The Sect (39 page)

My mother reached across my lap and grabbed my hand, kissing it and holding it as though she would never release it. “We did. Every month for seven months, but something strange began to happen four months ago—”

“We don’t have to discuss this,” my father interjected, readjusting in his position.

“Dad”—I closed my eyes for a moment and exhaled—“please let her finish.”

He conceded, appearing mildly disappointed.

“We were told to wire the money to an untraceable account at the same time every month,” my mother explained. “We were told if we continued to do this, you would be taken care of and eventually released. Four months ago, the money began to come back to us—every cent of it. We kept sending the money, thinking it might’ve been some sort of mistake. Last week, we received a phone call from a woman calling herself Mrs. Sherman. Of course, after you were found, we told the FBI about the woman. As far as I know, they haven’t been able to track her down.
 

“She gave us directives to follow; alert the authorities and tell them a cult was in the midst of a purge. She gave me a day, a time, and a set of coordinates that led to the hotel and the compound. She warned us that if we didn’t comply, we would never see you again. If I had to do again, I would’ve called sooner. All those people…”—her lip quivered as tears spilled down her cheeks—“lost their lives because of a sick, sick man. I hope he’s burning in hell at this very moment.”

My father seemed in agony over something he didn’t want to say. It was so palpable it called my mother’s attention.

“Arthur? Is there something wrong?” my mother asked tentatively.
 

“This stays between all of us, because it was told to me by Richard in confidence.” His cheeks puffed up as he held his breath, slowly allowing it to unfurl. He set his gaze to my window, watching the moonlight dance against the chiffon curtains. “They weren’t innocent people. Not a single one of the people whose remains they found were upstanding citizens. Some of them had been on several international most wanted lists for the most grievous crimes.”

“Oh, dear God.” My mother grabbed me tighter. “You were living amongst criminals? Oh, baby girl.” She grabbed my head, forcing me to lean on her shoulder as she quietly sobbed.

Lifting my head, I gave them a small smile, pretending to be perfectly fine. “I’m so tired. Do you mind if I lay down for a while? It will be nice to be in my own bed.”

“Of course,” my father said, darting up too quickly. He took my mother’s hand as looks of concern, remorse, and sadness washed over their faces.

The moment they flicked the switch on the door, shutting the light off, I reached up and turned on my lamp.
 

My fingers slid up my T-shirt, provided by my mother the moment we arrived to their hotel suite back in North Dakota. The moment I was able to shower and remove the wedding dress, the events I’d endured began to overwhelm me. I had to hold it together for them, but I fell apart in the shower that took me at least an hour to finish.

I moved my hand around, touching the scars Jeff left me with, then fingered the almost faded burn marks Noah left me with. I tried to breathe, but instead, relented to a deep rooted sob. I shook with tears for the things I’d lost—too many to name—and wondered if I’d ever be okay again.

5 M
ONTHS
Later

There were a few times during my months of recovery that I did a little digging here and there on Noah. I found out that his parents’ company was sold for a lucrative amount of money three months after my ordeal at Rebirth. It proved what Shiloh and Nadine had told me—a story truer than the one Noah told me. At one point, I searched for Mrs. Sherman. I knew the idea of finding her was a ridiculous notion, but I still had to make an attempt. I tried professions, guessing by what she said about knowing when two people had chemistry. A casting director? A matchmaker? I, of course, didn’t turn up anything.

I was never able to stop my need to search for things about Noah, but he was a ghost; I couldn’t find a single shred of information on him.

I never stopped looking and grasping at straws, hoping the story he told me held very few lies. It bothered me that a man like Shiloh was more truthful to me than a vigilante like Noah.

Adam and Nadine were on a never-ending media tour. Each of them had interviews together and it seemed everywhere I turned, they were in the news, riding the waves of the frenzy over what happened in North Dakota before it fizzled out and the world became enamored with another sensationalized story.

 
Nadine wrote a book about the ordeal and released it rather quickly; it instantly became a bestseller, spending months on the charts. I couldn’t watch any of her interviews; they made me remember things I wished out existence.
 

I spoke to Nadine only once and it was through Adam. Our conversation was strained and short. Adam—who apparently wasn’t a part of the ruse—told me that sometimes he missed the structure and the idea that he was doing something good with his life. In our only discussion, I found out what his crime was. He was a witness to a murder and committed perjury, allowing a murderer to go free. He wouldn’t tell me what his reasons were, but in the end, I didn’t really need to hear them.

He’d grown very close to Nadine. So close, he told me he was searching for engagement rings. He asked me clinical and simple questions that made me wonder if he was ordered to contact me on Noah’s behalf—if he was still alive. The man seemed to disappear into thin air. His name was left out of the ordeal, leaving him as an invisible person that only a select few knew about. The world would never discover who the real person behind Rebirth was.

Oftentimes, I wondered if he really was the savior, saving innocent people from the evil doers in the world. As Jeff once told me, sometimes we had to do bad to do good. How many people’s lives were saved with what Noah did? I guess I would never know. What I did know was that at every turn, every time I saw a scar he left me with, I felt a divide so deep it physically pained me.
 

