And then he fell asleep. More like passed out, not even stirring when I left the bed.
I’ve known Dylan for a big part of my life, and he’s an athlete, his stamina nothing short of legendary. Why is he so tired? What’s going on?
I stare at a piece of paper where I’ve written the name of the sect his dad belongs to. Dylan asked me to check it for him, see if I find out anything about where they are based and what their philosophy is.
Admittedly, the messages his dad has been leaving in the house are a bit worrisome, although they don’t have to mean anything. The fact his dad drew them on Dylan’s brothers’ foreheads is awful but still not necessarily a sign of anything dangerous.
But Dylan says he has a feeling something is off, so I close the logistics and contact number files for the archaeology expedition and click open a browser. I type the name of the cult in the search box.
Sky Gate. A church of redemption and transformation.
Very little is available online. I find a site chock full of pics of burning chariots in the heaven, monstrous cherubs and quotes from the Old Testament. Not a very friendly image. Also, no contact information. No schedule of meetings and masses at any specific location. All vague and pessimistic, warning about the end of the world.
Looks like they don’t recruit their members through their website. Then how did Dylan’s dad find them?
A photo catches my eye. There’s a man with a long beard, looking pensive and forbidding, but behind him… Something’s familiar about the building in the background. I squint at it, unsure.
Hey, isn’t it Miles’s school?
If it is, maybe Sky Gate is located nearby. It’s a long shot, but I could check if there are other buildings in the area the cult may be using, and…
And what, secret agent Tessa?
I stare at the headings of the website pages. ‘Liberate yourself from earthly bounds.’ ‘Repent and find heaven.’ ‘Smoke signs.’
Smoke signs?
I open each page, glance through it, and it’s the usual preaching about finding God, repenting and finding peace. Nothing new, nothing that can help me answer Dylan’s question.
Is this cult dangerous? Doesn’t look like it.
Checking a bit more wouldn’t hurt, I decide, so I search by keywords, trying to find any connection to terrorist attacks, mass suicides—anything bad.
Nada. No results. Then again, it seems to be a relatively new cult. Couple of years old, tops, if the creation date of the website is anything to go by.
Well, then. Looks like the web search is a bust. What to do now?
There is one person I know who might have information on this church. One friend who has ears everywhere, in underground movements and organizations, or so Zane claims.
Rafe.
Is it worth bothering him about this? I hesitate, the cell in my hand. Rafe is a good friend, but I haven’t seen him around in a while. Zane, who’s his best buddy, seems worried about him.
And this is all the more reason to call Rafe, see how he is. I scroll down my contacts and call him before I let myself think about it too much.
The phone rings and rings, and then his familiar deep voice answers. “Yeah?”
“Rafe, it’s me. Tessa.”
“Tessa. Is everything okay?”
I frown at the question. “Everything’s fine. I just wanted to check on you.”
“Right. Okay.” He sounds out of breath, and I wonder what he’s doing. “Look, I can’t talk now.”
“Rafe, wait.” I check the time on my computer screen. “Are you going to the gym later on?” He trains the Brotherhood as well as the Damage Boyz from the tattoo shop on Tuesdays and Fridays. I’ve watched see them train a couple of times, and the gym isn’t far from the office.
“Yeah, I’ll be there.” He sounds wary. “You sure everything’s okay?”
“I could ask you the same.”
He lets out a soft snort that’s almost like laughter. “All right. You gonna come to the gym just to ask if I’m okay again?”
“No, I…” I frown at the website of Sky Gate. “I want to ask you for some information.”
“Is it important?”
“It could be.”
“Okay.” He sounds resigned, and it makes me feel bad. “Really hafta go now. See you later.”
And he hangs up before I change my mind and leave him in peace to do whatever it is he’s doing.
Just as well. I work on my tasks, arranging meetings with the sponsors and sneaking peeks into the archaeological expedition’s folders. One day I’ll be there, with the mosquitoes buzzing around me, up to my armpits in muck, unearthing the past. I think of what Mom said, that I should do what I like. I need to talk to the college administration, see how I could switch my classes.