Pastor Carter walked into the gathering room a little before sunset. It was crowded with disciples. Most of our family were congregated together in the cozy room reading scripture, discussing God’s words.

Anne and I were reading Bible stories to the youngest disciples. None of them seemed particularly interested and Anne was attempting to keep them focused by asking them questions. It was obvious none of them were paying attention. When asked why God flooded the Earth, Dakota said because he had to pee really badly, making the others giggle.

“Dakota, enough. You don’t want anyone to hear you making light of the scripture,” I warned sternly. I didn’t want to scare the kids, but if an elder heard their disrespect, they’d find themselves cleaning the shower room or scrubbing floors. And depending on the elder’s mood, they could even find themselves in The Refuge for the night.

Dakota’s face went white. He understood what I hadn’t said.

Anne put an arm around his shoulder. She was always the first to give comfort where she could.

I was being groomed to lead. Anne was groomed to heal. It was one aspect of her path that she embraced totally.

“Let’s try that again. Why did God flood the Earth?” Anne prompted softly, giving an encouraging smile.

“Because people were sinful and corrupt. God wanted to punish them for straying so far from his word,” Dakota answered, his voice shaking slightly. The other kids stayed quiet, eyes wide.

“The world is a sinful place, is it not?”

All of us startled at the sound of Pastor Carter’s calm, soothing voice. He stood just behind me. I had to crane my neck to look up at him.

The kids all nodded vigorously, quick to agree with anything Pastor said.

“God will smite the wicked. He will destroy the world. Why are we here, children?” he asked, putting his hands in his pockets, smiling beatifically down at them.

Little Rosie Fisk, only six years old, with a head of blond curls and a cute-as-a-button nose raised her hand timidly.

Pastor put his hand on her head. “Yes, Rosie?”

“We must live without sin in our heart so that when we are Awakened we will join our heavenly Father and all those that are pure,” she said in such a teeny tiny voice.

Heavy words from someone so small.

No one spoke. Rosie stared up at Pastor, waiting for him to tell her she was right or wrong. We all did. We all waited for him to decide.

Our lives hinged on his approval.

He went down on his haunches and kissed Rosie on top of her head. “Very good, Rosie. You’ve been listening to Sara and Anne. You’re walking the righteous path. I’m proud of you.” Rosie beamed, her face alight.

All the children began to speak at once. Telling Pastor the things they knew to be truth. Reciting his sermons back to him to prove they too deserved his praise.

Everyone scrambling for a piece of what only he could provide.

If I sat back and looked objectively at the scene in front of me, it would seem almost terrifying.

How one person’s opinion should matter so much to so many people. That his words provided us with some sort of validation.

But I wouldn’t think that way. I knew better than to give purchase to any doubt. To any criticism.

“Come on, guys, let’s get back to the lesson,” I said, interrupting their clamoring.

Pastor Carter took the time to give each of them a hug. He always did that. He made you feel like you were the most important person in the world. As a child I had craved that. I had never been made to feel as if I mattered most. Pastor filled a void I hadn’t known existed.

I gave everything to him. Mind and body.

And he did the same for each of the children here now.

He stood back up and grinned at the children. “I think you’ve learned a great deal from your Bible lesson for one night. I say you deserve a game or two before bed. Off you go.” The kids squealed in delight and ran across the room towards the cabinet where the few board games were kept.

I closed the Bible and handed it to Anne, who put it back on the shelf where I had gotten it. We started to clean up the cushions the children had been sitting on when Pastor touched my shoulder.

“Sara, I need you to come with me to the gate,” Pastor announced loudly. The room instantly went quiet. All eyes on me.

The five elders, including my mother, all seemed shocked. But I was shocked most of all.

Anne gaped at me, her mouth open. I noticed Caitlyn, Stafford, and Minnie sharing a look of barely concealed jealousy. They wouldn’t comment though. They knew better. They’d swallow their frustration and smile anyway. Bobbie’s expression, per usual, was totally unreadable. Or uncaring. I wasn’t sure which.

I looked at my mother again, wanting to see her pride. Her approval.

Only I was going to be very disappointed. It wasn’t her customary frustration in me that felt like a punch to the gut. I had seen that particular expression on her face many times before. She disproved of a lot of things I did. Things I said. Even as I tried my hardest to be devout. To be the perfect disciple. She continued to find ways I could be better. Claiming it was her job as an elder to guide me. Deep down I think she enjoyed doling out criticism.

It wasn’t any of the normal expressions I saw when I looked at her. Instead it was hooded resentment in her eyes. It left me breathless.

Bitterness.

Envy.

She looked at me, her daughter, as if I were an enemy. As if I threatened her.

The Gathering was meant to turn their backs on wasteful human emotions. Pastor Carter preached extensively about doing away with the negative trappings of the outside. That included coveting.

Yet, it seemed, the louder he preached, the harder some fell into the mire. Sometimes that meant they left The Retreat. That they were cast out and the gate closed behind him.

Sometimes, if they hid their sin well enough, they remained and the negative emotions churned unchecked.

We all coveted. Every single one of us. We felt jealousy. Pastor’s love was precious and we wanted it for ourselves alone. There was a constant vying for our leader’s attention. For his respect. For his regard. Even here, the worst of human nature festered.

In my lowest times, I wondered what the point of it all was. Leaving home. Leaving friends and family behind. Why come here to only experience the same horrid duplicity and moral ambiguity that defined an outside life?

But then I’d stand in the sun. I’d pray to the heavens. I’d read the scriptures. And I was home.

I gave my mother a sweet, sweet smile in an effort to placate her. It didn’t work the same way it had done when I was younger.

She smiled back, but it resembled jagged glass and disappeared entirely when Pastor Carter took my hand. It was dry and warm in mine. Our palms pressed together. His fingers strong. I felt cared for. Protected.

I looked at my mom again. Her mouth pinched. Her eyes narrowed.

The knot in my stomach coiled tightly.

“Come along, Sara. We have to go.” Pastor Carter nodded his head in acknowledgment to the rest of the disciples as we made our way towards the door. It felt a bit like a procession. But I held my head high and allowed myself to be led.

