The Cult
: Chapter 17

We sat in the chopper, soaring over the countryside as we returned to Paris.

Beatrice was beside me, Claire on the other side. When I saw Beatrice’s eyes roll back in her head, I gave her a shake. “Beatrice, come on.” I clapped her cheek with my palm, my voice audible over the radio. “Stay awake.”

“LSD,” Bartholomew said across from me. “She’s on it. A lot of it.”

The woman sat against the other window and hadn’t said a word. Seemed to be in shock.

Beatrice’s eyes started to close again.

“Come on.” I slapped her this time.

“I think Mommy is hurt…” Claire’s gentle voice came over the intercom.

The woman spoke. “Her back…she’s bleeding.” It was the first time she’d said anything, and it wasn’t with the strength she’d spoken with when it came to Claire. It was as if she was injured too. Injured with shock.

I supported Beatrice and leaned her forward. That was when I saw the blood soaking through her shirt. “Fuck.”

Bartholomew saw it too. “If she doesn’t get to a hospital, she’ll die.”

That realization hit me too. I spoke to the pilot. “We need medical treatment now.”

He spoke back through the radio. “Changing course.”

Claire started to cry. “Mom’s…Mom’s gonna die…”

“No,” I said. “She’s going to be okay.” I lied out of my ass because I didn’t want my daughter to grapple with death in such a terrible way. “I need to stop the bleeding.”

Bartholomew moved, grabbing the emergency first aid equipment.

I removed my safety belt and laid her on the floor, working with Bartholomew to keep her alive.

Bartholomew supported her so I could wrap the gauze around her body.

The woman moved to the vacant seat beside Claire, holding her. “She’s going to be okay, baby. Just like all the other times, okay?”

All the other times? Jesus fucking Christ.

I got her wrapped up, kept slapping her face to keep her awake.

“Even if we stopped the bleeding, she’ll probably die from an overdose—”

“Just shut your mouth, alright?” I glared at Bartholomew, not wanting my daughter to hear this.

He wore the same stoic expression, indifferent to what I said, because life and death didn’t matter to him. Even his own death didn’t matter to him.

I got my daughter back, the fight was over, but now I was plunged into another life-or-death scenario.

If Beatrice died, it wouldn’t affect me that much.

But I didn’t want my girl to lose her mom.

So, I continued to slap her, to keep her awake, to keep her on this side of the veil until we reached the hospital.

We landed on the helipad on the roof of the hospital after we got clearance from air traffic control. Beatrice was handed off to emergency care, and the doctors would probably be stunned for a moment because they’d never seen shit like this before. Bartholomew had his own private medical team that could have treated her, but there wasn’t time for that.

They treated the wounds and pumped her stomach. Most of the acid was in her bloodstream, but they could still get out the little bit that remained. At the very least, it would reduce the length of the high.

I glanced behind me, checking every couple seconds for Claire, who sat with the woman, their hands held together. I faced forward again and looked at Bartholomew. “I need to get Claire home. Your guys can stay and deliver Beatrice when she’s discharged.”

We both looked out of place in the hospital, wearing all black, our weapons left in the chopper because that would cause a panic. Judging from the way everyone cast worried glances our way, they knew we were people who didn’t belong there. Bartholomew sidestepped as a man passed by, and his eyes followed him in disbelief, as if he couldn’t believe someone would voluntarily get that close to him. “A bit heartless.”

“Claire is my priority. And there’s nothing I can do for Beatrice anyway.”

He glanced past me to look at my daughter. “Why is she still here?”

Now that the woman was free, she hadn’t said her goodbyes and left. She stayed, stuck to Claire. “I wondered the same thing.”

He stared at her for a while. “Are we done here?” His blue eyes flicked back to me. “Because I have shit to do.”

I gave a nod.

“Take the week off. After that, you have shit to do too.” He stepped away.

My arms grabbed his, just the way he’d grabbed mine just an hour ago.

His eyes side-swiped me.

I let go. “Thank you.”

His eyes held mine for a long time. “Didn’t do it out of the goodness of my heart.”

“You got my daughter back—and that’s all I care about.”

We took a cab to my Paris apartment. It was in the heart of the city, close to Claire’s school so I could walk her there in the mornings. Daylight had faded, and now it was evening, the lampposts bright on the corners, headlights visible on the cars. Puddles were everywhere, as if it had rained shortly after I’d left that morning.

