When She Returned

by Berry, Lucinda

  “Family, you’ve witnessed something very important—real faith is not for the weak or scared, and I want to thank you for not being scared. I’ve got a question that might scare you even more. Are you ready?” He gave us a moment to gather ourselves and settle back into our seats after all the commotion. “What if we lived like the fate of the world was dependent on our love? What if we were the ones? Stay with me. Can you all stay with me? I know it’s been a long day.” He paused, inviting in the breath for a moment. We all followed suit. “Could we be the ones who bring the message of true love into the world in a way that’s unparalleled to anything that’s been seen before?”

  “Yes!” a few voices shouted. They were quickly joined by others, myself included. “Yes!”

  “Do you think you have the power to do that?”

  “Yes!” We had been on our feet, cheering and stamping, excited to be the ones up for the challenge and feeling special because we’d withstood the tests from the evening.

  I relived the excitement of the moment all over again, and for a second I considered throwing my bag down on the bed and putting my things back into the drawers. When you’d tasted the good life, how things were really meant to be and how you were designed to feel, it was impossible to go backward and pretend you didn’t know how wonderful life could be. I was awake in a way I’d never been before. I’d been sleeping for so long, and the more awake I became, the more unsure I was about what I saw around me. I envied the disciples for being able to lead a life solely focused on serving God. It was the only way to come close to doing what Ray had talked about last night.

  I was so curious about their lives, but everything about discipleship, including how they lived their daily lives, was kept a carefully guarded secret. Large parts of the community still considered them a cult, despite my article, but they were the only cult I knew who wasn’t trying to recruit new disciples or add to their ranks. No one even hinted that it was a possibility. I had asked Margo about it once, and she had said, “We don’t want people to join.” She’d laughed afterward, but she had been serious. They didn’t want to share what they had. It was special, and they wanted to keep it that way. I couldn’t blame them, but sometimes I felt like I was sitting at the kids’ table for dinner.

  I set a thank-you note on the nightstand, like I always did at the end of every retreat, and shut the door behind me. There was no key, since they didn’t believe in locks. I had a hard time getting used to unlocked doors. That one had been harder than the brazen nakedness around the fire at night. I gulped in the trees and beautiful skies one more time before heading down the main road to meet the others going back on the buses with me.

  THIRTEEN

  ABBI

  NOW

  My legs shook underneath our dining room table. They’d been that way since Camille had called everyone downstairs for a meeting, except she hadn’t called it a meeting. She had called it a debrief and had said we’d be ending most days with them for a while. Meredith and Dad sat on each side of me, and normally it would’ve comforted me, but it made me feel wedged in. Maybe it was the investigators lining the walls behind us. They were like having ghosts in our house. They moved around without saying anything, drifting in and out of rooms while they did their jobs. One of their jobs was keeping the media out of our yard and respecting the perimeter they’d set up around our house. That guy was busier than all of them, since people were constantly trying to break the boundary or get to our door by pretending to be someone else. I’d be glad when everyone left us alone.

  Camille stood at the head of the table, impatiently tapping her fingers on the wood as she waited for Dean and one of the other FBI specialists to settle into the seats on the other side of us. She’d dismissed Mom upstairs to rest with Shiloh before dinner, and Mom’s face had melted in relief. “We’ve had our first break in the case today,” she said once they finally sat down.

  I reached for Dad’s hand, clinging to it. His palms were sweaty.

  “Are you familiar with an organization called Love International?” she asked.

  I whipped around to see Dad’s reaction. His first response would be my clue to how he felt, since he’d gotten so good at wearing a neutral face for me over the years.

  “Yes, she wrote an amazing piece on them the year she went missing, and she was a member of their organization. Do they have something to do with this?” Confusion twisted his expression.

  Camille nodded. “It appears that she’s been with them since she went missing.”

  Nothing could erase the shock plastered on his face. “What? That’s impossible.” He rapidly shook his head back and forth. “How do you know? Did she tell you that?”

  “She did.” Camille’s expression hadn’t changed.

  Over the years, I’d learned every person of interest on her case, and Love International had never made it on the list. Dad had been meticulous in his search. How had he missed them?

  “But, but I . . . it just doesn’t . . .” Dad dropped my hand and rubbed his forehead like the information had given him a headache. “They helped us look for her. They formed crews at base camp and organized searches. They plastered shopping malls and gas stations with flyers. I think they even held a candlelight vigil for her at their campus.”

  Camille interrupted him. “That could’ve been a diversion tactic all along. Maybe that was the point. Everyone would be too busy thinking of them as good guys to stop and consider that they might be the bad ones.”

  Dad wrinkled his face. “I just don’t understand. She admitted she was with them?”

  “Not right away, because as you’re aware, communication with her is difficult, given what she’s been through.” She pointed to the walls around us. “She self-soothes by muttering phrases underneath her breath while she paces, and the living room is wired, so we’ve been analyzing all the audio for key phrases. She kept saying Love International over and over again when she talked. It didn’t take us long to start putting things together once we had a name. You can thank my guys for how quick they work.” She gave them an approving glance. “Are you familiar with their leader?”

