by S. F. Kosa
“Miles…”
“Read to the end,” he says, his tone clipped.
My eyes sting as I read on.
On the morning of December 8, I got a tip, a Twitter DM. It was from an anonymous account with the handle @Darius1: “Arnold Moore, Oracles of Innocence, almost 20 years. You are closer to this than you think.” I kept my skepticism holstered and Googled it, and with the first hit, I knew I’d struck gold. I had no idea at the time how deep the vein went.
What I discovered: one of the adult survivors of the Oracles of Innocence catastrophe, Arnold Moore, had been murdered in a very strange way. A rock, very similar to dozens of painted rocks found all over the compound after the fire, reported to be channeling talismans, had been shoved into his mouth. He’d been stabbed multiple times, but according to an anonymous source at the county medical examiner’s office, each wound was outlined in permanent marker, as if the killer had planned in advance where to strike. A review of the autopsy of Stephen Millsap, a former stockbroker and cult leader who went by the name “Darius,” reveals matching wounds. To me, it looked as if someone had tried to stage a copycat killing, maybe to send a message. I wanted to investigate and report.
When I first pitched the story to the editorial team at Hatchet, our newest fact-checker, Dora Rodriguez, looked ashen. But the next thing I knew, she volunteered to travel to Bend in order to help me research the story. She had told me she was from Bend, in fact, and informed me she’d be staying with her parents, Hailey and Martin Rodriguez.
They aren’t her parents as it turns out. On December 16, 2000, the day after the fire, Martin Rodriguez was driving back to his home in Bend after visiting his ailing mother in his native Eugene. He discovered a young woman in mismatched, ill-fitting clothes, running along the side of the road approximately two miles outside of Bend, less than ten miles from the still-smoking ruins of the Oracles of Innocence compound. A Good Samaritan at heart, Mr. Rodriguez offered the young woman a ride and ended up giving her a place to stay. She told him her name was Christy. It was only the first of many lies.
“You spoke to them without telling me,” I murmur, a tear slipping down my cheek.
“Because I couldn’t trust you.”
“You don’t understand,” I choke out.
“You’re going to have to make me. Because this? It’s the only story I’ve got.”
Mr. and Mrs. Rodriguez reported that even then, they suspected “Christy” might have escaped the Oracles cult. According to Mrs. Rodriguez, “I had always hoped she would open up if we gave her enough time, but all that happened was we got more attached. I didn’t want to ruin things. I was afraid she would run, and that had become the last thing I wanted. I kept telling myself I could ask her about it the next day. But I never did.”
Mr. and Mrs. Rodriguez felt they knew Christy well enough to trust she could never hurt a fly, and they had their own reasons for keeping their suspicions to themselves. They lost their only child, Dora, to a drunk driver in 1986, and Christy became like a daughter to them. They didn’t want to lose another. A few days ago, Christy admitted to them that she had changed her name to Dora Rodriguez, claiming it was a kind of tribute. She’s been going by that name for the last ten years at least, according to a check with a previous employer. She has covered her tracks well.
It took me a few days to realize she was trying to sabotage my story.
I skim the rest. He knows almost everything. He spoke with Gina, Arnie’s girlfriend. Hailey gave him her contact information. And he’s talked to Max Jennings. He reports that at least one page from Max’s records of cult members went missing after he showed me the file. And Miles describes how, on his very first afternoon in Bend, he went to the library and searched the archives of the Bend Bulletin, startled to find a picture of several female cult members, one of whom looked extremely familiar. Suddenly that part of the Twitter message made sense: You are closer to this than you think. He explains that he returned to the archives after his suspicions about me had grown—and discovered that the microfiche reel containing the only known copy of the photo had disappeared…after I had told him I couldn’t find any photos of the cult members.
“It was Noah,” I stammer. “Didn’t you see his name in the log?”
“Apparently, you did too, which means you were there after him, which Noah confirmed. And he swore up and down it wasn’t him. Honestly, on that one? Not sure which one of you to trust.”
I close my laptop. I can’t read anymore. I know it’s all over.
“You could have been honest,” he says. “But instead, you put both of our careers at risk. You were perfectly willing to take me down with you. You could have ruined me, Dora.”
I push myself out of the chair to approach the bed. I freeze when Miles flinches. “I left the cult before the fire,” I tell him. “I swear.”
“Which is why you were found running down the road the day after.”
“I—” Shit. “You don’t understand.”
“You keep saying that. And then you tell another lie.”
I glance back at my laptop. “Have you sent this to Valentina?”
His eyes flick toward the door. His hand edges toward his call button. “Remember what I said about always having a backup?”
“I’m no threat to you, Miles.” I hold up my casted arm. “If I tried to do anything to you, not that I ever would, it would probably break more of my bones than yours.”
His brow furrows. “Are you sick?”
“Would it matter?”
“I don’t know.” But then his expression hardens. “You know what? I don’t believe a single word that comes out of your mouth, so no, actually.”
“I never wanted to put your career in jeopardy. I only wanted to protect myself.”
“From what, Dora?”
