Strapped

by Nina G. Jones

  “You have beautiful brown eyes.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “What is it like to be in love?”

  The implication of the question jolts me. My pride won’t let him know how much it hurts to hear it. Not only am I stunned from the pain of the inquiry, but for the first time, I truly see how stunted he has been by his early emotional experiences. “True love? You can’t understand it until it really happens to you. I guess this is how I would define it: You don’t know how you could have ever walked the earth without that person because once they appear into your life, if you ever lose them, you too would be lost forever.”

  He doesn’t say anything, just nods in recognition. My train of thought takes me to a related question for him. “Have you ever loved anyone? I don’t mean been in love. You’ve already told me that. Have you ever loved another person at all?”

  He takes a second to contemplate the question as if it is something he has never thought to ask himself. “I don’t think so.”

  “Even your father?”

  “I feel a sense of gratitude and responsibility. I care for him, but I don’t think I love him. I don’t think so.”

  “And your mother? You don’t ever remember loving her?”

  “No. I have a hard time feeling, Shyla. I think as a child I had to turn it off to get through everything, and then I was never able to turn it back on. It’s broken.”

  “The world must be such a lonely place for you then.” He gives me a puzzled look. “Taylor, love is the most powerful thing you can feel. It starts wars, it ends them, people kill for it, they create because of it, they die for it, and they live for it. You can’t truly have lived unless you have experienced it. There are so many kinds, and each one makes you feel a different kind of warmth. I want you to have that someday.”

  “Thank you.”

  The weight in my chest feels so heavy. I now know why he didn’t say he loved me when I told him how I felt: I am not sure he is capable of that emotion.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I wake up at 4:30 am and Taylor’s face is still facing mine, only he is still asleep. I can’t go back to sleep, so I tiptoe off to the living room, laptop at my side to do some research.

  I Google the name of the cult: Children of the Stars

  The Wikipedia page is one of the first results that I click on. It states Children of the Stars was founded by hippies in the late 60’s. The religion embraced shunning of the outside world, particularly materialism and popular culture. They had a commune on the outskirts of San Francisco. It began as a mostly self-sustaining community that believed in emulating ancient biblical life, and that by removing themselves from modern culture, they could be closer to god. The founder and leader, Alan Peters, encouraged sexuality as a form of exposing oneself to god. As the cult grew to very large numbers in the late 70s and early 80s, he began encouraging women to give themselves to male members sexually, preaching that sex was a form of prayer and meditation. They began recruiting young women, especially runaways, and it is believed that having sex with Alan was part of initiating oneself into the religion. It makes me sick to think that Taylor’s mother must have been one of these young women. I scan over the page and see a section called:

  Controversy and Allegations of Abuse

  “As the culture of sex became pervasive in the Children of the Stars congregation, allegations among members of physical and sexual abuse of minors began to surface. Former members alleged that Peters urged parents to encourage their children to explore their sexuality. Sexuality was seen as a form of prayer and if started at a young age, it was believed a level of closeness to god could be achieved that could not be if it was introduced at a later age. Incest was strictly forbidden, so it was alleged that parents left their children at a schoolhouse called The Center for Early Prayer and Meditation. Here, it was alleged, children were encouraged to experiment sexually with each other and adults of the opposite sex (homosexuality was forbidden). Children as young as four years old were allegedly brought to this center.”

  Everything. I now know what Taylor meant when he said it. I cannot support the weight of the word, it is so heavy I cannot breathe. My fingers shake as I search for more information. I find a video interview with a woman who spent her childhood in the cult:

  “If anyone ever resisted the sexual abuse or strict discipline, they were beaten. Rejecting the sexual advances of the adults equaled blasphemy to Peter and his followers. Children were also forced to perform hard labor daily. Any resistance to the strict rules of the commune were met with beatings.”

  He fought. I feel a sense of pride for him. He is a fighter.

  “The boys were beaten more often than the girls. Peters often did it himself. I am sure it was a way to maintain his alpha status. Boys who were particularly rambunctious or who fought authority got the worst of it.”

  I wonder if Taylor knows this woman. She begins to cry:

  “Once or twice a week, we would go to the center. They would divide the boys and the girls and take us to different rooms.” She pauses to collect herself. “They would make us touch each other and perform acts on one another. Sometimes adults would take a child into a private room.” I stop the video. The wave of nausea and tears hits me so hard, I wince to keep myself from getting sick. I fast forward to another part of the video.

  “Why do you think this went on for so long before anyone came forward?”

