LUKAS

The bus hisses and shrieks, headlights in the night plunging through sheets of rain, windshield wipers beating in a steady rhythm. Ethen sits tense, hands clenched together, as buildings and streetlights blur past in rivulets outside the fogged window. "Serene Ponds, Creeksight, Melrow." The fuzzed voice comes over the speakers. He doesn't have to get off, but he can't turn back now. Not until the end of the line.

He sways like kelp on the sea floor as the bus undulates along the road. Sitting in the stiff, under-tended seats of a city bus, everyone is a refugee — arriving or leaving. Ethen isn't sure which he is. He watches distortions of himself reflected in the glass, not recognizing the man staring back, save for his eyes. Everything else melts away like clothes into burnt skin.

After the bomb, Ethen's resolve codified. He wasn't sure whether it was good or bad, right or wrong, futile or hopeful, but he had decided — he was going to find his mother. And that meant there was only one place remaining where he might secure a lead.

There was a small chance that she, the missing missionary, had entered into St. Edmeus' Cathedral in the moments he had left to search for her in their dank apartment. The bodies from the blast were being identified and released on public television in a slow forensic trickle. The TV on the bus was tuned to the death channel, so he was forced to be interested. He would tune in otherwise to see if some charred remains could be matched to a Martha Merriview. So far, that hasn't happened. Until that moment, he would claw like a street cat in search of her elsewhere.

His resolution — a grey numbness that the world dulled into a blunt, sad nub of a surviving point — had driven him to open his mother's personal boxes and books where she kept notes, journals, letters, addresses, names, numbers, photos, and moments of her time. There, he had found letters from his father. They were mostly from 30 years ago or so, most angry and disagreeable. His father's voice reminded him a lot of his own; curt, abrasive, as if relishing the role of the contrarian in the face of established thought. Passionate. Fierce. Uncompromising.

Beneath a stack of them was a lone address. He wasn't even sure what it went to. This was a Hail Mary. He would have had to have not moved in three decades for this to work. But if it did... in 20 minutes, Ethen would come face to face with his father for the first time in over 30 years.

The bus rolls to a stop in front of a small brick house, its windows spilling warm light. This is the address from his father's letters. Ethen steps off into the rain, pulse quickening. He walks slowly up the front path, diaphragm flexing, taking deep breaths. The neighborhood is upper-middle class, tidy yards and flower beds lining the streets. Trees with sprawling arms hang over quaint homes.

Ethen drags his feet through fresh puddles gathering on the cobblestone walkway, not wanting to arrive, yet uncertain if he can turn back now. He lifts a clenched fist and knocks firmly on the front door made of a rich, dense wood, rain beading on the lacquered surface, dripping from his sleeve and climbing up his arm.

The door opens, and there stands his father, Lukas. Older, grayer, but those same earth-brown eyes peer at Ethen behind wire glasses. A wave of dizzying nostalgia hits him.

"Son..." Lukas' voice wavers. He embraces Ethen, who stiffens before letting his head rest on his father's shoulder. No longer the little boy left behind. Just two men, poorer for all the missing years.'

When they break apart, Lukas looks Ethen over, eyes glistening, voice gruff. "Come in out of the rain." Ethen nods, throat tight, and steps across the threshold into the warmth, glancing around the interior.

"I've got the kettle on..." Lukas clasps his shoulder firmly. "We have much to discuss."

Lukas guides Ethen into the den, where a brick wood-burning fireplace emanates an orange glow of spent logs as embers. They sit in plush leather chairs facing each other, the silence heavy between them. Ethen glances around the room — no family photos, just a few landscape paintings on the walls. The weight of 30 lost years hangs palpably. With a trembling hand, Ethen reaches for his tea, the warm mug thawing his frozen thoughts.

Lukas clears his throat. "I can hardly believe you found me. Your mother had made it clear..." His voice trails off, uncertain.

Ethen shifts in his seat, equally uneasy. "I know. But I didn't have anywhere else to turn." He meets his father's gaze. The awkwardness is suffocating. "You've only been about 30 minutes away this entire time."

