Loving the Cult

by Nicole Tillman

  With a quiet click from the pen light, a good portion of the room is illuminated. I give the key chain- which bears the advertisement for an electrical engineer- a shaky kiss.

  “Thank God for cheesy advertising.”

  I look up to scan the rows and rows of cars. The garage must run the entire length of the house. It's massive. Cars of all makes and models are crammed in side by side. There's no way in hell we're getting my car out of here if even one rig is parked behind it.

  Unless they've brought someone else in since I've been here, my car should be the closest to the door. At least, that's what I'm hoping. I sweep my light across the closest row, squinting to make out the size and shape of the bumpers.

  There are ten cars that are accessible to us, but I'm looking for the ugliest one in the bunch.

  Cherry red, blue, blue, white... Ah, primer gray. Jackpot!

  I run to my car, but start to question our plan once I see the shape it's in compared to the rest of the vehicles. It's old, it's beat to shit, and I'm not entirely sure it would hold together if we were forced to accelerate past fifty miles an hour. Shining the light through the driver-side window, I find my keys on the floorboard, just as Jameson promised.

  Almost there...

  I use both hands to open the door, knowing it has a tendency to stick.

  Clu-click.

  The sound, followed by a flash of light freezes me in place.

  I can't hear anything other than my heart beating like a frantic butterfly caged in my chest.

  What was that?!

  My eyes blur as I glance around the dark room. My door is open, but I know that's not where the sound originated. I'm beginning to tear up. The adrenaline is getting to be too much. I have to find some kind of safety before I tremble out of my own skin.

  Clu-click.

  Another flash of light.

  What the fuck IS that??

  I let go of my old beater's door handle and realize I've been gripping the pen light and keyring so hard that the tip of a key has punctured the soft pad of my thumb.

  With the keys still in my hand, I wipe the blood away and that's when I see it.

  The key fob.

  Eying the biggest button on the small remote, I take a chance.

  Clu-click.

  The lights on the blue pickup at my back flash to life.

  Dear God, I'm a moron.

  As quickly and quietly as I can manage in my shaken state, I grab my keys and close the door behind me. I give the worlds ugliest coupe a parting glance before stepping up onto the running board of my new rig.

  “Sorry, Bertha, but I'm upgrading.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  If I go the rest of my life without feeling the pulse of adrenaline as it rushes through my body, I'll die a happy woman.

  Once I'm safely away from this place, once Jameson and I are free, I look forward to living the most boring, simple life imaginable. I hope Jameson's on board with that.

  Speaking of Jameson... he's still not here. I know it's only been a few minutes, but it feels like a century has passed.

  He'll be here.

  I feel too exposed, even behind the heavily tinted windows, so I crawl behind the passenger seat, but not before laying the keys to my car on the dashboard. I hope no one but Jameson will notice them there. Actually, I hope Jameson's the only one that has a chance to see them.

  The extended cab is roomy enough that I don't feel claustrophobic. After curling up, I still feel like I could be found. If someone were to stick their nose against the glass and peer in, I'm sure they could see me.

  The back seat is completely empty. There's not even a discarded soda bottle in the floor board. However, there is a throw blanket resting across the seat. It's covered in what I assume is dog hair. A little canine dander never hurt anyone...

  I don't even cringe as I drape it over my back. The damn thing itches like a son of a bitch, but I feel safe, like a turtle retreating into it's shell.

  We're so close, Jameson... Just get here.

  I'm one hundred percent certain at least one hour has passed since I crawled into this cramped floorboard. One. Hour.

  What am I supposed to do if Jameson never shows up? I can't leave without him. I won't leave without him. But, maybe something's wrong.

  Maybe they have him! I should go back inside and-

  Heavy footsteps interrupt my frantic inner dialogue and I curl up even tighter, willing myself to become invisible.

  “Grab the keys! You two take the cars on the end and you take the truck. I'll pick Joan up and meet you in the south field in five. Go!”

  Robert... still heading up the search party.

  Engines roar to life all around me and I'm tempted to cover my ears, but I can't move. I'm paralyzed by his words.

  You take the truck.

  Surely it's not this truck. Surely the universe isn't that cruel...

  Hurry the hell up, Jameson! We're running out of time!

  Suddenly, the truck lurches as someone throws themselves into the driver seat. I have to cover my mouth to keep from screaming and I wish I'd had the foresight to keep the damn keys in my hand instead of leaving them on the console! The truck starts up and is immediately thrown into gear, tossing me off balance as we back out of the garage.

  Oh, God! Oh, God! Ohgodohgodohgod!

  I'm jostled, thrown, bumped, and bullied as the truck speeds up inclines, over gravel washboards, and through valleys that rival even the highest rated roller-coasters.

  This is how I'm going to die; in the back seat of a stolen pickup truck, hiding like a coward beneath a blanket that reeks of dog drool. This is not part of the plan! Jameson was supposed to come back for me! We were supposed to leave TOGETHER! How could he-

  “Decided to do a little car shopping while you were out?”

  I yank the blanket away from my face to see Jameson behind the wheel, shaking my old car keys in his hand.

  “Oh, thank God!!”

