When She Returned

by Berry, Lucinda

  “Where’s Margo?” I asked, struggling to keep up, still weak and disoriented from the long car ride.

  “She stayed behind to take care of things,” he said.

  He immediately started clearing away a pile of brush leaned up against the back of the house. I moved to help, and we worked silently side by side as the sun lowered itself in the sky. The pile grew smaller, revealing two large cellar doors sealed together with an old padlock. Ray dug his keys out of his pocket and picked through them until he found the right one. He lifted open the doors. Dust filled my nose. Concrete steps led into darkness. Ray motioned to the steps. I ducked my head and stepped into the darkness, holding the railing on the left to steady my feet as I made my way down. I came to the bottom and turned to look up at Ray, waiting for him to follow me. But he didn’t. He just stood there looking at me with a strange expression on his face. Then, without saying a word, he reached over and shut one of the doors. He wasn’t coming with me?

  “Ray?” I called up to him. He closed the other door. “Ray!” I yelled louder this time as I scrambled to the top of the stairs and pushed on the door. It didn’t budge. I beat on it with my fists.

  “What are you doing?” I screamed.

  Nothing.

  My ears buzzed with silence. What was happening? A surge of fear ran through my body. “Relax,” I admonished myself. “This is all part of the process.” I repeated it like a mantra until the fear began to subside and my thoughts slowed down.

  I’d done fear exercises before. I’d stood naked in front of the entire group. All of us women had done it to release our unhealthy focus on our bodies. We’d all cried. I’d shaken through most of it. But I’d gotten through it and the next one, too, just like I’d get through this. I let out a deep breath, my muscles slowly untangling. I turned around and headed back into the cellar.

  There weren’t any windows, just four concrete walls. The paint had started chipping off in places, revealing rows of bricks underneath. Pieces had been gouged out like someone had tried to dig their way out. I shoved down the questions surging their way up the back of my throat and focused my attention on the other corner. There was a mattress with a thin blanket tossed on it. No pillow. The only other thing in the cellar was a bucket. I shuddered just thinking about what it might be for. All of this was so gross. I hadn’t expected it to be so disgusting.

  None of this was going like I’d imagined, but that was the point, wasn’t it? Suddenly all I wanted to do was sleep. I’d never been so tired. I lay back on the mattress, resting my head on my arms. The mattress was so thin the weight of my body pressed me to the floor. The musty smell of the blanket made me want to gag—a mixture of body odor and urine. Had they forgotten to clean up after the last person had used this place?

  I curled up on my side. How had things gone with Scott? Was he mad when Ray told him what I’d done? How did Ray help families outside of the membership understand the importance of discipleship? At least Scott understood commitment and sacrifice, even if he might not agree with what I’d done. Abbi wouldn’t understand anything, but I would sit her down when she was older and explain all of it. She would be proud of me then. I rested my head on my arms, keeping the blanket away from my face, and closed my eyes, too tired to keep them open any longer.

  I had no idea how much time had passed since Ray had put me in this room. It could be hours. It might have been days. I didn’t know. There was a small overhead light bulb on at all times, so there was no way to tell if it was day or night. It stayed dim. It didn’t help that it was stifling hot, like being cooked in a microwave. The bucket in the corner was for exactly what I’d thought it was. So far I’d only had to use it once, and there wasn’t any toilet paper. The entire place smelled like urine.

  My stomach gnawed at me. I hadn’t had anything to eat or drink since the croissant with my coffee the morning I’d left, and I’d passed being starved a long time ago. Thankfully I’d been prepared for a fast. This part of the journey was familiar, and not eating would make it easier not to have to go to the bathroom.

  I paced with built-up tension and energy but couldn’t walk more than a few feet before I had to turn in the other direction. Seven steps to the door and seven steps back. Only five steps across. I’d had moments when the panic almost overtook me, but so far I’d managed to stay in control of my mind.

  I had just slid down the brick wall onto the concrete floor when I heard it—a sound that didn’t come from me. I sprang up. Was it coming from the doors? There it was again. There was no mistaking someone was at the door. I dashed up to the door just as one of the sides opened, and I plunged headlong into the sunshine. Ray pulled me back. I stumbled backward on the stairs, steadying myself against the wall.

  “Move back,” he ordered sternly. He grabbed my arm and twisted me around so I faced the cellar. Something about the way he gripped me let me know I didn’t have a choice.

  “What’s happening? What’s going on, Ray? I don’t understand.” My voice came out sounding like it had when I was a little girl. I tried not to cry as I stepped back into the cellar. I just wanted the sunlight.

  He followed me down, taking in the space with one sweep before turning his gaze on me. I straightened up immediately, wiping underneath my eyes with my fingertips. I coughed nervously and tried to look alert. It was dark, but I could still see the disappointment in his eyes.

  “What day is it?” I asked.

  “Wednesday.”

  I had left Monday. I wanted to reach for him, but his arms were folded across his chest. His face was set in stone, impassive, the way he got when we were expected to feel our uncomfortable emotions without being comforted in any way. It was awful. I burst into tears, bubbling over with all the emotions I’d been through in the last few hours—days—I didn’t even know. That was part of it. How was I supposed to get grounded when there was nothing to orient me to time and space? “Please tell me what’s happening,” I begged.

