Into the Light Read online

  It seemed as if it didn’t matter if I told Jacob what I was thinking or not; he knew. Somehow he always seemed to know, sometimes even before I did. Maybe it was because we’d been together so long.

  If only I could remember how long.

  The sound of the rising garage door pulled me from my carnal thoughts, and I covered my cheeks. With a giggle I hoped they weren’t as flushed as they felt. If they were, he would know what I’d been thinking . . . I shook my head. I didn’t want that conversation. Exhaling, I willed the pink away.

  When I heard the garage door lowering, I stood and made my way toward the stairs. Wearing the boot on my right foot made walking with my cast much easier. As I approached the landing, I took a deep breath and visualized the stairs. Since I’d counted them multiple times, I knew there were fifteen steps. I might not have my sight, but I was trying to be as self-sufficient as possible. I made it only to the second step from the top when I heard his voice.

  “Sara?”

  “I’m coming down,” I called, taking one step at a time, cautious not to go too fast.

  Even before I reached the bottom step, I knew he was there. When we went to service, I’d realized why I associated him with the scent of leather; it was his coat. When he wasn’t wearing it, just the right amount of aroma lingered around him. When he wore it, as now, the leather scent was overpowering. That, plus the sound of his boots walking and stopping on the wood floor, prompted me to stop on the fourteenth step. If I went one more, I was afraid I’d run into him.

  “Sara.” His voice came from very close.

  Gripping the banister, I tilted my face toward his. Smiling and hoping my cheeks had returned to their normal color, I replied, “Yes?”

  “Did you hear the garage door go up?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what did you think that meant?”

  “I assumed it meant you were here.”

  “So you knew I was home and yet you chose to not greet me?”

  What the hell?

  “Answer me,” he demanded, his tone now too calm. “Why weren’t you waiting for me at the door?”

  The thoughts I’d entertained upstairs evaporated. I knew this tone. I not only recognized it, but with everything in me, I wanted to avoid it. My heartbeat quickened and my mouth dried like the Sahara. “I was on my—”

  Interrupting, he rebuked, “On your way is not there, waiting as you’re supposed to be. When I return, I expect to find you waiting for me, greeting your husband.”

  The bubble of apprehension that had waned and waxed in my chest since I awoke nearly three weeks earlier began to grow. “At the door . . . wh . . . I’m sorry . . . I didn’t know . . . you didn’t tell me to—”

  He grasped my arm, the harsh movement a stark contrast to the eerie calmness of his voice. “Do tell, Sara, are you blaming me for your forgetfulness?”

  What the hell is his problem?

  “I’m sorry,” I pleaded. “I’m not blaming . . . I didn’t remember. If you told me . . . from now on, I’ll do it.”

  “Must I remind you of everything?”

  “I’m trying to remember; I am. I’ll be there from now on, at the door, when you come home.”

  “Perhaps you need a reminder?”

  My body sagged and my knees weakened. The bubble within me grew and popped, filling my nervous system with dread. “No. I don’t need a reminder. I’ll remember from now on. Please give me another chance.” If it hadn’t been for his iron grip on my forearm, I might have fallen to the step where I stood.

  If I had, I wasn’t sure if it would have been because of the sudden dizziness his tone induced, the bout of trembling, or that it would’ve enabled me to beg. It wasn’t something I was proud of considering, but to avoid his belt, at that moment, I was willing.

  “Sara, go to the door.”

  Inhaling more pleas, I nodded. When he released my arm, I stepped down and down again. Around the steps, past the closet, I found the door between the living quarters and the garage.

  He was right behind me, his voice still eerily calm. “You may stand or kneel; the choice has always been yours.”

  I swallowed the vile bile bubbling from my stomach. In that moment I couldn’t for the life of me fathom that merely minutes ago I had been having pleasant thoughts about this man. I also couldn’t imagine kneeling.

  Who does that?