We walked in the door, the cold crypt of my home suddenly warm and alive once again.

Claire’s blond hair bobbed up and down as she crossed the foyer and entered her home, past the pictures of herself on the wall, heading straight into the kitchen and living room, where we’d spent our evenings. She’d help me cook, and then we’d watch another movie about heroes and princesses.

I would get those nights back.

Made me lose my gait for a second, because everything up until this point felt like a dream, a dream that would fade when my eyes opened. But once I stepped foot inside my house and her voice came from the other room, I knew it was real.

She was here to stay.

I inhaled a deep breath, standing in the hallway, overcome.

A hand rested against my shoulder.

My head slowly turned to regard her, the woman with the green eyes who had formed a bond with my daughter, the woman who barely said a few words. Her eyes were filled with emotion, but they didn’t seem to reflect her own struggles, only mine.

She lowered her hand a moment later and stepped back. Her dark hair was in loose curls around her face, and her smoky eye makeup had spread glitter over her eyelashes and a bit on her cheeks. She was dressed in all white, white jeans and a white top, just like Claire and Beatrice. Her eyes seemed intelligent, but the rest of her seemed skittish.

I turned away and followed Claire into the kitchen.

“Daddy, are we going to—”

I kneeled and hugged her against me, my arms solid steel, locking her into my heart forever. My chin rested on her head, and I closed my eyes, doing my best to appreciate her little body in my big arms. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t do it. It felt too surreal, to have the one thing you wanted most in the world.

Claire held on to me and turned quiet, her breathing quick and even. “I missed you.”

My eyes watered, too emotional to say it back even though I’d said those words in the dark every time I looked at her picture, to her ghost in her bedroom. My spectrum of emotion was very slender, not even a spectrum at all. But she ripped it wide open, made me feel love for the first time, and sometimes it was too much for me to handle.

To love someone this much…was the most painful thing in the world. “I love you so much.” My breath caught in my throat, and the tears came again. Even as a child, I never cried. There were only a handful of times it had occurred, and it was all because of Claire. Sometimes the tears were bittersweet…when I dropped her off at kindergarten for the first time. One time she made me a drawing of the two of us for Father’s Day…and I just lost it. I lost it now.

“Don’t be sad, Daddy.” She pulled back to look at my face.

My hands cupped her little cheeks, seeing those freckles on her face, her blue eyes identical to mine, her messy blond hair. “I’m not, sweetheart. Just happy…to have you home.” I kissed her forehead and hugged her once again. She looked nothing like Beatrice, didn’t have a scar in sight, not a single bruise, and she didn’t seem emotionally disturbed either. Beatrice was an empty vessel…but my daughter came back exactly the same.

After a couple minutes, Claire pulled away. “I’m hungry.”

I smiled through my tears, having missed those words. I used to hear her say it all the time, first thing in the morning, right when she got home from school, even after dinner sometimes. “Then let’s make something.” I got to my feet and watched her run to the kitchen and open the fridge.

“Constance, you wanna cook with us?” Claire looked at the woman who now had a name, the woman who had the same moisture in her eyes that I did.

I turned to look at her, wondering why she was still there. “I’m sure Constance wants to head home too. Probably has a lot of people that she missed.”

Constance stared at me, her eyes slowly sinking to the floor.

I turned to Claire. “Come say goodbye.”

Claire closed the fridge then hugged Constance around the stomach.

Constance gave a strained smile before she kneeled and embraced Claire the way I had a moment ago. She clung to her hard, her eyes closed, enveloping her with invisible love that I could see with the naked eye. “You were right, baby. Your daddy did come for us.”

“I knew he would.” She pulled away. “He’s the best.”

“You were right about that too.”

“You want to come over tomorrow and get ice cream with us?” Claire asked.

Before Constance could answer, I intervened. “We’ll talk about it later, sweetheart.” I appreciated what this woman had done for my daughter, but that relationship was over now. I was a paranoid man, even more so now, and I didn’t want anyone having a relationship with my daughter, especially a stranger. I didn’t know this woman. Just because she’d helped my daughter didn’t mean she was a good person. I knew nothing about her except the things Claire had mentioned. “Now, pick out something for dinner, and I’ll walk Constance out.”

