Dawn of Eve, MJ Howson [lightweight ebook reader TXT] 📗

went to a brass and glass bar cart on the side of the room. He opened a decanter of whiskey and poured two glasses. Dr. Cole stood up to assist him.

“It’s okay,” Jeffrey said, waving his hand dismissively. “I’ve got it.”

He brought one to Dr. Cole and then, after getting his drink from the bar cart, rolled his chair to the backside of his desk. Dr. Cole looked at the drink and frowned, placing it on the table between the two chairs. He craved a glass of water but didn’t want to appear rude.

“Thanks again for meeting me on such short notice,” Dr. Cole said.

“Your wife’s call intrigued me.” Jeffrey took a sip of whiskey and held the glass beneath his nose, enjoying the scent. “That book about Camp Ascension is a few years old. I rarely get asked about it anymore.” He put the glass down and leaned forward. “Did you enjoy the book?”

“I, uh, haven’t read it.” Dr. Cole frowned and began flipping through his folder. He retrieved his eyeglasses from his coat pocket and placed them on his face. “Sorry. I thought my wife explained that when she called.”

“She told me you had a patient you were treating, and she was somehow connected to the kids in the camp. She said you could explain it in more detail.” Jeffrey briefly stared into his glass. One by one, the lines on his face slowly filled with worry. “Is she . . . a survivor?”

“Of the camp? No. Not at all.”

The tension on Jeffrey’s face washed away as he visibly uncoiled. He nodded quietly and took a sip of whiskey.

“Assume I know very little about the camp,” Dr. Cole said. He scanned through the articles Flo had printed for him. “What can you tell me about this cult? I know it ended badly.”

“To say the least.”

“But what happened there?” Dr. Cole looked up and peered over his glasses. “Especially to the kids.”

“Those poor children.” Jeffrey took another sip, spun his chair toward the window, and leaned back. “Their parents knew what they were doing. That’s perhaps the greatest tragedy.”

Dr. Cole felt uncomfortably warm. He realized the thermostat in the apartment must be set somewhat high. He picked up the glass of whiskey and took a sip.

“He named the church Saints of Ascension,” Jeffrey said as he turned back, moving closer to his desk.

“Who?”

“Andreas Engel. He founded the church in December of 2000. See, he used to belong to this pseudo-Presbyterian church called Saints of Christ.”

“Never heard of it,” Dr. Cole said as he began to write the information down.

“Few would. His ancestors formed it back in the 1800s in New England. A family sort of church. Anyone who married into the family had to become a member. Andreas rejected the teachings of Saints of Christ. He chose a different path. A darker path.” Jeffrey briefly closed his eyes and lowered his head. “Andreas became obsessed with the end of days.”

“The Mayan one.”

“Yes. There are so many apocalypses to choose from, aren’t there?” Jeffrey smiled and chuckled softly, sharing a brief moment of levity with the doctor. “Are you familiar with the Mayans?”

“Somewhat.” Dr. Cole scratched at his beard. “They were Aztec, right?”

“Yes.”

“And they predicted the end of the world?”

“That depends on who you ask. The Mayan calendar ended in 2012. Some believed the end of the calendar marked the end of life on earth. Others assumed it was just like any other calendar, and the clock reset the next day.”

Dr. Cole patted his chest, arms, and cheeks. He grinned and said, “I’m still here. It’s been seven years, so I guess the world didn’t end.”

“True.” Jeffrey’s smile faded, and the tone in his voice darkened. “But many people, not just Andreas, were convinced it forecast the apocalypse. And he spent years preparing for it.”

“So, this Saints of Ascension was part of that prep?”

“Yes. It was Andreas’s wife Clara who came up with the idea for the camp. She found the property in the Berkshires–some old abandoned yoga retreat center. They spent two years setting up the place. They assembled a small group of followers with a plan to open the camp in January 2012.”

Dr. Cole spent a few moments feverishly writing down what he was hearing. He finally looked up and asked, “When you say followers, you mean the parents and their kids?”

“Yes.” Jeffrey looked at Dr. Cole, took a sip of whiskey, and asked, “Are you sure you didn’t read my book?”

“No. Please, continue.”

“There were seven kids and their parents at Camp Ascension. They lived there full time. Andreas and his wife were there too. So was another person.” Jeffrey glanced at his armrest and ran his thumb along the vinyl covering. “The children called her Caretaker.”

“Anyone else?”

“They had some workers who Andreas called clergy members. They would run the place and do the cooking and cleaning as well as getting supplies from town. Some of them also taught the children.”

“Taught them? About the, uh, end of days?”

“No. The children had no idea why they were there. Or what Andreas had planned for them.” Jeffrey sighed and nervously tapped his glass of whiskey. “Dr. Cole, if you haven’t read my book, how do you know about the children?”

“I first heard about them from a patient of mine. She came in suffering from depression. Postpartum. But now I fear she’s becoming psychotic. Her obsession with Eve is–”

“Eve? From Camp Ascension?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

Dr. Cole flipped through his folder and stopped when he found the right page. He said, “Eve, Charles, Annabelle, Hugo, Billy–”

“Yes. Those are the other children. How . . . how do you know their names?”

“It’s a long story.” Dr. Cole frowned as he tried to figure out how to explain Dawn’s doll and the diary. “What happened to them? What happened to Eve?”

“Eve. That poor girl. The last of the seven.” Jeffrey leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. “They came for her the night before she turned thirteen.”

∞∞∞

December 21, 2012

Eve sat in her