Page 34 of The Cult

“Nothing stupid,” he said in obedience. “We got it.”

“Good boy,” I said.

Flashes of heat graced Abel’s face before morphing into undeniable lust.

“I’ll be back,” I said, and walked away before I did something stupid. Get a grip, Tobias.

***

I’d spent hours in my room, wrestling with my choice to sneak Abel out of the complex and the reason for his request. My mission was to lay low, stay out of trouble, get Abel and his family out safely, and avoid entanglements with the cult at all costs. A task I’d done countless times before. I’d spent years perfecting the art of blending in by not drawing attention to myself. But there I was, alone in my room, planning the exact opposite.

My instinct told me that my involvement was risky, but there was something about their desperation that I couldn’t ignore. They looked at me as if I was their savior. Fitting, since it was what they used to call me when I was with The Firm. The Savior. So I agreed to help, but only so I could join Abel to keep him safe and figure out what they were hiding.

It seemed like ages ago when I used to kill for a living. Something told me I would need to summon all my skills to prowl out of here like men in the shadows. My mind drifted as I stared at the wall clock, counting down the minutes until it was time to go. I allowed my mind to venture into a place and time I rarely visited. A time when I was the one in dire need of someone to rescue me. To be part of a family. To belong. My true Achilles heel.

***

Twenty-Eight Years Ago

“Do you think someone will pick me?” I asked Father Nathaniel after two kids from the orphanage were adopted into a new family that week. I’d been in St. Matthew’s Boys Town since I could remember. I’d heard different versions of stories regarding my parents and the reasons why they abandoned me. Some said that my father was a married politician who got my mother, his mistress, pregnant during his re-election campaign and forced her to give me away. Others swore that my mom was a heroin addict who couldn’t afford to keep me, so she dumped me on the stoop of St. Matthew’s Church. Whatever the real version was, I wished they’d come back to get me. I would forgive them. All they had to do was return so we could start over. They hadn’t even bothered to name me. Father Nathaniel named me Tobias because he said it meant “the righteous man,” and he believed I’d grow up to be one.

“A family will be so lucky to have you in their home, you just have to be patient, my son,” he said.

“I’ve been patient for years,” I wailed, covering my eyes. Tears streamed down my cheeks. “Is there something wrong with me?” That had to be the only reason why I kept getting passed on.

“Oh, Tobias.” Father Nathaniel faced me, bringing my chin up. “There’s nothing wrong with you. God has a plan. You just have to believe.”

“Is his plan to keep me here until all of my friends get adopted?” I sobbed, rejection cutting through my heart. I tried to keep my shirt tucked, and learned how to smile even though I was really nervous and felt like throwing up. “Is it because I haven’t tied my shoes yet? I’m learnin’ and I’m real close.” I heard from one of the staff that families preferred babies, and the older you became, the harder it was to get adopted. If that was the case, my time was running out. That realization drove a dagger into my chest. What would happen if no one came for me? I didn’t want to be alone for the rest of my life.

“Just have faith, Tobias. Your time will come, and it will be the most wonderful gift. Don’t lose hope.” He wiped the tears off my face.

I nodded. I had to believe. Believing was all I had. I didn’t have any other choice.

The sad evening fell. The room I shared with the other boys was silent. Everyone was asleep but me. Tears welled in my eyes when I clutched my stuffed rabbit, the one constant companion I’d ever known. Outside, raindrops tapped against the windowpane in sync with the rhythm of my heartache. I brought my hands together, closed my eyes, and prayed. “Lord, please send me a family. I promise to be good all the time. I promise to tie my shoes, and I’ll pick up my toys. I’ll eat my dinner, even if it’s broccoli. I know there’s a reason why you let my friends go first, but why does everyone keep leaving me behind?” My chest hurt as I tried my best to muffle the sound of my sobs; each weep gripped my lungs like a python. “I’m tired of being alone. I beg you, please?” My small hands trembled as I traced my beloved rabbit’s ears, seeking comfort in its frayed seams. I longed for something I’d never known—a place to belong, and a love that was unshakable, unmovable like a mountain.

Each passing moment felt like an eternity as I peered through the window, my face reflecting in the droplets sliding down the glass. I clung to the flicker of hope that maybe one day, someone would come and see the hopelessness in my eyes, the longing in my heart, and offer me the love and sense of belonging I so desperately yearned for. But for now, the lonely orphanage room remained my only world. The tears flowed freely, mirroring the rain outside, as I awaited a savior that was yet to come.

***

I was in a rage after thinking about my failed childhood, but, like a vice, I couldn’t quit drifting back to that time. I used my past to fill my heart with bitterness so there was no room for anything else. A family came, all right. They swept me out of the home, and I thought my life would change for the better.

I was so fucking wrong.

My nightmare began the moment my loser of a family plucked me from the orphanage. I was an easy target: a desperate and abandoned little boy. I traded the loneliness I knew for the devil I didn’t. I’d never let that happen to me again. No one would gain an advantage over me because of my weakness.

I stood and leaned against the wall of my bedroom, scanning the area for any sign of Sterling and the guards. I promised Abel that I would be there at midnight, and the clock was ticking away. A crescent moon was low in the sky; the only source of light in the room.

At the end of the wing leading to Abel’s room, Sterling was engrossed in conversation with the guards, their laughter punctuating the quiet night. Damn it. I had fifteen minutes, and I didn’t want Abel and the guys to think I’d changed my mind about helping. I didn’t know why I cared. I never worried about what others thought of me. I clenched the shiny lighter Sterling had given me, sweat forming on my brow from the humid summer night. I had to make my move now or lose the opportunity.

With painstaking care, I left my room and inched my way toward the exit on the opposite side of the corridor. Once outside, I kept to the darkest corners and stayed out of the guards’ view and cameras’ periphery. Adrenaline coursed through my veins. I was a junkie when it came to scaling danger, and although what I was about to do was tame in comparison to what I’d done in the past, it still provided a subtle version of the rush I craved.

Finally, I reached the dilapidated building I’d scouted earlier. I knew finding this gem would come in handy, I just didn’t think it’d be this soon. The crumbling relic had a broken door, and the walls were covered in graffiti and splintered by dried ivy. It offered the perfect recipe for my plan. I slipped inside, my heartbeat finally steady.

The air was dry and heavy with the scent of decay clinging to the abandoned structure. I checked my watch; it was nearly midnight. Abel would be waiting. One thing left to do.

As the minutes ticked by, I gathered every piece of dry anything that I could find. I used my shirt to collect dry leaves, twigs, and branches. In the main room of the forgotten building, I piled the dry leaves in a circular pit. Over it, I arranged the logs, smaller twigs, and branches to form a teepee over the leafy pile. I had to jump to rip the top of the ivy from the walls. I hoped that as the fire grew, nature’s rope would become a fuse to help the fire spread quickly.

After admiring my work, I clutched the shiny lighter like a talisman. Almost showtime. With everything in place, I flicked the lighter a few times, playing with the metal cap. The sound of the spark wheel turning was like a lullaby—calming and soothing. I shoved a piece of toilet paper under the teepee then held the flickering flame until it was lit. I leaned against the wall, mesmerized by the dancing flame that twisted and twirled as it grew, smoke curling up to the ceiling.

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