Love in the Shadows

The Prophet

by Brett Shultz

"With us, you will find salvation. We are the men and women who will change the great U.S.A. God will help us and guide us through the time of hell, for the people who live here are sinful, but we can change that. We will kill all those who get in our way and get followers who will follow us through heaven and hell. For we are all the prophets who will change this great country for our god."

They called him the Prophet. His real name was Grant Indosea. He was the leader of the cult called the Prophet's Helpers... I have been living among the cult for two months now, and I wanted to get to know our prophet.

"Oh, Prophet, I want to be among your personal guards," I said.

The crowd looked at me as he scratched his beard and took off his glasses. It was taking a while for the man to answer, but I was still on my feet, so I wouldn't be rude to the prophet.

"Okay, my son, you wish to serve more than yourself," he said

"Yes."

"Then meet me back here at 10:00 PM, so we may talk," he said. "Dismissed,"

We all walked out as the prophet was looking up to the heavens and his hands were raised. He was a smart and wise man who everyone loved.

I went back to the church that night, but he wasn't alone. Someone grabbed me from behind.

"Don't move, shit head," he said.

I knew it was Trevor Jackson. I kicked his leg and grabbed the knife out of his hand. He stumbled back and then came at me. I cut him in the stomach and grabbed him, taking him to the ground. I was ready to slit his thick neck wide open.

"Good," the prophet said. "I like you. What is your name?"

"Samson, but you can call me Sam."

This is how it all started, how I met Grant Indosea––or––the prophet. Over the next couple months, me and him had become close. He had become my friend, and I found myself not wanting to return to my old life. He made me forget it. The prophet was nice, charming, and most of all, brave. I found myself admiring him. We would talk some days for hours about what we did before we came here to Arkansas.

I told the man everything, and I trusted the prophet. As months turned into a year, I forgot about my old life. I liked my new life better. No ex-wife to worry about, no worrying about buying food because the prophet took care of that for us. He told me about God and heaven and hell, and I found salvation with the lord.

Then it all changed when a new guy joined the cult. His name was Kaleb Mack, who I came to recognize to be an old FBI agent that I worked with. He was somewhat of a friend back in my old life, so I wanted to confront him before I told the prophet.

"Hey, Kaleb, why are you here?" I questioned.

"Sam? We thought you were dead. You never responded to our messages."

"I wanted to stay here," I said

"That man is nuts," he said. "Why would you stay with him?"

"He solves all your problems," I explained. "Come with me, and let's meet him."

"Dammit, Sam, you're one of them now," he said.

He walked away, and I knew what I had to do. Later that night, I went to see the prophet. He was walking out of his trailer when he greeted me.

"I have something very important to tell you," I began.

"What is wrong, Sam?" He furrowed his brow.

"Someone is here from the FBI to kill you."

"We'll talk to him tonight," he said.

That night, the prophet's township slept in their houses and RVs while me and Trevor went into Kaleb's RV. It smelled terrible and had empty cans and wrappers on the counters. The air smelled of cigarettes and alcohol, and the sink was full of dirty dishes.

He wasn't here, but then we heard a sound in the bathroom. Suddenly Kalab jumped out, punching Trevor in the jaw. He tried to run, but we both managed to grab him and take him to the ground. We then took a pan and slammed in on his head.

We dragged him to the church where the prophet wanted him. He struggled, but we held him back as he screamed for help. The prophet sat there on the pew and was holding a knife upo our arrival.

"Take this, Sam," he said. "Kill him. He is part of your old life. You don't need him."

He handed me the big butcher knife, and I took it. I wanted to kill him, but I remembered something. I remembered his wife–, Veronica––a lady who could never live without her husband––and two kids. Imagining her crying at Kaleb's funeral was unbaring, but I put the knife to Kaleb's neck anyway. As he looked at me with tears in his eyes, I knew what I had to do.

I slid the prophet's throat, and blood squirted out. Trevor attacked me and took me to the ground, the knife sliding out of reach.

Kaleb tried to slide his way across the floor to get the knife.

Trevor began to choke me until I knocked him down. I got up and grabbed the gun. One shot rang through the town and through Trevor's skull. The town was now awake.

People came from all directions. They had all been followers of the prophet, and instead of killing, us they stared at the prophet's lifeless body. Their mouths were wide open with disbelief. Everyone wanted to look away, but they couldn't.

"Kill them," a man yelled.

We were as good as dead. There were at least a hundred people against two. They began to walk toward us with knives and guns. Then the helicopter showed up. The townspeople all separated, running away from the men coming down. They were armed and were able to pick me and Kaleb up. We were lifted through the air and saved by fellow our FBI agents.

Later, they asked us what happened. Kaleb lied to save my ass. He told them I was caught, and he said I saved his life when I killed the prophet. I realized I had done something shamefully wrong, but Kaleb got me back on track. He saved my life, and from then on, we were great friends, even after I retired from the agency. The prophet would later live on in the hearts and memories of many others, but now I'm old enough to know better.