“Let us know how it works out.” Kayla shook his hand, then took a step back. “Our client is ready for some good news.”
“I won’t be able to tell you much—it’s an ongoing investigation.” He glanced over his shoulder. “But I usually enjoy a nightcap at Maggie’s Tavern, and I’ve been known to mutter to myself about the crap I deal with during the day.” A grin spread across his face. “My shift ends at eight, and I usually head straight there.”
A twinkle passed through Kayla’s emerald eyes. “A man in your position deserves a cold drink once in a while. Take care, Sheriff. We’ll be seeing you soon.”
4
Charlotte, North Carolina
Adam Hawkins stepped into the humid morning and watched his feet as he crossed his back yard. The simple act of walking was becoming increasingly difficult, but he enjoyed spending time outdoors, and he needed to speak with his son more than ever.
He found Jarrod standing where he usually was in the morning—next to a steel burn-barrel, stoking a fire. Despite the rising daytime temperature, Jarrod wore a hooded shirt and ragged blue jeans. As usual, he wore no shoes and had the hood pulled over his head. He gave no sign that he had heard his father approaching, but Adam knew better. Ever since Jarrod returned from the grave, he seemed keenly aware of everything around him, cataloging every noise and sound and sensing emotions with uncanny reliability.
In fact, everything about Jarrod was different. He put on a show for Deedee, his beloved sister, but he made no such charade for Adam.
Resting a hand on his son’s back, he held out a carton of eggs. “I brought you breakfast.”
“Thank you.” Jarrod took the carton, opened it, and popped a raw egg into his mouth.
As Jarrod crunched on pieces of shell, Adam stared into the fire and said, “I’d like to talk to you, son.”
Jarrod swallowed and set the carton aside. “You didn’t have to come all the way out here for that.”
Adam held up a hand. “I know. But this is something I don’t want your sister to hear.”
Taking a deep breath and bowing his head slightly, Jarrod said, “You know what the fires are for.”
Adam frowned. “I’d prefer if you refrained from reading my thoughts before I have a chance to voice them.”
Jarrod studied his father for a moment, then gazed into the fire. “Sorry.”
Adam patted Jarrod’s arm. “It’s alright. I wasn’t sure how to bring it up, and you took care of that for me.” He hesitated for a moment, then went on, “I heard it on the news this morning. The reporter said the crime scene was too gruesome to film, and so was the condition of the young man who survived the attack. They don’t think he’ll make it.”
Jarrod nodded but didn’t speak.
“My mind isn’t as sharp as it used to be, but it wasn’t hard for me to put the pieces together. Actually, I’ve been suspicious ever since you came home, but I didn’t want to face the truth. It’s not easy admitting your son is a killer.”
Jarrod glanced at him. “But you’ve known all along. I am who I’ve always been.”
“No, you aren’t. Believe me, I knew what you were capable of, ever since you attacked that awful man in the park. But you were never a killer, son. You were a protector. There is a difference.”
The skin on Jarrod’s face cycled through shades of gray, tan, and pink like a cuttlefish trying to frighten away a predator.
Adam cleared his throat. “It’s an awful thing to say, but it’s what I believe—I think the light inside of you was snuffed out when Melody and Joshua died.”
“I…think that’s fair.”
“But Jarrod, that doesn’t mean you are beyond saving. You can come back from this. Melody, Joshua, and your mother are gone, but they’re in a better place. And no crime against them justifies bringing hell to earth.”
“I’m sorry. I wish I agreed with you, but I have nothing left. If any part of me survived losing them, it was taken away in the lab. I was designed to kill; it’s my only purpose.”
“Bite your tongue, boy,” Adam said, raising a shaking finger and pointing at Jarrod’s chest. “Those scientists didn’t make you; God Almighty did. And no one else gets to decide your purpose. But it doesn’t matter if you’re killing wicked men or saints—if you enjoy it, it’s wrong.”
“I don’t enjoy it. I don’t enjoy anything. Not anymore.”