"I know." Lukas forces a tight smile. "Well, I'm glad you're here. It's good to see you." He reaches a hand across to Ethen's shoulder, attempting to bridge the divide. "You've grown so much. Last I saw you, you were just a boy..."

Ethen doesn't remember his father very well at all, but he is sure this peaceful stranger is him without any more definitive proof. It is his presence, his scent; the deepest senses and the most non-descript.

Lukas continues. "I've never stopped thinking about you, though my love for your mother turned to bitterness decades ago. I wanted to tell you; I've always loved you." He begins to tear up already. "Can you ever forgive me?"

Ethen begins coldly. "Why did you leave us?"

"Your mother… she was a part of a cult, called the Church of Oedipus. I think you know. You must know. They tried to brainwash me, and when I wouldn't comply, they cut you and your mother off from me. Your mother... must have told you that I abandoned you. I guess that was just easier. I have missed you every day. I am so sorry. I love you."

Ethen is not ready for this. He leans back and looks tasseographically into the spent teacup in his hands. "Why didn't you fight to stay? I was being raised in a sex cult, so you just leave? You just leave me with them?"

"No. No way. They cut off all contact between us because of the excommunication thing. I could have been killed. You and your mother could have been killed even. The brainwashing is stronger than you can imagine. And your mother's devotion to her cult is even stronger. Believe me, I never stopped loving you. I thought about you every day. I am so sorry you grew up thinking I abandoned you."

"My mother did tell me you left... but she didn't say anything about threats."

Lukas takes a deep breath of putrid emotion. "When someone was 'excommunicated' from the church, they were considered an existential threat. In the church of Oedipus, family members who left were dangerous and a corrupting influence. Your mother would have lost her status in this stupid cult if you talked to me; if I talked to you; if I talked to her, if she talked to me. They would have done terrible things to us."

A log cracks and splits in the fireplace, sending up a swirl of sparks that briefly lights the dark space between them.

"After we split, your mother... she took the matter to the church of course. What else could she do? She was afraid I was going to take you, to steal you away into some horrible life away from that cult. That's when the stalking began. I would see them out of the corner of my eye. When I went to get groceries, there they were. Never speaking, never identifying themselves, but... always monitoring. They set up a watch. They intimidated my friends, extorted them at their places of business. I was not allowed to have a social life... all because I criticized that cult. That's how aggressive they were in reaction to someone speaking their flaws out loud. The more accurate your criticisms, the more they hated you for it."

Lukas takes a long draw of tea, eyes distant, as the rain ticks against the windows in steady succession. "This cult is not just devoted to the idea of incest. They're fanatics who have turned their devotion to a twisted sexual 'family religion.' This church is quite evil in how they use psychology to convince you that mother-son incest is normal. It's not normal, Ethen. You know that don't you?"

"I know it. A large part of the intuition I had against it was thanks to you in an odd way. Because you were so..." He winces. "... absent... I think I gravitated towards your stances, I think, as a way to connect with you in some... sad way. It was my way of rebelling."

Lukas stands and places a fresh, pithy log onto the fireplace. He pokes and prods the wood into submission. Shadows dance on the walls as flames lick and devour the dry wood, filling the void when words fail them.

"I'm glad I was able to do something useful. I'm glad you never gave in and bought into their brainwashing. I just wish I had been a larger part of your life. I always planned to make up for it, when you were older, and I could explain why I was never there. It's been tearing me apart."

Ethen shifts under the weight of memories half-formed, feelings tangled that lay dormant for decades. "And yet..." He finally asks. "… we haven't spoken in 30 years. What happened? I read your letters to mom. Did you give up your cause? If you have been working to undo and expose the church all this time, I think you've failed. Unless you were the one who detonated the bomb last week."

"I never gave up. I never have. Though it's true, my anger and resentment ate away at my soul and ruined me. I made a new life. I got a new name, a new job, and even tried to have a new family. But you are the one thing I haven't been able to let go. I thought every day how you were being raised in that cult. I'm so sorry. I failed you." With a deep exhale, Lukas sets down his mug, leaning forward as if bracing himself for whatever might come.

