by Jim Heskett
So that priest Benedict thought he could spy on them? Skulking around, gathering information, trying to find holes to invade. This couldn’t have been random. What was his plan?
She stomped through the kitchen, brushing past the meek little girl Hannah, and then ducked into her bedroom. Being alone and in the safety of her space, she immediately felt a few ticks better. More controlled. Panic still threatened to overtake her, but at least it wouldn’t be a public display in her own room.
Lilah dropped to her knees and reached under the bed to retrieve her box of letters from Cyrus. Mostly, they contained Bible verses with some interpretations; hardly any personal information. But between visits to Limon Correctional Facility, they were all she had of him. At least for another ten days.
She clutched a handful of his letters to her chest and breathed in her nose and out her mouth, trying to calm herself down. In. Out.
How would Cyrus handle this situation with the priest? Would he think it no big deal and continue preaching about Truth without a care? Or would he learn what this priest knew and then find some discreet way to deal with him, as Eagle had suggested?
She held one of the letters under her nose, but could no longer smell Cyrus. Whatever vague scent of his had long faded from the ink and paper. Now they only smelled like the tainted flesh of whatever prison employee had read them before they were allowed to leave the prison.
A new thought, something sinister, crossed her mind. What if the priest was not here directly to spy on her? Maybe he could have been following up with some kind of plan he’d set in motion.
The website. Traffic to the True Manna’s pages had been abysmal, and she’d so far been baffled as to why it hadn’t taken off yet. What if the priest had done something to hurt their visibility on the internet? Maybe he’d badmouthed them on public forums, or contacted the web host to stunt the site’s loading speed for visitors, or something like that.
A Catholic priest would have every reason to keep their Truth hidden. He’d be out of a job when the lies of his archaic religion became public. The lies of the church on full display.
And now, she had an idea why the priest had been tiptoeing around outside the house. He’d wanted to gloat about their failure. Or, maybe to install some kind of remote device to interfere with her internet signal, perhaps to make her think the website was doing better than it actually was. Was such a device possible?
Lilah unlocked her nightstand and took out her cell phone, then went into the bathroom and ran the sink water so she wouldn’t be heard. She dialed the number to channel 7 in Denver.
“Channel 7, how can I direct your call?”
Lilah recognized the voice of the woman on the line. She took a deep breath before speaking. “I need to talk to a news producer.”
The helpdesk person sighed. “Ma’am, I’m not going to put you through. After last time, I was told not to let you even leave voicemails.”
“What I have to say is important. The people need to hear it.”
“You are not going to be featured on the news, not for a local piece, not for a technology segment, and not for a sit-down interview. It’s not going to happen.”
Lilah gritted her teeth as rage built up in her and threatened to take over. She tried to keep it down, but couldn’t help herself. “You lying agents of Babylon! You can’t keep the Truth from coming out! You—”
The connection severed and Lilah threw her phone against the bathroom wall. It clanged against a tile and fell into the bathtub, where it skittered around and came to a stop, just above the drain.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
9 DAYS UNTIL
Micah hadn’t seen Eagle in two days. He’d never found out where he’d skulked off to after getting in that fight at the bar, but his car was missing from the bar’s parking lot the next day as Micah went to work. Micah himself had barely managed not to get caught sneaking into the house so late.
Where was Eagle always running off to? He showed up at the house every couple of days, had meetings with Lilah in her room, would go into the basement for a few minutes, then he’d disappear again.
Micah was continually struck by how crazy all of this was. That he was working at a hardware store in this tiny town, making secret calls to Frank down in Denver, struggling to persuade his sister to move out when she wouldn’t even talk to him.
In the morning, the irresistible scent of cinnamon rolls wafted through the air as he emerged from the bathroom. Micah put on a hoodie and his khakis so he could snatch one while they were still hot. He hadn’t been eating at the house the last few days, but if he passed up cinnamon rolls, he’d regret it for the rest of the week.
