Chapter 2
Andilyn
It’s Sunday, which means the majority of our day has been spent in Convocation.
For hours, we’re forced to listen to an Elder monologue about the fabric of our souls, how untwining the opposing natures residing within us is a delicate balance, and that the cleansing process should be approached with care, lest your true soul be damaged during the quest for purification.
I find that ironic, seeing as their methods are heavily rooted in pain, especially when Tainted are forced to participate in monthly blood-letting rituals.
Strapped to a wooden chair with ancient leather cuffs, we’re locked inside a dank, dirt-floor room without a shred of light.
For the longest hour in existence, the slow drip of a partly pinched IV catheter is meant to gradually expunge the demonic entity that’s supposedly hitched a ride earthside.
The first time I experienced that particular brand of exorcising, I couldn’t help but marvel at the revelation that they were using actual medical equipment.
It contrasted with their rustic way of living, but that thought process led me to wonder how many people they’d lost over the years to a lack of knowledge and proper supplies.
How many suffered through their trial and error until they got it right?
If I had to guess–too many. Unfortunately, giving us an iron deficiency is the least of their crimes.
“Go pick some fresh daisies for the table, Andilyn. It’s almost time,” Ada harshly orders, shooing me out the back door.
My supposed mother-in-law has become a second reckoning for my spiritual healing, giddily wielding the self-righteous baton her son passes off when he can’t be bothered with making my life utterly miserable.
Sundays routinely conclude with a House-specific gathering, which is the extent of any fellowship we partake in, though I’d prefer eternal solitude over communing with any of these people, especially the Stillwaters.
The second I’m free of her scrutiny, I drag in a much-needed breath of fresh air.
Any chance I’m given to be alone is savored, as moments like this are few and far between, but the heaviness of the past few weeks is beginning to take a toll.
I take care in choosing which flowers to pick, knowing Tobias finds fault in everything he can.
The garden at House Stillwater is meticulous, but I hate to think of the reason their daisies bloom so beautifully.
This property is drenched in death, but I’ve always taken solace in knowing that something organic and pure has grown in the place of such tragedy.
The only upside to this evening’s dinner will be the lack of Kennedy’s presence.
Tobias’ father has fallen ill, and while the members of Veritas have been made aware of the situation, they have no idea how serious it truly is.
Tobias has kept their dealings to a minimum in order to avoid any of them prying too deeply.
Stillwater descendants have maintained control of Veritas since its inception, but there’s been an uptick in disgruntled members voicing their frustration with the current progression of things.
Tobias knows his age and inexperience are factors they’ll try to use against him when the truth is finally revealed and he insists on taking his father’s place, but they’re far too late to stage a coup.
The power Tobias wields is already insurmountable.
In Kennedy’s absence, his son has taken the reins, eager to fill the vacancy and take control of what he perceives is rightfully his.
Even amongst the deranged, there’s protocol and procedure, all of which Tobias has effectively thrown out the window.
He’s no longer a messenger or acting on his father’s behalf.
He’s dishing out orders and making decisions he has no authority to make, and when the Elders discover the true extent of Tobias’ involvement in recent proceedings, there’s going to be an uproar.
While I’d love nothing more than to sit back and watch them tear themselves apart from the inside, for the sake of the innocents that’ll be caught in the crossfire of two opposing evils, I’m hopeful the FBI can precede the bloodbath that’s sure to come.
Like I’ve always known they would at some point, the numbers aren’t aligning.
It’s not exactly easy to recruit those of us with heterochromia.
It’s not particularly common, and though their intellect is questionable, the Elders have created a system that produces fairly decent results.
As a rule, they tend to target victims who are easily impressionable or lack any sort of support system, but they’ve adapted, casting their net to a wider audience in recent years.
Veritas hasn’t flourished as long as it has by acting rashly, though.
They’re methodical with who they approach, tailoring their sales pitch to suit the needs and desires of each individual.
It’s far easier to brainwash a person who’s already susceptible to the indoctrination they’re peddling than it is to start from scratch.
But times have drastically changed since the first initiates.
At present, Ada is the eldest living Tainted, which doesn’t bode well for the rest of us in terms of longevity.
The current members are too trigger-happy, their callousness growing more unwieldy as time continues to pass without their depravity being sated.
I haven’t the faintest idea how they managed to build their numbers in the earlier years, when technology wasn’t as advanced as it is today, but if given the opportunity, I’d happily delve into the history of their sordid beginnings.
It’d be nice to know what the catalyst was for the ruination of so many innocent lives.
Possibly even more disturbing than Veritas’ ability to ferret out a person’s vulnerabilities is the knowledge of their mission being so easily accessible to the general public.
Imagine my shock when I learned that Veritas has a website.
It outlines their ideology, albeit a watered-down version, but it doesn’t require much effort to find.
How else would they magically stumble upon a person who possesses a mutation, whether genetic or acquired, that affects less than one percent of the global population?
It’s so improbable that Veritas never would’ve flourished if their recruitment relied solely on happenstance.
It’s ironic, really, how off-grid they portray themselves to be, yet still rely so heavily on modern technology.
Of course they don’t advertise the gory details of what actually takes place once you’re within their grasp.
But like every charismatic cult leader who’s ever existed, they reel you in with language that appeals to the lost and lonely.
Once they’ve established that “us versus them” mentality and convinced you to isolate yourself from any remaining friends or family, it’s next to impossible to find your way home again.
They break you down so completely you actually start to believe their vitriol, convincing yourself that something evil resides within you and the only people capable of eradicating it are the very ones you conveniently find yourself in the company of.
I could’ve easily been another casualty.
If I weren’t so stubborn and pragmatic, I’d likely be catatonic from the sheer amount of hate they’ve leveled at me.
The only actual secret they covet is who Veritas truly is.
No one knows the identities of the members until someone initiates contact.
Inquiring persons are directed to a questionnaire via their website.
A high-level member then reviews their information, performs a cursory background check, and determines if they warrant a trial run, which involves a secondary person trailing their every move for a minimum of seventy-two hours.
Only then, after all checks and balances come back free and clear, does someone finally make contact.
The cloak-and-dagger approach is partly to ensure they aren’t recruiting someone who’s going to generate a missing person’s report, but mostly it’s to protect the exact location of their operation.
The only thing remotely connecting Veritas’ online presence to the compound is a wrought iron eye emblazoned on the sliding steel gate that secures the property.
We’re so far off the beaten path it’d be unlikely for anyone to stumble across us by accident, so that minuscule breadcrumb is all but insignificant.
As far as neighboring townsfolk, Veritas has expertly woven themselves into the fabric of the nearby community.
They’ve behaved impeccably, instilling a basic level of trust that keeps the nosier busybodies from prying too deeply.
And to avoid the most obvious tell, all Tainted are forced to wear colored contacts while assigned to work the market.
They’ve thought through every possibility of sabotage, but I guarantee, they won’t have seen me coming.
Although their access to a wider demographic is now easily accessible, that also comes with a more safety-conscious and stranger-wary generation.
The decline of Tainted they’re experiencing is in large part due to the more cautious nature of today’s society, and that imbalance has created a rift amongst the more seasoned members.
Men and women alike are biding their time, growing restless as they wait for the few remaining Tainted to come of age, and seeing as they bend their teachings to fit whatever narrative suits them best, I’m afraid to know what changes lie ahead.