How had they done it? Why had they done it? What would happen now that I knew?
While the coffeepot began to sputter, I made my way to the kitchen table and collapsed back into a chair. I needed more than coffee. I needed to get away from the Northern Light and back to my life. I needed to find a way to be free from The Light.
The Light!
The incomplete slivers of scenes were forming complete movie reels. I, Stella, had been investigating The Light. It was the last thing I could recall doing in Detroit.
Other facets of my life came back: my parents, my sister, Dylan; Bernard, my boss; Tracy, my friend; and Foster, my coworker.
Although the lies that I’d been fed and willingly consumed sickened me, to have a past—when I’d had none—excited me. My head ached as the gaping holes that I’d accepted would forever remain void were closing with record speed, filling with a real past that had been hidden away.
Or was it more lies? I couldn’t be sure.
If I didn’t belong here, why was I here?
And then it hit me. I wasn’t the only one here.
I thought about Tobias, all the other babies, and the children who called my name from the depths of the day care. I envisioned the followers, the chosen and the ones I didn’t know as well—the women, men, children. How many of them were living lies? How many were lying?
My friends . . . more heartbreak. Did they know they were lying?
My thoughts were all over as my eyes roamed our small apartment and I clenched my teeth.
Father Gabriel lives as we do—bullshit!
Bloomfield Hills. The new images clawed at my newly founded belief system: Father Gabriel had a huge, sprawling, multi-million-dollar mansion in Bloomfield Hills with a landing strip.
My heart continued to crumble.
For the past nine months I’d been conditioned to turn to Jacob, to seek not only his approval but also his guidance. Admittedly, there was still part of me that wanted that. I wanted to close my eyes in his arms and give this all to him, but the newly awakened part of me knew I couldn’t.
Jacob had told me stories of our past, a past I now believed had never existed. Our entire relationship was based upon lies that he’d perpetuated over and over until I believed his every word. Had he invented those stories, or had he been told to tell them to me? He’d said more than once that he had rules to follow too.
Despite the evidence, I wanted to believe that my husband had done what he believed.
My head fell onto my folded arms as I willed my new thoughts to stop.
He wasn’t my husband.
An internal battle raged between desire to know and willingness to accept. My heart told me that Jacob loved me and would always do what was best, but the images, the memories, all painted another picture.
Grudgingly I acknowledged that Jacob had to be part of this deception. After all, not only had he played into the lies about our being married and about our past together but also he flew planes. He flew Father Gabriel. He was with him right now at the Eastern Light.
A new thought surfaced.
Could the Eastern Light be Detroit, more accurately Bloomfield Hills?
If it was, Jacob knew about the mansion. He knew about the landing strip. He knew that Father Gabriel didn’t live as he professed.
My recently emptied stomach continued to twist. Not only did I need to get away but also on the off chance I was pregnant, I needed to get my baby away from this madness.
I peered out the window at the bright, clear summer sky. I was in Alaska—Far North, Alaska. There were walls and polar bears. This wasn’t only a physical prison but a mental one. I had to think. I had to plan. I had to tell my heart to forget the man who’d been my comforter, disciplinarian, and rock. For my survival, my possible child’s, as well as others’, I needed to think.
I poured a cup of coffee, and as the cream swirled through the darkened liquid, questions continued to swirl within my consciousness. As flickers of my former self fought through the uncertainty, I realized that I no longer needed Jacob’s approval to question. I granted it to myself. My mind went to my parents, my sister, and Dylan, and how they must be suffering with my disappearance. It had to be as it had been with Mindy’s disappearance.
Shit! Mindy!
My hand fluttered over my heart. Mindy was here too, with me. I was confident. I remembered the blonde woman who’d spoken to Elizabeth a few months ago. Now it made sense that she’d looked familiar. She wasn’t Mary; she was Mindy Rosemont, my best friend from the dark. However, just as I hadn’t recognized her, she hadn’t recognized me. More than likely her past had been erased, leaving her without memories of her true identity.
