The Sect

by Lane, Courtney

  “Oh, dear God.” My mother grabbed me tighter. “You were living amongst criminals? Oh, baby girl.” She grabbed my head, forcing me to lean on her shoulder as she quietly sobbed.

  Lifting my head, I gave them a small smile, pretending to be perfectly fine. “I’m so tired. Do you mind if I lay down for a while? It will be nice to be in my own bed.”

  “Of course,” my father said, darting up too quickly. He took my mother’s hand as looks of concern, remorse, and sadness washed over their faces.

  The moment they flicked the switch on the door, shutting the light off, I reached up and turned on my lamp.

  My fingers slid up my T-shirt, provided by my mother the moment we arrived to their hotel suite back in North Dakota. The moment I was able to shower and remove the wedding dress, the events I’d endured began to overwhelm me. I had to hold it together for them, but I fell apart in the shower that took me at least an hour to finish.

  I moved my hand around, touching the scars Jeff left me with, then fingered the almost faded burn marks Noah left me with. I tried to breathe, but instead, relented to a deep rooted sob. I shook with tears for the things I’d lost—too many to name—and wondered if I’d ever be okay again.

  5 MONTHS Later

  There were a few times during my months of recovery that I did a little digging here and there on Noah. I found out that his parents’ company was sold for a lucrative amount of money three months after my ordeal at Rebirth. It proved what Shiloh and Nadine had told me—a story truer than the one Noah told me. At one point, I searched for Mrs. Sherman. I knew the idea of finding her was a ridiculous notion, but I still had to make an attempt. I tried professions, guessing by what she said about knowing when two people had chemistry. A casting director? A matchmaker? I, of course, didn’t turn up anything.

  I was never able to stop my need to search for things about Noah, but he was a ghost; I couldn’t find a single shred of information on him.

  I never stopped looking and grasping at straws, hoping the story he told me held very few lies. It bothered me that a man like Shiloh was more truthful to me than a vigilante like Noah.

  Adam and Nadine were on a never-ending media tour. Each of them had interviews together and it seemed everywhere I turned, they were in the news, riding the waves of the frenzy over what happened in North Dakota before it fizzled out and the world became enamored with another sensationalized story.

  Nadine wrote a book about the ordeal and released it rather quickly; it instantly became a bestseller, spending months on the charts. I couldn’t watch any of her interviews; they made me remember things I wished out existence.

  I spoke to Nadine only once and it was through Adam. Our conversation was strained and short. Adam—who apparently wasn’t a part of the ruse—told me that sometimes he missed the structure and the idea that he was doing something good with his life. In our only discussion, I found out what his crime was. He was a witness to a murder and committed perjury, allowing a murderer to go free. He wouldn’t tell me what his reasons were, but in the end, I didn’t really need to hear them.

  He’d grown very close to Nadine. So close, he told me he was searching for engagement rings. He asked me clinical and simple questions that made me wonder if he was ordered to contact me on Noah’s behalf—if he was still alive. The man seemed to disappear into thin air. His name was left out of the ordeal, leaving him as an invisible person that only a select few knew about. The world would never discover who the real person behind Rebirth was.

  Oftentimes, I wondered if he really was the savior, saving innocent people from the evil doers in the world. As Jeff once told me, sometimes we had to do bad to do good. How many people’s lives were saved with what Noah did? I guess I would never know. What I did know was that at every turn, every time I saw a scar he left me with, I felt a divide so deep it physically pained me.

  I couldn’t look at another man or even think about getting into a relationship with anyone else. That fact was often revisited whenever my mother mentioned something about me finding someone. I wasn’t the Keaton Mara my parents made me to be. Nor was I the one that Gregory changed me into. What I held on to the most was the way Jeff and Noah changed me.

  Two days after I returned home, I tracked down Jeff’s remains and made arrangements for a proper burial. He was buried at Quantico with fanfare. It was the only time I permitted myself to be in the public eye, but I did it for him. He was a hero, an extraordinary man, and he deserved to be buried like one.

  As time passed, I’d forgotten about the worst, and remembered the best moments I spent with Noah, the moments when I was able to grasp the things that were stolen from me. The recollections created a craving I tried to suppress with other things; yoga, Pilates, therapy…the list continued. Nothing seemed to cure the shameful yearning.

  My parents and I bounced around locations. My father claimed it was to scout out locations for a new movie he planned to do, but I knew better. He had moved his role to executive producer on most of his pictures and my mother took an interim vacation from F.A.C.E. We were trying to reconnect as a family again. At times, it was difficult, but they learned pretty quickly that being in remote locations left me unsettled. Our travels took us to crowded cities. Dubai, Paris, and London. Currently, we were spending time in Quebec City.

  I loved them and I missed them when I was away, but at times, their attention became overbearing. Our travels seemed like an apology tour. It became exhausting to assure them constantly that I was okay and what happened to me wasn’t their fault. My mother would quickly remind me that it wasn’t mine, either. I smiled and told her that I knew, but I would never get over the notion that it was, in fact, my fault.

  I looked at the beautiful view of the street as I sat in a little café with my steaming cup of coffee and a chocolate beignet. The place began to grow deserted, making me think it was time to leave.