I look out the window as an ambulance, sirens wailing, turns off the road and races toward the entrance to the ED. “You saw what happened to the others.”
“But you were inside the building that night, weren’t you? Not outside, refusing to rescue anyone.”
“How do you know?”
“Those three were on trial for murder,” he reminds me. “I have zero doubt at least one of them would have mentioned the presence or involvement of another cult member in their own defense. I called Marie Heckender’s trial lawyer. He told me that she never mentioned any other survivors except Arnold Moore and Shari Redmond.”
“I wasn’t there when it happened, Miles. I was—”
“Hailey recalls finding crusty bandages in the garbage more than once. She thinks you were burned that night.”
“That’s what you’re going on?”
He grimaces. “Stop lying, Dora. Please.”
I grab my bag. “What do you want me to do, Miles?”
“All I want is the truth. Let’s start with your real name.”
“My real name,” I say from between clenched teeth, “is Dora Rodriguez.”
“But it’s not the name you were born with, and we both know that.”
“I’m leaving,” I snap. My panic has shorted me out, sizzled my nerves. “I’m really sorry you got hurt, Miles, but this ambush? Totally uncalled for.”
He laughs. “It’s totally called for. The only question is whether you’ll take the steps necessary to make things right.”
“You want an exclusive interview?” My voice is pure acid. “You want all the slimy details just so you can win some award?”
His gaze is steady. “I really did like you,” he informs me. “I really hate that I still do.”
“I liked you too,” I tell him, determined not to cry. “Please don’t do this.”
He opens his mouth to speak, but a knock at the door interrupts. “Come in,” he says.
I turn to see another specter from my past. The chief of the Bend police department strides i
n, his midsection rounder and his head balder than twenty years ago. Ben Ransom looks at Miles and then at me. “Christy,” he says. “Been a while. Long enough that you became an entirely different person, I hear.”
With a guilty glance at Miles, I say, “Hi, Ben.”
Ben is stone-faced. “I talked to Martin last night. He didn’t let on, but you tore them up with that name change, Dora.”
Miles clears his throat. “To what do we owe this pleasure, Chief Ransom?”
“I’m here to try to understand better some of the details of the accident.” He looks over at Miles. “It sure as hell has the look of something suspicious.” He turns back to me. “But I was looking for you too, so it’s nice that you’re here.”
“What about?” I ask.
“Essie Green died in a suspicious fire last night.” His eyes are cold and so is his tone. “And I’d like to bring you down to the station and talk to you about that.”
In shock, I head down to the lobby with Ben, realizing I didn’t even say goodbye to Miles. Essie’s gone. Killed. My thoughts are nothing but a buzz of confusion.
When we reach the main entrance, I turn to Ben. “Should I just meet you there?”
He shakes his head. “We’re impounding your car. I got the order last night.”
“Last night? When… Why…”
He gestures to a police car parked in a spot reserved for first responders. “Let’s talk on the way.”
“Are you arresting me?”
“Do you want to give me a reason?” He’s got his fingers in his belt loops. All fake friendly as he walks to the car and opens the rear passenger door. “It’ll be better if you cooperate.”
It doesn’t feel like I have a choice. Ben settles himself in the front seat, buckles in, tells dispatch that he has the person of interest and is on his way to the station. Asks if someone will set up room 2A for him.
“What’s that—an interrogation room?”
“It’s a conference room. Chill out.”
“I’m in the back seat of a police car, Ben.”
“You know, I always did wonder about you. Showing up all of a sudden, right after the fire. But Hailey and Martin, oh, did you know they lied for you? Martin said he picked you up on 97 up near Terrebonne, coming from the other direction. He said you had a bad family situation up in Portland, that you’d hitched down here and hit a dead end.”
I cover my face with my hands. They were so much more than I deserved. Then I raise my head. “Wait. Why are you impounding my car?”
“There were some streaks of paint on Mr. Connover’s car. Looked like someone ran him off the road. Blue paint, it was. Turns out Officer Montenaro filed a report saying he stopped a Dora Rodriguez in a blue Corolla yesterday afternoon. I couldn’t believe it when I saw the name. I was a senior in high school when she died, you know. Big news all over town. At first I thought it might be a coincidence, but then I called Martin, just on a hunch. He’d mentioned you were in town, and Montenaro’s report said it was a woman visiting her folks.”
“I got lost, Ben,” I say wearily. “I haven’t been to Bend in a while.”
He grunts. “Funnily enough, you were only a block away from Essie Green’s house when you were stopped. And your car matches the description of a vehicle seen in the neighborhood before too. Essie’s got a nosy neighbor who loves to call us.” He rolls his eyes.
“I’d never been in her neighborhood before last night,” I snap. “And I have no idea where Essie Green even lives or why I’d be interested.”
“I figured you’d care, since you know her from way back when.” Stopped at a light, he turns and gives me a grim look. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking I’m stupid.”
I bonk my head on the seat cushion a few times, barely able to contain my frustration. “I’m just trying to figure out what’s happening,” I say. “My friend’s in the hospital, and now you’re suggesting that I’m the one who put him there? Why would I do that?”
“I dunno. Why would you?”
