“It rang twice, Mom.” I toss my purse on the kitchen counter.
Even now, two years after the raid on Pyrite, it feels strange to carry a purse. It feels strange to have enough possessions that I need a place to put them. The items in my purse are, I suspect, still just strange enough to raise an eyebrow. My driver’s license and my credit card are in there, but there’s also a lot of cash and granola bars. These things make me feel prepared for an emergency.
My therapist says that’s a healthy expression of my trauma.
“Where have you been all day?” Mom persists.
“I was at work,” I remind her. “I have a job now, remember?”
I’ve actually had a job for almost ten months now, but after almost a year living in my parents’ house, I think it’s a surprise to all of us to see me back on my feet.
Now, she’s going on about the fact that I’m unreachable during the work day.
“We need to figure out a signal,” she says, all business. Mom is always best at dealing with her emotions when she has a project. “We need a way you can know it’s me who’s calling, so you’ll know to answer the phone.”
“I can’t answer the phone at work,” I tell her. “It doesn’t matter who’s calling.”
“But surely they would understand, Tammy! With your history—”
“They don’t know about that,” I cut her off. It’s important to me that my employers not know about Pyrite and everything that happened there. I’m trying to make a fresh start, and I know I’m not going to get that dragging my Pyrite baggage around, letting everyone in my life see me as the poor little cult victim.
Mom relaxes enough to start telling me about Dad’s new hobby—whittling—and I kick off my shoes and pull out a half-full bottle of wine. I remove the cork and pour myself a glass, because I can, because there are no rules about this. I walk across my living room, feeling the carpet between my toes, and stand over the air conditioning vent so it can blast my legs ice-cold.
All of these things are still novelties, even though it’s been two years since I left the ranch. Even though my life is normal now, and I go entire days without thinking about Pyrite and Xavier. Once I start thinking about it, all I can see are the differences.
I end the phone conversation with my mother and go into my little bedroom. My apartment has only two rooms, really: a bedroom with an ensuite bathroom and a living room/kitchen, two bigger rooms that bleed into one another. I take off my lanyard from the animal hospital and hang it on the side of my full-length mirror.
Before Pyrite, I would have tossed it away, over onto a desk or a nearby chair, but things are different now. Ranch living changed me. Putting things where they belong matters more now, for reasons I can’t explain.
I pull off my scrubs and toss them in the laundry hamper, putting on sweats and a graphic T-shirt. Ever since coming back, I love things that advertise bands, TV shows, or even brands of soda. This one has the mascot of a sugary cereal shouting his catch phrase as he does a trick on a skateboard. I don’t even eat this mascot’s cereal. I just like the fact that I exist in the same realm as skateboards and talking lions.
I go downstairs to get the mail. I never receive very much. Partly, of course, because of what year it is. Nobody sends mail anymore. And when they do, it’s usually wedding invitations and birth announcements, or other things of that nature. Nobody sends those to me. As far as most of my friends are concerned, I dropped off the grid years ago. Even those who know I’m back probably regard me as a strange curiosity now.
I’m not Tammy Owens, the friend they knew in college. I’m that weird girl who was rescued from a cult.
Today, there are two pieces of mail. One is the electric bill. Crazy as it seems, I’m still excited by paying the electric bill. I even like to experiment with the power, seeing how I can affect the bill. One month, I didn’t turn the lights on in the kitchen at all. The following month, I never turned them off.
My therapist says this is a way of exerting my power in the universe.
The other item in my mailbox comes from Sacramento. I open it and read:
Tammy Owens:
You are required to appear at Sacramento Superior Court on Friday the 20th of June at 10:00 AM to give testimony in the proceedings of The State vs. Xavier Graves.
The document goes on to explain what will be required of me at the hearing and what will happen if I don’t show up—nothing, essentially, except that Xavier’s fate will be decided without me and I’ll lose my chance to speak on my own behalf.
Do I want to speak on my own behalf?
Still clutching the letter, I make my way into my bedroom again and collapse backward onto my bed. The idea of looking Xavier in the eye again after all this time is dizzying. I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to be reminded of how easily I was taken in by his scam, and how close I came to being a pawn in his violent plot. This is the thing that still needles at my brain, years later, no matter how hard I try to forget my time at Pyrite and put it all behind me.
I could have been part of a terror attack. That’s what Xavier was trying to accomplish. He was manipulating us all into helping him.
I don’t think, when it came right down to it, that I would have picked up a gun and shot anybody. I know that Xavier lured me into doing a lot of things I thought I would never do—leaving my family, leaving the real world, living on a ranch where all I did day after day was sew clothes, take care of animals, and completely eschew any news of the outside world. Not to mention giving up sex. Crazy, all of it. But it wasn’t hurting anybody—well, anybody apart from me, that is.
Guns are different. I feel in my bones that I would have been capable of drawing the line there.
But even if I had, I’d still have been helping him, wouldn’t I? After all, the ranch’s mere existence was a help to Xavier. It gave him a place to take delivery of his weapons, a place to hide them. If the government hadn’t decided to investigate, he would have been able to get away with anything under the guise of being a friendly old hippie. By the time anyone figured out what he had done, he would be deep underground, and I’m sure he had a way of locking those bunkers against outsiders…
I shiver.
