Messiahs

by Matt Rogers

  Violetta stood up.

  Brandon said, ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To the bathroom,’ Violetta said. ‘You’re not going to follow me there, are you?’

  ‘I’m thinking about it.’ He winked at her.

  She suppressed a shiver of disgust and walked away.

  Alone with Brandon now, Alexis stared at her food, refusing to acknowledge his presence.

  Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Brandon craning his neck to scan the mess hall.

  Finally he said, ‘Where’s that big guy?’

  Alexis said, ‘What?’

  ‘The big guy who came up to you two earlier. He’s not here. Do you think—?’

  Alexis interrupted. ‘You must be close to Maeve to get trusted for an important job.’

  Brandon’s pride overshadowed his suspicions, and he turned his attention to her. ‘I’ve been a loyal disciple for a long time. She thinks I’m trustworthy.’

  ‘Wow,’ Alexis said, pretending to be transfixed. ‘What do you think she has in store for you down the road?’

  Brandon started ranting about positions of power, a slave to his own ego.

  Alexis wasn’t listening.

  She’d put up with this if it meant Violetta had bought time to speak to King.

  72

  Slater needed Alexis.

  More than anything he needed her by his side, to ride out whatever was to come.

  Or King, his brother-in-arms.

  But the very thought of getting up and fleeing the log cabin made him freeze in fear, and he realised Dane had impeccable foresight. There was a reason he’d brought Slater all the way out here, roughly a mile from the commune. Any attempt to find his friends would lead to him blindly stumbling through the dark, and if he lost control of his sanity out in the shadowy plains he might never get it back. In contrast, the warmth of the cabin and the dim glow of the overhead lights was like a sanctuary.

  As soon as he realised he wasn’t going anywhere, he buckled in for the ride.

  ‘You’re okay,’ he muttered to himself under his breath. ‘Walk in the park.’

  ‘Yes,’ Dane said. ‘It’s a walk in a park. But it’s not any park you know.’

  Silence.

  Slater worked his jaw, staring acid hate across the table the whole time.

  Dane said, ‘Do you see?’

  ‘See what?’ Slater said. ‘A degenerate who drugs his guests against their will?’

  Dane started, ‘Bodhi is no drug. It is a—’

  Slater tuned out his next words and told himself the truth to drive a wedge between his own thoughts and Dane’s persuasions. Bodhi is a potent blend of Dexies, molly, and benzos. I’m aware, you piece of shit.

  The Dextroamphetamine would get his heart racing, the MDMA would drill dopamine into his receptors, and the benzodiazepine would level everything out to keep him calm and numb and stop him panicking. But that was what one dose was supposed to do. A single hit was expertly crafted to deliver maximum euphoria, but three was beyond overkill. What if he’d ended up finishing the whole glass? How would that have gone down?

  Slater made the first violent movement when he lashed out and swiped the rest of the Bodhi-laced water away.

  Dane shot to his feet, as if the hit had triggered the start of his sermon.

  ‘Yes!’ he shouted, his voice booming. ‘Feel that anger! Feel that hate you have toward us! Realise it is not directed at us, and in fact is aimed outward, at all of humanity, at the uncertainty that ripples through your being.’

  Slater thought, This’ll be easy not to listen to him. The guy’s a lunatic.

  Then it began.

  It started with a soft numbness behind his eyes, like the sharp edges were taken off everything in his field of view. The lights overhead glowed brighter, and Slater found himself staring at Dane’s face as the man spewed his delusions.

  His stare accentuated every capillary in Dane’s cheeks, every bead of sweat squeezing their way out through his pores, the flecks of spittle on his tongue as it darted in and out of his mouth.

  Every crack of dry skin on his lips, every speck of dandruff in his hair, every morsel of food in his beard.

  Dane said, ‘Turn within, Will. Look for the source of your anger. Look for the well. Envision it. Accept it.’

  Slater waited a second to reply.

  It dragged out for all eternity.

  The room hovered in stillness, the very definition of the calm before the storm.

  Slater said, ‘Fuck you.’

  Brilliant colours exploded in his vision, making the cabin pulsate. It wasn’t a hallucinogen like LSD or mushrooms, so he could still make out his surroundings without slipping into a different world entirely, but the furniture in the cabin shifted dramatically. It still looked the same but it felt like a realm he’d never touched before.

  Panic swelled in him with dark fury.

  He gripped the edges of the table. His touch was different, heightened. He could sense every sliver of wood in the table, imagine where the logs had come from to make the cabin itself, smell the forest and the grass and the musty aroma.

  Dane was there, looming over him.

  ‘Listen, Will. Listen to my voice. You are in its grip.’ His voice boomed like he was omnipotent. ‘Do not fight it. You have fought everything in your life, but if you fight this, you will lose. Let it in. Embrace it. Love it. Cherish it. That is the only way to victory here. Your combat experience means nothing now.’

  Slater put up a steel wall in his mind, and realised if it weren’t for meditation he would be lost.

  The key principle of meditation is detachment and observation. When you sit there with your eyes closed, your purpose isn’t to think nothing. It’s to observe your thoughts as they enter your mind, watch them with a keen eye, and let them float on by. It allows you to separate yourself from the rash impulses of anger, greed, fear, envy. In everyday life you can catch those thoughts better, realise they aren’t you, let them go…

  He did that now.