I open my mouth to scoff, but then, I do have a reason to hurt Miles. And he knows it. A simple conversation with him would give Ben all the ammo he needs.
“You can check the location tracker on my phone. It would show that I was at my hotel all night.”
“No, it would show that your phone was right there. Occasionally, people do venture out without those things, especially when they’re smart enough to know it’s a way to track them. I’ll speak with the front desk staff about whether anyone saw you.”
“I didn’t attack Miles! Or Essie, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I saw your car in the hospital parking lot over an hour ago, Dora. I’m the one who called it in. There were scrapes of silver paint along the side. Guess what color Mr. Connover’s car is?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to focus through the whir of my panic. I never hit anything that would have left silver streaks on my car. I never… Wait. I had to readjust my seat to drive to the hospital.
Almost as if someone taller than me had been driving it.
“Noah Perry,” I blurt out. “He had my key. He and his friend Arman drove me to the hospital the other day when I broke my arm. He could have copied it before he gave it back. And he could have stolen my car to go after Miles! I swear, it was in a different spot in the parking lot when I tried to find it last night, and it was clear someone else had been driving it!”
“Uh-huh,” says Ben, pulling into the police station lot. “We’ll check on it, though it’s funny that these details are only coming to you now. Noah Perry you say?”
I nod frantically. “You have to bring him in. He’s also really interested in the cult. He’s practically stalking me, trying to get me to read this story he wrote about it. He must have gone after Essie Green.”
“Funny, that. Almost no one knew Essie Green used to be in that cult. It wasn’t public information. I know her from church and recognized her from coverage of the trial. We’d talked about it a few times. Nice lady. Did her time. She didn’t deserve what happened to her last night.” He parks the cruiser and turns to look at me. “I just decided to throw her involvement with the cult out at you a few minutes ago, and you didn’t skip a beat. Because you already knew.”
“I didn’t kill her, Ben!”
“You’ve worked hard to cover up your past. And here’s your colleague, Mr. Connover, doing his damnedest to uncover all the secrets of that goddamn cult. And here’s Essie Green, who probably recognized you, am I right? Seems to me like you’ve got a passel of reasons to silence them. Now. Would you like to come inside and tell me your side of things, just to clear everything up?”
He unbuckles his seat belt as his cell phone rings. He answers, asks short, sharp questions: When? How bad? I lean forward, trying to catch what’s being said. The back of his neck is slowly turning bright red. He ends the call and says, “You can go. We’ll have to talk later. Maybe you should head back to the hospital.”
“Something wrong?”
“Yeah,” he tells me, looking the slightest bit hesitant. Almost apologetic. “It’s Hailey and Martin. Their house just burned down.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The Retreat
December 15, 2000
The children had been eerily quiet all day, and a blanket of heavy silence hung over the clearing. Darius had told everyone they would journey on in stages, and he hadn’t said how long it would be—a day, a week, a year. But he’d been clear on one point: it started tonight. They had to be ready because this test was the true opportunity to demonstrate their commitment. Parvaneh was determined to prove herself worthy and to see what came next. If Darius offered her a better place for her and her baby, she would jump at the chance.
But if things got ugly, she’d have to leave for the sake of her daughter. She’d have to break her own heart into a m
illion pieces and walk away from the man who’d changed her world and her mind. She’d have to walk away from everyone and everything she’d come to love over the past year and the place she’d been sure she’d live for the rest of her days.
At the thought, tears sprang to her eyes and doubt flowed through her. Should she stay and fight for what she loved instead of just running away again? Her little brother’s face rose in her memory, him splashing in the old kiddie pool she’d found by the side of the road and set up in the yard. It had a slow leak and needed constant refilling, but his joy had made her feel real, important, necessary. Then she’d left him there, run away to save herself. What if she’d protected him? What if she’d tried? Could she have made things better for both of them if she’d stayed?
Inside her belly, the baby kicked. Darius had shown her the long list of names he chose from when he initiated new Oracles. They were all Persian, names of victory and ancient mystery, he said, wisdom sent to him by the consciousness. She wanted to name her baby girl Fairuza; it meant “woman of triumph,” exactly what she wanted her daughter to be. But why would she want to bring a child into this world, where forces of pure evil stalked them, eager to rip away everything that was precious? Why would she want to have her baby only to lose her to some artificial, earthly authority who would turn the child into a thoughtless pawn, yet another sheep? Could Darius protect her from all that?
Parvaneh stood in the woods as the sun set and the timed lights of the barns burst to life in the distance, pinpricks of brilliance through the trees. From here, she could make out the smoothed mound of the tiny grave she’d dug for Eszter’s baby a few months ago. She wondered if Eszter had chosen a name for the child, a hopeful signal fire to draw the soul to the right place. She wondered if Eszter was eager to rejoin her baby. They hadn’t spoken much since Darius had selected them as sentinels for Xerxes, and for good reason. Eszter took every chance lately to question—in front of Darius—whether Parvaneh was actually ready for such an important job. And if Parvaneh showed any annoyance at all, Eszter commented on that too. It had become hard to look her in the eye.