A Deadly Influence (Abby Mullen Thrillers #1)(78)

“I’ll say we left together, but halfway to the station she changed her mind and demanded I let her out.” Wong shrugged. “Don’t worry; my career will survive.”

“Thanks for doing this.”

Wong gave her a tight smile. “I’m not doing it for you, Mullen. I’m doing it for this kid. I’m doing it so she doesn’t end up like another Ruth.”

Leonor got out of Wong’s car looking pissed off. Brian motioned Abby over.

“Good luck,” Wong said.

Abby walked over to them, smiling. “Hi, Leonor. It’s good to—”

“You have ten minutes,” Leonor said coldly. “And then I’m out of here.” Her eyes were still swollen.

“It seems like you’ve been crying,” Abby said.

“We’re not talking about that. Brian said you have something you want from me. Out with it.”

Abby shrugged. “It’s not important; I just wanted to iron out some details about what you saw. Why were you crying?”

“You almost never cry,” Brian said, staring at the ground. “It had to be something really—”

“Shut up, Brian,” Leonor snapped at him. “It’s nothing. A misunderstanding.”

“You know, I was born in a religious community,” Abby said. “I was really happy there. But our preacher was under terrible stress. Sometimes he hardly slept. And he would snap.” Abby snapped her fingers. “Start yelling at someone during prayer. Just screaming at the top of his voice.”

Leonor said nothing.

“This one time I went somewhere I shouldn’t have.”

A door left unlocked. She would have just a small peek. No one would even know. She opened it enough to peep and saw stacks of dark packets. Strange jars and pots. And guns.

“He screamed at me for what felt like an hour. In front of everyone.” To Abby’s surprise, tears clogged her throat. The memory, even after all this time, still brought pain. “It felt like the end of the world. No one would talk to me afterward. No one would even look at me.”

Brian blinked at her in shock. But in Leonor’s eyes she saw something different. Leonor knew what she was talking about. Leonor had just gone through something similar.

Abby blinked and cleared her throat. “He was under a lot of stress, that’s all. He told me that later. Other than that, I was happy there. I had a purpose. Can you imagine, a seven-year-old with a purpose?”

“What was your purpose?” Brian asked.

“I was to be the mother of the Messiah’s children. And they would all be winged angels. My parents were ecstatic.”

“Your parents believed that?” Leonor asked, incredulous.

“Not at first. My mother was very educated. She was a pediatrician. And my father was an engineer. But they were searching for spiritual growth, and they went to this weeklong workshop. Just for fun. It was out in the woods, away from their friends and family. They didn’t sleep so much because they spent a lot of the time studying. The workshop was about finding new interpretations of the Old Testament. And after a few days in which they didn’t sleep and talked nonstop with other believers, they both had a moment of enlightenment. It convinced them to sign up for another, longer workshop.” Abby shrugged. “One thing led to another, and I was born in a cult, thinking I would give birth to angels.”

“That’s crazy,” Brian said. Leonor nodded but said nothing.

“Isn’t it?” Abby said. “Anyway, like I said, I was happy until it ended.”

“How did it end?” Leonor asked.

“The police showed up to arrest our preacher. It turned out that under his guidance, our community members were producing and selling heroin. The cops initiated a siege on our compound. Maybe you heard about it. The preacher’s name was Moses Wilcox.”

“Moses Wilcox,” Leonor said, stunned. “The Wilcox massacre?”

“You’ve heard about it. The police wanted to break through the door, so Wilcox held a gun to my head and made me tell them that if they entered, he would blow my head off. I guess I was very convincing. The police held back, and Moses used the time to set the dining hall on fire. We had two large cooking cylinders in the hall, and they blew up. Only three of us survived.” Abby pulled down the collar of her shirt, exposing a scar. “The burn scar never completely healed.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Leonor asked.

Abby shrugged. “I think strong beliefs and a purpose are great. I mean, I donate monthly to Greenpeace. But some of these groups can cause harm. You have to be on your guard. Do your research. Did you do your research on Otis Tillman’s Progressive Christian Community?”

“I’m not stupid; I wouldn’t join a cult.”

“I’m not saying you’re stupid. Like I said, my parents weren’t stupid either. And Brian is worried about you.”

“He shouldn’t be,” Leonor said, a little too sharply.

“You moved out a year ago to join this religious group,” Brian said. “We only spoke twice on the phone. We used to talk all the time. If our roles were reversed, wouldn’t you be concerned?”

“I’d trust you if you said it’s the right thing for you,” Leonor snapped.