Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
S carlet and Nathan left The Copperfield House that evening at eight forty-five. They were the last of those who didn’t live there to depart for the night. That hadn’t been their plan. But Greta had asked perhaps fifty questions of Nathan about his ideas surrounding film and his future hopes and dreams. This was the way of Greta Copperfield. To Scarlet’s surprise, Nathan didn’t squirm or flinch away from the questions. He was happy to talk.
To Grandma Greta, he’d said, “I have ten or fifteen different ideas for films, but the problem is, living in the city means I never have enough cash to make even a short film to enter into a contest. It’s difficult. I don’t know how anyone breaks through. And like I was telling Scarlet before, I really hate Los Angeles. I don’t see myself there.”
Greta’s eyes had glinted in that way of hers; proof she was already invested in this young man’s future. She’d said, “That’s where The Copperfield House comes in. Let’s talk soon about getting you in for a residency!”
Now, as Nathan and Scarlet strolled through the cool night air, Nathan said, “It feels fortuitous that I met your grandma and grandpa. They make me believe in something. A better future for myself.” He paused and gave Scarlet a sheepish smile.
“They have that effect on almost everyone,” Scarlet admitted. “I’m sure it was tricky being their children. They just want so much for everyone. They don’t accept anything but the very best effort.”
Nathan nodded. As they walked, his hand brushed against Scarlet’s. “I can’t believe I wasted so much time in New York City, working those dead-end jobs.”
“You’re only twenty-four,” Scarlet reminded him. “Grandma always says we have more time than we think. We just have to use it.”
“Only twenty-four, with my whole life ahead of me,” Nathan said. “Just yesterday, I thought I was doomed. That’s when you walked through the doors of the cinema.”
They returned to Scarlet’s place to grab their film equipment and Scarlet’s car, then drove out to the beach directly beside Miacomet Beach, where the Reddit user suggested that the conservative hippie-dressed girls meet after sunset. They didn’t have much time. Scarlet set up a foldable beach chair, attached a microphone to Nathan’s breast pocket, and set him up so that a purple sunset spread out behind his shoulders and erupted to a black sky filled with stars directly above him. It was the perfect time to film the interview.
Nathan turned into a performer immediately. Although he took the material very seriously—it was his sister, Maddie, after all—he spoke animatedly in a way that would ultimately bring the documentary material alive.
After he’d described what happened that night in his parents’ apartment, Scarlet decided to go off script a little bit. For the sake of the documentary and for the sake of her own curiosity.
“What do you think they’re really up to?” she asked.
Nathan clenched his jaw and turned his head so his nose was in line with the water behind him. “I’ve thought about this a lot,” he said, his tone deep. “What we know now is that young women between the ages of, say, eighteen and twenty-three disappear seemingly on purpose, yet continue to ask for money from their very wealthy parents. We also speculate that those wealthy parents are too embarrassed about the situation to alert the police. That, and the young women in question—including my sister—are in contact enough with the parents to ensure that nobody panics too, too much.”
“Right,” Scarlet said from the other side of the shot.
“My best guess is that it’s some kind of political protest,” Nathan said. “These young women are so privileged that they can’t see beyond themselves. But they want to believe they stand for something. So they get rid of their material possessions. They leave their university. But it turns out that they still need money, so they continue to ask for it. Maybe they’re pooling all of it to live together, where they have meetings on political justice and feminism and things like that. But they can’t see that they’re still in a bubble. It’s just that they’ve formed a new bubble without the guidance of their parents. They think they’re revolutionists, but they’re just runaways.”
Scarlet was breathless. She cut the shot and gaped at Nathan. What he’d just said rang so many bells for her.
“I can’t pretend that I thought much differently than that when I was younger,” she said after a long silence.
Nathan raised his shoulders. “We all thought like that.”
“Not all of us joined ‘cults’ or whatever this is,” Scarlet said.
Nathan bowed his head. His expression was thoughtful.
Scarlet thought, He’s the real deal. He refused money from his parents. He actually stepped out on his own.
And then she remembered—again—that she’d refused her parents’ money when she got her own apartment. Her heart lifted. Maybe I’m a better person than I thought.
Slowly, Scarlet and Nathan drove from this beach to the one directly beside it. Miacomet Beach. She cut the engine and rolled down the windows. It was time to wait.
A stakeout.
Night fell quickly. One minute, Scarlet could make out the sweep of the water along the sands, and the next, it was pitch black. She and Nathan sat in a comfortable silence, waiting. She wondered how long they would wait. An hour? Three hours? There was no telling if the conservative hippie-dressed young women remained in Nantucket at all. Perhaps they’d boarded a boat and gone elsewhere. Perhaps it was a smaller group than they suspected.
Maybe they’d already gotten into some kind of argument and disbanded.
There goes my only idea for a documentary, Scarlet thought selfishly. Now what?
Nathan quit his jobs for this?
But suddenly, Scarlet heard something and twisted to spot dark figures coming down the beach. “Get the camera,” she breathed.
Nathan hurried to set up the camera from the passenger side. He started rolling.
There were maybe fifty or sixty of them. A man toward the front carried a torch, and a few others carried flashlights. It was difficult to make out the others until they set up the bonfire and lit it. As the fire crawled over the tinder, it flashed light across what had to be thirty or forty young women with very long hair, dressed in old-fashioned hippie-esque clothing. The women flowed through the crowd, talking to one another gently. Smiling. Sometimes they danced to music Scarlet couldn’t quite hear.
The men were another story. There were twenty or thirty of them dressed in black. They were anywhere from eighteen to thirty years old. From here, it looked to Scarlet as though the men were in charge.
Did they tell the wealthy young women how to “start a political protest”?
Were they manipulating the young women and stealing their parents’ money?
Scarlet’s heartbeat intensified. She was reminded of Woodstock, of joyful celebrations in the sixties and seventies. But something about this was sinister.
These young women had been given the world. They’d been born into endless wealth and prosperity. They were rejecting it. But they weren’t rejecting it the way Nathan had. What were they doing it for? For a little party on the beach?
Suddenly, one of the men got up on a large rock and spread his hands out. The crowd quieted and formed a circle around him to hear him speak.
“We have to get over there,” Scarlet breathed. “We have to hear what he’s saying.”
Nathan muttered under his breath.
“What?” Scarlet asked. “Nathan?”
Nathan turned his head too quickly and winced. “I wish I could see my sister. But they all look the same.”
Scarlet touched his shoulder gently. Her heart ached for him. Ivy’s friend from school is over there. Maybe she’s having the time of her life. Perhaps she’s being held against her will. How do I figure that out?
How do I make a documentary that explores the nature of this “organization”?
Everything felt terribly difficult all of a sudden. Scarlet’s hands were in fists.
A smack rang out. Scarlet turned to find a large hand on the front window of her car. Behind that hand was the leering face of a man dressed all in black. He looked at her as though he knew all about her. The sound of him hitting her car continued to echo through her ears.
“What the heck?” Nathan cried out. His camera was pointed directly at the man.
“What the heck, indeed,” the man said. Scarlet guessed he was twenty-five or twenty-six. His eyes were dark green and lined with red. “What are you doing here?”
“We’re just hanging out at the beach,” Scarlet said. She hated how much her voice shook.
“Oh? Well, this is a private beach tonight,” the man said sweetly. “Do you mind moving on down the road?”
“This is a public beach,” Scarlet retorted. “We have every right to be here.”
“What are you doing over there?” Nathan demanded. “What is that man saying?”
The man at their car gave them a slippery smile. Scarlet’s heart skipped a beat. He’s a sociopath, she thought.
“If I were you, which I’m not,” the man said sweetly, “I’d move along as quickly as I could.”
“Or what?” Nathan demanded.
“I wouldn’t want to wait around to find out,” the man said. “But that’s just me! We’re all different.”
“It doesn’t look like everyone’s different in your cult,” Nathan shot.
The man’s eyes flickered strangely. Scarlet realized she’d never been so frightened of anyone in her life. Not even Owen.
“Let’s go, Nathan,” Scarlet whispered. She hoped it wasn’t loud enough for the man to hear.
But he did hear.
“You’d better listen to your little lady here,” the man said. “It sounds like she’s the logical one in this relationship. What a pity.”
Scarlet’s ears rang. They’re sexist. That’s clear.
Scarlet turned the key in the ignition and revved the engine. The man stepped back with his hands raised. He still wore that sinister smile. Scarlet thought she’d see it again and again in her nightmares. As tears filled her eyes, she slammed her foot on the gas and took them away from the beach. All the while, Nathan filmed, even leaning outside the window to get the last of that horrible man as he watched them drive away.