I briefly touched Anne’s arm. She smiled. It was warm and genuine, if not a little confused. I ignored Minnie, Caitlyn, and Stafford. I let my hand go weak in Pastor Carter’s grasp.

Pliant. Placid. I handed myself over to my father, my leader, my everything.

I didn’t question why he had chosen me. I was special. Pastor told me this often enough. He loved me, as he loved all of his followers. But I was different.

It had taken me time to adjust to life at The Retreat. I hadn’t wanted the role of disciple. I was an unwilling acolyte. It took years of tears and unhappiness before I embraced all that I had been given. All that my mother had wanted for herself—and me by default.

But by ten years old, my mind was focused. My heart was uncorrupted. I had almost forgotten all the misgivings and resentment that had permeated my existence in those early days.

Almost.

Pastor Carter made that possible. It was his words, his attention that pulled me away from the downward slope I had been on. He pushed me—sometimes gently, sometimes with vicious force—onto the path I was meant to follow.

And I was grateful to him for that.

And because I had embraced this world, there would be rewards. Pastor assured me there was more for me than this. I believed him.

It felt wrong not to.

Because Pastor Carter made me believe.

His smiles were many. His touch was soft. His words were strong and sure, meant for a devoted heart. It was hard not to feel important—to feel worthy—when you were chosen for something so monumental.

And I knew this choice was made with a specific purpose in mind.

He was grooming me. He had said as much in our talks together. He saw in me someone meant for greater things.

To go to the gate was an immense honor. It wasn’t often that we left the confines of The Retreat.

I briefly thought of Adam and Tyler. Their bruised faces. Their bloodied clothes.

I felt sick to my stomach.

We didn’t leave The Retreat unless we had to. People on the outside didn’t understand. Their minds were too closed. Their hearts a rotting lump in their chests that did little more than keep them barely alive.

I shivered thinking about what lay beyond the metal barrier that led to the bottom of the mountain.

It was good that we had no real need to venture from the safe cocoon of The Gathering’s womb. We lived off the land. We grew our own food. We used homeopathic remedies that kept us healthy and treated our ailments. We had no use for the trappings that confined most people.

The disciples chose to live a life away from the everyday madness that had taken root in the world. With only our faith as company, we forged a different way of life. A simpler one. A necessary one.

We each had stumbled onto the path a little desperate, a little broken. The Gathering had made us whole.

It was our choice to cut ties with the outside world. We weren’t coerced. We weren’t forced. No matter what anyone thought, the disciples weren’t brainwashed zealots.

We were simply sure of our journey. We loved our leader. We whole-heartedly believed the lessons he taught. We knew that our lives were never our own. That we were part of a bigger story. By living the way we did, we were in a state of constant preparation.

We had The Awakening to wait for.

“You must prepare your soul, Sara,” Pastor said, joy on his face.

“Prepare for what?” I asked, a bit bewildered.

“The Awakening. The time when you will be called home. The day you will leave this mortal world and ascend. God will dictate the time. It is his choice. We must be prepared to act when he calls us home.”

My entire body trembled.

The Awakening.

The moment when we reached spiritual perfection.

The moment God welcomed us home…

I knew the people in Whistle Valley, the town at the base of the mountain, thought we were a bunch of cultish nut jobs. That we were having orgies and killing goats in the name of our religion. Pastor warned us that others couldn’t fathom our way of life. They were too corrupt and sinful. Our pure souls were beyond their comprehension.

On more than one occasion people had found their way to the gate, not to be saved, but to hurl insults. To shout nasty accusations. This only reinforced everything Pastor Carter told us.

Once, a woman had climbed the fence and made her way to The Retreat. She had broken a window and crawled into one of the cabins, sobbing and shouting that we had taken her sister. Demanding to know where we were keeping her. She picked up a piece of broken glass and threatened the family in the cabin. I was only thirteen at the time and I remember being woken by the sound of the woman’s wails. Pastor Carter explained later that we would experience anger and violence from those on the outside. That others would seek to disrupt our path. In the early hours of the morning after the woman had been taken away, our leader had led us to prayer. We had fasted. We had forced ourselves to stay awake. And when our bodies were at their breaking point, we all saw the truth.

We only had God. And Pastor Carter.

And our calling.

That was it.

We needed these reminders. Constantly.

No one understood how close we were to God. How we were his chosen flock. And our spiritual journey was tied up in Pastor Carter’s words.

I never knew what became of the woman with hate in her eyes and acid on her tongue. No one ever spoke of her again. Negativity wasn’t given a voice at The Retreat. We prayed it away. That’s how we, as a collective, dealt with things.

Though, in the deepest, darkest parts of my traitorous mind, I sometimes wondered about that woman. And her sister—whoever she was—and what became of them.

The Retreat, the settlement that housed The Gathering of the Sun, was like stepping back in time. We had very few modern conveniences. Pastor Carter said it was important to eradicate the filth that defined our old lives. Technology could be blamed for a lot of the world’s problems. Humanity’s obsession with their phones and TVs had desensitized them to the suffering around them. It had allowed Satan to take hold. God had been turned aside and we were left in a waste land of misery.

But not at The Retreat. It was a sprawling community comprised of simple wooden buildings and a large, more elaborate structure at the edge of the forest—The Sun Sanctuary—our holy place. Pretty, well-maintained gravel paths connected all of the cabins and there was a magnificent garden at the center that we all took a hand in cultivating and maintaining.

We had electricity in the community buildings and running water in the two shower rooms that was shared by everyone, though the water was often cold. We used a small solar generator to warm the water but it never lasted very long. When I was small, I was one of the last to use the facilities in the morning. Winters were particularly miserable when you had to withstand icy water to get clean. Now that I was older I was permitted to shower before most of the others, thank goodness.

We had all been made to do away with any and all items that appealed to our vanity. No makeup for the women. No hair gel or curling irons. We were not meant to focus on the physical when we needed to stay immersed in the spiritual. Because of this both men and women wore their hair long. I hadn’t had a haircut in over ten years. The men didn’t shave either. I had no idea what any of their faces looked like beneath their beards.

Strangely, the women were allowed to shave their legs. Pastor Carter claimed that God preferred a woman’s skin smooth and clean.

