She picks up a floral teapot sitting at the edge of the table and fills a cup with mint tea so strong I can smell it where I sit. She gives him a questioning look.
“A connection to us? I’m sorry, I’m not sure I understand.”
I reach in my pocket and pull out my phone. Pulling up a picture of Everly, I turn the screen to face Ruth.
“Do you know this woman?” I ask.
Her eyes shine, and the smile returns to her lips.
“Sister Abigail,” she says. “It’s been so many years. She looks lovely.”
“What did you call her?” I ask.
“Everyone who becomes a member of our organization is granted a new name for use within the group. It’s a title of sorts. It helps to create unity and foster dedication to the organization.”
“So, it’s brainwashing,” I comment brusquely.
Her head tilts to the side, but her smile doesn't falter.
“Of course, not. Are you brainwashed by being called Agent? Or him by being called Sheriff? it's just a way for us to differentiate our lives within the Society and without.”
“So, you do have lives outside of the organization?” Sam asks.
“If we want to,” she says. “Nothing is keeping any of us here except our devotion to the cause.”
“And what is that cause, exactly?” I ask.
“Just as our name says, we strive to improve ourselves and the world for the future to come. I'm sorry,” she says, shaking her head. “I still don't think I understand why you're here. Has something happened to our Sister Abigail?”
“She told her parents she was spending time with someone associated with this organization. A few months later, they stopped hearing from her. We've heard she escaped after two years here,” Sam says.
“Escaped?” Ruth raises an eyebrow. “There would be no need for her to escape. We're not holding anyone here. You won't even find locks on our doors. There's no need for them. The wall and the gate protect everyone within here. We're safe, so we can be free. Sister Abigail felt her time with us was done, so she left. It was that simple.”
She’s saying all the right things, and her tone of voice hasn’t wavered, but I don’t like this at all. I don’t trust this Ruth, if that even is her name, as far as I can throw her.
“And if someone decides they don't like the type of freedom you're offering them?” I ask.
“Then they can go. It's their life, their future. We only want those who are truly committed to what we stand for and to the work we do. Holding anyone here against their will would be completely against our mission to foster love and beauty and create a new world of peace.”
I notice stacks of photo albums lined up on a nearby table.
“Are those pictures?” I ask.
Ruth laughs. “Yes. Everyone says I am woefully old-fashioned, but I can't stand pictures being tracked on computers. Give me an actual photo album I can flip through any day.”
“I know it's been several years, but do you think there any pictures of her in there?” Sam asks.
“Absolutely. She was deeply loved here.”
“But you didn't keep in touch with her after she left?” I asked.
“We believe in separation from The Existence,” she says.
“The Existence?” Sam asks.
“It's what we call the world beyond our society. We believe maintaining strong connections weakens our resolve and distracts us from the work we need to do. While our members are free to come and go as they please, we discourage them from maintaining attachments to The Existence. She chose to no longer be among us, so we had to let go of her.”
I pick up a few of the albums and carry them back over to the sofa. I flip through the pages until I see Everly's face smiling up at me. She's sitting at a desk, happily writing in a journal as other women do the same nearby. Another picture shows her baking a cake, while another is her lying in the grass laughing.
Ruth takes the book from my lap and gazes down at the pictures, stroking them fondly.
“She looks so happy. She always did. She thrived here and was doing such exceptional work. I don't think I'll ever understand why she wanted to leave.”
“How about the man who introduced her to you?” I ask. “Is Jeremiah still a part of the Society?”
She looks at me questioningly.
“I'm sorry, but we don't have anyone by that name in the society.”
“What?” Sam asks.
She shakes her head. “I know of every member who joins. I have been Lucas's most faithful follower and have personally seen to the guidance and protection of his flock for years. There has never been a Jeremiah.”
I'm confused as I flip through a few more pages of the book. “Our witness told us the man who brought Everly into the… Society was named Jeremiah. He specifically told us before we came here. Everly told him that wasn't his name when they met, so it must be the one given to him by the Society.”
I stop at two pages of pictures, capturing what looks like an elaborate garden party.
“What's this?” I asked.
“That is our annual Gathering of the Lights. It's a very important event for every member of our Society but especially our young women. If you look closely, I'm sure you'll see Sister Abigail.”
I look at the date written at the bottom of the page. The span covers three days. The date in the middle is the day Everly died.
“Are the dates the same every year?” I ask.
“Yes,” she tells me. “Those are very special dates for us, and Lucas hosts his garden party every year. Everyone within the Society is at The Tower for those three days. No one goes in or out. The fence stays closed to ensure we have the opportunity to celebrate the future to come without interference. This year's celebration was particularly beautiful.”
“Can we have a tour of The Tower?” Sam asks.
“I can show you the common spaces,” Ruth tells us. “But the rest is off-limits.”
“Why?” I ask.
“We consider The Tower very much like a convent or monastery. There are spaces within it kept sacred just for our members. It's to protect the sanctity of our beliefs and the work we're doing. You are more than welcome to explore any of the common areas, but the living quarters, the devotional rooms, and Lucas's rooms are private.”
Sam and I leave an hour later after venturing into every corner of The Tower she will allow us to. We stroll the grounds, visiting the garden depicted in the pictures. Nothing stands out to us. The people we meet look happy to be there and welcome us to return for another visit. I look over at Sam as soon as we get past the guard houses.
“I know he said Jeremiah,” I say.
“That's what I heard, too,” he confirms. “But she said there is no one named Jeremiah in the organization, and there weren't any pictures with captions that say Jeremiah or pictures of Everly with a man in any of those albums. Every member of the organization was accounted for at the time of the murder. They were all here for the festival.”
“Is it possible she only told Michael she escaped from the Society?”
“Are you asking if I think she made it all up?” he asks.
“Not all of it,” I muse. “Obviously, she was here and was part of the organization. We just don't know what happened to her from there.”
“Do you have any FBI records that could shed more light on this place?” Sam asks.
“I could ask,” I tell him. “Something tells me we won’t find much of anything though.”
“What do you mean?”
“All of this was so easy. She was very open to us and on the level. I don’t deal with cults, but places like this are very careful and particular. They take advantage of every loophole they can get to keep out of trouble. We’d have to get enough evidence to get a warrant, which means opening up a whole case, which means telling Creagan what I’m up to if we wanted to do any further digging. And even then, if everyone involved is technically a consenting adult, there’s little we can do without a lot more proof. We could spend all our time doing this and still end up in a dead-end.”