"So... you married my mom. The two of you had me. After, my mom revealed this giant secret cult to you, and that she had believed in it the whole time. You ultimately resisted and disagreed. That caused a rift between you and my mom, one that meant your marriage was infeasible. This was a point of ideological incompatibility. So how did I end up with my mother and not you?"

Lukas' eyes soften, seeing past the hardened exterior to find traces of the boy he once knew. "When we broke up, your mom went back to the cult, and they talked her into taking you with her. They had this idea that a mother and son should always be together. They convinced her that the only thing keeping you and her apart was me. They said to her that I was a threat to you, that I would turn you away from them. So of course, she believed them. They manipulated and brainwashed her. They were willing to do and say anything to get what they wanted. And that's why you stayed with your mom. I couldn't just walk out with you. I wanted to. Your mother would have called the police. Her and her cult could twist the facts, claim I was kidnapping or harming you. Yes, they had that much power. To be honest, I was scared. You know, people can claim that us fathers are brave and fearless, but I was scared in that situation. I didn't know what to do; how to win."

"Why didn't you expose the church like you said you would?"

"For a long time, I had been planning a documentary that would expose them. I actually found some ex-members who were willing to speak on camera, with their own faces and names. But the cult was very powerful, with many powerful people involved, including politicians, judges, and law enforcement. They were aware of my plans, and I was warned to keep quiet or else. I was terrified that you would be harmed, so I kept quiet."

Ethen studies the worn lines of his father's face, trying to find traces of the man preserved in faded photos and memories. "I barely remember you from childhood. Just some awkward encounters that made clear you were a stranger to me."

"... I'm so sorry. When you saw me, I imagine it was awkward. I would have wanted to rush over and hug you, but I couldn't. And with your mother telling you that I abandoned you, you probably wanted nothing to do with the father who left you. One time I remember I drove by you and your mother's apartment building. I wasn't going that way just for the reason; I was returning from somewhere and found myself on that street I recognized. As I passed by, I looked up into the wing of the building I knew your apartment was, to see if a light was on, or if I could maybe even see a silhouette of you through the blinds. But instead, I saw them. They were standing out in front of the place, like secret security or something. It was madness."

Ethen's hairs stand on end. "Are we in danger? Me being here?"

"No. The cult has been effectively shut down as of last week. They haven't had any of their normal operations since. I don't think I'm a priority anymore with the authorities now getting involved... as much as they'd like to keep me under the microscope. I haven't seen any tails since the bomb."

"Serious?"

"The bomb was devastation to their primary headquarters, yes. The publicity from it allowed the media to peer deeper into their horrible culture; something that had been so successfully covered up for so, so long. Not much, but enough. They've had to go into hiding." Lukas raises his glass to his eye level and towards Ethen. "Here's to hoping their leaders are all arrested, and their assets seized by the government." He drinks.

Outside, the storm takes on new fury, thunder rumbling as if imploring them to speak, break the laden silence.

"Before the bombing, I actually… I attended one of the sermons for the first time in over a decade. I reconnected with a childhood friend of mine. I saw her there. She used to be my crush. She had become the First Priestess and was giving the sermon herself!"

Shadows accentuate the lines on Lukas' face as he leans forward, looking older than his years. "Son, you were going back? After everything? Why?!"

Ethen idly runs his thumb over weathered etchings in the leather armrests, his nervousness leaving testimony of his presence in the home. "I don't know… I really don't. These past few months have been..." His words trail off into a shake of his head, as if attempting to sober himself. "The things I was discovering were unsettling. Things about myself."

Wind whips the trees outside, skeletal branches clawing against the windowpanes, underscoring their confinement. "... are you saying you think you have feelings for you mother?"

"I don't know. I don't know if this is the power of suggestion that has been built up my whole life or is such a feeling is there naturally." Ethen's legs tighten and he presses his teeth against each other. His father, not having been around him for three decades, has cut to the heart of his son immediately, as if he knew him better than anyone in the world. "Please don't kick me out."

