The Cult

I sat at the dining table in my apartment, the cold air pressing up against the window, creating a gentle frost in the corners because fall was accelerating into winter far quicker than usual.

My empty plate sat in front of me, crumbs left behind from a dinner I forced myself to eat instead of to savor and enjoy. Claire used to help me cook. She would stand in front of the stove and push the veggies around while I took care of other things. Now when I cooked, I lost my appetite…because her memory haunted me.

But I had to eat. I had to stay strong. I had to be ready at a moment’s notice.

The glass of wine only had a few drops at the bottom, having a slight shine from the chandelier up above. The house was quiet because I never watched TV or listened to music. Claire’s bedroom was untouched because I couldn’t bring myself to walk in there and absorb the warm energy she’d left behind. I didn’t take jobs and ignored calls for work because I chose to spend my time in solitude, drinking by the fire or listening to my brother try to make me feel better—even though that was fucking pointless.

My eyes were down until I heard the chair across from me slide over the rug. My senses weren’t what they used to be because my mind had weakened, but even if they had been, I still might not have heard Bartholomew enter my apartment…however he managed to do it.

I lifted my chin and looked at him.

He sat still, his hands out of sight, his dark eyes on me.

I stared back at him, waiting for him to tell me the next step.

“I’ve made a deal.”

I closed my eyes and felt the breath rush out of my lungs and make my nostrils flare. My hands came together and rested against my lips, picturing Claire’s beautiful face in my head, my little girl…my everything. She must have already been through so much, must have been so scared, but also so brave. “Let’s go.” I opened my eyes and dropped my hands, pushing away my emotional impulse because I had a job to do.

He didn’t rise from his seat. “I have conditions.”

“You can kill me after.” I wouldn’t surrender until I knew she and Beatrice were safe. Claire could spend her life with her mother and inherit everything I had in a trust she could claim when she became an adult. She would be taken care of, and I knew she would remember me even decades after I was gone.

“Different conditions.”

I brought my hands back to my lips and stared.

“No retaliation. We take them and leave. Period.”

I inhaled a deep breath and felt the anger consume me. I was engulfed in flames, and no amount of water would put out this rage. Even if they didn’t touch a hair on her head, I wanted to execute them, bend them over a tree trunk, and slice their head from the shoulders.

“Whatever happens…we leave.”

I pressed my fingers hard against my lips, my shoulders so tight it hurt.

“We have an understanding?”

I had to focus on what mattered—getting my daughter back. I had to let go of my anger. I had to let go of my revenge. I had to spend my time helping Claire rehabilitate after the shit she experienced. I had to be grateful to have her in my arms again…and let the rest go. “Yes.”

The ride in the chopper took an hour.

This place was truly in the wilderness, truly in the middle of nowhere, a sea of trees visible through the windows, deep green because the rain had fallen hard this season. The Alps became larger the farther we traveled, already covered in snow because winter was early this year.

Bartholomew sat across from me, his headset on, his eyes out the window most of the time, wearing his black combat boots and a long-sleeved black shirt, the ink of his tattoos barely visible at the edge of his sleeve.

My heart had never beat this hard in my life.

We started to touch down, landing in a wide-open field. There were three other Chasseurs with us, armed with AK-47s even though it was supposed to be a peaceful transfer.

“What did you promise in return?”

He switched his gaze from the window to me, the two of us on a private channel so the rest of the crew couldn’t hear. “Contacts.”

“For?”

“Their LSD operation.”

All I could offer was money—and that wasn’t what they wanted. Without Bartholomew, I would have nothing to bargain with. I was just a contractor in Paris—a nobody. I’d left the Chasseurs to keep my daughter safe, but in the end, it was that connection that would get her back.

Ironic.

We touched down on the ground and waited until the propellers went idle. We were in the middle of a large plain, at the edge of a forest. When I stepped out of the chopper and looked into the trees, I could distinguish the signs of civilization, of cabins and buildings, of men walking around in cattle skulls.

My heart started to pound harder—disgusted that my daughter was there.

With these fucking freaks.

The pilot remained in the chopper, and the five of us walked the long stretch across the plain to the forest. The camp became more distinct as we approached, and I could see the men dressed in black with the skulls, scattered through the establishment, still and gruesome.

I felt sick.

We came closer and closer, seeing a man waiting for us at the very edge, the only one who didn’t cover his face. The sun was descending over the horizon, splashing the sky with the colors of a spectacular sunset. Torches lit throughout the camp were visible, illuminating the statues of angels and demons.

The man stood with his hands together in front of his waist, surrounded by the men who wore the skulls, all evenly spaced out in formation. When we came close, he smiled…and it was the most disturbing smile I’d ever seen.

It was wide and stretched, like he used every muscle in his face and neck to pull his lips back, showing every single white tooth that looked as clean as fresh bones. He was motionless like the men around him, not blinking, not reacting.

