Then, my mother and I make our way to her apartment. As soon as I can, I excuse myself to the bathroom and text Jack.
Me: Hey.
Jack: I’m coming in 2 get U.
Me: N
Jack: Did you find Faith?
Me: Need more time
Jack: Get the hell out.
Me: Tomorrow. I promise. I’m fine.
My battery won’t last much longer and there’s no way I’ll find a charger within the compound so I stop texting. My phone’s vibrations, however, tell me he’s still sending messages so I turn it off to conserve the battery.
When I reenter the living room, my mother finds me a cotton dress better suited for the nineteen fifties and insists I wipe off the little makeup I wear. It may have been a little heavy for the cameras but nothing that warranted her calling me a whore.
It’s so weird being back. I never expected I would be so fearful of being sucked back into the cult. It’s been years since I left and know their doctrine is full of shit. And yet, when I walk to the back of the meeting room, my heart thumps, and my palms get sweaty.
David Young’s smile is wide and beckoning to all the single women who look upon him in adoration. The young men, in a past age, could easily be mistaken for Hitler’s Youth.
Maybe because of what I witnessed as a kid, the only thing I feel is pure revulsion. There’s nothing magic or angelic about this man or his six brothers. He is a cruel narcissist who has used his magnetism and the Mormon religion to bring women back to the stone ages.
As his special guest, I sit in the front row while David tells his flock how I’ve changed my mind and decided to rejoin their church. I wonder if they’ll let the film crew take videos tomorrow? If not, how will I escape?
After a dreadful speech misquoting the bible, David introduces me to some men who he says will overlook my sins and wed me. I’m told both these men have more than two wives, already. I thank them for their kindness and pray to God to get me out of this nightmare.
Once back in my old bedroom, I call Jack. “You were right. They’re not going to let me go.”
“They also cancelled the documentary. I’ve been worried sick. Where the fuck are you?”
My heart races as my phone’s battery goes to one bar. “I’m in my mother’s apartment, number three-twelve. They can’t just kidnap me, can they.”
“There’s a fucking video that says you wanted back in. It’s not going to be easy to prove otherwise.”
“Dammit. My mother just l-locked my bedroom door.” I rattle the handle. “I can’t get out.”
