Saving Grace - Chapter One

 

1

Grace

 

It was a long flight, over thirteen hours, so I’m tired. Very tired. But this trip has been a long time coming. Something I never thought would happen. And the fact I’m here, that he’s willing to talk to me, I’ll take the tiredness. The lack of sleep will be worth it, I’m sure.

Emmet Brooks – a man very few people know anything about, and that’s deliberate, on his part. I’d like to change that.

There’s a security guard here at the gates of the commune’s compound, and that doesn’t surprise me. The Bridge – a place Emmet’s late uncle, Cain Brooks, created back in the fall of 1968 – confuses many, fascinates some, and is home to an entire community of people who all live behind these gates, under the guidance of Emmet Brooks. And that in itself is enough to fuel the inevitable rumors that The Bridge is nothing more than a cult, hiding behind the façade of a commune: that Emmet Brooks is just another modern-day leader, a dangerous figure who uses his charm and intelligence to “recruit” followers – or witnesses, as they’re called – to his cause. And that’s why I’m here, to try and smash those rumors. I want to find out just who Emmet Brooks really is. What The Bridge really stands for, is it just another commune? A place for those who want to hide away from the real world? Or is there something more sinister behind it? I don’t know, nobody does, not really. For a long time Emmet Brooks has refused to give interviews, refused to talk openly about himself or The Bridge, which has only served to feed those rumors. And for almost three years now I’ve been trying to find out as much as I can about him and his work, which has been difficult, he’s done everything he can to make sure The Bridge stays as closed off as possible to those who aren’t a part of it. But it became my obsession. My need to know more about this place, it took over everything, and I don’t know why, I mean, I live thousands of miles away in a different country, a different continent. Why would a place that exists so far away from me become something I couldn’t let go of? I don’t know. I couldn’t explain it then, I still can’t explain it now. I just know that it became a challenge I needed to take on.

I’d started writing a blog, a place for me to air my own theories on The Bridge, and the man who leads it. A man I have wanted to talk to for so long, but my attempts to set up any kind of meeting with Emmet Brooks had failed at every hurdle. Until last week when, out of the blue, I’d received a call from a woman named Yasmin Rivera, inviting me here, to California. She’d read my blog, told me Emmet had read parts of it too, and because of that he was willing to allow me to visit the commune and see for myself what really goes on behind the gates of The Bridge. It was an invitation I was never going to decline, even though I’m still surprised that it happened at all. Yeah, I’m glad I’m here, my perseverance has finally paid off, but I’m keeping my mind very much open. Why have they, suddenly, after all this time, granted access to someone like me? Allowed me, an ordinary girl from the UK, an amateur blogger whose curiosity had started to get the better of her, why are they suddenly letting me in?

The security guard steps out in front of me as I approach the compound, sliding the radio from his top pocket as he eyes me warily. But that’s only to be expected, I can’t blame him for being alert.

“Do you have a name, Ma’am?”

“Grace Tyler. Yasmin Rivera is expecting me.”

He checks the clipboard in his hand and then raises his gaze, his eyes meeting mine as he speaks into the radio.

“There’s a Grace Tyler at the gates… OK. Will do.”

He slips the radio back into his pocket and steps inside the small hut he’d emerged from just seconds earlier, the gates to the compound slowly sliding open as he comes back outside.

“Wait here. Someone will be out to meet you.”

I stay where I am, my fingers clutching the handle of my carry-on bag, I’ve only packed enough for a few days’ stay. I can’t imagine they’ll want me around for much longer than that.

“Grace?”

I turn my head slightly to see a dark-haired woman with kind eyes approach me.

“Yes, I’m Grace. You must be Yasmin?”

“That’s right. Please, come on in.”

I step through the open gates, and I’m no sooner over the threshold than they’re closing behind me, and I feel my stomach dip a little.

“How was your flight over?” Yasmin asks as we walk.

“Long. But I left behind a very rainy England to be met with this beautiful sunshine.”

And it truly is a beautiful day. The sky is a clear, cloudless blue, the late afternoon sun still high and warm, such a contrast to the weather I left back home.

“I’ll take you straight to your cabin. You should get some rest, you might need to adjust to the time difference before you feel completely human again.”