When he entered the dining room, all the inhabitants of the house, except for Eagle, were seated at the table. Men on one side, and women on the other, quiet and attentive. Hands folded in front. This was an odd sight for breakfast. Even sleepy-eyed Garrett, just home from his night shift, was sitting in his work uniform with the sewn-on name patch.
Rodney tossed a friendly smile at Micah, while Magda and Hannah looked elsewhere. Lilah waved Micah into the room and pointed to an empty chair. No one had any food in front of them, but that cinnamon smell thundered in the air like smoke from a brush fire.
“I thought I smelled cinnamon rolls,” Micah said as he sat.
Lilah pursed her lips. “Later. First, we need to talk.”
Micah waited for someone to say something. They hadn’t had a house meeting since right after he’d moved in. No one else at the table looked like they knew why they were all gathered.
The quiet in the room wasn’t a peaceful kind of quiet. It hung heavy and thick. Micah felt his pulse hasten and his mouth become dry. Why wasn’t anyone talking?
Lilah stood, leaned forward, fingers spread on the table. She pressed, turning her fingertips white. “Someone is trying to hurt us. Attempting to sabotage the very thing we’re working so hard to build. There are people out there who want to keep the truth from coming out.”
Heads around the table nodded. Hannah’s brow creased, but she kept her eyes down so Micah couldn’t see her expression. Rodney squinted at Lilah, his mouth open in anticipation.
Micah played along by adopting a concerned look, even though he’d seen enough of Lilah’s paranoid side that he knew the speech coming next was bullshit. A rant, followed by a proclamation, followed by a demand for obedience. Then something to smooth things over; to make her seem like a friend. In this case, it would be cinnamon rolls.
“We need to tighten things up,” Lilah said. “Bible study will be for people living in this house only, and no more communication with people outside the house for the time being. That includes phone calls to family.”
Hannah’s face lifted a few inches, then fell. Did her family know she was pregnant? He doubted it, since Rodney had implied before that Lilah would listen in on phone calls made with the house landline. Hannah would have to know that. If Lilah had already found out about the pregnancy, would she kick Hannah and Garrett out immediately, or hold it over them for some type of blackmail? She already had their passports.
Garrett cleared his throat. His eyes were bloodshot and heavy-lidded, and Micah knew that stoned look. Probably smoked a joint on the way home from work, and he hadn’t even bothered to put drops in his eyes. He was likely expecting to go straight to bed before Lilah surprised him with this house meeting.
“What can we do to help?” Rodney said.
“First of all, Garrett can get honest with the group,” Lilah said.
A bead of sweat formed on Garrett’s temple and then dripped down into one of his eyebrows. Hannah wasn’t showing yet, but maybe Lilah had discovered evidence of Hannah’s morning sickness sessions and put it together. Only a matter of time before she found out.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Garrett said, swallowing hard.
Lilah seethed. Her upper lip raised into a snarl, and her chest heaved. “Liar. Marijuana is what they use to control you,
but you’re too dim to see that, aren’t you, Garrett?”
Garrett’s leg bounced under the table, but he kept his mouth shut.
Lilah was so furious she was actually vibrating in place. Something was about to happen, and Micah didn’t know what to do about it. If he said something, he’d endanger his chances of staying here, and then his plan of getting through to Magda would be over. Micah’s likelihood of helping her from inside the house were better than outside of it.
“Say something,” Lilah said.
Garrett opened his mouth, a little wince of air leaked out, and then he shrugged. Back in high school, Micah had been busted for alcohol and drugs by his parents enough times to know the claustrophobia Garrett must have been feeling in that instant.
“Nothing?” she said.
Garrett sat paralyzed. A wall clock ticking the only sound in the room.
In a flash, Lilah leaped across the table and wrapped her hands around his throat. She drove him back as she crashed into him, then dragged him to his feet as she forced him toward the wall. His back slammed against it, rattling the clock and a collection of framed pictures hanging above his head.
