Page 66 of Please Open Me
“Truth,” he said, “has a way of revealing itself in shadows first. You think you’re walking in the dark, but it’s only the shape of something waiting to be seen.”
My eyes anchored on his, refusing to look away or show any semblance of fear.
“Your role is not to question what is unfolding,” Dale added, leaning in just enough to make the desk creak. “It’s to remain steadfast. Obedient. Youareobedient, right?”
“Yes, Reverend Cole.” The words came automatically, but they left my chest hollow.
Dale exhaled, and folded his hands in his lap. “Beautiful. That’s exactly what I needed to hear.”
Then—just as quickly—all warmth vanished from his face.
“It would be a shame if you were to lie to me,” he said, voice calm. “And an even bigger tragedy if something were to happen to that beautiful family you’ve found.”
My eyes slipped shut. I nodded once.
“That’s why I’ll never lie to you, Reverend.”
And there it was, the core of why I’d never dare to leave the Sons of Christ. Dale Cole was a man who’d stop at nothing to get what he wanted. He’d hurt people,killpeople, in service of his twisted ideals. Of course, I had killed plentyof people; I had even convinced myself to take pleasure in the act. I knew firsthand how dangerous a self-righteous killer could be. This feeling was too familiar; I was caught dead center in the very same web I used to spin.
And, for the safety of my family, I’d play along. I was willing to do just about anything to have my life back. Anything as long as it didn’t riskthem.
Chapter 17
Mattie
For the last twenty-eight years, my life had been an endless fight to distinguish what was real and what wasn’t.
The wealthy suburbs I grew up in, where my parents paraded my brother and me around to prove how charitable they were?
Real.
The love behind the actions?
Not real.
We were pawns in their game.
Children adopted from godless backgrounds, brought to the States, waterboarded in holy water, dressed in white cloaks—all for show. A perfect, pious family.
The churches we filled the pews of?
Real.
The messages behind the scripture?
Surprisingly real.
The promises of eternal life, unconditional love, and a sacred community only Christ could offer?
As fake as the new preacher nervously pacing the stageeach Sunday.
Sebastian Castillo wasn’t fit to lead a cult. Wasn’t fit to be a prophet. Wasn’t fit for anything except rotting in prison.
And that meant a lot coming from me.
Because I knew cult leaders. I grew up under their rule, forced into sermons led by Christian, or Colin, or Carsen, or Cameron, or whatever name the false god adopted when authorities caught wind of the atrocities performed in the name of religion.
The men dreamed of obeying him. The women died trying to carry his heir. And me? I was twisted into becoming the perfect vessel for the second coming of Christ.
