“I’m sorry about Anne. She’s a bit overwhelmed,” her father explained and I could hear his embarrassment at her behavior, which irritated me. Her father shouldn’t be embarrassed. He should be comforting his daughter. That’s what a parent should do.
I looked at my own parent and felt…nothing. She stood so close to Pastor Carter that she was practically pressed against him. Her hand on his arm as if she belonged there. She smiled at me as well. The kind of smile she only gave me in front of Pastor. The insincere kind.
“Hi Anne,” I said softly.
Anne sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand and finally looking my way. “Hi,” she muttered. She lifted her chin slightly. A small measure of defiance that I liked. But I also knew she’d learn there was no place for that here.
“Daddy, I want to leave,” Anne said again, louder this time. Shrill—close to hysteria.
Pastor Carter reached out, wrapping his large hand around Anne’s much smaller one. He forcibly wrenched her away from her father. Pulling her with a viciousness that surprised me and startled Anne enough that she stopped crying.
With heavy hands on her shoulders, Pastor all but pushed her towards me. Anne stumbled, her scuffed sneaker catching on a floor board. I caught her before she fell.
“It’s okay,” I whispered before letting go. “I promise, it’s okay.”
Anne’s eyes met mine then and she clung to me in the way she had clung to her father only minutes before. In that moment, her allegiance shifted. She no longer looked to her father to keep her safe. I knew that job was mine alone.
Anne looped her arm with mine in an unspoken act of true friendship. “We need to make sure Minnie doesn’t scare them off.” She giggled and pulled me towards the newest arrivals.
I shook off my mood and plastered the best of smiles on my face. “You’re right. Come on.”
“You should be wearing white. Didn’t anyone tell you that?” I heard Minnie say as we walked closer. She plucked at David’s sleeve and he immediately recoiled.
“No, we weren’t informed there was a dress code,” Bastian deadpanned, angling his body so that he stood between his brother and the too touchy Minnie.
“Good morning, David,” I said, addressing the older man first. I walked around Bastian so that I could see his brother better. David looked at me and gave me what seemed to be a genuine smile. I tried not to flinch as I truly looked at him for the first time.
It was hard to look at a face that had obviously seen too much.
His blue eyes, the same color as Bastian’s, were heavy lidded and sunken into his face. Dark circles seemed to be tattooed on his skin.
“Good morning, Sara,” he replied, his voice raspy as if he were a former a smoker.
Bastian turned towards us, clearly ready to jump in if necessary, but Minnie said something that pulled his attention away from us. I felt a little better away from the laser focus of his hawkish gaze.
I sat down on the ground and patted the grass beside me, indicating David should sit too. He slowly lowered himself, his knees almost buckling as he sank downward. Anne joined us, quiet and comforting.
“How are you settling in?” I asked, chancing a look at Bastian again. Minnie was talking his ear off and he seemed to be having a hard time breaking away. His tension was obvious. Stafford, Caitlyn, and Bobbie had already walked off—their attention fickle. I turned to David, finding his demeanor easier than his brother’s barely restrained antagonism.
I noted the way David pressed his hands together. His knuckles white. He looked at me. Briefly. As if it pained him to do so. “Fine, thank you,” he answered shortly.
“Have you met many of the others?” Anne asked, her voice benign. Naturally soothing. David looked up at her, as if compelled by the sound of her voice.
“Not really. Pastor thought it would be better to give us time before we were…introduced.” His fingers squeezed together so tightly I was sure the circulation must be cut off.
Anne nodded. “Pastor is a smart man. He recognizes what each of us needs and helps us get it. He’s such a spiritual person and I hope one day to reach that sort of awareness.”
David watched Anne as she spoke. Closely. His haunted eyes never leaving her face. “I first heard him speak in a video on YouTube. Someone had recorded a prayer session from a few years ago and hearing him talk I knew that he was someone who could help.”
Anne picked a small, yellow flower and twirled it between her fingers. “We’re all here to help, David. We’re one big family. You just have to open your heart. You have to let people in. We can help you on your path. I can help you.” She bowed her head as if embarrassed for some reason. She dropped the flower and let out a nervous chuckle and then turned to me. “Right, Sara?”
I gave her a confused look but murmured my agreement.
“All of our journeys are connected,” I explained but David didn’t seem to be paying me any attention. I watched as he picked up the small, wilted buttercup Anne had plucked and held it in his tightly closed fist before putting it in his pocket.
“Brothers and sisters, please find a place to get comfortable.” Pastor Carter walked into the clearing and everyone immediately did as they were instructed. Anne and I both reclined onto our backs. After a few moments David did the same.
“What are we doing?” I heard Bastian ask. There was a rush of air as he settled down beside me, his arm brushing mine as he sank onto the grass.
“Shh,” I whispered, closing my eyes. Listening to the wind. The birds chirping. The soft, muffled movements as those closest to me situated themselves.
“I don’t get it. Is it nap time?” Bastian muttered, his voice too loud.
I opened my eyes and turned my head so I was looking at him. He was propped up on his elbows, seeming confused.
