by MJ Howson
Dr. Cole glanced at his wristwatch–1:10 p.m. He said, “I’m sorry I’m a bit late.”
Jeffrey led Dr. Cole down a short hallway and through a small living room. Dark, heavy, wood-framed furniture covered in thick upholstering filled the room. Bookcases lined the walls. Maroon drapes, along with dirt-covered windows, kept most of the light from entering the space. A musty scent hung in the air as if the windows had never been opened.
The two men entered Jeffrey’s office. Much like the living room, full-sized bookcases covered the walls. The wheels on Jeffrey’s chair squeaked as he maneuvered his way across the room.
“Can I get you a drink?” Jeffrey asked.
“That would be great. Thanks.”
Dr. Cole dabbed his brow before unbuttoning his coat. A walnut desk sat at the back of the room, facing inward. Jeffrey motioned to the two chairs in front of the desk. Dr. Cole picked the closest one and sat down, opting to leave his coat on. He opened his bag and removed a folder with the information Flo had given him about the cult. Dr. Cole also grabbed a yellow notepad and pen.
Jeffrey went to a brass and glass bar cart on the side of the room. He opened a decanter of whiskey and poured two glasses. Dr. Cole stood up to assist him.
“It’s okay,” Jeffrey said, waving his hand dismissively. “I’ve got it.”
He brought one to Dr. Cole and then, after getting his drink from the bar cart, rolled his chair to the backside of his desk. Dr. Cole looked at the drink and frowned, placing it on the table between the two chairs. He craved a glass of water but didn’t want to appear rude.
“Thanks again for meeting me on such short notice,” Dr. Cole said.
“Your wife’s call intrigued me.” Jeffrey took a sip of whiskey and held the glass beneath his nose, enjoying the scent. “That book about Camp Ascension is a few years old. I rarely get asked about it anymore.” He put the glass down and leaned forward. “Did you enjoy the book?”
“I, uh, haven’t read it.” Dr. Cole frowned and began flipping through his folder. He retrieved his eyeglasses from his coat pocket and placed them on his face. “Sorry. I thought my wife explained that when she called.”
“She told me you had a patient you were treating, and she was somehow connected to the kids in the camp. She said you could explain it in more detail.” Jeffrey briefly stared into his glass. One by one, the lines on his face slowly filled with worry. “Is she . . . a survivor?”
“Of the camp? No. Not at all.”
The tension on Jeffrey’s face washed away as he visibly uncoiled. He nodded quietly and took a sip of whiskey.
“Assume I know very little about the camp,” Dr. Cole said. He scanned through the articles Flo had printed for him. “What can you tell me about this cult? I know it ended badly.”
“To say the least.”
“But what happened there?” Dr. Cole looked up and peered over his glasses. “Especially to the kids.”
“Those poor children.” Jeffrey took another sip, spun his chair toward the window, and leaned back. “Their parents knew what they were doing. That’s perhaps the greatest tragedy.”
Dr. Cole felt uncomfortably warm. He realized the thermostat in the apartment must be set somewhat high. He picked up the glass of whiskey and took a sip.
“He named the church Saints of Ascension,” Jeffrey said as he turned back, moving closer to his desk.
“Who?”
“Andreas Engel. He founded the church in December of 2000. See, he used to belong to this pseudo-Presbyterian church called Saints of Christ.”
“Never heard of it,” Dr. Cole said as he began to write the information down.
“Few would. His ancestors formed it back in the 1800s in New England. A family sort of church. Anyone who married into the family had to become a member. Andreas rejected the teachings of Saints of Christ. He chose a different path. A darker path.” Jeffrey briefly closed his eyes and lowered his head. “Andreas became obsessed with the end of days.”
“The Mayan one.”
“Yes. There are so many apocalypses to choose from, aren’t there?” Jeffrey smiled and chuckled softly, sharing a brief moment of levity with the doctor. “Are you familiar with the Mayans?”
“Somewhat.” Dr. Cole scratched at his beard. “They were Aztec, right?”