  I brought my feet together, straightened my neck, and said, “I’ll stand, thank you.”

  He reached for my chin and lowered it.

  “This is where you are to be when I arrive, and if you choose to stand, your head will be bowed.”

  “Yes, Jacob.”

  I didn’t move from where I had been told to be, as the rustling of his coat filled the silence.

  “Reach out your hands. You may take my coat and hang it in the closet under the stairs.”

  It was heavier than I’d expected, causing me to wobble slightly when he laid it in my arms. Inside the closet I fumbled until I found a hanger. Once his coat was secure, I closed the door. When I turned he was right in front of me, grasping my shoulders. I sucked my bottom lip between my teeth and waited for the order I didn’t want to hear.

  Will he tell me to go to the bathroom like last time, or our bedroom?

  “Sara, we have so much happening right now. I do not want, nor do I have time, to rehash basics. You must remember.”

  The tears teetered as I nodded within his grip. “I’m trying.”

  “Trying and doing are two different things. Remember that. If you can’t, the next time I won’t be as lenient.”

  My body sagged with the rush of relief that I wasn’t going to be corrected. “Thank you, Jacob. I will be waiting next time.”

  He took my hand and led me to the couch. Handing me a tissue, he said, “I’m going to tell you exactly why we came out here, out of the community.” His calmness was gone. The voice beckoning me was my husband’s, that of the man I wanted to know.

  “Thank you,” I said cautiously, taking the tissue.

  “They figured it out.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “They know that I answered for you, when Brother Timothy was in your room.”

  My trembling resumed. “What . . . I don’t know what that means. He said I needed to go before the Commission.”

  “You don’t. At least not right now. I’ve been before them, multiple times.”

  “You have? In my place?”

  Devotion and sadness rang in his words. “You’ve been through enough. I tried.”

  “But you told them the truth.”

  His grip on my hands tightened. “I told them what I thought was best.”

  Everything inside me screamed to ask, to question. Instead I waited.

  “Do you remember the way you reacted in the hospital, before I slapped you?”

  Ashamed of the memory, I nodded and softly replied, “Yes.”

  “That’s how you were before the accident. You were upset, grabbed my keys, and rushed out. I didn’t know your intentions, but the Commission decided that you were trying to leave The Light.”

  I shook my head frantically. “No! I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t leave you, or The Light, or Father Gabriel.” The shaking of my head slowed, and I tilted it to the side. “I don’t think I would.”

  “I want to believe that. I want to believe that it was a misunderstanding.”

  My head ached as I desperately searched my memories. “I don’t remember anything . . .”

  His large palms framed my cheeks. “Sara, I’ve put everything on the line for you. We must be honest with one another.”

  I nodded.

  “Would you rather leave and go back to the dark, than be here . . . with me?”

  I pulled from his grip and stood. The sudden disconnection gave me the strength I needed to think. One minute I’d fantasized about him, the next I’d feared him. Each step that took me away from him shed light on my answer. Stopping on the other
side of the sofa, I took a deep breath and began, “I’m being completely honest. I don’t remember anything before waking in the hospital.”

  “Anything?”

  My head moved slowly from side to side.

  “And?” he asked.

  “And all I know is what’s happened since.” I paused. “I know that you’ve been with me. Not just with me, but I’ve heard you fight for me. I heard what you said to Dr. Newton. I trust that you were protecting me with Brother Timothy, and now you just said that you’ve testified for me.” I took a deep breath. “I know that you care for me, that you want me, and you love me enough to correct me.” Sighing, I made my way back to him, sat, and palmed his cheeks. His stubbly jaw abraded my hands and reminded me of the way it tantalized my breasts. “Jacob, I’ll continue to apologize for not remembering, but just because I don’t remember, doesn’t mean I don’t want to. I have no idea what I was doing that day or why I took your truck, but I promise, now, I want to be here, with you.”

  “Sara, here isn’t where we should be.”

  My hands dropped to my lap as I tried to comprehend his meaning.