  “Ray Fischer?” Dad asked.

  Camille nodded. “I asked her if she knew him, and for a second it was like I’d broken a spell. She confirmed that she’s been with Ray and Love International.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense. Why would they kidnap her? All of them loved her because of the article she wrote about them. They swore she was the only outsider who’d ever understood them. Everyone had such nice things to say about her.” He shook his head, still unbelieving. “The police were more worried about her critics than they were them.”

  Camille raised his eyebrows. “Critics?”

  “Yes,” Dad said enthusiastically, grateful to give them information they didn’t have. “Her article was followed up with angry letters to the editor and op-ed pieces by angry parents voicing their opposition to her. Some of them had really hateful things to say about her, and for a while the police suspected a group of her harshest critics. They even talked to Ray about the hate mail he’d received, too, and he gladly turned it over to them for their investigation. He was so helpful . . .” His voice trailed off.

  “How about someone named Abner? Are you familiar with that name?”

  “Abner?”

  I’d never seen Dad look so bewildered.

  “Yes. Abner.” Camille enunciated it slowly, like maybe Dad hadn’t understood before. “That was another name that came up over and over. At times it’s as if she thinks she’s speaking directly to him and he’s responding to her.”

  She didn’t need to tell me there was something wrong with that. What had they done to my Mom? Meredith must have sensed my pain, because she reached out to pull me close to her.

  I jumped in while I had the chance. “How’d they take her?” I didn’t give her time to answer before other questions tumbled out. “Where’d they keep her? Did she ever try to get away?”

  Camille
turned her attention to me. “We don’t know any of those things yet, but I can tell you that this lead greatly narrows our search, and I expect to have more answers within the next forty-eight hours. I called in someone who specializes in deprogramming people who’ve been involved in cults to consult on her case. He’s supposed to—”

  Dad held up his hand. “So Love International is a cult?”

  “She shows all the classic signs of someone who’s been indoctrinated and brainwashed by a cult,” Camille announced, like she was giving us a diagnosis.

  KATE

  THEN

  Scott and I had a lovely evening with Abbi where we’d played all her favorite games—Sorry!, Chutes and Ladders, and her newest favorite, UNO. She had been exhausted by the time we were done and had fallen asleep while I read to her. Scott and I had just put on an independent movie and settled onto the couch. It was Saturday night, which meant halfway through Scott would put his arm around my shoulder and move closer to me on the couch. It wouldn’t be long before he started rubbing my thigh in a way that only meant one thing. Then we’d work our way to the bedroom and fall asleep next to each other after we made love.

  Nearly paralyzing claustrophobia assaulted me. Everything swirled around me like something terrible might happen, but nothing was wrong. Still. It made my skin crawl thinking about getting through another Saturday night and having to see the pained expression on Scott’s face if I told him how I really felt.

  “Are you okay?” Scott asked.

  I jumped up. “I’m good. I think I just need some water. Do you want anything?”

  He grabbed the remote, pausing the movie until I got back. “No, thanks.”

  I tried to act normal as I walked to the kitchen. My body was covered in sweat, and my heart raced. I turned on the sink and splashed water on my face.

  This is it. Ray talked about this.

  I slowly lifted my head and grabbed the towel to dry my face. He’d felt this too. It was what had pushed him to go in search of a higher meaning. He’d shared the story with me during our first meeting. I smiled at how long ago it seemed already. I was a different person.

  I grabbed a water glass from the cupboard and filled it all the way to the top. I took a big gulp, hoping it’d help my throat stop feeling like it was closing up. This was it, wasn’t it? The moment they’d all been talking about—the calling. A sudden peace filled my insides. The light was everywhere, making the kitchen shine brighter than I’d ever seen it. I set my water on the counter and dropped to my knees, hands folded against my chest.

  “I’m here. Use me,” I whispered.

  I opened myself to the light around me, and it filled me.

  “Kate?” Scott’s voice called from the living room. “Are you okay in there?”

  “Coming! I decided to sneak a cookie while I was in here.”

  My second lie of the night. That was what was wrong with my American dream. I couldn’t tell the truth, and my soul needed to tell the truth. I stood slowly, savoring the knowing and the peace before heading back out to the living room to join Scott. The sounds from the TV seemed so meaningless. I went within to where I could dance like I wanted to. Scott’s hand rubbing my thigh startled me back into the present. I took his hand and placed it back on his lap. “I’m sorry, honey. I have a bad headache tonight.”

  FOURTEEN

  MEREDITH

  NOW

  Scott reminded me of Kate as he paced our bedroom. Camille had left and we’d all settled into our bedrooms for the night. “I still can’t believe this. I wish you could’ve met Ray. The guy seemed so normal. I’m telling you. Completely normal. And Kate? I mean, she liked going to their meetings, and she was always going to those goofy retreats, but that was just Kate. She got bored easily. She liked to try new things. She was always flitting from one thing to another and was equally passionate about whatever thing it was she was doing. How was I supposed to know there was something off with this one?”