“Yes.”
“And they predicted the end of the world?”
“That depends on who you ask. The Mayan calendar ended in 2012. Some believed the end of the calendar marked the end of life on earth. Others assumed it was just like any other calendar, and the clock reset the next day.”
Dr. Cole patted his chest, arms, and cheeks. He grinned and said, “I’m still here. It’s been seven years, so I guess the world didn’t end.”
“True.” Jeffrey’s smile faded, and the tone in his voice darkened. “But many people, not just Andreas, were convinced it forecast the apocalypse. And he spent years preparing for it.”
“So, this Saints of Ascension was part of that prep?”
“Yes. It was Andreas’s wife Clara who came up with the idea for the camp. She found the property in the Berkshires–some old abandoned yoga retreat center. They spent two years setting up the place. They assembled a small group of followers with a plan to open the camp in January 2012.”
Dr. Cole spent a few moments feverishly writing down what he was hearing. He finally looked up and asked, “When you say followers, you mean the parents and their kids?”
“Yes.” Jeffrey looked at Dr. Cole, took a sip of whiskey, and asked, “Are you sure you didn’t read my book?”
“No. Please, continue.”
“There were seven kids and their parents at Camp Ascension. They lived there full time. Andreas and his wife were there too. So was another person.” Jeffrey glanced at his armrest and ran his thumb along the vinyl covering. “The children called her Caretaker.”
“Anyone else?”
“They had some workers who Andreas called clergy members. They would run the place and do the cooking and cleaning as well as getting supplies from town. Some of them also taught the children.”
“Taught them? About the, uh, end of days?”
“No. The children had no idea why they were there. Or what Andreas had planned for them.” Jeffrey sighed and nervously tapped his glass of whiskey. “Dr. Cole, if you haven’t read my book, how do you know about the children?”
“I first heard about them from a patient of mine. She came in suffering from depression. Postpartum. But now I fear she’s becoming psychotic. Her obsession with Eve is–”
“Eve? From Camp Ascension?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
Dr. Cole flipped through his folder and stopped when he found the right page. He said, “Eve, Charles, Annabelle, Hugo, Billy–”
“Yes. Those are the other children. How . . . how do you know their names?”
“It’s a long story.” Dr. Cole frowned as he tried to figure out how to explain Dawn’s doll and the diary. “What happened to them? What happened to Eve?”
“Eve. That poor girl. The last of the seven.” Jeffrey leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. “They came for her the night before she turned thirteen.”
∞∞∞
December 21, 2012
Eve sat in her lumpy bed, her eyes fixated on the locked bedroom door. The only light filling the nearly pitch-black room came from beneath the doorway. The faint rattle of Caretaker’s keys echoed in the hallway beyond the door. The lock snapped, and the hinges creaked as the door swung open, allowing light to spill into the room.
“Hello, Eve,” Caretaker said. She had Eve’s small black roller-bag, covered in bright red spades.
Eve didn’t bother to reply. Her excitement over finally leaving Camp Ascension was tempered by her fear of what waited beyond the black wooden door on the other side of the complex.
Caretaker entered the room and flicked on the overhead chandelier. The wood and iron structure bathe
d the room in a warm orange glow. She placed the bag beside the armoire and motioned Eve to join her. Together they packed Eve’s clothes into her suitcase. Eve walked back to her bed and reached beneath the pillow. She grabbed her diary and pen and brought them to her open bag. As she went to put them inside, Caretaker snatched the diary from her hand.
“What are you doing?” Eve asked.
“Did you think you could take this with you?”
“It’s mine!” Eve lunged for her diary, but Caretaker held the book above her head out of reach. “Give it back. Give it!”
“How many rules have you broken while here?” Caretaker crammed the diary into her robe’s pocket. “Bad girls must be punished.”
“That’s not fair!”
“You’ve broken too many rules, Eve.”
“But I’ve been punished for those!”
Caretaker frowned and stared at Eve. Her eyes softened, and she asked, “Do you promise to behave yourself?”