She smiles when she says that, and I return it. She seems friendly. And even though I have no intention of sleeping just yet – that’s only going to mess up my body clock – I wouldn’t mind a shower and a change of clothes before I do anything else.

“Thank you.”

“Here we are.”

I follow her up the steps of a small wooden cabin, one of half a dozen grouped together in a kind of cul-de-sac. Inside it’s quite spacious, deceptively so given its outward appearance. There’s a small but functional kitchen at one end of the open-plan space, a living area with a huge, comfortable-looking couch, a wall full of shelves filled with books and journals, and there’s also a short, narrow hallway leading to what I assume are the bedroom and bathroom. It’s cozy and clean with vases of fresh flowers adorning the window-sills, the mantle over the wood-burning stove, and the coffee table. Leaving my carry-on bag by the door I follow Yasmin into the kitchen.

“There’s freshly baked bread on the counter here, homemade butter and jam in the fridge, some fruit and vegetables picked from our gardens this morning, and a few other things you might need, including a bottle of our home-brewed wine. If there’s anything else you’d like, or need, please, just ask.”

“Are you pretty much self-sufficient here on the compound?” I ask, running my fingertips lightly over the wooden countertop.

“Yes, we are. As much as we can be. We grow all of our own fruit and vegetables, bake our own bread, brew our own beer and wine. And we keep chickens for eggs and a handful of goats for milk.”

“But not for meat?”

“No. It’s strictly vegetarian here.”

“But you have tea and coffee, right?”

She smiles again, opening a cupboard above the stove. “We do, yes.”

“Great. Thank you.”

“OK, well, I’ll leave you to settle in. I’ll check in with you in a couple of hours, see if you feel up to joining us for dinner tonight.”

“Will Emmet be there?”

“Yes. He will. But I think we should wait until tomorrow before you talk with him. We’ll let this evening be more of a getting used to the place, if that’s alright?”

“That’s fine.”

“And I’ll be with you so, don’t worry. Everyone’s really friendly, I’m sure they’re going to welcome you with open arms.”

I’m not sure they will, not all of them, anyway. I’m sure more than a fair few will treat me with some, not unexpected, trepidation, but I’m prepared for that.

“Anyway, I’ll leave you to it.” Yasmin heads for the door, but then stops and turns back around to look at me. “You’re not here to damage us, Grace. We know that. You’re here to let people know that we’re not what they think we are, and that can only be a good thing. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

She closes the door behind her and I lean back against the counter and close my eyes, taking a long, deep breath. I’m finally here, behind the gates of The Bridge, and from what I’ve seen so far I have no reason to believe it’s anything other than what Emmet Brooks claims it to be – a harmless community working together to make their world a better place. But until I meet the man himself, I’m not assuming anything.

 

 

Emmet

 

“Is she here?”

Yasmin nods and sits down on the arm of a chair. “She seems nice.”

“I’m still having second thoughts about this.”

It wasn’t my idea to invite this woman here. This stranger, this outsider. I’ve never felt the need to speak out about who I am or what I do because it doesn’t matter what the outside world thinks. The reason why I’ve refused to talk – why I’ve refused to open The Bridge up to all and sundry isn’t because I have something to hide. It’s because I want to protect it, and the people who live within its confines. Many are vulnerable, some are quite damaged, and it’s my job to look after them, to care for them, to make them feel again. I don’t want us to become some kind of freak show.

“It’s time, Emmet. Time to kill off the rumors and show everyone that what you do here… Look, this is a good thing, trust me.”

I turn around and cross my arms. “I know you have a job to do, Yasmin, but this is a big step. And in my eyes, an unnecessary one.”

“I really need you to be on board with this, Emmet. And you’ve read her blog, she hasn’t said anything defamatory, nothing that should make you feel nervous, she’s just curious. And she isn’t a journalist, she’s not a member of the press, she isn’t going to turn this into something it isn’t for the sake of grabbing headlines or some kind of potentially award-winning scoop. She’s just a harmless blogger.”

“You know that for sure, do you?”

“I think we need to trust her, Emmet.”

“Can I trust that you’ve made sure we won’t be compromised, in any way?”

Her eyes meet mine, and I hold her gaze. “I promise you, Emmet, this is going to be OK. It’s a good thing. There’s absolutely nothing for you to be concerned about.”

