Now the women of the circle wore actual smiles. The world burned around them, but they showed no fear.
“We returned to God’s Hill,” Caitlin continued. “Here for the end, but just in time. We found Desmond guarding the compound from Johnny Larsen, a machine gun in his hand and the fire of God at his fingertips. He told me there was still time to become a Daughter.”
Even Gwendolyn smiled at this point.
Caitlin pulled off her dirt-covered T-shirt, revealing her bra underneath. If she couldn’t beat them, she’d have to join them.
“But I have to fulfill the Climb,” she said, pulling down her shorts. “And the southern route is on fire. I’ve been told there’s a northern route.”
Lily Kramer stepped forward. “There is. We can take the road down to at least the washout. I can show you.”
Magda looked at Caitlin with tears ringing her eyes. There was no time to pull her aside and make sure they were on the same page, but Caitlin thought they were.
After everything, we have to be.
Magda smiled her way, then addressed the daughters. “We all will show you,” she said, putting her hand on Gwendolyn’s bare shoulder.
Gwendolyn nodded, then raised her bloody hand, leading the believers in another refrain.
“We climb God’s Hill together, now and at the end of days.”
Lily Kramer grabbed a tiki torch from the path, then led the way down the northern steps. Caitlin handed Magda her clothes and the satellite phone.
“Get Promise to the truck and meet us down at the road. Check in with 911 and see how close they are.”
Magda threw her good arm around Caitlin.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” she said, bursting into tears.
Caitlin hugged her mother as if for the first and last time. “I understand.”
Her mother pulled back. “Understand what?”
A thousand words wanted to come out. She understood that sometimes the best thing a parent could do was recognize that they’d make a terrible parent. That in Maya’s crazy way, she really had believed that joining the Daughters of God would save the world, including her own daughter, and that saving the world meant abandoning it to do so. How the need to feel special and wanted made people worship anyone who saw them as unique, even to the point of blind acceptance of their flaws—the same way she’d worshiped her own father.
More words came, more revelations. Caitlin shook her head and walked toward the stairs, answering with only one. “Why.”
Full of hope and song, the naked women marched Caitlin down the asphalt road, not noticing when Magda and Promise detoured at the garage, nor slowing when Caitlin led them down the steep and uneven surface of the landslide.
The sight of Stupid Tom’s body stopped the singing, the joyful noise replaced by curious but still-hopeful conversation. A tiki torch near the window of the red town car stopped the hope.
“It’s one of ours,” someone said.
The fire couldn’t be far behind, but Caitlin fought the urge to guide their discovery. She’d taken them this far; they had to have their own revelations. She took another step down the hill.
“Wait,” Gwendolyn called. “Let me through.”
They’d started to clump in front of the broken window. Gwendolyn pushed her way forward.
“It can’t be,” she said, then turned and vomited onto the dirt. Rather than stopping to help her, the rest pushed closer, sweeping dirt away with their hands until the whole car door was clear.
“The Five,” someone else said. “These are the Five.”
Caitlin watched each woman witness the tomb, each processing the sight alone. Some chattered nervously; others went silent, sitting in place or staring off into the distance.
“But if they’re here …” someone started.
Another woman picked up the thread. “Daya said …”
One Daughter wobbled away from the window, searching for eye contact. “Maybe the Five betrayed us,” she said, holding her own arms. “They had to have betrayed us, right?”
Again, Caitlin fought the urge to interfere. Luckily, one of the others stepped forward.
“What the hell’s wrong with you? All they wanted was to leave, and Daya killed them.”
A woman screamed, not in blood-curdling terror but a wail of utter hopelessness. The others shifted from clump to clump, looking for anyone to explain anything.
“My brother’s money,” someone said. “He gave them so much money.”
Caitlin saw a woman on the edge of the group turn and start kicking a tree trunk with her bare foot. No words, just pure, skin-splitting anger.
