Cult (16 page)

The woman smiled, shook her head. “After what I've been saying, how can still ask me that?”

“I need to know.”

“Yes. It was an accident.”

In shame, Naomi hid her gaze from Mary, standing up, pacing the room now, sensing the militancy and indignation rising within her. Her resolve stiffened.

The opening of the door recalled her sense of caution.

“Hang on,” she whispered to Mary, stretching out her hand to touch her shoulder. The woman blinked her eyes and nodded her understanding.

“Food,” Roy said cheerfully, coming in with a steaming bowl of oatmeal. He looked at the naked woman, who made no attempt to cover herself, defiant, as if her confession to Naomi had given her additional strength.

“Naughty, naughty,” Roy said with a leer.

Naomi could not bear it. She walked out of the room, determined now to free these people. She would find a way. She must find a way.

The main room was deserted. Listening to the door of Amos' room, she knocked softly.

“Yes.” It was Barney's voice.

“Where is O'Hara?”

“He went out.”

“Out?”

She inspected the room. She heard Roy's voice berating Mary.

“Bastards,” she muttered under her breath, crossing to the door, determined to break it down if it was still locked. Miraculously, the knob turned. For a moment, she held it partly open, listening. The damp night air was heavy with mist, thick with the scent of pine and earth. Her eyes probed the darkness as she slowly, silently, shut the door, breathing deep, in an effort to still the loud pumping of her heart.

I must find help
, she told herself.

Stepping softly, she stopped to listen, then moved cautiously forward. She felt the hard dirt path under her feet, halted, listened, waiting for her eyes to focus in the sparse light. Nearby, the metal of the van gleamed and she crouched in case O'Hara was there. Then she hid behind a clump of overgrown shrubs.

The sounds of the night grew louder. She had expected absolute silence, but her ears picked up unfamiliar noises, the groan of moving tree limbs, the rustle of pine needles, the hum of the wind. As a city girl, she had no sure knowledge of this, only memories of childhood outings, city parks. Yet she felt the exhilaration of freedom, the joy of escape, and with it, the purity of her mission. Her instincts, she was certain now, had been right from the very beginning.

Somewhere out there, O'Hara lurked. Naomi moved out of the protection of the shrubs. Crouching, she moved forward. Her eyes picked out the narrow path ahead. Behind her she saw the cabin, outlined in the dim light. It looked peaceful, innocent, another example of false images. She shuddered, then moved forward, step upon cautious step, senses magnified.

A twig snapped under her foot. She paused, waited for a reaction. When none came, she straightened and began to walk again.

Mary had pleaded for help. Outrage quaked inside of Naomi, prodding her swiftness. Soon she could hear the truly familiar city sounds, the whooshing of tires, of cars moving, a jet plane overhead. The road moved downhill and soon she was running, gasping to fill her lungs.

Suddenly the ground beneath her feet disappeared, and she was hurtling through the air. She felt a sharp, painful impact on her shins, then the hardness of the ground as she lay supine under a great weight.

“Damned bitch.”

It was O'Hara's hissing voice, the smell of him enveloping her. She struggled on her belly, feeling her arms pinned to the ground, her legs leaden with his weight. The palm of his hand was pressed against her mouth.

“Don't scream. Don't move.”

He slowly released his palm, her throat ripped out a brief scream, then the palm clamped down again.

“I said don't.”

Struggling until she felt her ribs bursting, she quieted, finally surrendering to his superior strength. When she was still for a few moments, he withdrew his palm, waited to be sure her silence was assured, then slowly got off her, lifting her roughly. Her face felt bruised and she spat dirt.

“You're a pretty sight.”

“I want to get out of here,” she snapped, finding her voice, which sounded shrill and coarse.

“What will satisfy you? Haven't you caused enough damage?”

“Don't send me on that trip. It won't work. Not again.”

“So she finally got to you. I thought she might, but I had hoped you'd keep an open mind, resist her.”

“Making her suffer like that… it's inhuman, immoral. I can't bear it. After all she's been through.”

“Oh,” he said with sarcasm. “So you know what she's been through?”

“Yes. I know.”

“She told you.”

“Yes.”

“And you bought it?”

“Of course I did.”

He shook his head and spat on the ground.

“You poor, naive, stupid bitch.”

“I'm immune to your insults.”

“That's a good sign. How come you're not immune to her bullshit?”

“I believed her.”

“Of course you did. You're just naive and ignorant of their tactics. Heavenly deception, woman. Lie. Lie. Lie. Any lie is permissible if for the cause, if it fits into Father Glory's master plan, his theology. Wake up, woman. Don't you get it?”

She refused to be intimidated. Finally, he grabbed her upper arm.

“I told you it wouldn't be pretty.”

She shook him loose. “There's an understatement.”

