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“Charles Manson?” she echoed weakly. “The Helter Skelter Charles Manson?”
“One and the same.”
She fingered the C on her forehead. “Ethan never mentioned Charles Manson, not that I ever heard.”
“It’s been ten years since those letters. By the time you met him, he’d probably distanced himself from that earlier behavior.”
The hesitation that followed made Rachel nervous that they’d be refused entry, but as Martha stared down at Nathan’s foot, she seemed to realize he could’ve forced his way in but hadn’t.
Thank God for small favors. Commando style wasn’t exactly the best approach to enlisting a woman’s help.
“Can you show me any ID?” she asked.
“Not ID that tells you who we really are,” Rachel said. “We’re undercover.”
“So…wait. You’re cops?”
“We’re from the private sector but we fulfill basically the same function.”
Her expression revealed a conflict between her desire to believe them and the memory of recent betrayal.
“If you want to get your husband and son out of Paradise, we might be your only chance,” Nate said.
“I know you’re frightened, but you’ve got to trust us,” Rachel added.
Tears glistened in Martha’s eyes as she stepped back and waved them in.
The apartment was a mess and so was Martha Wilson. Her uncombed hair and wrinkled clothing indicated she’d just rolled out of bed. The blinds were drawn tight, blocking the sunshine. Dishes cluttered the counters of the kitchen and spilled into the living room, some with food that had been left out so long it’d hardened.
Depression seemed to be taking deep root.
Trying to ignore the stench of rotting food and cigarette smoke, Rachel opened the blinds, cleared away some newspapers, as well as several bowls, which she stacked on the coffee table. Then she sat down on the sofa; Nate apparently preferred to stand. For all his rugged ways, he was meticulous about hygiene and probably repelled by the filth, but she knew he could deal with germs if he had to. He’d been through a lot worse when he was a SEAL. “Are you okay?” she asked Martha, and pulled him down beside her.
Martha shook her head. “No, I haven’t been okay for a long time. But…how’d you find me? No one’s supposed to know where I am.” She gestured at the room around them. “This is some stranger’s apartment, someone who lives in Minnesota during the summer. My attorney arranged for me to stay here. It’s not even in my name.”
“Willcox is a small town,” Rachel started to say. “So it’s not hard to—”
“If you’re truly concerned about your safety, you need to move,” Nate broke in.
“I can’t move,” she complained. “I have nowhere else to go. My—my husband turned on me. Just like the rest of them. Even my son—” her throat worked as she wrestled with her emotions “—even my son turned on me.”
Rachel softened her voice. “I’m sure he didn’t understand what he was doing.”
“I want to see him,” she whispered with desperate entreaty.
“We’re hoping to make that happen.”
Her eyes darted to Nate. “Who hired you?”
“Someone who’s concerned about the situation,” he replied. “We plan to infiltrate Ethan’s cult and put a stop to any illegal activities, but in order to be successful, we’ll need some help.”
She reached for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. “There’s nothing I can do. I can’t go anywhere near Paradise. I—I told you. They tried to kill me.”
“We don’t need you to take us there. We just need information. When was it that they tried to stone you?”
“Six weeks ago.”
No wonder the bruises were gone. “You told the police you thought other people in the church were in danger.”
“It’s true. He’s got weapons, explosives.”
Rachel exchanged a look with Nate. “He does?”
“A whole cache.”
“What are they for?”
“The Final Battle, when Satan’s army comes against the people of God. He says that God’s warned him to be prepared and that we must be valiant in resisting evil.”
“Where does he keep the weapons?”
“Locked up. In an old shed.”
“Does everyone know about it?”
“Yes. There are…rituals that are essentially drills on how to respond to an outside threat.”
Ethan was serious about protecting what he’d built.
“What else can you tell us?” Nate asked. “Who or what should we watch out for? How can we gain Ethan’s trust?”
“That takes time.” She tried to light her cigarette, but her hand shook too badly.
Taking the lighter, Nate held it for her. “Time is the problem,” he told her. “That’s why we need you. Do you know anyone on the inside who might be able to get us in, to act as a sponsor of sorts?”
Smoke curled out of her mouth as Nate closed the lighter with a snap. “No one I could contact,” she said. “All my former friends would be terrified to hear from me. Even if I could reach them, no one wants to get on Ethan’s bad side.”
“What will happen if they do?” Nate asked.
“They’ll be punished.”
“Stoned?”
She studied her cigarette. “He’ll take away little privileges at first.”
As inconspicuously as possible, Rachel slid a plate with a hard yellow substance that looked like egg yolk farther to the left, away from her foot. “Like?” She could tell Nate hadn’t missed the movement, but then…he didn’t miss anything.
“Like being put on restriction.”
“Which means…”
“Being denied the opportunity to socialize with others, being denied contact with loved ones.”
“That happened to you?”
She nodded. “I couldn’t be with my son anymore. When I tried to fight that, I was told I couldn’t have sex with my husband. But I fought that, too. So Ethan ordered me stoned.”
Rachel grimaced. “Isn’t that a bit harsh?”
“I’d been involved in the most sacred rituals, yet I’d dared to stand up to him.” She touched the brand on her forehead again. “He couldn’t tolerate it for fear others would do the same. He wanted to get rid of me, or he wouldn’t have left me in the same tent with Todd. How long did he think I could deny my husband—or myself?”