Lukas holds his tea but does not drink, the aroma evoking hazy memories of quiet mornings long ago. "Ethen, please calm down. You're not going to be castrated. And even if you had feelings for your mother, it's certainly not the end of the world. People have had feelings for their opposite sex parents before. It is at once perfectly natural and horribly unnatural. But why… why did you go back to the church? I would think those feelings would tell you to stay away?"

"I felt like the church was the only place I could go to that might understand. The rest of society is just so closed off to even the discussion. I didn't wanna go to a therapist, because I was afraid, they would know who I am... I work at the clinic."

"I understand. You're right. People are closed-off to discussion on these topics. It's just too unsettling. Like a gangrenous limb of our culture that reeks, so it is never assessed, tended to, cured. I suppose the church provided a place to try and figure things out. They seemed to provide all the answers, didn't they?"

Ethen lets his guard down inch by inch, dark memories soothed in this sheltered space. "They did. That's the only foothold I think they have. They are willing to talk about things to other people will censor or disallow. If we were able to speak of these things, even just a little more openly, I don't think they would have a place... they wouldn't have anything to offer."

"I agree." Lukas refills Ethen's tea without asking, dusting off habits and hospitality. "The problem with this church was never that they openly accepted people with these feelings. It was how they preyed on these people. They twisted an ancient myth and used it to build a sex cult full of brainwashing and abuse. If they were willing to help you without the brainwashing, and without the cult, things might have been very different..." As they continue talking, the space between them seems to shrink, their voices growing warmer.

Ethen's voice trembles, tentative and shy, unable to plant itself in tone or timbre, wriggling like a split worm. "Dad…" The word is at once foreign and familiar.

"Can I ask a question; did you ever have any of these… thoughts that the church promoted... about your own mother..."

With horror, Ethen recognizes seeds of his own twisted relationship with Martha mirrored in his father's eyes. Wrestling down rising bile, Ethen wonders if depravity is woven into the family lineage. In his father's familiar features, Ethen glimpses a reflection of desires deemed best left unspoken.

Lukas finally speaks. "The more taboo something is, the more power it has. The forbidden fruit and all of that. The church knows this, of course, and uses the taboos to build a cult. If they weren't as taboo as they are, it would take a lot of the power out of it, the allure or even curiosity. If we, as a society, weren't so afraid to discuss this topic, maybe the church wouldn't be so powerful."

Ethen jumps at the possibility of intellectualizing. "It's like it takes advantage of the unwillingness of people to discuss this as a possibility. Our lack of an intellectual or philosophical constitution to hold the idea at arm's length, really does create a lot of the issues surrounding it."

"That's very true. And this is what the church does. They take advantage of the feelings we all have, whether or not we act on them. They take advantage of the taboo nature of the subject, and exploit the natural curiosity, or even the natural human feelings… they take advantage of these things and use them as hooks to capture you in their cult."

Ethen blanches at the insinuations bubbling under his father's surface, so alike to the urges he fights within. "When mom introduced you to the cult, did you ever feel those hooks? Were you ever… curious or... contemplative of the possibility of joining them?"

"My first instinct was: 'What on Earth is this? A mother-son incest cult? This is vile and disgusting, a vile perversion of human nature.' But… to be perfectly honest with you, Ethen… I was curious. I was curious about the taboo nature of it, and I admit it. It was a dark time for me. And maybe those feelings were OK for me, but not for an innocent child. Just a little boy. They want to make every son and mother dependent on them. They want to own you. Yes, those feelings might be OK for me, but I have more experience, and I am not a little boy. I could handle the thoughts and feelings. You were just a little boy… as vulnerable as you were curious."