In addition to being long and lean, Lilah had bulging bicep muscles and a look of malice on her face that sent terror into Micah’s heart. Why did he feel so afraid of this woman? How was she so powerful?
Micah came to his senses as Lilah thumped Garrett against the wall, knocking his head on it repeatedly. He tried to rise from his seat, but a swift kick under the table connected with his shin. He looked up to find Magda subtly shaking her head at him. He couldn’t do anything about this insane scene unfolding before him.
Hannah hid her face in her hands, and everyone else pretended it wasn’t happening. Garrett was also unwilling to do anything about Lilah’s rage, and he let his hands dangle at his sides as Lilah swore and squeezed and repeatedly drove him against the wall. Garrett was young, but he wasn’t scrawny. He could have fought back if he wanted. But he refused, whether from frozen panic, obedience, or something else… Micah didn’t know.
The clock rattled back and forth, and then crashed down onto the tile of the kitchen floor.
After a few interminable seconds where everyone at the table remained frozen, Micah had had enough. He couldn’t sit there and let this happen, no matter Magda’s objections. Would Lilah kill poor Garrett solely for being a stoner?
Micah stood and opened his mouth to speak, but then Eagle appeared in the kitchen doorway, wearing a police uniform. “Stop,” he said. “That’s enough.”
Micah’s eyes bulged as he sat back down. Eagle was a cop?
Lilah let go, and this submissive action fascinated Micah. As driven and omnipotent as this woman was, she would still take orders from Eagle. There had never been any kind of discussion about Eagle’s standing in the house, but Micah had always assumed he was subordinate to her. Maybe not.
Lilah released her grip and stepped back as Garrett massaged his reddened throat. She still had fire in her eyes. “I used to give you juice in sippy cups, you little asshole. And this is how you repay me? By becoming a slave to a plant?”
Micah knew the feeling of being a slave to a drug. He didn’t know if Garrett was an addict, but he was certainly paying a steep price for getting high.
“I’m sorry,” Garrett said as tears flowed down his cheeks. “I can do better.”
Lilah turned to throw her scowl at the rest of the them, then she stomped out of the kitchen. Eagle in his cop uniform followed her, and everyone at the table sat in stunned silence for at least ten seconds.
This was not a safe place to be. Micah had to get Magda out of this house, and sooner rather than later. And he also knew that if Lilah ever put her hands on him or his sister again, he would snap that bitch’s neck.
Micah got up from the table and slipped out the back door, inhaling the cold mountain morning air, exhaling steam into the sky. He paused near the back fence and rested his elbows on it as he stared at the snow-covered hill behind the house. Soon after, the door opened behind him, and Rodney made an appearance. Look of worry on his face.
“Eagle’s a cop, huh?” Micah said.
Rodney ignored the question. “I saw you in there.”
“Saw me what?” Micah said, and he could hear the venom in his tone. His brain was a jumble of anger and confusion, and he wanted to punch someone. And he also knew how crazy that was.
“Whatever you’re thinking of doing,” Rodney said, “please don’t do it.”
“I just came down to grab a fucking cinnamon roll.”
Micah didn’t turn around to face Rodney, and in another minute, the door closed behind him. Micah spun around to find Rodney gone. How could these people sit by and let all this happen?
***
After the incident in the kitchen, everyone went their separate ways and the drama melted away. As if it hadn’t happened. Lilah and Eagle both left, Hannah and Magda went to work together, Rodney disappeared somewhere, and Garrett went to his room to sleep.
Micah was about to leave for work when he realized he had the house practically to himself. This had never occurred before. He didn’t worry about Garrett, because the poor kid wouldn’t come out of his room again without a good reason.
Despite the insanity Micah had witnessed, he had no time to spend agonizing over what to do next. He came up with an idea, but had to be quick about it.
