Laughter bubbling up from the center of my chest as I ran far, far away…
I opened my eyes, hatred filling me from the inside out. Hatred for a weakness I hadn’t realized I possessed.
Hatred for myself.
I was home. I was where I belonged. God had a plan. The plan was my path. The truth was all that mattered.
I was home. I was where I belonged.
God had a plan.
I was the plan…
I repeated the words over and over to myself, wondering where this out of character displeasure came from. Where its roots were planted.
“Mommy, I don’t like it here.”
“I want to go home.”
I pinched the underside of my arm hard enough to bruise. I twisted the skin until I wanted to howl with pain.
It was the least I deserved for thinking that way. For surrendering myself to negative thinking.
I ran the tip of my finger along the jagged scar on my wrist.
There were some things important to remember. Even if it hurt.
Pastor Carter kept his eyes firmly fixed on the road on the other side of the gate.
Once the pain had subsided and my mind was blissfully tranquil again, I focused on the dusty gravel. It wasn’t a big road. Only wide enough for a single car, but with The Retreat at the very end, two lanes were unnecessary.
I couldn’t see far; the road was obscured by a sharp bend and I couldn’t recall what lay beyond it. I never ventured into the town seven miles down the mountain. I had no idea whether there were houses along the way.
It didn’t matter. What existed past the gate was inconsequential.
The outside wouldn’t prepare me for The Awakening, so I couldn’t worry about what happened out there.
Minutes turned into an hour and still we stood. The day slipped away and darkness seeped in. And with it the cold. I hadn’t thought to bring a coat. I hadn’t anticipated being out here this long.
I licked now chapped lips and restlessly shifted my weight. Even Pastor Carter seemed to be losing his notable patience. I saw him check his watch several times in the past thirty minutes, his brow furrowed in what seemed to be annoyance.
“Pastor, should we go back—?”
“No. He will be here soon,” Pastor cut me off testily, but then softened it with a smile. I could see the gleam of his teeth in the gloom.
So we waited. And I chewed the skin off my bottom lip. And I ran my finger along the ever present scar.
And I prayed. Because that’s what I had to been taught to do in quiet time. In stressful times.
At all times.
Finally, after the sun sank behind the trees, two figures slowly trudged up the steep incline of the hill. I could hear the heavy tread of their footsteps, though I could barely see them. Pastor Carter had gone back to the truck and gotten a gas lantern that did little to provide any light.
My stomach clenched into a tight knot. Anticipation tasted metallic on my tongue.
Pastor Carter walked towards the gate, standing just inside the wide opening. I remained where I was until he told me otherwise. I watched as his face transformed. His eyes softened. His mouth turned upwards in a welcoming smile. His posture was non-threatening and benign.
I tried to mimic him. I took my hands out of my pockets, even though the tips of my fingers were tingling with cold. I braced my legs so I looked more relaxed than I felt. I smiled. Then decided against it because it felt brittle and forced.
As the arrivals drew closer I could see that only one carried a duffle bag. The tallest one. Slouched and weary, the bag seemed to weigh him down. Both men appeared to be broad and tall.
The one carrying the rucksack was larger, with thick shoulders. He shuffled his feet as though walking were difficult. I didn’t know how long it would have taken them to get from town to The Retreat, but given their obvious tiredness, it probably would have taken them a significant amount of time.
The taller man’s face was turned downward, eyes trained to the ground. I couldn’t see much of his face, especially in the dim light.
The smaller one was still large by most people’s standards. With similar build and size, the two were most likely related. But whereas the taller man trudged along, barely able to put one foot in front of the other, the slighter man kept his head up, his arm firmly around the other, eyes trained on Pastor Carter.
As they moved closer, the bigger man stumbled, coming down hard on his knees, pulling the other guy to the ground with him.
I rushed forward to help but Pastor Carter grabbed my arms as I moved past him. “No, he must do this part on his own,” he said quietly. Almost fiercely.
