Page 68 of The Cult

The officer turns around to look at me like I’m crazy and shakes his head. “I need to take you to the station to get a statement. When we’re done, you can go home.”

“No! I need to see who got hurt. Please let me out! My friend was on the other side of the street!”

This time, he doesn’t bother to say anything and simply gets out to open my door. I jump out and say, “Don’t take your eyes off her, or she’ll run.”

I don’t wait around for him to reply and sprint toward where the officers stand. I can’t see who it is until I get up close to them. One tries to stop me from seeing who’s on the ground, but I push him away.

“Who is it? I need to know!” I scream.

One of the other officers grabs me by the shoulders to stop me, and I see past him finally. He starts to tell me what happened, but I can’t focus on anything but Nash’s lifeless body there on the sidewalk. My tears make it hard to see anything clearly, yet I know it’s him.

“Are you Lara?” the officer asks as I cry harder than I thought possible.

I nod, unable to speak I’m so utterly sad my friend hasn’t survived after all he did to help me escape from The Golden Light. He had so much to look forward to, and now none of it will happen.

“He ran out into the street because he said he had to make sure you were okay. That’s when one of them got him. I’m sorry.”

“Please let me see him. I need to say goodbye,” I say, barely able to get the words out.

Thankfully, he doesn’t try to dissuade me from what I want to do and tells his fellow officers to let me pass. I stop next to Nash’s body and crouch down to touch his shoulder as I see where the bullet went through his back and out his chest, leaving a gaping hole.

He looks so peaceful, exactly the way I wanted him to feel once he got to my place safe and sound. Nash didn’t deserve this. After all he went through, he deserved a second chance, and I’ll hate those Golden Light sons of bitches for taking that from him for the rest of my life.

“I’m so sorry, Nash. Please forgive me. I just wanted to get Rina out of here. I’m sorry I didn’t leave with you when you asked me to. I’m so sorry,” I say as I sob.

My tears fall onto his cheek, and I gently wipe them away as I think about all he did for me. He didn’t have to risk anything to protect me from Nadine and Micah, but he did and never asked for a thing in return.

For that, I owe him my life.

One of the officers softly taps me on the shoulder, and I look up at him knowing I have to go now. Turning back toward Nash, I whisper, “Goodbye, Nash. I’ll never forget what you did for me.”

As I stand up and turn to walk back toward the police car waiting for me, I see a body in front of The Golden Light building. Looking closely, I see it’s Nadine dead on the ground.

Good. May she rot in Hell.

Six MonthsLater

Each Tuesday morning, I sit in this hunter green wingback chair in my therapist’s office. He always begins on time, but today, he’s running late, so I’m studying his bookcases to see what he likes to read. I see some classics like The Great Gatsby and Oliver Twist next to books about cults and psychology. Seems typical for a therapist, I guess.

Dr. Genero walks in and sits down across from me in a similar dark green chair like he does for every one of our sessions. He’s wearing dark pants and a white dress shirt under a light blue cardigan, and I’ve decided since he wears this every time I see him that it’s his version of a uniform. The color of the sweater brings out the blue in his eyes and looks nice next to his brown hair.

With a tiny smile, he asks, “How are you today, Lara?”

I never know how to answer him when he asks that, which he does to start every appointment. I’m fine. I didn’t get hurt in the shootout, and other than some nightmares once in a while, my time at The Golden Light farm is slowly but surely becoming a distant memory.

So all in all, I’m fine.

Except I’m not, and I don’t know what to do about that. I lost someone I cared about that night, and my sister is still a mess. I have so much hate in my heart for The Golden Light people that sometimes I can barely keep it inside. It threatens to explode out of me at different times, like when I try to talk to Rina and she refuses to even acknowledge I’m right there in front of her or when our parents suggest I should get out more, as if the most traumatic event of my life didn’t occur only a few months ago.

So even though I shouldn’t lie to my therapist. I say, “I’m okay.”

“What would you like to discuss today?” he asks with that encouraging sound to his words I’ve grown to dread.

I’m not sure what he’s hoping to hear. Maybe he’s wishing today will be the day I’ll finally break down and cry my eyes out in his office here. I hate to disappoint him, but that’s not going to happen.

Not that I haven’t cried. I cry myself to sleep most nights thinking about Nash and how much he sacrificed to make sure I was safe. He didn’t have to find any police that night. He could have run away and disappeared, never to be seen again, and he wouldn’t have owed a single soul any explanation.

Although I know my fate may have been very different if he had, I can’t help but wish Nash had vanished into the darkness that night. At least then he’d be alive.

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