Page 34 of The Cult

Beside me, Mary whispers, “It’s such a beautiful day out, and I had great sleep last night. I’ve never slept as well as I have since I arrived here. What about you?”

I think about it for a few moments and nod. “You know, I don’t know when I’ve slept so well either. It must be all the fresh air we’re getting. Like when I was a kid at summer camp. They’d run us around all day, so when it was time to sleep, we practically collapsed into our beds.”

As I say that, I lower my voice so I don’t get Nadine’s attention. I’d like just one day to not have her focused on me. Not that I wish her to notice anyone else. I don’t think Mary could handle what I went through with her men.

Bastards. They better not do anything to her.

At the back of the farm a white canvas tent appears like it grew out of the land overnight. I’ve seen this area of the compound before, and never once did I see a tent. Strange that they don’t leave it up all the time, but maybe taking it down is someone’s job here. Being productive seems to be a very important part of being in The Golden Light.

Nash stands at the entrance to the meeting tent, and my gut reaction is to smile because I know him. He immediately narrows his eyes, as if to tell me to stop right now. I don’t know why my recognizing him would be a problem, but I tighten my lips so I look miserable and look straight ahead as we pass him on our way inside.

I quickly count ten rows of wooden benches arranged on the grass and a stage maybe a foot high in front of where we’re going to sit. Behind me, women file in and take their seats, but Nadine points at the bench closest to the stage for us. I guess we get a front row seat to Micah’s performance this morning.

Mary nudges my arm as we walk toward where Nadine wants us to sit. I look over at her and see worry in her eyes.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” I ask as we take our seats.

“I’m feeling a little lightheaded,” she whispers. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

My instinct is to ask for a cup of water for her, but I quash that as quickly as it enters my mind. Not that it matters. I don’t see any water she could have anyway.

Nadine walks over to us and stops directly in front of Mary. Glaring down at her, she asks, “What’s going on? Are you sick?”

I press my lips together to stop myself from answering for her, and Mary looks up at her and meekly answers, “I think missing breakfast is making me lightheaded. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

To my shock, Nadine pats her gently on the shoulder and smiles as she says, “Oh, not to worry. We’ll be eating something before Micah speaks, so you’ll feel better. I’m sure of it.”

Sure someone has hidden the real Nadine away and replaced her with an actual caring human being, I stare down at my lap to avoid her noticing me at all. The last thing I need is her paying attention to me, even if this is a nicer version of her.

One of the women at the back of the tent announces she’s got delicious cakes and lemonade for everyone, and I feel Mary’s relief practically come off her in waves. She may be better at this obeying business, but she knows as well as I do what happens when you step a toe out of line. I can see by how happy she is now that food is coming that she was afraid.

This place is messed up. A woman feels weak because she hasn’t had breakfast, and she worries she’s doing something wrong. If that’s not wrong, then I don’t know what is.

It only takes the woman with the cakes a minute or two to reach us, and we put our hands out for her to give each of us two. Behind her, another woman I’ve never seen carries a silver pitcher full of pink lemonade and plastic cups. She pours each of us a glass and hands them to us, never smiling or even making eye contact as she does.

Like nearly everyone else here, she’s little more than a zombie.

I want more than anything else to ask Mary what she thinks of this place and how strangely so many of the women act here, but I don’t dare. I’ve learned my lesson already. One time making waves and having to deal with Nadine’s henchmen was enough for me.

We finish our breakfast and lemonade, and the woman who had the pitcher before now comes around to take our plastic cups. Nobody talks as we wait for Micah to appear, so I keep my gaze focused on my hands in my lap.

Curious, even though I know I shouldn’t be, I turn around to look at the crowd behind us and see every bench filled with women dressed exactly like me. They stare straight ahead, their faces expressionless. Nash and the other guards stand in a line across the back of the tent. They too stare straight ahead and show no emotion in their faces, but it’s a different kind of indifference, almost as if they’ve been instructed not to focus on any of us. Nadine stands on the side of the tent, and as I watch, her guards walk in and take their positions behind her. She smiles as she listens to the one who wanted to hurt me tell her something.

Knowing those two, it’s got to be the news that someone weaker than them has been hurt.

I quickly turn around and face the front again, worried she or one of her goons saw me watching them. I need to remember what Nash said about not noticing anything here. It’s just that it’s my nature to pay attention to what’s happening around me.

As I think that, I sense my brain getting fuzzy. It’s like when I take cold medicine and my head feels like a balloon bobbing up and down a few feet above my body. What’s happening to me?

I glance over at Mary on my right and see her staring straight ahead. She looks like she always does, or so it seems. Maybe it’s the heat. It’s got to be near eighty already, and we haven’t even hit the warmest time of the day. Sitting in this tent isn’t helping either.

Strangely enough, though, I’m not sweating. I should be if the heat is affecting me, but when I run my fingertips along my hairline and across the back of my neck, I feel no dampness.

Maybe they put something in the food or the lemonade. That doesn’t make sense, though, because they didn’t taste off at all. Like usual, the cakes were delicious, and the lemonade was the most refreshing drink I’ve ever had.

I bet they’re pumping something into the tent to make us more relaxed. I wonder what it is. I’ve never heard of anything like that.

With each minute that passes, my brain has to work harder and harder to focus. Everything, not just my brain anymore, feels hazy and fuzzy. Like if someone took a sander and ground off all the rough edges of me.

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