  “You’re going through your forty days in the desert, just like Jesus.”

  “Forty days? Nobody said anything about forty days. In here?”

  He nodded.

  “All alone?” My voice sounded so small.

  “Right before Jesus was about to begin his ministry, he was taken into the desert alone and tempted by the devil for forty days. He brought everything he could against him, but Jesus withstood every single attack. He had to prove to God that he would withstand all tests against him. And he did. God expects the same of any of his disciples as they prepare for their ministry.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t do this. I’m sorry. I can’t,” I cried. I felt like such a failure, but I couldn’t take another minute.

  “I understand if you don’t have what it takes.” His face broke into a tender smile. “It’s okay, Kate. God loves you like he loves all his children. Nothing changes that.” He pointed to the stairway behind him. “There’s two doors at the top of those stairs, and they’re wide open. Do you know how many people turn back at this point?”

  “Really?”

  He wrinkled his eyebrows in surprise. “Are you kidding me? Of course.” He motioned to the brick walls surrounding us. “This is a pretty raw mirror of self.” He laughed, and the sound of his laughter removed some of the tension twisting my insides. “I really thought you were one of us, though.” He leaned forward and peeled the matted hair off my cheeks and tucked it behind my ears. I melted into his touch, like being enclosed in the womb. “I always saw you as having a warrior spirit. I’m usually not wrong about these things.”

  “I am a warrior,” I said, instantly insulted. I pushed his hand away from my face. Didn’t he know what I’d just done? All I’d been through? I’d walked away from my husband and daughter. I’d never been away from either of them for more than a few days at a time, and I’d left both of them, because I was committed to go to any lengths. Anything. And I loved them like they were a part of my body. If that wasn’t being a warrior, then I didn’t know
what was.

  He raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then let me hear you say it,” he said. He took a step toward me until we were standing chest to chest.

  “I am a warrior.”

  “Louder.”

  “I am a warrior!”

  “I want to hear you. That’s not loud enough.”

  “I AM A WARRIOR!” I screamed until it cut my throat.

  He grabbed me and twirled me around. “That’s what I’m talking about—breakthrough.” Dizziness made the walls move when he stopped. “The chains that bind you are being released now. In this moment, this very moment. I know you feel it too. It saddens me for you to leave it.” He gazed into my eyes. “Once you leave, you will never have this moment again. It’s gone.”

  I swallowed the terror in my throat and refused to break his stare. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to stay.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.” He reached into his backpack and handed me a paper bag. He tossed two bottles of water on the floor. “This is where you meet God for real.”

  SIXTEEN

  ABBI

  NOW

  I hadn’t gone to bed this early since I was ten, but things were so awkward downstairs that as soon as Mom said she had to put Shiloh to bed, we’d all pretended to be exhausted and jumped up, following her upstairs. It was impossible to chill in your living room when there was a video camera above the fireplace and detectives wandering around your kitchen reheating meals they’d brought from home.

  None of us were sleeping. Dad’s and Meredith’s hushed whispers carried into my room, and Shiloh’s cries reverberated throughout the house. She slept all day and was awake at night, like she came into the world upside down, which meant Mom would be awake most of the night again. The bags underneath her eyes were getting worse instead of better. How was she supposed to get through all this without any sleep?

  I scrolled through my phone, catching up on what everyone was saying about us on social media. Our pictures were plastered everywhere. I was fine with the ones from when Mom went missing, because I’d seen them hundreds of times, so I’d gotten used to them, and besides, they were cute. They’d picked the most adorable pictures of me to pull at the heartstrings of Mom’s attacker, but I hated my current one. It was my school picture from last year, and I looked terrible. I couldn’t say anything about it, though, because I wasn’t supposed to be paying any attention to the media. A quick scan told me nothing had changed, and everyone was still saying the same thing—Dad had something to do with it. That was what they always said.

  Shiloh let out another wail, and I set my phone on the nightstand. Poor Mom. I had to help her. I couldn’t do much with the baby, but at least she wouldn’t have to be alone. I hated being up by myself in the middle of the night, because it was so lonely. That was what I hated the most about insomnia. Was she the same way? There was so much I wanted to know about her. I needed to stop being so afraid. I gave myself a final pep talk before getting up and tiptoeing over to her bedroom.

  I knocked quietly. Mom cracked the door as she jiggled Shiloh in her other arm.

  “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “It’s okay,” I said, smiling at her. “You didn’t wake me up. It’s still a little early for me to go to sleep.”

  She opened the door wider. “Come in?” Her voice wavered nervously.

  “I mean, if it’s okay with you. I don’t want to bother you.”

  “It’s okay,” she said. Her eyes were downcast as we walked into her room. The bed was still untouched. I sat on the end and waited for her to sit next to me, but she shut the door behind us and stood in the center of the small room instead, swaying back and forth with Shiloh in her arms. Her eyes were wide open and fully alert as she stared up at Mom adoringly.

  “Do you still sleep on the floor?” I asked.

  She nodded.

