by S. F. Kosa
“What the hell? I can’t leave you alone for a minute,” Miles says from outside the curtain.
I jump at the sound of his voice and crumple onto the bed. “You scared me,” I say. “Come in.”
He peeks his head around the curtain, then pulls it back. “Noah called me hours ago, but I was on the road. I got here as soon as I could.”
“Where were you?”
He runs his hand through his hair. “I was headed up to Portland. I decided to try to find Marie Heckender. And I did.”
My mouth goes dry. “Yeah?”
He nods. Bounces on his heels. “Six feet under. I think we’re dealing with something big here, and I don’t think the authorities even realize it.”
“She’s dead?” Cold prickles bloom across my chest.
“In a fire,” Miles says.
One-handed, I brace myself on the side of the bed. Whether I hated her or not, it’s still a shock to know she’s gone. And that she died in a fire…
Miles eyes my left arm, which is in a sling. “Meanwhile, you were doing your best to damage yourself.”
“I fell on my wrist the wrong way,” I mumble. “Unfamiliar trail.” And, apparently, a crumbling eggshell of a body. “Why wasn’t Marie Heckender’s death all over the news?”
“She’d gotten married. Changed her name. Was living quietly out on a ranch in the western part of the state. I found her new name listed among survivors in her dad’s obituary from earlier this year. And I guess her husband was visiting his ailing mother down in Arizona three weeks ago, and their house here in Oregon burned down, which means she died before Arnie did. But although the fire is suspicious, the local authorities are still just saying it’s under investigation.”
“Why were you driving up to Portland?”
“You can’t get autopsy reports in Oregon unless you’re family, so I was going to try to convince her mom to give me access.”
“Do you know if she was stabbed too?”
“Not without that autopsy. I’m sure they did one. Suspicious fire? Probably the husband’s a suspect. I read the local report—no mention of the cult connection.” He grins. “I’m gonna break this one wide-open. I think we’ve got a serial killer in our midst.”
“Killing cult survivors,” I whisper. And Ladonna—I guess her name is Essie now—she knows who I am. I’m not as hidden as I thought. Not as safe as I assumed.
“Mr. Connover?” comes a familiar voice from the hallway.
“Yeah?”
Essie Green pokes her head in and smiles, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Oh, good. You found her.”
Miles takes a step closer to me. “I certainly did—thanks for helping me negotiate this maze of a place. Can I take her home?”
She nods as I start to protest. “You shouldn’t be driving with one hand, morphine still on board,” she says. “You’re a stubborn one,” she adds, leaning forward. “I’ve met your kind before.”
I don’t know if it’s her expression or the fact that Miles just told me about Marie, but it feels like a threat. “Let’s go,” I say to Miles.
“Excellent,” he says, looking pleased. “Now I get to meet your folks.”
“That’s right, you said your parents were locals,” Essie says. “It’s a small town. Maybe I know them?”
“Probably not. Let’s go, Miles,” I choke out. This is the hospital where Hailey used to work, for god’s sake. Not in the emergency department, but still. Panic claws at me.
Miles stays close to me as I wobble toward the doorway, past Essie’s keen eyes. I’m going to have to deal with her, but it can’t be now. It’s all I can do to put one foot in front of the other, to string more than two words together. She could destroy me; I’ve handed her the sledgehammer, the bullets, the matches and blades. If I don’t find a way to fix this, she’s going to ruin everything.
“Thanks so much for taking care of her, Ms. Green,” Miles says to Essie, turning his considerable charm in her direction yet again.
“My pleasure, Mr. Connover,” she says. Then she pats my good arm. “You take care of yourself, Ms. Dora. But I know you’re a survivor, so I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
Miles puts his arm around my back as I rock with a wave of nausea and dizziness. Murmuring supportive words, he guides me out of the emergency department, where he’s parked his car illegally nearby, just far enough back not to block incoming ambulances. Still, a nurse who is standing outside smoking gives us a dirty look as we pass. I turn my face away; it suddenly feels like everyone can see me for exactly who and what I am.