I couldn’t look at another man or even think about getting into a relationship with anyone else. That fact was often revisited whenever my mother mentioned something about me finding someone. I wasn’t the Keaton Mara my parents made me to be. Nor was I the one that Gregory changed me into. What I held on to the most was the way Jeff and Noah changed me.

Two days after I returned home, I tracked down Jeff’s remains and made arrangements for a proper burial. He was buried at Quantico
with
fanfare. It was the only time I permitted myself to be in the public eye, but I did it for him. He was a hero, an extraordinary man, and he deserved to be buried like one.

As time passed, I’d forgotten about the worst, and remembered the best moments I spent with Noah, the moments when I was able to grasp the things that were stolen from me. The recollections created a craving I tried to suppress with other things; yoga, Pilates, therapy…the list continued. Nothing seemed to cure the shameful yearning.
 

My parents and I bounced around locations. My father claimed it was to scout out locations for a new movie he planned to do, but I knew better. He had moved his role to executive producer on most of his pictures and my mother took an interim vacation from F.A.C.E. We were trying to reconnect as a family again. At times, it was difficult, but they learned pretty quickly that being in remote locations left me unsettled. Our travels took us to crowded cities. Dubai, Paris, and London. Currently, we were spending time in Quebec City.
 

I loved them and I missed them when I was away, but at times, their attention became overbearing. Our travels seemed like an apology tour. It became exhausting to assure them constantly that I was okay and what happened to me wasn’t their fault. My mother would quickly remind me that it wasn’t mine, either. I smiled and told her that I knew, but I would never get over the notion that it was, in fact, my fault.

I looked at the beautiful view of the street as I sat in a little café with my steaming cup of coffee and a chocolate beignet. The place began to grow deserted, making me think it was time to leave.
 

Something stopped me. The back of my neck bristled, making me shiver. I looked down at my lap, wondering what came over me. It was the scent—the smell of the fresh cotton. Looking up slowly, I searched the small café but saw no one there to greet me. Deciding it was time to leave, I headed to the ladies’ room before I made my way back to my hotel suite across the street.
 

As I walked toward the back of the restaurant, I glanced back at the windows, spying my bodyguard. It was the very first time my bodyguard—hired by my parents—wasn’t a mere three feet away. After an argument, they finally agreed to make sure he stayed out of my way, allowing me to maintain a little bit of my autonomy.

The door swung closed in front of me, indicating someone had walked in earlier. The scent that permeated my nose earlier became stronger. I touched the handle of the door, finding it almost impossible to go inside.

Ignoring my senses, I opened the door. There was only one stall occupied; the door was left partially cracked open.
 

 
I looked in the mirror, attempting to bring myself together. I reached down to retrieve a tube of lipstick and realized I absentmindedly left my purse underneath the table. I was halfway to the door when I heard the water run. I glimpsed over my shoulder just barely, but it was enough to make me freeze.

“You’re in the men’s bathroom, did you know that?” He turned off the faucet and shook his hands in the sink, grabbing a drying towel. He stared at his hands tentatively, taking his time before he put the towel in its rightful place.

I was scared if he looked at me, the feeling that slowly crept over me would become stifling. I looked to the right at the urinals and remained staring at them for a moment. “How did you find me?”

The taps of his shoes pounded on the floor with the same meticulous rhythm they always did. The more they neared me, the more my body began to tremble. “Is that really the question you want to ask me?”

My neck snapped to him, dressed in an all-black suit, sans tie with the collar open. His hair was a little shorter than I remembered. He was very clean-shaven and looked very much like a businessman in the midst of a causal meeting. The blue in his eyes looked a little brighter when he gave me his signature boyish smile; the slow seductive smile that erased all my negative thoughts toward him.

As I faced him, I stepped backward; my back met the closed door with a slam. “Why are you here, Noah?”

“There,” he said. Taking one step toward me, he slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks. His stare became burning, burrowing. “That’s a real question.” His gaze stripped me, examining me as though he was extracting my thoughts. “You realize I’ve been having you watched and the bodyguard your parents hired is working two sides. Theirs and mine.”

“You’re having me followed?” I asked, my voice hoarse and quiet.

He raised a brow. “I know you had to know, Keaton. Just as I’m sure you knew I needed assurances.”

“Assurances of what?”

His chin tilted to his chest, his eyes narrowing. “That you were safe. That you were all right. That no one else touched you. My brother fucked you once, and we both know what happened to him. His crimes—that fucker committed many—were done to piss me off. He’d gone off script many times with you. I think he knew, before I did, that fucking with you would irritate me the most. Did you see the bruises I left him with before he died? That’s what happens to people who touch you. The harbingers, although they did what they were told to do, it bothered me enough to shoot them both in the head while I was cleaning house during the fire. They took way too many liberties with what they were told to do. I have never, and will never, abide by people who can’t follow simple directions. That obviously excludes you. It
always
excluded you.”