousand nails!” Will is yelling.

  I’m quiet and still as shame blooms inside of me.

  “You put him on that cross, where he bled to death in agony, and it is time you all answered for that!”

  A few nearby disciples sniff. The same guilt and resentment and anger I felt earlier bubble up again, but this time it’s directed toward myself. The same question keeps repeating in my mind: What have I done? I try to focus on the soothing sound of water flowing into the swimming pool through an elaborate stone fountain.

  “But I have good news.” Will’s tone shifts to comforting. “Tonight, we’re giving you the opportunity to start fresh. To give yourself over completely to the cross of Jesus Christ. To open your eyes to his will. Open your eyes. Now take that tack and pierce it through your sins. This is your chance to lay it down at the foot of the cross.”

  I push the tack through my Sin List and follow the line forming along the pool. The other disciples before me fasten their lists to the pile of wood in front of the cross and walk away. When it’s my turn, my pulse quickens as I tack mine to a piece of wood.

  “Emily,” Will says.

  I wince, surprised to hear my name first.

  He beams at the faces lining the pool and descends, fully clothed, into the shallow end. Then he turns to me and extends his hand. I take off my shoes and step in. The warm water is strangely comforting. My clothes swell and bloat, making it difficult to maneuver. Will rests his hands on my shoulders before speaking to all of us. I stare at the cross, which looms taller from this angle.

  “Emily. Do you promise to commit to living a life as a true disciple as outlined by Jesus Christ in order to receive forgiveness for your sins through the Holy Spirit?”

  My heart is pounding. My negative emotions are more distant now, as if they’re detaching from me, preparing to float away. “I promise,” I say.

  I hear a loud whoosh as someone lights the wood holding our Sin Lists. Will gathers my hands into his own, places them over my nose, and pulls me back in one overpowering splash. My eyes pop open underwater, a reflex I�
��ve never been able to correct. A distorted tower of flames quivers above the water. The chlorine burns my nostrils as I accidentally inhale some water. Just as I begin to gurgle and thrash, Will’s arm pulls me upright releasing me from the silence. My ears clear to the sounds of cheering and clapping and “amens” as the raging flames crackle loudly through the bonfire.

  I scan the faces of those lined along the edge of the pool, where every disciple appears serene and happy for me. Hot tears stream down my face. Relief rushes through me as the anxiety from Heather’s interrogation washes away.

  The warmth of Will’s hands rests on my shoulders as everyone cheers. An intense flood of joy hits me. It consumes me the same way the pieces of wood burn through my handwritten past.

  As I struggle up the steps, another disciple sloshes into the water. She gives me an enormous hug and takes my hands into her own.

  “You’re saved,” she says, her face manic with exhilaration.

  She releases my hands, leaving a smear of blood where her right palm was. Before I can say anything, she rushes toward Will, leaving a thin strain of red swirling behind her. It’s suspended for several seconds, illuminated by the underwater lights, and then it dissipates into the big mass of water around it.

  (REPEAT) STEP 1: Introduce yourself to someone new. Try a student sitting alone, or someone who seems upset or out of place. Invite them to an informal activity.

  Sidelined

  Excuse me, do you have a second?”

  A girl hauling an overstuffed backpack shoots me an aggravated look as she continues through the quad.

  No? Okay, then.

  This isn’t going well, and it’s my fault. It’s barely been a week since my baptism, yet my responsibilities have multiplied—with inviting others to join our studies being highest on the list. I’m consumed with a restless fervor, as if someone lit an inner pilot light I didn’t know I had, but I haven’t figured out how to use it. I just can’t get beyond the weirdness of approaching strangers, even though they’re students like me. I can hear my Southern accent every time I speak. Then I become self-conscious and clam up, or just stand there panic-stricken, completely forgetting what to say. I’m worried if I can’t generate more interest, I’ll have to skip more classes and I’m getting close to maxing out my absences.

  A clean-cut guy wearing a fraternity cap is heading my way.

  I can do this. “Excuse me,” I say.

  He stops. His eyes shine a clear blue in the brightness of the sun as he smiles.

  “I just wanted to invite you to a campus Bible study group,” I stammer.

  I wait for his resistance, but he tilts his head as if intrigued. “Bible study, huh?”

  “Yes. We’re a non-denominational group of students studying what the Bible teaches about life.”

  He smiles. My hopes soar. Please, please, please say yes.

  “Do you know how many invitations to your study I’ve received this week? Seven,” he spits. “Don’t you have anything better to do than harass people into joining your weirdo cult?”

  He stalks away, leaving me stunned and confused. What is his problem?

  I look for Heather’s guidance and spot her across the quad near a spire-topped building, chatting with three well-dressed girls. They look so happy and at ease, like the stock photos from all the university brochures. I can’t help my jealous admiration of Heather’s nonchalant way of bringing people in.

  I edge over in their direction until I’m within earshot.

  “So, we’ll see you later today at the volleyball game?” Heather says to the girls.

  Volleyball game? Heather hadn’t mentioned that as a thing I could say.

  I’m about to approach them just as two giant hands gently cover my eyes.

  “Guess who?” My stomach flips as I recognize Josh’s voice.

  I put my hands over his. “Josh?”

  He laughs as I turn around. “Are you recruiting?” he asks.

  “Trying,” I say.

