Away From the Dark Page 24

  “I brought you in here,” he began, “because it’s one of the few places in the house that isn’t under constant surveillance. There’re no cameras or microphones . . .”

  My pulse raced.

  “. . . Stel—Sara, will you please talk to me?”

  Not lifting my eyes, I hid behind The Light’s expectations of a female. I couldn’t look directly into his piercing blue eyes. “Yes, Brother, Father Gabriel gave me permission to speak to you.”

  “My name is Dylan, not Brother.”

  I shook my head. “All men deserve a title.”

  “No, they don’t. Fuck. Most don’t deserve anything.” He uncrossed his arms and they fell to his sides. “I know that I sure as hell don’t.”

  I closed my eyes, and a tear escaped my lids. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

  “Will you fucking look at me?”

  He reached for my chin, but I backed away. Too many thoughts were swirling about.

  “Jesus, I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Maybe not physically, but he had hurt me, and now hearing the emotion in his voice was hurting me more. I wrapped my arms around myself, as my cold hands gripped my own elbows and hugged. The dirty white dress pulled against my new reminders as I gave in to the emotion. Tears burned my cheeks as my shoulders shuddered, and I gasped for air.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumbled, thinking that I would never have reacted this way before, but now I was. My off-the-chart emotions were real. “Why do you want to be away from cameras?” I hiccupped a cry. “I shouldn’t ask. Questioning is my greatest weakness.”

  Dylan reached for my arms, and I froze, paralyzed by the thought of anyone but Jacob touching me—first Brother Mark and now Dylan. It was wrong.

  If he sensed my discomfort, he didn’t say anything. Instead he sighed and led me to the sofa, the soft leather one where Jacob had laid me earlier.

  Dylan’s tone overflowed with compassion. “Why don’t you just sit for a minute? I wasn’t trying to upset you. I’m not going to do anything away from cameras. I wanted to talk to you.”

  I shook my head. “Please, may I stand?”

  “Oh, shit. I wasn’t thinking. Yeah, sure, stand.” Releasing my arms, he paced a trek around the office, stopping again at the desk. Picking up the plastic container, he said, “I brought you something. I know you don’t understand why, but, well, I was hoping maybe you would.” He put Fred back down and shook his head. “It’s dumb. I shouldn’t have done it. If I hadn’t taken the time to go get it . . . if I hadn’t, maybe I could’ve stopped whomever . . . goddamn it! I can’t do this again.”

  Handing me a tissue, he collapsed in the same chair where he’d sat earlier. “Are you really pregnant?”

  “I think I am. I haven’t taken a test.”

  Dylan nodded. “Yeah, you’re kind of emotional.”

  Really? I wonder why.

  “I’m scared,” I confessed truthfully. “And I miss my husband.” It pained me to say that to Dylan, but, like my first statement, it wasn’t a lie.

  “I don’t get it. How can you miss a guy who does that to you?”

  I swallowed. “I’m not certain I’m allowed to speak so freely to you.”

  Though my Sara answers were saving me, the Stella side of me made the mistake of looking up. For only a moment, our eyes met. In his stunning blue orbs surrounded by lush lashes, I saw what I’d been hearing: remorse swirling with regret. It was the storm from my dream, clouds covering the clear sky. The ache in my chest grew.

  “What?” he asked, as I broke our momentary connection and bit my lip.

  “Nothing,” I replied softly.

  “Nothing?”

  “I was in an accident almost a year ago. I drove my husband’s truck and crashed. During the time of my recovery, I kept seeing—not really seeing, imagining—blue eyes.” I shook my head, unsure which part of me was speaking. “I’m sorry. It’s not appropriate, but, Brother, your eyes remind me of my dreams. I really don’t think I should say more.”

  “Dylan, not Brother, and I give you permission,” he offered.

  I smiled and lowered my chin. Damn, if only it were that easy. “Bro . . . Dylan, only my husband or Father Gabriel has that authority. But I will say my husband has never done what Brother Mark just did to me. He’s never harmed me.”