  “No one ever questioned Alan. We were told not to speak of it and we were never asked. Many parents were blissfully ignorant about what happened there because they blindly trusted Alan’s decisions. Not all the adults in the commune partook -- many had sex with other consenting adults, and it was only those who ‘taught’ us at the center who took advantage of underage members. They also happened to be the most respected and the least questioned. I think most people feared Alan Peters and those closest to him. When my mother left and took me with her, she was terrified they would find her. Very few people left the cult, only a handful. The rest died in the mass suicide. Peters had an almost magical level of control over everyone. I can’t explain how. It doesn’t make sense. I think he knew how to prey on lost souls.”

  Footsteps come from the bedroom and I rapidly close the laptop.

  “Hey, everything okay?” I can see the child Taylor once was as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes. I try to quickly rub the tears out of mine.

  “Yes, I was cold so I woke up, but then I couldn’t go back to sleep.” My voice is wavering from the emotion.

  “Have you been crying?”

  I try to deny it, but when I speak, the tears trickle down my cheek. We can’t skate around the issue, it can’t be buried forever. “Taylor, I know what they did to you. I know.” His face dissolves into deep anguish. His eyes become heavy with grief. I hug him and for the first time I feel him hug me back tightly. He has held me in his arms before, but this is a full-bodied embrace. I bury my head into his bare chest. “I am so sorry this happened to you. You deserved to be loved and nurtured. You deserve to love and be loved.”

  “Shy, please don’t feel sorry for me. They’re all dead now,” he says into my hair, in the same voice he would tell a child a bedtime story. “I would like it if we wouldn’t speak about this for a while.”

  “I understand.”

  “Thank you. I never wanted you to carry this burden for me. This is why I didn’t want to tell you. It is vile and sick and there will never be a resolution. I don’t want you to have to carry around this bitterness, their cancer has hurt enough people.”

  “Do you know there are others?”

  “What do you mean? They all died.”

  “No, people who left before the suicide. That went through the same thing.”

  “I never bothered to look. I am not interested in starting some C.O.S. support group. I try to live everyday as if it never happened. Let’s try to get another hour of sleep
before we have to get on with the day.”

  ***

  It is nearly impossible for me to focus in the office. I cannot comprehend the life that Taylor had, and its consequences. His eccentricities now seem tame considering his horrific childhood. Can I really expect him to love anyone? His mother put him in the hands of a sick cult, his father impregnated his mother at a young age leading to her descent and his subsequent abuse, his stepmother was in no position to care, and his only brother hates him. How could he ever have learned to love? He has suffered horrendous abuse in the hands of all of those who were supposed to protect him. I understand now and yet I am helpless to make him better -- and that makes me feel weak and useless.

  Harrison waits outside of the office all day. I promised Taylor that if I needed to run an errand, I would go with Harrison. I continue to have a hard time reconciling the Eric I met with the one he describes and therefore, do not feel in true danger. The personalities I experienced and he described are so disparate that I wonder if he has the right person. The texts. Could they be Eric? If they were from him, then I know I should seriously worry.

  I find the piece of paper where I jotted down the phone number of Kristin’s cousin. Hopefully, he can tell me where the texts are coming from. Once I have that information, I can decide what to do about it. I find and empty room and call him. Mr. MacAllister’s voice sounds like sandpaper. He is a grizzled, direct man. After I explain the issue of the texts and the possibility that I may have been followed, he suggests that he look into my phone records and perform a background check on Eric. While I have him on the phone, the spirit moves me to see if he will work on another case for me.

  “Have you ever heard of the Children of the Stars cult?”

  “They sound familiar. Didn’t they have a mass suicide like twenty-something years ago?”

  “Yes, that’s the one. Would you be able to track down all surviving members of the cult and what they are currently up to? Obviously, most are dead, but from my understanding, there were some that left before the suicide and a young boy was found alive at the scene.”

  “That is a pretty large project. I will have to go back and track down each individual. Depending on the record keeping and how many people have publicly come forward, this could take some time and a pretty large financial investment.”

  “That’s okay, whatever it takes.” My severance package from H.I. can be used towards this since I have a job.

  “Okay Ms. Ball.”

  My curiosity about Taylor’s childhood is becoming insatiable. I have an unwavering sense that if I can learn more, discover something, I can try to fix him. For now, I don’t know what I will do with the information, but I want to know as much as I can about the others who went through this. Some of the surviving adults were pressed with charges of child endangerment and neglect after the abuse allegations arose, and I hope this will give Mr. MacAllister something to work with.

  Once I end the call with Mr.MacAllister, my phone is hit with a text.

  Kristin:

  Let’s go out for drinks tonight. I miss you :)

  I desperately need my best friend, but I want to make sure everything is okay with Taylor

  Shyla:

  Hey you. Just wanted to say hi. I miss you today.

  Taylor’s response is almost immediate.

  Taylor:

  Same here. We should take tomorrow off, do something fun.

  Shyla:

  I just started working here. I can’t!

  Taylor:

  Then quit. I got you.

  Shyla:

  Stop it!

  Taylor:

  What about a lunch date?