He stubbed a toe into the hard ground.

“Did she say I raped her?”

Naomi hesitated, but did not answer.

“And you believed it?” he asked, his tone gentle.

“She… I can't say….”

“She told you how she prostituted herself, had relations with her father, caused her mother to commit suicide. Had sex with animals for the gratification of other men. All that garbage. On and on. Right?”

“It was for my ears only,” Naomi said belligerently.

“Your ears only. That's a lie. I taught them lies like that. She's been programmed to regurgitate these lies, make them sound like truth.”

“I don't believe you.”

“Now she wants you to save her, right? Rescue her from us, Satan's messengers? And you fell for it. Here you are. Off to the rescue. Off to call in the Glory cavalry.”

She felt a growing panic begin inside of her. Her chest ached and she swallowed hard, unable to speak.

“Stop taking these people at face value. You don't take me at face value. Why them?”

“She's suffering,” Naomi snapped. “That's face value enough.”

He shook his head in exasperation.

“I'll bet you even believe her about what happened to her sister.”

Naomi hesitated.

“Why should I doubt her?” she said, holding fast to her convictions.

“And you think all this is wrong, a mean exercise. Inhuman. Immoral.”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

“And last night. Our discussion.”

“You were deprogramming me. Making me believe you.”

Coming forward, he held her shoulders. His face was no more than an inch or two from hers. The smell of his sweat-soaked clothes repelled her.

“All right,” he said, after a long pause, dragging her toward the cabin. “You can do and say what you like, but it will have to wait. I can't let you go. I'd really like to get you out of my sight. But I can't.”

He thrust her roughly through the cabin door and she fell against the table, rattling oily dishes. A coffee mug fell to the floor and shattered.

O'Hara slid open the planks that held Mary's door. With the heel of his fist, he banged on it, shaking the house. Roy, neck muscles tensed, came out.

“What the hell…?”

He sized up the situation quickly, his eyes roving toward the open front door of the cabin. Quick as a cat, he sprang forward and locked it. Reading O'Hara's eyes, he slid open the planks that barred Amos' room.

“What is it?” Barney said, poking his head out.

“Is he on the verge?” O'Hara asked. Barney shook his head.

“Go get him, Roy. Ready or not. Sweat him till he breaks. This lady here won't quit.” Roy sprang forward and went into Amos' room. O'Hara turned to Barney.

“Keep them both barred.” Barney nodded.

Angrily, O'Hara dragged Naomi into the girl's room. Mary was flattened against the wall, rearing like a trapped animal, her fingers locked like claws.

“What did she tell you?”

“Don't,” Mary said, scowling.

“What did she tell you?” O'Hara said again.

“You know.”

“That I raped her.”

“You did!” Mary screamed.

“What else?”

“About her life. What she went through.”

“Drugs. Prostitution. Right? That her life was garbage? That Father Glory cleansed her? Her incest with her father, her mother's suicide. Her jail terms. All that degradation. Until she found the sweet light of Father Glory.” The words spewed out of him. “That she was Satan's child until she was rescued by Father Glory.”

Naomi nodded.

“That there was no sense of sharing, no real love. Everyone manipulating everyone else for personal gratification.” He shook his head.

“Stop it,” Naomi said.

“Can't you see it, woman?” He pleaded. “Programmed. I know because I used to put it there. I taught this tactic.”

He turned away and moved closer to Mary, who was still reared against the wall.

“You're not going to the spirit world. The Heavenly Father is angry with you.”

“He's not,” Mary shouted.

“Look at her. You, Mary, sent her out to save you. If the Heavenly Father cared, he would have let her pass. He hasn't the power you thought he had.”

“He does.”

“He lies to you. He always lied to you.”

“No.”

She shook her head from side to side.

“All he wants is money, more and more money.”

“No. No. No. No.”

“He makes you lie and cheat and steal. And do worse things.”

“He does not.”

“The Heavenly Father has cut you loose. He is angry with you. You were not true to him. You failed him. That's why Naomi's still here with us. He did not have the power to let her pass.”

“It is all lies.”

“And your mother didn't commit suicide. You know that, Susan.”

“I'm not Susan.”

“She died of cancer. And your father was killed in an automobile crash with you at the wheel.”

“That's not true.”

He took out a clipping from his pocket, and read from it. “‘Mr. Samuel Stuart of Bedford was killed today when the car in which he was riding hit a telephone pole.'” He looked at Naomi.

“All lies. Lies. You know that's not true.”

“There was no crash?”

Naomi felt the woman's eyes, pleading now, focusing on her with savage alertness.

“And the abortions?” Naomi blurted.

“Those. That was my idea,” O'Hara said. “I put that frosting on the cake.”

“It's true,” Mary shouted. “How could you know?”

