Deceived: Lured from the Truth (Secrets) (21 page)

And then it all goes black.

When I come to, I’m sitting on a hard cement floor in a tiny windowless room. There is a stained bare mattress in the corner and a bare lightbulb fixture on the ceiling above. But there’s no light switch. Nothing else. The gray paint on the metal door is chipped and scuffed. And there is no doorknob. I stand, running my hand over the gray wall. It’s made of cement.

This is not a room; it’s a prison cell.

I begin to pace, back and forth … back and forth — the room is four steps across. My heart is racing with fear and my mind is spinning in circles as I try to figure out a plan. But I realize I cannot think my way out of this. Feeling desperate and hopeless, I sit on the nasty-looking mattress and cry.

But when I run out of tears, I just sit there, staring at the ugly gray walls, trying to make sense of what truly seems senseless. Finally, all I can think is that I am such a fool. Such a complete and utter fool. I deserve to be locked up like this. I brought this mess on myself with my own stupid naïveté and gullibility. I asked for this!

I am such a fool!

Eventually, I tire of berating myself. Yes, I am a fool. There’s no disputing this fact. However, it does no good to wallow in it. Suddenly one thing is clear — crystal clear: Only God can get me out of this mess.

“Dear God,” I pray aloud, unconcerned that anyone will hear me through these solid cement walls. Even if they can hear me, I don’t really care. “Please, God, forgive me for making such a mess of my life. Forgive me for telling lies.” I begin to list every time I deceived someone, starting with Josiah and my mom and even the people I lied to here, including Miriam and Eleanor and the nasty men who caught me today.

“I know they’re wrong to do this to me. And I know they’ve lied and tricked me too. But maybe I asked for it by lying to them first.” I go on and on, confessing everything I can think of and asking God to forgive me.

When I can’t think of one more thing, I just sit in silence. I feel a tiny bit better, but it still looks hopeless. What time is it? I feel thirsty. Are they going to just leave me here until I die?

Feeling more and more thirsty, I wonder how long it takes to dehydrate and die of thirst. Probably a few days. Even so, all I can think is that I want a glass of water. And somehow this reminds me of a Bible story I heard in church before. The story about the woman who went to the well for water and was met by Jesus. He told her that he could give her living water … so she would thirst no more.

“Dear God, I think that’s part of my problem … part of the reason I was attracted to this place — I mean, besides being attracted to Josiah. But I think I came here and stayed here because I was spiritually thirsty. Not for Reverend Jim’s messed-up teaching and doctrine. I mean
Jim
because that man is no reverend. Jim Davis is a wolf in sheep’s clothing. A trickster. I know this now.” I get back on my feet, pacing back and forth again, trying to firmly grasp the truth that’s washing through me like living water.

“I was thirsty for you, God. I wanted your truth.” Even as I say the word
truth
, I remember something from my old church days.
You’ll know the truth, and the truth will set you free.
Those words rush through my heart and my head, as fresh and clean as living water. I say the words aloud: “I’ll know the truth, and the truth will set me free.”

And just like that, I know — God’s word is the truth.

I start to replay all the Bible stories I can remember from the years spent at church. I recall the story Jesus told about the two men who built houses by the sea — one on the sand and one on the rock. And I know Jesus is the rock. I know that’s who I want to build my life on. I remember other things Jesus said, like how he is the way and the truth and the life and that no one comes to the father unless they come through him. Not Jim Davis.

I don’t know how long I go through all these things, but my thirst for water is no longer troubling me. And I get the feeling that I’m going to be okay. No matter how this turns out, God is with me now. I can feel his presence like I’ve never felt it before. I am truly experiencing the peace that passes understanding. I remember hearing people talk about this in my old church, but it never felt real before. Now it’s right here and it’s real.

I jump when I hear the door being unlocked and opened. And my heart pounds as I brace myself for whatever is going to happen next. I’m relieved to see it’s a woman and she has a bowl and a cup in her hands.

“Don’t try anything,” she warns me. “Deacon Clarence is out in the hallway, and he’ll deal with you if you try to get away.”

I look evenly at her. “I’m not going to try anything. But I do know that God is with me.”

She looks surprised.

“And I know the truth now. And the truth will set me free.”

She places the bowl and cup on the floor, backing toward the partially opened door. “Well, don’t expect anyone to set you free from here.”

“I’m already free,” I calmly tell her. “God’s truth is inside of me now — just like real living water. And from now on I’m building my life on Jesus’ words and teaching.” I point at her. “You should do the same. Because I’m warning you, Jim Davis is a wolf in sheep’s clothing and he’ll — ”

“Shut up!” she yells, waving her hands at me. “Get thee behind me, devil!” Then she hurries out and slams the door, and the sound of the dead bolt sliding into place echoes in the room.

“Who’s in prison now?” I say quietly. But she can’t hear me. I go over to see what’s in the bowl and cup. The cup looks like water and the bowl contains some murky-looking brown soup. I give it a sniff, wondering if they might poison me, but it smells like beef and vegetables.

I take a cautious sip and it seems okay. Even so, I pray over my meal, asking God to bless it. I slowly eat the lukewarm soup, and I’m tempted to save the water until later. But she might return for the dishes and take the water. So I drink it down.

Then I begin to pace again. But this time, instead of fretting and worrying about my desperate situation, I continue trying to recall everything I can remember from my church days. I even sing some songs that make me feel better.