“But the miracle was witnessed.” The arm-holding, still-devout woman cornered Gwendolyn. “You told us they ascended, Sunrise.”
The others who’d already looked into the car, the ones not screaming into the night or bloodying the remains of their feet on a tree trunk, turned toward their last leader.
“You saw it, right, Gwendolyn? You told us you witnessed the miracle.”
Gwendolyn prostrated herself in the dirt, speaking, but not to them.
“I saw the miracle,” she said. “I saw the face of God. I am unique and necessary.”
For a second, Caitlin thought the circle around Sunrise might turn violent, but faced with Gwendolyn’s complete submission, the lost women turned away without focus.
Finally, Lily Kramer, the last to leave the window of the town car, turned Caitlin’s direction and asked the obvious. “Was any of it true?”
The high-pitched whine of a Boeing 747 SuperTanker soaring overhead drowned out any need for Caitlin to answer. A massive plume of retardant fell from the plane’s tail, and the Eternal Flame at the top of Ceremony Peak went dark.
CHAPTER
66
AT FIRST, THE people milling around the gymnasium floor seemed indistinguishable from each other; men, women, and children wandering about dressed in clothing donated from Coquille’s resale shops and restaurants. Lost eyes and dreams shuffled from table to cot, cot to aid station, wearing T-shirts with the Red Devil mascot of the local high school, hoodies from Mr. Zach’s, and ball caps from the Broiler. Watching a woman in an oversized Trail Blazers sweat shirt towel off her hair, Caitlin honestly couldn’t guess whether the night’s fires had taken the woman’s home, her faith, or both.
Of course, the first responders had clothed the naked Dayans, administered first aid, and split the multiple smoke inhalation sufferers between the hospitals in Coos Bay and Coquille. Caitlin and six of the women from the hill had been grouped with the county’s other victims in the makeshift shelter of a high school’s gym.
After hours of restless, impossible sleep, the natural dichotomy between the Dayans and the citizens of Coos County became apparent. Not by actions, for the townspeople handing out towels and sandwiches gave everyone the same hug regardless of tragedy, but a long strip of police tape suspended through the center of the room separated usual from unusual.
With the taped barrier came the county’s deputies, officers from local municipalities, and state troopers, as if someone had sent up the Bat signal and every hero in the Justice League had come running. Caitlin had to laugh. First no one would come; now they wouldn’t stay away.
Finally, a deputy raised the tape, looked around, then settled on Caitlin.
“Mrs. Bergman,” he said. “Sheriff Martin is ready to see you.”
“It’s Miss, actually.”
He held the tape up for Caitlin to walk under. “What’s that?”
Caitlin shook her head, grabbed the travel toothbrush some angel had handed her in a prepackaged Dopp kit, and followed the deputy out.
Safe in the passenger seat of the deputy’s SUV, Caitlin spoke for the first time in hours. “Did you see the women? On top of the hill near the fire pit?”
The deputy cleared his throat. “I’m not really supposed to talk about it.”
Caitlin nodded. “But were you there?”
He parke
d his truck in front of the same building Caitlin had visited a week earlier to identify the remains of her mother, who DNA had finally confirmed hadn’t been her mother after all but the infamous Daya Sperry. “I was there.”
“How many women died from the poison?”
“I can’t say.”
Caitlin leaned in. “Off the record.”
He shook his head. “I mean they’re still counting. Over twenty, maybe more. You need help getting out?”
Caitlin reached for the door. “No, I got this.”
Over twenty, maybe more.
If she hadn’t stopped for Stupid Tom’s gun, or wasted time finding the Five, or …
She let the unresolvable thought go and beat the deputy to the sheriff’s department, leading the way to the closed door of Sheriff Martin’s office and walking in on a heated discussion between Boz and Anders Larsen.
“Here’s the bitch now,” Anders said, puffing up and turning in Caitlin’s direction. “Arrest her for my boy’s death, or I’ll wait for her outside and get some real justice, State of Jefferson–style.”
