ARC: Essence by Lisa Ann O'Kane Page A

he didn’t make a mistake by joining us.”
     
    “I founded the Community because I believe manipulators like Cedar should be stopped at all costs.”
    Rex and I sat beside a wide computer monitor. The room was filled with long tables, refrigerators and rows upon rows of test tubes and neatly organized files. The light bulbs overhead were blinding – a shocking shade of fluorescent white – and one flickered slightly in the corner. This gave the room a weird, buzzing glow.
    “My Community exists here as a sanctuary,” he said, “but we cannot stop at just existing. As long as monsters like Cedar are in positions of power, the happiness of our children is at stake.”
    He leaned forward. “Have you heard the whispers, Autumn? The Haight-Ashbury temple is filled to overflowing. Cedar is looking to expand, to build a second temple near Telegraph Hill. Some even think he’ll run for office. Try to consolidate his power and turn the entire Bay Area into a Centrist stronghold.”
    He paused. “I know about what happened to your brother, about the way Cedar’s meditation masters let Brady die in the street without lifting so much as a finger to save him. We can’t allow a society that promotes such gross negligence to exist.”
    Before I could manage so much as a nod, he asked, “Who did you leave behind, Autumn? In that terrible, terrible place?”
    “My aunt.” My voice came out as a squeak. “I left my aunt and my mother behind.”
    “Let us take a moment, then, to imagine what they are doing right now. Working low-paid, entry-level jobs? Tithing their entire paychecks to the Movement in exchange for paltry weekly allotments that don’t even cover their living expenses?”
    He frowned. “Or are they surviving on grocery store castoffs and slaving away in the temple? Sewing quilts and souvenirs, when they never see so much as one cent in profit?”
    A pause. “Because that’s what Cedar does, you know. Conducts. Orchestrates. Sits in his lofty quarters and reaps the benefits of everyone else’s sacrifices. Especially the sacrifices of his children.”
    He clenched his fists. “Don’t get me started on his supposed ‘neutrality’. Cedar is demented, perverse. Most of his meditation masters are, too.” At this, his voice faltered. “Autumn, I have seen so many wicked deeds performed in the name of the Centrist Movement; I have participated in them myself. I did it because I was tricked, seduced into believing I was serving a higher purpose.”
    He leaned back in his chair. “You’ve known, haven’t you? For years. Some part of you has always doubted his teachings. His methods. Those late-night visits from his meditation masters. Because you’re almost seventeen now, aren’t you? Your first visit couldn’t have been too far from now.”
    As dread filled the pit of my stomach, he reached forward to squeeze my hand. “Don’t worry, Autumn. You’re safe now. But you understand why I can’t rest until every other Centrist child is likewise freed?”
    As I fumbled through an awkward nod, he swiveled to his computer. “Let me show you the data we’ve been collecting. It isn’t enough to simply discuss the fallacy of Cedar’s teachings; we intend to dismantle every principle he has ever preached.”
    He turned to address the darkened computer: “Ryder Stone, please. Patient number zero-zero-three. Inception to present, stabilized with averages.”
    The computer whirred to life, and the monitor brightened. A neon green line graph appeared against a background of black, and two wiggly lines stretched diagonally upward across its x- and y-axes.
    “This is my son’s file,” he explained. “I have been monitoring his heart rate and hormones since we arrived here. This graph shows the interrelation between the two; it also tracks his highs and lows through time.”
    He pointed to the horizontal x-axis, which started with the number ten and ended with the number seventeen. “This axis tracks