It’s funny because I used to think I never learned anything at that church. And I used to blame the church split for my problems. I think I even used it as my excuse to push God out of my life. But now I realize I learned a lot of good stuff at that church. They really did believe in the Bible. Sure, they had problems and disagreements. But who doesn’t? At least they were trying to build their house on the rock.

I’m guessing about an hour has passed before I hear the door opening again. This time a different woman comes in. She’s much younger, but there’s a hardness to her as she sets a dirty plastic bucket down, then picks up the bowl and cup.

“What’s that?” I ask her.

She gives me a disgusted look. “It’s your
restroom
.”

“Oh. How long are they going to keep me here?” I ask as she’s reaching for the door.

She scowls at me. “How long will it take you to come to your senses?”

I actually smile at her. “I’m already at my senses.”

Now she looks curious. “Really?”

“God is with me in here. He’s showing me how his truth will set me free. I can see now that Jim Davis is a wolf in sheep’s clothing and anyone who believes him is — ”

“Shut up, you stupid sinful girl! That kind of talk will never get you out of here.” She steps out. “You deserve this.”

Once again the door slams, but this time the light goes out. I blink in the pitch-black darkness, trying to see, but it’s useless. I’ve never seen such darkness. I slide my feet across the floor until I feel the edge of the mattress. Then I ease myself onto it and lie down.

For some reason — probably the darkness — I feel afraid again. But instead of giving in to it, I try to recall the words to Psalm 23. When I was in sixth grade, our
whole Sunday school class memorized the shepherd’s psalm from the Bible. It takes me a while to really get it word for word. Then I go over it a few more times. Finally I think I got it. And I find real comfort in the words:

The L
ORD
is my shepherd, I lack nothing.

He makes me lie down in green pastures,

he leads me beside quiet waters,

he refreshes my soul.

He guides me along the right paths

for his name’s sake.

Even though I walk

through the darkest valley,

I will fear no evil,

for you are with me;

your rod and your staff,

they comfort me.

You prepare a table before me

in the presence of my enemies.

You anoint my head with oil;

my cup overflows.

Surely your goodness and love will follow me

all the days of my life,

and I will dwell in the house of the Lord

forever.

[CHAPTER 18]

A
s best I can tell, this is my third day in solitary confinement. And although I’ve had dark moments of frantic fear and hopeless desperation, I try not to surrender to them. Instead I talk to God, telling him exactly how I’m feeling. And then I sing songs and replay all the scriptures and parables I can remember from my church days.

Sometimes, like when they turn out the lights, I compare myself to Jonah in the whale. As I recall, Jonah didn’t want to obey God either — that’s what got him into his mess. But eventually God rescued him. I believe God is going to rescue me too. Just the same, I contrived a way to keep track of how many days I’ve been here by poking holes in this disgusting mattress. Three holes equals three days.

Although I get “three meals” a day, they are frugal at best. My stomach is constantly rumbling, and I wonder how long a person can survive on runny oatmeal with no milk (which seems crazy since this place has a dairy), two bowls of watery soup, and three cups of water.

The upside is that I’ve only had to use my bucket toilet twice since I came here. The downside is that I don’t feel too well. The young woman is the only one delivering meals and picking up my toilet bucket now.

But each time I see her, I try to be polite and cordial. I know now that she’s about to become Clarence’s new wife. And part of me should be relieved because one of my concerns when I discovered that my “secure room” was in Clarence’s house was that he was considering me for part of his harem. But for this girl’s sake, I feel sorry. I try to be nicer to her. And I finally discover her name is Glory and she’s a deacon’s daughter.

By my “dinnertime” on the third day, Glory seems a tiny bit friendlier. Or else she’s just bored. “You know Deacon Clarence would let you out of here if you’d just repent and apologize,” she tells me as she lingers by the food. “I heard that Reverend Jim still thinks there’s hope for you … if you can straighten up.” She tips her head to one side. “Can’t you just repent and say you’re sorry?”

“I’ve already done that. To God.”

She seems to consider this. “Do you want me to tell them that?”

I shrug. “I don’t care.” I study her closely. “How old are you anyway?”

She folds her hands across her front with a stubborn look. “None of your business.”

“Sorry.” I sigh. “I just thought you might be around my age.”

“How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

I can tell by her eyes that she must be the same age, unless she’s younger.

“And as much as I felt I loved Josiah, I wouldn’t even have wanted to marry him at my age.”

Now she looks really interested. “Why not? Josiah seemed like a great guy. Well, except that he strayed.”

“I just think seventeen is way too young to get married. There are so many things I want to do with my life before I tie myself down like that.”

I can tell I hit a nerve as she steps closer to the door. “It’s a great honor to be chosen as a deacon’s wife.”

“Is it what you want?”

Her gaze darts about, almost as if she’s worried someone could be listening.

“How many years have you lived here?” I ask. “Most of your life?”

Now she looks angry, reminding me of how she was when I first met her. “Quit asking me so many questions, Rachel. You’re the one who should be questioned. Ask yourself how long you think you can live in here like this. Because until you change, you won’t be getting out.” She lowers her voice. “And it could get worse.”

“Worse?”

She steps behind the door. “Repent,” she says loudly. “Turn from your sinful ways.” Then she slams the door and the lights go out.

This is a new trick. Usually the lights don’t go out until she picks up my dishes from dinner. My stomach growls hungrily, and I carefully crawl on my hands and knees to the corner where the dishes are placed. Feeling cautiously with my fingers, lest I accidentally spill them, I finally feel the edge of the bowl. And without using the spoon, I simply drink it. I can taste chicken broth and some mushy vegetables.