Page 51 of The Cult

A terrible thought makes my stomach sink. Did he tell Micah and Nadine what I planned to do? Is that why I’m in this strange place?

I need to get out of this room and find my phone. If I can call my mother, she’ll inform the authorities and this nightmare will end.

Slipping my dress over my head, I let it fall down my body while I slip my shoes on. Wherever I am has to have a way out. I just need to find it, and everything will be okay.

That thought calms my nerves, and I hurry over to the door to begin my second escape from The Golden Light. When I try to twist the doorknob, it won’t budge.

I’m locked in!

I bang on the metal door with every ounce of strength I possess as I scream, “Somebody! Anybody! Let me out!”

After yelling until I’m hoarse and nobody responding to my pleas, I return to the window. If I can’t get out through the door, then maybe I can through the window. Pushing on the glass, I can’t get it to open even an inch. It’s like it’s glued shut.

Frustration fills me as I pace back and forth across the room like a caged animal. Did I lose my one chance to get out of here and now I’m stuck in this place?

No! I can’t let that happen. I will be free. Whatever happens, I will leave this wretched place.

When someone knocks on the door, I frantically prepare myself for whoever it is. I’ve got nothing to protect myself with other than a comb sitting on top of the dresser, so I grab it and swear to God I’ll do whatever’s necessary to stop them from keeping me here.

I watch as the door slowly opens and reveals Micah. He’s dressed in his usual dark pants, but today he’s wearing a tan shirt that reminds me of the shirts my father wears when my mother drags him on cruises. I guess it’s a nice change from that whole messiah look he had going on before. As I study his appearance, I notice he’s wearing Crocs.

Is it costume day at The Golden Light?

“Nice look. Who are you supposed to be?” I ask as he steps into the room.

My little bit of sarcasm doesn’t seem to register with him. He closes the door, disappointing me, and sits down in a chair over near the window.

Trusting soul, isn’t he? I’m guessing he’s got guards stationed outside the door, so he can afford to be relaxed.

“Are you considering a new look, Lara?” he asks with a smile that seems out of place since he’s holding me hostage here.

I shake my head, not understanding what he means by that question, so he points at the comb. Looking down at my hand, I see I’m holding it like a weapon. He sees that too, I’m sure, so why did he bother with that new look comment?

Maybe I’m not the only one feeling sarcastic today.

“I want to leave.”

My words come out like a proclamation some statesman might make to end a war. They allow no room for argument or discussion. I do not want to stay here any longer.

Micah, however, doesn’t interpret them the same way. He tilts his head left and right and slightly frowns, as if he’s weighing the idea I’ve presented and wants to find the best way to let me know it’s not going to happen. Then he sighs, like dealing with me is such a drain on his energy.

“Well, that’s something we can talk about. What’s making you unhappy enough to want to leave here, Lara?”

I don’t know why he’s doing this social worker routine with me, but it’s only serving to make me angrier than I was when he walked in here. Mocking his sigh, I take a step toward him and glare down into his eyes.

“Because you won’t let me leave. Now I want to go. Right now.”

This time, he doesn’t bother to pretend like he’s thinking about it and immediately answers, “You know that can’t happen. Why don’t we sit down and talk about how you’re feeling today?”

God, this man infuriates me! I don’t know which Micah I hate more—the one who acted like he was Jesus Christ walking on water or this one with his kumbaya attitude.

“You’re already sitting down,” I snap.

He smiles like I said something funny and nods, but I know he doesn’t agree with anything I’m saying. It’s all part of his act to make people think he understands their pain. Well, he doesn’t understand mine. How could he? He’s the cause of my damn unhappiness.

“I know you wish things were different, Lara, but I know if you talked about what’s on your mind, you’d be a whole lot happier.”

Waving my hand around, I study him in disgust. “What is this whole thing you’re doing today? You look like you belong on some island, although the black pants might be a tad too hot for tropical weather. And what’s with the Crocs? Seriously? Since it’s not Halloween, I can’t imagine what you’re going for with this. I think I actually liked the misunderstood prophet look you were sporting before, Micah.”

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