  “Mark?” he questioned, and then went on, “You don’t think what he did to your eye was harming you?”

  I forgot about my eye.

  “It was the first time he’d done that, and it was my fault. I shouldn’t have made the decision to start a family without his permission.”

  “What if he’d decided to start a family, and you weren’t ready?”

  “I’d trust his decision.”

  “What if he told you not to go somewhere, like Highland Heights? Would you go?”

  I shook my head. “No. Obeying isn’t optional.” It was one of the first things I remembered Jacob telling me.

  Dylan stood and walked toward me. “Turn around.”

  Though his proximity caused my trembling to resume, my conditioning wouldn’t allow me to refuse a man’s command. Slowly I did as he said, but when he touched my hair, I sucked in my breath.

  “Don’t worry. I’m not going to do anything,” he explained, “except take this damn collar off you.”

  I nodded as he gathered my now-dry hair to one shoulder and fumbled with the buckle. Once it was off, I sighed and massaged my tender neck. “Thank you.”

  “Why are you shaking?”

  “I’m scared. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me or to Jacob. And I’m . . .”

  “Yes, you’re pregnant,” he said, with palpable defeat evident in his voice.

  “No, well, yes, but that’s not what I was going to say. I know I can’t question, but I’m hungry. I was downstairs. No one brought me anything to eat.”

  For the first time, I saw Dylan’s smile, the one I remembered. “Of course you are, it’s after ten o’clock, and this is something that I can do something about. Let me get you some food.”

  My skin prickled with alarm. “I don’t know.”

  “What?”

  “You’re being nice, but so far, you’re the only one. What if someone sees me, and I’m not allowed to eat? Withholding nutrients is an acceptable decree.”

  Dylan’s eyes closed as his jaw clenched. “I hate hearing you spout doctrine.”

  Bowing my head, I whispered, “We all study Father Gabriel’s word.”

  He touched my chin, and this time I didn’t flinch. “I don’t need to hear it. And don’t,” he said, lifting my face to his, “be sorry. I’m sorry.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out his phone. “I’ll go get you something from the kitchen. No one will say anything to me. You can stay in here. Lock the door and don’t let anyone but me back inside. Here”—he swiped the screen of his phone—“I have two phones. One’s for MOA . . . never mind . . . anyway, I just put the number of my other phone in this one. If anyone tries to get in here before I get back, call me.” He put the phone in my hand. “Can you do that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  The warmth of his grasp encased mine as he closed my fingers around the phone. “You can. I give you permission.”

  I shook my head. “That’s not how it works.”

  “Here it does.”

  The sound of my own heartbeat echoed in my ears as I stared down at the phone in my hand. By the time I turned, Dylan was opening the door, and before he walked away, he turned the small latch on the inside doorknob. With only a nod and a half smile, he closed the door, locking me in and him out.

  This was my chance, my chance to escape this hell.

  Careful not to drop his phone with my shaking hands, I stepped cautiously to the door and jiggled the handle. It was locked. Really lifting my eyes for the first time, I scanned the office and searched for cameras. I couldn’t be sure whether Dylan had been truthful when he’d said this room wasn’t under surveillance, nor
was I adept at recognizing secret cameras. My only experience was with the ones Jacob had pointed out in the outbuilding’s living quarters. From what I could assess in the nice office, there weren’t any.

  That would make sense. Father Gabriel probably did a lot of business from inside this room that he didn’t want recorded.

  Hurry! Call someone! How much time do I have?

  My list of candidates came fast and furious—my parents, my sister, Bernard, Foster, or Tracy. If only I could call the FBI. Calling the police was out of the question. Dylan was police—not Bloomfield Hills, but he was a detective. I zeroed in on Bernard. My old boss could help me. He was the only one with the connections to help. As I searched my memory, I had the strangest sensation of knowledge so close, yet out of reach. And then I remembered.

  I remember Bernard’s cell number!

