The muscles in Ryder’s forearm twitched in a chaotic pattern. I kept my eyes focused on the ground, careful to avoid eye contact with any of them for fear that it would be a challenge I wasn’t allowed to offer. I wasn’t scared of them, there were darker demons in the world, but I needed Ryder to be in a position to help us, so my weakness became our strength.
“Brother Ryder,” Cyrus began again, “touching the female members of our community is only permitted on certain occasions. We will forgive your indiscretions because of your ignorance—this time.”
His hand fell away from mine, the last of our pinkies hanging on for a second longer than they should have. Without me to ground him, he turned to pure energy, twitching and searching for an outlet.
A taller man, black hair, longer than most, but nowhere near Cyrus’ shoulder length silver hair, spoke up. “He looks like he needs something to fill the void.”
From beneath the hood of my brow, I barely glimpsed the sneer as it filtered onto Cyrus’ face. “He does, doesn’t he, Raife?”
With a snap of his fingers, our packs were brought forward and dropped at their leader’s feet. Two other men tore the contents free, my clothes, shirts, undergarments, pajamas, and toiletries scattered in the dirt as they searched for the item Cyrus had requested without words. I cringed when the bag containing my syringes landed at Thomas’ feet.
My 9mm handgun passed to Cyrus, as if it had been discussed before we’d ever arrived. Cyrus pressed the handgun into Ryder’s hand and forced my pacifist’s fingers to wrap around the grip.
“This will make you more of a man than she ever could. Find your strength here within the brotherhood.”
Ryder nodded, barely visible in my peripheral view. Cyrus’ gaze burned the top of my head, challenging me to look up and question his authority. He knew the gun was mine. I kept my breathing controlled as he stood near, eager to appear as though I feared him and the pain he’d brought on me. Any other thoughts were dangerous.
“What is all this?”
Without thinking my head came up at the sound of Thomas’ voice. He’d opened the pack and examined one of the syringes in the manufacturer’s packaging. He shook the pack and thirty syringes scattered on the ground. Men swarmed to grab their own as if it was some sort of prize. Some part of me hoped they might inject themselves, let them experience the pain that was my new normal.
“It’s medication,” Ryder said. My chin sank against my chest again as he said, “For her.”
Cyrus’ voice turned dark with greed. “Is it valuable? Can it help us if needed?”
Ryder spoke with the tedious tone of a tightrope walker, carefully stepping from one word to the next. “It’s specialized. She has a disease and it manages the symptoms for her.”
Thomas nodded to the gun in Ryder’s hand. “You could put her out of her misery if you’d like.” His rifle shifted eagerly in his hands. “Or we could. There are other women for you.”
Instinctively, Ryder shifted to block me. “She’s not terminal. She only needs those to maintain a better quality of life.”
Cyrus pondered his words, carefully turning one of the syringe packages in his hands. “We have nothing against medicine, but these look like weapons to me, and the women are not allowed weapons.” There was some laughter in the crowd as he added, “On account of their delicate nature.”
“The way you protect her,” the tall dark-haired man called Raife spoke, “does this mean you claim her?”
I’d forgotten to tell Ryder that by all means he was meant to claim me. Bile churned in my stomach as I caught Thomas eyeing me with desire. There were others as well. Despite Thomas’ earlier bluster, I had a feeling that even with my scars, I was a scarce commodity.
“She’s mine,” Ryder said with all the confidence I’d hoped.
Cyrus chewed on the information for a moment before he delivered his verdict. “She may have the medication, but Ivy will keep them to be used under strict supervision.”
“Yes, sir.”
It was Ryder’s first victory. I wanted to celebrate it with him, but I held my peace.
