Chapter 4 Jace #2
We crossed the large open yard, the ground crunching beneath our boots. Everything here was ordered—rows of garden beds, crisp white fences, even the damn laundry lines were perfectly spaced.
Gabriel kept up a steady stream of chatter, pointing things out as we walked. “We raise chickens, pigs, goats, and a few dairy cows. Father says the Light blesses those who live off their own hands.”
“Guess that’s one way to beat inflation,” I said lightly.
He chuckled. “We don’t worry about those worldly things here.”
The farmhouse loomed ahead—two stories of white siding and a deep wraparound porch that probably dated back to the 1920s.
The paint was fresh, though, and the shutters were new.
So much for simplicity. Up close, I noticed the gleam of a new lock on the front door, and the shine of a generator hidden behind a lattice of vines.
Malachi might preach humility, but he was definitely living in comfort.
Gabriel opened the door without knocking and gestured for me to enter. “Go right on in. He’s been expecting you.”
Inside, the air was cool, the faint hum of an air conditioner breaking the quiet. Malachi appeared a moment later from another room, his voice carrying before he came into view. “Brother Gabriel, you’ve brought our guest.”
Malachi’s smile was all charm and teeth when he stepped out, his white robe spotless, his hands clasped together in front of him. “Brother Jace. I am so glad you’ve returned.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, putting on the polite tone that had gotten me through more than one op. “Thank you for having me.”
“Please, call me Father,” he said smoothly. “You’ve come a long way, and I’m grateful you’ve listened to your heart and sought us out.”
I nodded, letting him take my hand in both of his. His skin was warm, almost too warm, and his eyes—blue, although not nearly as stunning as his son’s, and unblinking—studied me like he was searching for something beneath the surface.
“Come,” he said finally. “Let’s sit. Brother Gabriel, please, bring some water for our guest.”
We took seats at a polished oak table. I set my bag down beside my chair, doing my best to look at ease.
Malachi leaned forward, elbows on the table. “So,” he said, “you’ve felt called to learn more about our ways.”
“That’s right,” I said. “After my visit, I just couldn’t get this place out of my head. It felt like I needed to be here.”
He smiled again, almost tenderly this time. “The world outside is filled with so much noise, sin, and confusion. You’re not alone in feeling that emptiness. The Light calls to those who still have a pure soul.”
If only you knew, I thought, keeping my expression neutral.
He went on, voice measured, persuasive. “You’ll find peace here, Brother Jace. And purpose. You’ll look back on today as the day you changed your life for the better.”
I took the glass Gabriel handed me, the condensation slick in my grip. “I’m excited to settle in.”
Malachi smiled. “Yes. Welcome home,” he said softly.
After a few minutes, Malachi rose from his chair, and I followed suit. “Come,” he said, motioning toward the door. “Let’s get you a room.”
Gabriel fell in behind us as Malachi led the way out of the farmhouse.
The late afternoon sun was low now, burning the edges of the fields gold.
A few men worked in the garden, sleeves rolled up, dirt caked on their hands.
A cluster of kids ran past in the distance, a woman calling after them in a voice that sounded both tired and resigned.
The dorms sat at the left end of the property—two long, low buildings made of the same clean white siding as everything else here.
As we got closer, Malachi said, “Most of our brothers share their rooms. Two, sometimes three, depending on the size of the space. But,” he gave me an almost conspiratorial smile, “as it happens, we have an empty one. You can use it until we need the space. I think it’s best for you to have solitude, at least at first. Settling in can be… a big adjustment.”
“That’s generous of you,” I said. “Thank you.”
“It’s no trouble,” he replied. “The Light rewards kindness.”
Inside the building, the silence was heavy, only broken by the occasional creak of floorboards as men moved in their rooms.
Malachi stopped in front of one of the doors near the back of the first floor. “Here we are.”
He pushed it open, revealing a small but tidy space—a single bed, a small table, a metal-framed chair, a wooden dresser, and a narrow window overlooking the surrounding fields. A Bible sat on the nightstand, its cover well-worn, the spine cracked from overuse.
“This will be yours,” Malachi said. “If you need more blankets or anything, just let someone know.”
I set my bag down on the bed. “Looks perfect, Father. I appreciate it.”
He nodded, clearly pleased. Then he held out his hand. “Before I forget, Brother Jace—your identification, please. We keep a record of every soul who enters our fold. We must maintain order and safety within the community.”
I gave him my best easy smile, then fished the fake ID out of my wallet and handed it over. “Sure thing.”
He took it delicately, as if it were sacred.
“Jace Luis Trenton,” he read aloud. His eyes flicked up to mine, studying me for a beat longer than I liked.
Then he nodded, tucking the card into his robe pocket.
“I’ll return this before the end of the day.
Just need to record your information for our records. ”
“Of course,” I said smoothly.
“Dinner is in one hour,” Malachi continued. “Brother Gabriel will come for you. Afterward, you’ll attend evening prayer. It’s a beautiful service—intimate. You’ll feel the Light for yourself.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
He smiled again, and something about it made my skin crawl. “Rest, Brother Jace. You’re among family now.”
He turned to go, and Gabriel followed him out, closing the door quietly behind them.
The second they were gone, I exhaled and ran a hand over my face. The air felt lighter already.
I scanned the room—corners, under the bed, and the small vent above the door. Nothing obvious, no wires, no cameras. Still, the hairs on my neck stood up like I was being watched.
I sat on the bed and leaned back on my hands, staring up at the low ceiling. Thank fuck I didn’t have to deal with roommates.
The Bible caught my eye again. Its title was faded, but inside, I could see notes scrawled in pencil in the margins—“explanations” of scripture that twisted its true meaning, a lot of “The Light this” and “The Light that.”
I shook my head, then waited a few minutes after the sound of their footsteps faded down the hall before I stood.
I unzipped my bag and started to unpack, my meager belongings looking almost absurdly out of place in the bare little room.
My eyes landed on the white robe folded neatly across the end of the bed.
It was simple but well-made, the fabric soft under my fingers, freshly laundered. There was something unnerving about it, though, as if they’d known exactly what size I’d be before I even arrived.
I wondered how long it had sat there. They didn’t know I was coming, so was my robe ready and waiting since the day of my visit, or had someone hastily prepared it while we were at Malachi’s house?
I peeled off my shirt and jeans, then slipped the robe over my shoulders. It was looser than I expected, a little too long in the sleeves, but it fit well enough. The fabric smelled faintly of soap.
I caught my reflection in the small mirror above the dresser. The robe transformed me. In it, I looked like I belonged here.
“Creepy as hell,” I muttered to myself.
I sat on the edge of the bed, tugged my phone free from my boot, and checked the time—just before 1800. I dialed Patel’s number, my heart ticking a little faster, even though this was routine.
He picked up on the first ring. “All good?”
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I’m in. Everything’s fine so far. They bought the cover. I’ll make contact again at 2100 unless something changes.”
“Copy that,” Patel said.
“Talk soon.”
I ended the call and slipped the phone back in my boot, pressing the tape back into place.
For the next half hour, I sat on the bed and let the quiet hum of the place seep in.
Distant sounds drifted through the open window—tools clanking, children laughing faintly, the occasional murmur of voices carried on the wind.
It all felt so normal, like a small rural community.
When the knock came, it was soft but firm. “Brother Jace?”
I stood and opened the door. Gabriel stood there, smiling. “Ah,” he said, eyes sweeping over me. “You look the part already! The robe suits you.”
I gave a polite half-smile. “Guess it’s official, then.”
“Indeed. Come along—dinner’s just begun.”
The mess hall was one of the larger buildings on the property, with long tables stretching the length of the room.
It smelled faintly of bread and herbs. As we entered, a dozen or so people looked up.
The chatter quieted for a beat, curiosity passing between them, before the noise picked back up again.
Gabriel led me to an open seat near the center of one of the tables. A few men around my age nodded politely. “Brothers,” Gabriel said, “this is Jace. He’ll be joining our community.”
A few smiled, a few murmured welcomes.
I sat down, and a young man to my left—pale, with a shaved head—offered me a small loaf of bread from the shared plate. “You’re lucky,” he said. “It’s fresh tonight.”
“Smells great,” I said lightly, tearing off a piece.
The meal was simple—bread, lentil stew, and boiled vegetables. Basic, but not horrible by any stretch. Nobody talked much once they started eating. There was a rhythm to it, like they all knew the order of things, the unspoken rules of when to speak, and when to be silent.
Gabriel ate slowly beside me, smiling every so often like a proud uncle. “You see?” he said between bites. “Peaceful. We share what the Light provides.”