“This is Daily Devotional. Has no one told you about it?”
Pastor Carter began weaving his way through the prostrate forms of his followers, leaning down to touch each on the forehead, whispering a soft prayer only for them. I could barely hear his footsteps. He walked as if on water. Like the Messiah reborn.
“Maybe. I don’t really remember. There’s a lot of crap to digest.” Bastian watched Pastor closely. I watched Bastian closely. He wasn’t hard to read. I could see his disbelief. His open mockery. He should work on hiding that better.
“It’s not crap,” I spat out in an angry whisper. “Just lie down and close your eyes. Pray to God. Think of the things you want to change. Think of where you want your path to lead you. This is time for reflection.”
Bastian looked at me, raising an eyebrow. “Reflection, huh?”
“Yes, now be quiet,” I hissed.
“You simply have to lie down, Bastian. Think only of your hopes. Your fears. The things you regret. The things that give you hope. This is a time for you to focus your energy and move towards your future,” Pastor Carter explained, appearing beside us.
I instantly closed my eyes, doing what I was supposed to.
“How long are we supposed to reflect?”
“As long as you need to. Most of my children spend a few hours. Some longer. That’s entirely up to you. But you need to respect everyone else’s time. And that means being silent. No talking. No sound of any sort.” Pastor Carter was stern. As if speaking to a misbehaving child.
“What if I don’t want to lie here for hours?”
I sat up suddenly and glared at Bastian. “Just lie there and pray!” I hadn’t realized I was yelling until I saw Anne and David staring at me. Everyone else was looking at me as well. Caitlyn’s mouth gaped open in shock. I saw my mother’s severe disapproval. My cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
Pastor put a hand on my forehead and I closed my eyes again, needing to relax. To be calm. It’s what I knew I had to do. I had to expunge negative emotion. I had to replace anger and hostility with warmth and happiness. With contentment.
It hurt.
But joy was always tinged with pain.
/>
“Be silent, Sara. The only voice you should hear is God’s.” Pastor Carter sounded reproachful. As if I had displeased him. I felt horrible. I didn’t like doing things wrong. I was meant to be an example.
I tried to put Bastian out of my mind. I listened to the sound of people breathing. A collective breath that any other day would have soothed me.
But today all I could focus on was Bastian as he moved on the grass. The frustrated sigh that seemed to echo in my ears.
“Close your eyes, Bastian. Think about why you’re here. What you hope to achieve. What this means to David. Think about him. Why is he here?” There was a note of something in Pastor Carter’s voice that made my breathing hitch. Something…menacing?
I peeked at Bastian, lying in the grass beside me. Only a foot between us. His fingers digging into the dirt. His mouth a hard line. His eyes open, staring back at the man who stood over him.
But this time he didn’t speak. He didn’t question. He simply lowered his eyelids, relaxed his body. Spread his hands out on the earth beneath him. And he let out a slow, almost anguished breath.
And it was in that release of air that I was able to find my own calm.
But in the hours of silent reflection, I didn’t think much about my own path or purpose. I found myself listening to the steady inhales and exhales of those around me. Particularly the deepened breathing of our newest arrival.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
It felt so simple. To breathe with him. To lie in the grass beside him.
So, so simple.
Yet it wasn’t.
Far from it.
His presence brought a hurricane.
I’m pretty sure I fell asleep.
It was quiet. Almost too quiet. Even the birds seemed to be unnaturally silent.
No one moved. No one made a sound. It was like lying in a cemetery. As if we were all dead already.
But I tried. I really did. I thought about why David was so insistent on coming. I remembered the rapturous expression he’d get when he’d watch that same video of Jeremy Carter preaching about saving your soul.
David had been in a really bad place.
That’s what I should be thinking about. The things I wanted to change.
So I thought about how things were before we came to here.
Dave had been home from his last tour in Afghanistan. This was different than his previous leaves. Because this time was final.
He had been shoved out of the army. At one time, he had been on the right track. He was recruited into the 75th Ranger Regiment. He was involved in missions that left many people dead and more people saved.
At first it was a perfect fit. David had always been smart, athletic. The top of his class, he insisted on joining the military. Our father was ex-army and he wanted to follow in his decorated footsteps.
Me, I was the artsy one going to school for a “worthless” liberal arts degree. I wanted to teach art. I wanted to hang around kids all day as they made ridiculous clay sculptures and learn about Georgia O’Keeffe and Vincent Van Gogh.
David was the smart, intense one.
I was the happy, fanciful one. The social one. The guy with all the friends and the life of the party.
But then David was sent on an emergency crisis response mission. And he watched half his team get blown up. In shock, he crawled over ten miles to get help. After that he couldn’t function and he was deemed unfit for service.
He was given an other-than-honorable discharge because of the questions raised in regards to his behavior during the mission. His superiors thought he acted in a way that put others at risk. That he was somehow at fault for his team walking into a landmine. Literally.
