REPENT & SUBMIT
1967
Zohra sat looking out at the lake, her arms crossed over her knees and tucked against her chest. The breeze was cool, bristling her tunic and hair every which way. Her bones were glazed in a brisk chill because of the cold spring air, but inside, she burned with the kind of love she never imagined was possible.
She had everything she needed. Right here.
Everyone in the commune shared this sentiment. The Elder spoke often of shedding material possessions as a way of unshackling from society. Before one could join their fellowship, they were expected to understand this. Then, after a few months, they needed to practice it.
It wasn’t just life’s accumulations that were tossed, but former identities went into the garbage along with them. She hadn’t always been Zohra, but now it was the only name she knew. The only life she remembered. There remained vague recollections of earlier days—youthful binges of drugs and sex haunted her like waking nightmares. The Elder stressed that past mistakes were ghosts that could not hurt them anymore, and that felt true on most days.
“This is not just an opportunity to better ourselves, but to better the world. We are the ones God has enlightened. Now we go forth and offer examples of the love that was given to us. Repent and submit!”
That was the hook that had grabbed her at the end of her last life. She was bottomed out then, bathing in a puddle of her own drug-laced vomit. No one else was offering a prosperous path forward, so she rushed headlong into God’s arms. At first, it seemed like an easy way to get back on her feet, because unconditional love and acceptance were powerful motivators.
Soon she agreed that the mission was Christ. The Elder imbued in them an urgency to spread the love and that’s what she did.
“Before it is too late,” he’d said.
Jessica sat beside her on the lake, her blonde strands tussling in the winds coming in off the waterfront. She was just as grateful to be here. They never spoke of yesterday’s lives, but Zohra recognized the torment: disorientation, depression, and insomnia—sure signs of the needle.
The Elder had been patient with Jessica. The girl struggled with the notion of abandoning her former life. Her mom was cancer-stricken and without much corporeal time remaining. Jessica wanted to send a letter home for those final days, thinking that her mother should not spend her 11th hour worrying about her missing daughter. The Elder forbade it and stressed that her previous life was gone.
“The battle for her flesh is lost,” he’d said, “but the struggle for her soul has yet to be fought.”
Zohra sympathized because she remembered a similar transition, and that understanding paved the way for friendship. Every so often, her eyes would catch Jessica’s and they’d nod—an unspoken acknowledgment of the long hard road that brought them here.
“It makes me worry,” Jessica was saying as she looked out across the rippling water. “They look at us like we’re monsters. Why do they not believe that the hour draws near? That we only want to save them?”
Zohra smiled. It could never be that easy. God gave man free will. And with it, man made many poor choices. He had to embrace the Lord because he wanted to, not because he was told it necessary. Man’s hubris often prevented him from admitting to a wrong choice.
And Forest Grove was swimming in hubris.
The Elder liked sending Zohra and Jessica into town. It was because they were pretty, young, and personable—harder to curse out and berate. Still, Zohra recalled Jessica’s frustration in her earliest days as well. She often spoke to the Elder about the town people’s hesitation.
“We are not some cult,” she’d said.
“We provide the only achievable path to salvation,” he said. “Surely you understand how this might upset some. They do not hate us so much as they hate themselves for their inability to embrace the proper path. The important thing, dear Zohra, is never to hate them back. Instead, try to understand them. Only then, can you hope to change their minds.”
Zohra understood this and spent her days breaching the topic of faith with whoever would listen. The Elder asked only one thing—go forth and convert. Repent and submit.
That meant long walks into town, searching for open ears. The first couple of treks were the easiest. Forest Grove had never been especially receptive, but its hostility increased with time. “Oh, that’s really interesting, but no thank you”, gradually became, “didn’t I tell you fucking lunatics to stay away from my wife and I?”
Words could not hurt but sometimes they stung.
Occasionally, there were urges: a flutter in the loins when the cute (and strangely single) patrolman glanced her way, or the need to belt the most condescending heretics across their mouths. She hated these penchants and would never admit to having them. The Elder would almost certainly deem her unworthy if he found out, and life here was too beautiful to sacrifice it because of temperament.
There was nowhere to go anyway. Acceptance here meant friends and family were nothing more than affixes to a miserable old way—anchors that threatened to keep you afloat in the sea of misery.
It had been strange at first, leaving behind everyone she had ever known, but the Elder had anticipated this trepidation and supplemented his dogma with God’s word. She knew these verses by heart, because adjusting to this life had been something of a challenge. When she lapsed into doubt, she had only to look to the bible to alleviate her concerns.
Matthew 10:34-37: Think not that I am come to send peace on earth: I came not to send peace, but a sword. For I am come to set a man at variance against his father, and the daughter against her mother, and the daughter in law against her mother in law. And a man's foes shall be they of his own household. He that loveth father or mother more than me is not worthy of me: and he that loveth son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me.
Luke 14:26: If any man come to me, and hate not his father, and mother, and wife, and children, and brethren, and sisters, yea, and his own life also, he cannot be my disciple.
These words reinforced their ideals and purged the unease.
This was right.