Miles opens the passenger door of his Prius for me. “Let’s get you home and I’ll tell you about what else I’ve discovered.”
I sink into the seat. “I guess there’s only one survivor left, then. Now that Marie’s dead.”
“Well,” he says, drawing out the last part of the word. “Yes and no.”
“Oh. Right. Your wild-goose chase about the people you think escaped the fire—”
“That’s a real possibility!”
“—and the kids. But there’s no way to find out who they are if they don’t want to be known.”
“Mostly true, but get this: I did some research on Shari Redmond. Haven’t tracked her down yet—looks like she changed her name and went underground, not that I blame her—but it turns out that Marie wasn’t the only one with family. And Shari’s family? Apparently, one of the kids rescued from that compound was Shari’s, and her parents successfully petitioned the court for custody. I called them this afternoon on my drive up to Portland.”
I’ll be lucky if I make it home without throwing up. “What did they say?”
“Turns out they’d been trying to get Shari out of the cult for over a year when the fire happened. And they weren’t the only ones—Shari’s parents have made a few connections and formed a little community up there in Portland. Like the adult children of Lucy Bathhouse, who gave Darius control over her entire estate—she was a bit of an heiress, apparently—had also been trying to extricate her. Funnily enough, though, her name wasn’t among the list of victims provided by Marie Heckender. She just claimed Lucy had left the compound a month or so earlier. They have no idea what happened to her.”
“You think she’s still alive?” I know for a fact she’s not.
He shakes his head. “She was terminally ill when she joined up. That was one of Darius’s MOs. He’d cozy up to wealthy women who’d been handed a death sentence by way of a support group he ran. Claimed to be a kind of spiritual adviser. He recruited right from the hospital, if you can believe it—had some social workers he’d conned into thinking he was legit, and they referred people to his group. He snagged at least three over the years, and each of them signed over power of attorney so he could spend their money however he saw fit. The families had to sue to recover assets from his estate. They each got only a fraction back—that compound was a money pit. He was nearly drained when the fire broke out, on the verge of foreclosure.”
“So you talked to this Lucy person’s family too?”
He nods. “Her daughter is in contact with someone who left the Oracles before they came to Bend. That person might be able to tell me who went unaccounted for, who didn’t die.”
My head is pounding. “Why are you so obsessed with this?”
“Because someone killed Arnie and Marie. With fire. And maybe stabbing. Like they’re enraged about what happened that night.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s a former cult member,” I say quickly. “It could be a family member. It could be a sick psychopath with a cult obsession.”
He gives me a rakish, sidelong smile. “I didn’t get this far without trusting my intuition.” He pulls up in front of Hailey and Martin’s house. “Let’s get you inside.”
“I’m fine,” I say, wincing as I pull the door handle.
“Bullshit.” He gets out and pulls my door open, then carefully helps me onto the front walk.
Hailey appears on the porch before I can assure him I’m able to make it to the house alone. “Oh lord,” she says as she rushes toward us. “What the hell happened?”
“I fell on my run,” I say, trying to assure her.
“Dora’s tougher than she looks,” Miles adds.
It feels like all my blood has rushed to my feet, leaving the rest of me empty as I watch Hailey jerk back at the sound of my name.
I had forgotten. I never told them about the name.
The one I stole from her dead daughter.
Chapter Fifteen
The Retreat
August 26, 2000
They sat cross-legged and back to back. Parvaneh kept her eyes closed, focusing on Darius’s voice as he chanted in the language of the deep consciousness. She forgot time during these moments, forgot who she’d been before Darius had given her a new version of herself.
Honk-honk. They both jerked as the sound blared from outside.
“Darius?” came a voice on the other side of the office door. “We’ve got a situation.” It was Kazem; he sounded concerned.
