But hope is a fragile thing. And holding onto it in the face of fear and doubt feels almost impossible. Because even the sun can’t keep the clouds at bay.
And I’ve learned the only thing I can do is walk into the storm.
I woke with Sara’s hair in my mouth. Her soft, warm flesh pressed against me.
I didn’t move right away, trying to discern if this was a dream or not.
My head was fuzzy. I felt befuddled, not able to remember where I was or why Sara was asleep beside me in bed.
She smelled like flowers. I buried my nose in her hair, inhaling deep. She moaned a little in her sleep. She moved against me restlessly.
Then it all came flooding back.
The last twenty-four hours hit me like a freight train. The loss of my brother sat like a rock in the pit of my stomach. A void that would never, ever be filled.
David was gone.
It felt as though a light had gone out in the universe and I was left in total darkness.
David was gone.
Forever.
Sara moaned again, her hands balled into fists, her body curled into a fetal position. I ran a hand up and down her back, trying to soothe her. She reacted to my touch and finally calmed down, though she remained in a tight ball, her knees tucked into her chest. She looked so incredibly young.
Both of our lives had been turned completely upside down. The reality of everything that had happened, everything that was to come, made it hard for me to breathe. I lay there in dark, trying to suck oxygen into my lungs. Trying not to panic.
Eventually I couldn’t stay still any longer. I carefully untangled myself from Sara and made my way to the bathroom, stubbing my toe on the corner of a chair. I hobbled the rest of the way to the bathroom and quietly closed the door behind me. I leaned against it for a moment, trying to settle my racing heart. I knew what a panic attack felt like. I had had them a few times over the years. With clumsy fingers, I patted the wall, trying to find the switch. When I finally found it, I turned on the light and hurriedly splashed cold water on my face. I braced myself on the sink, trying to get my breathing under control.
I was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, my limbs shaky.
Just breathe. Just breathe.
After a few torturous minutes I felt my heart beat begin to slow and I sucked in air like I was drowning.
When I felt more or less composed, I looked at my reflection in the smudged mirror. I hardly recognized the face that stared back at me. I looked like some crazed mountain man. My jaw line was covered in a course, thick beard. My hair had grown down to my shoulders. My eyes were drawn and sunken. I hadn’t slept much. Only a few hours. Nightmares weren’t conducive to rest.
I had lost a considerable amount of weight over the last few months. Yet, with all the manual labor I had done, I was the most toned and in shape I had ever been in my life.
However, every other thing about me was a disaster.
My head was in complete chaos. I couldn’t think straight. I went from unbelievable rage to absolute despair in the span of seconds.
And David…
I gripped the sink until my fingers throbbed.
David.
I would never be able to forget the sight of him lying on the floor, bile leaking from the side of his mouth. His eyes open and dull, staring up at the ceiling as though he had expected to see something there. His expression was almost peaceful. It disturbed me that in those last few minutes of his life he had found exactly what he was looking for in his impending death.
“What did you do to him?” I screamed, pushing through the crowd of people gathered around his still body. They were like some sort of droid army. Totally silent. Heads bowed. Hands clasped in front of them.
All in white.
Every single one of them.
Pastor Carter kneeled beside David, his hand on his forehead, his other arm raised above him. He sang those same stupid songs he sang in the morning.
I tried to get to David but I was held back.
“Let me go! What did you do to David? You fucking killed him!” I lost my mind in those few minutes. I kicked, I hit, I scratched, I pulled. I decked one of the guys holding onto me, but he kept me back.
And Pastor Carter continued to sing. Continued to touch my brother’s very dead body.
I struggled and then I stopped.
“No!” I wailed, sinking to the floor.
“David is in the arms of the Lord. He’s been called home. His Awakening has led the way for all of us. And we will all join him when the time is right. He will ready our eternal garden so that we may reside there with him,” Pastor Carter said. And he fucking smiled. As if my brother wasn’t going rigid at his feet. His white linen pants soiled. Blood leaking from his nose.
“You killed him! You’re a fucking monster!” I yelled.
“This was David’s choice. He was a holy man. A martyr for our cause. He will be remembered as the first. The most important.” Pastor Carter laid his hands on my brother’s chest and began to sing again.
