by Poppet
Swallowing the bile rising up, her state strips me of strength.
I forgot. Jesus christ how could I forget? I remember those days, back as a boy. My father is a master at brainwashing and conditioning. She's just undergone an intense month of the most vicious images ever caught on film, including death camps, child pornography, snuff films, and movies shot right here, the contents of them could scar any mind for life.
Following ongoing image bombardment he would have then subjected her to sleep deprivation, reinforcing the commandments with brutality that shatters a mind, and dissolves the personality and will. Woken every two hours with ice water, bodily pain, torture, shock treatment, within a week she would have been an automaton, but he doesn't stop until he has the perfect slave.
She's gone. Long gone. I was lucky, Victor was my salvation in more ways than one, he rescued me from this state by isolating me with him away from Alpha. He brought me to life when I was this empty and broken.
Stunned by this development, her grasp on my hand gives me fear instead of comfort, “I must love you. A good wife loves her husband.”
“What makes you a good wife? You've been missing for months.” I can't help myself, the resentment is still seething.
Still talking to the floor, she says, “A disobedient wife must be disciplined.”
Taking my words literally, as a commandment, she turns around, lifting her dress and bending.
Fuck!
I can't … this is wrong!
He's ruined you. Completely.
Grabbing her, pulling her dress down and making her stand straight, I walk her towards my lounge, “For christ's sake woman. This isn't how I operate.”
“You are displeased,” robots at me, her stare unseeing, only moving when I'm physically guiding her. Forcing her to sit down, she says to my thighs, “You are to build a fire out of dried human excrement, bake bread on the fire, and eat it where everyone can see you … Ezekiel 4:12.”
Dropping to my haunches, snapping my fingers in front of her face without reaction, I demand, “What the hell are you talking about? I've done nothing wrong.”
“It is the lord's command when he is angry. I must eat bread baked on excrement. Cooked on my own faeces.”
Jesus!
Slumping back, stunned, I hold my head in despair.
What has he done to you!
Did he really make you …? Obviously he did.
Scrambling backwards, connecting my knee in an agonising bump on the edge of the coffee table, I bolt away from her, running to the bathroom, slamming the lid up and retching into the toilet bowl.
I fucking hate that book! The words in it are so fucking evil.
Puking up dinner, I'm shaky when I push off the floor, seeing my guilt in the bathroom mirror. I cursed her in the temple. I brought upon her ruin.
I brought her here. I am wholly responsible for this.
Victor will never forgive me for this.
Never!
Storming back to the lounge I walk in on a woman curled up in the foetal position, silent tears running out of her eyes as if a weeping Madonna, her despondency and destruction breaking my heart.
At least I have a heart.
Sitting next to her, I pull her onto my lap, wrapping my arms around her, rocking the traumatised soul, “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”
She doesn't reply but her tremors jar my chest, she's a nervous wreck, she's irretrievable. He's taken what was whole and like a concubine cut her into little bits, sending it out to all the tribes of Israel.
If it takes me forever I'll make this right. He doesn't get to come anywhere near her ever again!
Except. Shit! If she bleeds she goes right back to him.
For the first time in my life I hope I've made a woman pregnant. If she doesn't bleed then he has no right to her. I can't keep her safe if she's not with child.
Blinking, bringing myself back to the here and now instead of a thousand miles away inside my head, I'm aware I'm weeping.
For her, or for me?
Maybe for both of us.
~ Chapter 17 ~
The angel, who looked like a human being
~ Daniel 10:16
Jude:
I've reached the end of my patience. I've got to make a decision. I have only one ace left to play. If this doesn't bring him out of the coma, nothing will.
I spent the weekend retrieving the footage of Victor and Shauna that was stored in Alpha's porn file on his computer. It's a level of deranged that violates my sensibilities, but then I imagine my disgust is nothing compared to what that woman has been subjected to.
Seth went home with her, back to the den of inequity.
I hear the news via the brotherhood grapevine, knowing Alpha spent quite some time outside his compound, running riot between the US fraternity, inflicting rage and purging evil every which way he turned. It's very biblical, his trail of destruction.
Crossing my fingers, I press play, filling my humble home where the patient lies pale and emaciated with the sound of her voice, her laughter, their conversations, their intimacy.
Come on Vic. Come back to the world of the living. You've been a ghost in the underworld for too long.
Moving to the kitchen nook I put the kettle on, preparing coffee, at my wits end. If this doesn't work I am out of options. He's not living. This is a limbo that's worse than purgatory.
I'm giving him twenty-four hours of Shauna therapy. If there's no response I'm going to have to pull the plug. This isn't fair to him and it's not fair to me.
Stirring boiling water over Nescafé, adding milk, I'm thinking I should put my headphones in from my iPod so I don't have to listen to this. I feel like a dirty peeping Tom.
Turning with my coffee to get it, the sight of him sitting up and staring at me is enough to make me go into shock. Dropping the mug, splashing boiling liquid all over my foot, scowling at the pain, I hop over to him, incredulous, “Vic? Welcome back buddy!”
His eyes roll back and he collapses.
Shaking my head, knowing I need to put salve on my fresh burn, my only priority is checking his pulse against the feed on screen.
I think this is just a low sugar reaction. He sat up too fast.
Changing his IV feed, I up his glucose, relieved his chest rises and falls, no seizures, no sign of organ failure from the rapid movement.
He's going to be weaker than a mummy. I've tried to keep his muscles from atrophying by administering physio every day, but there's only so much I can do with a comatose man.
Whooping, I get the mop, cleaning my mess, grabbing the salve and slathering my foot, keeping an alert eye on my precious cargo.
He surfaces again ninety-three minutes later. He must really love her if he'll return to the land of the living just by hearing her voice.
Putting the sippy cup to his mouth, I let him take little pulls of sweetened water. Gently inclining the hospital bed, I grin at my resurrected friend. “How ya feeling?”
“Like shit,” mumbles hoarsely. Looking around a bit, he frowns, “What gives?”
“You've been in a coma for awhile. A long while.”
Using the straw, he continues to scowl while he drinks, eventually saying, “Remind me of the details?”
“Dude, I think you should just stabilise, have some baby food because you haven't eaten solids for months, and when you have your strength back a little we can go over the details.”
“Jude, cut the shit. I'm alert, I'm here, and I'll cope. Spit it out.” Shauna's voice still carries from my laptop, and he looks about, “Where is she?”
Moving away, anxiety beginning to grip my confidence, I cut the feed, looking at him, wishing I didn't have to do this.
“You were shot, twice in the thorax and once to the kidney. They were kill shots and I almost lost you. This has been a massive cover-up to keep you alive.”
Sagging against the pillows, looking a tad grey, he says, “Who shot me?”
“John. The angel of death.
Remember all that shit?”
“Yeah, I remember. It's not shit.”
Indicating the computer, I drop the bomb, “Alpha wanted you exterminated. Shauna's been given to Seth as you were assumed dead, even though they didn't recover your body. I got there in the nick of time, buddy. It was touch and go.”
“Then how come I can hear her?”
Sitting down, fidgeting, I stare at him. He's still the angel of vengeance. This could end badly for me.
“You'll recall I'm the resident techno-whizz?”
He nods, looking haunted and tired.
“I stole the files of you and Shauna, and a bunch of other footage from Shauna's old apartment, off his hard drive. I thought maybe if I played her voice to you, it might bring you out of the coma. And it did.”
The shadows under his eyes deepen when he says, “Whose computer?”
“Your dad's.”
Clearing his throat, taking another long drink, he sags, “Alpha has footage of Shauna?”
Edgy, I decide to shoot straight and let the chips fall where they may. “Why do you think your father wanted you dead?”
Glowering, he blinks, fighting lethargy, “Last I recall, we met him, up on the hill. She's pregnant. I did everything I had to do to keep her mine, and safe. She only was introduced, and it was a blind-side, after we tied the knot. He just appeared behind us with Peter.” Staring at the ceiling, he says softly, “I can't think of a single reason. Not one.”
“I can,” I say, standing, moving behind my desk to the computer. Opening the folder with the surveillance, I read the dates to him.
He's alert, his brown eyes darker than pitch with the emotional storm going on inside him, when I blurt, “He's not shown this interest in any of the others. He put his own private feed into her home. One you didn't know about. The only reason I can fathom for him wanting you out of the picture, is her. You did all the hard work, he reaps the benefits.”
“Crap. She automatically goes to Seth. You even said as much.”
Scratching through my hair with agitation, I stare at him, “Victor, think about it logically. If Seth lives with Alpha, that means Alpha has access to her seven days a month.”
“But she's pregnant, Jude. He doesn't fuck women who are pregnant.”
Shit. He doesn't know.
Looking at my desk, at the keyboard, at the pencil and my shades, his voice demands, “What? Jesus Jude! What the hell aren't you telling me?”
Swallowing thickly, I look up at the newly awakened patient. “Dude, please, I'm begging you, eat something, rest, we have plenty of time to go over what's transpired since you were offed by Alpha.”
“Tell me!”
“She miscarried. The cops initially blamed her for your homicide. They searched your apartment and broke in the door to the darkroom. They showed her the evidence … the trauma was just too much.”
Staring blankly at me, his lips purse, his exhalation raw and ragged. The silence draws out while the implications are assimilated and digested by his mind. He's putting the puzzle pieces together, but he doesn't know the half of it.
I've been watching Alpha's activity on his computer, checking out the files he's accessed since she's been in the compound. I know the truth and I don't have the heart to tell him.
“Fuck,” he exhales, putting two and two together. Swivelling his head so he can rest it back and stare at me, he says, “She's in his compound, subject to his… demands.”
What am I gonna say here? I've got nothing.
Groaning, he hinges upright, “Jude, I can't lie here. It's time for serious rehab.” Lifting his shirt, looking at his arms, he gives me a despairing look, “Protein shakes are in order.”
Holding up my hands to stall him, I move to his side, “Victor, you're not stupid. You haven't walked in months. You haven't eaten. Lie down, get your rest, we have to be smart about this.”
His misery is abject, muttering under his breath when he complies, “There are other ways to lure a man's wife. You don't need to kill him. Not when that man is your own flesh and blood, and has only ever been obedient.” Patting his shoulder, trying to impart support, he glares up at me, saying, “Revenge is my speciality.”
“What are you thinking?” I'm asking, but I'm not sure I'm gonna like the answer.
“There's going to be a war in heaven. He's fucked with the wrong man.”
“He's your father, he's god –”
“Is he? I don't know about that. I started having doubts. I started to see the cracks, and was experiencing conflict because he raised me to treat women with hatred, as my servant, but at the end there, on the boat, it was tearing me apar–” Stopping short he gives me the look of death, “Don't you repeat this. I'll fucking rip your heart out with my bare teeth if you so much as breathe a goddam word.”
Gesturing around, I almost laugh, “Dude! I've committed a sin by lying, by saving you. If he knows what I've done I'm as good as dead. I ain't saying a fucking peep to anyone. I trust no one with this. You were saying?”
Please be on my side. See him for the deranged lunatic he is.
Victor sags back, tears forming in his eyes, “It's hard to explain. I wanted to protect her. I would have died for her. Proverbs five verse eighteen tells us to rejoice in our wife, I let Peter defile her and it's an abomination. I did bad shit man, but I thought I was doing the right thing until I understood what love is. It changed everything. She was good and faithful, she was true, she let me lead her, and she loved me. I know she did. She didn't deserve any of it. The bible says she and I are one flesh, if I hurt her truly I am hurting myself. I wanted to protect her from him, I needed to protect my boy inside her. Ecclesiastes says to live joyfully with your wife. That can't happen if you treat her like shit.”
