He may as well have punched me in the stomach. I know he wouldn't be talking to me like this if he knew what I'd done to my family, and it's my own fault for keeping things from him, but there's a reason for everything I haven't told him. For one, I didn't want him to draw some kind of skewed correlation between my past decision and the one he presently faces. But hearing him use this against me, speaking as if I have no idea what he's dealing with, sends me reeling.
“Actually, Jameson, I can imagine what you're going through. I'm a loner because I chose to walk away from my family. My father was a monster and my mother couldn't protect me because she was dead! I walked away when I was old enough and strong enough.” Jameson's face falls into the o-so-familiar look of pity I've always hated, and I shove him against the door. “Don't do that! You have no right to look at me like that because you're in the exact same situation I was. They are using you Jameson! No one loves you here. This isn't a family, it's a cult. You can't betray someone who forces your loyalty.”
A war begins to brew behind Jameson's eyes as he looks between the door, my face, and my quivering hands fisted at my sides. He has three choices. He can walk out the door and ignore what I've just said, he can kiss me in that detached sort of way and tell me how sorry he is for me, or he can take my hands and assure me that he's still in this with me no matter how difficult it is for him.
He leans forward, diminishing the space between our chests, and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
Please don't turn away...
Please don't say you're sorry...
Please don't pity me...
He wraps his hands tightly around my shoulders and give me one shake as he searches my eyes for an answer I'm not sure I can give him.
After a second, he nods.
“You're right. I'm just on edge and I'm sorry. I'll be fine as soon as we get the hell out of here.”
Right answer... Thank God.
Jameson pulls me in close and presses his lips to mine. I barely have time to close my eyes and enjoy the kiss because before I can sink into his embrace, before I can savor his taste, he pushes me deeper into the room.
Stumbling back, I reach blindly for his retreating warmth, but he's already gone. My eyes open to the door slamming shut behind him.
I spend four hours stress cleaning. I don't know what the other women here do during their free time, but I'm not stepping foot outside that door without Jameson by my side. If I have to go see Omar, I'm not going alone, so I figure I might as well be productive. If something happens, if we have a chance to go, I'll know exactly where all our things are.
While cleaning, I try to think of ways to stall my visit with Omar. I could refuse, or fight off whatever goons Joan sends to escort me, but I know that will just delay our escape. I don't need any more eyes on me than I already have, and judging by the amount of times I hear footsteps halt in front of my door, there are quite a few.
They come and go, only stopping long enough to press their ear against the door. I consider opening it, just to let them know that I'm not an idiot and I know they're there, but I don't. I don't want to know who's been sent to spy on me.
I hear footsteps coming down the hall and I expect them to stop in front of my door like the rest of them, but they don't. Instead, the door flies open and Jameson rushes to lock it behind him.
I drop what I'm doing and run to him. He's breathing so heavily, as if he's been running for his life, and his face is pinched and flushed with worry. All his poise has vanished, and he looks like a brute, towering over me with his shoulders heaving, arms hanging limply as he tries to catch his breath.
“What's wrong?”
“We have to do it today,” he whispers loudly, unable to control his volume as he gasps for breath.
“Do what today? Leave?”
My heart thumps wildly as a burst of adrenaline brings me to life. The waiting, the fear, the anticipation, it's almost come to an end. There's a light at the end of the tunnel and my body is aching for wide open spaces. I'm ready to run. Like a caged animal, I've kept myself primed, waiting for this day even though I knew it might never come.
“Yes, today. You're being moved.”
I don't understand.
“Moved? What does that mean?”
He barges past me, heading for the closet where he takes two black hoodies and throws them on the bed.
“ It means that they think you need to be watched, so they're giving you to Robert Perry.”
Shit...
I'm not sure if I want to pass out, vomit, or blow up. Maybe all three. I refuse to go with that man. I won't leave Jameson. It's absolutely not an option. We have to go.
“What do we do?” I ask, trying my damnedest to hide the fear crawling up my spine.
He takes both my hands in his. In one, all I can feel is the heat of his skin, the heat I've grown so fond of. In the other, the cold bite of steel digs into my palm and I raise my eyebrows in question.
“This is the key to the garage,” he says, speaking so closely to my ear that his lips drag across my lobe with every word. “Take it with you. Behind Omar's office is his living quarters. If you can find your way in there, there's a door leading outside. It faces the south gate. The bars are far enough apart for a person to squeeze through.”
I try to pull away from him, but he tightens his grip on my hands. I wasn't panicked before, but I am now. We're a team. Separating was never part of the plan, and he's delusional if he thinks I'm doing this alone.
“No. I'm not going anywhere without you.”
He shakes his head. “You won't be going that way. That's the first place they'll look. As soon as you walk out the door, go around the right side of the building. You'll see two big doors. That's the garage. Use this key,” he pushes my right hand into my chest, “There shouldn't be guards since no one's supposed to know what's down there. Find your car, get inside, and stay there.”
“For how long?”
“As long as it takes. Just wait for me.”
I can do that. I can keep my shit together long enough for him to slide in next to me, and then we'll be out of here.
“Okay.”
He kisses my forehead and releases my hands, leaving me with the key. “I have to go.”
“What? Already?” I take back everything I said about keeping my shit together. I'm terrified.
“Just do exactly as I told you and you'll be fine. We'll be fine,” he assures as he makes his way back to the door. “I promise.”
The silence he leaves behind is deafening. My brain is buzzing, trying to remember everything he told me to do. I try not to shake out of my skin as I go over the details in my head. He has a plan. It's a plan that could work. As long as I don't forget what the hell I'm supposed to do.
Go see Omar. Find a way to his living quarters. Go outside. Go around the building. Find the garage. Find my car. Sit and wait.
I don't know which if those steps will be harder. Finding a way to distract Omar could be difficult, but no more than sitting in my car alone. I know I won't be tempted to leave without Jameson, but I'll spend every second wondering if I'll be found.
Patience is not a virtue I possess.
Before I can go back to pacing the length of the floor, the door is thrown open and a small brunette rushes me.
I ball my fists, ready to fight off whoever's been sent to take me away, but the second I recognize the tornado of brown hair, I lower my hands and relax my back.
“Jesus, does no one knock anymore?”
“Sorry!” Lyla gasps. “Kind of in a hurry here!”
She locks the door behind her and pulls me into the bathroom, turning on the water just as Jameson did during our first talk. Whatever she's about to tell me can't be overheard. That doesn't worry me anymore, I don't have that much faith in the human ear, but if she thinks it's necessary, I won't question her.
As the hot water begins to steam the room, Lyla pulls a box out of her pocket and hands it to me.
She nods for me to open it and I do. Inside, nestled between folds of cotton, is a syringe. I can see that it's full, just waiting for someone to press the plunger.
Lyla's silence unnerves me. I have no idea what I'm supposed to do with this.
“It's for Omar,” she finally says, raising her eyebrows as she waits for it to sink in.
Oh...
“It will buy you some time. He'll go down fast, but it will wear off just as soon,” she explains. “You've only got a few minutes.
The pleading yet hopeful look in her eyes tells me that she knows everything, she knows our plan.
“How? How did you get this?”
“I had an appointment with him this morning,” she says, still breathing heavily. “I've seen him use that stuff on some of the women here. Too many times.”
I nod. It's not surprising, and I'd bet my left leg that I'd have that used on me at some point in time if we were to stay here.
“Come with us,” I insist. “Please, please don't stay here.”
She shakes her head even as a sad smile tugs at her lips and her eyes fill with tears.
“I can't. You know I can't. The more people you have with you, the less chance you have of getting out. Just- just go, but promise me something.”
“Anything!” It's true. I'll promise anything to this woman.
“Come back,” she says, trying hard to keep her bottom lip from trembling. “Before I have to give them my baby, please come back for us.”
Lyla may be a young woman, but she has the heart of a lioness. She's scared, she has so much more to lose than I do, yet she's helping me. She's giving me an out even if it means she has to stay behind.
I pull her tightly into my chest, wrapping my arms around her like two pythons, unwilling to let go. I do not want to let her go. I feel like I'm failing her somehow, but I swear on my life, on Jameson's life, and the life of everyone in this godforsaken place that she will not have to stay here.
“I promise.”
I've never had a best friend. Lyla is the closest I've ever gotten and I will do whatever it takes to make sure she's okay. I wouldn't leave if I thought I couldn't help her, but I know I can and I know I will.
I've never had anyone close to care for, and I've never had the urge to. But there's something about Lyla. It's not her vulnerability or the ease in which we converse, but something deeper.
It's the fire I see in her eyes, the solidity in her voice, and the passion to live that has drawn me to her. It's everything I had hidden inside me before I came here. It's what her and Jameson brought out of me. It's a deep, yearning desire to not only survive, but to live.
I WILL come back for her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Shortly after Lyla leaves, there's a knock on the door.
This is it... Time to face the music.
“Who is it?” I feel dumb for asking, but I need a few seconds to mentally prepare myself. Hell, who am I kidding? I'll never be able to prepare myself for what's about to unfold.
“It's Robert. I'm here to take you down to Omar's.”
Shit!
I'm not ready for this. I'm not. I'm not. I'm not. I can hear just by Robert's voice that he already thinks he owns me.
In your dreams, creep.
“Uh, okay, just give me a minute.” I look around the room to make sure I have everything I need. I'm wearing the black hoodie Jameson gave me, the mystery syringe is tucked inside the waistband of my jeans, and the knife I had in my camping bag is strapped to my ankle.
Okay, Tess. Breathe. You can do this. You're so close. Don't fuck this up.
I take one calming breath after another until the clouds of panic have receded enough for me to focus. I can hear Robert tapping his foot impatiently on the other side of the door, but I ignore him. I can't let him intimidate me. I have to go into this with a clear head.
“I can do this,” I mouth before opening the door.
I haven't seen much of Robert in my time here, but I recognize him from our first meeting. He's older than me, probably in his late forties judging by the wrinkles around his eyes and the gray speckling his sideburns. He's shorter than Jameson, but thicker, built like a man who's spent an abundant amount of time training his body to withstand the brutality of his job, which is 'handling' girls that can't be tamed by others.