I drop my head and sigh. “Where is she now?”

“In her cabin, settling in. I’ll accompany her to dinner this evening.”

That surprises me, because Yasmin doesn’t usually stay on the compound any longer than she has to. She isn’t one of us, she’s here purely on a professional level. She was brought in – very much against my wishes – to help raise awareness of The Bridge, to try and change its unwarranted reputation, to “market” us in a more positive way. And part of that involved me allowing someone from outside the commune – someone with no connections whatsoever to The Bridge – to stay with us for a few days, to see how we work. To find out who I really am, because the worst reputation of all is the one reserved for me, personally. I can live with it, ignore it, it doesn’t matter to me what people think, but Yasmin feels its best we try to lift our profile. Become more accessible. I’m still on the fence about that, but in the end all I want is what’s best for the commune, and the people who choose to be a part of it. I want – need – to protect my uncle’s legacy, I owe it to him, after everything he did for me, and the others who grew up here, like I did. This isn’t just a cause I’ve given my life to, it’s my home. My whole world. It’s all I’ve ever known.

“Don’t look so surprised, Emmet. I think I need to be here, OK? Just for tonight. To make sure Grace settles in.”

“Grace… That’s her name?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a beautiful name… So, when do I get to meet her?”

“Well, you’ll see her this evening, at dinner, but I thought I’d save the first one-on-one meeting until the morning. She’ll still be tired from her flight tonight, I think it best we ease her in gently, don’t you?” She stands up and heads for the door. “I’d better go and make sure everything’s ready for market day tomorrow before I check on Grace. I’ll see you later.”

I walk over to the window, watching as Yasmin makes her way toward the gardens. The sun’s just starting to come down over the trees in the orchard, the sky now sporting ribbons of pale orange and gold as the day gets ready to end. And here, at The Bridge, every new day is treat as a blessing. A gift. I’ve been taught to think that way from a very early age, and now I’m carrying my uncle’s teachings forward, introducing his world to others, it’s what I was born to do. Cain’s legacy needs to continue, and it will, through me.

Emmet Brooks.

Guardian.

Protector.

Savior…

 

 

Yasmin

 

For me, The Bridge is nothing more than my place of work. I’m not one of Emmet’s “people”, I’m not here to fall at his feet, to believe every word that comes out of his mouth. I’m here to fend off the press and those who choose to cast doubt on everything Emmet Brooks stands for. Those who label him, and his followers. His “witnesses”. I’m the business side of everything Emmet Brooks is, and that’s why he still keeps me very much at arm’s length, unlike Avery. Emmet’s right-hand-man is much more open-minded, he can see why I need to be here. Why the commune needs me. Emmet still fights it, sometimes, but times move on. It isn’t like it was back in his uncle’s day, when Emmet was a child growing up in this seemingly perfect utopia. People are more wary, more cynical. That’s why we needed to bring in an “outsider”, someone who’ll go out there and tell the world this place isn’t what some assume it is. And if that involves Emmet being more open than he’d like, so be it.

Emmet Brooks – a tall, imposing figure of a man with strong beliefs and deep, dark, soul-searching eyes. I can see why people are drawn to him, why they sometimes develop an almost obsessive attachment to him. Or to what he’s promising them, that’s where the gray area is for me. The commune is exactly that – a group of people living together, sharing possessions; responsibilities… I don’t know, there’s just something slightly unsettling about Emmet, he’s a man I can’t read. Because he won’t let me. He doesn’t let many get too close, but Avery – a man he grew up with here on the commune, and that’s all I really know about their relationship – he’s much easier to deal with. More open. I like him. I’d like to think the feeling’s mutual. I hope it is.  