  Shyla:

  That sounds like a plan! Btw, Kristin wants to go out for drinks. I haven’t seen her in like forever. Girls night.

  Taylor:

  Harrison will stay with you then.

  Shyla:

  Who will watch you? Harrison has to be with you. Eric is after you, not me.

  Taylor:

  I can take care of myself.

  Shyla:

  No, I am not having that. I will be in a crowded bar. Harrison should stay with you and then I can call him to pick me up. Your place is too isolated. Don’t fight me on this.

  Taylor:

  Well I think I know how arguing with you ends. I always end up on the losing side : / Fine, but just stay in the same bar and then when you are done he gets you right outside.

  Shyla:

  Deal. I gtg, btw, did I ever tell you I am working on the Bella’s Intimates Campaign?

  Taylor:

  She did mention to me she was looking to create a new site, I told her of this beautiful designer I knew that works at Rubix.

  Shyla:

  Wait, what? What were you doing at Bella’s? You sent her to me?

  Of course, the texts come to a halt. Good old mind games by one Mr. Holden. At the end of the day, Harrison drives me to a bar two blocks down. This is ridiculous. I tell Harrison that this enhanced security is going to make me fat. He smiles, which is the equivalent of hysterical laughter for a normal person.

  I spot Kristin at the bar, watching a soccer game on the screen above.

  “Hey girl!”

  “Shyyyllaaa!” She gives me a much needed big hug. “My cousin told me you called. He can’t share details because of confidentiality. Did that person text you again?”

  “No, but I thought I should get it checked out.”

  “Yes, please. I can’t afford to lose you to some psycho stalker.”

  “Oh Kristin, I’ll be fine. I am sure it’s much ado about nothing.”

  “Let’s get hammered!”

  “It’s Wednesday.”

  “Wednesday, schmensday.”

  “I just started a new job. A hangover wouldn’t look too good.”

  “Okay, not hammered, but happy.”

  “I can work with happy!”

  Three drinks later, Kristin and I are laughing at her story about the guy she dated that was obsessed with Sailor Moon. Well, she dated him until she found that out.

  “Shyla? Is that you?” I can recognize that bright voice from anywhere. It’s Lizzy! This night is about to get reckless. We give each other a big hug.

  After introductions are made, I apologize to Lizzy for failing to call her after we bumped into each other at the hotel.

  “That’s okay Shyla. I know you have been busy,” she says in a mischievous tone, making a “tsk-tsk” gesture with her fingers. “We all know about you and the boss.” I can’t help but let out a huge smile.

  “How did you find out?”

  “Well, Taylor is really secretive, but Henry got it out of him. By the way, I heard about Henry and you in St. Pete’s. He feels awful about it! Is that why you quit?”

  “No! I am so over that. I just didn’t want to date my boss. I told Taylor we all need to get together soon.”

  “He mentioned something about that today. Of course, you know I would love to. By the way, Taylor is a changed man, I don’t know what kind of spell you’ve cast on him.” Really? Sometimes I feel as though he is an immovable boulder.

  “I doubt it. Why do you say that?”

  “I could tell he was kind of bummed after you left, but he started coming into the office more and spending more time collaborating with everyone. We think he’s in loooove.”

  “Hardly.”

  “He can be difficult, but I have known him for years and he has that extra pep in his step I have never seen before.”

  The three of us grab a table and it is pure joy sitting with the two funniest women I know. We laugh so hard it hurts. Lizzy and Kristin hold their liquor better than me, so I do my best to pace, but I am tipsy before I know it.

  “Hey, I know this awesome place that has karaoke and dancing,” Kristin shouts over the music. I promised Taylor I would stay put, but I cave in. After all, there are three of us and it is just a couple of blocks away.

  The karaoke place is booming for a Wed
nesday night. As I approach the bar for a drink, I hear a male voice shouting my name. Chad is waving from the far side of the bar. He is wearing a tweed jacket with elbow patches, a green pair of thick-rimmed glasses, jeans, and suede Oxfords. His hair is messy. I like it better that way. I invite him and his friend to join our table. The moment I see Chad and Kristin lock eyes, I know. How could I not have known? Chad has been so easy for me to talk to because he is the male version of Kristin! Lizzy and I pull away so that they can have a little more privacy.

  Lizzy takes me to the dance floor and it reminds me of that night in St. Pete’s when we drank too much and lost each other on the dance floor. This time, I don’t feel dizzy, just pleasantly buzzed, and she and I have fun twirling each other around to someone’s awful rendition of “Build Me Up Buttercup.” Eventually, I mouth to her that I am going to the bathroom while she heads to the bar. While I am in the small bathroom, I check on my phone and see a series of text messages and missed calls from Taylor.

  Taylor:

  How’s the night going so far?

  Then there is another text an hour after the original: