When She Returned

by Berry, Lucinda

  “The baby is healthy because she was able to breastfeed, but your mother didn’t have that option, so your mother is severely malnourished,” he said without missing a beat.

  “So the baby is hers?” I asked.

  “Yes, the baby is hers. It looks like she gave birth seven weeks ago.”

  Dad held my hand as he led me into the hospital room with Marcos the next morning. Marcos motioned to one of the padded office chairs lining the wall. Bad jazz music played from a speaker somewhere, and soothing magazines filled a rack in the right corner. I stood, crossing my arms, like somehow if I didn’t sit down, then they couldn’t tell me whatever it was they were going to tell me, since this was clearly the room where they told people bad news. Dad, Meredith, and I stood in an odd semicircle.

  Marcos’s expression had been the same for two days; he never smiled, and there was nothing friendly about his eyes. The shirt underneath his jacket was red today. It darkened his skin.

  “Why don’t we sit?” He phrased it as a question, but it was more of a directive.

  I gripped Dad’s hand tighter as we sat in the chairs next to each other, so close our knees touched. It wasn’t the first time an investigator had led us into chairs like this, but we’d never been here before. Someone in the hallway shut our door, and the air left the room immediately. Everything felt fluid. My head swirled with the motion.

  “I wanted us to talk about the next steps with your mother,” Marcos began, wasting no time getting down to business. He always referred to Mom as “your mother.” He never said “your wife” to Dad or even mentioned her by name. It was weird. How did he refer to her when he and Dad talked alone? “The medical director from the hospital arrived last night as expected and was kind enough to come straight from the airport. After—”

  “What did you find out?” Dad interrupted, unable to wait on a lengthy explanation.

  “I wish I had more information to give you, but these types of investigations take time, and we have to make sure we do everything by the book. There’s no room for mistakes. With that being said, the medical director cleared her for questioning, and normally we would be able to proceed with our investigation, but Kate failed the mental status exam, which puts us in a difficult position.” He spoke quickly before Dad could interrupt him again. “Part of the reason she failed the mental status exam is because it asks basic questions like day of the week and year, and she can’t answer those things correctly. But it’s not because she’s mentally incompetent—she’s been isolated from society for years, so she has no idea how much time has passed.”

  “What do you mean by isolated?” Dad asked.

  He shrugged. “We’re not sure yet. It could be anything from being kept on the fringes of society to physically locked away somewhere.”

  “And you’re sure that’s why she doesn’t know what day it is?” Meredith asked.

  I turned to Meredith and raised my eyebrows at her. What was she trying to suggest? That Mom was crazy?

  “Absolutely. There are other pieces of evidence too. For example, she hasn’t received any kind of medical or dental care for at least five years. One of her back teeth was yanked out with an instrument, most likely pliers, from an infection that looks like it worked its way into her gums. She never received any care before or after delivery, so her body is pretty beat up from her pregnancy. The umbilical cord was cut with scissors or a knife. Things like that.”

  Meredith leaned forward in her seat next to me. She had a weak stomach. It was one of the things we teased her about all the time.

  “One of our first priorities is to get her oriented to time and her surroundings. It’s going to be nearly impossible to follow any kind of a timeline without her being grounded in the present at least somewhat. Thankfully, we have a team of experts arriving within the next few hours, and they’re skilled in handling these types of delicate situations,” he said.

  Dad’s hand relaxed in mine, and some of the tension left his body. He’d always complained about the police department’s incompetency when Mom went missing. He said they weren’t equipped to handle a crime of that magnitude, and that the FBI should’ve been called in long before they were. We had gotten Dean out of the deal when the FBI finally got involved, but we would always wonder what could’ve happened if he’d gotten there sooner. At least we were going to have the best people working with us from the beginning this time.

  “We’re still within the first seventy-two hours of the investigation, so our sole focus is on gathering as much evidence as we can from your mom and other sources. A few of our investigators stumbled across an old RV campground that had recently been abandoned, so our teams have expanded their search to the forests and canyons within a ten-mile radius of that campground as well as the gas station. The gas station attendant has already been interviewed, but he’ll be interviewed again once the expert team arrives. A few truckers along the route have also been identified as potential witnesses, and those interviews are happening as we speak,” Marcos said. “Drafting our media announcement is our first agenda item this morning.”

  What we were going to tell the media about Mom’s case couldn’t have been further from my mind. I didn’t understand why we had to give them a daily update. “How is she doing?” I asked. Her case was important, but I wanted to know about her.

  Marcos and Dad exchanged a look. Dad shifted in his seat.

  “She’s scared to death,” Marcos said, taking a seat in the chair across from me. His big frame fit awkwardly underneath the David Hockney painting hanging on the wall. He leaned forward, his knees almost touching mine. “I know this must be difficult to understand, but when people are taken and treated poorly for a long period of time, their brains do weird things to keep them safe. Bad people can scare you quiet, and they can scare you quiet for a long time, even after help comes.”

  I fought the urge to cry like I had done yesterday. “How badly did they hurt her?”

  Dad placed his hand on my arm. “The details aren’t important.”

  I pushed it off. “Yes, they are. You of all people should know that. Details are everything.”

  He took a deep breath before nodding at Marcos, giving him permission to continue.

  “It looks like she was systematically tortured over an extended period of time.” Marcos maintained direct eye contact with me as he spoke, unflinching.

  “What do you mean by systematically tortured?” I asked.

  “She’s been whipped with switches, and her body is covered in burns and other scars. It appears—”

  Meredith interrupted him. “Please, stop. That’s enough,” she said.

  It might be too much for her, but it was nothing compared to what Dad and I had been through. He’d had to view a dead corpse once to see if it was Mom. I leaned forward and tried to look nice while I said it, because I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. “Sorry, Meredith, but if you can’t handle it, then you’re going to have to leave the room, because I want to know everything that happened to my mom.”

  KATE

  THEN

  My insides shook with nerves. It wasn’t like I hadn’t done big interviews before, but this was my first face-to-face interview postbaby—a step back into a part of my life I’d left behind after Abbi. I smoothed down the front of my skirt, grateful it was high waisted enough to cover the pooch I’d given up losing a long time ago. Maybe having to squeeze into something besides yoga pants would motivate me enough to lose the last nagging ten pounds. Once your child was five, it no longer qualified as pregnancy weight, did it?

  What if I’d forgotten how to navigate in the professional world? But my confidence grew with each click of my new heels on the sidewalk. This was nothing. I’d done interviews in a prison before.

  You got this, I reminded myself as I walked.

  Love International’s complex loomed in front of me. Their headquarters were just past the edge of town, where the main road evolved into an old highway that was lined with a strange mix
of houses and concrete buildings. They’d recently renovated an abandoned office building. They’d gone from meeting in parks and church basements to having a completed facility in only two months.

  The sign on the front door read WELCOME HOME, and a woman swung it open right as I raised my hand to knock. She looked young—clean and fresh like soap—and her smile revealed a dimple in her left cheek. I’d imagined a New Age–looking space with woven tapestries of color hanging on the walls next to framed pictures of women in lotus positions, with their chakras lit up in different colors. Instead, the walls in the lobby were devoid of color. They were a muted beige, completely neutral.

  “Welcome, I’m Bekah,” she said breathlessly, like she might have run to the door. Her clothes matched the walls around her—a skirt that flowed past her knees paired with a plain T-shirt, all in various shades of beige. “There’s no need to knock around here. Our doors are always open and unlocked.”

  “Thank you,” I said, stepping inside. “I’m Kate.”

  She nodded. “I know. We’ve been expecting you.”

  “Thanks for taking the time to show me around today.”

  “No problem.” She smiled. “It’s my pleasure.”

  The set of double doors behind the lobby entrance opened into a wide, expansive room. Everything inside was minimalist, and the room gleamed with order and sterility. The smell of incense and burning candles that I’d expected was nowhere to be found. Instead, the fragrance of Pine-Sol filled the air. Dozens of aluminum chairs were stacked in the back, and a wooden podium stood at the front. There were three doors on the outer walls. Foldout tables dotted the room. Some had white plastic chairs. Others were empty. There was nothing warm or comfortable about the room. No personal touches, but something about it was still inviting.

  “What’s behind all the doors?” I asked.

  She pointed at the first one on the left. “That one leads to the cafeteria. We serve three meals a day to anyone who shows up.” She pointed to the one next to it. “And that is where all of our detox rooms are.”

  “Can I see one?” I asked.

  “Sure,” she said.

  I hid my shock that she had said yes so quickly. I’d spent most of last night preparing my responses for the defensive and hostile attitude I was sure I’d meet when I tried to dig deep. This was great. I smiled to myself. Leo was going to be so pleased.

  She opened the door, revealing a long hallway lined with more doors. She tapped on the middle one on the right side, waiting for a response before stepping inside. I followed her into the cramped space. It wasn’t much larger than my walk-in closet at home. Much like the rooms before, it was simple, clean, and orderly. There was a bed pushed against one wall and a small sink against the other.

  “How do you detox people here?” I asked. Where was all the medical equipment? They at least had to be able to give people fluids, didn’t they?

  She pointed around the room like I was missing something. “We detox in this room.”

  “Like all of it? From beginning to end?” I asked, thinking about all the times I’d watched my mother writhe in agony on the bathroom floor as her favorite poison left her body.

  She nodded.

  “Isn’t that dangerous?”

  “Aren’t drugs dangerous?” she asked with a smile.

  She led me back into the main room and through a door on the other side. A maze of hallways lay in front of us, and she talked while we walked. I tried to peek into any slightly opened doors, but she walked too fast for me to get a good look. She slowed when she came to the end of the L-shaped hallway. “And this is Ray’s area.”

  “He stays on-site with the members?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “Oh, no, disciples don’t stay on campus.”

  Interesting that she called it a campus. “There’s a difference between the members and the disciples?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who are the disciples besides Ray, and where do they stay?”

  She smiled and motioned down the hallway and toward the door. “Come.”

  It wasn’t lost on me that she hadn’t answered my question.

