Page 40 of Regressive

“Or what?”

“Or maybe I hoped she was dead and that’s why she never came back for me.”

“Anex wouldn’t have let her come back, you know that.”

I do know that, right?

“He would’ve put her in with the Fallen,” he continues. “She would have been punished severely for her betrayal. Banishment was a mercy.”

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Is there anything else we can find out first? Like does she have a job. Or,” I swallow, “a family or something.”

He looks at me for a long moment. My cheeks burn. “Sure, let me see what I can find.”

His fingers move fast, entering in different variations of my mother’s name and certain words. ‘Keywords.’ He pauses over something, and I sense his shoulders tense. “What?” I ask leaning over.

“There’s a link to a group.” He clears his throat. “It’s for survivors of cults.”

Cult.

Serendee is not a cult.

The people who say that do not understand who and what we are. They can’t comprehend the community we’ve created. They view us as a threat. The self-sustainability, the progress and Enlightenment. Anex has always said that people who think we are a cult are missing out on the truth of The Way.

Yet…

I stare at my mother’s face in a photo on the website. It’s a picture of her smiling, her hair short, and wearing secular clothing.

Under her photo is a caption. I close my eyes and say, “Read it. What does it say?”

Again, he clears his throat, his foot bouncing on the floor.“Camille Sanders spent decades in a cult that she not only willingly joined but helped create. She brings that unique perspective to others when they are seeking freedom from a controlling group…”

“Stop.”

Elon pauses. “Imogene.”

“I can’t do this.” I stand, leaving the paper on the table and walk toward the door. “Rex will be upset.” Furious. “But I can’t do this. If he wants to dig around in this blasphemy, he has to do it on his own.”

I step outside, letting the warm afternoon sun hit my face. I stand there until Elon is behind me, leading me back to the car. My chest is tight all the way back to Serendee, where I expect to finally breathe easy until we’re back home, safe behind the walls.

For the first time in my life, there is no comfort.

I trymy best to pretend like everything is normal.

Normal.

As residents of Serendee we’ve spent our lives pushing back on that word. Rebelling against the status quo. We’re Better. More Enlightened. But the more I learn about the outside world, the less ‘normal’ make sense.

Is it normal to live in a community that sells illegal drugs?

Is it normal to have young girls kept in seclusion for re-education?

Is it normal to maintain your diet, clothing, hygiene all by the order of one man?

Everything I’m taught says yes.

Which is why the slip of paper Elon wrote my mother’s information on burns where I’ve hidden it under my clothing, against my chest.

I haven’t given it to Rex yet. He wasn’t home last night when we returned. He’d left a note about working late down at the farm. It was dawn when he came in, undressed and crawled into the bed next to me, asleep in seconds.

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