“What I would not give for an hour on this beach,” Jessica yawned. “To forego tonight’s duties just this once.”
They had just returned from Forest Grove, where they sermonized any who would hear. Their audience had been a few nomadic truckers in the earliest morning hours. Overly caffeinated men looking for a temporary stopover while on the road to wherever. But they were more interested in having the attention of a few pretty girls—didn’t matter if it was a recipe for quiche Lorraine or an extolment of Christ’s virtues.
After them, there remained only uncomfortable glances as they walked the sunny streets searching for the open minded. They were sitting on a picnic table outside of Pittman Pharmacy, watching local children scurry inside for ten-cent soda floats when that young (and single) police officer approached. He shifted from one foot to the other as he said that they could not loiter anywhere in town. And if they didn’t have business here, they needed to go elsewhere. His eyes remained kind, even as he enforced the law.
“Folks are scared of you all,” he’d said and looked down at their bare feet.
“Why should they think that?” Zohra had said. “Unless their thoughts are dark and in need of cleansing. We have given them no reason to fear us.”
“You ladies don’t look like you’d harm a gnat.” He didn’t take his attention off Zohra once. “And you’re much too pretty to be footing it all over creation. But the law’s the law, so I gotta insist. Please…the people are worried about you both.”
The girls had exchanged stunned glances then. The Elder forbade violence in both action and thought, scalding it as a devil’s mark either way. So they agreed to leave. To linger would only hurt their cause and credibility, and there was no reason to provoke additional feelings of fear and mistrust. The kind-eyed policeman had offered a ride back to the lake but the Elder would not have wanted that.
&
nbsp; “You’re going to walk back like that?” He sounded offended. “Your feet will be bloody mush by the time you get home.”
Zohra thanked the man for his concern, but refused his offer. The Elder wanted them to live as the apostles had. That meant enduring the hardships of the day. Some of the men in the compound wore sandals, but there were not enough to go around and chivalry was a foreign concept. This bothered her in her quietest moments but who was she to question the Elder?
Her feet did ache as they took the long way back, circling through some of the outskirt neighborhoods on the off chance that someone, anyone, might hear them out. How could everyone remain ignorant of impending oblivion?
Jessica looked tired now as she stretched out in the sand, arching her back and kicking her legs into the air. In the sunlight, the outline of her naked body was visible beneath the gown’s transparency. Zohra might’ve been aroused by this in an earlier life, but now she looked only with an admiration for God’s image.
“I am so happy to see that you have returned to us, my sisters,” the Elder approached them, his arms outstretched and a joyous smile spread across his bearded lips. There was genuine warmth and delight there. “How did your journey find you?”
“No one wanted to hear us,” Jessica’s words were loaded with shame. “They will never receive us.”
The Elder took a seat in the sand between them and propped his palms upward. The girls clasped their hands into his and he squeezed. “While it is not our place to judge, I cannot ignore what you and the others have told me. Forest Grove is not ready for the truth. And so we shall wait.”
“For how long?” Zohra said. “The end is coming. Are we to burn in hellfire because they will not listen?”
“We already are saved. Our mission is to help as many as we can between now and the end.”
“Then why can’t we save our families?” Jessica asked. “I miss my mom. If she’s still alive…”
The Elder squeezed their hands again, harder this time. “They are no longer your mothers and fathers. God is your father now. If the day ever comes where someone from your former life is to be recruited, a brother or sister shall do it. Not you. How could I expect them to focus on our message when they are hearing it from a prior relative?”
“Thank you, Elder,” the girls spoke in unison.
“Amen,” he smiled, stood, and strode off.
After some time passed, Zohra sprung to her feet and helped Jessica to hers. They started for the small cabin at the edge of the forest. Sister Mary was inside, seasoning a gigantic cauldron of steaming water. She had them grab a batch of onions, peppers, and carrots from the storage pantry. They did as they were asked and then chopped the vegetables, dropping handfuls into the now-boiling broth. Mary continued seasoning the soup and reduced the heat. When it was ready, Zohra went outside and struck the dinner bell.
The men shuffled out of the prayer bunk, with the Elder and the four children bringing up the rear. They approached Mary with wooden dinner bowls in hand, taken off the outside table. She ladled the soup to the brim and placed a torn piece of freshly baked bread into their free hands. Once the men were served, the women were allowed to take a bowl for themselves. They sat in the grass beside the picnic tables that housed the men and children.
Dinnertime conversation was the most spontaneous part of the day. There were no sermons, only bonding. Supper was a time to reflect, and the Elder had a brother retreat into the bunkhouse to retrieve four flagons of wine.
They were well-supped when the Elder cleared his throat and rose up out of his seat. Casual conversations faded into silence as he looked across all brothers and sisters to ensure attention.
“Forest Grove does not want the Obviate, and that is okay. People won’t adapt when they are content, explaining why the little hamlet would like nothing more than to be left alone. We will abide this wish. We were itinerants by design when I started this brotherhood. Just as Christ’s apostles journeyed forth with his word, so do we. We must continue to grow our ranks but we shall do this away from here. Tomorrow, I will take what money remains and obtain a vehicle. Just like today, you will continue to be paired in twos, only Joseph will drive you to various corners of nearby states where you will do your best to search out the willing. You will find them on college campuses, in veteran hospitals, and homeless shelters. They will listen. They will understand.”
