But then he was also the one who put me in that institute. He didn’t care about my mom’s feelings then. He made out that hewas trying to help me, to keep me safe, but perhaps it had been a ploy the whole time and he’d put me there for the Prophet to come and find me again?
The possibility sits heavily on my chest, making it hard to breathe. It makes me question everything. What if my mom knew about this, too? No, I couldn’t believe it of her.
“If we have three days,” Malachi says, “it gives us time to come up with a plan.”
“It’s barely three days,” I correct him. “That’s not long at all when we don’t even know how to find the place.”
“We’re not going to be able to do this on our own,” Roman says from where he’s still standing at the kitchen counter. “We’re going to need help.”
Mal groans. “You’re going to say we need to ask the Vipers and Devils again, aren’t you?”
He grimaces around his swollen lip. “As much as it quite literally pains me to say it, yes.”
“We have Cain’s father’s men, too,” I point out. “I know they weren’t brought here for that, but surely they’ll help us.”
Cain considers this. “How many men does the Prophet have around him? I don’t mean like regular members of the cult, but men he relies upon.”
I answer. “There are five of them. Elders in the commune. He calls them his disciples.”
Malachi hisses air over his teeth with a word that sounds suspiciously like asshole.
“Okay, so there are five of them,” Cain says, “plus the Prophet. Those numbers aren’t too bad.”
I shake my head. “But there are also men in the commune who will protect the Prophet at all costs, even if it means fighting you off with pitchforks and shovels.”
“Forks and shovels we can handle,” Roman growls. “It’s the men with guns I’m worried about.”
“They will try to protect the Prophet, though. Don’t underestimate them.” I’m worried they’ll go into this thinking it’ll be a walk in the park.
Roman takes a sip of his protein shake and grimaces. “We should take down the Prophet before he gets the chance to start this bullshit ascension. If he’s not there to lead it, it won’t happen.”
Malachi flips back his black hair. “Cut the head off the snake, and the body will die.”
Roman nods. “We’ll need to be there before sunrise on the day of the ascension. Do we know where this ascension is likely to take place?” he asks Daisy.
“Yes, in the church. It’s big enough to fit the whole commune, and of course, it’s the right place for something like that to happen.”
I picture the church filled with dead bodies—women, children, and men. The mental image is overwhelming. I almost find it hard to believe the Prophet would do this to his own people, but he believes in his own madness. It’s the ultimate show of power, to convince innocent people to take their own lives, just because he says so. I already know he won’t do the same. I imagine he’ll keep his closest men alive, too. What will he do then? Move to another location and start again? Is the reason he’s decided the ascension needs to be now because he can sense that outsiders are closing in on him?
“Then we’ll know where he and all his men will be,” Roman says. “What does he look like?”
Daisy reaches into the pocket of her dress and pulls a crumpled piece of paper out. I stare in shock when I realize it’s a photograph of the Prophet. I immediately avert my gaze, the sight of him making me feel sick.
“I managed to sneak this out of the village,” she says quietly. “We aren’t allowed photographs, they’re vanity, but he has a fewof himself, in an album. I sometimes would be sent to his house to clean, and I borrowed one.”
I want the Prophet dead so he can’t hurt anyone else, but I still find myself conflicted at the thought. It’s probably all those years I spent being forced to worship him, but somehow, I can’t imagine a world without him in it. What if, when he dies, it’s still not the end of him? He always told us in his sermons that it was impossible for him to die, that if his body died, he would just return in another form. Maybe that’s what I’m most scared of—that even in his death, he’ll still haunt me. If that happens, I’ll never be free of him.
I can’t only think about myself, though. I need to consider all those poor people who have been persuaded to take their own lives by a madman. Outsiders would probably call them gullible or stupid, but they’re not, they just don’t know any different. It’s been their life for so long, it has become ingrained. Human beings are remarkably resilient but also remarkably easy to manipulate. I can’t judge them because even though I always wanted to escape, I was manipulated too, into believing he's always in my head. I can’t shake the idea of him as omnipotent even when, factually, it’s wrong.
I wonder if the Prophet has noticed Daisy’s absence yet. Has her family? They must have, but whether they’ll have gone to the Prophet about it, I’m unsure. Her mother and siblings would want to protect her, but what about her father? If the Prophet realizes she’s gone, will he figure out that she’s come to find me? He saw we were close, and both of us running off has got to make him believe it’s linked.
Daisy takes a final mouthful of her burrito, sips some tea, and wipes her lips with the paper napkin, then stands. “Can I use your bathroom?”
“Of course.” I stand as well. “I’ll show you where it is, and where the downstairs bedroom is, too.” I don’t want herwandering around by herself and accidentally discovering the altar room, like I did. I really need to get the Preachers to lock it, but I haven’t had a chance to ask them yet.
I show Daisy the bedroom. It’s small and plain, but she’s not used to luxury. I notice her dress is dirty from her journey and realize she came here with nothing. She doesn’t have any clothes or even toiletries.
“Wait here,” I tell her. “Don’t move.”