How many of us were there? How many of the women and maybe men had been programmed?
Sitting back at the table, I reached for the warm cup of coffee and timidly moved it toward my mouth. I’d learned to be careful. Since heat no longer registered with my fingertips, I’d burned my mouth before. Heeding the steam’s warning, I sucked my lip between my teeth and lowered the too-hot coffee back to the table. With a sickening realization, I rolled my wrists and stared at the ashen flesh on the tips of my fingers.
Oh my God!
I was one of those women—the ones with the burned fingertips, the ones from Dr. Tracy Howell’s table at the Wayne County morgue. The women who’d ended up dead.
A new chill ran through me, and I pulled my robe tighter. I wasn’t investigating a life-and-death story—I was living it!
CHAPTER 4
Sara
After waking early to my revelations I spent most of the day trudging through the thick fog of confusion. Everything took effort and concentration. Tasks that had become second nature now seemed foreign. Something as simple as making my own breakfast set my mind back. As the slices of bacon fried in the iron skillet, I had flashes of smoke and firemen.
I questioned the validity of each recalled image. Were these memories, or were they thoughts that fleetingly appeared real? Without warning doubt would creep in. What could I believe? Was I recalling my life or was it my imagination? As my bacon crackled in the pan, I reasoned that since we didn’t have firemen at the Northern Light, the images of men with heavy coats and helmets were real—a memory from the dark.
Here, in case of fire, there was an understanding that every male follower would do what was needed. I wouldn’t know that if I hadn’t overheard Jacob speak of it to one of the followers under his supervision. The threat never seemed to be a concern, but given that most of the construction—besides the wall surrounding the community—was wood, fire could be devastating.
Methodically I managed to complete each task: breakfast and work at the lab.
I was keenly aware of everything I did and said, weighing each word of my conversations, no matter with whom. As I entered the data into my computer, waves of urgency flowed through me, an undeniable desire to obtain information. Questions such as I hadn’t allowed myself to ask in months bombarded my thoughts. Why had I been placed in the chemistry lab? Did anyone know what I’d done before? What was the truth behind the manufacturing of medications by the followers? Was there more to it, or was it purely philanthropic?
With my fingers hovering above the keys and Brother Benjamin’s password repeating in my brain, I wasn’t sure what I wanted to find or even what I was looking for. And then a moment later, I’d return to my prescribed task with guilt squelching my inquisitiveness and reminding me of my place as a woman and a member of the chosen.
The entire process—from the elation of memories to the doubt and shame of questioning—was infuriating, unsettling, and tiring.
By lunchtime I was exhausted. Needing a change of scenery, I asked Dinah to accompany me to the coffee shop for a sandwich. The new surroundings didn’t help. Something about my revelations had changed everything. No longer did I see a thriving small town, but a compound or camp of sorts. I fought the need to lift my eyes and truly study the world in which I lived.
I’d bee
n taught to keep my eyes cast downward. Yet I longed to stand and stare as I had alone in my apartment. I wanted to take in the buildings along the dirt-packed streets and paths. They now seemed solid, yet basic. While some, like the coffee shop and school, were made of sheet metal, most were made of wood like the pole barn.
The investigator in me who was trying to break free made connections I’d never before stopped to consider. Jacob had told me that near the power plant, just outside the walled community, was a small mill where followers worked to convert hundred-year-old trees into lumber. How else would they have built this place? It was in the middle of nowhere. Flying in all the construction materials would have been difficult and more expensive. From what I could remember of the planes Jacob had shown me, neither one was large enough for that.
“Do you ever think about the people Father Gabriel’s medicines help?” I asked, as I nibbled on my cold turkey sandwich.
Dinah shrugged. “I guess not really. I mean it’s a wonderful thing his ministry does. I can’t imagine not having all of my needs met.”
“Are they?”
“Are they what?”
I leaned closer. “Are all of our needs met?”