Once, a few years ago, Minnie had made the comment that it wasn’t God, but Pastor Carter that preferred shaved legs. An elder had overheard her and she was taken to The Refuge for a week.

I had no idea how to apply mascara or what I looked like wearing lipstick. My thick blonde hair was a bit on the frizzy side. If I were any other eighteen-year-old, I would be horrified with how out of control it was. When I was going through puberty, I had my moments. When I broke out in zits and wasn’t permitted concealer I had cried. I hated to admit it, but I succumbed to despair over the state of my appearance.

My mother had no sympathy.

Pastor Carter even less.

Three days in The Refuge had reminded me that my time was better suited to other things than primping.

I stopped worrying about my acne and hair after that.

Pastor Carter kept an old rotary phone in his house in case of an absolute emergency. Though I couldn’t remember a time we ever had to use it. It was mostly kept as a means for those seeking the truth to contact Pastor.

I hated the shrill ring. It was loud and out of place in our quiet piece of earth.

Sometimes it woke me up in the middle of the night. The loud tone echoing across the mountain and we knew it wouldn’t be long until our family grew again.

We were told to not drink alcohol or eat sugar. We dressed in clothes we made ourselves. Pastor Carter said that the appreciation of a thing came from the sweat put into its creation. That God loved us so because of the effort it took to make us.

I believed this totally. This—as with all of Pastor’s teachings—made complete sense to me. After years of being told the same basic principles, they became gospel.

Of course you can only truly appreciate something if you’ve had a hand in making it. Even if sewing new shirts for the elders and fixing the holes in my old socks made me want to scream. I never would. I did my duty. We all had a part to play. And I forced myself to be happy with mine.

We lived a passive existence.

We were non-confrontational. We chose to handle disagreements by praying. And The Refuge was always there if someone needed a reminder of their purpose. I subscribed to each and every one of the commandments Pastor set forth.

Though not all the disciples were as committed. The ugly still took root in the cleanest of places.

Despite refusing to ingest toxins in our body or succumb to the dark places in our souls, Pastor kept several guns and a cabinet full of liquor in the gathering room. Everyone was given access to the closet. Even the smallest children.

Pastor Carter said it was important to face the things that tempt us. The sin we were all capable of. The fundamentals of The Gathering’s message were about facing temptation and embracing faith instead. It wasn’t about denying ourselves—but about allowing ourselves more.

I had never known anyone to open the cabinet.

Not ever.

I didn’t really want to think of what would happen if they did.

Pastor stayed up to date on current events as well. All the wars. All the crime. Global warming and mad politicians. He spoke of these atrocities as reminders of all we were trying to leave behind. Pastor Carter made a point to utilize news reports and narcissistic ramblings on social media to reaffirm the importance of staying true to the path.

“It’s only when we see the horrors that we embrace our reason. We can’t hide from reality or we’ll never understand the truth.”

But the longer we resided at The Retreat, the harder it was to face the ungodliness in the outside world. The disciples focused only on cleansing our souls for the day when we’d be called home. The day we’d be able to leave this horrible world behind for good.

Yet the call of the gate was still there. The reminder that there was something else just beyond the hills and cliffs that had become our sanctuary.

Each of us had found the gate in our own way.

In our own time.

For our own reasons.

I remembered clutching Mom’s hand in the evening chill, ten years before. I was only eight when my mother decided it was time to sell our house and set out across the country to the backwoods of rural Virginia, to follow a man she claimed had a voice like God.

She had watched one of Pastor’s sermons on the internet. I have no idea to this day how she found it. Or why she was looking for something like that in the first place. Perhaps she discovered it in the dark days after Dad left. During the nights when I’d hear her wailing.

What I do know is that for two weeks, my mother spent hours watching the man who would become our savior preach about the dangers of modern society. The necessity of finding balance and harmony in one’s own soul.

Of listening to the call to walk the path.

Follow the path, it will lead you home…

“He speaks with God’s tongue, Sara. He is his true messenger. I feel his truth in my bones.”

She had said these words with a heat that caught fire in my naïve young heart. My mother was a zealous woman. Her passion could be thrilling, or it could be devastating. I had lived my entire life in the smoldering ruins of Mom’s erratic moods. She made irrational decisions with absolute clarity—to her. And I was always along for the ride. I never questioned her. I was a child. My mother’s will, no matter how unstable, was law. I trusted her whole heartedly. I loved her with total certainty. I had no reason not to.

So when she decided we’d go live in the Blue Ridge Mountains, cut off from society, I did as I was told. We threw away most of our belongings and trekked 2500 miles to the place we were meant to be.

I tended to shy away from memories of the early days of my time at The Retreat. They weren’t pleasant ones. There were tears—mine and Mom’s. There were the painful recollections of her vicious hand across my cheek when I begged her to leave. I wanted my friends. I wanted my cat, Twinkles, who we left at the local shelter. I wanted my dad, even if he had left and made no effort to contact me. I didn’t want to pray for hours. I didn’t want to get out of bed in the silent dark to make a cold, tense journey to wake the sun.

I hated those memories. They were colored by an ill-informed mind. I forced myself to replace them with others. Ones I was more comfortable with in my new life, ones that I may not have chosen, but became glad for.

Pastor Carter had embraced us, as he embraced all of his flock. And I felt, after those first few fraught years, that I had found a place to belong.

Our venerated leader welcomed every single one of his disciples at the gate. He was present for their arrival. A smiling mouth and kind hand. A warm hug and a whispered prayer. The stray sheep were joyfully enveloped into their new family. Often they came damaged. Tainted and scarred from the outside’s mistreatment of their delicate souls. And with The Gathering they rediscovered hope. They rediscovered purpose.

They found faith.

But except for my own, I had never been present for an arrival. The elders, or those deemed important to the path, were tasked with the embrace. The moment when a new disciple was brought into the fold.

I had always been too young. Still too unclean.

Until today.

Why today?

It felt a whole lot like destiny. And I wouldn’t question it. Not ever. God had a plan and I was part of it.

I walked from the congregation room with my hand in Pastor Carter’s. I smiled to my fellow disciples. I pretended it wasn’t bitterness and hatred they felt as they watched me.

Denial was comfortable.

I reached out for my mother as I walked past, wanting to connect with her at this important moment in my spiritual growth. Wanting to wipe away the dark emotion she was bad at hiding. But her fingers were stiff. Her hand cold.

And when I squeezed, she didn’t squeeze back.

My heart became leaden in my chest.

“We have to hurry. The arrival is due very soon.” Pastor Carter smiled at me and I answered him with one of my own.

“Thank you for allowing me to accompany you, Pastor. Though I must admit, I’m a bit surprised that you chose me,” I allowed myself to say in slow halting words. I pushed my hair out of my eyes. It was particularly wild today. The humidity indicated a late storm. I had become adept at reading the weather on the mountain. And the smell in the late evening air heralded rain.

I began to mentally prepare for the arrival. My continence was of utmost importance. I needed to be calm. Collected. Welcoming. Nerves and apprehension had no place. I was a representative of The Gathering. Of Pastor Carter.

Of God himself.

Pastor Carter lifted my hand to his lips. A tender gesture, not unexpected. Paternal and expressing an affection I hoped to mirror. The Pastor was a physically demonstrative man. He took hands. He hugged many. It was hard not to feel special when he touched you. As if he were transferring some form of divinity. A man with a voice like God made you feel all sorts of things.

I wouldn’t give thought to the wicked blackness that lurked with other memories…

“You’ve been preparing for this since your own arrival, Sara. You must see this is yet another step on your path.” He continued to hold my hand as we walked brusquely towards the rusted pickup truck parked beside the largest cabin he had long ago claimed as his.

“I’m not an elder, Pastor.”

Pastor Carter squeezed my hand, giving me the reassurance I had been seeking from my mother. “All in due time, Sara. Your way is a clear one.” It was easy to see why I loved him. Why I followed him.

He held open the door for me and I climbed in, smoothing my rough cotton skirt beneath me. I remembered riding in this very truck all those years ago at my own arrival. The smell of old leather and peppermint from the mints Pastor kept in the cup holder tickled my memory. Like an itch, it irritated.

I clung to my mother’s hand. She tried to pull away from me, too focused on the tall man with light blond hair who walked beside us.

“I’m glad you found us, Daphne. This is only the beginning.”

Mom’s breathing quickened and her palm was sweaty. It was dark and cold. There were a lot of strange noises in the deep, black night. Rustling in the forest beyond the dirt path. A distant scream that sounded a lot like someone being murdered.

“Mommy, I don’t like it here,” I said a little too loudly.

She pulled her hand from mine, giving me a severe look. “Shh, Sara. Don’t be so rude. It will be wonderful.”

The tall man stopped and looked down at me. His eyes appeared kind. “It’s only a bobcat, Sara. Nothing to be worried about. They can be awfully noisy though.”

He smiled but I didn’t smile back. My mouth felt frozen.

“I want to go home,” I wailed, trying to take my mother’s hand again, but she evaded my grasping fingers.

Mom got down on her haunches in order to look me in the eye. Her expression was strangely blank, her eyes shining in the light of the gas lantern the tall man held. She took ahold of my shoulders and squeezed. It wasn’t a nice squeeze.

“This is our home now, Sara. This is all there is. The beginning and the end.” I didn’t understand what she was saying. She stood back up and followed the tall man to a rusty truck.

I ran to catch up, my chest burning from the exertion.

“But Mommy—”

“This is the beginning and the end, Sara. Listen to your mother. Obedient children are rewarded in eternity,” the tall man intoned darkly. “Children, obey your parents in the Lord; for this is right.”

I swallowed my pleas and climbed up into the cab of the truck. I learned to hide my tears that day. It was a lesson I took to heart.

Until tears were no longer needed and I found the beginning. I found the end.

Just as Mom and Pastor Carter said I would…

“Will anyone else be joining us?” I asked, my body jostled about as we drove over the badly maintained road.

“Not this time,” Pastor Carter said, braking gently as the truck came to a sharp turn.

I glanced at him in surprise. That was unusual. The elders were always present for an arrival. It’s the way it had always been done.

I wanted to ask what was different about this arrival but I knew better than to pester him with questions. He provided information if he felt we needed it.

“Who’s the arrival?” One final question. Just this one.

Pastor Carter smiled. “Do you remember your arrival, Sara?”

My stomach clenched. “Yes,” I replied weakly, my nails digging into my palms.

“Is it a happy memory for you?” Pastor Carter hit a bump and I had to brace myself against the door.

“I don’t know—”

“I recall a scared little girl, crying, asking her mother to go home. Is that how you remember it?”

Where was he going with this? Why did it matter? What did it have to do with the arrival?

“It is,” I admitted, swallowing thickly.

Pastor took my hand again and I felt his serenity on my skin. In my blood. “Not all arrivals are joyous. You know this. You’ve lived it and yet you learned the truth. Compassion is essential.”

“I don’t think I understand.”

Pastor Carter released my hand and I felt bereft at the loss of contact. “This is your first arrival, Sara. A perfect opportunity for you to grow. To learn. Our arrival is seeking the same thing all of us are—a spiritual awakening.”

Pastor Carter had a way of talking in riddles that often made no sense at the time he spoke them. It was only later that his words became clear. His meaning obvious.

“What does this have to do with my arrival?”

Pastor Carter patted my cheek. “Be the voice of knowledge found through resistance.”

I wanted to ask more questions but I knew from the downward curve of his mouth, Pastor wouldn’t answer any of them.

Pastor Carter parked the truck in the middle of a copse of trees beside the narrow, packed dirt lane. We got out and made our way to the gate.

A line of unobtrusive fencing ran the length of the property line. The large metal gate was the only barrier between us and the outside.

It was the first time I had been to the gate in ten years. It had been pitch black when I had seen it before. Things are always grander in memory.

And I found that I was…underwhelmed.

Nothing imposing or awe-inspiring, the gate looked more like something you’d see at a cattle ranch. Hardly indicative of the life-changing experience people came here for.

The reality crashed into the memory, jarring me in ways I didn’t quite understand. Pastor Carter pointed a remote at the gate and I watched with a strange sense of malaise as they opened with a groan.

The recollection of the two solid metal grates had seemed monstrous in my head. It had branded itself on my mind. I remembered the gaping entrance had loomed before me like a cavernous mouth.

I also remembered thinking that Mom was wrong. After hearing Pastor Carter speak, his voice didn’t sound like God’s at all. He was just a man. But I would never say that out loud. Because I too came to think of him as the embodiment of holiness.

Those early moments at the gate had changed my life. And since then, many, many people started their own journeys the exact same way. Now here we were again.

Only the two of us.

I frowned. This wasn’t right.

The arrival we had come for wasn’t at the gate. There were no elders. No other witnesses or welcomers.

Only me.

Sara Bishop.

And Pastor Carter.

“Where are they?” I asked. The wind had picked up. It was early summer, yet spring still held on with cold fingers. I shivered.

Pastor raised a hand to shield his eyes from the setting sun that was just starting to dip behind the mountain. “We’re a little early. Just be patient.”

I bit down on my lower lip and took a deep breath. I could be patient. I could wait and wait and wait. As long as necessary. I knew how to be dutiful. The perfect disciple.

I closed my eyes, wishing I could feel heat of the sun on my face. But it was low in the sky behind me. I felt nothing but a chill slither over my skin like slime. I shivered. I couldn’t help it.

Stop it. I have to do better than this.

I held myself perfectly still. I breathed in deeply, exhaling carefully. Controlled.

Peace.

That’s what this was.

Was it?

Peace wasn’t conditioned silence. Peace wasn’t smothering discontent, pretending it didn’t exist.

A strange image flashed behind closed eyelids.

Walking through the gate. Rocks crunching beneath my worn shoes. The thin, itchy material of my skirt brushing against bare legs.

Laughter bubbling up from the center of my chest as I ran far, far away…

I opened my eyes, hatred filling me from the inside out. Hatred for a weakness I hadn’t realized I possessed.

Hatred for myself.

I was home. I was where I belonged. God had a plan. The plan was my path. The truth was all that mattered.

I was home. I was where I belonged.

God had a plan.

I was the plan…

I repeated the words over and over to myself, wondering where this out of character displeasure came from. Where its roots were planted.

“Mommy, I don’t like it here.”

“I want to go home.”

I pinched the underside of my arm hard enough to bruise. I twisted the skin until I wanted to howl with pain.

It was the least I deserved for thinking that way. For surrendering myself to negative thinking.

I ran the tip of my finger along the jagged scar on my wrist.

There were some things important to remember. Even if it hurt.

Pastor Carter kept his eyes firmly fixed on the road on the other side of the gate.

Once the pain had subsided and my mind was blissfully tranquil again, I focused on the dusty gravel. It wasn’t a big road. Only wide enough for a single car, but with The Retreat at the very end, two lanes were unnecessary.

I couldn’t see far; the road was obscured by a sharp bend and I couldn’t recall what lay beyond it. I never ventured into the town seven miles down the mountain. I had no idea whether there were houses along the way.

It didn’t matter. What existed past the gate was inconsequential.

The outside wouldn’t prepare me for The Awakening, so I couldn’t worry about what happened out there.

Minutes turned into an hour and still we stood. The day slipped away and darkness seeped in. And with it the cold. I hadn’t thought to bring a coat. I hadn’t anticipated being out here this long.

I licked now chapped lips and restlessly shifted my weight. Even Pastor Carter seemed to be losing his notable patience. I saw him check his watch several times in the past thirty minutes, his brow furrowed in what seemed to be annoyance.

“Pastor, should we go back—?”

“No. He will be here soon,” Pastor cut me off testily, but then softened it with a smile. I could see the gleam of his teeth in the gloom.

So we waited. And I chewed the skin off my bottom lip. And I ran my finger along the ever present scar.

And I prayed. Because that’s what I had to been taught to do in quiet time. In stressful times.

At all times.

Finally, after the sun sank behind the trees, two figures slowly trudged up the steep incline of the hill. I could hear the heavy tread of their footsteps, though I could barely see them. Pastor Carter had gone back to the truck and gotten a gas lantern that did little to provide any light.

My stomach clenched into a tight knot. Anticipation tasted metallic on my tongue.

Pastor Carter walked towards the gate, standing just inside the wide opening. I remained where I was until he told me otherwise. I watched as his face transformed. His eyes softened. His mouth turned upwards in a welcoming smile. His posture was non-threatening and benign.

I tried to mimic him. I took my hands out of my pockets, even though the tips of my fingers were tingling with cold. I braced my legs so I looked more relaxed than I felt. I smiled. Then decided against it because it felt brittle and forced.

As the arrivals drew closer I could see that only one carried a duffle bag. The tallest one. Slouched and weary, the bag seemed to weigh him down. Both men appeared to be broad and tall.

The one carrying the rucksack was larger, with thick shoulders. He shuffled his feet as though walking were difficult. I didn’t know how long it would have taken them to get from town to The Retreat, but given their obvious tiredness, it probably would have taken them a significant amount of time.

The taller man’s face was turned downward, eyes trained to the ground. I couldn’t see much of his face, especially in the dim light.

The smaller one was still large by most people’s standards. With similar build and size, the two were most likely related. But whereas the taller man trudged along, barely able to put one foot in front of the other, the slighter man kept his head up, his arm firmly around the other, eyes trained on Pastor Carter.

As they moved closer, the bigger man stumbled, coming down hard on his knees, pulling the other guy to the ground with him.

I rushed forward to help but Pastor Carter grabbed my arms as I moved past him. “No, he must do this part on his own,” he said quietly. Almost fiercely.

I frowned. “But they look exhausted. Surely we can help them—”

Pastor Carter’s expression hardened. “Do not question me, Sara. It’s God’s will.”

God’s will.

Always God’s will.

I swallowed my defiance like the good girl I was and didn’t move another inch. Instead I watched as both men struggled to their feet. The smaller man grunted with the effort but finally the two made their way to the gate in short, halting steps.

Once they were within a few feet I was able to get a good look at both of them. I focused on the larger of the two first. He seemed older than the other one by quite a few years. His head was covered with a thick stocking cap that had seen better days, but I could see dark hair poking out from underneath it. He glanced up at Pastor Carter and I noted that he had a decently handsome, yet weathered face. He hadn’t shaved in a while and his jawline was covered in unkempt scruff. He seemed exhausted, his expression wild and desperate.

He broke away from the other man to step towards Pastor Carter. “Pastor,” he said in a deep, raspy voice. It was the voice of someone barely keeping it together. Someone with a lot of chinks in their crumbling armor.

“Welcome my son.” Pastor Carter put his hand on the large man’s shoulder, having to reach up to do so. He towered over the Pastor. He was easily over six foot tall. But his demeanor—downtrodden and more than a little broken—made him seem smaller.

I could see the man shudder beneath Pastor’s hand. As if the effort to hold himself upright was too much. He let out a strangled sob and fell to his knees again, this time of his own accord. My eyes widened in surprise as his entire body shook as though freezing. He cried noisily, as though something inside of him had shattered completely.

Pastor Carter knelt in front of him and took his shoulders in his hands. “It’s all right, David. It’s all right. You’re home.”

David. His name was David.

The other man rushed forward and dropped down to the ground beside David. He knocked Pastor Carter’s hands away. “Don’t touch him. Leave him the hell alone,” he growled. Pastor Carter didn’t argue, he simply remained there, on the ground with both of them. Waiting for David to be ready.

The second man glared at Pastor before turning to David and speaking to him in hushed tones. I found myself leaning forward slightly trying to listen to what he said. I could hear him saying “Let’s leave.” And “You don’t have to stay here.”

David shook his head vehemently. “No. I’m home.”

The younger man looked as though he had been slapped. “Home isn’t here, Dave. You don’t know these people. You don’t know this place.”

David’s face was wet in the light of the lantern, tears evident as he slowly got to his feet. “You can leave Bastian, I’m staying.”

I looked down at the man called Bastian. He stayed on the ground, not getting to his feet. In the dark, I could make out a face that looked a lot like David’s. The similarities were obvious. Brothers perhaps?

But whereas David had needy, haunted eyes that had perhaps seen too much, Bastian’s were clear and more than a little hurt. And a lot angry. They were eyes that were unforgiving.

Pastor Carter was talking to David but I barely listened, as I knew I should have been. I was watching Bastian closely. Curiously. He slowly got to his feet, brushing gravel and dirt from his jeans.

He was dressed well, unlike David. His jacket seemed expensive. It was the weatherproof, heavy duty kind worn by serious hikers. Whereas everything about David seemed tired and neglected, Bastian was tidy and put together. He didn’t wear a hat and his hair, which looked dark, was cut short against his skull.

I couldn’t decide if he was good looking or not. He had an interesting face. One that took time to get accustomed to. I found myself cataloguing each individual part. It was easier to look at him that way.

His nose was perhaps too sharp. His lips too full. His face was narrow but not from poor self-care, but probably as a result of genetics. He was all harsh angles and deep shadow.

But his eyes were something else entirely. His eyes made him absolutely beautiful. Bright blue in the glow of the lantern, I could see they were framed by thick, long lashes.

He caught me staring at him, our gazes crashing into each other. And held on. Just for a moment.

He didn’t smile. I got the impression he didn’t have much to smile about.

While he wasn’t sad like David, there was something just as gut wrenching about him.

The knot in the pit of my stomach clenched ever tighter.

Bastian looked away.

I looked away.

That was all there was to do.

“Sara, this is David Scott, our arrival.” Pastor Carter beckoned me closer. I inched forward, hesitant around David. My first impression of him was of a man beaten down by life. Maybe even unstable. The kind of person you didn’t turn your back on. His eyes were the same pretty shade as Bastian’s. But while the smaller man’s gaze was unflinching, David’s skittered past you like a frightened animal.

“Welcome to The Retreat, David,” I said softly, careful of my movements. I kept myself as still as possible, unsure of his reaction.

“Thank you.” David’s gravelly voice was barely above a whisper.

Pastor Carter put his arm around David’s shoulders, an embrace the shattered man seemed to lean into as if taking strength from our leader. “We’re very glad you’ve found us, David. I know your journey has been a challenging one. But I think everything happens for a reason. It led you here.” David seemed to cling to every word Pastor spoke. His face lit up with a fire I would recognize anywhere.

Complete and total devotion.

I recognized it instantly. It was the same look most likely on my own face.

“His journey has been challenging?” Bastian snapped. “I think watching most of your platoon die in front of your eyes, being left for dead, and then being discharged from the service you had almost given your life for because you’ve been deemed mentally unfit, is a lot more than challenging. My brother has been through hell!”

They were brothers. Looking at the two men it was obvious. And it was also obvious that even though David appeared to be the eldest, Bastian took care of him.

“Baz, don’t.” David’s words were meant to be stern, but it seemed the fight had left him a long time ago.

Pastor Carter nodded his head. “You’re right, Bastian. Your brother has dealt with more than most. Which is why I think he needs The Gathering as much as we need him.”

Bastian snorted and I could have sworn he rolled his eyes, but I wasn’t sure.

“Baz, I don’t need you to tell me what I’ve been through. We talked about this. My decision has been made.” David wasn’t angry. He wasn’t even sad. He sounded devoid of all emotion.

Bastian’s face softened as he looked at his brother. “Dave, we can go home. Our real home. With Mom and Dad. I’ll be there the whole time. I’ve taken time off from school. We can take it one step at a time.” He took a hurried step towards David, his face beseeching. “It’ll be like it was before. I promise—”

“It won’t be like it was before. Don’t make bullshit promises. Particularly ones that start as lies.” David was all coiled tension. The brothers seemed to be in a standoff. It appeared this was an argument a long time in the making.

I glanced at Pastor but his eyes were closed and I knew he was praying. Perhaps asking God to guide David. Perhaps asking for his own strength. I had no idea. I wasn’t privy to the private devotions of great men.

Bastian’s eyes kept darting between us and his brother. I got the sense he was embarrassed at having an audience. I consciously took a step back, giving the illusion of more privacy.

“I can’t leave you here.” His eyes were on Pastor Carter, expression hard. Then he looked at me again. Not a friendly look. It was combative. As if he were preparing for war. “I won’t leave you here. Not with these whack jobs.”

I didn’t take offense at his description of The Gathering. He wasn’t the first to call us names. To label us crazy for living how we lived and believing what we believed.

“Your brother is safe here, Bastian,” Pastor Carter said, opening his eyes.

Bastian ignored Pastor, his attention on his brother. “Please come home with me. Please.” His voice cracked and I saw him furiously wiping his eyes.

I looked away from them, the scene in front of me too raw, too real. It hurt to watch this painful separation.

David wouldn’t look at Bastian. But after a few moments he hugged his brother. They clung to each other for what felt like forever. I could hear the soft murmurs of voices as they spoke words only for the other to hear. Then David pulled away and looked at Pastor.

“I’m ready,” he said resolutely.

Pastor Carter put a hand on David’s shoulder. “Then come. Your brothers and sisters are waiting for you.” They began to walk away. Back towards the truck.

Bastian stood there watching them, his face bleak. His mouth opening and closing as if he were going to call out. Maybe scream.

I knew I was expected to follow Pastor but something about this man pulled on my conscience. Pulled on my heart.

“He’ll be okay,” I told him, feeling the need to say something to make it better. If that were at all possible.

Bastian narrowed his eyes and the look he gave me would have sent most people running. It was a look full of repulsion. And disgust. And downright loathing. “How can you live with yourself? Seriously, how can you sleep at night when you tear families apart?”

I knew judgement and anger towards The Gathering existed. We had been warned of it by Pastor. I saw it in Tyler and Adam’s bruises and broken bones. But I had never experienced it firsthand. It hurt. A lot.

“You don’t know anything about us,” was all I could find the strength to say.

Bastian turned to watch his brother who was now getting into the truck. Pastor Carter was walking back towards us.

Bastian looked as though he were going to be sick. His face was pale in the moonlight. His eyes too bright. The peculiar angles of his face blurring in the shadow.

“We’ll take care of him,” I promised. And I meant it. Something about Bastian pulled at my insides. I would make sure his brother was fine. I’d see to it myself.

Bastian’s mouth contorted as if he were in pain. “You don’t understand. He’s sick. He has so many problems. You haven’t seen him when he’s having a bad spell…” His words stuck in his throat and stayed there.

“He’s not the first person who was sick when they came,” I assured him. “We all have our dragons to slay.”

Bastian took a ragged breath and then looked at me. Really looked at me. “What’s your name again?”

“Sara. Sara Bishop.”

“Sara, I can’t leave my brother here. I just can’t. Mom and Dad would never forgive me.” He ran a hand over his face. “I’d never forgive myself.”

I lifted my hand as if to touch him. To comfort him in some way. But then I thought better of it.

“Sara, it’s time to go.” Pastor Carter’s voice broke whatever spell I had been under and I dropped my hand back to my side.

Pastor pushed a button on the remote and the gates began to shut.

Closing Bastian Scott out.

They closed with a loud bang. Pastor didn’t spare another glance to the lone man on the other side.

Pastor took my hand. “Let’s go, Sara. You did well.”

I frowned. I did well? I hadn’t done anything. I looked back over my shoulder. Bastian hadn’t moved. It felt wrong leaving him there.

“What about David’s brother?” I asked.

Pastor’s hand squeezed mine. “Our concern isn’t for those out there. Our interest is with the ones who make the right choice for their souls. Forget about him.”

I nodded. Pastor was right.

But…

“Wait!”

The strangled plea stopped me in my tracks.

I tugged my hand free from Pastor’s grip and turned around. Bastian had his hand curled around the metal bars and was shaking it vigorously. “Please, wait!”

“Let’s go, Sara.”

“He obviously wants something,” I pointed out. “Shouldn’t we see what it is?”

Pastor frowned, clearly annoyed with me. “As I said, he is not our concern—”

“Please, open the gate. I…I want to be one of you! I want to—what is it you do?”

I tried to cover my laugh because Pastor Carter didn’t seem the slightest bit amused.

“Young man, The Gathering of the Sun isn’t a whim. It’s not some spur of the moment impulse. It’s our life. It’s our eternity. Do you understand?” Pastor Carter barked. I had never heard him so irritated. His normal calm demeanor was gone. “Don’t waste my time. Don’t waste your brother’s. Goodbye.”

Pastor took ahold of my arm, a little rougher than he had ever done before and started leading the both of us towards the truck.

“Please, Pastor Carter, I want to find a way to be closer to God! I want to be a better person! I want what you have. I truly do!” Bastian’s voice had pitched higher, tinged with panic.

“Pastor Carter, shouldn’t we let him in? It sounds as if he’s on the path.”

I don’t know why I spoke up for Bastian Scott. I didn’t believe a single word that came from his mouth. He wasn’t a man that wanted anything to do with God. He wasn’t asking to search for the truth.

Yet, I couldn’t stop thinking about the look on his face as he watched his brother walk away. I understood that kind of heartbreaking sadness. The kind you thought you’d never recover from. I felt it all those years ago as a child.

Maybe I never got over it.

Looking at Bastian I didn’t think he would either.

Pastor Carter hesitated. “He doesn’t have the heart of a believer.”

“Maybe not, but perhaps he will with time,” I argued gently. I had never gone against Pastor about anything. I had never spoken up. I had never voiced an opinion that differed from his. I wasn’t sure where this fight came from. This need to make my voice heard.

It was scary. But it felt powerful too.

Pastor squinted his eyes in the dark, trying to read my expression. My mood. “This is important to you, isn’t it?”

I bowed my head. “I think it’s important for all of us. Embrace the sinner, right?”

Pastor Carter was quiet for a few moments. Considering. Contemplating.

“Will his sins ever be cleansed?” he asked, his eyes piercing, reading me too easily. I felt naked in front of him. Vulnerable.

I swallowed thickly, feeling the tension in the air. This was a moment of absolute change. Everything hinged on what I said next. Was I being stupid in championing this stranger?