  Something stopped me. The back of my neck bristled, making me shiver. I looked down at my lap, wondering what came over me. It was the scent—the smell of the fresh cotton. Looking up slowly, I searched the small café but saw no one there to greet me. Deciding it was time to leave, I headed to the ladies’ room before I made my way back to my hotel suite across the street.

  As I walked toward the back of the restaurant, I glanced back at the windows, spying my bodyguard. It was the very first time my bodyguard—hired by my parents—wasn’t a mere three feet away. After an argument, they finally agreed to make sure he stayed out of my way, allowing me to maintain a little bit of my autonomy.

  The door swung closed in front of me, indicating someone had walked in earlier. The scent that permeated my nose earlier became stronger. I touched the handle of the door, finding it almost impossible to go inside.

  Ignoring my senses, I opened the door. There was only one stall occupied; the door was left partially cracked open.

  I looked in the mirror, attempting to bring myself together. I reached down to retrieve a tube of lipstick and realized I absentmindedly left my purse underneath the table. I was halfway to the door when I heard the water run. I glimpsed over my shoulder just barely, but it was enough to make me freeze.

  “You’re in the men’s bathroom, did you know that?” He turned off the faucet and shook his hands in the sink, grabbing a drying towel. He stared at his hands tentatively, taking his time before he put the towel in its rightful place.

  I was scared if he looked at me, the feeling that slowly crept over me would become stifling. I looked to the right at the urinals and remained staring at them for a moment. “How did you find me?”

  The taps of his shoes pounded on the floor with the same meticulous rhythm they always did. The more they neared me, the more my body began to tremble. “Is that really the question you want to ask me?”

  My neck snapped to him, dressed in an all-black suit, sans tie with the collar open. His hair was a little shorter than I remembered. He was very clean-shaven and looked very much like a businessman in the m
idst of a causal meeting. The blue in his eyes looked a little brighter when he gave me his signature boyish smile; the slow seductive smile that erased all my negative thoughts toward him.

  As I faced him, I stepped backward; my back met the closed door with a slam. “Why are you here, Noah?”

  “There,” he said. Taking one step toward me, he slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks. His stare became burning, burrowing. “That’s a real question.” His gaze stripped me, examining me as though he was extracting my thoughts. “You realize I’ve been having you watched and the bodyguard your parents hired is working two sides. Theirs and mine.”

  “You’re having me followed?” I asked, my voice hoarse and quiet.

  He raised a brow. “I know you had to know, Keaton. Just as I’m sure you knew I needed assurances.”

  “Assurances of what?”

  His chin tilted to his chest, his eyes narrowing. “That you were safe. That you were all right. That no one else touched you. My brother fucked you once, and we both know what happened to him. His crimes—that fucker committed many—were done to piss me off. He’d gone off script many times with you. I think he knew, before I did, that fucking with you would irritate me the most. Did you see the bruises I left him with before he died? That’s what happens to people who touch you. The harbingers, although they did what they were told to do, it bothered me enough to shoot them both in the head while I was cleaning house during the fire. They took way too many liberties with what they were told to do. I have never, and will never, abide by people who can’t follow simple directions. That obviously excludes you. It always excluded you.”

  Tears streamed down my cheeks as I felt locked in his gaze, unable to look away from his captivating face. “Are you here to kill me?”

  Annoyed, he rolled his eyes and sighed. “Princess? Really? While I may have lied about a lot of things, when I make a promise or a threat, I try keep my word. Speaking about my emotions…well, that’s a very tricky subject. Very few people can figure out when I’m lying or telling the truth. I don’t blame you for being so confused. I wanted you to be.” Keeping his hands in his pockets, he took another large step toward me.

  “I haven’t said anything to anyone about you.” With my hands down on my sides, I clutched the flat surface behind me. I shut my eyes for only a second, hoping it would save me from my clouded thoughts. “You wanted off the radar and you are.”

  “Given what I just told you, I think you know that’s not why I’m here.”

  “Why are you here?” My body trembled as I sobbed.

  “I really fucked with your head didn’t I? It’s the only reason I can give for how you don’t know.” He took another step closer, the heat of his body pressing against my form, siphoning my energy. “I don’t want to have this talk in a men’s bathroom. You have no idea what goes on in here. Sit with me. Talk to me. We can pretend to be normal for about five minutes.” Grabbing my hand without a struggle from me, he pulled me forward and opened the door for me.

  His hold on my hand wasn’t released until he led me back to the table. Behaving with chivalry, he pulled out my chair, waiting for me to sit before he sat across from me at the small round table. “Did you eat much?” He glanced at my uneaten dessert. “It didn’t look like you did. It bothers me when I see chocolate-anything go to waste.” A slightly amused brow lifted, a smirk pressed against his lips, deepening the dimple on the left side of his cheek.

  “Noah.” I sniffled, shaking my head. “You’re not allowed to do this. You’re not allowed to sit across from me and pretend to be a dutiful and caring lover. You were right, you are Gregory—no, you are worse than Gregory. I feel terrible for thinking that, but I can’t help it.”

