The Book of David

by Kate L. Mary

  I follow Lake in but stop just inside the door. The room is massive, and at the moment it’s booming with so much activity it feels like the walls will be blown down. Voices roar through the space, echoing off the bare walls and tile floor, hitting the beamed ceiling before being thrust back down and getting swallowed up by even more noise. Stiff beds line the room, covered by blankets that look scratchy and pillows that make my neck hurt just looking at them.

  In the middle of it all are the women I’ve called family for my entire life. Many of them sit on beds, cradling children and staring off into space like they aren’t sure how they got here, while others walk around, weaving their way between the beds in search of someone or something, or maybe even checking to make sure their fellow sisters don’t need anything. The sense of community in the room is almost as overwhelming as the noise, and before I can stop it, a pang of regret and shame shoots through me. Most of the women in this room will see me as a traitor, but deep down I know I did the right thing. And not just for me.

  Lake, who’s stopped four feet in front of me, nods like she’s checking to see if I’m okay. I return the gesture, and when she once again starts walking, follow her deeper into the throng of activity even though a part of me wants to turn and run before anyone spots me.

  It’s too late. I’ve only taken two steps before the women begin to notice me, and even though I don’t meet any of their gazes head on, I can feel them watching me. Can feel the accusations, the glares, the anger. I’m an intruder here.

  I keep walking, though, focusing on the back of Lake’s head so I don’t have to look at anything else, ignoring the feelings inside me because at the moment it’s impossible to put a name to even half of them.

  We reach the other end of the room where a table has been set up, and Lake stops. The women behind it smile up at her, and I’m introduced. The expressions of sympathy they give me would’ve been welcome any other time, but it isn’t right now. At the moment, with the volatility in the air thick enough that I can feel it on my skin, their pity makes me feel like I’m wearing a sign announcing how I’ve wronged the women and children in this room.

  There are extra supplies behind the table, more blankets and bottles of water, packaged food I don’t recognize and know the women taking refuge in this room might be too afraid of to eat. There are other things as well—toothbrushes by the dozens, shampoo, and soap. Where all this came from, I have no idea, but it seems like the place has been set up for a long stay, which only serves to make my guilt more intense.

  “How’s it going?” Lake asks a woman with curly gray hair whose face looks round and shiny under the bright lights.

  “Good. Most of them are keeping to themselves, but we’ve had a few women come over and get supplies. They’re scared, so it will take some time.”

  “Do you have a feeling about any of them?” Lake turns and scans the room, but I keep my eyes on the women behind the table. “Anyone who might seem a little more relieved than scared?”

  To my shock, the gray-haired woman nods. “There are several.”

  “Really?” I ask, hope spreading through me.

  She nods again, this time more enthusiastically. “Really.”

  My first instinct is to find out who they are and track them down so I can beg for help, but Lake tells me to stay calm. There’s a right and wrong way to do things in situations like this, and she doesn’t want to push anyone away who might be on the fence about speaking up. Especially by bringing me in if they aren’t ready to talk to me. I’m a defector, worse than the outcast I was before, and even if some of them wanted to leave, that doesn’t mean they won’t have hard feelings toward me about how things went down. It’s ingrained in them.

  It isn’t easy, but I do as Lake says and head to an office at the other end of the gymnasium. Once again, all eyes are on me as I pass the women and children crowded into the room, but I do everything I can to not look right at them. It isn’t until I’m only five feet away from the little room that someone manages to capture my attention.

  Rebekah Snow.

  “He’s with you?” she says, and I know she’s talking about Jared.

  Up close, I’m even more struck by how young she looks. There’s nothing round about her body yet. She has no hips, and no breasts to speak of. She’s all arms and legs, looking almost like she sprouted up overnight and her body hasn’t had the chance to catch up to the growth yet.

  “He is,” I say.

  Rebekah nods twice and then shakes her head. “Father David told us Jared was still repenting, but that he’d fallen ill. He said it was a punishment from God.”

  I’m not sure if she’s calling me a liar or pointing out the lies her leader told her, so I ask, “Who do you believe?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You can ask Agent Lake.” I nod toward the table I just walked away from. “She’ll tell you.”

  I turn to leave but stop when Rebekah calls out to me.

  “I thought he was dying because of me.” There are tears in the girl’s eyes. “It was my duty, but I was scared. I couldn’t—”

  Her sobs choke out the words, but I know what she’s saying, and I know exactly how she feels. I remember the fear and uncertainty, the knowledge that I had a duty but the terror of going through with it. Rebekah got lucky, but thanks to Father David and his twisted teachings, she doesn’t feel that way.

  Even though Lake told me not to talk to anyone, I find it impossible to walk away from this girl when she’s hurting so much. So I do something I’ve never done before except with Jared, I wrap my arms around her.

  “You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  It’s all I can say because I can’t spill my guts to her right now, not in the middle of all this, and I don’t want to scare her. I don’t want to be the one to explain that what might have happened to her that night could have ruined her, or that it’s sick and twisted. I don’t want her to be thrust into such an ugly reality at such a young age because I know how that feels, and it’s something you can never get over.