Was it what God wanted?

“If he follows the path, he will be called home,” I finally answered; my words barely above a whisper.

Pastor narrowed his eyes. His hand tightened on my arm. It hurt.

Then without another word he pulled the remote from his pocket and pushed a button. The gate slowly opened again.

Bastian hurried forward. “Thank you. Thank you so much, Pastor,” he gushed. He met my eyes and they burned there. Hot and dangerous. “Thank you too, Sara.”

I swallowed, my mouth dry. My heart fluttered wildly in my chest and I was finding it hard to breathe. This felt wrong.

But it also felt right.

It was confusing.

Pastor Carter’s mouth was set in a rigid line, his lips thin, his brow furrowed. “The Retreat is our sanctuary. We take our mission seriously. None of us will tolerate betrayal.”

His words were threatening. The intent clear.

Bastian had to be on his best behavior. He needed to devote himself to the path. Or he would be forced out. It was that simple.

Bastian nodded. “Of course. I want to be here. I want to learn—”

“We’ll see,” Pastor Carter interrupted. He let go of my arm and I felt a sting of relief. Then guilt.

Always the guilt.

“Sara, can the two of you walk back to The Retreat? We don’t have room in the cab of the truck.”

Walk?

It was over two miles away. And it was cold. And it was dark. And we’d have to walk through the woods.

And I’d be with a stranger.

I glanced at Bastian out of the corner of my eye. He didn’t look happy at the suggestion.

“We can ride in the bed of the truck. It’s late. And I’m sure Sara here doesn’t want to walk all that way,” he piped up.

“It’s fine. I’m fine. Really—” I began to say.

“It’s really not. I’m not sure how far away this retreat is, but it’s cold and it looks like the only way anywhere is up a mountain. Plus, it’s starting to rain,” Bastian cut in.

He was right. The humidity had broken and we were being pelted with heavy drops of rain.

“Fine, ride in the back,” Pastor barked, his annoyance showing.

Bastian Scott would have to learn to swallow his arguments. To tamp down his anger. It was the only way he’d be able to stay.

Bastian hesitated for a moment. “I left my things back in my car at the bottom of the hill—”

“Someone will go and fetch them tomorrow,” Pastor snapped, frowning.

“I can’t leave my car there. And I don’t really see anywhere to park the thing.” Bastian looked around at the open fields. The thick forest.

“We all must make sacrifices to join God. This must be yours,” Pastor intoned solemnly, though his mouth twitched, as though trying not to smile.

Bastian seemed confused. “My sacrifice? You mean my car?”

Pastor steepled his hands together beneath his chin, bowing his head. “We all must give if we are to receive.”

I had no idea what he was talking about. Another of Pastor’s riddles. Bastian looked as though he wanted to demand an explanation, but I knew he wouldn’t get one. Not until Pastor Carter was ready to give it.

“You’ll get your things, Bastian. Don’t worry about it tonight,” I said, jumping in before he angered Pastor.

“Yeah, okay. Thanks.” Bastian gave me a stiff smile and then followed the Pastor to the truck. After a heartbeat, I joined him.

David got out as we approached and held the door open. “I can sit in the back,” he insisted.

“Sara will be all right, David,” Pastor Carter assured him. “It’s important we have this time to talk before we reach The Retreat.” Pastor gave me a piercing look. Why did I get the sense he blamed me for something?

My heart quivered slightly.

My skin went frigid. It had nothing to do with the cold rain.

This had gone upside down very quickly. I wondered if all arrivals were this unnerving.

“I’ll be fine back here, David. You need to be with Pastor,” I said.

I hopped in the bed of the truck before anyone else could say anything.

Bastian joined me, sitting on the opposite side. He looked at me a little too long. I tried to ignore him. I turned my face away. But I felt his eyes on me like a physical thing.

I pulled my sleeves down over my hands, trying not to give any indication of how chilly I was. I ducked my chin into my chest, attempting to shelter my face from the rain as much as possible.

Bastian unzipped his coat and handed it to me. “Here,” he said gruffly.

I looked at him in confusion.

Bastian sighed and shook the coat. “Put it on. You look like you’re going to freeze.”

I shook my head. “I’m fine. I’m used to the rain and cold,” I remarked haughtily.

This time Bastian did roll his eyes. “Fine, suit yourself.” He put the coat back on and pulled the hood up over his head. A few minutes later the sky opened up and the rain poured down. I was soaked in seconds.

I berated myself for not accepting the coat when it was offered.

We bounced along the poorly graveled path. I could barely see anything and that was just as well. It felt good to be hidden. I was too busy being wet and miserable anyway.

“You sure you don’t want my coat?” Bastian asked.

“I’m fine,” I all but shouted, trying to stop my teeth from chattering.

“Hmm,” I heard Bastian say.

“What?” I asked, finding his presence grating, particularly with rain running down the back of my too thin shirt.

“You say that a lot.”

“Say what?”

“That you’re fine.”

“That’s because generally I am.”

The tip of my nose was cold. My fingers felt numb. The air was not kind on my skin. Thunder crackled overhead. I hated storms. Always had.

“Hmm,” Bastian repeated.

“What?” I asked again, letting my annoyance show. The ride back to The Retreat seemed to take twice as long as it should have.

“I wonder if you really are.”

“Really what?”

I was growing tired of this conversation. Of this ride in the cold, cold dark. Of sharing a space with a man I had championed to be here in the first place and now wished I hadn’t.

“If you’re really fine. Because to me it doesn’t seem that way.”

I opened my mouth to reply. To shoot out a sassy retort. To tell him he was full of crap. He didn’t know what he was talking about. But I didn’t. It was best to keep my words to myself.

It’s what Pastor Carter would expect of his disciples. We didn’t give voice to foolish thoughts.

Bastian let out a sigh and this time I looked at him. I could barely see him in the diminished light. Just the vague outline of his prominent nose and chin.

“Maybe you’ll figure out that not everything you think is true really is,” I said with an air of superiority I didn’t quite feel.

“And maybe one day you’ll figure out that lying to yourself is almost worse than lying to someone else,” he murmured.

We fell into silence after that.

There was nothing more to say.