Darius strode to the door, and Parvaneh followed close behind. The honking continued, and now she could hear someone shouting. They trailed Kazem down the aisle of the sweltering meeting hall and into the sunlit clearing, where a beige minivan had parked. Its front doors were open, and two people stood next to the van, in agitated conversation with Eszter, who had her hands up as if to show she was unarmed. One of the newcomers, a balding man with cheeks like deflated balloons, jabbed his finger at her. “Where is she?” he shouted.
Eszter said something Parvaneh couldn’t hear, and the other visitor, a woman with an auburn bob and a bright-red face, shoved Eszter, who stumbled back.
“Hey,” shouted Parvaneh. She stalked past Darius. “What the hell is wrong with you? She’s pregnant!”
The man frowned, looking Eszter over. “Hard to tell with those robes you people wear.” He gave Darius and Kazem, the only men in sight, a look of thinly veiled disgust. “Dress-wearing freaks,” he muttered before announcing, “We’re here for our mother, Lucy Bathhouse.”
Darius had a bland look on his face as he took in the red-faced couple. “Why would you think she’s here?” he asked.
“Because she came down here with you,” the man shouted. “She’s due for another round of chemotherapy starting Monday—in Portland! You’re endangering her life by keeping her here.”
Eszter looked at Darius. “Is he talking about Ziba?”
Darius put his hands on Parvaneh’s shoulders. “Eszter. Parvaneh. Extend some hospitality to our guests. Offer them a drink.”
“Parvaneh and Eszter,” said the woman, sneering. “What are your real names? My mother’s name is Lucy.”
“Those of us who choose to be here have accepted our true names,” said Parvaneh.
“You’re a child,” said the woman. She glanced at Eszter. “Both of you. And I suppose that baby is yours?” She jabbed her finger at Darius.
Eszter blushed, and Parvaneh watched her with a dimly pulsing shock. She’d said it was Gil’s. Had she lied?
The man’s focus was still on Darius. “The guy at your house in Portland said you’d brought Mom here. She needs to come back with us.”
Parvaneh felt a flash of annoyance. Why would Gil tell these people anything, let alone exactly where his fellow Oracles were?
“Everything Ziba needs is here,” Darius said, his tone mild.
“We’ll go to court,” said the man. “You conned her into signing some power of attorney, but it’s not going to stand. Not when we’re done with you.”
“Eszter,” said Darius. “Please fetch Ziba. Let her know there are people here to see her.”
Eszter, her eyes downcast, walked toward the women’s dorm. Parvaneh stared after her, rage and jealousy leaving bruises on her heart. She’d been so blind. So naive. Eszter had slept with Darius and lied about it. Like she knew it was wrong.
Darius stood calmly while they waited for Eszter to return. Ziba’s adult children gazed about with open contempt.
“Before the Oracles found me, I was homeless,” Parvaneh blurted out, hoping for a smile from Darius. “And now I have everything I need, physically and spiritually. We all do.”
“My guess is you don’t have stage IV cancer, though,” said the woman. “Our mother does.”
Parvaneh turned as Eszter wheeled Ziba out of the women’s dorm in a wheelchair, which didn’t exactly look easy when it hit the gravel of the clearing.
Parvaneh jogged over to them. “I’ll take it,” she said to Eszter, who was breathing hard.
“I’m not going with them,” Ziba said, wincing at every jolt of the wheelchair. “Why are you making me see them?”
“Mom,” the woman cried, running toward them with tears in her eyes. “What have they done to you?”
“Don’t call me that,” Ziba said. “You should go.” She looked away, tears visible in her eyes.
“You don’t even want us to call you ‘Mom’?” The man glared at Darius. “You’ve totally brainwashed her, you bastard.”
“Ziba is a valued member of our community,” Darius replied. “We take care of her.”
“Mom, you’re going to die if you don’t come with us,” pleaded the woman.