  I hated asking her questions when she had spent most of the day getting drilled with them, but there was so much I wanted to know about her. I played with one of the loose strings on the comforter, twisting it around my finger. “Can I ask why? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I mean, I know you’re probably sick of everyone asking you questions.”

  “We don’t sleep on beds,” she said matter of factly.

  “How come?” I couldn’t imagine sleeping on a wooden floor. I hated sleeping on the floor even with our thick camping sleeping bags.

  “We must put the flesh to death,” she said in a creepy robot voice.

  I’d never heard her talk like that before. I didn’t want to ask any more questions about the bed. I eyed the room, taking in the dirty coffee-colored tone of the walls that Meredith and Dad swore they were going to tackle on their next home-improvement project. “What’s your favorite color?” I asked.

  “Color?” she asked, like I’d surprised her, and she let out a small giggle before quickly slapping a hand over her mouth. Maybe they weren’t allowed to laugh either. “Red,” she finally said. “Red.” Almost like she had to say it a second time to reassure herself.

  “Mine too,” I said. I’d been secretly hoping that was what she’d say. I patted the spot next to me. “Sit.”

  She shook her head and turned the other direction so I couldn’t see her face anymore.

  “You sit on the couches downstairs. What’s the difference?” I kept my voice as nonjudgmental as possible. “I really just want to know so I can understand. I want to know you, Mom.” It was the first time I’d called her Mom, and the word hung between us.

  She turned back around, her eyes wet. “You must hate me.” Her voice trembled as she spoke.

  “I could never hate you. You’re my mom.”

  Tears slid down her cheeks. “And you’re my other daughter.”

  Had she forgotten about me like she’d tried to forget about sleeping in beds? Or was there a part of her that had always felt me, too, in the same way I’d felt her all these years, like an impression that had never left, a dull ache for an unidentified need. Had she? What would she say if I asked? She would say yes, but what if I saw the lie in her eye? I kept quiet.

  “Do you want to hold your sister?” she asked nervously.

  “Really?” I couldn’t believe she trusted me with the baby.

  She smiled again. She’d never smiled twice in a conversation, and so far she’d only cried a little bit. Tonight was epic. Mom folded Shiloh into my arms, and she snuggled up against my chest immediately. “Oh my God, she’s so little.” Shiloh let out a tiny squeal at the sound of my voice, and my heart melted into my chest.

  I had always wanted a sibling. Thad and Caleb didn’t count, because they were practically adults by the time we’d met. I wanted someone in the house with me. Another kid who could help shoulder the responsibility with Dad. Sometimes it was hard being an only child, when all the expectations fell on you. I wouldn’t have minded sharing the spotlight with someone else.

  “Why don’t you sit down?” I nodded toward the bed. I saw the longing pass through her eyes before she quickly returned to the stoic expression she wore most of the time. “I’m not saying lie down and sleep in the bed all night. Just come be next to us.”

  She considered my proposition for a second. It didn’t make any sense that she had to think about it, as if I’d offered her some kind of plea bargain, but something bad must have happened to her while she was in a bed, or they’d told her something awful would happen to her if she used one. Either way, I couldn’t help but be proud of myself when she finally took a seat next to me and Shiloh. She’d no sooner sat down than Shiloh stirred and started crying.

  “Oh, she’s hungry,” Mom said.

  I handed the baby back to her. She lifted her shirt, and Shiloh settled on her breast almost immediately. I was getting better about her breastfeeding in front of me, but I still never knew where to look when she did it. Was I supposed to look at her? Away from her? The baby? This was one of th
e reasons you needed a mom when you were young. Someone to teach you these kinds of things.

  “Does it hurt?” I asked.

  “This?” She looked down at Shiloh. I nodded. “Not at all.” We sat in silence for a few minutes before she spoke again. “You loved to nurse.”

  I gulped. This was all so intense. Part of me wanted to run back to my room just so I could gather myself and breathe, but the other part was glued to my spot, unable to move. This was really happening. I was in a room with my mom, and she was telling me stories about when I was young. I swallowed back the tears, afraid if I cried that she’d stop talking or start sobbing herself.

  “You were the best baby. Content all the time. Barely ever cried, and even when you did your cries were these little whimpers that only made me feel even sorrier for you.” She looked at Shiloh as she talked, but was she remembering my face as she spoke? Had I brought that same look of pure love and contentment back then? I burst into tears. She threw her other arm around me. “Oh, oh, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she stammered nervously.

  I shook my head, too emotional to speak. She pulled me even closer, and I settled in next to her, leaning my head on her shoulder as she nursed Shiloh. I’d been here before. This spot was familiar. I could stay here forever.

  KATE

  THEN

  “Hold me,” I sobbed, throwing myself at Ray when he came downstairs, desperate for his touch, craving human contact. The starvation from human touch was worse than the hunger. He put his arms out and stiff-armed me back. “Please, Ray, no, please not this time.”

  Last visit he’d been so kind. He’d given me a sponge bath, and it was glorious. But it had been a long time since then. Much longer than he’d ever left me. I’d had all sorts of panicked thoughts, like something terrible had happened to him, and he’d never told anyone I was down here, so I would die in suffocating isolation. I almost drove myself crazy with worry.