I look down at the letter in my hand again. The hearing is in two weeks. Am I going to go? I don’t know if I can. I don’t want to dredge all this up again. I don’t want to relive, in front of a courtroom of people, how stupid I was. How close I came to getting involved in horrible things. And I definitely don’t want to see Xavier again.
When I close my eyes and try to picture him, it’s like a nightmare. The friendly, easygoing face I remember has been overwritten with a demonic, sneering countenance. I can’t remember exactly what he looks like. Not anymore. But I know I’m afraid of him.
But I also don’t think I can let this hearing happen without me. What if the news in two weeks’ time is that Xavier walked free? I would always wonder if my testimony was the missing ingredient that could have put him away. And that means, no matter how hard it is for me, I have to respond to this summons. I have to go to Sacramento and testify. If I don’t do everything in my power to make sure Xavier meets justice, I won’t be able to live with myself.
God, Mom is going to freak out. This will be my first time traveling since Pyrite, and I’ll be seeing Xavier. She’ll be terrified I’m going to fall back into his clutches.
So, don’t tell her.
I hate the idea of not telling Mom where I am. It feels so cruel, given what we’ve both been through with Pyrite. Doesn’t she have a right to know where I am at all times at this point? But then again, if it will cause her more grief to know, what’s the harm in letting her believe I’m still at home? Maybe it will be better for her if I just go to Sacramento, take care of this trial, and come back home. I can tell her about it afterward, when there’s nothing for her to worry about.
Even though the trial isn’t for two weeks, I pull a suitcase out of my closet and start packing. Everyth
ing I put in, every choice, seems strangely important. Do I want to wear earth tones, the way we always did on the ranch? Or would garish clothes with bright colors and sequins be better? In the end, I choose a lemon yellow pantsuit, brighter than anything we’d have ever worn at Pyrite, but still sedate enough to be taken seriously by the court. I dress the outfit up with heels and a beaded necklace.
These items will defy Xavier. He’ll hate them.
They’re perfect.
I wonder how many others received the summons. Who else will be at court? And will we all be testifying on the same day? Is there a chance, in other words, of seeing my old friends again? Rachel and James, who were my best friends of three years? Bev, who took me under her wing from the very first day I arrived and helped me acclimate to life off the grid? And little Olivia—not so little anymore—how is she adjusting to her new life? She’s never lived off the ranch before, never been among normal teenagers. Is she doing all right?
For the first time since I opened the summons, a smile crosses my face. Maybe this trip to Sacramento will be a blessing. We can all go to dinner and catch up on each other’s lives, maybe even start to build friendships in the real world. How great would it be if, a few years down the line, we were all visiting each other for holidays and vacations? I know that isn’t what Mom wants. She wants me to forget I was ever on the ranch. But it was three years of my life, and they were real people, people I cared for. I can’t just forget about them. I wouldn’t want to.
Will Connor be there?
I’m plagued by the fact that I still don’t know exactly who Connor was. He was with the Navy SEALs who shut down the ranch. I’m fairly sure about that. And that means he’s likely to be at the trial. His testimony will probably be key to the case, since he’s the only one from the outside world who also saw the inner workings of the ranch.
At this realization, a fluttering starts in my insides and threatens to swell up in my ribs. I could see Connor again, maybe ask him some of these questions. Maybe, finally, I could get some answers. How much of the man I knew was real? How much was a fabrication? And in all the time we were together, did he ever honestly feel anything for me?
I know these questions are far from the most important that need to be answered at Xavier’s trial. But if Connor is there, if I can get a moment alone with him, I’m going to try to close the book on all the things that have been nagging at me for the past two years. I owe myself that much.
Chapter 13
Tammy
Two weeks go by in a flash. Usually, time moves in fits and starts for me, but the two weeks between receiving the summons and leaving for Sacramento pass in a blur of packing and arranging, and scheduling time off work. I decide to book a hotel for the night before the hearing, rather than risk getting caught in rush-hour traffic the next morning, and I feel a rush of excitement as I pick it out online and scroll through the pictures of the neatly arranged guest rooms and on-site restaurant where I plan to order an enormous steak for dinner.
By the time I pull into the hotel parking lot, however, I’m exhausted from a long day at work and the two-hour drive. I check in and go straight up to my room, deciding to order the steak via room service. I change into my pajamas and send my mother a text so she won’t worry about me, although I don’t tell her where I am. I’m still hoping to be back at home before she ever has to know.
The next morning, I drive to the courthouse. I’m taken aback by the mob on the front stairs. Dozens of reporters, microphones, and cameras are at the ready, broadcasting out the story of the victims of Pyrite Ranch. I hear the phrases “insane cult leader” and “innocent victims of a horrible scheme” repeated over and over. Here and there, I see what I think are familiar faces, but it’s hard to be sure. None of them are Rachel, James, Olivia, or Bev. Maybe I knew them at the ranch, but with their civilian clothes and modern haircuts, with makeup and sunglasses and hats, it’s impossible to be sure of anyone.
“Tammy!” a voice calls over the din. “Tammy Owens!”
