Page 33 of Cuddles for the Bear
“No. I asked once. My grandfather said my parents were evil people who died for their sins.”
Sheesh. Wren had never had a break in his life.“But they told you they were your grandparents?”
Tilting his head to one side, his eyes still closed, although the frown lines had disappeared, Wren said, “The pastor called them my grandparents. I was told to call them sir and ma’am, because that was the respectful way to address the people who were raising me out of the goodness of their hearts.”
That’s a rehearsed statement if I’ve ever heard one.“Wren, hon, this is important. Was there any time in your childhood when you ever saw your grandparents shift, or did they talk about being a shifter or paranormal?”
“No. They were farmers. They would go to town once a week to do their weekly shop and to attend church. The rest of the time, we worked on the land.”
“Was it just you and the people who raised you living in the house? No other uncles, aunts, cousins, or other relatives or friends visiting the house?”
“Some visited, but only my grandparents and I lived in the house. The pastor used to say that I was expected to work for them and care for them, so I would be a help to them when they got older. I thought that everyone lived by that, because when I was at school, no one thought that was strange.”
“You were at school when you were taken?”
“No. I stopped going when I was ten. I could read the Bible and write my name, and my grandfather needed my help on the farm. That wasn’t unusual where we lived. All kids left school at ten, so they could either learn to run a house if they were girls or work on the farm if they were boys.”
Starting to sound more like a cult than anything else.“What was your grandparents’ family name?”
“Jorgenson.”
“That pastor’s name?”
“Father Jorgenson.”
WTF?Red flags were waving so hard in Devon’s head that he was getting dizzy with it. “Was the pastor related to the people who raised you? A brother, nephew, cousin, or something like that?”
Those wrinkles were back on Wren’s forehead. “Everyone was a Jorgenson. Even the person who ran the grocery store or the schoolteacher.”
Huge extended family, maybe?“I truly appreciate you answering the questions. This will all be super helpful, I’m sure.” Devon didn’t know if it would be or not, but he was doing what he’d been asked to do, and Wren was answering.
“I don’t need your fake assurances. Just get all the questions asked.”
Clearly, Devon was still – understandably – in the shit. “Do you remember where you lived? The name of the town, or the store, or the school, perhaps?”
“Jorgenson Valley, just outside of the town of Jorgenson. The state began with anI.” Wren’s eyes squeezed tighter shut. “I can’t remember which one. Iowa maybe. Illinois. Something like that.”
Remote, in other words. Devon didn’t know the area well, but that wasn’t his concern. He had another thought. “Would you say that the pastor was the town leader? Someone that everyone went to for advice or rulings when someone commits a crime?”
“He was the ruling authority over everything at the church and in the town.” Wren wrinkled his nose. “He was always sniffing me, and he smelled strange. I didn’t like him. If anyone didn’t behave properly in the eyes of God, he was the one who administered the punishments at church every Sunday.”
Devon didn’t see the need to ask about those punishments. He wanted the conversation over. He could sense the emotional distance between him and Wren was worsening to the point his bear was ready to come out and smother Wren in furry hugs if something didn’t happen soon. Not the best idea in a hotel room.
“Just one more thing,” he said. “I promise this is the last question. It sounds like you were living in a cult-like situation, and there’s a good chance your pastor was a paranormal, which is why he knew you were, too. But that’s for the agency to worry about. I just want you to think back. In your years growing up in Jorgenson, can you remember any instance where a young person disappeared? Perhaps they had been at school one day,and then no one saw them again, or something like that. Did that ever happen?”
Devon was looking to see if there was a pattern of disturbing behavior in good old Jorgenson, or if Wren had been singled out because he would’ve been due to shift around the time when he was taken away.
“Yes. You’re talking about the Reckoning.” Wren nodded. “That’s what the pastor used to call it. It happened all the time. Most families had lots of children. All the five-year-olds would sit down in a group, and the pastor would explain how it said in the Bible that having lots of children in a family was important, but it was the rule that children must obey their parents, or the pastor, in all things.
“The Instructions – that’s what that side of things was called – would happen every week for ages. We were told how to dress, how to speak respectfully, how to keep quiet, work hard, and have sober habits. There were a lot of rules, and we were quizzed on them every week. When we could get them all correct, our last lesson before we could start attending school was about the Reckoning.”
“Do I want to know?”
“Apparently, you do.” Wren still wasn’t looking at him – it was as if he was a seated statue, his eyes closed and his face now lacking all expression. Devon hated it.
“The Bible says that all children have to be obedient to their parents and the pastor. No exceptions. Anyone who did not follow the rules we’d been learning would be deemed unfit for God and the community, and would suffer a Reckoning. They would be judged, removed from their home and the community, and no one would ever be allowed to speak about them again. It would be as if they never existed.”
Holy shit balls.“You’re talking about kids. Where did they go?”