“That’s what you say,” Adam scoffed. “But you can’t lie to me, son. Maybe you don’t feel joy when you kill these men, but you definitely don’t feel conflict.” He pointed at the blood-stained clothes burning in the barrel. “Or regret.”
Jarrod didn’t respond, and his skin took on the color of molten lead.
“Mark my words, Jarrod. If you don’t count the cost of the evil men you hurt, you will eventually hurt someone you love.” Adam turned away and began his unsteady trek toward the house. “I will not share my home with a killer. Until you decide to change your ways, do not darken my doorway again.”
5
Holy Mountain
Moffat County, Colorado
Cameron couldn’t believe it—he was actually outside the gate. He studied his two rescuers—a gruff-looking man in a green and black uniform and a woman in a button-up shirt and dress slacks. They didn’t look like Adherents, but he couldn’t know for sure. There were converts all around the world, and they didn’t wear colorful robes or homemade garments—they looked like everyone else. Many had a tattoo of the Symbol of Wisdom—four interwoven rings, three black and one blue—but they always wore the mark on unexposed skin.
People on the mountain often exaggerated the number of Adherents in the world. Boys in school would proudly proclaim that one swimsuit cover model or another was an Adherent, and the teachers did nothing to squash the rumors. Cameron had even heard two police officers whispering that the President had converted to their religion in secret and won the election because of Wisdom’s all-powerful influence.
Cameron didn’t believe any of it. “Wisdom” wasn’t the second Son of God, he was just a man. Once, during mandatory daily worship, Cameron feigned illness by swallowing a mouthful of sand to make himself vomit. His mother had taken him home and put him to bed, then quickly left. Knowing exactly how long the people of Holy Mountain would be swooning in adoration, he crept past the ever-present guards and broke into Wisdom’s sanctuary, which was really just an office with rugs hanging from the wall. After rifling through drawers for a few minutes, he found a document with Wisdom’s photo attached. Except, there was a name he didn’t recognize beneath the photo: Byron Doyl. Cameron tucked the document into his pocket and retreated to his room, leaving behind no evidence of his crime. He waited a week before showing the photo to his mother and asking her why Doyl and Wisdom looked so much alike. His mother had shrugged and said that God has many names. But later that night, guards dragged him out of his bed and took him to the Room of Punishment where they caned his feet until his soles were bloodied and mangled. He didn’t walk again for nearly a month.
The funny thing was, he might have believed his mother’s lie. But the punishment was proof that Wisdom was not who he claimed to be. The revelation had sparked hope within Cameron. If Wisdom was only a man, it meant his teachings might be incorrect or falsified. Or evil.
Cameron shook his head. No, the world outside couldn’t be like Holy Mountain. The things that happened within the walls had to be wrong, and the people outside would be appalled when they found out, Cameron was sure of it.
The man who had introduced himself as “Sheriff Renner” opened the back door of a dusty truck and told Cameron to “Climb in.”
Cameron hesitated. He’d never ridden in a vehicle before—never even touched one. Sometimes, he heard them rumbling around outside the wall, and he often glimpsed helicopters and airplanes soaring overhead, but he’d only ever entered one in his dreams.
“You don’t have to be afraid,” the woman named Claire said. “You’ll be very safe; Mr. Renner i
s an excellent driver.”
“Just make sure you buckle your seatbelt,” Renner said.
Cameron eased onto the cushioned seat, which was even softer than the pews in the temple. He rubbed his hands on his knees, anxious about the ride ahead. The engine growled to life, and his pulse quickened. Then the woman glanced at him, and her smile turned into a frown.
“Buckle your seatbelt, honey.”
He averted his eyes and swallowed. “I’m sorry, ma’am…my what?”
Claire and Renner exchanged glances, then Claire stepped outside and moved to the back. She pulled a strap across his chest and clicked it into a metal box beside his waist.
“Is it alright if I sit beside you?” she asked.
Cameron shifted uneasily, scooting closer to his door. “Are you…a nurse?”
“No, I’m a social worker. But I am here to take care of you and make sure you stay safe.” She raised an eyebrow. “Would it make you feel better to think of me as a nurse?”
