Cult (7 page)

His method for disarming people who were ready for a fight was patient, gentle persuasion, maybe scare them a bit, stop them from trying anything stupid. Sometimes he would hint at the truth of the process. That always hurt the most. The fact was that the odds were against them, heavily against them. Yet there was one thing he prided himself about. He would never completely foreclose on their hopes to win back their loved one. Just as long as they didn't try it in his county.

“Some.”

“Does it ever work?”

“Not usually.”

“Sometimes?”

“Not in recent years.”

Barney was silent for a long time.

They were beginning to eat into the Sheriff's time, try his patience. Besides, his stomach was grumbling. It was nearly lunchtime.

“Look, Mr. Harrigan,” the Sheriff said, standing up. Behind him was a big map of the county. “Whatever is going through your mind, forget it.” He decided to kill any ideas the man might have.

“Their camp is in a little valley surrounded by low hills. It's unmarked. There's a long, winding road. You can't sneak in. There's only this one road. They see you coming. Get my drift? Even if you do find it, they'll probably let you meet the person just to see if you mean trouble. And if you look like trouble they might transfer her out of there. Why torture yourself?”

“It's been three weeks. This has already been torture.”

“They usually hold them here for six weeks. Then they send them out over the country to fund-raise. She might not even be there.”

“So,” Barney said, his lips contorting into a trembling smile. “You used the word ‘hold.'”

“Only a figure of speech, Mr. Harrigan,” the Sheriff said.

“It implies that she's been captured.”

“Don't look for implications; I try not to make judgments. I'm an officer of the law.”

“But you said….”

“Please, Barney. There's no point,” Naomi interrupted.

“But he knows it's true. They're holding her under duress.”

The Sheriff sat down again, tapping his fingers impatiently on the desk.

“I didn't say that.”

“They can't be allowed to get away with it!”

Barney was on the edge of panic. The Sheriff turned to Naomi.

“Talk some sense into him, lady.”

His chest was exploding with pain and emptiness. He needed something to fill it up. He'd have to end it, end it now.

“The fact is, Mr. Harrigan, it's damned near hopeless. What they got in there is a committed woman. She has jettisoned her life. There is nothing you can do.” What hurt him the most was the knowledge that in Barney's shoes he'd do the same.

He wished he could have said it another way.
Go home
, he cried in his heart.
Don't put your trouble on my doorstep. I'm just a man.

Thankfully, Barney stood up, holding out his hand.
Now that was odd
, the Sheriff thought,
they usually just sat there until he declared the interview over
. The Sheriff took Barney's hand. It felt damp, like the hand of a drowning man, reaching out for a lifesaver.

She knew Barney would not leave it alone.

He had, despite all the Sheriff's warning, headed directly toward the camp. He had gotten directions through other sources, but he had visited the Sheriff, as he put it, on the off chance he might be of some help. The Sheriff had confirmed his own powerlessness, although she had sensed that he had some understanding of Barney's pain.

“Barney, you heard the man. It's trouble.”

“That's why I'm here. Trouble.”

“Why must you do this?” Naomi said.

“You know why, Nay,” Barney muttered, his determination unwavering. “I've got to see for myself.”

“But you don't have permission.”

“Fuck permission. You heard the Sheriff. I need to see her. See for myself.” He turned toward her and patted her knee.

“Just be cool. I'll be careful. You'll see.”

He pointed to his forced smile. “Like this. Show them this.”


She shrugged in consent. No point in arguing. She had gone along.

No one had stopped them until they reached what appeared to be a parking lot. There were a few cars and vans parked there. If they had not received specific instructions on how to get there, they might have missed it. In fact, there was nothing to indicate that this was a Glory indoctrination camp. There were no signs. And, as the Sheriff had told them, there was a long, winding road with a bridge to cross over a fast running river. Not far away, she could see a neat row of barracks-like structures and other cabins. It did remind her of a summer camp.

As they moved into the parking lot, a single man emerged from nowhere and waved. He was dressed in khakis and a lightweight jacket. Around his neck he wore a whistle and an amulet on a gold chain. On closer observation, they saw that it was one of the amulets in the likeness of Father Glory's head.

The man moved in the path of their crawling car and smiled broadly. Barney pulled the car to a stop, opened the door and got out. Naomi stayed inside, watching them through the front windshield.

“I'm Jeremiah,” the man said, a smile fixed on his face, putting out his hand in greeting. He was about 35, his curly hair flecked with gray. His expression was benign, although behind the cheekbones, she imagined she could see a hard-edged observant look. Put him in a business suit and he might have been taken for an IBM executive.

“I'm Barney Harrigan,” Barney said, his voice deliberately ingratiating, like a salesman, his tone unthreatening, his smile fixed.

“Yes, I know. We've been expecting you.”

“Really?”

“Sheriff Moore said you might be stopping by.” He nodded and continued to smile pleasantly. “You are trespassing, but it's all right. I'm sure if you waited for a day or so Mr. Holmes would have given you permission.”

She could see a nerve palpitating in Barney's jaw. He was, she knew, holding himself together by sheer will.