Caitlin put both hands out and pushed the old man backward, full force. He fell onto the side of Martin’s receiving chair and caught himself against the office wall.
“Christ,” Martin said, trying to move around his desk.
Caitlin closed in on the elder Larsen. Even at five foot six, she towered over the cowering bully. “This bitch has the justice you want right here.”
Sheriff Martin pulled her back, corralling her behind his desk. “Easy, Bergman.”
Caitlin pushed against Martin’s hand, happy to see a look of terror in Anders Larsen’s eyes. “We can talk about your perfect son’s relationship with his daughter and your five generations of family values.”
Martin got Anders to his feet, then shuffled the man out into the lobby, where the deputy who’d driven Caitlin over hovered awkwardly.
Anders tried to find his anger again. “She assaulted me, Martin. If you let her get away with this, I can guarantee you won’t see reelection.”
“Sit tight,” Martin said, pointing the deputy toward Anders. “We’ll talk about that.”
The deputy grabbed Anders Larsen by the arm.
Martin straightened his shirt, resting his hands on his gun belt. “And we’ll talk about how the most destructive wildfire this county’s ever seen happened to start on your Powers ridge property one day after Land Management issued a cease order.”
Larsen looked ten years older and a foot shorter. “Because that ridge was a tinderbox.”
Martin nodded. “Exactly. It’s not official yet, but preliminary findings from the ODF suggest spent incendiary rounds at the flash point. You and I are gonna talk about how the same type of rounds fired at the Dayan compound were loaded in a rifle found in your son’s lap.”
Larsen staggered backward, took a seat. “I’m calling my lawyer.”
“You do that,” Martin said, pulling the door shut and returning to Caitlin. He took a deep breath and exhaled. “You okay?”
Still standing behind Martin’s desk, Caitlin felt her heart pounding through her ribs. She copied his deep breath, finally letting a small laugh escape. “I didn’t think I had any adrenaline left.”
She started to move to the other side of the desk, but Martin collapsed into the reception chair.
“I thought I’d seen everything,” he said, scratching his head. “I mean, I’ve seen some messed-up stuff—”
“How many?” Caitlin took the chair behind his desk.
“John Larsen, Gunner Garrett, Tom Edwards—all shot. Another three Dayans, same. Then there’s a car at the bottom of the landslide that looks like it’s been there for a year—”
“The Five,” Caitlin said. “From the letter in the box we opened with the butt key.”
Martin shook his head in disbelief. “Who would’ve thought a key in a dead woman’s bottom wasn’t the worst thing I’d see in this life?”
“The hill?”
He looked up at the ceiling. “Thirty maybe. They’re still sorting that horror out, but we have no idea what we’re looking at. You’ve got to tell me everything.”
“Who knows everything?” Caitlin started, mentally piecing the week’s events together like an air-accident investigator without a black box. “But I’ll try.”
Martin started a recorder, and they switched spots.
It took twenty minutes for Caitlin to get him to the SuperTanker’s arrival.
He turned off the recorder and sat back. “So Promise Larsen shot her father?”
“Well, I got him once in the Kevlar, but that only pissed him off.”
“What about Garrett or Stupid Tom?” Martin caught himself. “I mean, Tom Edwards?”
“No idea, though lots of those women were carrying guns.”
He nodded. “Two of the deceased were found with weapons. Topless, but still armed.”
He sighed, then leaned forward. “You mentioned being trapped in one of the rooms in the main house with some sort of magnetic lock system.”
“That’s right. The first night I was up there.”
“Were you aware of anyone else trapped in one of those rooms?”
Caitlin sat back. “No idea. Was someone found?”
He tilted his head side to side. “Remains. Well, almost cremains at that point. You said their leader—”
“Desmond.” She hadn’t thought of Desmond once since escaping the hill. He’d knocked her down, then disappeared down the hall. Was the door she’d heard slam one of the containment rooms?
“Right. You said that Desmond Pratten dropped his satellite phone.”