Cameron’s eyes widened, and he gave a stiff shake of his head. The reaction seemed to make the woman suspicious, and he instantly regretted it. If this was some kind of test, he had just failed the first question.
But Claire didn’t scold him or strike him. She simply buckled her seatbelt and tapped Renner on the shoulder. “We’re ready when you are.”
Something thudded beneath the floor, and the truck rolled forward. For a moment, Cameron forgot all about the mountain, and Byron Doyl, and the Adherents. His stomach tickled like it did when he jumped off the high-dive at the pool, and the world moved by as if he was running as fast as he could.
“You like that?” the man asked, his eyes crinkling with a smile as he watched Cameron in the rearview mirror. “I imagine you don’t get to do much traveling, living in Holy Mountain.”
Cameron put both his hands against the window and shook his head as he stared out. The roadside soared past, while the mountains in the distance seemed as solid and unwavering as ever. “I’ve never—” he began to say, but he fell silent.
“You’ve never what? Left the mountain?”
Cameron swallowed. If the Sheriff was an Adherent, then he would report everything Cameron said to the elders and perhaps Byron himself. Which would mean beatings for every negative remark about the hilltop fortress or anyone inside. Finally, he said, “Never mind.”
The man’s eyes flickered in the mirror once or twice, but he didn’t persist with his questioning. “We’re here for you, Cameron. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. But try to relax—it’ll take a few hours to get to town.”
As the miles wore on, the novelty of automobile transportation began to fade, and every bump in the road added to the nausea growing in Cameron’s stomach. He didn’t want to complain, but he feared the repercussions of being sick inside the vehicle, so he politely asked Sheriff Renner to pull over.
When the truck came to a stop, Cameron jumped out and bent at the waist. His abdomen clenched as he dry-heaved, and long ropes of saliva fell from his lips, leaving dark spots in the beige soil. Claire stepped out and placed her hand on his back. He tried not to recoil from her touch, but he couldn’t help it. She apologized and stepped back.
After puffing out his cheeks a few more times and wiping the sweat from his brow, he stood and returned to the truck.
“Hold on,” Renner said, twisting to look at him, “I think you should ride up here with me. Lots of people get carsick, and sometimes it helps to sit up front. Not sure why, but it’s worth a shot.”
Cameron nodded, strode around to the front, and climbed inside. After a few tries, he buckled his seatbelt, then leaned his head against the headrest. “Sorry about that,” he murmured.
“No need to apologize. Most folks spend more time riding around in cars than they do walking. I know I do.” Renner patted his generous belly. “Although, you probably knew that just from looking at me. Give it time, and you’ll get used to it.”
Cameron didn’t speak again for the rest of the drive. When they arrived at the police station and went inside, he was greeted by a dozen people who smiled and offered him food or candy or whatever he wanted. His face reddened, and he hurried along with his head bowed low. All the attention made him feel like a freak—or some exotic animal that these “normal” people had never seen before. Renner held a hand above his shoulder as if to shelter him but didn’t actually touch him. He led Cameron to an office with a cluttered desk in the center and told him to sit in a wooden armchair with faded leather cushions.
“You can wait here until the doctor arrives,” Renner said.
Cameron shook his head. “But…I’m not sick.”
Renner squinted as he chose his words. “Well, he’s not that kind of doctor. He’s a psychologist. Do you know what that is?”
“Like…Sigmund Freud?”
“Kind of, but not as ignorant. Psychology has come a long way since Freud. I haven’t met him, but I’ve met other psychologists, and they’ve all been very nice people. You can trust him.”
Cameron didn’t trust anyone, but he nodded anyway.
Renner smiled and stepped out. He said, “I’ll leave this unlocked,” then closed the door.
Cameron bolted from his chair and pressed his ear to the door. He could hear murmured questions, then Renner’s authoritative voice telling everyone to “Shut the hell up and get back to work.”
