Under His Rule

My heart briefly stops as I stare at the tattoo.

I recognize that symbol.

I know it by heart.

Scooting my chair back, I jump up and rush to my closet, throwing out every piece of clothing until I get to the bottom where I keep the old trunk I brought with me from the orphanage. The one I never touched since I came out of there.

Opening it, I take out the scarf that’s inside.

I rush back to my laptop, leaving everything a mess. My eyes study the tattoo on his hand while holding the scarf close to my body. The scarf I’ve known as the only remnant of my childhood.

A scarf with a symbol just like his. A circle and within it a tree with long roots.

The Family.

Who are they?

What does the symbol mean?

I read the text below the headline. Something about members of the Family being in town to gain new followers for their religious cult.

Cult.

Cult.

Cult.

The word plays over and over in my mind.

They promise happiness, favorable work, free housing, and plenty of love and support. They coax people to join using a variety of methods, including speeches … and rituals of sexual nature.

I scoot back my chair as if to create distance between me and the words. Me and the man in front of me with that same symbol on my scarf.

Why do I have something with this symbol on it? Is it a coincidence? It has to be.

My eyes go from the screen to the scarf and back to the screen multiple times before I chuck it into the living room and stare it down as though it’s a beast come to eat me alive.

This last thing I have that once belonged to me is cursed.

It can’t be true.

It can’t.

I refuse to believe it.

But my eyes can’t stop searching for more, more clues, more information. Who is this man? What is this cult? Who are they looking for? What is their purpose?

Is this where I came from?

A shiver runs up and down my spine.

For my entire life, I’ve known nothing but solitude. No immediate family. Brought up in an orphanage because no one would take me. I was too old, not a baby anymore, so I grew out of the system, but the system never left me. I’m still that frail little girl I once was who had very few memories of who she was before, who hungered for a family.

And there it is. Right in front of me.

But this can’t be what I’m looking for.

These people are religious fanatics. They don’t just try to spread their religion; they invade people’s minds. They consume them and convert them until nothing’s left of their identity or who they once were.

I don’t want to be a part of that.

Yet I can’t help but search for more.

Where are they now? Are they holding another meeting? Are they inviting new people? Can I look and watch without being found?

So many questions run through my head because all I’ve ever wondered is where that scarf came from. Was it given to me by a member of the Family?

I swallow away the lump in my throat.

I won’t get any answers sitting here behind my computer.

I have to find out for myself.

So I get up, then grab my keys, bag, and the scarf, and I storm out the door.

With my phone in my hand, I find my way to the underground bar where they were supposed to be. But as I tread down the steps, my whole body starts to shiver, and I meet a closed door. I pull at the handle, but it doesn’t budge.

“Password?”

Password? I don’t know. I don’t have one. What am I supposed to say?

“I … I …”

I search through my phone, trying to find clues or anything I can use, and see an ad that has their name on it as well as several messages on a forum board. Somewhere on the bottom, there’s a guy who mentions their slogan. God’s Love Is Life.

“God’s love is life,” I say.

The silence that follows is deafening. I can practically hear my own breath against the door while I try to listen.

Suddenly, the metal moves away from me, and I take a step back.

There’s a big, bearded man standing in front of me, glaring down at me as though I’m lost or something. Was it not the right word? Shit. I should go. What am I even doing here?

He suddenly grabs my arm and pulls me inside.

Just like that … I’m in.

I look around for a second at the grimy enclosure, which looks more like the inside of a cell in a prison than a bar where a gathering is taking place.

A sudden loud bang makes me jolt, and I turn to see the door has been slammed shut by that same burly man. He grunts at me and looks as though he might chew my head off if I say anything about it, so I don’t.