I turn. A woman is standing a few yards behind me, waving both arms over her head to get my attention. It takes me a moment to recognize her.
“Miriam?”
Her face lights up like I’ve done something remarkable and she beckons me over. I thread my way through the crowd and arrive at her side, and she flings her arms around me. I return the embrace, somewhat reluctantly.
Miriam makes a show of looking me up and down. I check her out in return. She’s lost a considerable amount of weight and is dressed to accentuate that fact, in clothes that drape and expose her bony limbs. Her face is heavily made up. She wears big, chunky costume jewelry, and her hair has been elaborately styled for the occasion. I would feel underdressed, except for the fact that she is so clearly the one who’s out of place here.
“Hi, Miriam,” I say. “It’s good to see you again.”
“How are you doing?” she asks, the deeply sympathetic tone in her voice implying that perhaps I’m completely bedridden with despair. “Are you holding up all right?”
“Well, you know,” I say. “It was a long time ago.”
“But I heard you’re still single,” she says in a hushed voice.
I try to disguise the fact that I’m scanning the room for Connor. “I’m not dating right now, no.”
“God, you poor thing.” She hugs me again.
“Uh-huh.”
It’s impossible to take Miriam seriously. I’d like to know where she gets her information, but the truth is that she’s always been such a successful gossip that I really can’t be too surprised to find her in the know. The bigger surprise would have been if she wasn’t up to date on my life.
The biggest surprise of all, though, is that Connor is nowhere to be seen. I’m sure I would have spotted him, even in this crowd. He’s haunted my dreams since the last time we spoke, and the idea of missing him, of walking right by him, is unthinkable. If he was here, I would notice. I would see him.
Wouldn’t I?
I feel like his presence would sing out to me like he was calling my name. It would be impossible to ignore. And yet…do I really believe he isn’t here at all? Would he miss such a monumental event?
That is…unless it wasn’t monumental to him.
Of course it wasn’t, a voice in my head berates me. It was just a job to him. It wasn’t a disruption of his entire way of life. It wasn’t anything. He probably hasn’t thought about it since, and why should he?
Now that I think about it, I’m sure he’s busted up multiple cults since ours. He’s participated in dozens of missions. Pyrite wasn’t special. It only matters to me because it was my life. To Connor, it would have been just another in a long series of victories.
I feel myself blushing, and I turn and walk away from Miriam before she can question me further. Maybe it was a mistake to come here. I should have known Connor wouldn’t be involved.
I should have known our relationship meant nothing to him.
Chapter 14
Kyle
I feel weird lurking in the back of the courthouse. Inappropriate, almost, like I shouldn’t be here. Of course, I’m well within my rights to be. It was my work on the Pyrite Ranch case that got us here today. I’m the reason Xavier Graves is being brought to justice. I’m the reason all these people are safe.
But cult victims don’t always see things that way. For all I know, Graves’ victims see me as the invader who tore apart their happy lives. For all I know, they’ve never gotten over it, and they’d revolt at the sight of me.
I can’t allow that to happen. I have a responsibility to these people, a duty to keep them safe. Even though my time at the ranch is over and my mission has been declared a success, I’m not ready to step away. So, I sit in the back of the courtroom in bulky civilian clothes, ducking my head so none of the victims will see and recognize my face, and I listen as the judge announces that Xavier Graves’ trial will take place in six weeks’ time.
There’s a lot of m
uttering at this. I’m sure some of the victims thought justice would be served today, that they’d be going home with a verdict. Something to make them feel better. I wish I could explain to them that justice is almost always excruciatingly slow, so that by the time a sentence is carried out, it’s often too late to experience any relief at all.
The courthouse empties. I stay in my seat, watching as Graves is collected by officers and taken back into the holding cell. I want to follow, to ask him the questions I never got a chance to pursue. Why did he do what he did? Was he really a religious fanatic? Did he believe the end of days was coming? Or was he just trying to hurt people? I’ve never been sure if he was evil or just plain crazy, and I think there’s a part of me that will always wonder.
But I’ve got to let that go.
I get to my feet slowly and join the crowd fighting to leave. Outside, the sun is hot, and I flinch for a moment as it catches me in the eyes. I fumble for my sunglasses and am about to put them on when a flash of red hair catches my eye.
Tammy.
I’m hurrying after her before I can think about it, before I can question whether or not it’s a good idea. I just can’t believe it’s her. I’ve always regretted the way we left things, and if I could make that right…
I came here today planning not to get involved, not to talk to anyone. These are trauma victims. It’s unprofessional. It’s irresponsible. I shouldn’t.
But it’s Tammy.
I tap her on the shoulder.
She turns. “Listen, Miriam, I need to…”
She falls silent.
Immediately, it’s as if everyone around us has disappeared. It’s like we’re back on the ranch, on those mellow afternoons when we’d sneak away and eat lunch together on the hill. It’s like that quiet day in the forest when we stepped off the ranch and outside of the rules together. The crowd of people continues to swarm around us, but we are islands, locked together, staring.
In Deep - A Secret Twins Romance (Once a SEAL, Always a SEAL Book 6) Page 10