As I head over to the garden, to check on the fruit and vegetables that we regularly sell at a weekly local farmers’ market, I’m greeted with waves and smiles from all those going about their everyday lives here at The Bridge. It’s a beautiful place. A peaceful place. And we’re all looking for peace, right…? We’re all looking for something…

 

 

Avery

 

Each day I’m thankful that I get to wake up in a place like this, blessed that I get to say goodbye to each new day, in a place like this. The commune is a wonderful, peaceful environment, and God knows I needed peace, when I came here. I needed refuge. We both did. Me, and my mother. I was just five years old when we arrived at The Bridge, to escape my father, an abusive man who’d made my mother’s life a living hell, and my early childhood a sad and lonely one. It was Cain Brooks, Emmet’s uncle and founder of The Bridge, who rescued us. He’d found my mother slumped in a shop doorway, beaten and bruised, with me by her side, clinging onto her like the frightened child I was. He found us, he took us back to the commune, and he helped bring my father to justice, helped make sure he paid for what he did. He made sure we were safe and accepted into his family. We became fully-fledged witnesses, set up home in a small and cozy cabin here on the compound – the cabin I still live in now – and we threw ourselves into a very different kind of life that was filled with hope and calm and people who were full of love, not hate. There was no anger, no judgement, it truly was a wonderful place to be, which is why, when I chose to leave – had to leave – it wasn’t for long. I came back, eventually. Why would I want to leave somewhere like this? My mother, she didn’t want to leave either, but she was given no choice. She was taken from us in the cruelest of ways, just a couple of years ago. Mowed down in a hit-and-run accident while out delivering bottles of our home-brewed beer to a local co-op run bar in a nearby town. Strangers on the street, the paramedics, they all tried to save her, but they couldn’t. She couldn’t be saved a second time. She’d died in the arms of a fellow witness, right there on the roadside, and there was nothing we could do about it, nothing except pray and talk and in the end that became too much for me. My faith was tested to its limits. Every belief I’d once had had been crushed and nothing, not even The Bridge, mattered anymore. That’s when I’d needed to leave. I’d needed space. Time alone. And Emmet, he could see through my pain. He felt my anger, he understood it. I’d grown up with him, we were like brothers, he was – is – my family. And he pulled me through that pain. He helped me out of the darkness that had overtaken everything. He gave me the time I needed – let me do what I had to do in order to find this place again. Find my faith, again. He made me realize how much The Bridge and its people mean to me, I couldn’t throw all of that away. If anything, losing my faith, even for that short amount of time: questioning my beliefs the way I did, it only made me stronger. Made me see so many things in a whole new light.

Just like Emmet, nothing is more important to me than The Bridge, and the people who live here, on this commune. This is the only world I really know, my memories are here, this is where my mother’s ashes are scattered. Her soul lives on in the earth and the air that make up this place. My home. It’s our beautiful haven on the outskirts of Siskiyou County, northern California. Some days, when the weather’s good, we can see Mount Shasta from parts of the commune, its snowy peak rising high into the sky, warning us that nature may not have finished with it just yet. Potentially still active, the volcano is a sign that we don’t control everything on this planet. We can’t, it isn’t possible, even our own destinies aren’t completely our own doing, as my mother found out. There’s so much we don’t understand, so much we never will, but here, amongst our own, we’re together as one, working it out, living the kind of life we choose to live, rather than one that has been forced on us.

“Hey, Avery.”

I turn and smile at Yasmin as she makes her way up the steps to my front porch. “Hey. Come in, come on. You look tired.”

“It’s been a long day.”

“Would you like some tea?” I ask, watching as she crosses her arms against herself, like she’s putting a barrier up between us, yet, at other times, I feel like there’s a part of her that wants to get to know me better. I certainly don’t dissuade her from doing that, there’s no reason why we can’t be friends just because she isn’t a witness herself. No reason why we can’t be more than friends. Sometimes I feel like we might be leaning toward that, but I’ve always backed off from pushing it any further. I’m still not sure it’s what she wants. What she’s looking for.

“I’d love some tea, thank you.”

“Please, sit down.”

She throws me a smile as she sits down at the kitchen table, crossing her legs, her eyes darting around the room. “I was looking forward to a long hot bath and an early night, but it looks like I’ll be hanging around a little longer than usual this evening. I promised to accompany our new guest to dinner.”

I place a mug of tea down in front of her and join her at the table. “She’s here?”

Yasmin nods and takes a sip of her tea.

“Does Emmet know?”

She nods again.

“Is he still fighting this?”

“You know Emmet. I can tell he’s wary, but I think he’s starting to understand why we need to do this. You understand, don’t you?”

She looks at me with wide, hopeful eyes, and I smile. “Yes, I do.”

