Flash Fiction, short stories & poetry by Summerland gardens hours.
John Wilde escorted me across a vast expanse of a manicured
lawn Summerland gardens hours towards a brick building twice as long as it was wide. He held the
door open for me and I entered somewhat reluctantly. I expected more from the
interior of a so-called 'cathedral'; it looked more like a school auditorium
with rows of gray metal chairs.
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| Summerland gardens |
Almost every seat Summerland gardens hours were filled with a white-robed occupant staring
blankly ahead, or at least they were before the door slammed announcing our
arrival and every head turned to study us. John and I walked quickly to the
front and took two of the four empty seats directly facing the podium. No one
spoke.
Their weird silence made me question my decision to come here
alone. I'd known John thirty years ago when we were in elementary school; I
hadn't seen him since. But when I called, he was pleasant and accommodating.
I'd seen him on the news a few times, always standing beside the
Prophet; John was in deep. In spite of his cordial attitude, I was shocked when
he'd agreed to set up a day of visitation and an interview with the reclusive
leader of The Light.
The mainstream media had never been allowed inside the gated
compound. The one stipulation of my invitation was that I wasn't allowed to
speak to anyone other than John or the Prophet during my stay. And I had signed
a statement that I had come to The Light of my own free will.
I wondered if that had been a wise decision. These people were obviously
insane.
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The lights dimmed and organ music played softly through the sound
system. Heads bowed as a red-robed figure strode across the small stage before
us. He stopped at the podium, the lights came back up, and the music stopped.
He smiled, and everyone beamed. Even I felt the electric charge coursing
through the room.
He was an exquisite creature with crystal blue eyes and a full
mane of wavy dark hair; the crowd was mesmerized. I caught my breathing which
had quickened. “Good morning my children.” He spoke with an accent I couldn't
quite place. In unison, they responded, “Good morning Brother.”
I leaned in whispering to John, “So, where is he from? Does he
have a degree?” “We don't question Brother Malachi,” he snapped “I wasn't. I'm
questioning you.” I couldn't help but shake my head in disbelief. This guy had
them all brainwashed. I breathed deeply and calmed my heart. I would not get
taken in. John cleared his throat and handed me a colorful tri-fold
pamphlet.
This should answer any questions you have.
We find that after you've been integrated into the community you
won't find the outsider's questions to be relevant. Look around, the Master has
created all of this for us. It is Utopia for his chosen. And we, in
appreciation, have chosen him.” His voice was soft, but the intonation was
firm. I pressed on. “So there is still free will?”
His face screwed into a half-smile. “Oh yes, there is always that.
And you can change your mind about us at any time, you are always free to
leave. Just as Brother Malachi is free to ask you to leave, should he deem your
'investigation' to be in violation of the Moral Code?”
I studied his face. He was testing me. The others watched me with
their cold vacant eyes. I was keenly aware of their steely stares pressing into
the back of my head. I wondered if all it would take was a wave of the
Prophet's hand to have them attack me. “So what's next then? I get my robes and
trade in my heels for some Jesus sandals?”
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My playful mocking tone was lost on his stoic
demeanor. “First you have a private session with Our lord. Oh, and
don't call him that. You must address him as Brother Malachi, or as Prophet
LeFevre. He prefers the latter from... non-initiates.” I almost choked. Brother
Malachi was no less than their savior.
This was exactly Summerland gardens hours what I'd been waiting for; the reason for my
visit. Several former members had made accusations of sexual impropriety
in The Light; never specifically referencing Malachi, but the local
papers had made it pretty clear it had been one of the higher-ups. I'd been
reading about The Light for the past year. There had never
been any concrete evidence, and never any formal charges filed, which was
typical of cults like these.
I'd done a smattering of
freelance investigative reporting, so I figured, why not? If I could get the
right angle, it promised to be the expose of the decade. “Well show
me the light,” I whispered back, chuckling softly at my pun until John shot me
yet another icy glare. It was clear he was one of them.
The organ music resumed
in the background as Brother Malachi began his spiel. I hoped his monologue
wouldn't last long. Electronics were forbidden in the compound, so
I'd brought a pen and notepad. I listened intently, jotting down random quotes.
Nothing I hadn't heard before, but the delivery was hypnotic. I realized I was
getting lost in his words and began to consciously block them out.
When he finished speaking, he was ushered off the stage by two
burly men in black robes. John stood up and asked me to follow. We
exited the same way we had entered and followed a stone path to a small white
cottage behind the cathedral. Brother Malachi was seated in a gold velvet chair
by a fireplace with no fire.
It was cold and I shivered as he glanced up at us. I stepped
towards him and he arose and held out his hands to me. I took them reluctantly
and he guided me to an identical chair opposite his.
“Let me look at you,” he spoke softly as he took my face in his
hands. I recoiled slightly but said nothing.
After a few seconds, he dropped his hands from my face and stepped
back. There seemed to be a faint indigo light around him, or had I imagined it?
My breath was shallow and my heart raced; I felt dizzy. “Please, sit.” He
motioned to the chair behind me. I didn't make it. I collapsed onto the floor
in front of him. His smirk was the last thing I saw.
When I awoke, I was
resting on a hospital bed in their infirmary; white-robed novices rushing
around and speculating in hushed voices. I felt his presence before
I saw him. “Amber-Lyn. I have chosen you.” He was speaking inside my mind. I
nodded yes without thinking. I couldn't remember what my name was, but I was
pretty certain it wasn't Amber-Lyn.
“What... what have you done to me? I... can't stay here. I want to
leave.” I tried in vain to sit up but I was strapped to the bed. He glided
closer and touched my hand. This time I was certain; there was a bluish glow
surrounding him. I was physically paralyzed as an electric current pulsed
through my skin and up my arm.
As it worked its way through my body my mind fought against him. But
he was stronger than Summerland gardens hours me; his aura flowed into me like a drug, and my
resistance fell away. I belonged here, to him.
I was one of them now, Summerland gardens hours peaceful and happy. Happier than I had ever
been. I had no doubts, no fear, no questions. I had been shown The
Light.
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