“She’s dead a month later. It was an aneurysm or something. A pressure in her head.”
“And Gary?”
“We tried a few times to get the word to Drew, but you know how Eden’s Gate can be. You know they don’t listen to a thing we say. Gary just decides he’s going to go up there. He’s going to get Drew and bring him down here so we can do the funeral for Irene.”
“That’s not how it worked out though, is it?”
Jerome stared back at him. He looked down at the two graves then back up at Will. “What are you playing at here, Will? You still with them? You said you came here looking for answers but it seems like maybe you already know each and every one. Let’s cut the shit. One vet to another, you want to tell me what the fuck is going on?”
“I’m starting to realize I had half the story,” Will said. “It seems like you had the other side.”
“You and I both know that’s how it’s always been with war.”
Will looked at him. “Irene and Gary used to mean something to me,” Will said. “Their family meant something to me. I was a mess but I knew that.”
“Things change, Will,” Jerome said. He raised a hand and gestured to the graves that sat everywhere about them. “This place is testament to that.”
“Yes, but they had family—all of them. You forget that sometimes in war. You forget about home. You forget about the people there. You and I both know what that’s like,” Will said. “You’re out there. You’re so far away from all you know that it starts feeling like your life out there is your real life, and the life you knew back home, the normal one, the place you were born, the place you grew up, that’s the fake life, the false life, and mostly all you want is to be back at war.”
“Is that what you want?” Jerome asked. “Because I’m older now. I’m smarter. I can tell the difference. I’m not blind the way I used to be. I’m not fool enough to think it’s one reality or the other. They are the same. This life and that life, they’re all just one big fucking mess. Most everyone here knew that in the end.” He stepped past Will now and looked out on the cemetery.
Will thought about what to say. He thought about Mary May and he thought about how she’d gone up there and found her brother. “You’re a man of God,” Will said. “You ever seen the word ‘sinner’ painted on a house?”
Jerome’s eyes came around fast. “Where did you see that?” he asked.
“It was painted on a house up at Eden’s Gate. I’m trying to remember if it was painted there the day before.”
“I’ve seen it,” Jerome said. “I’ve seen it written on a couple houses close by Eden’s Gate. The owners came to church right here in town and they both were trying to sell their houses, but they could never get anyone to buy. No one wants to live next to a place like Eden’s Gate. No one wants to be neighbor to a cult. Both families just went and left one day. They just left and they never said a thing. They didn’t even sell their places. I guess they figured they were worthless. I heard later that Eden’s Gate bought them from the bank.”
“And you went there?”
“I went there after they didn’t show up to church a couple Sun-days in a row. The places were empty, not a piece of furniture, or a strip of clothing. Just empty. Someone had tagged up the houses and written ‘sinner’ on the side for anyone to see.”
Will turned and looked upward on the sun. He wondered when it was that he’d last seen Mary May. He wondered how much time had passed and he hoped he was not too late. When he looked back over at Jerome, he asked, “You got a car or something I can use? I need to get back up to Eden’s Gate.”
“Then you are still with them?” Jerome asked.
“Never farther from them, actually. You can call me stupid for saying this but it’s probably time we cued the Shakespeare.”
MARY MAY CAME AWAKE GASPING, AS IF SHE HAD GONE TO BED beneath the waves. They had done something to her. They had given her some drug.
She was in a dark room and though she was awake, her vision swam and then refocused, colors seen at the periphery of her vision like that of some negative universe. Black was white and red was green. They had left her in a corner and from where she sat with her back to one wall and her head leaning against the other, she could see the sliver of light that came in from under the door and reached across the floor toward her. She tried to move, but her hands had been bound behind her and as she tried to wriggle free, she realized her fingers had gone numb.
They had bound her legs at her ankles and as soon as she tried to stand she fell and hit her forehead against the floor. She could smell dust, and something metallic, something that seemed now to remind her of the metallic taste of blood.
With her feet she pushed away at the wall then inched across the floor, her eyes moving out ahead of her, searching out the light. Her hands and fingers had started to come to life again and there was the prick of needles across her skin and the warm fuzz of blood now coursing in the veins. She pushed again, inching closer.
They had taken her in the truck and left the compound. All the while sitting around her where she lay. She had tried to get up many times and been knocked down over and over again. The feel of the road beneath the tires, the bounce of springs, and the smell always of the pine that had surrounded them and moved above, branches blotting out the stars and moon. When they stopped she knew they had come to a river rolling down out of the mountains. The air had changed and had become cooler. The smell was of water and silt and rock. And farther out the sound of the rapids running and the water flowing, ever faster.
She did not know yet why they’d come for her. She did not know yet where her brother was. She had looked around as they brought her up and dragged her by an arm from the truck. They threw her down in the sand right there at the edge of the water.
“Do you confess?”
She tried to find the voice that now addressed her. John stood knee deep in the water, and he walked forward now and held a hand out and cupped her chin within his palm.
“Do you confess?” he asked again.
“Confess what?”
“Do you confess your sin?”
She looked up at him in wonder. There was a sense, though fleeting, that none of this could be possible. There was a feeling inside of her that this could not be real.
“Confess and all will be forgiven,” he said.
She looked wildly around her for her brother but she could not see him and she felt John’s hand tighten against her chin. He held her there like that, his hand to her face and his fingers gripped upward across her cheek. “Where’s Drew?” she managed now to ask.
“Drew?” John said, as if he had never heard the name. “Drew is all of us and all of us are Drew. You know little of your brother. And you always have, but you will see now what he is and what we are and in this you will find your own salvation.”
He released her. He stepped back and raised his arms, as if he might be raising them to some rain now falling from above. “Those who walk in heaven are those who have unburdened their heart of sin,” he said, his arms still upraised and his voice now thrown forth among them all, Mary May and everyone who had taken her and held her down in the truck bed. “Those who are unburdened may walk and hold the hand of the prophet. Those that have been unburdened can enter into heaven. But those who choose to go against his mercy, those who do not reveal to us their sin, those that would turn their back on Eden’s Gate and all its providence, those few who have not the foresight to understand, they will be cast into the hell of their own making. The fire that will come and scour the world to ash and flame.”
Slowly, he brought his arms down then moved his eyes again to where she knelt. “Now, brothers and sisters we must help her—help her to find the way.”