“So I can see Charlotte?” Barney asked.

“Of course.”

He turned and waved, and three people emerged from one of the buildings and headed toward them. As they came closer, Naomi could see two women and one man. She estimated that they were in their early to middle twenties. Naomi noted that they seemed strange-looking. They were all smiling and their eyes seemed glazed. They reminded her of robots. Since she had no idea what Charlotte looked like, she could only guess that one of them, probably the woman in the center, was her.

Barney, looking increasingly agitated, watched as they came toward him; Naomi could feel his tension. Jeremiah nodded as they came forward. Barney's smile disappeared as they approached.

“Charlotte,” Barney called as they came closer. He started to move forward to greet the group, but then he stopped, waiting. Naomi confirmed that the woman in the center was Charlotte. Her hair was shorn in a masculine cut, reminding Naomi of pictures she had seen of prisoners in a concentration camp. She wore slacks and a frayed sweater.

Charlotte nodded, acknowledging the greeting. She smiled, but showed little emotion.

“Nice to see you, Barney,” she said with obvious indifference. Naomi could see Barney's disappointment.

“And nice to see you, Charlotte,” Barney said. He seemed totally confused by her reaction. What had he expected?

“So here she is,” Jeremiah said. “Alive and well. Aren't you, Rachel?”

“Rachel?” Barney stared at her in disbelief.

“Their old names don't apply anymore,” Jeremiah said blandly. “They have a new life. Isn't that true, Rachel?”

“Oh yes, a new life with Father Glory,” Charlotte said. Naomi thought she could detect a sudden glow of ecstasy at the mention of Father Glory.

She simply stood before him, silent, smiling, treating him like a stranger. It must have been galling for Barney. He turned to the woman next to her.

“You did this, Susan, you bitch,” he murmured. There was a distinct resemblance between the two women. She must be Charlotte's sister, Naomi thought.

“Rachel is very happy here,” Mary said. “Aren't you, Rachel?”

“Very happy,” Charlotte repeated, emotionless.

“Very happy,” the young man said, nodding.

“I'd like you to come home with me,” Barney said. His face had flushed and the veins in his neck stood out. “Kevin needs you.”

“Kevin will be fine,” Mary said. “He has his daddy.”

“Yes,” Charlotte said. “He has his daddy.”

“He needs his mommy,” Barney said. She could sense the beginning of an eruption.

“There now,” Jeremiah said blandly. “You've seen her. Doesn't she look wonderful? She's quite happy. Perhaps you should go now.”

“You won't come home?” Barney asked, swallowing hard.

“She is home,” Jeremiah said. “Aren't you, Rachel?”

“I am home,” Charlotte said.

“But Kevin…,” Barney began.

“Well now, Mr. Harrigan. You've seen your wife. No problem was there. Now it's time for you to leave. The others are having lunch.” He turned to the three robotic Glories. “You can go to lunch now.”

Obediently, they turned and began to head back. “You can't, Charlotte! What about Kevin?” he cried. But they did not react.

“Charlotte!” Barney shouted. “Charlotte!” His voice was shrill. The camp remained quiet. Nothing seemed to stir as they nonchalantly walked away, paying no attention to Barney now. When they were out of earshot, he turned to Jeremiah.

“How could you do this to people?” Barney asked. He could barely speak and his breath came in gasps. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“It was so nice your stopping by, Mr. Harrigan,” Jeremiah said.

“Fuck you!” Barney yelled, grabbing Jeremiah's jacket.

“Barney don't!” Naomi shouted.

“Listen to her,” Jeremiah said. “People are watching. The Sheriff has been notified. No trouble, please. You are trespassing. You've seen your wife. She has found peace and security. She's overjoyed. She's a Glory now. Accept it, Mr. Harrigan. If you loved her you would be happy for her.”

Barney continued to hold Jeremiah. After a few moments he let go and pointed his finger at the man's chest.

“You'll be sorry. I swear it. You'll be sorry.”

“I would like to point out,” Jeremiah said, still smiling, shaking his head as if confronting a spoiled child. “These threats are actionable. It's okay, though. I'll overlook them. I won't report you. Now, if you don't mind, I have work to do.” He looked at his watch. “I suggest you leave now.” He put out his hand.

Barney looked at it and spat on it.

“You haven't seen the end of this! You've murdered her mind. You murdered my wife!”

“It was so nice meeting you, Mr. Harrigan.”

Jeremiah turned and began walking back toward where Charlotte and her two companions had gone.

“Fuck you!” Barney shouted, starting up the car.

For a brief moment, Naomi thought he might be heading the car in Jeremiah's direction. He turned sharply.

“I'll get 'em. If it's the last thing I do, I'll get 'em.”

“Calm down, Barney. Please. Don't make it any worse than it is.”

She did not speak again until the car had turned off onto the main highway back to Seattle.

“You should never have threatened to kill them,” she said.

“I meant it.”

“It sounded like you meant it.”

“I hope they got the message.”

“I think he did. They might send her away.”

