Vanessa has been there since the beginning. She saw something in Tom when they first met—a hunger for more—that made her heartbeat quicken. She knew that Tom would be a man who would try to help her build the kind of life that she wanted. Or so she’d thought then.
Tom didn’t include Vanessa on many of the most important decisions, shutting her out when she thought it made more sense for him to gather her input. But now, out here in the desert, with the FBI closing in on Tom’s pipe dream, he is weakening. In the past, she would be eager to offer her advice, ready for the validation that would come with such an experience. Now, as it is, she feels more like a dispassionate outside observer.
She senses the fragility in him. She senses something else, too. Something that she can’t quite put her finger on. She sits down in the darkness as others begin to fill the spaces around her. In the dimly illuminated structure, she sees the candles at the center reflected in the eyes of the people around her. Little flames flicker and dance in each set of sockets and Vanessa closes her own. She centers herself.
The hubbub of people entering the lodge quiets and she hears the familiar shuffle and clop of Tom’s boots. She bought them for him when times were good. Now, they’re scuffed and worn, seemingly the only pair of shoes he owns that are suitable for life out here. She looks up and opens her eyes.
Tom stands, his silhouette glowing from its edges as it’s illuminated by the grouping of flames behind him. He walks around the burning pillar candles, shedding the shadow and allowing his sweat-covered back beneath his denim shirt to be seen when he turns away from the light.
“Alright, everyone,” he says, his voice calm, low. The room quiets. “I thought we could all use some meditation today,” he chuckles. The crowd around him makes noises of agreement. Vanessa is silent.
“We’ve got a little misunderstanding on our hands right now,” Tom says. That doesn’t seem to cover the half of it, Vanessa thinks. Her mind drifts to Birdie’s wound, infection snaking across her collar bone like a group of writhing serpents at the bottom of a pit.
“What happened to the power?” someone calls out in the darkness.
Tom raises a hand, asking for quiet once more.
“What I need from all of you is to stay away from the property lines of the ranch for now. I’m handling the situation, and this should be resolved soon. As of this morning, though, our power was cut off.”
A groan ripples throughout the crowd. Tom raises a hand again.
“It won’t be any different than when we did without power when we first came here,” he tells them. Except Vanessa thinks this might be very different than that was. “They’re just trying to put pressure on us,” Tom goes on. “But I need you all to stay strong! Remember why you came here to begin with. Remember what we’re trying to build.” People cheer and raise their hands. “I need you to help me manifest the most peaceful outcome for this as possible. I can’t do this alone. I need all of you,” he says. “Let’s visualize that together.”
Tom closes his eyes, inviting everyone else to do the same. Vanessa lets her eyelids fall shut and imagines things as they could be for a moment. She tries to imagine a peaceful resolution as Tom goes on, instructing his followers on their visualization. Vanessa’s eyes snap open. Her focus broken by an image of fire so potent that the smell of smoke invades her sinuses. When she breaks from her reverie, her eyes land immediately on Tom. And when they do, she finds that he is looking directly at her.
In the midst of these people praying—visualizing—Tom stares at his wife, and she stares back. She looks into his eyes across the darkened room and sees something she hasn’t ever seen there before. She sees fear. Absolute terror.
And she smiles.
IONE
Tired of reading one analysis after another of Tom’s masterwork, I turn on the television for company. Instead of light morning show banter, I’m greeted with images of Revelation Ranch. It seems that overnight, the place has become a national headline, and in most cases, a punchline.
The morning anchors show clips of last night’s Daily Show, which featured a monologue from Trevor Noah about Revelation Ranch that dipped into serious territory for a moment but wasn’t free of a few barbs for Tom. Other nightly talk show hosts treaded the waters, trawling for humor in the situation. But all I can think about was the image of Birdie, smiling beside Tom at one of his stupid events. And all I can hear was Wes in my ear, telling me that I was never here—his voice accusing me without words of only thinking of myself.
I change the channel, flipping between local and national news, and catch the end of a broadcast from Kenton—from the ranch—made by one of the morning news anchors that I’m primarily accustomed to getting my daily traffic report from. A sick part of my brain acknowledges that this must be a big career moment for her. The story is huge. It’s got the markings of a national tragedy all over it. It’s a bomb waiting for someone to light the fuse, and all of the reporters seem more than eager to offer a match.
“…and as you can see, Molly, we’re here at Revelation Ranch and the authorities—the FBI and local law enforcement—are closing in. It’s anticipated that Dr. Wolsieffer will be in contact with a negotiator this afternoon. The pregnant woman, Birdie Hauer, is still inside the compound awaiting medical treatment. There has been no word as