She shifts her gaze and stares out of the window. “The gardens are looking beautiful, by the way. Have you been working on them?”

“We have. The gardens are one of my favorite places here on the commune. It’s where my mother and I used to spend the most time.”

She turns her head back to face me. “You weren’t born here, on the commune, though, were you?”

“No, I wasn’t. I was five years old when we arrived, so it’s pretty much all I’ve known.”

“What made you…?” She shakes her head and drops her gaze. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry, I just…”

“You wonder what brought us here?”

She slowly raises her head and smiles a nervous smile, and I give her a reassuring one back, I don’t mind that she’s asking these questions. But I may not elaborate as much as she wants me to.

“We needed to be here.”

She frowns. “Needed to be here? What – what does that mean?”

“We needed a safe place. The Bridge became that safe place.”

She’s still frowning, she still doesn’t fully understand, but that’s all I’m willing to tell her. Because she’s still, to all intents and purposes, an outsider? Is that how I really see her? Am I less inclined to open up to those who don’t share the same values and beliefs that I do? No, that isn’t it. Not really…

“Oh. OK. I’m sorry, I –”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Yasmin. Everyone has their reasons for being here, but sometimes – sometimes there are reasons why we choose to leave the past behind.”

I see a change in her expression when I say those words. Just a flicker, but enough to tell me she gets that, and I wonder if there’s a part of her past that she’d rather leave behind.

“Where did you grow up, if you don’t mind me asking?”

She looks at me, and for a second she hesitates, and then she smiles again, just a small one, but it reaches her eyes. “San Jose. My mom was a teacher, my dad worked in marketing. I guess I followed in his footsteps.”

“Was it a happy childhood?”

She furrows her brow, am I overstepping the mark with these questions? Because I still don’t think she fully understands the way we work here. She may assume I’m trying to “recruit” her, but that isn’t how we operate. We don’t lure people in, that isn’t what we do. We just offer a safe and peaceful haven for those who need one: give people a chance to think clearly, and if they then decide they want to leave – well, people can come and go as they please, despite what some might say about us.

“Yes. It was a happy childhood.”

I drop my gaze and stare into my tea. “I’m glad, that you’re joining us at dinner tonight.” I look up, and her eyes are on me. Beautiful eyes, but there’s also a sadness behind them that I’m not sure she realizes is there. She may have had a happy childhood but, I think, beyond that, something happened in her life that she’s choosing to block out. A reason why she keeps putting that barrier up.

“Me too. Anyway, I’d better go. I’ve still got a few things to do before I go check on Grace.”

She stands up and heads for the door, and I follow her.

“Do you trust me, Yasmin?”

She turns around, and she frowns again. “Yes, of course I trust you.”

“Good. That’s good. I want you to trust me.”

I need her, to trust me.

“OK, well, I’ll see you at dinner, Avery.”

“Yes. You will.”

I watch her walk down the porch steps, toward the small row of cabins near the entrance to the compound. The business block, as I like to call it. We need to make money, to survive, just like everyone else, so paperwork, admin., all that kind of stuff, it still has to be done, and that’s something Yasmin has taken charge of. She does a lot of things that many of us had previously balked at having to do ourselves, and for that I think she deserves more respect, especially from Emmet. She gets it from me, I respect the hell out of her, she comes with a great set of references and a reputation for getting things done. And that’s why I need her to trust me, because there’s every chance I’m going to need her help, very soon. I just need to make sure that what I might have to do – I need to make sure it’s the right thing to do. I need to be sure I’m not making a mistake, that the voices I heard and the visions I saw were real. But I also need to be able to trust her, I need to get to know her better, to see where her loyalties truly lie.

I walk outside, onto the porch, my hands in my pockets as I stand there and look out over our community – the land we own, the cabins we’ve built on it. The gardens, the orchards, the school. The small farm and brewery. Everything we need is here, and that fills me with an unending sense of achievement. This is a very special place.

It’s a beautiful evening, peaceful and still, and somewhere in the distance I can hear the faint sound of music, a guitar being gently strummed, voices singing, and I close my eyes and let it all wash over me. I was brought here, to this place, for a reason. We all come here, for a reason. Most of us stay, few rarely leave, we’ve created our own, rainbow-filled world within a darker, more unsettled one. We’re a haven for those who feel lost, a refuge for those who need safety. We’re a place for people who believe in peace and love and hope, there’s so little of that out there, beyond the perimeters of this compound.