“Alright. See you later.” Claire did as I asked and turned back to the kitchen.

The second Claire turned away, Constance got to her feet, a wince on her face—like she’d been punched in the gut. She stared at the floor for a moment before she looked at me.

I entered the hallway, ducked into a bedroom and grabbed a wad of cash, and then met her in the foyer.

She looked out the window into the darkness, in her white clothes, her makeup making rivers on her face from the moisture that had spilled over a couple times.

“Thank you for everything you did for my daughter.” I extended my hand to shake hers.

She stared at it for a moment before she took it, her grip weak.

“Benton.”

She stared at our hands as they moved up and down, like she’d never had a handshake before. “You don’t remember me…” She dropped her hand and looked up at me again, her hand flattening against her stomach. “You came to the theatre asking about Claire and Beatrice.”

“I asked a lot of people a lot of questions.”

“After I saw you, Forneus started popping up everywhere, at my performances, at the apartment across the street from mine… I went to the police, but they were no use.”

No surprise there.

“I was actually on my way to replace you…when they grabbed me.”

I didn’t know what to say, what she expected of me. “I’m sorry.”

She glanced out the window again.

“You’re home now. It’s over.”

She slowly turned back to me, her eyes sad. “It’ll never be over, at least not for me.”

I extended the cash to her. “Take this. As a thank you.”

She stared down at it but never grabbed it. “I…I don’t have anywhere to go.” Her eyes remained transfixed on the cash.

“Then this will get you back on your feet.” The wad remained pressed under my thumb, waiting for it to her take it and walk out the door.

Her eyes lifted again, and the fog that had remained on the surface of her gaze finally wafted away on an invisible breeze. “I know you don’t know me…and this is weird, but…I don’t want to leave.”

My hand slowly dropped back to my side.

“My apartment will have a new person living there. I don’t have family…just a couple friends. Everything happened so fast… I can’t really process all of this. And I don’t want to leave Claire.”

My stare was empty and endless, my eyes flicking back and forth between hers. Her gaze was full of desperate expectation, like I was somehow responsible for her well-being now. “You aren’t my problem.”

She gave a slight wince, like a knife had slashed her cheek.

I raised my hand again and, this time, forced the money into her palm. “I appreciate what you’ve done for Claire. I got you out of there. I’ve given you money. My debt is repaid.” I opened the door and waited for her to walk down the steps to the sidewalk and disappear into the darkness, disappear from our lives forever.

In a haze, she moved over the threshold, her breath immediately escaping as vapor in the nighttime air. She looked down the empty street, her breath releasing more frequently from her nostrils. “I know he’ll come for me.”

“Leave the country. You have the means.”

“I don’t have an ID…anything. And even if I did, I don’t know how to start over. I wouldn’t even have shoes if one of the nurses at the hospital hadn’t found a pair in my size. I’m a dancer, that’s all I know.” She turned back to me, pleading with her eyes.

Still didn’t understand why this was my problem. I had my daughter back, and all I wanted was to go back in there and make her macaroni, her favorite. I’d bought it at the store today, hoping I’d make it for her tonight. “Go to the police.”

“They were useless last time—”

“I’m not trying to be an asshole right now, but your well-being is not my problem. I have a little girl in there who needs me. Frankly, I don’t give a damn about you. I don’t give a damn about anyone but her.”

She breathed harder, vapor rising up from her nostrils. “I get it, and I don’t want you to think I’m a charity case—”

“It’s starting to seem that way.”

Her eyes gave a flash, like lightning that brightened the sky before the storm hit. “My entire purpose for the last few months…was protecting Claire. Without her, I don’t know what to do with myself. I don’t want to say goodbye—”

“I appreciate your dedication to my daughter. Truly, I do. But she’s my daughter—not yours.”

“I never implied she wasn’t—”

“Goodbye, Constance.” I started to shut the door on her.

“That’s it?” she asked incredulously. “There’s this horrible place that tortures women for being angels, and you don’t care? You aren’t going to do something about it?”

The door steadied, and I stared at her. “I said it once. I’ll say it again. I don’t give a damn about anyone but her.” I shut the door, locked it, and returned to my daughter in the other room.

Even though I slept and woke up the following day, my life still felt like a dream.

The best dream I’d ever had.