“The Heavenly Father hates you, Susan. That's why you're here. He wants you banished from him. Father Glory wants you banished.”

“Resist the devil. Resist the devil. Resist the devil.” The mantra began again, in a rising crescendo. She stood up on the mattress. She flattened her body against the wall repeating the words.

“How did Charlotte really die, Susan?”

Mary's litany continued.

“Father Glory hates you. Hates you. Hates you.” His eyes bugged out as his voice rose. He ground a fist into his thigh, watched her and shook his head.

“Locked in tight as a drum,” he whispered, then shouting: “Dammit, Susan. I'm trying to set you free!”

He turned toward Naomi. “People like you….” But he left the sentence unfinished.

“I'd do the same thing. Just like her,” Naomi said.

Without comment, he helped Naomi to her feet. He knocked on the door. Barney slid open the planks and they came out into the other room. Then they went into the room where they kept Amos. Naomi stood in the doorway. Her knees felt weak and her head spun.

Roy looked up from a squatting position near the bed, his face glistening in the raw light. The young man sat cross-legged in the center of the mattress. He was thin and gaunt, and had wrapped his arms around himself as if he were literally holding himself together. His eyes were closed.

“Been like that for a while,” Roy said. “I nearly had him. He was really starting to break.” He shrugged.

O'Hara turned to the young man. Falling to his knees, he put his face close to the boy's ear.

“It's all right,” O'Hara said gently to the young man. He gripped his shoulder. “Jack.”

Amos opened his eyes, cautiously at first, then wider. They were moist, less glazed than she had seen them earlier, showing a feeble flicker of alertness. O'Hara turned away from him and nodded at Roy, putting a finger to his lips.

“Everything is fine now,” O'Hara said, turning again to Amos. “We know. Mary told us the truth about the girl.”

Amos closed his eyes again and shook his head from side to side, as if trying to escape from himself. O'Hara pressed his attack.

“The Heavenly Father is very pleased with you. You have done your duty.”

Tiny sweat drops burst out on Amos' forehead. His head rolled back, his Adam's apple strained against the taut skin of his throat.

“The Heavenly Father is very proud of you. But he is very upset with Mary for what she had told. You've resisted Satan very well, Amos.”

The young man writhed, as if another person was struggling inside of him. Naomi was frightened, too mesmerized now to contemplate her indignation. O'Hara glanced toward her, flashing a thin, sardonic smile.

“Mary's sister was gripped by Satan. You and Mary had to do it. She was going to run to them, hurt all your brothers and sisters. Jeremiah told you how important it was. Didn't he?”

Amos nodded.

“Bastard.” Barney croaked. Roy gripped him quickly, putting a heavy arm around his neck. Barney strained for a moment, shuddered, then quieted.

“She had to die, didn't she, Amos?”

He nodded.

“And you and Mary had to do it because it was important to the Heavenly Father, wasn't it?”

Amos nodded vigorously.

“But you knew she had gone to the spirit world and you had done a good thing?”

Again he nodded, and O'Hara continued to stroke his shoulder. He had stopped writhing. An odd process of unstiffening began, as if his bones and muscle had suddenly turned to jelly.

The room seemed to Naomi to be floating in space, encased in a bubble. Inside, it was airless. Nothing stirred. She wanted to cry out, but when the scream came, it was not hers. Like the cry of an animal caught in a trap, Amos' shattering scream speared out of the vacuum of his consciousness. Like a flashing knife, it sliced into the room. She felt the sharp sting of some unfamiliar pain.

The young man clung to O'Hara, the metaphorical lost son to the searching father, his body wracked with sobs. An exorcism. It was the first idea that came to her. Barney had collapsed as well into the thick arms of Roy, who held him upright, like a puppet whose strings had been cut, helpless.

“It's all right, Jack.”

“They ripped you off, Jack. I'm sorry.”

After a while, the young man calmed. Lifting his head, he showed them a tear-stained face, nose running snot.

“Just breathe deep,” O'Hara said. “You're free now. That's the important thing. You're safe now.”

Suddenly, the lifeless puppet that was Barney sprang to life, twisting out of Roy's grasp, lunging for Jack. Before he could reach him, Roy grabbed him and pulled him away.

“Not his fault,” O'Hara said, standing up.

“Pay dirt,” Roy mumbled. “He's out.”

He looked at Barney.

“Sorry, man. It won't do any good.” Reaching out, Roy helped Barney to his feet.

“Can't blame him,” O'Hara said.

“Who then?” Barney whispered.

“That's the point. Who?” He looked at Naomi.

“Still not convinced?”

Without a word, O'Hara grasped her arm and led her back to Mary's room. Roy and Jack followed behind them. Barney recovered somewhat and stayed in the main room.