Lukas runs a hand through thinning hair, the nervous gesture stirring an old ache in Ethen. "The Church of Oedipus as we know it is gone, son. In the next weeks, authorities are going to arrest or deport members who still cling to it. They will be banned. While this is good news... in their twisted and sick worldview, they could attempt to spin it into a good thing. The whole point of the "church" was to normalize and destigmatize mother-son incest, to cast it in a sympathetic light, and make it a 'cultural institution.' So, the attack actually fit right in with their twisted worldview-- it was just a sign that things were turning in the right direction."

"Like confirmation. They were being persecuted for their beliefs."

"Yes, they were. That's exactly right, and that's the twisted and horrible thing. They always wanted to be persecuted, so they could say to their congregation, "See? Society won't let us be together. We're the only ones who understand.' They saw persecution as an endorsement... a sick victory. they used the disapproval of others like a currency. They see the ire and disgust created in people as a result of their ways and preserve it as a supply of a moral superiority. It's like they say, 'look at all the hate out there.' So, anyone who disagrees, even peacefully, is deemed extremist. It's so backwards."

"But who bombed the church remains a mystery. It could've been someone inside or out. If in; it backfired on them."

"Yes. That's what I've wondered. Did someone from inside this mother-son cult want to manufacture sympathy? Did someone from the outside want to destroy them? We still don't know. There are many hypotheses, as the local and national agencies have been investigating this, but no one has been found. And there are plenty of suspects, on both sides."

"What about you? Are you a suspect?"

"I am, yes. I had motives, as you can imagine. They hate me, even after all these years. I've never seen anyone hold anything like these people hold grudges. Such as the case for anyone deemed a "Laius". Some in that cult still know me, still hate me for my remote criticisms of them. So, I'm one of the suspected, at least by them, but no one can definitively say who did it. Maybe in time, we'll find out."

Their unsettling kinship gnaws at Ethen. "Did you bomb the church, Dad?"

"Ethen, I know you might not believe me right now, but no. I did not bomb the Church of Oedipus. I can't say I didn't think about it... but I never actually did it. It wasn't me."

"So, the bomb changed a lot. It finally made it OK for us to interact... and I had no idea. I just came over here. That could have been really dangerous for the both of us."

"Life is funny like that." Lukas' laughter lights up his face at an old joke only he hears, erasing years of hard lines — a deep, hearty laughter that only comes from a correct soul. The lines of age on his face slowly return, and his gaze is to the floor, though looking far past it. "I've been wanting to reach out. To see you. I had written so many letters. You might have thought it strange to be getting letters from your father, out of the blue, after all these years. But I couldn't send them, because I couldn't risk them getting intercepted. I was so worried, but I knew at some point, this church would face justice, and I would have a chance. I'm so sorry it took as long as it did. Just know I've been wanting to contact you for a long time. And... you found me first!" He chuckles again, rehearsing the same joke over a different chord. "Life is funny like that."

He continues, looking at Ethen now. "I think... it's clear I'm not a priority to them anymore. I think my son deserves some answers and I owe that to you. I'm not putting anyone in danger. Yes, I think it's safe for us to reconnect after all these dark, lonely years. But there's just one problem... I understand I am a stranger to you. It's been nearly 30 years and now I want to come and try and be your father. I've worried how you'd react. Would your mother let you? Would you want to see me?"

Ethen shuffles in his chair, the scrunch of the old leather nearly creaking underneath him. "Well, that's in part why I am here. It's great to connect with you. Really, it is. But also..." Ethen blows off his nervousness in a controlled exhale. "... mom has been gone for the past three years."

Lukas' pupils dilate in horror. "She's…" His words are pulled out of him unwillingly. "… dead?"

"No. No I don't think so. But… I can't be sure. She went on a mission trip for the church. She was supposed to come back a few days ago. In fact, the bomb went off at a banquet that was supposed to be a homecoming for her and other missionaries. For their sacrifice. Two of those missionaries are now dead. Mom never showed up. She never came back. So, I am hoping to go look for her. I'm worried about her. Despite it all."

"... she disappeared three years ago, and no one knows where she is?"

"I asked another church faction in the neighboring town if they had any information, but it all seems to have been kept at the main cathedral. I don't think they'll be finding those records anytime soon. They may have been destroyed even. So, while they know where she went, Sideria, nobody knows exactly where she is."