  “Rebekah,” someone hisses, and a second later the girl is ripped from my grasp. I recognize her mother from the betrothal ceremony. Unlike that day when she was all smiles and pride, she’s glaring at me when she says, “Get away from my daughter.”

  Her face scrunches up like she’s going to spit on me, and I brace myself for it. If she did, I honestly wouldn’t be surprised, and I doubt very much she’s the only one here who wants to do it either. But that isn’t what happens. Instead, she turns away, pulling her daughter with her, and leaves me alone.

  The heaviness that settles over me as I continue my trek to the office is something I should be used to, but I’m not. I’m not sure it’s possible to get used to feeling utterly alone in the midst of so many people, of feeling like you’re nothing more than a ghost of a person. I thought leaving the commune would help me feel more whole, but it hasn’t, and it hasn’t severed the ties binding me to these people either. If anything, it’s strengthened them, because the thought of any of these women or children returning to the compound makes me want to fall to my knees and rip the rest of my hair out.

  I sit in the office, which is cluttered with papers and pictures of smiling people, and wait for Lake. Thankfully, it’s a short wait, and when she appears at the door, the person at her side is one of the last people I expected to see.

  “Angela,” I gasp, getting to my feet.

  My former friend doesn’t look up, but it’s impossible to know if it’s anger or regret that drags her gaze to the ground.

  She doesn’t say anything, and I’m clueless as to what I should say or do, or how I’m supposed to start such an overwhelming conversation.

  I look to Lake for help, but all she does is give me a reassuring nod and say, “Why don’t we sit?”

  We do, and the three of us in the little space doesn’t feel nearly as suffocating as I thought it would. Not even with the almost overpower
ing silence hanging over us. I have a million questions flipping through my head, many of them going back to that day in the hospital when Angela acted like she wanted to say something to me.

  “Angela?” I say after a moment.

  She lifts her head, pulling her gaze up slowly like it takes almost all her strength. Before she’s even met my gaze, a single tear rolls down her cheek. Her bottom lip quivers, and even with the room slightly distorted from my own tears, it’s impossible to miss the pain in my friend’s eyes.

  “I hated you when you ran away,” she finally says. “I thought you were stupid and weak. I didn’t understand. Then I had my betrothal ceremony.”

  The words hang over us, and I hold my breath, but she doesn’t elaborate.

  “It shouldn’t have happened,” is all I manage to get out.

  I’m not sure what to ask her or how much detail I should go into about how tortured I’ve been since that night. The last thing I want to do is scare her.

  “My mom told me it was my duty and that it would be okay,” Angela says, echoing what Rebekah told me less than fifteen minutes ago, “but I didn’t know him, and it just felt wrong.”

  “It is wrong,” Lake says quietly. “That’s why we’re here. That’s why we need you to tell us what happened. So Father David can go to prison and this never has to happen to anyone ever again.”

  “All I have to do is tell you?” Angela asks. “If I tell you what happened, it will be over?”

  “You’ll have to testify in court.” Lake goes on to explain how the system works, how Father David will have a trial, how we’ll have to sit in front of him and other people, mostly strangers, and tell them what happened to us.

  With each word, Angela’s eyes grow wider, and by the time Lake is done talking, she’s shaking her head. “No,” she whispers. “I can’t. I could never—”

  Her voice breaks, and the expression on her face tells me she’s on the verge of breaking, too.

  How has she managed to hide it all these years? I watched Angela after her betrothal ceremony, but I never saw a single thing to indicate that she felt the same way I did. She seemed the same. She still smiled, still spent time with the friends who’d turned their backs on me. She was the same old Angela.

  Or so I thought.

  Now, though, thinking about how she’s had to hide her true feelings, I find myself feeling bad. For not checking on her, but also for what she’s been through. It must have been torture working to keep a smile on her face when all she wanted to do was cry. At least I was able to show my true feelings on a daily basis, because no one cared if I fit in or spent the whole day sulking. I’ve felt so alone for the past three years, but in a way, Angela has been even more secluded than I have.

  “You can do it,” I tell her, hesitantly reaching out to put my hand on top of hers. “I know you can.”

  “I’m not like you, Willow. I’m not strong. After that night, I wanted to run away, too, but I was too scared after seeing what you went through. I was too weak.”

  “You’re here now,” I say. “That makes you strong. I know it doesn’t feel like it, but talking about what happened can help. I didn’t realize that until I told Jared what happened to me. But being able to say the words out loud made me feel like I was in control. It made me feel less alone, and so did knowing someone cared about me.”

  Angela swallows as more tears leak from her eyes. I can tell she’s considering it, so I stay quiet, letting her think it through while I try to figure out what else I can say to convince her. I can’t push her into it, can’t try to bully her into making the decision, but I need to let her know she isn’t on her own.

  “I promise you won’t be alone in this, Angela. Not for a second.”

  It still takes a few minutes, and when Angela finally starts talking, her words are low.

  Agent Lake has to lean forward, but she doesn’t urge the injured girl to speak up. Instead, we both stay silent as Angela’s tale comes tumbling out, broken by sobs and painted with anguish. The story is strikingly similar to my own, and I can’t help feeling like I was right there with her, in that room, in that bed. I can actually feel her pain, her fear, her shame. It’s more than sympathy that makes me cry with her. It’s a sense of unity, a feeling that she and I have been bonded together by this horrible thing.