Eve lowered her head and clenched her fists. She couldn’t believe Caretaker took her diary. All her memories, hopes, and dreams were in there. She forced a smile and said, “Yes.”
“Good. Then follow me.” Caretaker patted her hand against the pocket with the diary. “You’ll get it back after you leave.”
Caretaker turned and walked to the door. Eve followed her into the hallway, dragging her bag behind her, the plastic wheels clapping against the cobblestone floor. They passed the schoolroom and then the playroom. The hallway ended, and they turned right toward the forbidden area. When they reached the iron gate, Eve watched Caretaker flip through her keyring to get the key to open the jail-like door. The rusted hinges creaked as the door swung open.
Caretaker remained silent and led Eve through a maze of intersecting orange-lit hallways until they reached the black wooden door. Caretaker slid a jet-black skeleton key into the lock, looked at Eve, and said, “Happy birthday.”
Eve’s heart raced as the door swung open. Her eyes immediately settled on her parents. They were wearing long black silk robes, their faces partially hidden in the shadows of the hoods.
“Mom!” Eve said. She left her bag in the hallway and ran across the room. “Dad!” Eve cried as she flung her arms around her parents, squeezing them with all her might. “Can we go? Can we finally go home?” Eve looked up, searching for hope. The black hood cloaked her mother’s face, allowing a few strands of long copper hair to escape the darkness. “What . . . what is it?”
“It’s time,” Father John said from behind Eve.
Eve let go of her parents and turned around. Father John and Mother Martha were standing a few feet away. Each wore the same style robe as Eve’s parents. Eve rubbed the tears from her eyes and looked around the room. Fear immediately rippled through her body.
A huge stone altar dominated the center of the room, flanked by two matching pillars and a circle of torches. Seven pillars stood near the opposite wall, each with a torch affixed to the back. Each pillar held a doll. Six of the dolls, half boys, half girls, had lockets around their necks.
Eve stared at the dolls, disturbed by how each wore the colors of her six departed friends. Even their facial features and complexion resembled the other children. The doll without a locket sat on the center pillar. Its wavy copper hair and sapphire blue eyes reflected the flickering flames nearby.
A circular clock, three feet in diameter, mounted high on the wall behind the dolls showed the time as 11:51. Black iron clock hands pointed to faded roman numerals. Falling snow could be seen through the high-mounted windows. The only sound in the room was the howling wind and the crackling torch flames.
Caretaker walked over to Mother Martha and handed her Eve’s diary. As Mother Martha flipped through the book, Caretaker strolled to the far end of the room and exchanged her drab gray robe for a black silk one.
“I’m glad you kept yourself busy writing everything down,” Mother Martha said. Her green eyes darted between the diary and Eve as a frown spread across her face. The knuckles on her overly large hands became red. Mother Martha crammed the diary into her pocket. “But you can’t take it with you.”
“No!” Eve ran toward Mother Martha, but her father pulled her back. Eve glared at Caretaker and said, “You promised!” She turned to her mom and, with tears in her eyes, asked, “What’s going on?”
“I’m sorry,” Eve’s mother said. She gently ran her fingers through Eve’s hair and then looked at her husband and said, “Okay.”
Eve’s father slid his arms around Eve and then picked her up off the ground, cradling one arm behind her back and another beneath her knees.
“What are you doing?” Eve asked. She looked around in a panic. She watched her mom, Caretaker, Father John, and Mother Martha take positions around the altar. “Stop! Let me go!”
Eve kicked and screamed as she tried to free herself. Her father carried her to the altar, where her mother and Caretaker helped to pin her arms down flat. Eve looked around, lost and confused, her heart pounding in her chest.
A six-inch-long dagger sat on the pillar to the left of the altar. The diamond embedded in the black onyx handle reflected the light from the nearby torches. The other post contained an open golden locket, the front etched with a W. A flat ruby stone rested beside the locket.
As Eve continued to fight to free herself, a door across the room opened. One by one, the other parents filed into the room, each wearing the same black silk ceremonial robe. They paired up, taking positions behind the pillars with the six dolls bearing lockets.