  “Ah. Not going so well?”

  I wrinkle my nose in response.

  “Hey. Don’t worry about it. Listen. Here’s a tip,” Josh says quietly, leaning into me. “Look for people you’d want to talk to anyway. They’ll be more likely to connect with you.”

  “Yeah. I guess you lucked out when you stumbled upon me, then,” I joke.

  “Sure did.” His fingers sweep my hair behind my ear, and it’s almost enough to erase my insecurity about this process.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe this part just isn’t for me. Heather is so good at it.”

  Josh puts his hand on my shoulder. “Heather has a way with people,” he says. “She brings more students into the Kingdom than any other DP on this campus. Just be yourself.” His hand slides down my arm from my shoulder to my hand. He intertwines his fingers with mine.

  “Um, hello?” Heather interrupts in her most annoying schoolmarm voice. “PDA while recruiting is a bit inappropriate, don’t you think?”

  Josh automatically drops his hand to his side. My cheeks redden—with shame or annoyance, I’m not sure. Now that I’m baptized, Josh and I are allowed to be together, but Heather hasn’t let up on her vigilance or judgment.

  “So.” Heather turns to me. “How many people have you invited?”

  Her confrontational tone makes me uneasy. “Ten total, so far?”

  Heather’s brows furrow. “Why does your answer sound like a question? Any seem interested?”

  “Maybe,” I say optimistically.

  Heather has that look—the I’m-about-to-give-advice one. I cut her off before she has time to embarrass me in front of Josh.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about the volleyball game?” I ask.

  She looks surprised for a moment, and then composes herself with an assured toss of her hair. “Oh, it’s just an event we’re sponsoring for the Kingdom on Campus group.” She turns to Josh. “You’re coming, right?”

  “You bet,” he says.

  “I would have mentioned it, Emily, but I was worried you’d be uncomfortable. It’s mostly experienced DPs and potential new members,” she says with authority.

  Josh puts his arm around me in a defiant gesture. “It might be good for Em to watch the recruiting side of things, rather than just throwing her out here in the quad without any preparation,” he says to Heather in an authoritative tone.

  Heather shoots Josh a fake smile. “Fine, then. Now some of us have to get back to work. So many souls, so little time,” she says before walking off to approach a girl sitting alone on a bench.

  With Heather’s back turned, Josh takes me by surprise with a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you at the game at four—I have to run to class,” he says, smiling as he goes.

  I watch him stride off, my cheek tingling.

  * * *

  At the volleyball event, Heather flits from person to person without taking a single break. She doesn’t bother to acknowledge me beyond her smile-and-nod “sorry I’m busy” gesture, so I walk around until I run into Andrew. He pats my arm when he notices me worriedly tracking Heather. “Don’t worry, Em,” he says. “We can’t all be as productive as your DP.” I almost detect a hint of sarcasm in his voice, but it’s so subtle that I tell myself it could be my imagination. “Anyway, I spy your boy.” He points to Josh standing at the volleyball net. “You should go find a seat and enjoy the view,” he says with a wink before walking toward a concession table.

  I take his advice as the deep punching sound of a fist launching a volleyball prompts cheering from the sidelines. “Go, Jessie!” a girl sitting nearby yells with her hands cupped around her mouth. Jessie laughs as she shuffles back and forth, her arms outstretched with hands connected into a V in front of her.

  This is exactly what I imagined college would be like amid the bustle of large activities. I clap for the players, happy to feel like I’m a part of something. And it’s a relief to be able to sit on the sidelines instead of actively recruiting, stuttering and
sweating. Josh is playing volleyball, while Andrew and Ben keep score. I spot Heather talking to the same group of girls from the quad.

  A familiar voice breaks through the outdoor commotion. “Why, hello, Miss Emily. How are you doing?” Meredith sits down next to me, but I don’t recognize her at first. Her tight blond ponytail—the perky kind fastened high at the crown—makes her seem very young. With her lean build in a white button-down shirt and khaki shorts, Meredith could easily pass for a senior. It’s the jewelry that gives her away. Most college girls don’t wear full-carat studs and drop necklaces to a volleyball game.

  “I’m great,” I say.

  “No, I mean, how are you doing? You know … spiritually.” She looks at me with a caring expression.

  “Oh. Fine.” I sound like I’m questioning my own answer. I’m worried she’ll bring up the fact that I can’t even convince one new person to come to our study groups.

  “I’ve heard good things about your progress,” she says. “You’ve been staying on track with your QTs and BTs, and I know it isn’t easy with a full load of classes. Some students struggle in their spiritual walk because of school and other outside distractions, but you’ve really shown your priorities are in the right place.”

  “Thanks,” I say, a surge of pride lifting my voice higher than usual. After my baptism, Heather ramped up our study schedule, plus added in time for recruitment. I had to miss a few classes and stop volunteering at Senior Meals just to keep up. It was a small price to pay.

  “So, have you thought any more about our meeting?” Meredith asks.

  “Which one?”

  Meredith stares at me. She doesn’t seem put out, just serious. “About our world missions and the many opportunities for students to participate.”

  “Oh. You mean the internship?”

  Her eyes widen with enthusiasm. “Yes. The internship.” She leans forward. “We feel you’ve been called to be a part of this, Emily. All of us,” she says with a conspiratorial whisper. “Including my brother.”