He decided Renner was not an Adherent and returned to his chair. For the first time since he’d left the mountain, he let hope take hold. If he told his story honestly and convincingly, perhaps he would never have to go back. What a mercy that would be, he thought. His fear for his sisters only strengthened his resolve. Maybe, if the outside world knew how bad it was inside the mountain, how sick and twisted and evil the elders were, someone would finally take action.
“And save us all,” he breathed.
There was a soft knock on the door, like the kind a man makes when entering a room where a mother is rocking a sleeping infant. Cameron wasn’t sure whether or not he should invite the newcomer in, and the door opened before he made up his mind. A kind-looking man with a gray beard, rosy cheeks, and neatly pressed dress clothes stepped inside.
“You must be Cameron Rollins if I’m not mistaken.”
Cameron nodded.
The man let out a sigh of relief and clapped his hands on his thighs. “Thank goodness. I have to be honest, I don’t normally do house calls, but Mr. Renner was adamant that I be here when you arrive. My name is George Thiel, and I work for the government. But don’t let that frighten you—I’m actually a very nice person.” He glanced at the chair next to Cameron, then shook his head. “Do you mind if I stand for a few minutes. My bones get creaky after a long drive.”
Cameron shrugged.
“Thanks.” He leaned against the desk and stretched his legs for a moment before continuing. “How is school going so far?”
“Alright, I guess.”
“And you’re in…ninth grade? Tenth?”
“Ninth.”
George nodded and glanced at the ceiling as if reminiscing. “I think, universally, high school is no fun at all. A long time ago, I was a gangly and awkward teenager, but those days are behind me. Now, I’m a gangly and awkward old man.”
A smile tugged at the corners of Cameron’s mouth.
“Oh good, I love talking to young people who are kind enough to smile at my terrible jokes.” George leaned forward, touched his toes, and groaned. Standing, he said, “That’s better. A bit of stretching does the body good.” He turned a chair around so it faced Cameron, then sat down. “Do you stretch, Cameron?”
“No.”
“You should try it sometime. Definitely before you turn sixty.” He fumbled in his pockets for a moment. “Shoot, I forgot my notebook. And my laptop. And my briefcase. Do you mind if we just sit and talk for a while, so I can pretend to work?”
Cameron’s smile widened. “Okay.”
“Thanks; you’re a life-saver
.” He drummed his thumbs on the armrests for a long moment. “Erm…I’m actually terrible at starting conversations without my notes. What would you like to talk about?”
Cameron knew the man was just trying to put him at ease, but he didn’t mind. “I want to…I mean, I need to talk to someone about what it’s like on the mountain.”
George leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Sure. I may not be the most organized person, or the most charming, but I have excellent hearing. What’s life like on the mountain?”
Cameron swallowed. “I don’t have much to compare it to—I was born on the mountain, and I’ve lived there ever since—but it’s…bad.”
“Bad can mean a lot of things. How is it bad?”
“It’s not easy for me to describe because the adults tell me certain things are good, but they make me feel dirty inside. And I don’t know who to believe. I’ve never talked to anyone outside Holy Mountain.”
“I see. What’s one thing that the adults tell you is good, but you think is actually bad?”
A sense of shame, embarrassment, and childlike fear accompanied the first example that came to mind. “The nurses. I don’t think what they do is right, and I don’t think it’s what normal nurses do.”
“I’ve met a lot of nurses over the years. Why don’t you tell me what the nurses on the mountain do, and I’ll help you decide?”
“They…they teach us things. About sex.”
George thought for a moment. “I can understand why that would seem unusual to a man your age, but nurses often teach classes about health, sex, and how our bodies work.”
“And they make us take off our clothes.” Cameron wrung his hands together as he tried to shut out the memories.
“Exposing our bodies can be very unsettling. But sometimes, doctors and nurses need to see parts of us that other people shouldn’t see, so they can make sure we’re healthy.”
Cameron clenched his teeth, angry that George was going to make him spell it out. “You don’t get it. They make us take off our clothes so they can teach us about sex. About what it looks like and feels like. They—” He curled in on himself, tightening like a ball. “They touch us. Do normal nurses do that?”
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