  I didn’t say anything. He didn’t really want an answer anyway. I’d tried to interject when his rant started and quickly abandoned the idea after he snapped at me. I would wait until he tired himself out and try again. I stepped into the shower in our master bathroom while he leaned against the counter. I was only half listening as I turned on the water.

  Today had been one of the hardest days yet. At least for me. My head had run an endless loop of scenarios, and each new piece of information had sent me spinning back to the beginning, trying to figure things out all over again. I was exhausted and had officially hit the wall. I stuck my head outside the shower curtain. “Do you think we could talk about something else?”

  He stopped midsentence and flinched like I’d thrown ice water in his face. “What?”

  “I mean . . . it’s just, I’m sorry, honey—I don’t want to make you mad, and I really don’t want to be insensitive, but could we take a break from all the Kate drama? Just for a few minutes? I’m not even saying it has to be all night.”

  He pursed his lips together, eyes narrowing. “Sure, honey. What would you like to talk about? Do you want to talk about the Dodgers?”

  “Scott, come on. Don’t be like that. This has consumed every waking moment of the last week. It would do us both good to give it a rest.”

  He mumbled something underneath his breath before walking out of the bathroom. He didn’t think I’d heard him, but I’d caught everything. He’d said, “You wouldn’t be saying that if James came back from the dead.”

  But see, that was the thing. Our situations weren’t the same. Not even close. James had never been my fairy-tale husband—Scott was. I’d never told him that, though, because how did you bring something like that up? Hey, by the way, I love you more than I did my first husband? I could never say that to him because he wouldn’t be able to say it back, and I’d always been okay with that, but what would happen now?

  I hurriedly finished washing and toweled myself off, wrapping up in my robe when I was done. I hoped Scott had made his way to bed, but he was sitting at his desk, staring blankly at his computer. I slid into his lap and put my arms around his neck. “Honey, please come to bed and don’t be mad at me. You have to give it a rest. A good night’s sleep will help things look differently in the morning.”

  “No. No, it won’t.” His face folded with the pressure of his pain. “I imagined this moment so many times and how I’d react when she came back. I prepared myself for it. I was so sure I’d be able to handle anything as long as she was alive and okay, and physically she is, but she’s not the same person, Meredith. What if she doesn’t come back?” He barely finished the question before breaking down into gut-wrenching sobs.

  I wrapped my arms around him, and he clung to me, shoulders heaving. I rubbed his back and whispered, “It’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.”

  Traumatic grief was groundless, a free fall into space. Unless you’d been there before, you couldn’t understand what it felt like. Scott tethered himself to me until the moment passed. He pulled away, wiping his face against his sleeve.

  “It’s all my fault.” He choked on another sob.

  I grabbed his face with both hands and peered at him. “You listen to me right now, you hear me? We are not going down this road again. None of this was your fault. You didn’t do anything to cause this, and there’s nothing you could’ve done to prevent it.” He’d spent years in therapy weeding through his warped sense of responsibility. It’d been a while since it had reared its ugly head.

  He took my hands and placed them back in my lap. “You might not say that if you knew the whole story.”

  My insides curled. “What do you mean the full story?” I asked.

  He gave the same version of that day every time he was asked—he was perfectly happy, their marriage was great, and they loved their life. He’d kissed her goodbye in the shower before he left for work and that had been the last time he’d ever seen her.

  He patted me on my thigh. “Never mind. I’m just
being stupid.” He moved me off his lap so we could stand. “You’re right. I’m just really tired. Let’s go to bed.”

  KATE

  THEN

  I tossed the toilet paper into my cart and scanned the aisle for our brand of paper towels. I wanted to get on the loudspeaker and announce that I’d been called for discipleship. I’d woken up like a giddy kid on Christmas morning and hadn’t stopped smiling. Even my argument with Scott this morning and Abbi’s ridiculous tantrum about her shirt hadn’t bothered me.

  This was what it was like, and all the disciples had been right—when you knew, you knew. It was inexplicable. But what did I do next? I quickly reminded myself that I didn’t have to do anything. God would continue to reveal himself to me in the same way he’d done last night. Just like he had revealed himself to Ray and everyone else. I wanted to clap. I was officially part of them. I was all the way in.

  The checkout lines were long, but I didn’t care. I didn’t know how I was going to make it until five, when I could see Ray. I had a huge deadline Friday, and it would take me all day to get the notes from my sources together. What would he say when I told him? He had to be expecting it. How many times had he said he could sense I was special?

  What would I tell Leo? None of the disciples worked, since discipleship was your full-time job. That was a given. How would Scott react? And Abbi? My stomach clenched at the thought of her. How would it all work? There had to be some kind of transition period where they helped you sort out all your affairs. I’d get to know all the inside secrets. I couldn’t wait for the day when we could all live together on campus.