“That’s correct, running away from Johnny Larsen’s assault. I found it in the hall while trying to revive Magda. Were the remains his?”
Martin laced his fingertips on the desktop. “You tell me.”
They had to be Desmond’s remains. It was the only thing that would explain how he’d disappeared in such a short distance. Had she known that then? Of course not. How could she have? Her mother was shot, possibly bleeding to death, and after two decades of loyal servitude, Desmond had poisoned his followers and planned to run away with thirteen-year-old Promise Larsen. Yes, Caitlin had known about the containment rooms and that he was still in the building, but if Desmond had hidden in one of his own detention cells, he would have known how the locks worked, giving him a better chance of escaping than any of his previous captives.
Judging from the unspoken excuses rushing to her defense, Caitlin knew the case could justifiably be made that she had murdered the guru known as Desmond. By her own admission, she both knew about the rooms and had beaten him and taken his phone. Would a wealthy local like Anders Larsen want revenge enough to force the authorities to look closer? Would Gwendolyn Sunrise, or one of the other still-somehow devout survivors, put missing pieces together that didn’t quite fit but could create the picture they wanted to see? Might Sheriff Martin, feeling the certain pressure of impending international media coverage, grasp at the chance to pin some small bit of responsibility on someone not associated with Coos County, Oregon? Most of all, was she lying to herself, like the Dayans had for years? Hiding some part of her subconscious that knew damned well that Desmond Pratten had dived into the room to the right, before the entrance to the gallery, the same room she’d been in that afternoon—and that she’d let him do it? Had the clattering of the satellite phone skidding across the hall made the same sound as a magnetic door lock sealing a man in a tomb? She didn’t think so. Wouldn’t think so.
Sometimes it’s better to face the truth, Matthew Bergman had told her on her thirteenth birthday. It’ll come out anyway. Better to get it over with.
Back then, she’d thought he was talking about meeting Mama Maya. Now she knew he’d been ready to tell her he was her real father, and she’d said no. He could have insisted and told her anyway, possibly ruining their relationship, but hadn’t.
Her father wasn’t perfect after all.
He’d never said he was, but she’d spent her life following the man’s words like scripture.
She took a breath and followed his example one more time. “I have no idea who would have been in one of those rooms, Sheriff. Between Johnny Larsen’s assault on the compound and finding all of those women choking on poison, plus the fires—”
She paused, closed her eyes, and took a breath. Maybe the truth would come out in time, but like her father before her, Caitlin could live with the wait. She opened her eyes and finished.
“I barely got out of there alive. If I had to guess, it was all part of Johnny Larsen’s plan to get his daughter back.”
The sheriff nodded. “Thank God that didn’t happen. Now, about your mother—”
“How is she? She’d lost a lot of blood before the ambulance arrived. They took her and Sunrise to Bay Area Hospital, I think. Promise too, because of whatever Desmond gave her.”
“She’s gone.”
Caitlin hadn’t heard from anyone in the hours since the ambulances left the scene, but she’d never considered that their parting had meant they might never see each other again.
Her chest shook, and her body convulsed with surprise. Her voice trembled through unexpected tears. “She died from a shoulder wound?”
Sheriff Martin’s eyes widened. “What? No, God, I’m sorry. Your mother didn’t die.”
Caitlin wiped her eyes. “Promise? She seemed to be coming out of it when—”
“No,” Martin said, stopping her. “They’re both alive, or were this morning. They disappeared from the hospital, haven’t been seen since.”
Caitlin’s jaw might have dropped a foot. She put a hand on her chest, then laughed. “Dammit, Sheriff. That’s the second time in a week you made me think my mother was dead.”
“Sorry,” he said. “Little overwhelmed here. I need to speak to Magda, or Maya, or whatever she’s calling herself.”
Caitlin stood up. “I’m sure you’ll find her.”
He rose as well. “Miss Bergman, wait, I have more questions.”
Sins of the Mother Page 29