  Angela isn’t alone in her pain and regret. Although most of the women refuse to say a single negative thing about Father David, a handful of others do come forward over the next couple days. Agent Lake is able to get twelve statements in all, and she tells me that as long as we can get at least a few of them to trial, Father David will face justice.

  It’s more than I thought would speak up, because I was sure Father David’s hold on these people was too strong, and I realize he was counting on the same thing. That’s why he cooperated. Why he came up with the lies about me and why he was able to smile when he was brought into the police station in handcuffs. Like me, he saw timid sheep when he looked at the women in the compound, never once considering that a few of them were actually lions who had somehow managed to stay hidden for all these years.

  Three days after the compound was raided, Agent Lake comes to see me at the motel. “We’re going to transport your mother to prison tomorrow. She took a deal. Ten years, another ten of probation. She was facing up to forty, plus I don’t think she really cares what happens to her.”

  “No,” I say, “she probably doesn’t, and she’s never been one to fight back.”

  Jared comes up behind me and rests his hand on my lower back. “Any sign of my father?”

  “No, and Father David isn’t talking. We’ll keep looking, though.” Agent Lake lets out an exasperated sigh. “I’ve dealt with narcissistic sociopaths before, but he tops them all. He’s totally devoid of emotion and compassion, and completely in love with himself. It’s impossible to tell if he really thinks he’s the messiah or if he just loves the attention. I doubt even he knows.” She focuses on me once again. “If you want talk to your mom, I’d do it now.”

  With the testimonies secured, I feel like I’m more prepared to face my mother. I have no delusions that she’ll apologize or even understand my pain, but I want to confront her one more time anyway. So I have a sense of closure, if nothing else.

  “I think I should,” I say then turn to Jared to see his reaction. Not because I need his permission, but because his expression will tell me if I’m insane or not.

  “I think you’d regret it if you didn’t,” he says.

  “Okay.” Lake turns to leave. “I’ll pick you up in the morning.”

  Jared and I go back into the motel room, and when he sits on the bed, his hunched shoulders remind me of my mother. Thinking of him like that, broken and empty, terrifies me, and I want to be able to look him in eye. To know he’s still in there and that he’s not on the verge of breaking down because of this.

  I sit at his side, on my knees so I’m facing him, and grab his face so I can turn it my way. “Are you okay?”

  His gray-brown eyes stare up at me, swimming with pain, but not empty the way I was afraid they’d be. “I’ll be okay. It hurts, not knowing what happened to him. Not knowing what he went through. He’d reached the end of the line, and I think we both knew this was how things would play out. You should’ve seen him that night, Willow. It was all he could do to drag himself into the main building and release me. I had to help him back to the house before I could even come after you.” Jared’s Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. “We said our goodbyes, and I think I knew, deep down, I’d never see him again.”

  “That doesn’t make it an easy thing to accept.”

  “No, it doesn’t. But he told me to go and never look back. He made me promise not to feel guilty, no matter what happened. It’s pretty impossible now that I’m sitting where I am, having no idea where my father is, but I’m going to make sure I don’t waste the freedom he gave me.” That’s when Jared wraps his arms around me. When he pulls me against him and pre
sses his lips to mine. When he whispers against my mouth, “I’m going to be sure I enjoy every moment of my life, and I’m going to do everything I can to fulfill the promise I made you. I’ll work every day to show you what it means to have someone love you.”

  We tumble to the bed then, kissing. It’s as close to an admission of love as he’s gotten, but I don’t ask him to elaborate. We’re both still mixed up from our ordeal in the compound, and things are confused and uncertain, and rushing into anything, especially a confession of love, doesn’t feel right. It isn’t just my fear of freezing up if we take things too fast that makes me want to take my time. My first relationship was not only forced on me, but it was also rushed and insincere, and that’s something I don’t want to repeat. Jared and I have years ahead of us now, and I want to savor each and every one of them.

  Out of her standard white blouse and black skirt, my mother looks like a stranger. Her skin is ghostly pale next to the orange jumpsuit she’s been given, which seems to swim on her thin frame. Her hair, which I’ve never seen in anything but a bun, hangs around her shoulders in a wild mess, but everything else about her is exactly the same. The way she carries herself when she crosses the little room to me, the chains on her hands and feet clinking against the floor as she moves, her lifeless eyes when she lifts them to meet mine. The way her shoulders stay slumped as she takes the chair across from me. It’s terrifyingly sad, because I have a sense that this will be the end of her. I can’t imagine someone this frail, both in body and spirit, being able to survive prison.

  “I’ve come to tell you goodbye,” I say, because I’m not sure how else to start.

  “Father David says you’ll burn in hell for what you’ve done.”

  How can a statement this condemning sound so flat?

  “Maybe,” I say, shrugging, “but I doubt it.”

  She doesn’t reply, but I pause long enough to give her a chance to say something anyway. To tell me what she thinks or feels for a change instead of spouting out Father David’s words yet again.