“What’s happening?” Eve asked her mom, hoping her pleading would be answered.
“Stop fighting.” Eve’s mom held her daughter’s arm down and reached for the knife. “This will all be over soon.”
Eve twisted her head and looked at the dagger. She yanked her arm free from her mother’s grasp and grabbed the knife. As her mom tried to take the weapon away, Eve plunged the blade deep into her mother’s forearm.
“Eve!” Caretaker screamed. She lunged across the altar and pried the blood-stained knife from Eve’s hand. “You must do as you’re told!”
“It’s almost midnight,” Father John said. He took the dagger from Caretaker and handed it to Eve’s mother.
Eve’s mom stared at the dagger and the blood dripping from her forearm. She turned to Eve and said, “Such a bad little girl.”
Eve’s father used his body weight to pin Eve’s feet to the altar. Mother Martha and Caretaker locked Eve’s arms to her sides. Father John put his arm around Eve’s mother and pushed her closer to the altar.
“How can you do this?” Eve cried as she looked at everyone. “You can’t!” Eve looked at the six dolls across the room, their lockets glistening from the flames. She then looked at Caretaker. “I knew I couldn’t trust you. I knew it!”
The clock’s iron hand clicked to 11:55. Eve’s mother raised the black onyx dagger above her head. Blood dripped from the knife’s carbon steel blade, staining the stone altar. She looked down at her daughter and whispered, “I’m sorry.”
“Mom! No!” Eve screamed.
Forty Three
Sins
Dr. Cole shook his head, his hands now trembling as he continued to write as quickly as possible. For months he’d invested so little in Dawn’s infatuation with the diary and the stories of the children at camp. He paused and lowered his pen. Jeffrey, sitting behind his desk several feet away, appeared gaunt and drained.
“So, did they . . . .” Dr. Cole couldn’t bring himself to ask what he feared.
“They killed her.” Jeffrey grabbed his glass and stared into the dark amber liquid. “Her mother executed her. Stabbed Eve right in the heart. Her . . . her own daughter.”
“My God.” Dr. Cole lowered his head as he reflected on Jeffrey’s words. His armpits were damp with sweat. He wondered if it was from the heat in the apartment or the story he’d just heard. Dr. Cole reached for his whiskey and took a sip. “So, every child was executed?”
&nbs
p; “Yes.” Jeffrey chugged back the rest of his drink. “The ceremony took place on each child’s thirteenth birthday. Father John, sorry, Andreas, made sure that each mother committed the murder. Typical cult leader, making others do his dirty work.”
“I can’t believe the parents went along, murdering their own children.”
“They were brainwashed. All of them.” Jeffrey drummed his fingers on his glass and shook his head. “Caretaker drugged those kids every night. Knocked them out.”
“Why?”
“They didn’t want them snooping around.”
“Those kids never had a chance, did they?”
“Andreas had the parents convinced they’d all be dead once the Mayan calendar ended at midnight. They truly believed they were doing what was best.” Jeffrey slowly made his way back to the bar cart and stared into his empty glass, seemingly lost in his thoughts. “The man crafted quite the process to execute the children.” He poured himself a bit more whiskey. “Each child had a custom locket based on their zodiac stone as part of the ceremony.”
“Zodiac stone?” Dr. Cole looked at his notes, disappointed by his poor penmanship. He placed his pen and notepad into the nearby folder and sighed, his brain completely overwhelmed. Dr. Cole decided he couldn’t spend any more time writing this information down. “I’m . . . I’m not following.”
“His wife was an astrology nut. After the execution, they would place the child’s zodiac stone and a drop of blood into the locket where it would remain sealed until the new world was born.” Jeffrey returned to his desk and stared out the window. “Andreas needed Eve to be killed and the ceremony completed before midnight.”
“Because that’s when he thought the end of days would begin?”
“Yes. Andreas believed the seven children would be reborn after the apocalypse. The lockets carried their souls. Each would rise again.”