Chapter 30
Thomas
The three of us get back into the golf cart, and Jeremiah begins driving. On the way to our destination, he picks back up with the tour guide talk, like he didn’t just stop me from beating someone with my cane five minutes before. We take a path that leads away from the main campus, following a beautiful wooded trail that rises steadily upward. After about twenty minutes, we pull up to an overlook, high above the compound, with a breathtaking view of the lake. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen before in person.
“Wow,” Veritas says.
“This is amazing,” I say.
“I come up here sometimes to think,” Jeremiah says. “It helps me consider whatever it is I’m struggling with from a different perspective.”
We’re all quiet for several seconds, just enjoying the pristine beauty. The mountains beyond the lake rise up into the sky, snow-capped peaks giving testimony to their immense height. When Jeremiah finally begins to speak, his tone is calm, and there’s no rebuke in his voice.
“I understand your anger, Thomas. What Todd was trying to do at the conference could have created a lot of unnecessary pain and harmed our movement. But you have to understand that he was only doing what he thought was right at the time. He’s changed since then, up here, living in our community. I think if you’ll take the time to get to know him, you’ll see that.”
I re-play the incident in my mind, watching myself hit Todd with the cane and imagining a wild look in my eyes as I did it.
“I guess I did over-react,” I say. “I don’t know what came over me. It was like I wasn’t in control for a minute there.”
“What you’re describing is likely the effect of PTSD. It happens sometimes after a traumatic episode like what you went through. The tendency to have outbursts when you get emotional will probably pass with time. If you feel like you want some help, we have people here who can teach you some ways to work through it.”
“When I saw him . . . I just felt so angry.”
“I understand. It’s natural to feel the anger . . . but eventually you need to progress to the place where you can forgive if you don’t want it to consume you.”
I feel the anger stirring at his words, but deep down, I can sense he’s probably right.
“How do you do that? I mean, at least Todd apologized, but Dr. Cheros is probably never going to apologize. The people who tortured Veritas’ mom and you will probably never apologize. How do you forgive them for what they’ve done?”
He’s silent for several seconds, letting the question hang in the air as he crosses his arms and looks back out over the lake.
“While I was working for Mr. Stillman,” he finally says, “I began to notice something different about how he handled setbacks and instances where people would try and cheat us or do something under-handed. When he would get angry about it, he’d always take a few minutes by himself. And when he’d come back, he’d be all calm and ready to deal with the situation. The anger seemed to have disappeared. After a while, I asked him what he was doing when he went off by himself like that.”
“What’d he say?” Veritas asks.
“He said he was praying, asking God to help him forgive the person who’d just done us wrong. He said that Jesus had forgiven him for so many bad things he’d done, how could he refuse to forgive someone else? That always amazed me . . . how he could do that. I figured if this god he believed in was powerful enough to help a man forgive someone who’d done him wrong, he might be worth checking out. It took a few years before I was convinced to follow Jesus myself and learned to forgive the way that Mr. Stillman had.”
We sit in silence for a few minutes after he’s done speaking. I look out over the lake, taking in its beauty, letting what he’s said sink in.
“I can forgive Todd,” I say, “but I’m not so sure about Doctor Cheros.”
“I understand,” he says. “It’s a lot to forgive. Forgiving Todd is a good first step.”
“Yeah, I’m not sure I can forgive the people who did those things to my mom and me,” Veritas says. I can see the pain in her eyes, and I can identify with it. The powers that be have taken both of our families from us in different ways. I feel closer to her because of it. I reach over and squeeze her hand, and she squeezes mine back.
The wind is beginning to blow a bit colder now. Jeremiah shivers when a strong gust blows crosswise, bypassing the protective windshield of the cart in a sneak attack.
“Well, I think it’s time we get you back to your cabin, so you don’t freeze out here.”
He turns the key and shifts the cart into reverse, executing a well-practiced three-point turn before heading back down towards the compound. Veritas and I snuggle close together in the back seat, and I wonder what my family is doing right now and about what the future holds for all of us.
* * * * *
Once we get back, we go into my cabin and read the next few chapters in The Count of Monte Cristo. At lunchtime, Veritas goes into her own cabin to grab a scarf. When she comes back, she’s holding a letter and has a grim look on her face.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“It’s from my mom.”