  I swiped the phone and backspaced through Dylan’s number. The trembling in my hands increased, not out of fear, but out of excitement and relief. This was really almost over. Holy shit! This would be the biggest news story of Bernard Cooper’s career, of my career. I’d be just like Jacob, going undercover and infiltrating The Light.

  My heart clenched. Just like Jacob . . .

  Jacob . . . all his work. The FBI. Kool-Aid. My friends.

  Oh my God! If I do this, I may save myself, but at what cost?

  CHAPTER 30

  Jacob

  The door to our empty apartment weighed hundreds—no, thousands—of pounds. The simple act of opening it was almost more than I could bear. Since I was back in the community, checking our apartment first for the envelope made the most sense.

  Once inside, I stood, slowly turning and taking everything in. It was all her. Yes, the other sisters had decorated so Sara would think we’d lived here, but over the last nine months, she’d added her own touch. I stared at the throw pillows she’d been so excited to find at the store. Knowing she couldn’t do it without my permission, she hadn’t purchased them on her own. But I remembered the night, at dinner, when her eyes sparkled as she told me about them. A splash of color was what she’d called them. Though I was tired, and it was one of our few nontemple nights, we hurried to the store before it closed. If it were possible, I’d never tell her no.

  The deafening silence tore at my insides. Not only was our apartment silent, but so was the one next door, Benjamin and Raquel’s. I palmed my temples and squeezed. This was so hard. Maybe I wasn’t cut out for this. School, training, academy . . . fuck! None of it was like real life. With every fiber of my being, I wanted Father Gabriel to go down. Hell, after what he’d just pulled, as well as three years’ worth of offenses, I wanted him to suffer, but he wouldn’t be the only one.

  The Light offered its followers enlightenment—knowledge of God’s purpose without the darkness of everyday life. The entire organization was a well-oiled machine. Each voluntary follower sold their earthly possessions and abandoned the dark, willingly entering a world of slave labor. While the chosen had the elite jobs, the average follower worked in more physically demanding jobs like those in the production plants. Whether producing the pharmaceuticals at the Northern Light, the Preserve the Light preserves at the Western Light, or the illegal drugs, mostly meth and crack, at the Eastern Light, or working at the packaging and distribution sites, followers eagerly devoted ten or more hours a day to be enlightened.

  Father Gabriel’s teachings preached the promise of clarification by devoting one’s life to others, being part of the body, and fulfilling Father Gabriel’s missions. In the process the followers were relieved of the burden of pressures and decisions that plagued their lives in the dark. Hours worked in their assigned jobs earned followers credit in the commissary as well as the clothing and furnishing stores. The more hours worked above the required sixty-five a week, the more credits they earned. As long as followers worked their prescribed jobs, every need had the potential to be met. The Light provided anything they needed. If it wasn’t available or within their reach, then it wasn’t necessary.

  One of the most frequently mentioned reasons for entering The Light that I’d heard since I began counseling followers was that The Light offered the ability to walk away from the stress and struggles they faced in the dark. In The Light they were free to devote their lives and be enlightened. Working as part of the body gave them purpose.

  Before Sara I saw The Light for the sham it was. After Sara I admit that I fell into the rhythm. That may have been part of the reason the Commission had insisted I take a wife. When Sara and I were in Fairbanks and she’d confessed to not hating the life she was now able to look back on and see as depraved, I hadn’t told her that I understood exactly what she meant, but I did. The months following her initial indoctrination could be labeled pleasant. Without meaning to I’d fallen under The Light’s spell.

  As I brushed the burned tips of my fingers over the cover of our bed, memories of our short time together ran like a highlight reel through my head. I remembered the way her lower lip disappeared when she was nervous or excited and the way she looked first thing in the morning. My skin chilled as I thought about her warmth as I’d wrapped my arms around her and spooned her soft yet firm body. Those terms seemed contradictory, but they weren’t. Her skin was as soft as velvet and so was her body, in all the right places. At the same time, running and genetics had blessed her with firm muscles and a flat stomach.