The overwhelming guilt and complete despair combined with hardcore depression left him spiraling. He was kicked out of the army with no benefits. His GI Bill, which he had planned to use to go to school, was taken away. He was diagnosed with an Adjustment Disorder, which was the military’s way of saying David’s issues began before that fateful day he watched his friends be killed, which was total bullshit.
It was their way of washing their hands of a problematic soldier. A man who had tried his best to serve his country.
He was sent home a shell of the person he used to be. To a family that couldn’t cope with who he had become.
He couldn’t get a job. He couldn’t be around anyone for extended periods of time. The slightest things triggered him. He’d fly into a violent rage, breaking things—even his hand once.
Then he’d stay in bed for days at a time. He wouldn’t eat. He wouldn’t talk to anyone. He slept all the time.
He’d just lie there, in his childhood bedroom in our parents’ house and stare at the ceiling. Immovable and dying inside.
He was a living, breathing corpse. There was nothing alive behind his eyes.
My parents tried to get him help. My mother drove him to the VA doctors who specialized in Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. David never went more than a few times.
I returned home from college the weekend after David came back. I was in my second year at Ohio State College where I was well on my way to becoming the happy-go-lucky art teacher I planned to be. I’ll admit I hadn’t taken my mother’s tears seriously when she said something was wrong with my brother. He’d always been tough. The strong one. It was easy to dismiss her concerns.
Anyway, Mom was the helicopter type. Hovering around, ready to wipe our noses and put Band-Aids on our knees. She was a worrier of the highest order.
So, when she called to tell me to be prepared, that something was wrong with David—that he was different—I hadn’t really listened. I had gone over to my friend’s apartment, had half dozen beers, and played a couple hours of Fortnight.
All the while my older brother was struggling in the aftermath of his very real, very devastating trauma.
Mom had been right though. David was different.
He had never been a funny guy. That was my role. He wasn’t the life of any party, but he was always a presence. He was real. He was in the moment.
I used to joke that he had politician written all over him. He was the kind of person that demanded respect. That others listened to. His words always mattered.
The guy I met after saying goodbye to him eighteen months before, was a complete and total void.
Mom and Dad tried. They made his favorite foods. We watched his favorite films. Mom invited David’s old high school friends over for a welcome home barbeque.
That was the first of the many meltdowns.
Mom had asked David’s childhood best friend, Ollie, to come over. Nice enough dude, though perhaps a bit thick. He was the kind to speak before his brain was engaged. His face was a complete fist magnet and growing up, David had to step in and defend him more than once when his mouth got away from him. But they had been close.
Ollie and David hadn’t spoken much since David enlisted. Things would have been on the awkward side even without the added issues my brother now faced. But that amplified them.
Things started okay. They shared a beer. Talked a bit about some dumbass basketball game they lost their senior year. And then it all went to shit.
“What happened over there? I heard a bunch of your guys got themselves blown up.”
That’s all it took for David to lose his fucking mind.
He punched Ollie right in the mouth—not that he didn’t deserve it—and then he kept on hitting. It took Dad and three other guys to pull David off his former best friend. Ollie was taken to the hospital. All he had was a broken nose and some bruising, but he went around our hometown talking loudly about David Scott—the psycho.
And in a small town, once a label was given, it stuck. So, Dave became the town nut.
My brother lost himself in those months after coming home.
I went back to school but I couldn’t concentrate. I came home every weekend to see him, hoping he’d
be better. Despairing when he was actually worse.
Then one weekend, three months ago I arrived to find a new David.
My older brother wasn’t exactly his old self. He was still not eating much. He was still depressed and angry. But there was a light in his eyes—a fire in his tone—that I had never heard from him before. In all his smart, intense ways, he had never been fanatical.
Fervor had taken hold and he was hooked.
He showed me a grainy video of a man sitting in a circle with a group of people. There was nothing out of the ordinary about him. He was older, maybe in his early fifties, with greying hair that went all the way to his waist and a placid expression that bordered on blankness.
He seemed to be a preacher of some sort. I honestly didn’t pay much attention the drivel he was spouting. Something about walking a path. Of having a clean soul for when we’re called home. Same old religious bullshit I’d heard a hundred times before.
But there was something about this particular man that seemed to reach inside David and spoke to him.
“It’s like he understands. He knows,” David enthused.
I didn’t want to say anything that would set him off so I had simply nodded. “Yeah, he’s something else.”
I watched my brother watching his computer screen with an encroaching sense of dread. I wasn’t sure why I felt that, but something about David’s expression worried me.
That one video was all it took.
David had a purpose.
At first, I tried to shake off any misgiving and told Mom and Dad that at least he was getting into something. Even if that something were the sermons of a man that sounded—to me—a little bit crazy.
“We are all born to die. Some early. Some later. But our ultimate journey is the one beyond the veil. The one that comes once our eyes close and our heart beats its last. Then our soul can be free of this wicked, sinful coil that we are bound to.” David listened to those words on repeat.
I continued to come home on the weekends and was more than a little startled by the change in David. He was still too thin. Still sleeping too much. Still an empty husk of the person I used to know. But now he was filled with fanaticism.