Addicted to the Light

by S. E. Amadis

  He raised a warning finger.

  “So make doubly sure, Annasuya, that you never, ever find yourself alone with me, not even for five minutes.”

  With a final glare, he stepped back and nodded at his devoted followers, allowing them to take me away. I trailed after them, subdued and in shock, to the entrance of the community.

  There they stuffed my handbag, which I had forgotten all about, into my hands and shoved me off. They stood shoulder to shoulder with arms crossed, forming a barrier across the drive. Observing me until I disappeared down the road into the forest.

  Chapter 27

  I jerked, panting, down the road back to civilization. My breath huffed out in fits and starts, ragged. My legs tangled underneath me and felt like spaghetti. I tumbled to my knees several times, but always pulled myself back up and kept on ploughing doggedly towards the highway.

  Gasoline reeked in my hair and clothes. The fumes nearly suffocated me. I was terrified that when I got onto the bus, someone might decide to light a cigarette next to me. Although smoking was forbidden on buses — but you know, not everyone follows the rules. Given my track record it would probably be just my luck... It felt like the petrol was sinking into me through my very pores through osmosis, insinuating its way even into my bloodstream.

  The pouring rain didn’t seem to be doing anything to wash away the gasoline. I knew that gas and water didn’t mix, but still, I had imagined that the rain should do something. And perhaps it was doing something. But it didn’t seem to be doing much.

  I pinched my nose and tried to stumble along faster. As soon as I got back to town I would have to go someplace and change. There was no way I would be able to stand the smell and fumes all the way back to the city. And besides which, the fumes were toxic.

  I ripped my jacket off and searched automatically, inanely, for a wastepaper basket to toss it into. Then it struck me that of course, there wouldn’t be any trash bins out in the middle of the countryside. In the end I dumped it on the ground, in the middle of the road. If these people were as ecological as they purported to be, they could just as well stick it into the back of the van the next time they travelled out to the restaurant, then chuck it into a bin in town.

  And, along the way, they could ponder what they — or rather, the leader whom they all looked up to — had nearly done to another human being.

  Without my jacket I felt a little better, the fumes were slightly more bearable. But by the time I arrived in Minerva I still sported a pounding granddaddy of a headache. I’d never felt such relief in my life as I did as when I finally lurched into town. It was getting dark already, and all the stores were closed.

  I almost hunched down on a bench in the middle of the town square and bawled. But then, fortunately, I caught a glimpse of a dollar store with its arms still wide open for me, pouring heavenly light out over all the pavement. It really did seem like a piece of heaven at that moment. I nearly bawled again, but this time out of pure relief and gratitude.

  I scrambled in, grateful once again that they had thought to return my bag to me. I snatched the first shirt and trousers I could see off of a rack and paid for them. Then I roved about, ending up at McDonald’s, the only establishment still running at this hour.

  I holed myself up in the ladies’, jamming the lock tightly even though I knew I wasn’t supposed to. But I wanted — nay, needed — to be alone for a short period. For good measure, I dug up an “out of order” sign by chance from a utility closet and stuck it outside the door before locking it again.

  I peeled my grungy clothes off and rammed them into the bottom of a trash bin. Then I stuck my head underneath a tap, ignoring the icky sink just beneath my nostrils, and doused my hair and face with about fifty squirts of hand soap. I still smelt gasoline, but at least it appeared the fumes were gone.

  I climbed into my stiff new outfit, patting it down over me, and freed the washroom for public use once again. Not that there were many people about queuing to use it at this late hour. I snatched a hamburger and fries to ease my hunger pangs, although if truth be known, I hardly had any hunger pangs at all. My heart was still fluttering, jittery, my stomach still clenched with fear.

  Afterwards I wandered outside and drifted down to the bus station or rather, to the solitary bench which constituted Minerva’s only bus station. It was still raining, but I didn’t care, although the raging downpour of earlier had eased off to a misty drizzle. I hunkered onto the bench to wait for the next bus. Almost as if by a miracle, it pulled to a stop before me within minutes. I could hardly believe it.

  Calvin texted me, worried, as I rode through the lightless night. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to lie to him, but what had just happened was a bit much for me to explain in a text mail. In the end I merely sent off a succinct “Held up, will be back soon” to him.

  *

  It seemed to take me an inordinately long time to recover from this ordeal. I found that strange: after all that Bruno and Hugh had done to me, I would’ve thought I would’ve developed a tougher skin. But I supposed that attempts against your life, no matter how frequent, were always traumatic.

  Calvin hit the roof, as usual. But later limited himself to venting steam by pounding tin cans against the marble countertop in the kitchenette.

  I promised Calvin I would leave well enough alone and continue with my life. But somehow, I couldn’t sleep. I could hardly eat. Every time I closed my eyes I saw Elder Brooks’ evil, lined face pasted to my eyelids, followed by the desperate appeal in Lindsay’s eyes.

  A thousand times a day I fingered my phone with the number of the deprogrammer engraved in my list of outgoing calls. I couldn’t shake off the burning idea of hiring him, but I didn’t have the kind of money he demanded.