I couldn’t take it. I finally ripped away from the men holding onto me and ran towards the Pastor.
I would kill him.
I would kill them all if I had to.
They had done this to David.
They would pay.
I never made it to Pastor Carter. The other Gathering members made a wall between him and me. They wouldn’t budge. Stafford and Bobbie stood in front of me, shoulder to shoulder.
The children held hands, creating a tiny barrier that wouldn’t break. Rosie’s delicate face was a blank. She didn’t look at me. Not once.
In my grief, I despaired for what these kids had seen tonight. For what they endured just by living.
I had to push them from my mind. I had to get to my brother.
I pushed. I shoved. I rammed them with my shoulder. And still they remained.
They would always remain.
I hadn’t saved my brother.
So, I would save the only person I could.
Sara.
No one had stopped us when we left. After the run in with Sara’s mother, I half expected the other members to descend on us like a mob, taking Sara back into their web. Wrapping her up tight and swallowing her whole.
It hadn’t happened. We made it to the gate without incident. We were able to force it open and then we walked the six miles down the mountain to Whistle Valley.
It was late by the time we got into town. Everything was closed except for the motel where David and I had stayed when we arrived months before.
I had kept hold of my credit card in preparation for the day we’d leave. I had hidden it underneath the insert of my boot. I had planned for this day. The one where that horrible place was in my rear view. Only I had imagined David would be with me when we made our escape.
Neither Sara nor I said much on the walk to town. We were both trying to keep it together long enough to get somewhere safe. We never stopped to rest. We didn’t slow down. We all but ran the entire way as if the devil himself were on our heels.
I checked us into the motel. Luckily it was one of those places where no one asked questions. We had to look completely unhinged in our worn clothes and bedraggled hair. The guy behind the front desk barely spared us a glance.
Once we were in the room Sara had sat down on the bed—only one—and stared blankly at the wall. She seemed to completely shut down.
Only when you stop running do the demons catch up with you.
And that’s exactly what happened to both of us. The turmoil of the past three months washed over me.
The loss of David dragged me down and wouldn’t let me up.
“Sara,” I rasped, trying to get her to look at me. After everything, I needed her.
God, I needed her so much.
She had been the only good thing during the bleakest, darkest time of my life.
I regretted so much about how things transpired.
But I could never regret her.
I had gotten her out of there. That had to count for something.
She looked up at me. There was dirt smudged on her cheek. Her sweater was torn at the shoulder. Her long skirt was filthy, the hem coming undone. But it was her eyes that ripped me open.
She wore the expression of someone who had had barely survived some sort of disaster. She was shell shocked. Tormented.
“Sara.” I said her name again, having to say it. Having to hear it.
She grounded me.
Didn’t she realize that?
I sat down beside her, frightened to touch her. Now that we were here, in the aftermath, I didn’t know who we were.
What were we supposed to do now?
What did a future look like for a girl like Sara Bishop?
It was only when I was close to her that I could see she was shaking. Fine tremors all over her body.
“What’s going to happen, Baz?” Her voice was barely audible. Her lips were cracked and chaffed. Her pupils dilated. I could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she struggled to breathe properly.
She was going into shock.
I let myself touch her then. She needed it as much as I did. Sara hadn’t been off the mountain in ten years. She had lived a sheltered life. A life filled with absolute control and abuse. The threads of all that she had experienced over the last decade would take a long time to untangle.
And right now, she was being hit with the enormity of what she had done. Of what she had gone through.
I was grieving for my brother. I hadn’t yet allowed myself to experience all that meant to me. But I knew that what Sara was feeling was something else entirely.
She was mourning the loss of herself.
Of her entire life.
I had to focus on her for now. It made it easier to put my energies into helping her. I’d focus on myself later. On how I was feeling. On what I was going to do.
Then I’d think about David. About losing him. About what it meant that he was no longer living in the world.
But not yet.
I put my arm around her shoulders, gently pressing her head onto my shoulder. “Don’t worry about that right now. Concentrate on now. We’re here. Together. As long as we have that, everything will be okay.” I kissed the top of her head. “I can’t promise you easy, Sara. But I can promise to make it worth it. All of it.”
How could I promise that?
I felt like a liar.