We stopped several feet back, our guards keeping their guns pointed to the ground.

Imminent danger never raised my heart rate. Never made me take an extra breath. But this was different, because I was there for Claire, but I couldn’t see her. She wasn’t there waiting for me. Neither was Beatrice.

Bartholomew had wanted to handle this deal alone, but I refused to sit at home and wait. I wanted my daughter in my arms as quickly as possible, to wrap her in my protectiveness so she wouldn’t feel scared ever again.

My hands were squeezed tightly into fists, and my jaw was clenched until my teeth ground together. I wanted to pull my dagger out of my pocket and cut that fucking smile off his face, burn it. I wanted to make my demands, but I was told to stay silent because I wasn’t a Chasseur anymore. I had no right to speak or represent the organization any longer. So, I had to just stand there and wait.

Bartholomew stepped forward. “You have your contacts for expanded distribution. I’ve facilitated those relationships successfully. Now it’s your turn to fulfill your word, Forneus.” He stood in the lead, one foot planted forward with his arms by his sides.

But Forneus continued to stare at me, absorbing my look with that smile on his face. Seconds passed until half a minute came and went. The smile slowly faded, and he turned his attention to Bartholomew. “Yes. Your de-liv-er-y was s-spectacular.”

The second I heard his voice, my hatred increased to maximum heights. It was a blood lust that couldn’t be tamed, and my hand ached to grab the dagger in my pocket and shove the blade in his throat, up through his face, and into his skull.

Forneus gave a slight nod to the men behind him.

One departed and entered a nearby cabin.

I couldn’t keep my breathing controlled because I was so anxious. I wanted to grab them both and get them out of this place—get them out of Hell. My heart was incapable of feeling almost anything, but the moment I’d held Claire, that was the moment I’d started to feel. Love came naturally. It was deep, potent, and beautiful. It made me afraid to die, not because of the darkness, but because I wouldn’t be there for her anymore. I wanted to live—for her.

The man emerged from the cabin and approached us—carrying a black duffel bag.

My body couldn’t remain calm, and I started to breathe deep and hard, my eyes filling with wetness because my brain came to the conclusion even when my heart refused to believe it. My shoulders dropped, and a flood of pure despair washed over me, a tide that pulled me deep under the surface. I couldn’t react in any other way because the trauma forbade me from doing anything other than breathing.

The man dropped the bag in front of us and returned to his position.

Forneus gave Bartholomew a nod, like the deal was done.

Bartholomew was stoic like always. “What is this?”

Forneus shifted his gaze to me, like he wanted to see my reaction as he crushed me. “Their bones.”

Even surrounded by a group of men, all enemies, I couldn’t keep my expression together. My entire body shook in both despair and rage, tears breaking past the rim and dripping down my cheeks, my arms rocked with tremors, my knees wanting to buckle so I could fall to the earth.

Bartholomew took another step. “That wasn’t the deal.”

When my horrified reaction was sufficient for his twisted amusement, Forneus looked at Bartholomew again. “You said you wanted them back—but never stated the condition of their return.”

The dagger was drawn from my pocket, and I rushed him with nostrils flared. I aimed for his neck, going for the kill so there was no coming back. My body exploded in a rage, and there was nothing that could stop me from taking this motherfucker to the grave.

Bartholomew anticipated my action and grabbed my wrist with trained interception, using every muscle in his body to keep me back, keep that dagger steady before it swiped across Forneus’s neck. The armed men grabbed me by the waist and yanked me back so I couldn’t burst past Bartholomew and land the strike. He looked me in the face, calm and indifferent to my pain. “No retaliation—no matter what happens.” He gave me a shove and forced me back.

They got the dagger free from my hands and placed their bodies in front of mine.

I pulled out the gun from the back of my jeans and took my shot before it was too late.

Forneus had no reaction to the assault, never flinching when the dagger was aimed at his neck, and he didn’t flinch now. The only movement he made was plastering that fucking grin on his face.

One of the guys pushed my gun up as I pulled the trigger, and the gunshot rang out loud in the silence, echoing in the trees. The gun was yanked from my grasp, and I was shoved back more, being pulled farther away from Forneus and his men.

Bartholomew grabbed me by the arm and forced me forward while one of the men grabbed the bag that contained Beatrice…and my daughter…and we departed. I tried to fight his hold and turn back, seeing glimpses of Forneus standing there and sneering, enjoying every second of this.

Forneus spoke. “I’m s-sorry for your los-s.”

I pushed at Bartholomew to break free. “Motherfucker! I’m coming for you—”

Bartholomew slugged me hard in the stomach so the wind left my lungs and I couldn’t speak. “She’s gone, Benton. Nothing can be done. Now shut your mouth and move.”