Page 342 of Eternal
I feel something crack open in me. Because I don’t know what I believe in anymore. Only vengeance, maybe. Only the idea that this has to end with all of them dead.
“You’re sure it’s the same church?” I ask as I show her the picture again.
“I’m sure. The compound was hidden in the hills outside of Spring Mountain. You can’t just walk in. It’s invite-only. Tied to private donors. Lawyers. Judges. Senators”
Of course it is.
She leans in, her voice a whisper. “They call it The Gathering. Once a month. You’ll need a way in.”
I nod. “They hide too well.”
She watches me again, carefully.
“I didn’t give you this. If they find out I talked or that I’m still alive…”
“They won’t,” I cut her off. “They won’t live long enough to track you.”
She slides a folded napkin toward me. “They’re… They’re dangerous, really dangerous.”
I almost want to laugh.
Dangerous.
She’s scared of them. She has no idea she’s talking to the thing they should be scared of.
What’s more dangerous than an angry and abused woman?
Exactly.Nothing.
I lean in slightly, eyes never leaving hers. “Why would I be?”
She hesitates. “I’ve seen what they do. The way they hurt people. The way they smile while they do it. No guilt. No mercy.”
The smile sharpens.
“Yeah,” I say. “And I’mworse.”
Emily’s hand trembles as she lifts her coffee. She hasn’t touched it. The cup clinks quietly on the saucer again. “Listen to me,” she murmurs, barely audible. “Do you even know what they are?”
I do. I really do.
But she continues, and I feel like she always needed to let it out but never had the chance to. “It’s not a church. Not really. It’s a goddamn club. A club for monsters dressed as saints. Deputies. CEOs. A few of them ran for Senate. One of them was a judge who sentenced a kid to ten years for stealing a phone, while he funded the child auctions under that roof.”
I flinch. Not from surprise. From rage.
Emily continues, voice calmer now, like she’s remembering something she’s tried to bury under layers of years and name changes. “They called it a cleansing sanctuary. You know what that means, right?” Her laugh is short and dry. “You probably do.”
I nod once. That’s all I can manage.
“They’d host these on the last Friday of every month. The sermons were public, for the media to take pictures, only a few minutes before closing the doors… that’s when the donors stayed behind. And the kids too.”
She looks down, twisting her fingers in the hem of her sleeve.
“They always told us to smile when the men entered. That God loved grateful girls and boys.”
I feel something bitter crawl up my throat. Memories.
Close your eyes. Breathe. Forget.