Ziba had covered her face with her hands. Parvaneh stomped over to the strangers. “She doesn’t want to go with you! She might be ill, but she’s not crazy, and she can do what she wants! Get the hell off our property!”
The two interlopers looked warily around at the growing number of Oracles surrounding them.
“Michelle,” said the man. “Let’s go.”
“We’re just going to leave her here?” Michelle asked. “But you said—”
“Let’s go,” he said firmly, his eyes flitting back and forth. Parvaneh glanced around—Tadeas had come up the trail from the barns and had a bloody knife in his hand. “You people are insane,” the man hissed. “A crazy cult is what you are. You won’t get away with this.”
“Go,” Ziba said faintly. Her hands fell away from her gaunt face, and Parvaneh saw that she was crying too. “Just go.”
Michelle let out a sob as she climbed into the van. Her brother looked gutted as he got in the driver’s side. “This isn’t over,” he said before slamming the door. The minivan’s tires kicked up gravel as he zoomed back down the rutted drive that led to the road.
“Everyone, go back to your chores,” Darius said.
Nearly everybody bustled away, but Darius motioned Tadeas and Kazem over to him. He spoke to them quietly while Parvaneh returned to Eszter’s side. Together, they wheeled the older woman back to the dorm. Ziba kept her eyes closed as they tucked her back into her bed. When they exited to the hallway, Parvaneh caught Eszter’s eye. “It’s his, isn’t it?”
Eszter looked away. “I didn’t want you to be upset. And I knew you would be.”
The truth was a gut punch, sharp and searing. She’d half expected Eszter to laugh, to reassure her, of course she hadn’t slept with Darius. “You think so little of me, and so you lied. Nice.”
“It was between me and him, Parvaneh.” She put a hand on her belly. “He was helping me deepen my trust and commitment.”
“Was. So you’re not sleeping with him anymore?”
Their eyes met. “You don’t need to be jealous,” Eszter said.
“Do you have feelings for him?”
She grimaced. “Am I supposed to be jealous now that he’s spending more time with you? Are you going to be jealous once he focuses on someone else?”
This time is different. He said it was. “I trust Darius. Definitely more than I trust you.”
“Don’t be distracted by petty stuff.
” Eszter moved her hand from her belly to Parvaneh’s cheek. “And don’t let it hurt our friendship. I know I won’t.”
He’s mine, Parvaneh wanted to scream, even as she wondered—were all the children Darius’s? Not a one belonged to Kazem or Tadeas or Basir? Darius had told her he’d had to obey the will of the consciousness when it needed another vessel for a soul, and she wanted to believe that. But what if he’d just been horny? And what if Eszter had been the one to pursue him?
She clenched her teeth. “The only thing that hurts our friendship are your lies,” she hissed at Eszter.
“Am I interrupting something?”
They turned to see Darius standing in the building’s entryway, his smile taut.
“We put Ziba to bed,” Eszter said, then walked quickly down the hall toward her room.
Darius approached. “You look upset, Parvaneh.”
She shook her head. “I just hated to see how much those two stressed Ziba out, you know?”
He nodded. “Feel sorry for them. They’ve never come close to what we have here. Instead, they’ll do everything they can to destroy us. I’m going to speak with Ziba.”
“Are we meditating again tonight?” she asked, moving closer, placing her hands on his waist.
He glanced up the hall and moved away from her. “Don’t be greedy, little one.” He pushed open Ziba’s door, went inside, and shut it behind him, leaving Parvaneh alone and empty-handed in the hall.
Parvaneh trudged across the clearing to the meeting hall, her thoughts full of thunderclouds. Everyone was milling around, preparing for evening meditation while the kids darted about. Tadeas was standing with Kazem near the door, looking grim. “…told him we could do it, but we need to think about how to butcher it after. I wouldn’t want any of them to go to waste. We need the meat for winter.”
“Won’t happen for a little while,” said Kazem, lowering his voice as she walked by. “We’ll figure it out.”