Like Pastor Jeremy Carter.
A fraud.
But damned if I wouldn’t try to do whatever I could to make this right for her.
For both of us.
We fell asleep still dressed, neither of us having the energy to shower or take off our clothes. We wrapped ourselves up in the comforter, arms around each other. And we slept as best we could.
We were both exhausted, but it took a long time before I was able to turn off my brain and get some sleep.
And then it was riddled with images of David on the floor. Vomit coming from his mouth. The cold, waxy sheen of his dead skin.
I continued to stare at the man in the mirror.
Who the hell was he?
I wasn’t sure how long I stood there. I did know it wasn’t morning yet. The sun hadn’t risen. I could instinctually tell. Maybe my body had become tuned to the rise and fall of the day since being with The Gathering. After all, their entire existence revolved around the sun’s cycle.
It infuriated me to think that anything The Gathering did had ingrained itself on my psyche. Like a parasite, Jeremy Carter and the people who followed him had burrowed under my skin. Into my brain.
I wanted to dig them out with my fingers. Stomp on them. Annihilate all memory of them.
I hated to admit, but The Gathering of the Sun had changed me. I felt like a different person. I just didn’t know if it was for the better yet.
I stayed in the bathroom for a long time. I couldn’t make myself go back to the bed. To lie down beside Sara again.
I was freaking the fuck out.
I hated my reflection. I hated my long, straggly hair. My unkempt beard. I hated the person that The Gathering had forced me to become.
A man who couldn’t save his brother.
And this stupid, fucking hair…
With a strangled sob, I started tearing at my hair. Pulling it out in chunks. I wanted it gone. Gone. Gone. Gone.
My scalp burned from the assault. My nails digging deep, causing me to bleed. I didn’t care. It had to go. This horrible reminder…
When I couldn’t stand the pain any longer I collapsed onto the floor. Then I let myself cry. I curled into a ball and let it out. It rushed out of me in a torrent.
I grieved. I despaired. I anguished.
Alone.
Read Other Books by A. Meredith Walters
This book, as with all my books, came from a place deep down inside. Bastian and Sara’s story felt special. It felt real.
It took me over four years to commit their journey to paper (or type it on my computer). I only hope I did it justice.
This book is for my husband and daughter. You are the only reason I do this.
For Claire and Kerry, my constant cheerleaders. I’m lucky to have your friendship.
For my readers. I know it’s been awhile since you’ve had my words. I only hope it was worth the wait.
And for everyone who has lost someone, or has lost themselves—hold on tight and learn to live again. There’s no better time to start than now.
So go do it.
A xx
A.Meredith Walters is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of the Find You in the Dark, Bad Rep, Reclaiming the Sand, and Twisted Love series, as well as multiple stand alone novels. She also writes thrillers under the pen name A. M. Irvin.
Before becoming a full-time writer, she worked as a counselor for troubled and abused children and teens. The Virginia native currently lives in England with her husband, daughter, and dog Molly.
You can learn more about Meredith and her upcoming projects by visiting
https://ameredithwalters.com
Depression, suicide, and abuse are serious issues. If you, or someone you know, is dealing with mental illness or abuse, there are resources out there to help.
The important thing to remember is you are not alone!
United States:
National Alliance on Mental Illness
1-800-959-6264
or
[email protected]
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline
1-800-273-8255
Veterans Crisis Line
1-800-273-8255
Childhelp National Child Abuse Hotline (serving the US and Canada)
1-800-422-4453
United Kingdom:
Suicide Hotline
116 123
Depression UK
depressionuk.org
The National Association for People Abused in Childhood
0808 801 0331
napac.org.uk
List of International Suicide Hotlines:
ibpf/org/resource/list-international-suicide-hotlines
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without express permission.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarities to persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Trademarks: This book identifies product names and services known to be trademarks, registered trademarks, or service marks of their respective holders. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of all products referenced in this work of fiction.
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2018 by A. Meredith Walters
Cover design © Sofie Hartley/ Hart & Bailey Design Co.
Editing Services by Tanya Keetch/ The Word Maid
Interior design and formatting by:
www.emtippettsbookdesigns.com
Ashes of the Sun (The Gathering of the Sun part 1) Page 29