  “Well, don't thank him just yet,” Jameson laughs. “We haven't gotten very far.”

  Even though we're neck deep in trouble, I can't help but feel elated. He's here, we're both in one piece, and we're on our way to safety.

  “We're farther than I ever expected to get!” I admit.

  He laughs nervously and I have to restrain myself from wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing him senseless. He's driving after all.

  It's the adrenaline...

  “Is it safe to sit up there?”

  “Not yet,” he warns. “The gate's still a ways away.”

  “Just hurry,” I say, glancing at the speedometer. We're going sixty miles an hour over uneven terrain. “It's a good thing we didn't take my car. I'm pretty sure the engine would have fallen out by now.”

  “You made a good choice,” he yells over the grinding and moaning of the truck frame.

  “And here I thought we'd just be sneaking out quietly in the night!”

  Damn it feels good to yell!

  “Yeah, sorry about the big production.”

  “Don't be!” I say. “Just get us the hell out of here!”

  “That's the plan! Have a little faith, will ya?”

  That's all I have right now; faith in Jameson. I trust him with every nerve, every cell, every atom that makes up my imperfect body. He'll get us through that gate, of that I have no doubt. Come hell or high water, we're going home tonight.

  “I do have faith in you, Jameson.”

  Jameson squints, trying to see something off in the distance, but my eyes are so blurry I can't tell what it is.

  “Complete faith?” He asks. “You trust me?”

  He sounds unsure and I think it's a little late for that. Now isn't the time to question my feelings. That kind of shit can wait til we've made it to safety. I open my mouth to tell him just that, and that's when I see it. I see what- or more precisely, who- Jameson's eyes are locked on.

  “Jameson?”

  He doesn't slow down.
/>   “It's fine, Tess!”

  My heart climbs into my throat as the figure waves us down.

  “Jameson, I don't-”

  “Do you trust me or not?”

  Trust is one thing, but this is going to be an entirely different ordeal. This will change everything. Especially for Jameson.

  “I trust you!” I yell. “I trust you completely!”

  “Good... because he's in our way.”

  Jameson lays the accelerator to the floor and I move to cover my eyes.

  I'm too late.

  All I can see before busting through the bars of the metal gate is a flash of red. The truck bounces mercilessly and I try not to think about the body that was just thrown beneath our tires.

  My mind races and I fight to catch my breath. I want to cry, to scream, to laugh. Everything's so out of focus, so chaotic. The corner of my vision blurs and I fight my body's urge to faint.

  Pull your shit together! You do NOT faint!

  I have to stay awake. I have to stay alert. So, I weed my way through the facts as I know them, all while staring at the streaks of blood that the windshield wipers just can't quite reach.

  We made it through the gate...

  We're free...

  Bradley is dead...

  Jameson killed him...

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  The drive through the country is silent, as if we were to speak out loud, they would find us. There are so many words, so many questions, threatening to leap off my tongue, but I keep my lips clamped shut. I can't believe what we just managed to do, but at the same time, I know Jameson's struggling. He just killed a man; a man he grew up with.

  “I need your address,” he says, booting up the GPS attached to the dashboard.

  “Do you think that's smart? Won't they be able to find us there?”

  He shakes his head. “Joan's lazy. She never took the time to write down any of your information, so she won't even know where to look.”

  “I find it hard to believe that your perfect mother slipped up.”

  “Well, believe it. She was arrogant and didn't even bother to entertain the idea of someone escaping. She's probably going out of her mind right now.” He lets out a tight laugh and I stare at him through the darkness.

  That same old look plagues his face, the one the tells me he's struggling. He's fighting himself, not sure if he should be happy we made it, or grieved because someone back home is now dead. Dead because of him. It's a battle I fully intend to help him win, but not now, not while we're still running. He needs to stay focused.

  I look over his shoulder as I rattle off my address and squint to make out the red flashing light of the gas gauge.

  “Uh, we'll need gas soon.”

  Jameson sighs and scoots back in his seat. From the glow of the dashboard lights, he looks like he's aged ten years. I guess killing a man will do that to you.

  We should be celebrating right now, but instead, Jameson is withdrawing. I'm sure he's questioning every step we've taken leading up to this, wondering how he could have spared a life.

  Granted, Bradley was a pain in the ass, but he was still a person. He didn't deserve to die, yet, I don't feel bad about it. At least, not yet. I'm still numb, still processing the fact that we're actually free from that miserable place. Later, hopefully much later, it will catch up with me. But for tonight, I have to be Jameson's rock.

  Jameson finally pulls off a gravel road and onto a main highway. Instantly, my stomach calms and my mind doesn't feel like it's being jarred against my skull.

  “It's not so bad once you're on level ground,” I say, relieved that I can finally relax my muscles.

  “Nope. Not bad at all.”

  His tone is curt, and I'm not sure how I should approach him. I ponder in silence, knowing that I can't begin to understand the kind of relationship they shared. I also can't imagine what it feels like to kill someone you've known your entire life. But there is one thing I do know.

  I made a promise to Jameson. I promised that once we were out, once we were free, I would help him. I said I would help him build whatever kind of life he wanted to live.