I frowned. “But they look exhausted. Surely we can help them—”
Pastor Carter’s expression hardened. “Do not question me, Sara. It’s God’s will.”
God’s will.
Always God’s will.
I swallowed my defiance like the good girl I was and didn’t move another inch. Instead I watched as both men struggled to their feet. The smaller man grunted with the effort but finally the two made their way to the gate in short, halting steps.
Once they were within a few feet I was able to get a good look at both of them. I focused on the larger of the two first. He seemed older than the other one by quite a few years. His head was covered with a thick stocking cap that had seen better days, but I could see dark hair poking out from underneath it. He glanced up at Pastor Carter and I noted that he had a decently handsome, yet weathered face. He hadn’t shaved in a while and his jawline was covered in unkempt scruff. He seemed exhausted, his expression wild and desperate.
He broke away from the other man to step towards Pastor Carter. “Pastor,” he said in a deep, raspy voice. It was the voice of someone barely keeping it together. Someone with a lot of chinks in their crumbling armor.
“Welcome my son.” Pastor Carter put his hand on the large man’s shoulder, having to reach up to do so. He towered over the Pastor. He was easily over six foot tall. But his demeanor—downtrodden and more than a little broken—made him seem smaller.
I could see the man shudder beneath Pastor’s hand. As if the effort to hold himself upright was too much. He let out a strangled sob and fell to his knees again, this time of his own accord. My eyes widened in surprise as his entire body shook as though freezing. He cried noisily, as though something inside of him had shattered completely.
Pastor Carter knelt in front of him and took his shoulders in his hands. “It’s all right, David. It’s all right. You’re home.”
David. His name was David.
The other man rushed forward and dropped down to the ground beside David. He knocked Pastor Carter’s hands away. “Don’t touch him. Leave him the hell alone,” he growled. Pastor Carter didn’t argue, he simply remained there, on the ground with both of them. Waiting for David to be ready.
The second man glared at Pastor before turning to David and speaking to him in hushed tones. I found myself leaning forward slightly trying to listen to what he said. I could hear him saying “Let’s leave.” And “You don’t have to stay here.”
David shook his head vehemently. “No. I’m home.”
The younger man looked as though he had been slapped. “Home isn’t here, Dave. You don’t know these people. You don’t know this place.”
David’s face was wet in the light of the lantern, tears evident as he slowly got to his feet. “You can leave Bastian, I’m staying.”
I looked down at the man called Bastian. He stayed on the ground, not getting to his feet. In the dark, I could make out a face that looked a lot like David’s. The similarities were obvious. Brothers perhaps?
But whereas David had needy, haunted eyes that had perhaps seen too much, Bastian’s were clear and more than a little hurt. And a lot angry. They were eyes that were unforgiving.
Pastor Carter was talking to David but I barely listened, as I knew I should have been. I was watching Bastian closely. Curiously. He sl
owly got to his feet, brushing gravel and dirt from his jeans.
He was dressed well, unlike David. His jacket seemed expensive. It was the weatherproof, heavy duty kind worn by serious hikers. Whereas everything about David seemed tired and neglected, Bastian was tidy and put together. He didn’t wear a hat and his hair, which looked dark, was cut short against his skull.
I couldn’t decide if he was good looking or not. He had an interesting face. One that took time to get accustomed to. I found myself cataloguing each individual part. It was easier to look at him that way.
His nose was perhaps too sharp. His lips too full. His face was narrow but not from poor self-care, but probably as a result of genetics. He was all harsh angles and deep shadow.
But his eyes were something else entirely. His eyes made him absolutely beautiful. Bright blue in the glow of the lantern, I could see they were framed by thick, long lashes.
He caught me staring at him, our gazes crashing into each other. And held on. Just for a moment.
He didn’t smile. I got the impression he didn’t have much to smile about.
While he wasn’t sad like David, there was something just as gut wrenching about him.
The knot in the pit of my stomach clenched ever tighter.
Bastian looked away.
I looked away.
That was all there was to do.
“Sara, this is David Scott, our arrival.” Pastor Carter beckoned me closer. I inched forward, hesitant around David. My first impression of him was of a man beaten down by life. Maybe even unstable. The kind of person you didn’t turn your back on. His eyes were the same pretty shade as Bastian’s. But while the smaller man’s gaze was unflinching, David’s skittered past you like a frightened animal.
“Welcome to The Retreat, David,” I said softly, careful of my movements. I kept myself as still as possible, unsure of his reaction.
“Thank you.” David’s gravelly voice was barely above a whisper.
Pastor Carter put his arm around David’s shoulders, an embrace the shattered man seemed to lean into as if taking strength from our leader. “We’re very glad you’ve found us, David. I know your journey has been a challenging one. But I think everything happens for a reason. It led you here.” David seemed to cling to every word Pastor spoke. His face lit up with a fire I would recognize anywhere.
Complete and total devotion.
I recognized it instantly. It was the same look most likely on my own face.
“His journey has been challenging?” Bastian snapped. “I think watching most of your platoon die in front of your eyes, being left for dead, and then being discharged from the service you had almost given your life for because you’ve been deemed mentally unfit, is a lot more than challenging. My brother has been through hell!”
They were brothers. Looking at the two men it was obvious. And it was also obvious that even though David appeared to be the eldest, Bastian took care of him.
“Baz, don’t.” David’s words were meant to be stern, but it seemed the fight had left him a long time ago.
Pastor Carter nodded his head. “You’re right, Bastian. Your brother has dealt with more than most. Which is why I think he needs The Gathering as much as we need him.”
Bastian snorted and I could have sworn he rolled his eyes, but I wasn’t sure.
“Baz, I don’t need you to tell me what I’ve been through. We talked about this. My decision has been made.” David wasn’t angry. He wasn’t even sad. He sounded devoid of all emotion.
Bastian’s face softened as he looked at his brother. “Dave, we can go home. Our real home. With Mom and Dad. I’ll be there the whole time. I’ve taken time off from school. We can take it one step at a time.” He took a hurried step towards David, his face beseeching. “It’ll be like it was before. I promise—”
“It won’t be like it was before. Don’t make bullshit promises. Particularly ones that start as lies.” David was all coiled tension. The brothers seemed to be in a standoff. It appeared this was an argument a long time in the making.
I glanced at Pastor but his eyes were closed and I knew he was praying. Perhaps asking God to guide David. Perhaps asking for his own strength. I had no idea. I wasn’t privy to the private devotions of great men.
Bastian’s eyes kept darting between us and his brother. I got the sense he was embarrassed at having an audience. I consciously took a step back, giving the illusion of more privacy.
“I can’t leave you here.” His eyes were on Pastor Carter, expression hard. Then he looked at me again. Not a friendly look. It was combative. As if he were preparing for war. “I won’t leave you here. Not with these whack jobs.”
I didn’t take offense at his description of The Gathering. He wasn’t the first to call us names. To label us crazy for living how we lived and believing what we believed.
“Your brother is safe here, Bastian,” Pastor Carter said, opening his eyes.
Bastian ignored Pastor, his attention on his brother. “Please come home with me. Please.” His voice cracked and I saw him furiously wiping his eyes.
I looked away from them, the scene in front of me too raw, too real. It hurt to watch this painful separation.
David wouldn’t look at Bastian. But after a few moments he hugged his brother. They clung to each other for what felt like forever. I could hear the soft murmurs of voices as they spoke words only for the other to hear. Then David pulled away and looked at Pastor.
“I’m ready,” he said resolutely.
Pastor Carter put a hand on David’s shoulder. “Then come. Your brothers and sisters are waiting for you.” They began to walk away. Back towards the truck.
Bastian stood there watching them, his face bleak. His mouth opening and closing as if he were going to call out. Maybe scream.
I knew I was expected to follow Pastor but something about this man pulled on my conscience. Pulled on my heart.
“He’ll be okay,” I told him, feeling the need to say something to make it better. If that were at all possible.
Bastian narrowed his eyes and the look he gave me would have sent most people running. It was a look full of repulsion. And disgust. And downright loathing. “How can you live with yourself? Seriously, how can you sleep at night when you tear families apart?”
I knew judgement and anger towards The Gathering existed. We had been warned of it by Pastor. I saw it in Tyler and Adam’s bruises and broken bones. But I had never experienced it firsthand. It hurt. A lot.
“You don’t know anything about us,” was all I could find the strength to say.
Bastian turned to watch his brother who was now getting into the truck. Pastor Carter was walking back towards us.
Bastian looked as though he were going to be sick. His face was pale in the moonlight. His eyes too bright. The peculiar angles of his face blurring in the shadow.
“We’ll take care of him,” I promised. And I meant it. Something about Bastian pulled at my insides. I would make sure his brother was fine. I’d see to it myself.
Bastian’s mouth contorted as if he were in pain. “You don’t understand. He’s sick. He has so many problems. You haven’t seen him when he’s having a bad spell…” His words stuck in his throat and stayed there.
“He’s not the first person who was sick when they came,” I assured him. “We all have our dragons to slay.”
Bastian took a ragged breath and then looked at me. Really looked at me. “What’s your name again?”
“Sara. Sara Bishop.”
“Sara, I can’t leave my brother here. I just can’t. Mom and Dad would never forgive me.” He ran a hand over his face. “I’d never forgive myself.”
I lifted my hand as if to touch him. To comfort him in some way. But then I thought better of it.
“Sara, it’s time to go.” Pastor Carter’s voice broke whatever spell I had been under and I dropped my hand back to my side.
Pastor pushed a button on the remote and the gates began to shut.
&
nbsp; Closing Bastian Scott out.
They closed with a loud bang. Pastor didn’t spare another glance to the lone man on the other side.
Pastor took my hand. “Let’s go, Sara. You did well.”
I frowned. I did well? I hadn’t done anything. I looked back over my shoulder. Bastian hadn’t moved. It felt wrong leaving him there.
“What about David’s brother?” I asked.
Pastor’s hand squeezed mine. “Our concern isn’t for those out there. Our interest is with the ones who make the right choice for their souls. Forget about him.”
I nodded. Pastor was right.
But…
“Wait!”
The strangled plea stopped me in my tracks.
I tugged my hand free from Pastor’s grip and turned around. Bastian had his hand curled around the metal bars and was shaking it vigorously. “Please, wait!”
“Let’s go, Sara.”
“He obviously wants something,” I pointed out. “Shouldn’t we see what it is?”
Pastor frowned, clearly annoyed with me. “As I said, he is not our concern—”
“Please, open the gate. I…I want to be one of you! I want to—what is it you do?”
I tried to cover my laugh because Pastor Carter didn’t seem the slightest bit amused.
“Young man, The Gathering of the Sun isn’t a whim. It’s not some spur of the moment impulse. It’s our life. It’s our eternity. Do you understand?” Pastor Carter barked. I had never heard him so irritated. His normal calm demeanor was gone. “Don’t waste my time. Don’t waste your brother’s. Goodbye.”
Pastor took ahold of my arm, a little rougher than he had ever done before and started leading the both of us towards the truck.
“Please, Pastor Carter, I want to find a way to be closer to God! I want to be a better person! I want what you have. I truly do!” Bastian’s voice had pitched higher, tinged with panic.
“Pastor Carter, shouldn’t we let him in? It sounds as if he’s on the path.”
I don’t know why I spoke up for Bastian Scott. I didn’t believe a single word that came from his mouth. He wasn’t a man that wanted anything to do with God. He wasn’t asking to search for the truth.