“Is she okay?”
“Yeah, but . . . we need to talk.”
As we sit down, I get a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.
“What’s up?”
“Mom was contacted by a scientist who has discovered that the government has been tracking the DNA of every person born for the past ten years. They’re planning to modify human DNA to create a single master race.”
“Whoa.”
“Yeah, but that’s not all. They also plan to increase control of the education system and online communication so they can create some kind of monoculture where all beliefs and physical characteristics are basically government-controlled and approved. Apparently they think this will eliminate the need for the equality suits.”
“Yeah, along with eliminating what’s left of our freedom.”
“Right. But there’s something else.”
“What else are they planning to do? Give us all lobotomies?”
“Mom says they want me to go under-cover to help them get information from the scientist to help with exposing what’s going on to the public.”
I feel like I’ve just been punched in the gut and can barely breathe. “They-who?” I finally manage to ask.
“The freedom council.”
“Your mom works for the freedom council?”
“Well, apparently, she’s been working with them ever since this scientist reached out to her. And he’s being watched too closely to pass any information out himself. But he has a daughter about my age, and they want me to go undercover as a transfer student at her school so we can pass messages back and forth.”
“Wow. That’s . . . major.”
“Yeah. . . . Sooo, what do you think?”
“This is, uh . . . this is a big. . . .” I start to feel dizzy and I can’t finish my sentence. I feel a sharp pain in my chest and start to shake.
“Thomas, what’s wrong?” she asks as she puts her hand on my arm. When I don’t respond, she kneels down in front of me, looking worried. “I’m going for help,” she says as she stands up and heads toward the door.
“No, I’m better,” I say, feeling the symptoms recede just a bit. “I’m just . . . it’s just a lot to take, that’s all.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah,” I lie, “I’m good.” She walks back over and sits down beside me, putting a hand on my back. “So, what are you going to do?” I ask.
“I’m . . . I’m going to tell them I can’t do it.”
The knot in my gut loosens just a bit, but I know in my head and in my heart what the right thing to do is here, and I can’t back away from it.
“No. You have to do it,” I say.
She stands up quickly, taking a step back. I can see the fear in her eyes. “But I can’t leave you like this,” she says, waving at me and my cane. I see the first tears starting to come down her cheek. I force myself to stand up, using my cane to maintain my balance and hoping I don’t fall.
“I’m gonna be okay,” I say as convincingly as I can. “And you’re gonna go do this thing and help the movement, and I’ll be okay, and you’ll come back to me, and we’ll be together again, and it will all be alright.”
She steps forward and embraces me, burying her head in my chest. I hold her with my free arm.
“But what if it’s not? What if you’re not okay? What if I screw up and get caught?”
“Hey, don’t talk like that. You’re gonna do fine. We’re gonna be fine.”
“How do you know?” she asks. Her voice is quiet, almost a whisper.
“Because . . . because I love you, and that’s the way it’s gotta be.”
She pulls back a bit and stares up into my eyes.
“And I love you, too,” she says.
And then we kiss.
* * * * *
We take the letter to Jeremiah, who confirms everything. It seems that Veritas’ mom wanted to be the one to tell her first, so the council was waiting to discuss it until Veritas had read the letter. Arrangements are made, and it’s decided that Veritas will leave tomorrow morning. We stay up until 1 a.m., wanting to spend every moment together before she leaves. The following morning we wake up to the alarm at 7. We’re barely finished with a hurried breakfast before a car pulls up in front of the cabin to whisk her away. It’s all happening too fast. We hug and tell each other goodbye. I can tell she’s about to cry as she turns away and gets into the car. I watch as they pull away and she finally disappears from view.
A few things are crystal clear to me as I stand here, staring down the now empty road leading out of Freetown. I love Veritas, I love my family, I miss them all, and I want to be free to live without anyone telling me what I can or can’t think, or say, or believe, or be. I wonder if it will ever be over, if we will ever again regain our freedom to be different, to believe differently, and yet have some common bond that supersedes our differences and learn to live in peace with each other, regardless.
I suppose only time will tell. . . .