“You have been accepted to our brotherhood because of your worth and actions, Ryder, but this woman you have with you, she still holds the stain of the outside world.” His tone reminded me of a preacher, but without the love. “Women are necessary members of our community, helpmeets and aids to our needs, but they are a distraction from our purposes and must be taught how to properly serve.” Cyrus began walking along the group, men stepping back and making room in the same way water separates from oil. “Women of the outside world have forgotten their heritage and their purpose. The names they are given only add to the illusion they are taught. If we are to reeducate them, they must be renewed of the earth with humility borne of the dust they were created from.” He stopped moving and faced us again. “She must be given a name. What would you call her, Brother Ryder?”
I knew what he would choose even before he spoke. It was what he had always called me, long before he had ever known my real name. The name had a secret power to unlock doors in my heart, to bore passages to my innermost sanctuaries, and melt my coldest defenses.
Of course, he would choose Huckleberry.
“Sparrow.”
The word surprised me so much that I lifted my chin to face him. But I found no answer there. He couldn’t explain why he’d chosen the nickname of a past romance. I couldn’t see beyond the mask he wore, cold eyes and a steel jaw, matching every other male around us. I dropped my head and stared at our shoes again, confused by his choice when he knew I regretted the memories attached to the name.
“Why did you choose that name?” Raife asked.
“I gave her a necklace that she wears as a promise to me. It has a sparrow engraved in the metal. Sparrows are small but quick, they aren’t strong, but they are industrious. I hope she can embody those traits in our time here, sir.”
The medallion burned against my skin beneath my top. I knew it wasn’t his real answer, but it was good enough for the leaders.
“Then that is what she shall be called.” Raising his voice and speaking to the rest of the group Cyrus said, “By vote of voice, will we accept Brother Ryder and his companion, who shall be called Sparrow from this point on, as members of our society?”
Many voices made sounds of agreement.
“Any to the negative?”
My heart sped as a few voices also spoke up, Thomas and Raife included. But the positive was stronger.
“Welcome,” Cyrus said to us, his arms spread wide as if to envelope us in his love. “Welcome to Eden’s Haven.”
♦ ♦ ♦
Cyrus permitted Ryder to escort me back to the other side of the encampment, but not without armed guard. He’d passed the initial test and laws were meant to be enforced.
“Your medication, is it still given daily?”
I shook my head. “The dose changed. It’s three times a week now, Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. I thought it might be easier, considering...” I didn’t need to say the rest, he knew it.
Raife followed close behind, still exuding his extreme distaste for me. “I brought the first five doses for Ivy. You don’t need to concern yourself with it.”
With thirty injections ready to go, I had well over two months’ worth. If we were still stuck in Eden’s Haven in two months…
“You may not see her for quite some time, Brother Ryder,” Raife said. “You have much to prepare for and learn. I will grant you permission to say goodbye, but try to limit your contact. The pollution of your mind is apparent in the way you interact with her.”
The path emptied into the same clearing where Ryder had fetched me. Ignoring Raife’s warning about limiting his physical contact, he took my hands in his. “We can do this.”
“We can. I know we can.”
His eyes searched my expression, surely seeking any doubt or disbelief that what I said was true. I made myself believe it all, despite my fear. Finally he whi
spered, “Until I see you again, Sparrow.”
My body caved into his as he pulled me close. My eyes filled with tears until I feared they might fall over the brim. We were stronger together. It was as if they knew that and had to separate us. The warmth of his face turned into my cheek. The words brushed against my ear.
“I love you, Huckleberry.”
And he was gone, the space that he’d occupied felt hollow and cold, void as if someone had carved him out of me.
Huckleberry.
His voice lingered in my thoughts. Time stilled as he disappeared down the path.
That was why he hadn’t given them the name.
Because it belonged to him.
Huckleberry was his.
I was his.
Even still, Sparrow was something I could hang onto, something that reminded me of my life long before I’d ever stumbled down the rabbit hole that was Eden’s Haven. Every time someone called me Sparrow it would trigger the thoughts in my mind.
I am Lindy Johnson. I am a private investigator. My partner is Ryder Billings. He is the only one I can trust. He says he loves me.
And I was beginning to believe it.
Chapter 17
Fern showed me to my new home in the cabin, but I was barely coherent. The air felt dank. The slightest whiff of mold seeped from the one square window in the cabin. It was summer camp all over again, two sets of bunkbeds on the furthest wall, four in total, and three sets of two on either side of the longest walls, twelve in total. Sixteen people in one small cabin, with only a slip of an aisle down the center and four lanterns to light the space.
“You can have the bunk above mine.”
I shook myself free of my thoughts as I realized Fern was talking to me.
“My daughter is supposed to sleep there, but most of the time she sleeps with me.”
“You have a daughter?”
Fern smiled and nodded as she set a couple extra wool blankets on the bunk above what I assumed was hers. “Moonlight. She’s almost five and always off playing with someone instead of doing her chores.”
A heavy thump struck the floor at the entrance to the cabin. I barely caught Raife’s silhouette exiting our cabin as I turned. His mere presence set my nerves on edge. The thump had been caused by my pack, though I could tell from the shape of it that it was almost empty.
“Is that yours?” Fern motioned for the bag.
“Yes, but it looks like some things are missing.”
It was as if I’d told her the weather when she already knew it. “Probably the most useful items, or anything harmful to the environment.”
I pulled the strings at the top and searched through what was left. All my hiking gear had been taken. Close as I could tell, all that remained were my undergarments, a few tops, a hairbrush, toothbrush, and deodorant.
“You can store your bag under my bed.” Fern pulled it from my hands and shoved the pack in the only space that appeared to be her own.
“Where will you keep your stuff?”
It was a statement borne out of someone with a house of my own and possessions to fill it. I might as well have spoken in a dead language; the look I received was equivalent.
“What stuff?”
It felt obvious to me and yet lacked explanation all at once. “I don’t know, your clothes, your pictures, family keepsakes, all that.”
How was I supposed to explain what made a home? How could I whittle culture down to specific items?
“I have a small knapsack beneath the bed with a few personal articles of clothes, but this is what I wear every day. None of us have more than one working outfit. On washing day we can see Willow for a new allotment. My night dress is beneath my pillow.” Her finger came up as a thought occurred to her. “We should see Willow to get one for you.”
The soft linen wrinkled as I ran my fingers over the folds of fabric. “One outfit? When is washing day?”
“In five days. Once a week, every Friday.” Then, without skipping a beat, she added, “Before we came here, my family was homeless. Eden’s Haven has given us everything we need.”
I took in the small bunk, thankfully not as close to the ceiling as my bunk at Rockin’ B had been. One modest pillow, a blanket tucked in carefully at the edges, and the two extra wool blankets Fern had gifted me. Her gratitude overflowed, while my need for modern convenience ached.
“The lessons aren’t typical,” Fern’s volume dropped as if the words were betrayal to her people. “They aren’t like that normally.”
Spoken like the abused, I thought. Most women made excuses for their abusers. Phrases like, “he’s not normally like that” or “it was my fault, if I hadn’t messed up, I never would have angered him,” were all too common in that arena.
She sensed my skepticism and tried to explain. “They need us, but many people who come here don’t understand the way it’s done. The lessons help.” Her mouth twisted. I couldn’t decide if it was from disgust with me or disgust with those who’d beaten me. “It would have ended sooner if you hadn’t fought back.”
Fury raged within me. Fight back was all I knew. It was the world I lived in. It was what had kept me alive against not only my disease, but every other psychopath I’d come across who seemed intent on my demise.
“You know there are other ways. You’re better than this, Fern.”
My words were as dangerous as daggers and she wilted quickly.
“Not here there aren’t. We need their protection, and they take care of us. Their work is important, and my daughter is safe.”
That was the end of it. Her expression told me that she wouldn’t tolerate any more of my propaganda concerning the outside world. It didn’t matter anyway, I was there to find Tasha, not liberate women who wanted to be slaves.