They both grew silent. Despite all the forewarnings, reality had exceeded their grim expectations. What she wanted most was to still her thoughts, which, in any event, were muddled. She needed to put everything on idle, to collect herself. She was only moderately successful. Beside her, Barney said nothing, although his lips would occasionally move. She did not intrude on his inner dialogue.

She now knew that this man beside her was not the Barney Harrigan of those serene fantasies and memories from the beginning of their relationship. She had no lingering obligation to this new Barney. This was not her affair. She needed to find the will to go home.

They had checked into adjoining rooms at a Holiday Inn just outside of Seattle, but after what they had been through, she knew neither of them could bear to be alone. They opened the door adjoining their rooms.

“I'll order hamburgers from room service,” he said, attempting to force her return to the familiar, the prosaic.

“That sounds fine.” The thought of food was revolting.

In the bathroom of her room, she took a shower, alternating between hot and cold, deliberately testing her tolerance, as if to validate her physical presence. When she had rubbed herself dry, she pulled her hair back and put on a bathrobe and returned to his room.

In his room, Barney was sitting at the desk, writing in his notebook. Their food had arrived on a rolling table. Their hamburgers looked waxy and unappetizing. He had pulled chairs over and poured a tall drink from a scotch bottle, which stood beside him on the table. When he finally looked, his demeanor was not as she had expected. He seemed inexplicably undefeated.

“Drink?” he asked.

“Why not?”

He got up, poured her a scotch, added soda and ice and sat down again at the table. He picked up his hamburger, taking big bites. She tried to do the same but could barely swallow. She washed it down with her drink.

“Know thine enemy,” he said when he had finished eating. In the camp, he had been reduced to a pleading supplicant. His recovery seemed remarkable.

“I can't believe what I saw. Charlotte wasn't completely there.”

“Seemed that way.”

He ignored her lukewarm response.

She remembered Barney's earlier surge of hope.
Could it have been self-delusion?
she thought now. Charlotte was deep in a religious conversion, whatever else it may seem like. However it had happened, however it had appeared, wasn't it still her right? The knowledge of her own doubt irritated her.

After awhile she noted that he was staring at her. It made her uncomfortable.

“Remember our moment?”

God no
, she thought. Was he trying to seduce her, find solace in sex? She had not the slightest inclination.
Keep the memory going
, she told herself.
Keep talking.

She searched her memory. Had there really been a moment? Perhaps. She'd grant him that. She smiled and tapped the table, not knowing what else to do. In a twisted way she envied Charlotte her bliss. No pressure. No doubts.

“You remember those moments,” he said. “Charlotte and I had our moment, too.”

She felt relieved and, oddly, also disappointed.

“That's still in there. I've got to shake her loose, get her out, remind her of those moments. If I could just get her away from there. That's step one. Inside that camp, she's dead in the water. They won't let her think.”

She shivered, drawing her bathrobe around her. It seemed too flimsy a shield and she took another deep swallow of her drink.

“Can you believe how she's changed?” he asked suddenly.

“I didn't know her before.”

She had tossed it to him like a barbed arrow.
Barney had never come after me like that,
Naomi thought idly.

“I met her on the beach, picked her up like a beautiful conch. When I talked with her, I heard the echo of myself, all that I wanted. She was so alert, so questioning. Her green eyes danced. She was an avalanche of questions. ‘Why this or that?' ‘How come?' That was her favorite. ‘How come?' It used to exasperate me sometimes. But it never mattered. I liked to be around her. She only had a high school education. She wanted to be a model. Wasn't thin enough. Yet, in my arms, she was as delicate as a flower. Sometimes when I looked at her at night, I used to say to myself, ‘How could such joy happen to me?'”

He was lost in himself.
So he had found this naive girl on the beach and he had sold her on himself
, she thought with bitterness. It was actually what she had wished for him during those first days apart. She had wanted him to find someone just like Charlotte. Time passed as his voice floated in the air between them. She listened perfunctorily.

“I'll get her back,” he said again. And again.

He picked up the notebook from the table. “It's all in here. Bearing witness. No detail has gone unwritten. It all goes in there.” He pointed to his laptop on the desk. “Everyone must know what I'm going through, what others have gone through. Everyone. The world is going to know what these people do. Maybe then they'll understand. Change the laws. Do something.”

“I'd say you have your work cut out for you.” She heard her tongue slur the words.

“You think I don't know that.” He thumbed through the pages in the notebook. “We just didn't make the sale on the first pass.” His face suddenly brightened. “But we got in, didn't we? That damned Sheriff didn't think we could do it, and we did.” He slapped his thighs. “We did that. Now we know what we're up against.”

His use of the first person plural galled her.

“I've got a couple of bombs to throw.” He stood and balled his fist in his palm. “I'll unload that bastard's wagons.”

He was getting up a full head of indignation.

“And that fucking Sheriff. I'd like to kick him in the balls, teach him a little bit about America.”

The image of him was becoming distorted. Naomi's head was spinning. Still, she let him pour her another drink, hoping for her own oblivion.