“Let's go.”
Before I even have a chance to speak, he wraps his meaty hand around my upper arm and drags me out the door, not bothering to close it behind us.
Here we go...
I didn't get a good look at Omar's office when I came for Jameson, but looking at it now makes me wonder what kind of infections he's given to women over the years. It's clear he doesn't clean or store his medical tools like he should. Everything is laid out haphazardly on the counter and now I realize just how easy it was for Lyla to get her hands on whatever it is that's hidden under my shirt.
The room is bright, so bright I have to squint, and it's sparsely furnished. There's only a sink, a counter, and an 'exam table' that looks like it could have been a teacher's desk in a previous life. The shady room screams 'get out now!'
It's a damn good thing I didn't have a phobia of going to the doctor before this, because I can already tell I'll be having nightmares about this room for years to come. This place is where wellness comes to die.
Omar enters the room and smiles. It's not a comforting expression. He looks as if he knows something I don't, and that's never a good thing.
“Here's a gown,” he says, turning his back to me but not leaving the room.
My heart starts to race. I hadn't anticipated this. I have every step memorized, but I don't think I can carry this out while wearing a skimpy hospital frock.
Think! Quick! Uhh...
I spy a mini-fridge next to the sink. The upper shelves are filled with tubes of different colored substances labeled with time stamps, but under that shelf sits a row of bottled water.
Be fast! Just do it! Don't flake. Just. Fucking. Do. It.
“Do you care if I have a drink first? My throat's a little dry.”
“Of course.”
Omar bends down, opens the fridge, and grabs a water. As quietly as I can, I slip the syringe from my waistband and grip it tightly in my fist. It's my one and only chance. If I screw this up, we're never getting out of here. I take a deep breath and do what needs to be done.
Now!
I jump, taking full advantage of my speed that far rivals that of his elderly meandering, and jab the needle into his neck, pressing the plunger in as fast as I can while he jerks under my weight.
“Eck,” he squeaks before falling to his knees.
Before his chest slumps forward, I snatch his keys out of his breast pocket. It's just a hunch, but I'm almost positive that this door will lock from the inside. Robert is outside waiting, so the more barricades there are between the two of us, the better off I'll be.
My adrenaline is through the roof. My heart just won't slow down. I want to scream in victory, but I couldn't voice a single word if my life depended on it.
Calm down... The hardest part is over. Just go!
Lyla said I didn't have much time, that the drug would wear off quickly, so after locking the door, I haul ass out the back door, through his posh living quarters, and out the sliding glass door at the back of the building.
Leaning up against the brick exterior, I want to catch my breath. I want to let my mind catch up with my body. The sun is setting and there's just enough of a breeze that I'm chilled. But it feels so damn good to be outside again. I just want to fall into the grass and breath it all in. But I don't have time.
I race around the corner, quickly spotting the double doors Jameson described. He was right, there's no guard standing watch. The doors look inconspicuous enough.
That's the garage! As soon as I'm inside, it will be smooth sailing from-”
Sirens break through my inner ramblings and before I c
an even process what's happening, men are pouring out onto the grass, each one cradling a weapon to their chest as they swiftly rally together.
Shit! Shit! Shit!
I run faster than my legs have ever carried me. My muscles burn. My lungs burn. Every cell, from my scalp to my toes, is screaming at me to ignore the pain, to keep pushing.
Just! Get! There!
I pray that between the setting sun and my dark attire, I won't be noticed. I stay low to the ground, which makes it harder to breathe, but I feel like less of a shining beacon screaming 'you're looking for me!' Nearing the doors, I notice a hedge and quickly realize it's going to be my new best friend.
Instead of heading straight for the lock, I dive into the greenery. It's a thorny variety, so I know I'm scratched all to hell, but I don't care. I dig into my pocket and grab the key, holding it just right between my thumb and pointer finger, readying myself for the next step in our escape.
With a quick two second glance toward the search party, I find the perfect opening and take it.
While their attention is focused on Robert barking out orders, I scurry out of the hedge, unlock the door with shaky fingers, pull up on the heavy rolling door, and tumble through the foot-wide gap at the bottom into relative safety.
Silence.
This garage must be sound proof, because I can't hear a damn thing. Either that, or my heart is beating too loudly for me to hear.
There are no windows. None. No cracks of light coming in from beneath the doors. There's only darkness.
Thanks, Jameson. A warning would have been nice. Or a flashlight!
I touch the door behind my back and carefully turn around to face it. With my eyes closed, because there's really no reason to try to use them, I feel blindly along the wall for any kind of switch or button.
Nothing... nothing... oh! No, that's a key ring... That's another key ring... Son of a bitch, how many sets of keys are in here? Are my keys here or in the car? I'm glad we thought this through so fucking well...
As if by divine intervention, my hand stumbles across something familiar.
Is that...?
I pull the bundle of keys from the hook, toying with the heavy object attached. My fingers move over rough, dimpled metal, and I want to scream 'Hallelujah!' when I find the button I'm looking for.
Loving the Cult Page 13