Emmet’s family built this place. They created this family. They saved me. I owe them a lot. But I don’t owe them everything.

 

 

Yasmin

 

I hate that I feel so nervous around him, that his questions threw me, they shouldn’t. I let the guilt swamp me, and I hate that I’m letting that happen. I hate that I’m weak, that I can stand there in front of him and still hide my secret. I’ve tried to be stronger, I have, but as each day goes by I know that telling him… No. I don’t think I can, not yet. Maybe I never will. But, I should. I really should.

He told me that everyone comes here for a reason, and he’s right. I came here for a reason, too. I didn’t just randomly apply for this job, I needed it to be mine. I needed to be here, to be close to Avery, I needed this place to help me deal with the shit I’ve kept locked away inside of me. But so far all I’ve managed to do is alienate Emmet, and make everything I came here to do so much harder to deal with.

“Yasmin! Hold up a second!”

I stop walking and look up as Vera approaches me, one of her trademark brightly colored scarves tied around her shoulder-length blonde hair bandana style, a basket of freshly-picked vegetables balanced on her hip.

“I hear our visitor’s arrived.”

“She has. She’s resting now, but she’ll be joining us for dinner.”

Vera grew up on the commune, with Emmet and Avery. She’s as much a part of its history as they are, but she doesn’t hold their power. She isn’t privy to anything and everything, in that respect even I’m higher up the pecking order than she is. But who gets to be a part of any major decision making, that’s up to Emmet and Avery, not me, and so far they’re still keeping Vera very much on the perimeter.

“Well?”

She fixes me with an excited look, and I find myself frowning again. “Well, what?”

“What’s she like?”

“She seems nice. Genuine.”

“We should still tread carefully, though, don’t you think?”

“No, Vera, I think we should do the complete opposite. Any sign that we’re holding back is going to look like we have something to hide, and we don’t. We don’t. But to her, it could look different. I need everyone to be honest and open, I need you to just go about doing what you do, every day, as though she weren’t here. Welcome her, talk to her, answer her questions. However, if she starts to ask anything that may sound as though she’s trying to put words into your mouth – trying to get you to go down a route you don’t feel comfortable with, you come to me, OK?”

Vera frowns. “Do you think she might do that?”

“I don’t know. Like I said, she seems genuine enough, but I’ve only spent five minutes in her company, and before that, just a couple of telephone calls. I really don’t think she wants anything other than to see what we really do here, but –”

“Like I said, we should tread carefully.”

I drop my gaze and shake my head, that isn’t what I meant. “There’s no need to tread carefully, Vera. OK?” I look at her, and I think she gets it now.

“OK. Well, I’m happy to keep an eye on things, if you like. I can help show her around, take some of the pressure off you. And Emmet.”

“That would be great, thank you. I’ll make sure you get to speak to her tonight.”

Vera smiles at me, and I find myself crossing my arms again, like I did back in Avery’s cabin. Putting a barrier up between me and this place. Because I feel like it can sense my guilt? Like it knows my secret? Knows why I really took this job?

“Right, well, I’ll see you later. I’d better get these vegetables to the kitchen, Jake needs them for this evening’s dinner.”

I watch her head off toward the communal diner, her hair blowing slightly in the breeze, and I wonder if she really does feel as free and as calm as she seems. If her head really is clear of everything other than peace and love and all that other hippy crap places like this would like people like me to believe exists. I’m not sure that it does, I still find it hard to accept that everyone here is rid of all the darkness that was once there within them. All the pain. All the sadness. Can Emmet Brooks really make people believe that everything can be perfect, as long as they wake up, every day, in his world?

I’m tired, that’s why I’m feeling like this. Why these thoughts are filling my head. And I’m longing for my own space, I’ve spent too much time here today. I long for a warm bath, the chance to catch up with a box-set in my own bed, but I have another few hours to go before I can even think about that. I long for my own world, because this isn’t it. This world confuses me. It scares me. But it’s a world I need to be a part of, until I’ve done what I need to do. Only then can I think about leaving it behind.

©MichelleBetham

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