  Compared to the hospital, I like here.

  “We’ve been temporarily banished,” he explained.

  Unable to think or reason, I stopped breathing. That was the word Brother Timothy had used. Banished. “What about your position? Are they taking it away? What about your job? Why did they do this? What will happen to us? What about our friends? Is there anything we can do?”

  He reached for my hands and held them still.

  “Stop. I can’t even count the number of times you just questioned.”

  Though I knew from his tone that I wasn’t truly in trouble, I lowered my chin, ashamed that I’d suddenly forgotten all my training.

  He lifted my unseeing eyes to his. “This is it,” he continued to explain. “This is our punishment. No one, other than the occasional Commissioner or his wife, will be allowed to see us or speak to us for the next two weeks. No friends, no service, only isolation.”

  My chest pounded, and then after a moment I squeezed his hands and asked, “May I still have you? May we have each other?”

  “Do you still want me?” Jacob asked.

  I nodded. “I don’t know why I did what I did. I don’t remember taking your truck, but please, believe me, I’m sorry, and I won’t do it again.” I leaned toward him and rested my cheek on his chest. “From what I’ve learned since I’ve awoken, I do. I do want you. I don’t understand everything that you expect out of me, but I do want you.”

  His embrace surrounded me. “I can’t tell you how good that is to hear.”

  I sat back, pulling away. “Wait.” The alarm was louder than my words. “Do you still want me?”

  He pulled me back to his chest and chuckled. “You have no idea how badly I want you, but Sara, you have at least one broken rib.”

  I let the tips of my lips move upward and shrugged. “I think I gave you an option. I’m a little scared to repeat it.”

  He brushed my cheek. “There are some things that, while said in the privacy of our home, or personal space like a clinic bed . . . are not only acceptable, but valued.”

  “Valued, not heeded?”

  Jacob lifted my face toward his. The tips of our noses brushed one another as he shook his head. “So much questioning . . .”

  Though he’d just reprimanded me, his breathing told me that correction was not uppermost on his mind. I tilted my lips toward his, and his gentle kiss lingered.

  “Heal, my dear wife. We’ll get through this, and when we do, we’ll have forever ahead of us.”

  “As long as you’re with me, they can banish us for as long as they want.”

  “We’re in this together; however, even with our banishment, I have a job to do. Tomorrow I must fly.”

  My breathing hitched. “Please, tell me how long you’ll be gone.”

  “I’m not sure. I’m transporting Father Gabriel. If you have an emergency, there’s a phone in the kitchen.”

  “I don’t know who to call or how.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Stella

  Dylan and I made a deal the other morning when he took me to the house on Cortland Street. We agreed to keep our work to ourselves unless we believed it held a connection to Mindy. The problem with that deal was that after going through Dr. Howell’s files, I was convinced everything had to do with Mindy’s disappearance. Even the woman at Starbucks was suspicious.

  I mean who writes an S like that?

  Dr. Howell’s information didn’t point to a conspiracy, more a compilation. Each case was a piece of a larger puzzle. Unfortunately, each piece didn’t necessarily belong to the same puzzle. I found myself constantly second-guessing and wondering if I was trying to make the wrong pieces fit. After all, there was probably a good reason that members of The Light were going back and forth to Canada.

  Back at WCJB I worked on my research. The Light made for a very broad Internet search. There were literal lights, lighting stores, lighting-supply chains. Though I didn’t think he realized what he’d done, Dylan’s comment about a church was responsible for narrowing my search. While there were hundreds of churches with Light in their names, there were only a few churches named The Light. It just so happened that one of them was located in Detroit, Highland Heights to be exact. According to the website, The Light was a beacon against darkness and a home of healing for the lost. It was a self-sustaining place of devotion founded on fundamentalist beliefs that offered enlightenment to its members and freedom from the constraints of the dark.