The table erupted into enthusiastic growls and even the women looked at one another with excitement.
“There’s more,” he continued. “It is true that the apostles did not have any use for churches and neither does the Obviate. We will continue to teach in small groups wherever people will listen. But we shall have our own place of worship right here. For you, and for the willing ones you bring back. Whoever does not go forth on the first journey will instead help us expand our assembly here. We will make this into a hub for worship, where our brothers and sisters may come and go as they please while always knowing they have a home.”
When dinner was over, Zohra and Jessica helped the other women clean up, scrubbing bowls and spoons until the lake glowed orange in the final moments of sunset. They went out and watched it with several others.
“Do you ever feel like you’re trapped?” Jessica said in a whisper.
Zohra hadn’t entertained such a thought since the beginning of her enlightened existence. She shook her head without answering.
“What about your son?” Jessica continued. “He cannot be happy here. You don’t even get to see him. He’s conditioned by our brothers without any input from his mother.”
“He has no mother. And if it weren’t for the Elder, he might not have a life. Here, he’s safe. That’s more than I deserve.”
“Is this all there is?” Jessica pressed the issue. “Giving sermons? Cooking? Sewing? Praying?”
“Our lot in a greater purpose.” Zohra reminded her.
“Right,” she said with more than a little defeat in her voice. “Repent and submit.”
“Repent and submit,” Zohra agreed.
FIVE
Melanie worked right through the afternoon and into the evening. The creative high was such that she buzzed down to the front desk and told Desiree not to bother her for dinner. This wasn’t a time to be disturbed.
The old woman had insisted upon fixing her a plate and told her it would be in the refrigerator whenever she wanted it.
It was closing in on ten and the only light in the suite was from the laptop’s glow. Melanie yammered on the keyboard, entranced and stretching her thoughts as far as they would go. This morning’s conversation with Jed and his creepy “son” were motivators and her document was 30k words deep as a result. It was loaded with recollections, ruminations, and reservations. At the top of the page sat two bolded questions:
1. Who was Cyrus Hoyt?
The question had been asked numerous times. Why, then, didn’t anyone know the answer? Melanie knew. Sort of. Hoyt was a backwoods lunatic who snapped one day, hunting and murdering people like animals. A better question might’ve been why, but there weren’t many people who could answer that one.
2. What happened in 1969?
Two hours of Googling the darkest corners of the Internet refused to yield anything that she didn’t already know. If Sam had been telling the truth, and a few people died on Lake Forest Grove, Brady might be able to help find some names. But why hadn’t she been allowed to hear the rest of Jed’s story? What were they hiding?
Her suspicious fires were doused as fast as they could be stoked: Sam was probably trying to spare someone from unnecessary grief. Melanie was a writer after all, and the whole town seemed to know it. So Sam didn’t want some long past incident to end up a chapter in a book. That was understandable, even if it piqued her curiosity more. Conspiracy theories didn’t hold much weight in her mind because people were too insecure to keep things hush hush.
And still, there’s something here I’m not supposed to know.
She was i
n mid-sentence when the stairwell creaked. She tensed up, realizing the room was bathed in black. Another creak as her fingers crawled across the bed spread searching for the phone. It was on the end table, charging.
Outside the room, another step shifted beneath the weight of the ascender.
Melanie fumbled in the dark, arms flailing for the light switch. Her hand coiled around the lamp’s neck and pushed in on the button.
In the hall, footsteps reached the third floor landing.
She pulled a light, silken robe over her skimpy eveningwear and cinched it around her waist to feel less vulnerable. There had to be something she could use to defend herself.
The hall went silent.
She was still, watching the door from across the room. Her eyes drowned in their refusal to blink. She brushed at them with the back of her hand while praying the doorknob wouldn’t move. Someone was right outside. Maybe Desiree was spying on her before she went to bed and didn’t want to be obvious about it. That might’ve been the case, but Melanie wasn’t about to call out—because it could be someone else.
Her gaze was locked but her hands roamed the night table, feeling for the phone. If Brady wanted to be anything more than a hindrance, he needed to get out here right now.
The evening silence fell away as her car alarm screamed out below. She forgot about the doorway for a moment, rushing toward the open window and staring down into the night. The darkness beyond her line of sight was thick and showed nothing.
Only silence hung in the hallway beyond the door.
Wobbly fingers mis-tapped the phone, prompting the launch of several useless apps. She might’ve screamed in frustration if she wasn’t so terrified.
Outside, the car alarm continued its assault on the evening’s peace, echoing through the forest like a pinball.
At last, she keyed in a search for Forest Grove P.D. and clicked the CALL button. The female voice on the other line answered at once. She sounded unsympathetic but her presence remained comforting, assuring her that a car would be by in a few minutes. She even offered to stay on the line until they arrived.
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