  “And I never denied that, did I?” He leaned back, throwing his arm across the chair beside him. His eyes darkened as he scanned my face. “Pick up your purse and show it to me.”

  “Show you what?” I wrung my trembling hands in my lap, hoping to steady them. “Did you go through my things?”

  His posture turned rigid as he leaned halfway across the table. “Pick up your fucking purse and show it to me.”

  I reached down, internally griping about obeying him without much hesitation. I plopped it down on the seat next to me and retrieved the device. I slammed it down on the middle of the table, unable to look at it.

  “It has my name on it,” he said with a smirk. “I’m not much for sentimentality, but I’m very moved, princess. It’s as if it’s your way of writing the name Keaton Oliver in your notebook with a little heart above the ‘I’ over and over again. But it’s a fantasy and not as good as the real thing”—his piercing eyes darted to mine—“is it, Keaton?”

  “Why are you here?” No longer holding to the calm, my anger bled through every word.

  A brow lifted as his sneer became slightly skewed. “Do you remember what I said to you that day?”

  “I don’t remember much outside of the deaths you caused. It doesn’t matter who they were, what they did, or how they got away with it. Doesn’t make you any better than them to do what you did.” My eyes darted to the homemade whip between us. My head pounded as his ability to make me feel dubious returned. What he did was wrong, but right. I wanted to hate him for it, but I never could find the way. Even if I could forgive everything and rationalize it, I couldn’t rationalize the beatings, nor the feelings they brought out of me. “I remember the pain you caused me. Obviously.”

  “You’re lying to me about what you remember,” he snarled. “Repeat what I said to you.”

  “No,” I said firmly, my lip quivering with emotion.

  His eyes turned darker, showing the emotion he displayed right before he hurt me mentally and physically. Because with him, there was never just one type of pain. “Repeat it, Keaton,” he pressed in a throaty growl.

  “No, because this isn’t love,” I rebuffed with enough conviction to make it true, “and it most definitely isn’t lust.”

  “I believe that on your end. I always did. I know what this was for you, but don’t pretend you don’t know what it is for me. I told you how I felt, and no, it wasn’t a lie when I said that to you. Why else would I be here if it weren’t true? You think I want to be here, tormenting you? I stayed away, thinking you should have better after what I did to you. I stayed away even though I knew if I had found out that anyone touched you, it would drive me crazy enough to hurt them. I still feel like you belong to me.” He caught my hand as it rested across the table before I could recoil. “I know that you belong to me. This is what else I know very well, princess. The moment I walked away from you, your soul became so dark and empty that every waking minute you were without me, you felt hollow. You pined for me, wanting me to be with you and fill you up again.”

  Tired of crying, I shoved the tears with my fingertips as they guttered down my cheeks. I couldn’t answer, because the answer swirling inside my mind left me ashamed.

  “You don’t have to say anything,” he replied softly. “You know how I know the truth? Because I felt it, too. I pulled off the biggest revenge fantasy in my life. I have more money than I could stand and you’ve rendered me into one of those assholes I hated. The ones with too much money and still unable to find happiness. The fuckers who spread their misery to others and hide their hands from the crimes they commit with their privilege.”

  Staring at my hold as my arm tingled from his touch, I tried to withdraw. “The master of lying about his emotions, right? Why should I believe you?”

  He clamped down with an almost painful grip, quelling my struggle. “Doesn’t matter what you should or shouldn’t do. I know deep down you believe me.”

  “It was not love.” I fought not to raise my voice, my conviction holding strong to the one thing I knew for sure. “It is not love.”

  “For you, it’s something more powerful. It’s need. You need me, princess, just as much as I’ve grown to need you. I bet if I lifted your shirt right now, I would see the marks on your back
from your poor replacement for me.”

  I didn’t respond; I simply gazed out of the window, becoming entranced with the foot traffic.

  “You’re going to show me how beautiful I made you tonight.” He squeezed my hand, forcing my gaze back onto his face. “Because the marks on your back are the most shining examples of what I tried to show you—teach you. Now, repeat what I said to you.”

  “Love is the pain of pleasure,” I forced between sniveling sobs, “and pain is the pleasure of love.”

  His blinking slowed as he gave me a nod. “I missed the hell out of you, princess.”

  With my free hand, I toyed with the edge of the doily underneath my coffee, losing my hold on strength and anger at a cyclic rate. “Where did you go?”

  “Not really an interesting answer.” He clung to my hand, as if he was afraid to let me go. “Since you’re asking about me as though you care, I take it you’re no longer pissed at me?”

  I stared at our hold, shaking my head as I remembered the hell we’d been through—the hell he’d put my parents through. At the same token, I’d never be reunited with my parents if it hadn’t been for him. I would very likely have died and I wasn’t sure if it would’ve been because I was too scared to go home, or if Gregory would’ve found me. “There are some things I can’t work through—even with my visits to my therapist. My mother pays an exorbitant amount of money for the doctor to fly in from D.C. to wherever we are that moment. She wants to talk about it and I don’t. The sessions are a waste of money. I know what helps and the doctor can’t do it.” I averted my eyes, wanting to change the subject. Catching sight of his smile of self-satisfaction would’ve only made me sink lower in my disappointment.