  Gabriel Clark had begun The Light in Detroit over fifteen years ago. The relatively short biography of the founder spoke of Gabriel Clark’s personal calling to The Light and his willingness to share his journey with those in need. His picture was the stereotypical promotional picture showing a smiling, handsome man in his late forties or early fifties. His slicked-back blond hair and expensive silk suit reminded me of a television evangelist. However, neither Gabriel Clark nor The Light offered sermons through social media. To hear Father Gabriel, as he was referred to on the site, a prospective member was required to attend a visitors’ assembly at one of the church’s campuses or informational hubs. The website mentioned that there were campuses throughout the country, but the locator page indicated only the one in Detroit. There were no local informational hubs.

  Out of curiosity I clicked the form one was required to fill out to attend a visitors’ assembly. It didn’t give a time or date for an assembly; instead it was more of a questionnaire, pretty straightforward at first, but as I scrolled the questions became more personal and intrusive. It went from name, address, sex, age, marital status, number of children, and religious affiliation to essay-type questions. These had unlimited space for answers that were to include the personal background, triumphs and challenges, and even employment history of prospective members and spouses. Near the bottom was a statement I’d also seen on the website that discussed the applicant’s willingness to participate as a full-time committed believer.

  What does that even mean?

  The more I read, the more the hairs on the back of my neck came to attention. At the very bottom the form said that upon receipt, a Visitor Specialist would contact the applicant.

  My thoughts went to the women I’d seen crossing the street. It was difficult to say because of how far away I’d been, but I couldn’t remember anything distinguishing about them. I couldn’t even remember what they were wearing. I seemed to recall slacks or maybe jeans. They hadn’t been wearing handmade dresses such as I’d associate with more conservative groups or cults.

  That word cult sent shivers down my spine. I opened a new tab and typed it in the browser. The definition I found said it was a system of religious veneration and devotion directed toward a particular figure or object.

  Is that what this church is? Or am I reading too much into it? What does “full-time committed believers” mean, and why are they crossing
the Canadian border daily?

  I checked the website again. There was nothing to indicate that The Light was an international church, and the site said only that there were multiple locations within the United States. That was when I noticed the Outreach tab and clicked. Preserve the Light was at the top of the screen, with pictures of jars of jams and jellies. The blurb said that the church’s homegrown, homemade jams and jellies helped support its outreach. A testimonial from a member of The Light read as follows:

  “I was lost in a world of darkness, using my body to support deadly habits, when I found The Light. Today, I only use my body to create Preserve the Light, serve my husband, and follow Father Gabriel. I’ve never been as content and fulfilled. The Light and Father Gabriel saved me. Please purchase Preserve the Light so others may be saved.” The testimonial was attributed to “Follower of The Light, Sister Abigail Miller.”

  Serve her husband? My skin crawled.

  Well, at least this woman wasn’t out selling her body anymore, and the location in Highland Heights made sense, if the ministry was about helping people who were dependent on drugs or alcohol. I wasn’t sure why or if I believed there was a connection, but I wanted to learn more.

  I started with Preserve the Light. Clicking on the Order Here box, I filled out my request. Ten dollars was a lot to pay for a jar of jelly, but I reasoned that it was for a ministry. After entering my shipping information, I selected strawberry. With the weather turning colder and the leaves changing, the fruit reminded me of summer.

  The other agreement that Dylan and I had come to was that I’d stay out of Highland Heights. Maybe it wasn’t so much of an agreement as it was him telling me to stay out. I didn’t want to argue about it, but if my work took me back there, I couldn’t say no . . . or more like I wouldn’t say no. It was Bernard’s informant who had led me to The Light, so I owed it to Bernard to be sure there wasn’t a connection between The Light and the drug smuggling we were trying to uncover at the border. The idea that there was a connection between this church and missing or dead women came to mind. Just as quickly I dismissed it. That was ludicrous and likely a result of my vivid imagination. Besides, nothing about those women set off my radar. Then again, I was a ways away.