She just sat there staring at the phone, as if she were afraid of it. "In the morning," she said. "I'll call in the morning."

"Okay," I said. "Then let's get some sleep." I put the phone back in my pack, then led her deeper into the forest. I unpacked my tarp and mat and laid them both out behind a thicket of scrub oak. I brought out my sleeping bag and laid it over the tarp. "You can use my sleeping bag," I said.

"What about you?"

"I'm okay. I've got the mat and my coat."

She took off her shoes, then climbed into the bag.

I lay down on the ground with my head against my pack. "Emily, how did you get involved with this group?"

"I met a boy at a dance club."

"He was a member?"

"Yes. He was really sweet."

"Where is he now?"

"He's a missionary. So I don't see him."

"Did he bring other girls here?"

She didn't answer.

"Were you lonely?"

"Yes." I could hear her softly crying. After a moment she said, "Alan?"

"Yes?"

"What if Master El's right?"

"He's not."

"But how do you know? He said someone would come and try to take me away. And you came."

"Every cult says that," I said. "The first rule of a cult is to make you afraid of the rest of the world. Do you think that's what G.o.d wants? To make you hate the rest of His children?"

"But G.o.d's angry at us."

"Why is He angry at us?"

"Because we don't do what He tells us to do. He hates us."

"If you had a child, would you hate her because she didn't always do the right things?" When she didn't answer, I said, "No, you wouldn't. You'd love her. And because you're an adult, you'd understand her mistakes and want to help her, for her good. That's who G.o.d is. If He made us flawed just to condemn us, what does that say about Him?"

She looked even more distressed. After a minute she said, "I have a child."

I looked at her. "Where?"

"My sister has her."

"You need to go back to her."

"KarEl won't love me with a child."

"Is KarEl the boy who recruited you?"

"Yes."

"He didn't really love you," I said. "He had an ulterior motive."

She sobbed softly for a few minutes. When she finally stopped, she said, "I've made a mistake."

"We all make mistakes," I said. "Everything will be okay. I promise."

After a moment she said, "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now let's get some sleep."

She lay back and closed her eyes. I watched her for a few minutes, then rolled back over and fell asleep.It was late morning when I woke. My head ached, and I felt drained from the night before. The sound of insects filled the humid, morning air. But that's all I heard. I bolted up. Emily was gone. I looked around. There was no sign of her anywhere. She had gone back.

I remembered her words from the night, "I've made a mistake." I completely misunderstood her. How stupid could I be?

I folded up my tarp and sleeping bag and stowed them in my pack, then, holding my gun, walked down the road back out to Highway 31. When I got to the highway, I returned my gun to my pack. No one was there.

CHAPTER Thirty-two

Sometimes we can only find ourselves by first losing ourselves.

Alan Christoffersen's diary

My next stop, in Prattville, was eighteen miles away. For the first few hours I was anxious that El might send someone after me and, as traffic was light along this section of highway, the sound of each approaching car filled me with trepidation. But nothing ever happened.

All day long I thought about Emily. I couldn't get the fearful look in her eyes out of my mind. I wondered what El would do to her once she returned. I should have been smarter. I had underestimated the pull the cult had on her and the thickness of those chains of fear and belief. I should have made her call her sister. I should have known that she might go back. What if she had been my daughter or sister or wife? What if she was Falene? Would I go back then? Of course I would. I felt guilty for failing her and cowardly for leaving her now. I might have been her only chance for freedom.

Spurred on by my anxiety and anger, I made good time, stopping only a few minutes for lunch by the side of the road. I reached Prattville by 5 P.M. and ate dinner at Fat Boy's Bar-B-Que Ranch on 1st Street. For the first time in years, I drank too much beer. Then I booked a room at the Days Inn on Main Street and went to bed early.The next morning I woke feeling hungover. I felt even worse emotionally. I felt guilty and lonely. I dialed information and was connected to the Alabama office of the FBI. I spent about forty-five minutes telling an agent about my experience with the cult and Emily. Though the agent seemed genuinely sympathetic, he warned me that cases like this generally didn't turn out well.

"The victims rarely cooperate against the group or its leader," he said. "And it's nearly impossible to prove someone's being held against their will if they're unwilling to leave." He added wryly, "If psychological manipulation was a crime, my wife would be on death row."

Still, he agreed to look into the group. I gave him my phone number and hung up.

Montgomery was only thirteen miles from Prattville, and I reached it before noon. I stopped for lunch, but no longer. Montgomery is a beautiful town with a rich history, but I had no desire to stick around and see the sights. I'm not sure why. Perhaps it was the darkness I'd carried with me since leaving the cult. Or maybe it was just that after walking more than twenty-five hundred miles, I was just a few weeks from Florida. I suppose the closer the magnet is to steel the stronger the attraction.

At lunch I casually glanced over my map, then, for the first and only time on my walk, I started off in the wrong direction. Instead of traveling east on Highway 82, I went south on 53. I had walked nearly three hours before I realized my mistake. Had I been in a car, I would have just turned around-but I wasn't in a car and miles, on foot, are hard-earned. After looking at my map again, I decided to continue on the route I'd taken, placating my mistake with fatalism: maybe there was a reason I'd gone this way.