  One day it occurred to me to seize a hold of my last resort. The only thing it could occur to me to do.

  Debbie Johnson was entertaining a group of her “sisters” when I rang at her door. At first it annoyed me to have to socialize with even more religious fanatics. But then, it occurred to me that perhaps I’d just stumbled upon the flashest stroke of luck possible. Perhaps Debbie could gather together some sort of collection from her companions. If they were such true friends as they claimed to be, they wouldn’t mind pitching in a hand to help her recover her own daughter.

  Debbie invited me in cordially and served tea and pasties. Then she and her “sisters” listened politely as I explained about Lindsay and the deprogrammer.

  “You wouldn’t be thinking of trying to deprogram me, would you?” Debbie shot out tensely, trying to make a joke out of it.

  But I understood what she was trying to lead to.

  “No. Deprogramming is for people who belong to a sect, not to a legitimate religious organization like yours,” I replied tactfully.

  This appeared to please the group no end. Smiles beamed all round. Several of the women even reached out to stroke my cheek.

  “Oh, we can’t let this go on,” gushed one of the women solicitously.

  Another seized Debbie’s hand and clasped it zealously in both of hers.

  “Oh, Debs, we’re here for you. We’re totally by your side. Anything you need, anything at all, you know you can count on me.”

  Heads nodded up and down enthusiastically. In the end, talk swung around to passing a hat round for Debbie.

  “I think the best idea would be for you to open an account specifically, in all our names, to use to pay the deprogrammer,” a tall, stringy lady with a face lined with creases and bearing a hat covered with plastic fruit suggested. “I’m the manager of a bank, and I’d like to subtly offer my branch office for this purpose. Of course, if you’d prefer to open the account somewhere else...”

  “Oh, no, Karen.” Debbie laid her hand affectionately on Karen’s. “Your branch office will be just perfect.”

  Karen beamed.

  “I’ll set it up for you right away. Come by my bank tomorrow.”

  My next step was to call the de
programmer back. I explained the situation to him briefly and we agreed to meet for coffee near my office.

  *

  I was curious to see what a real live deprogrammer looked like. I stepped into the café, and my gaze swept over the few patrons whispering softly at the different tables. It didn’t take me long to locate the charismatic gentleman dressed completely in black, lounging comfortably at a table in a far corner. His back was to the wall, and I got the impression that his suspicious eyes missed nothing. He apparently realized who I was too, even though we had never met before. He lifted his arm and waved at me.

  I ordered a cappuccino at the counter, then slid into place beside him. We studied each other over. He wore a black turtleneck and dark trousers. His figure was lean, relaxed, but carried the sort of deliberately dissimulated tension that you knew could easily react and spring into action within the blink of an eye. I wondered if once he had been military, or a spy.

  He held his hand out with a distant, impersonal smile.

  “So, you are Annasuya, I presume?”

  I nodded, shook his hand.

  “Bogdan Kovak at your service.”

  His eagle eyes raked over me. I knew he missed nothing. I glanced nervously at my hands, suddenly felt inadequate for wearing no nail polish. I pushed my hair out of my face insecurely. He smiled again, this time a smile filled with genuine warmth.

  “Don’t worry, Annasuya,” he said. “You look just fine.” He leaned back. “I suppose you’re wondering if you should have tied your hair up, or worn a more formal hairstyle.”

  I gaped at him. He laughed, pleasantly.

  “Don’t worry. I actually prefer people to show themselves just the way they are. People who are authentic attract me more. Although I generally have no difficulty digging out their true colours if they choose to pretend to be something they’re not.”

  He laced his fingers on the table in front of him, forming a tent.

  “I can also tell that you must be new at working as a businesswoman. You’re probably not earning the kind of money that would allow you to hire my services all by yourself — yet. So you would most likely have had to seek out help with the payments.”

  My mouth dropped open. I closed it.

  “How do you know?” I gasped out. “I mean, what makes you think that?”

  He laughed again, a hearty, Santa Claus type laugh, and gestured towards me.

  “Well, firstly, you’re wearing a new suit. I doubt you would go to the bother of wearing a suit just for me, which tells me that it’s necessary for what you do now, but in your former lifestyle you probably didn’t need to wear a suit. Next, you lack the hardened, self-assured posture of a woman accustomed to negotiating with all types of people. Which suggests that until recently, you were probably the one who took the orders. Not the one who gave them.” He grinned.

  I felt him swing a leg underneath the table.

  “Am I close so far?”

  I mimed a thumbs-up at him.

  “Spot on,” I said.

  He continued. “You put on scant makeup.” He chuckled. “I don’t know why, but it seems that in this world, the longer someone has been hanging round in this business, the more makeup they pile on. When I see a sixty-something businesslady with more foundation and powder piled on than Marie Antoinette, I always wonder who she thinks she’s fooling.”

  I grinned as well.

  “Finally, most people who have been bumping elbows with these unscrupulous types for a while are always frazzled and stressed out. I see them all over the place. They’re the people who never have time to take a coffee with ease, and gulp it down in two swallows even if it burns their throats. Who never stop checking the hour on their mobile, and try to carry out a chat in a café with a friend — if they even have time to see friends — at the same time that they’re screaming on the phone.