  She knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” a male voice responded.

  She pushed open the door. A man rose from behind a desk in the center of the room and strode toward us wearing the same matching beige T-shirt as Bekah. I’d figured he would be handsome, since the college girls got all swoony eyed whenever they talked about him, but he was stunning. His curls were midnight black and swept away from his chiseled face. His eyes gleamed icy blue, and he smiled at me, revealing a crooked grin that, combined with the slight bend in his nose, marked his perfect looks in a way that only made him more attractive.

  “I’m Ray Fischer,” he said as he stuck out his hand to shake mine. “And you must be Kate.”

  “I am,” I said, hoping my palm wasn’t sweaty. Nerves always made me sweat. His handshake was firm, confident.

  He pointed to the chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat.” He turned to Bekah. “Thank you so much, Bekah. Will I be seeing you at dinner?”

  “Of course.” She nodded at him before turning to me. “I enjoyed meeting you, Kate. I hope to see you again soon,” she said, shutting the door behind her before I had a chance to respond.

  I pulled out my notebook and placed it on top of my lap while he sat back down. He leaned across the table and folded his hands together, resting his chin on top.

  “What would you like to talk about today?” His eyes pierced me, immediately making me feel naked and exposed, like he could see right into my soul. It was unsettling.

  I swept the room for any framed degrees or personal artifacts that might give me insight into him or the movement, but the walls were as blank as the rest of the place. They’d recently been coated in a layer of fresh beige, but that was it. “Maybe you could start by telling me a little bit about yourself?” I asked.

  He burst out laughing. “Really? That’s all you’ve got for me?” Heat rose in my cheeks. He didn’t let me gain my composure before continuing. “How about you tell me about yourself?” His teasing smile lit up his face, and he waited for me to answer.

  “I’m pretty boring,” I said, flipping through my notebook like I was searching for something important, so I didn’t have to look at him.

  “I see that you’re married,” he commented, noticing the ring on my finger. It was hard not to. Scott had outdone himself on our tenth anniversary. We’d been so poor when he proposed that he’d only been able to get me a plain silver band. It’d never bothered me—still didn’t—but it’d always bothered him, so he’d bought me the ring he’d wanted to back then. I nodded, still pretending to be buried deep in my notes. “How long?”

  For a second, I considered lying to avoid the inevitable response, but I’d promised Scott a few years back that I’d stop lying about how long we’d been together. I’d only done it to avoid the comments about it, but Scott had flipped out when he’d overheard me, and we’d gotten into one of our biggest fights. He’d taken it way more personally than it had been—saying it hurt that I was embarrassed about our relationship. He was proud to have been together since we were teenagers and saw it as the most special thing about us. He hadn’t said it that way at first. Initially, he’d thrown his immature, fourteen-year-old-boy tantrum by swearing and stomping around the house while he had yelled in my face about how coldhearted I could be. It had only been after a two-hour conversation that he had come around to talking about what was really bothering him.

  “We’ve been married for seventeen years,” I had said, bracing myself for whatever he’d have to say about it. Over the years I’d heard it all. There were people who thought it was the sweetest thing ever and others who asked if we’d been with anyone else, like people freely discussed their sexual history with strangers. Occasionally, I’d run across someone who thought it was gross after they’d found out that we used to have sleepovers together when we were kids.
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br />   “What’s that been like for you?” Ray asked.

  I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, pulling my skirt down. “It’s been wonderful. Really wonderful. I feel blessed to have met my soul mate and best friend when I was nine.”

  He burst out laughing again.

  “What?” I shrank back in my seat.

  “I’m sorry, but you just sounded like a Hallmark card commercial. I couldn’t help myself.” His eyes danced with humor.

  I couldn’t help the smile from forming on my lips. “It is pretty cheesy,” I said.

  He gazed at me from across the desk, even though it was his turn to speak. It didn’t take more than a few beats for me to realize he was content to sit in silence staring at each other. Not me. I looked out the window behind him, trying to focus. I had to control the interview. I couldn’t let him walk away with it. “Why Arcata?”

  He lifted his palms up. “Why not?”

  “How long do you typically stay in one place?”

  It was my polite way of asking whether or not they planned to take up permanent residence. As many people that were in favor of their presence, there was an equal number who didn’t like how they’d infiltrated our community. Small towns were steeped in tradition and didn’t take to change well, especially change that involved ideas they weren’t familiar with, and strangers helping people for free certainly qualified as such.

  “We never know.”

  “What’s the longest you’ve stayed in a place?”

  “Two years.”

  “And the shortest?”

  “Three days.” He smiled and reached for a stack of papers on the side of his desk. He riffled through them until he found what he was looking for and handed me a flyer. “This is a list of our meeting times. You won’t get a better idea of what Love International is about until you attend one of our meetings. Why don’t you come to one?”

  I skimmed the paper and was surprised at how many classes were listed. Each day had at least three. Weekends were packed with different times for their gatherings.

  He stood, indicating that our time had come to an end. I stood and stuck my hand out. “Thanks for taking the time to meet with me. I’ll be in touch.”