quietly.
The memory of Mrs. Piedmont’s dark, fathomless eyes flashes in my mind.
“I’m not sure,” I say, which is the truth. “Maybe they made it out. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more.”
“We’ve been trying not to think about it,” says Ro. “I suppose we can keep on not thinking about it.”
We sit in silence for a time. I can’t remember the last time I heard silence, real silence, a silence that wasn’t simply a pause between prayers. Sunlight streams underneath the Venetian blinds and warms my toes. I wriggle them. I used to think the god was responsible for the rise of the sun each day. Now? I don’t think a rotting monster that rose out of a sheep field could create something as beautiful and life-giving as the sun.
“I don’t know what I’ll do with myself,” I admit. “If this was a normal day, we’d be at prayer.”
“You could get a hobby.”
This suggestion comes from Theo. He’s appeared in the doorway, leaning his hip against the jamb. Looking at his face—his smug, handsome face—I’m flooded with a mixture of feelings: gratefulness, fear, and hate. I still don’t understand who he is, or even what he is. I want to punch him and sob on his shoulder, but in the end, politeness wins out.
“Hello, Theo,” I say, looking at the floor. “Thank you so much for—”
“We should move,” Theo says, talking over my head to the twins.
“We’re leaving already?” I gasp, clutching at my towel-wrapped hair.
“Five minutes, in the car,” says Theo and disappears again.
“What? Why?” I ask the twins.
“He wants to make sure it’s over,” says Ro. “Sometimes it isn’t.”
T HE AREA around the Piedmonts’ property is cordoned off with orange police tape. Ambulances and police cars are parked by the gates. Farther up the road are the cars of local gossips and passing gawkers. The four of us pile out of Theo’s car and run down to join the crowds that have gathered outside the cordon.
It’s impossible to see the ranch from the road, but even from back here I can see the ridges have collapsed back into the earth. The only things that remain are the signs of overgrowth. Here and there, bursts of giant ferns and wild flowers sprout out of the grass, looking almost comically out of place. The Piedmonts’ sheep—those that weren’t burned alive—are placidly grazing on them.
“Some kind of cult,” I hear a woman saying. “Think it was those creepy faith full ones.”
“Like Jonestown,” says another. “Except here on our doorstep.”
“I heard they can’t find the bodies. Crazy. There are about two hundred abandoned cars parked in there. Two hundred. That many people can’t go missing, can they?”
“Maybe it’s the rapture,” says the first woman, clutching at the cross at her neck. “A faith full rapture. But they weren’t Christian, were they?”
“Mormon, I think.”
“No, it’s that other one. The Arabic one. Baha’i? Bah-hay?”
“Pagans, I heard. Worshipping ‘mother earth’ stuff. Witchcraft.”
I slide away from the conversation, feeling sick. It’s the first time I’ve heard what the faith full looked like from someone on the outside. Did people really know so little about us? I’d always thought the nature of our faith was well known to everyone in the wider community.
The twins, after a lot of waving and shouting, manage to draw the attention of a policeman.
“Did anyone survive?” Ro asks. “Please, sir, did anyone make it?”
“I know as much as anyone else here, kid,” says the policeman; then he narrows his eyes. “Did you know someone who was staying here? Do you know the Piedmont family?”
“Our par—” Ray begins, but Ro drags him away quickly.
“No, sir,” he says over his shoulder, “we just wanted to know what was going on.”
Together, they squeeze out of the crowd and find a seat on the fence overlooking their childhood home. I can tell from the shaking of Ray’s body that he’s
The memory of Mrs. Piedmont’s dark, fathomless eyes flashes in my mind.
“I’m not sure,” I say, which is the truth. “Maybe they made it out. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more.”
“We’ve been trying not to think about it,” says Ro. “I suppose we can keep on not thinking about it.”
We sit in silence for a time. I can’t remember the last time I heard silence, real silence, a silence that wasn’t simply a pause between prayers. Sunlight streams underneath the Venetian blinds and warms my toes. I wriggle them. I used to think the god was responsible for the rise of the sun each day. Now? I don’t think a rotting monster that rose out of a sheep field could create something as beautiful and life-giving as the sun.
“I don’t know what I’ll do with myself,” I admit. “If this was a normal day, we’d be at prayer.”
“You could get a hobby.”
This suggestion comes from Theo. He’s appeared in the doorway, leaning his hip against the jamb. Looking at his face—his smug, handsome face—I’m flooded with a mixture of feelings: gratefulness, fear, and hate. I still don’t understand who he is, or even what he is. I want to punch him and sob on his shoulder, but in the end, politeness wins out.
“Hello, Theo,” I say, looking at the floor. “Thank you so much for—”
“We should move,” Theo says, talking over my head to the twins.
“We’re leaving already?” I gasp, clutching at my towel-wrapped hair.
“Five minutes, in the car,” says Theo and disappears again.
“What? Why?” I ask the twins.
“He wants to make sure it’s over,” says Ro. “Sometimes it isn’t.”
T HE AREA around the Piedmonts’ property is cordoned off with orange police tape. Ambulances and police cars are parked by the gates. Farther up the road are the cars of local gossips and passing gawkers. The four of us pile out of Theo’s car and run down to join the crowds that have gathered outside the cordon.
It’s impossible to see the ranch from the road, but even from back here I can see the ridges have collapsed back into the earth. The only things that remain are the signs of overgrowth. Here and there, bursts of giant ferns and wild flowers sprout out of the grass, looking almost comically out of place. The Piedmonts’ sheep—those that weren’t burned alive—are placidly grazing on them.
“Some kind of cult,” I hear a woman saying. “Think it was those creepy faith full ones.”
“Like Jonestown,” says another. “Except here on our doorstep.”
“I heard they can’t find the bodies. Crazy. There are about two hundred abandoned cars parked in there. Two hundred. That many people can’t go missing, can they?”
“Maybe it’s the rapture,” says the first woman, clutching at the cross at her neck. “A faith full rapture. But they weren’t Christian, were they?”
“Mormon, I think.”
“No, it’s that other one. The Arabic one. Baha’i? Bah-hay?”
“Pagans, I heard. Worshipping ‘mother earth’ stuff. Witchcraft.”
I slide away from the conversation, feeling sick. It’s the first time I’ve heard what the faith full looked like from someone on the outside. Did people really know so little about us? I’d always thought the nature of our faith was well known to everyone in the wider community.
The twins, after a lot of waving and shouting, manage to draw the attention of a policeman.
“Did anyone survive?” Ro asks. “Please, sir, did anyone make it?”
“I know as much as anyone else here, kid,” says the policeman; then he narrows his eyes. “Did you know someone who was staying here? Do you know the Piedmont family?”
“Our par—” Ray begins, but Ro drags him away quickly.
“No, sir,” he says over his shoulder, “we just wanted to know what was going on.”
Together, they squeeze out of the crowd and find a seat on the fence overlooking their childhood home. I can tell from the shaking of Ray’s body that he’s
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