He let Peter fuck her? What the hell!
Staring persecuted eyes into mine, he shrugs, “Can you see my dilemma? I was raised on that book, but he twists it. He takes something beautiful and rare, and screws it up.”
Still unsure of how he will react to me wanting to take his father down, I keep it simple, “So what are you saying? That you are no longer his angel?”
Steeling his expression, his jaw tightening, he spits, “I'm not his angel and I'm not his son. He has made me his enemy.”
“So tell me Victor, are you an angel, or a man?”
Giving me a broody glare, he looks stressed, “Do you want the right answer, or the truthful one? You're testing me.”
“I am,” I say, keeping my tone bland. He's the invalid here. He couldn't kick my ass if he tried.
“The right answer is that all men are gods. That angels came to earth, appearing to many, but these angels looked like men. We're made in his image, which means then even our god looks like a man. We'd not know him in a crowd, we'd not know him even if we stood with him shoulder to shoulder. The truth however, is… god wouldn't covet another man's wife. God wouldn't want to own anything, not the silver and gold as he claimed, nor the children, because to state he owns it means he didn't previously. That's like me saying I want your heart. I wouldn't, because I am whole. I'd not crave what I already have. If he was truly god he'd not be jealous, and he'd not need to prove he is lacking by boasting of what is his. I'm a man. A man who's clearly made a lot of mistakes.”
Leaning against the wall, relieved beyond measure, I test, “What do you think of the book Acts?”
He shrugs, “Don't give a fuck either way.”
Taking a leap of trust, I say, “There's a revelation in it. A few actually. One of them is the fact that the god of the Exodus is not god. Not the god he claims to be. Every rule and command quoted from the Exodus, until god leaves them, is a different entity altogether. An evil mofo, and I mean seriously evil.”
I can see his mind working, the concentration at delving through his memory banks almost comical.
“Moloch.”
“Ayup,” I say, moving to the fridge, grabbing a beer. I need a drink. This day is going down in history. I hav
e an ally. If anyone can bury Alpha it's this man right here.
His eyes clear and he looks at me as if fully lucid for the first time, “Shit! You're fucking genius!”
Taking a swig, I remain prudently silent.
“Thank you. You've freed me from any guilt I'd have over this.”
Smiling, I raise my beer in toast, “So are we gonna go get your girl back?”
“There was no question. Where's my stuff?”
“Your dad seized it all. What was left after the cops ransacked your den, that is.”
“Is the gym still operational?” he asks, sounding alert and revved up.
Shaking my head, I lay it on the line, “Vic, you are dead. No one can see you. If any of them catch sight of you there will be a shitstorm of diabolical proportions, and Shauna will be held to ransom if they don't manage to kill us. You stay right here, we do your physio here, we build you back up and get you ready in this shack. We train and spar, and only when you are back to your old form can we look at how we're going to infiltrate the compound. We've a long road ahead of us bro.”
Looking about again, he arches an eyebrow, “Where are we?”
“My secret hideout. I was leaving the brotherhood anyway. But I couldn't forsake you. I absconded with your body, operated as soon as I could, and I've kept you alive in secret. I'm sorry you had to find out this way. I figured you'd either kill me, or we'd both be on the run.”
“I owe you my life.” He sounds humble, grateful.
Shrugging it off, I joke, “You have risen again. They will truly believe you are the son of god now. Back from the dead, immortal.”
“And ready to deliver their judgement day.”
I like this version of Victor. Love is a beautiful and strange thing. Who knew a simple lass could convert a stubborn and devout servant. I would never have pegged Victor as the one to cause anarchy for his father.
I think I believe in miracles, cos I'm staring right at one.
~ Chapter 18 ~
A photograph is memory in the raw
~ Carrie Latet
