The House Guest by Mark Edwards(78)

‘It’s difficult to pin charges on any of the others,’ one of the agents told us later. ‘Pretty much everyone we have evidence against is dead.’ He meant Krugman, Emilio, Nick and, of course, Gabriel. ‘But we’re trying. We’re looking at every person who was there, everyone they associate with, any unsolved murders or missing persons cases near where they live. We’re monitoring them too. Every phone call, every email.’

The only other person they had managed to charge was a guy called Tyler French, who Jesse had identified as the man who had stabbed his best friend after being shown photos of everyone who had been at the ceremony. The second man who had been in the park that day was Emilio. Tyler was denying everything, but the police were confident of a conviction.

Brittany was in jail too. It turned out she was really called Anya Simpson and she had gone missing three years ago, having jumped bail after being charged with assault.

I still heard from Wanda occasionally. It was thanks to her that I was still alive, and I would forever be grateful. Unknown to me at the time, she and Callum had an arrangement that, if Callum didn’t contact Wanda every four hours, she should alert the authorities and tell them everything – including, as proof she wasn’t making it up, the location of Krugman’s body. Thankfully, Wanda was known to the FBI because of her previous crucial role in bringing down the sex-trafficking cult she’d told us about. They took her seriously.

Now she was, unofficially, helping the authorities with their inquiries. ‘Some of my followers have accused me of selling out by helping the Feds,’ she’d told me on the phone.

‘Are there any signs of activity?’ I’d asked. ‘Do you think there are still a lot of them out there?’

‘There must be. From everything we’ve found out, and from what Mona and Gabriel said to you and Ruth, it seems unbelievable that there were only ninety of them. It’s possible that Gabriel was exaggerating. I mean, it seems like the kind of thing he’d do. Maybe he made it compulsory for every member of the cult to be there that night to witness the ceremony. But my gut tells me there are more of them.’

‘And what do you think they’re doing?’

She’d answered without hesitation. ‘They’re lying in wait. Sleeping. Waiting until they think it’s safe to start up again, with a new leader. These people really believe, Adam, and from what you said, Gabriel had made it clear that he wanted his network to carry on his name after he died. He saw this as a forever thing. Like L. Ron Hubbard with Scientology. In the end, the founder isn’t that important. And the Feds say they’re monitoring everyone, but it’s not hard to communicate in secret.’

Ever since that conversation, I’d had the feeling I was being watched. Because no matter how many times the police told Ruth and me that we were safe, I didn’t believe it. We were the enemy. We were going to testify against Mona when her trial eventually took place.

If I were them, I would try to stop us.

I worked on my screenplay for a little while, then watched the ocean, wondering if I would ever feel safe.

We’re everywhere.

I went back inside, washed up my empty coffee cup and fixed lunch for myself. This was how my days went. In the afternoon, I swam a few lengths in the pool, then went online for a while. Did a little more work. Answered some emails. Went on to 4Chan and searched the boards for references to Gabriel and his followers. I thought about how by writing this TV show I was making the target on my head even bigger, before persuading myself it would all be okay.

Night fell. The moon shone on the ocean. I waited for Ruth to come home and told myself that this was what I’d always wanted.

We’re everywhere.

Life was perfect.

And then, at 8.30 p.m., when I was two episodes into a new series on Netflix, there was a knock at the door.





Chapter 44

I peered out of the side window. It was a young woman with blonde hair. She had her head down but I knew instantly who it was. I removed the chains from the door and slid both bolts across, then opened it.

‘Hi, Adam.’

‘Hello, Eden.’

She smiled at me, just as she had that evening in Brooklyn, nine months ago. She wasn’t dripping wet this time, though. She didn’t look like she’d crawled out of the Pacific. And she wasn’t a stranger. Not anymore.

‘Are you going to invite me in?’ she asked.

I stepped aside to let her enter, then closed the door after her, sliding the bolts back into place and re-applying the chains.

She watched me. ‘Paranoid much?’

‘Aren’t you?’

I knew that she was in witness protection. She was the prosecution’s most valuable asset, had done a deal with them whereby she would testify in return for immunity. She was the only member of the cult who had even admitted it existed. The only person willing and able to stand up in court and describe what Gabriel’s organisation had been like, from the inside. She had already helped the authorities dig up two bodies and had, I knew, spent days – weeks – painstakingly telling them everything she knew.

This was the first time I had seen her in the flesh since the night of the ceremony. The first time I had spoken to her properly since we’d all got drunk on tequila, and whatever else she’d dosed it with.

She had helped us. But, unlike Wanda, I didn’t feel that I owed her. Because I blamed her too.