Week 10: Nadir

[kimschlotwrites]

 I’m asked all the time, “How didn’t you know?” Or, “How did you let that happen?” And I just don’t know. While it’s happening it doesn’t seem so bad. It’s a lot of talk. But somehow you get swept up in all. We got carried away.

It was a difficult time in my life. I was 27, divorced. My parents had both died before I turned 25.  I requested a transfer from the Connecticut office to the Pennsylvania office. I thought the best way to start over after the end of my five year marriage was to move away.

It was my coworker at the new office, Bianca, who recruited me. After two months in Pennsylvania I still hadn’t made friends. Sure, I smiled and greeted my new coworkers and neighbors, but there was no connection.  Not until the day Bianca came up to my desk and asked, “Hey Brenda, do you want to come to Happy Hour with us?”

“I’m not sure,” I replied. “I don’t drink.” I probably blushed. For some reason I always get embarrassed when I tell people I don’t drink. I feel like an outsider.

“That’s fine. I don’t drink either. But I do eat. And there will be good half priced appetizers.”

I smiled and rubbed my stomach. I had gained almost fifteen pounds since the divorce. Stress and emotional eating, “Well food I do like! I’ll be there.”

Happy Hour was fun, maybe a little awkward. My coworkers seemed to know each other pretty well. But Bianca was by my side, making sure I was involved in the conversation, or whispered pieces of information that I needed to follow along (names of spouses, how many children someone had, etc.).

Bianca and I exchanged phone numbers that night, and I left Happy Hour feeling, well, happy. I made a friend. She was nice, funny, and everyone seemed to like her.

The “grooming” process, I guess you call it, didn’t start for a few months. Of course, at the time, I didn’t realize what was going on. Now that I look back at it, I don’t know how missed it. I guess I was lonely, depressed, and wanted desperately to not feel that way.

So, it started with a book club that Bianca invited me to join. She has been a part of this book club for about three years she said. We didn’t read anything that would raise any suspicions, and her friends were very nice and welcoming. They did ask me a lot of questions, but that’s what people do. The questions were harmless. At least I think they were.

Shortly after joining book club, I was invited to dinner parties, cookouts, brunches, picnics. I had a life and new friends. These people seemed amazing.

It was at least a year after my first book club meeting that they told me about their group. (Even now, now that I know, I can’t bring myself to say that “c” word.). I don’t even know exactly what was said. Bianca just told me that she, and the other women in the book club were a part of a “community.” Most of the people from the get togethers were in it, too. She said once a week they go to their friends house for a dinner. (I do remember she said their “leader”, not their friend. She giggled when she said leader. I just thought it was a nickname for the man who hosts everyone for dinner. Ugh. I was so stupid.) She told me how once a month they collected $50 from each person. She explained it was to help offset the costs of buying the food. Whatever was left over went into a fund for parties or other gatherings.

I did hesitate when Bianca asked if I wanted to join the community. At least I think I did. She invited me to their next dinner, and told me there was no obligation to join.

What was the harm in one dinner?

Obviously the dinner went well. Again, everyone was nice and welcoming. Well, everyone I was able to meet. There had to be at least 50 people at the mansion. (It definitely was a mansion!). Two large rooms held two large tables, and I was lucky enough to be seated between the leader, Horace, and Bianca.

I spent a lot of time talking to leader, Horace. He told me he has been doing these dinners for ten years. I told him about my divorce, and how lucky I was to find a friend in Bianca.

By the time I left, I was the first one to leave, I knew I would be joining this community. It felt like the loving family that I wanted to be a part of.

I wish I could pinpoint when Horace’s started me on his teachings. (“Horaecisms” we affectionately called them.) I just remembered that at one dinner, Horace asked me to stay later. “Time for you to officially become a part of the community.”

The way the teachings worked were he’d read us one or two Horaceisms out of a worn, leather bound journal. He’d tell us the story behind how he came up with it. Then, we’d go around the room. Each person talking about how they incorporate Horace’s wisdom into their lives.

At first the Horaceisms were sweet, inspirational. “When you’re feeling like there is no hope, The Community is your light in the darkness.” Or, “To put love into the Community is to put love into the world.” At some point, the Horaceisms because less innocuous. “Only trust the Community.” “The Community does what it does for your own good.” I was so captivated by the previous teachings that at the time, I didn’t notice the change.

I know now that I was brainwashed. I don’t know how I let it happen, but I did. The teachings seemed to make sense. And there was the cd of subliminal messages that Horace gave me after I told him that I was having difficulty sleeping. He said they were nature sounds intended to promote restfulness. And again, I didn’t realize what was on that disc until after.

Between the teachings, the subliminal messages, and the Community, somehow it just seemed natural that we’d follow Horace to the ends of the earth.

We adopted the Las Vegas slogan at the Community. “What happens in the Community, stays in the Community.” I didn’t dare tell anyone about them for fear of being kicked out.  This was my family. I would die for them.

Horace started getting paranoid. He thought people were out to get him, out to get us. We discussed “Only trust the community” for weeks on end. Eventually, we all believed him, too.

Bianca and I both quit our jobs and moved in with Horace for protection. Many of the others in the Community did as well.

This didn’t happen overnight. I was maybe three years into the Community when Horace started showing substantial signs of paranoia. It was another 18 months before Bianca and I moved in. And probably another two months before Horace introduced “The Plan.”

The Plan. That’s why I’m here talking, isn’t it? Simply put, the plan was mass suicide. Horace had a huge pool. He said he we were all going to be baptized. He chose April 19th, his birthday.

The detailed plan was that we’d all have to dressed in all white. We’d all have to take at least three sleeping pills (possibly four depending on your weight). Horace would give each of us a backpack to wear. The backpack was full of rocks and sand. We would all walk to his backyard. We would walk into the pool, three or four at a time, and keep walking into the pool until we were submerged. He said we would all fall asleep and wake up in paradise, together.

That was the plan. And we all agreed to it. It was executed almost flawlessly, except for me. I was the only survivor.

I was the last one to enter the pool. By then, most of the Community was unconscious under water. Slowly dying. I started my sleepy walk across the pool. I thought I heard someone yelling, but the sleeping pills had already kicked in, so I wasn’t sure. Just as I finally was fully submerged, I felt a hand grabbing me, pulling me back to the surface. Then, everything went black.

I woke up in a hospital room. It was there I found out that one of the members of the Community left a suicide note. Colleen. She was the newest member, young. Nineteen, sophomore in college, but still wasn’t adjusting well. She needed us. Her roommate found her note. She wrote where to find her body so her mother could bury her. The roommate called 911, and I was saved. Colleen was not. No one else was.

Why am I the lucky one who got to live? Why wasn’t it Colleen, whose heart broken mother visited me several times while I was in the hospital? Why wasn’t it Derek, who left behind a wife of twenty years? Why was it me? The one with no one.

Comments

[babydramatic_1950]

Riveting!