He called in sick to work on the house phone, taking the chance that Hannah and Magda would notice him being gone. As long as he played sick later today when everyone came home, he could pull it off. Only the most recent episode in a long history of faking sick to get out of work, but he had a good reason this time.
He went out to his car and popped the trunk to get his lock-picking kit. He paused before he took it out, eyeing the snow-dusted trees and the steep hill behind the house. He’d seen Eagle drive off with Lilah, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t parked to skulk through the trees somewhere. Just the kind of crazy shit they might think to do.
There was something about the way the shadows of the trees loomed to create an invisible fence around the property that made him uneasy. Like he was hemmed in, being observed. If the house had been some clean and modern thing with lots of glass, maybe with a tail-wagging golden retriever on the porch, he might have felt different. But 1623 Caribou looked straight out of a horror movie. Probably by design.
When he was confident he was alone, he stashed his lock picks in his pocket and returned to the house. Lilah had a bedroom on the first floor, which she kept locked whenever she wasn’t around. Micah went to work on the lock, picking it in less than a minute. He was careful not to leave any visible scratches around it. Lilah would probably notice the intrusion, and then he’d be the one who’d be slammed against the kitchen wall.
Cinnamon rolls? Nope. Get choked for breakfast.
Breaking into houses, buildings, and lockboxes was one of the many skills he’d acquired in his time working for Luis Velasquez that he couldn’t put on a résumé. But damned if it didn’t come in handy from time to time.
“Micah Reed, amateur locksmith,” he said as he worked the picks to open the door.
Lilah’s room wasn’t much fancier than the rest of the bedrooms in this house, except for the shiny gray laptop sitting on a desk next to her bed. The space was a little bigger, with an adjoined bathroom, but she didn’t have nicer furniture or anything like that. Just another room that felt like it belonged in someone’s grandparents’ house.
He took a seat at the desk and raised the shade over the window. He wouldn’t have a direct view to the front of the house, but he might catch a car slowing along Caribou Road, which should give him plenty of warning time.
He lifted the lid of the laptop and was greeted by a blinking cursor in a password field. He drummed his hands on the desk, then typed in Cyrus. He hit Return and the password field jiggled. No dice.
He tried:
Cyrus1
Cyrus!
>
Lilah
Lilah1
Nederland
Nederland1
N3d3rland
Truemanna
TrueManna
And the password field refused it each time. Unlike lock picking, computer hacking was not one of the skills Micah had learned in El Lobo’s Sinaloa cartel. Their business was decidedly low tech.
There was no countdown for bad entries displayed on the login screen, but he had to be aware that it might shut down and delete everything if he put in too many wrong guesses.
He decided to give it one more try.
TrueManna1
The screen dissolved and returned to a desktop full of icons and a wallpaper of a sheer mountain cliff. He smacked the desk, triumphant.
“Holy shit, Boba. It worked.”
Hidden in his pocket, Boba Fett stayed silent, but Micah knew the rascally bounty hunter would be pleased. Micah first dug into Lilah’s documents folder, but found nothing. Absolutely no files of any kind. He poked around the file system, looking for any folders with suspicious-sounding names, but everything seemed standard and uninteresting.
Next, he opened an internet browser and clicked the settings to access her history.
That’s where he found the jackpot.
The most recent page she’d visited had been the website for Sacred Heart Church in Nederland, and her last few searches were concerning “Thomas Benedict,” who seemed to be the church’s priest. A few blog posts and news items about him moving to town, his old church in Idaho, fundraising, summer camps. She’d done a lot of research on this guy, for some reason.
Her browser history before that—dating back for several months—was almost exclusively about religious cults. She’d searched about David Koresh’s Branch Davidians, Heaven’s Gate, Jonestown, and many others.
But her older history showed results that were even more interesting. Only two months ago, she’d clicked on dozens of articles about brainwashing, persuasion, and mind control. Lilah had been apparently learning the skill of forcing people into belief systems. Keeping them invested. Keeping them too scared to leave.