The mattress bounced with her little weight as she jumped on my bed first thing in the morning, before the sun had finally risen and pierced the fog.

My eyes opened to see her little face above mine.

I smiled like I’d never smiled in my life.

“Dad!” She grabbed my arm and tugged on it. “Come on, wake up.”

I shut my eyes quickly and went still, pretending to be asleep.

She tugged on me again. “Dad!” She laughed as she pulled on my arm. “I know you’re awake…you’re smiling.”

I opened my eyes again and looked at her, my arms barreling around her and pulling her close. “You caught me, smart girl.” She was in her pink pajamas with the ponies on them, her entire room decorated with little white horses with flowy pink hair. She loved dolls and stories about princesses, but she also loved getting her hands dirty digging for bugs.

“I’m smarter than Daddy.”

“Let’s not get carried away…”

“I don’t smile when I’m trying to pretend to be asleep,” she said with a laugh.

“You got me there.”

She pushed out of my arms and sat beside me. “Are we going to go see Mom?”

“Yes.” She was still at the hospital, and from what Bartholomew had told me, she’d pulled through and was resting in her room.

“Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go!” She slid off my bed and ran down the hallway, her little feet loud against the hardwood floor, turning muffled when she hit the various rugs, and then becoming loud again on the wood.

My smile faded—because I thought I’d never hear that sound again.

“Mommy, are you okay?” Claire stood at her bedside, looking at her mother in bed with sad eyes, not understanding the cuff around her arm, the tubes going into her body, the white gown, the constant beeping of the monitors.

The last time Claire had been in a hospital was the day she was born.

Beatrice gave her a smile then stroked her hair. “I’m gonna be fine, honey. Just a little tired.”

“I was scared.”

She continued to stroke her hair, her smile fading. “I was too… You must be happy spending time with Dad again.”

“Yeah, we made mac and cheese and hot dogs last night.”

“That sounds healthy,” she said with a chuckle.

“Dad said I could have anything I wanted.”

“Of course he did.” Her hand played with Claire’s soft blond hair, continuing to stroke her. “Always gives you whatever you want.”

They talked for a while, and I stayed in my chair across the room. My eyes glanced out the door every time someone passed. They flicked back to Claire only to do it again and again, as if someone would walk through that door and try to take her again.

They didn’t talk about their time with the cult at all.

Not a single thing was mentioned.

I was relieved because I didn’t want to hear about it.

My daughter was unharmed, with the same bright smile and bubbly personality, so I left it alone.

“Constance is going to get ice cream with us soon.”

“She is?” Beatrice asked, slightly surprised.

I wanted my daughter to forget about the woman, and in time, she would. A normal life, schoolwork, sports, would make her get back to normalcy. I didn’t want her to be around anyone who reminded her of a past she needed to forget.

I left the chair and approached the bed, taking a seat in the chair at her bedside. “Sweetheart, let me talk to Mom for a second.”

Claire moved to the seating area at the other end of the room, where there was a TV and some magazines. She opened one, National Geographic, and flipped through it. Her legs dangled over the edge, and she absentmindedly kicked one, a ball of energy.

Beatrice stared at me, her skin losing its glow, her eyes filling with emptiness.

I kept my voice low so Claire wouldn’t hear. “How are you?”

She looked into my eyes lifelessly before giving a shrug.

“The doctor said you’re free to go tomorrow.”

“Yeah…”

“You’re welcome to stay with us. Take your time getting better. I can help you with anything that you need.”

Her breaths grew labored and heavy, and slowly, her eyes began to narrow. “You hate me.” Accusation filled her eyes, memories of our past conversations visible in her gaze. The fights. The screams. The words that neither one of us could take back.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want the best for you.”

She looked away, glancing at Claire across the room. “I’m in a lot of pain…” Her eyes welled up, reflecting the fluorescent lights with the sheen. “I can’t do a lot right now. I just…need to rest.”

“Then we’ll pick you up tomorrow.”

She wouldn’t look at me, like she hated herself for accepting my help. “How’s she doing?”

“She’s the same. It’s like…she never left.”

“Good.” She watched Claire for a while, her chest rising with the deep breath that she took. There was a lot left unsaid, but when our daughter was in earshot, she probably didn’t want to say anything. “I wish I could say the same about myself…”