  As the reality he knew slipped away, he didn’t give in. It would be so easy … he felt so damn good. Just accepting Dane’s words would open the floodgates and he’d slip into unimaginable pleasure, but if there was one thing on this earth Will Slater was accustomed to, it was denying himself pleasure. Every neuron in his brain pleaded with him to let go, to give himself over, to tear down the walls in his head and become one with what he was experiencing.

  He wanted more than anything to fully embrace the compound, let Dane become the messiah.

  He held strong.

  Dane whispered the mantras of the cause for what might have been ten minutes, but felt like ten years.

  Slater let the words come in, watched them try to attach themselves to his heightened subconscious…

  Watched them fail.

  He imagined himself as a rock golem, impenetrable, detached from the world around him as it morphed and twisted and pulsed and throbbed and—

  In his ear, Dane whispered, ‘Let me in. Become one with the creed.’

  Slater looked up at the man, smiled and winked. The gesture took focus like he couldn’t comprehend, but he did it.

  Dane stood there, his face kind and benevolent, but the eyes never lie.

  Slater saw every atom of his irises, every detail in his pupils.

  There was frustration there.

  He latched onto Dane’s irritation and managed the words, ‘Keep trying.’

  Dane bent down and gripped his throat.

  73

  Violetta intercepted King in the exterior corridor, outside the door leading to the male and female bathrooms.

  There was no one else in sight, but the window might not last long.

  She kissed him briefly on the lips, more to steady herself. His presence warmed her. His touch spread calm in her.

  She stepped away and saw he was pale.

  She said, ‘What is it? I saw the look on your face from across the room.’
<
br />   He filled her in with a brief summary of what had unfolded. She soaked it in without emotion, then mulled it over, her handler side kicking in.

  She said, ‘So what’s changed? You were okay before dinner.’

  ‘There’s no way Dane didn’t find the body,’ King said. ‘That’s what I’ve realised. Believing otherwise is idiocy.’

  ‘He hasn’t done anything yet.’

  ‘But he will. Don’t you see? This is his last stand. I never should have given Slater the go-ahead.’

  ‘You think Dane will try to kill him?’ Violetta said, stepping closer to King. ‘Think about that for a second. Stop and take a breath. That would go disastrously for him.’

  ‘No,’ King said, shaking his head. ‘Dane’s switched on. He knows his limitations. I think he’ll use Bodhi.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘By slipping it to him.’

  Violetta considered the ramifications, the mental destruction that might ensue. And Slater had been uncomfortable taking a microdose for the sake of his cover. What would a full dose do to him?

  ‘You’re just guessing,’ she said. ‘It’ll be fine. He’ll be back in no time.’

  King said, ‘Something tells me I’m right.’

  Violetta went quiet, considered the consequences.

  She said, ‘If he doesn’t come back, we move tonight.’

  ‘Yeah,’ King said. ‘Maybe.’

  Distant footsteps drew closer.

  Violetta said, ‘But where’s Dane taken him?’

  King’s jaw was tense as he said, ‘I have no idea.’

  He walked into the bathroom before anyone spotted them together.

  74

  Slater’s heart thudded, and it was all he could concentrate on.

  The more he worried about it, the worse it got.

  130 beats per minute.

  140 beats per minute.

  150…

  160…

  Dane said, ‘You’re sweating.’

  His voice was like thunder.

  Dane said, ‘Listen to my voice. Feel its weight. Feel me moving the earth beneath you. Feel.’

  The earth moved.

  Slater knew it was all in his own head, but just because you know something’s not real doesn’t make it any less terrifying. The cabin shook, glowing and pulsing and swirling.

  Somewhere in the overworked pleasure centre of his brain, a voice of reason pushed through.

  If you can show lucidity now, Slater thought, you will break him.

  All it’s going to take is one massive push.

  Do it.

  Do it right now.

  All of him screamed to lose himself to the pleasure. To loll his head back, listen to Dane’s words, and allow them to change him. It was beyond enticing.

  But he’d built his life on denying himself pleasure.

  What Dane hadn’t taken into consideration was Will Slater’s ability to embrace pain. Right now, it hurt his mind to keep the effects of the drugs at bay. It hurt so goddamn much.

  But that’s where he lived, day in, day out.

  He went towards it.

  Dane grabbed him by the throat again and looked down into his eyes. ‘See, my child. See the light.’

  Slater stared back.

  He opened his mouth to speak.

  He saw Dane’s eyes swell with excitement.

  Slater said, ‘Do you know how fucking stupid you sound?’

  Dane’s face fell.

  Slater smacked his hand aside, got up, and walked across the room. It took unbelievable effort. Everything swayed. Disassociation made his legs feel like jelly, demanding that he stumble and fall and come to rest on the floor, relishing the sheer stimulation of the drugs.

  He refused.

  He absolutely refused.

  He made it to the door and threw it open.

  Behind him, Dane’s voice filled his head. ‘You’re not going to go out there. It’s dark. Think of the unknowns. You’ll be terrified.’