  “You, however, are not that type. I sincerely hope you never become that way.” He stirred his coffee offhandedly. “I genuinely wish you all the good luck and success in your new business that you deserve.”

  I fidgeted with my napkin. I didn’t know what to say.

  “Thank you,” I stammered out in the end.

  “Don’t thank me,” he replied. Then he pulled out a pen and smart, unused notebook. “So, let’s get down to business. Give me all the information you can possibly think of. How your friend got involved, what her posture is now. What the religious community she’s involved in is like. Who does she have on the outside to help her. That sort of thing... Oh, and, of course. I’d need a photo of her as well.”

  We sat there for hours as I described all the experiences I had had with the group. He took notes, then finally ended up recording everything with his mobile.

  “You’ve had extensive experience with them, I see, in spite of the fact that you never belonged there yourself,” he commented.

  Even he couldn’t avoid betraying his shivers of horror when I described my latest adventure with them. He wiped at his brow when I finished.

  “I have never, in my life, heard anything so horrific,” he exclaimed. “I’ve heard of terrible punishments. Atrocious punishments. Whippings. Solitary confinement. Rebellious cult members being starved for weeks. But this...”

  I was afraid this meant that he didn’t believe me, so I unbuttoned my jacket and pulled down the neckline of my blouse to show him the small cut near my shoulder. He examined it with concern.

  “There’s something strange about that cut,” he said. “Are you sure it’s just a knife cut?”

  I nodded.

  “It seems to be healing just fine,” I replied.

  He scrunched his face at it and stroked his fingers over it for a moment.

  “Still, there seems to be something weird about it. It bothers me...”

  I shrugged.

  “It doesn’t bother me,” I said. “You can see it’s almost healed already.”

  I pulled my blouse back up. He laid his notebook carefully on the table between us and laced his hands together again.

  “Now, I have to ask you this question. As you know, from the situation you’ve described, it appears that we will have no choice but to go in and remove your friend — Lindsay, you say her name is, right? Well, we must remove her by force. You don’t need to worry about any of that, I will take care of it all. In fact, the less you know, the better. I have my own people working for me, but you don’t need to know anything about them.

  “However, what I do need is a place to confine her after we bring her out, so we can carry out the deprogramming. I have my own installations. However, I do charge for their use. So it would be more economical for you if you could provide me with someplace yourself.

  “It would need to be soundproof, a place where there would be no snoopy neighbours, or people who might call the police if Lindsay screams repeatedly. The walls and door need to be secure.”

  I cast about desperately. There was no way we could confine her in my one-bedroom apartment in an apartment complex with thin walls.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Perhaps Lindsay’s mother, if she’s willing... She lives in a house out in the suburbs.”

  Bogdan gestured at my handbag.

  “Why don’t you call her and ask? Explain the situation to her.”

  Debbie graciously granted us the use of the basement underneath her home. It was fairly soundproof, she explained, since her dearly departed, who had suffered terribly from his over-sensitivity to noise, had originally drummed it up as a bedroom for himself.

  “Finally, to wrap things up, I’ll need payment of half the stipulated amount before I begin. The minute the money appears in my bank account, I’ll set to work organizing everything.” He raised his eyebrows. “And as I said before, there’s no need for you to worry about any of this part. I will take care of everything.”

  Satisfied, he got to his feet brusquely and dropped his materials — pen, notebook and mobile phone — into his briefcase.

  “I’m sure y
ou understand, given the, ah, private nature of our interaction, there will be no contracts to sign. I want no written evidence anywhere of our agreement. I will be in touch once we have your friend. You will be able to speak to her and I will message her location to you, but you won’t be able to see her until I receive the second half of the payment.”

  He held out his hand to me once more.

  “A pleasure to do business with you,” he said, succinctly. Then he strode from the café without a backwards glance.

  Chapter 28

  I debated whether to trust Bogdan Kovak. Half a dozen times I opened my laptop to make the transfer. And half a dozen times I turned back to the view from my window. What if he was a scam artist? Who would I be able to complain to or make a claim against if that turned out to be the case?

  In the end I tugged my phone out of my pocket and punched in Debbie’s number.

  “Don’t worry,” Debbie gushed. “He seems a sincere, caring type. It’s obvious he’s only got Lindsay’s best interests in mind.”

  I jiggled my phone in my hand. This woman was so exasperatingly naïve and gullible!

  “How do you know?” I countered. “You didn’t even see him. We don’t know a thing about him.”

  “Well,” Debbie reasoned, “you got his name from an article about deprogrammers, right? That means he must really be a deprogrammer. And I doubt he’d want to sully his reputation by gypping someone. Just as someone was able to write an informative, trustworthy article about him praising his expertise, so could someone else just as easily publish an article against him if he were to double cross you. Don’t you think?”

  I banged my palm against my forehead. I realized I had underestimated Debbie. I’d had no idea how clear-minded and astute she really was. But then something else occurred to me.