Dinah nodded. “Mine are. That’s what Father Gabriel teaches. Any needs not met aren’t necessities but desires.”
“Yes, that’s what he says. What do you think?”
“Sara! I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but I don’t question Father Gabriel’s teaching and neither should you.”
“I’m not questioning it. I’m curious.”
“Are you without food, a roof, or clean clothes?” she asked.
“No.”
“How about your spiritual needs?”
“What about them?” I replied.
“Are they met?”
I swallowed a sip of my water. “Yes, of course.”
“It isn’t our place to have curiosity.”
“I know.” I hung my head. “I think I’m just missing Jacob.” Thank God I had that excuse. Otherwise I didn’t know how I’d be able to explain my odd behavior.
As we were about to exit the shop, a group of three female followers entered, their heads bowed as they scanned the room with their eyes. All of their heads were covered with scarves, something I’d seen on the women who worked in the greenhouse that grew fresh fruit and vegetables for our daily consumption. It wasn’t until the pale-blue eyes of one of the women looked in my direction that I recognized her. They were eyes I’d known for years. I had no doubt. I was looking at my friend Mindy Rosemont.
Without thinking I stood and moved in her direction. The pain at her disappearance, the visits to the morgue, all came back. A lump formed in the back of my throat as my arms ached to hug her. She was alive, here, and safe. Before I could process or filter my thoughts, I reached for her hand.
“Mi—” I stopped the name from rolling from my lips as I registered the look of shock on her face.
“Sister, did I . . . is there a problem?” she asked, her voice soft and weak. The other two women stood dumbfounded, staring at me, as did Dinah.
My mind raced. I remembered seeing her before at the temple, speaking with Elizabeth. I had to think of something.
“No,” I reassured her, hoping I’d see any recognition in her eyes. I didn’t. “I-I—” I struggled for words. My audience listened expectantly. “Sister Mary? Correct?”
“Yes,” she replied, her eyes now down to where I held her trembling hand.
“Please look up.”
She did.
“Sister Elizabeth asked me to speak to you. May we talk for a moment?” The lie left a disgusting taste on my tongue, but I couldn’t think of anything else.
Mary nodded, first to me and then to her friends. I looked over to Dinah, whose eyes were wide with wonder.
Shit! I needed to think of something to tell her too.
“Sister,” I said toward Dinah, “I’ll be back to the lab in a few minutes.”
“I can wait.”
“That’s all right. This won’t take long. Elizabeth asked me to do her a favor.” My explanation seemed to satisfy Dinah, because she simply smiled and walked toward the door.
Letting go of Mary’s hand, I walked back to the table where Dinah and I had eaten our lunch. “Please, have a seat.”
“I-I don’t have long,” she said as she obediently lowered herself to the chair.
Of course she didn’t. She must be on her break from her workday.
“I don’t want to interrupt your lunch, and I want you to know that nothing we say will be repeated.”
“What?”
“On occasion I help Sister Elizabeth and Brother Luke. You can only imagine how busy they are.” With each word and sentence the lying became easier.
“Sister Elizabeth has been very helpful.”
She continued to stare toward her hands, which were now on her lap. The sight of her with the two other women had brought back an image of women crossing the street in Highland Heights. I couldn’t think about that now.
I lowered my voice. “Mary, please look at me. Do I look familiar?”
Mary peered upward and back down. “Yes.”
My heart leaped.
She went on, “I’ve seen you in the temple, with the other chosen.”
And it sank.
My long-ago conversation with Elizabeth about abusive husbands came back to me. I scanned Mindy’s face and body. Her long-sleeved blouse covered her arms, while jeans covered her legs. But thankfully I didn’t see any signs of abuse on her face. “Are you all right?”
She nodded.
“Are you sure?”
Her pale-blue eyes glistened with moisture. “Are you going to tell Sister Elizabeth something? Will it get back to Adam?”
“No!” I lowered my voice. “No, Mary. There’s nothing wrong. I’m not telling Elizabeth anything. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“B-but I thought you were speaking to me for Sister Elizabeth?”
“I am. Just take a minute and think. Have we met before?”
“Before?” she asked. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember before.” She looked up. “You mean in The Light? We aren’t allowed to talk about the time before that.”
“Do you remember the dark?” I asked in a whisper, hopeful and suddenly curious about whether others had had their memories taken away.
“No. Adam says that we were married before we came here. I don’t remember that either.”
I tilted my head. “Did something happen to affect your memory?”
Her lower lip disappeared between her teeth in a familiar habit. “I don’t remember. Adam said I fell. I woke in the clinic about a year ago. That’s all I know.”
My heart beat rapidly as I contemplated this happening to all the women of the Northern Light. “Did you hurt yourself when you fell?”
“Yes, I broke my arm and hurt my head.” She fidgeted in her seat as she sought out her friends. They were seated at another table, eating. “I-I am sometimes quite clumsy. Was there anything else Sister Elizabeth wanted you to ask me?”
Guilt settled heavily in my stomach.
Lies, questions, and now I was stopping her lunch.
My eyes went to her friends’ table. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you miss your lunch. Did they get you food?”
Her head moved back and forth. “We only have rations for our own meal. No one can get more than one.”
She and I were sharing the same life, yet it wasn’t the same. Mine was chosen. Often Dinah or I would make a run for sandwiches for everyone at the lab. How had I not fully noticed or understood the hierarchy in The Light before?
“Oh. Then please go. I’m sorry, Mary. But the next time you see me, please don’t be afraid of me.”
“I-I’m not. You seem nice. Sister Elizabeth is nice and so is Sister Esther, our overseer’s wife. I don’t know any other chosen. I don’t even know your name.”
I tried to smile. “My name
is St-Sara, Sister Sara. Please feel free to speak to me anytime.”
She looked back at her hands, waiting for me to dismiss her, as my stomach twisted. “If you hurry, will you have time to eat?”
“Yes,” she answered quickly.
“Then please go. Thank you for talking to me.”
“Thank you.”
I sat silently as she hurried from the chair to the line and then the counter. From the depth of her pocket, she removed a slip of white paper. It was her lunch ration ticket.
More questions came to my mind. Did everyone experience an “accident” upon arrival? Why? How many hours a day did she and her friends work? What did they do in the greenhouse? What did others do in the production plant?
Walking back to the lab, I contemplated the dichotomy of Mary and Mindy. No longer was she the confident woman who’d been my roommate, classmate, and best friend. Somehow The Light had turned all of us into Stepford wives.
When I entered the lab, Dinah looked up at me, silently questioning my unusual behavior. It wasn’t until we were alone that she finally asked, “Elizabeth? What did she want you to do?”
I licked my lips and lifted my shoulder in a shrug. “She wanted me to ask that follower about a memory she’d had.”
Dinah’s nose scrunched. “A memory? Of what? And why you?”
My eyes widened. “I don’t know. Elizabeth is our friend. I can’t imagine her asking me to do anything that I shouldn’t. Can you?”
“No. It seems odd.”
“I thought so too. It doesn’t matter. The follower didn’t remember.”
Though Dinah seemed satisfied, I silently said a prayer. Please, Father Gabriel, don’t let Dinah say anything to Elizabeth.
Before the end of our workday, Brother Benjamin came to my work desk. “Sister, this morning at Assembly, I learned that Jacob will be returning this afternoon. He’ll be home by dinner.”
A smile spread over my face, before I had the chance to respond differently. “Thank you, Brother Benjamin. That’s the best news I’ve heard in days.”
He winked. “Why don’t you go home early and get ready for his return. I’m sure he’s missed your home cooking.”
Although I was suddenly worried about facing him, the man who had worked so hard to make me believe I was his wife, my body and mind were conflicted. Truth be told: I had missed him.