  It's going to be harder now. He'll need to deal with his grief before he does anything else, but he's strong. He's a fighter. If I have to remind him every single day that what happened at that gate wasn't his fault, that there was no other way around it, then that's what I'll do.

  “Finally,” Jameson breathes.

  I snap my head up and instantly recognize the glow of a service station. I can't wait to get out of this damn truck and stand on solid ground, ground that isn't owned by the Children of Neutrality.

  We pull up next to the pumps and Jameson opens the door. As the overhead light kicks on, I notice a duffel bag resting on the passenger seat. He unzips a side pocket, removes a familiar looking wallet, and hands it to me.

  “Care to pay?” He smiles.

  I turn the gray leather wallet over in my hands. It's mine, I know it is, but it looks and feels so foreign. Opening it, I scan over my drivers license, debit card, and the two twenty dollar bills nestled among receipts.

  That's it. There are no photos and no personal mementos that women often carry with them. Even my drivers license seems empty. I'm not smiling. Hell, I'm not even looking at the camera. That woman in the photo had nothing to live for, nothing at all, and I don't even recognize her.

  “Yeah. I'll pay but we'll go in together. I...” I hate admitting this, “I don't want to go in there alone.”

  “That's fine.”

  The ancient pump sputters and coughs gas into the shiny truck at a snail's pace, but it gives Jameson time to think. At least, I think that's what he's doing. Every few seconds his facial expression changes, as if he keeps stumbling upon bigger and better revelations. I wait patiently for him to come to an epiphany.

  “I'm done,” he says.

  “Done?” For a second, I think he's done with me, or done pumping gas? Hell, I don't know. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, what's done is done. I'm not going to grieve forever, he isn't worth it.”

  It's clear he's trying to convince himself more than me, and my heart breaks for him and for what he still has to go through.

  “No, he wasn't, but you still have to grieve. You're human, Jameson. What happened back there will haunt you forever if you don't come to terms with it in the right way.” His shoulders sag, but I press on. “I know you. You're just trying to bury it, but you can't. You can't just forget what happened.”

  He scrubs his hands over his face and runs them through his hair. Without looking at me, he reaches for my hand. I take it, pulling it into my chest and placing it over my heart.

  “It'll be okay, Jameson. Trust me.”

  He smiles, even though his eyes begin to shimmer with unshed tears.

  “I do trust you,” he says. “I trust you completely.”

  The gas station smells like stale popcorn and diesel fumes, but the man behind the counter seems friendly enough.

  “Evening!” He yells as we approach the counter.

  “Yeah, hi, we were on pump two.”

  He clicks away at his register and then taps the counter. “Twenty dollars and one cent. Don't worry,” he says, taking a penny out of a cup next to the register, “I always go over too.”

  Jameson nods, but doesn't smile or respond.

  We're going to have to work on his people skills...

  “Wait a second... Hey! You're that girl!”

  I snap my attention away from Jameson to stare at the attendant with wide eyes.

  He knows!

  “What girl?”

  I panic. Has word already spread? Are they out here looking for me? For us?

  He turns around and grabs a piece of paper off a cork board and slaps it down on the counter. Craning my neck to look at it, I realize it's a missing persons report, complete with a picture... of me.

  I can feel Jameson peering over my shoulder, but I choose to ignore him, turning
to the man behind the counter instead.

  “Who... who would report me as missing?”

  He holds his hands up. “Don't ask me, darlin'. I don't even know who the heck you are, so how would I know?”

  Obviously...

  I turn to Jameson, who's smiling.

  “Guess you weren't as alone as you thought, huh?”

  Uh... yes! Actually, I was. I have no friends no family, no nothing. Surely my co-workers don't give a damn about me either. So, who did this?

  “Do you care if I take this?”

  He slides the picture my way.

  “Of course. Looks like you found yourself so it won't do any good hanging up here.”

  Ah, what a wise, redneck philosopher.

  “Thank you...” I look at his name-tag, “Pete.”

  “Anytime,” he tips an invisible hat. “You two have a nice night.”

  “You do the same.”

  I grab Jameson by the arm and pull him back toward our new truck, trying to contain my elation as we race across the parking lot.

  “What's your hurry? I thought you didn't have anything to get back to.”

  We stop in front of the passenger side door and he opens it for me before giving me a hand so I don't tumble inside like I did before.

  “I thought I didn't.”

  As I'm buckling my seat-belt and waiting for Jameson to climb into the truck, a memory flares to life. I know that my heart had blocked him out, just in case I was never able to return home, but I think of the one soul waiting for me, and my heart drops into my shoes.

  “Oh, God! Percy!”

  Jameson's eyes turn hard.

  “Who the hell is Percy?”

  “C'mon! We have to go! I have to make sure he's okay!”

  I motion for Jameson to start the truck, but he doesn't move.

  “Who's Percy?” He asks again, louder this time, and I realize why he's coming off so harsh.

  “Jameson Foster, are you freaking kidding me right now? Don't turn all possessive and jealous on me, there's really no need. Percy is my DOG!”

  His face softens. I want to laugh, but I also want to kick him in the shins.