  Slater stared into the void.

  The darkness warped then constricted, throbbing like it was alive. His mind ran through the possibilities — wild animals stalking him in the shadows, disciples hunting him across the prairie.

  It’s not real, he told himself. None of it is real.

  Dane said, ‘Come back to me. Back to the warmth. Take a seat, put your feet up, enjoy the moment. Listen to what I have to say. I’ll show you how the world really works.’

  How the world really works?

  It works by confronting your fears.

  Slater smiled to himself. He didn’t allow Dane to see.

  All you have to do is get through the night.

  Simple.

  And impossible.

  A paradox.

  He stepped out of the cabin and walked off into the grassland, embracing his deepest terrors.

  75

  King paced the bedroom.

  There was little else to do.

  It was past ten p.m. The commune had wound down for the night. The disciples of Mother Libertas were on nature’s sleep cycle — sleep when it gets dark, rise at first light. It was a pleasant way to live. No phones, no social media, no overthinking, no incessant thoughts … just the calm, peaceful completion of daily manual labour surrounded by the stillness of nature.

  Wyoming’s grasslands were the perfect location for a cult like this.

  King had contemplated it all day.

  Now, he could think about nothing other than the fact that Slater hadn’t returned.

  He went over his options, thinking quickly, aided by isolation. He could set off into the darkness in search of where Dane had taken Slater, but that was an approach destined for failure. He’d be walking in circles without any light, unless he wanted to bring a torch and alert the entire commune to the fact he was out there, doing something he shouldn’t be doing.

  He could go to the bunkhouse where Alexis and Violetta slept, rouse them from sleep, determine what to do next.

  That would destroy the cover.

  Expose them immediately.

  King realised they should have moved that afternoon, before dinner, but indecision had stymied their drive. They were spread out, unable to talk to each other aside from hushed whispers in hidden corners. They didn’t know enough about the inner workings of the cult. Infiltrating Mother Libertas under the guise of civilians was the smart move, but it needed time.

  Dane, it seemed, was expediting things.

  So do I move now?

  Without weapons?

  Without a plan?

  Slater could handle himself. King knew it, but the fear of the unknown was oppressive. To combat it he lowered himself into his bunk, closed his eyes, and attempted to meditate.

  It didn’t work.

  His eyes flew open and he lay there in uncomfortable silence.

  Fearing for his brother-in-arms.

  76

  The last thing Dane Riordan expected was for Will to follow through with it.

  The big man stepped out of the cabin and disappeared.

  Dane’s stomach twisted.

  He lunged forward, rounding the table, passing the food that hadn’t been touched. He made it to the door, which had naturally swung closed, and threw it open.

  Will was gone.

  Dane felt cold. He’d told Maeve that security measures weren’t necessary, that Elias could be put to better use elsewhere. There was no way a man could withstand such a mammoth dose of Bodhi. That’s what he’d thought.

  He can’t withstand it, he reminded himself.

  The Bodhi would tear Will’s world apart, but the man had resisted its initial effects, held it together long enough to take the situation into his own hands.

  And I just stood there.

  Let him walk out, because I didn’t think he’d do it.

  Dane tried to be honest with himself, tried to admit that the reason he’d hesitated was because he was scared. He had a suspicion about who the newcomers truly were, and
if he was correct, then Will and Jason could kill him with their bare hands.

  No more games, he told himself.

  Time to put them in the dirt.

  He killed the lights and left the food and cutlery on the table. A disciple could clean it up in the morning. He stepped out of the cabin, now nothing more than a dark husk, and set off for the commune. The settlement was a beacon of light in the blackness of the plains, and he knew Will would avoid it. The man would try to ride out the Bodhi away from prying eyes, protected by solitude.

  It’d break him, but he wouldn’t be disturbed if he stayed out in the prairie.

  That was a tall order, but Dane now knew the man was up to it.

  Dane walked fast, striding it out over the terrain. Involuntary shivers ran through him. He imagined Will ignoring the Bodhi, quashing its effects, and proceeding to stalk his prey. Every time Dane turned his head he pictured the big man leaping out of the night, teeth bared, hands wrapping around his throat…

  ‘Fuck this,’ he muttered for no one to hear.

  He was sober, and he still couldn’t stop the intrusive thoughts.

  He wondered what Will was going through.

  77

  Slater fought not to lose his mind.

  It would be so easy. If he lay down in the cold dirt and let go, he’d have the best few hours of his life. But he’d also lose all spatial awareness, vulnerable to any of the disciples walking up to him and slitting his throat.

  To stay cognisant under the effects of so many drugs would be the toughest test of his life.

  Being hunted in this state, being a wanted man … it was horrifying.

  He stumbled without seeing, walking away from the distant light of the commune. In his heightened state the glow was heavenly. He ignored it. If he stumbled into the commune in this state, the mental burden would be overwhelming. Trying to act normal under the watchful eye of strangers…

  No.

  He needed solitude.

  A dark monster reared up out of the ground.

  He jolted, nearly falling over, and the anxiety made his vision spin. Unreality closed in, but he pushed back against it, keeping it at bay. He composed himself and stared ahead.