As if the conversation had never happened, Fern’s orientation resumed. “There is inspection every morning of the bunks and bedding by Ivy. She’s our matriarch. There are also surprise inspections of the cabin by Raife when he sees fit. It’s best to be ready at all times.”
I caught her meaning. If things were out of order, a ‘lesson’ would follow.
“Raife is our guard. There are shifts that rotate through the day and night, but Raife is the one in charge.”
He was the one who’d voted against Ryder and I. Thick hair, brooding eyes, and terrifying, how lucky was I that he’d been chosen to guard me?
“What do you do?” Fern asked, startling me from my thoughts.
“Do?”
Every answer felt like a booby trap.
I spied.
I ratted out secrets.
I shot guns and boxed.
I slept every chance I got.
“Sewing, knitting, or crochet?” Her eyebrows lifted for emphasis, but fell once she saw how helpless I appeared. “How about cooking? Gardening? Cleaning?”
I could cook, but I preferred not to, though I was a whiz with a microwave. I loathed cleaning and opted for paper plates whenever possible.
“My grandmother used to let me help her in the garden.”
Fern brightened. “That’s my chore. I would be happy to continue your tutelage.”
Her dirt stained hands made sense, and the fresh air appealed to me. Plus, it might grant me the chance to watch for Tasha.
“Can’t wait,” I said with as much enthusiasm as my jaded personality allowed.
♦ ♦ ♦
“Harmony cooks.” Fern led the way down a path, far more spring in her step than I felt our situation called for. “Genesis teaches the children. Willow sews but her transition is near, so I am learning so I can take over.” She paused so abruptly that I nearly crashed into her. Her smile was as innocent as a toddler. “This is truly fate, because now you can take over for me in the garden.”
Fate. That word grated on me like asphalt on flesh after a bike wreck. Too many figurative wounds still bled over that word and the irrational power it gave people. I couldn’t even manage a nod for her, but she paid me no mind.
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I strained my eyes trying to spot Ryder through the trees. I saw nothing but gangly children in rags for clothes swinging from trees like lemurs and tamarinds. They were dirty, likely not washed in weeks, hair overgrown, clothes ill-fit and hanging off bony frames. I couldn’t claim malnutrition, they weren’t emaciated, but they didn’t look healthy either.
Despite the cold weather, most little girls wore thin dresses like ours, many boys wore no shirt at all. They played silly games in the high grass or climbed on a pair of old junker trucks that were likely original to the property. Eleanor would recognize the model if she saw them, hot rods and vintage cars were a passion I’d never understood, though it might have made her sensitive heart cry to see grass growing up through the hood and rust accumulating like coral on an ocean bed.
Whatever threat I’d introduced had dissipated. Women bustled around, going about their chores. Eerie how quickly they returned to their life, as if no one had been beaten that morning. Maybe it was sheer joy that it hadn’t been one of them who’d taken that beating.
I corrected myself quickly. There was no evidence of bruises or injury. The women smiled warmly at Fern as we passed them on the stone lined path. By all appearances, they were happy and well taken care of. But then I’d met Isabelle Billings. She’d endured years of abuse and never missed a single country club meeting on her husband’s arm. My lingering doubt in my own abilities played devil’s advocate. I couldn’t fully trust my instincts, not after everything with Dallas.
Fern introduced me to every woman we passed, but it was hard to keep names straight. Elm, Aspen, and Maple belonged in a forest, not assigned to a young woman. The earthy names dehumanized them and took away their personal pride. More importantly, not a single one of them held the appearance of Tasha Saunders and her long golden hair.
On the far side, Fern motioned to a large school bus and two more nondescript cabins.
“Those are for the older kids, the boys on the bus and the girls in the cabin. We have to start separating them around eight or nine to prepare them for the transition when the boys come of age.”
Sparrows & Sacrifice Page 13