  I sank to the bed, my knees suddenly weak.

  Will her stomach change? Is she really carrying my child, our child?

  I looked at the clock on the bedside stand. It was after six in the evening here, which meant it was after ten at the Eastern Light. I’d left Sara over six hours ago. Six hours, and I was losing it.

  How am I supposed to make it until Wednesday?

  I refused to believe she’d meet the same fate as Benjamin and Raquel. I refused. If she didn’t survive until Micah and I made it to Fairbanks on Wednesday, when I would contact the FBI, there would be only one person to blame, and it would be me.

  I could try to point the finger at Richards or even Father Gabriel, and my accusations wouldn’t be unfounded; however, three nights ago she and I had been in a cheap motel in Fairbanks. As the continued silence echoed throughout the apartment, I knew I wasn’t her savior or anyone else’s. Despite all my grand proclamations, I had a good chance of experiencing the same fate as Benjamin. If I did, at least I had Sara to thank that the FBI now had a case against The Light. I hadn’t given them everything in our short debriefing, but they’d gotten enough. Even if I were banished, I’d die knowing Father Gabriel would soon be going down.

  Fuck! I needed to snap out of this.

  I walked to our closet. As I opened the door, the fresh scent of fabric softener knocked me backward. Before Sara, my laundry had been done by female followers whose job it was to do the unmarried men’s laundry. Though they were efficient, it wasn’t the same. Then I’d find my clothes packaged outside on the stoop of my apartment. Now I never saw laundry done, or rarely, but the clean clothes appeared, hanging perfectly straight, ready for me whenever I wanted them.

  I fought the onslaught of emotions brought on by something as stupid as fabric softener as I searched for my jacket. It was my lightweight one, the only one I could’ve possibly worn at the Western Light. It was hanging exactly where Sara would’ve hung it, on my side of the closet. I anxiously ripped it from the hanger and fumbled through the pockets, coming up empty except for a wadded-up tissue and a piece of gum.

  No envelope.

  Dropping the jacket on the bed, my hands went to my hair. I once again held my head and pushed, forcing myself to think. I could envision Brother Reuben handing the white envelope to me as Brother Michael and I laughed about the production. I recalled my phone vibrating again as we laughed.

  I rushed to the clothes hamper and searched for the jeans I’d been wearing. My phone had been in my front pocket.

  Did I stuff the envelope in there after I got my phone out?


  There was nothing in the pockets of my jeans.

  I knew I hadn’t taken my phone out of my pocket until I was in the air. I hadn’t wanted Brother Michael, or anyone at the Western Light, to misinterpret my talking on my phone. The damn envelope had to be in the plane. I considered calling Micah to check, but then I remembered that he’d left the hangar right after I had.

  That meant that at this moment he was where he should be, at home in his cramped apartment with Joanna and Isaiah. Clenching my jaws tightly together, I prayed that nothing would alert Father Gabriel and the Commission before the FBI arrived. The loss of Benjamin and Raquel hurt too much. I’d need more than deprogramming if anything happened to the followers I oversaw and those I considered friends.

  Quickly I searched the top drawer of our dresser—nothing. One last look and I grabbed the jacket and walked out of Sara’s and my private world. I needed to go back to the hangar and search the plane.

  It was still bright outside as I drove toward the gates. This time of year, on the edge of the circumpolar North, the skies were never fully dark. Twilight extended from one day to the next. For some reason the northern lights came to mind. They were something I’d add to my list of things I’d miss about this mission. During the winter months they were spectacular.

  DENIED.

  What the fuck?

  I entered my code again into the inner gate—the same message flashed across the screen—DENIED. I pounded my palm against the steering wheel and took out my phone. Brother Timothy oversaw security. He was undoubtedly the one who’d figured out the cell tower.

  I had to get back out to the hangar if Father Gabriel wanted that envelope.

  I dialed Brother Daniel.