"I can't believe it... and nobody knows where she is. And now you're going to look for her. Ethen be careful. Please, don't do anything reckless. The things she... the things they do in that church, you're lucky you weren't fully consumed by them. She was a top leader in it. She had a large following and a lot of influence in that church. She was like royalty there."

Ethen is confused. "I had no idea..."

"Do you have any idea how dangerous she is?"

Lukas glances at the barren walls, barren of family photos that might have bridged the gap between past and present. "You know, for as messed up as the church was, and for as dangerous as mom might've been in it, she never pressured me into anything. Not once. She was very insistent on anything being fully... consensual. If you can call it that. It was always there, waiting, at my call, at my engaging it. I never really felt it was right; so, we never did anything."

With those words, Ethen excises thirty years of sickly worry from Lukas. His heart is shocked and pauses, its electricity confounded. It quickly catches up, a stronger beat this time to compensate for its unexpected lull. "Well thank God for that. I am happy to hear there was some good in your mother still."

Ethen's jaw tightens, the insinuation stoking old hurts between his parents. The rain continues outside, filling the strained silences between Ethen and his father. They continue to cover uneasy ground — Martha's devotion to the church, Lukas' anger at its twisted beliefs, the deadly bombing.

Lukas shakes his head sadly. "I'm sorry about your friend who died. That never should have happened. And those children. I hate it occurred but perhaps it's for the best that church now lies in ashes. That your mother is gone."

Looking at his father, Ethen sees past the bitterness to the heartbreak. However flawed, Lukas still cares. Swallowing his pride, Ethen meets his father's gaze. "Dad, I know finding her won't make up for the past. But I have to try, for my own sake." He pauses, nervous but resolute. "Will you help me?"

Lukas lowers his head towards his clasped hands. After a moment, he looks up at Ethen, into his eyes, the flame from the fireplace dancing in the black of his pupil. "Of course. Whatever it takes. Maybe your mother isn't beyond rescuing from this cult, especially now. You are the man to do it. Is there any information you have on your mother's location?"

Ethen sighs, leaning forward to stir the dwindling fire. "With their leadership scattered, I've got no way to locate mom. I hoped..." His voice trails off.

Lukas' eyes soften with concern seeing Ethen's anguish. He chooses his next words carefully. "Have you considered she may not wish to be found? After so long away, returning may not hold any appeal for her."

Ethen rubs his shoulders tightly. "I have to try. I have to know. Even if I find out she is dead. Even if I find out she is alive and wants nothing to do with me."

Lukas drinks the last of his tea. "I'll admit this is not how I imagined our reunion would go. I hoped perhaps I'd finally see you without the influence of that church, the influence of your mother... but the reality is a mixed bag. Always more complicated than the fantasy, isn't it? I just... I just don't want you to have false hope... you must be so disappointed that she never made any attempt to contact or see you in these three years, that I don't want you to be disappointed if you go all this way and find nothing. But who am I to speak of a lack of contact, and in only three years as opposed to ten times that? And things have gone well for us here tonight, son. So... let me ask... do you have hope? Do you hold hope you'll find her and bring her back?"

"I do, Dad. I want to find her. I want to tell her that I love her, despite everything."

"There's no guarantee it will end as you imagine. Your mother may not be who you think. She manipulated so many and destroyed so many lives, including mine. A part of me still thinks this was for the best. She wasn't around to hurt you or influence you for all these years."

Ethen leaned in. It was the sincerest question he gave all evening. "Dad. Will you go with me to find her?"

Lukas doesn't move. Helping is one thing, physically accompanying is another. But he leans forward, an outstretched arm lowering onto Ethen's shoulder like a drawbridge. "I've always thought nothing would make me happier than to see you again, my boy. And you know what? It's true. That's the one part that has been exactly how I imagined." Lukas' eyes pour the moat. "I want to be by your side and be your father again. Even if that means going with you to look for your mother."