I loathed and feared the secrecy. Removing myself from that toxic environment was one of the primary reasons I had escaped the cult. But keeping secrets was a way of life that wasn’t easily changed.
It was mid-October 1987, soon after I turned eighteen. On this particular day, I was more exhausted than usual when I finished my afternoon shift at Reliance Appliance. When I got home, I just wanted to escape to my room so I wouldn’t be assigned more chores to do. Moments after I changed into shorts and a T-shirt, Mark called his son Brandon and me into the home office. I studied Mark’s face, which seemed lined and worn, making him look much older than his thirty-five years. Something’s wrong.
Mark rolled the office chair from beside his desk and placed it so the three of us would be sitting in a circle. “I have news.” He paused and glanced down at his hands, which he nervously rubbed back and forth on his jeans. “Uh, here’s the deal. Dan Jordan has been killed. He was shot while on a camping trip with his family.”
What did he just say? I gasped incredulously. Time stopped for a moment as I was mentally transported back to the warehouse at Michael’s Appliance in Denver. I hadn’t thought about it for years, but the memories came flooding back. The grueling days spent scraping crusty gunk off appliances until my arms ached, cleaning rat excrement out of stoves, collapsing into bed after eleven each night, only to get up and do it all over again at 7:00 a.m. Dan Jordan, the cruel tyrant, was dead? Dan Jordan, who convinced my mother to return to his sweatshop, leaving me without a parent once again? What did I feel in that moment? Not sorrow. Not pain. Not sadness for any of his family members. Honestly, I didn’t even feel glad or thankful that justice had finally been served. Instead, I was numb.
Brandon may have asked his dad some questions, but I tuned out everything except my own internal narrative, until Mark broke in.
“Anna! Are you listening?”
“I’m sorry, what were you saying?” I stared at my hands, uncomfortable for being singled out.
“Apparently, there’s a list.”
“What kind of list?”
“Well, for lack of a better way to put it, a hit list. Apparently Ervil generated a list while he was in prison. He commanded his followers to carry out the killings of apostates on his behalf.”
My stomach roiled with a wave of nausea as I realized what Mark meant. My father was responsible for Dan’s death. He hadn’t pulled the trigger, but he had given the directive. He ordered someone to kill Dan, and that disciple did as asked. Bile burned in my throat, and I coughed and tried to swallow it back down. I gulped down the glass of water that Lillian had brought in as we started our meeting.
“Are you okay?” Mark’s eyes searched my face.
“I will be. It’s just a lot to take in.” I breathed in deeply and leaned back in the chair.
“Unfortunately, there’s more to it.”
I picked at a cuticle as Mark continued.
“Ervil wanted anyone who had ever disobeyed one of his orders to be killed —murdered in cold blood. During his later years in prison, he went completely insane. I don’t know if it was being in prison, or if the little bit of power he enjoyed went to his head, but he not only believed himself to be a prophet, he also believed he could direct his followers to carry out blood atonement on his behalf.”
“What’s blood atonement?” Brandon asked, his eyes wide.
Mark explained, “Bottom line, blood atonement is the shedding of blood to pay for someone’s sins. It basically cleanses that person for the evil they’ve perpetrated —or the evil you believe they’ve perpetrated. Do you remember your mom and I discussing how Ervil and Dan had had a falling out a while back?”
Brandon whispered, “No.”
“Ervil asked several of us to come with guns a-blazing and bust him out of prison. But none of us wanted to follow his orders because we knew it would be a suicide mission —an impossible task. Well, you can imagine how angry that would make your father, Anna.”
“Who did he ask?” I wasn’t sure I even wanted to hear the answer.
“Dan Jordan, your brother Ed, and my brother Duane.” Mark lowered his eyes. “And me.” He paused to let his words sink in.
“And now Dan is dead . . .” My pulse quickened. I wondered whether my mother and others who weren’t on the hit list, but closely connected to those who were, would also be in danger. I could see tears pooling in Brandon’s eyes, but he hastily wiped them away with the back of his hand.
“Yes. And because my name is on the list, it means someone could be coming after me. Obviously, we can’t know that for sure, and I’m not saying any of this to scare you. Lillian and I just want to take a few necessary precautions. We’re going to have to be extra vigilant and watch out for each other. I need you two to help us watch out for the five younger children. Be careful. If you have a strange feeling about something or are wary about going someplace, let us know. If anything seems out of the ordinary, tell us.”
It took a few moments for the enormity of what Mark was saying to begin to sink in. Was Mark really next on my dad’s hit list? How could that be possible? My father loved Mark. He’d given Lillian to him in marriage because he loved and trusted him. I knew Mark had been one of my dad’s most devoted disciples —at one time.
But then Mark and Lillian left the cult, began attending a Christian church, and sent their children to a Christian school. They harbored me when I fled. Would those “sins,” coupled with Mark’s refusal to break my dad out of prison, be enough to fuel such a horrific fire of retribution?
Brandon broke the silence. “What are you gonna do, Dad?”
Mark rubbed his eyes vigorously and sighed. He took a sip of water and went on. “Listen, we could uproot and move to Timbuktu. Or we can trust God for His protection. I’d rather do that. I refuse to live in hiding.”
Brandon pressed his lips into a firm line and nodded his affirmation.
I wasn’t so sure. Having lived under the oppression of Dan Jordan for two years, I knew what kind of tormentor the man was. For Dan’s murder to have been orchestrated by my dad and carried out by Dad’s fanatic followers seemed to grant my father an awfully far-reaching power beyond the grave. I didn’t want that kind of power coming after me —or Mark and Lillian and their children, or anyone else I loved. I shared Brandon’s anxiety. “So are we going to do anything?”
“Yes, we’re absolutely going to do something. We’re going to prepare to defend ourselves, if needed.”
“How?” Brandon’s jaw clenched.
“I’ve bought some guns so we can take care of anyone who tries to hurt us.” Mark took a key out of his top desk drawer and opened a cabinet in the closet. He pulled out a shotgun for us to see. “I got this shotgun to keep with me at the shop. And I’ve got a couple of handguns here at the house. Obviously, we need to keep them locked up for the safety of the younger kids, but just know that we have them if they are needed.” His eyes began to get misty, and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed.