The Book of David

by Kate L. Mary

  Chapter 11

  I was oddly numb as David dragged me out of the barn. My legs moved, but my surroundings didn’t register. Not the blackness of the night or the chill in the air, and not even the grip David had on my arm that was tight enough to leave bruises.

  It wasn’t until I found myself in the house that my brain started working again. David shoved me into one of the chairs at the small kitchen table. Voices echoed through the house, coming from the other room, and the sudden fear that gripped me had nothing to do with my situation. Where were Annabel and Abe? Were they okay?

  I didn’t know, but the voices I heard belonged to the elders and Father David, not the two people who’d sheltered me over the last eleven days.

  “Where are Annabel and Abe?” I asked David, who was leaning against the kitchen counter just staring at me.

  His sharp gaze made me want to shrink away, but I managed to hold my ground. “My father is taking care of them.”

  Taking care of them…

  Dread filled me, but I tried to tell myself it was unfounded. Father David wouldn’t hurt them. He was a man of God, at least in his mind, and I just couldn’t see him being capable of injuring another person.

  Something about the way David was staring at me told me I was wrong.

  He didn’t say anything and neither did I, and the silence stretched out between us. I wasn’t sure what we were waiting for, but I wasn’t about to ask David, even if I could have found my voice.

  It was less than ten minutes before footsteps pounded down the hall. When Father David stepped into the kitchen, I shrank away from him, but he barely looked at me. His gaze was on his son.

  “Get your bride. We’re leaving.”

  David moved toward me as Father David turned to leave. I tried to sink into the chair, but it did no good. My fiancé’s hand wrapped around my forearm, right over the spot he’d held before, and he yanked me to my feet. This time, I felt the pressure of his grip, the ache of the bruise already forming on my skin. My mind was alive with activity as he dragged me down the hall. I wanted to take everything in, to remember every detail of the house, no matter how minuscule. I wanted to be able to conjure up this place down the road, to bask in the comfort of these past eleven days. But David was moving too fast, making it impossible. He didn’t slow, not even when we passed the living room and I caught sight of Abe, sprawled out on the floor.

  “No,” I gasped and tried to jerk away from David. “No.”

  I couldn’t get free, though, and David didn’t stop.

  Tears were streaming down my cheeks when I was pulled from the house. The two elders I’d seen earlier were already in the back of the truck, and Father David was climbing behind the wheel when I was loaded into the front.

  I couldn’t stop crying, couldn’t stop thinking about how close I’d come to freedom as we drove away, leaving the ranch behind. My tears weren’t just for me, though. The glimpse I’d gotten of Abe was so brief that it had been impossible to determine if he was dead or alive, but at the very least, he was injured. And then there was Annabel. She’d been nowhere in sight, but that meant nothing. If Abe was hurt, she could be, too, and thinking about it made me hate myself almost as much as I hated the men I sat between. I’d done this. I’d brought Father David into their lives.

  The ride back was torture. I was crammed in between Father David and his son, but neither of them spoke to me. Everything seemed like a nightmare I couldn’t wake from. It had to be a nightmare, because I couldn’t allow myself to accept that it was real.

  It was still night when we arrived at the commune. The fence seemed twice as high, the landscape twice as desolate. The men still didn’t speak when we all piled out of the truck, and I had no idea what to expect. Even when Father David grabbed my arm, right over the bruise his son had left behind, and dragged me to his house, I was clueless.

  Stepping through the front door filled me with dread, and when he pulled me down the hall and toward the bedrooms, I thought I might faint. All I could think about was that awful night in David’s room. Was that what Father David had in store for me? Would a man of God really do that?

  I was sobbing and trying to get away, but it wasn’t David’s room he took me to. It was his own. Mother Ruth was already there, sitting quietly on the bed, and she didn’t even glance at us when we entered. All she did was stand and open the closet door. I pulled harder against Father David’s grip when she knelt and pulled up the carpet, revealing a small door in the floor.

  The hinges groaned when Mother Ruth pulled it open, but I still wasn’t sure what was happening. Father David pushed me closer, and I caught a glimpse of darkness before he pushed me forward again. I fell into that black hole, landing on my stomach, and all the air whooshed from my lungs.

  I rolled onto my back on the sandy floor, coughing and gasping for breath, but all I managed to get was a mouthful of dirt. A second later, the door was slammed shut, and everything went black. Light from the bedroom peeked through the cracks surrounding the door, making a square of light above me. I sucked in a few mouthfuls of air and slowly flexed my arms and legs. Every move made me wince, but there didn’t seem to be any permanent damage. At least not physically.

  Then the square of light disappeared, and I was thrust into total darkness. My sob echoed through the silent room. I rolled onto my side and squeezed my eyes shut, desperately trying to keep the agony from breaking out. It didn’t work, though. I sobbed. I cried so hard my body shook and my lungs ached. My throat was raw within seconds, and all I could do was hug myself while I mourned the loss of my innocence and my future as the pain inside me grew until it felt bigger than the room.

  I cried myself to sleep, and when I woke, there was a small light sitting on the floor at my side, and Father David was towering over me.

  “Stand up, Sister Willow,” he commanded.

  My legs shook when I climbed to my feet. The lantern in the corner allowed me to get a look at the room for the first time. It was small—probably only about ten feet in each direction. Wooden walls had been constructed to give it security, and there was a wooden ladder behind Father David, but the floor was the same sandy dirt I walked on every day. Other than the lantern and a bucket in the corner, the room was empty.

  Father David took a menacing step toward me, and I stumbled back. His typical smile was gone, and his eyes were dark. He looked foreboding. I’d never seen him like that, and I had the sudden urge to curl up into a ball. We were too alone. The room was too small.

  “You have betrayed the Children, Sister Willow, and now you have been called upon to repent.” His tone was threatening. Evil and hard. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

  I shook my head. My mouth refused to work, but there was more to it than fear. Only I wasn’t totally sure what.

  Father David pressed his lips together for a second before turning away. I watched in terror as he climbed the ladder, wanting to call out and stop him, but unable or unwilling to. Then he disappeared through the hole, and shut the door behind him, leaving me alone.

  The quiet room tortured me. I backed up until I was pressed into the corner and sank to the floor, drawing my knees up to my chest as I stared at the closed door. Waiting for him to come back. Hours went by, and nothing happened, and I eventually curled up on the dirt and went back to sleep.

  When I woke up, I had to use the bathroom. I squirmed and waited, telling myself Father David would come back. He had to. But time passed, and the pain in my bladder got worse, making me feel desperate in my need for relief. I climbed the ladder and pushed on the door tentatively, but it didn’t budge. Then I knocked. Still, no one came.

  After that, I paced the room and tried to keep my mind off the increasing pressure in my bladder. It didn’t work, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before I would have to give in and pee on the floor. That’s when it hit me what the bucket was for.

  My face grew warm from disgust and shame, but I knew I didn’t have a choice, so I squatt
ed over the bucket and pulled my skirt up as high as it would go. The urine hit the bottom of the bucket and splashed up, splattering my legs. There was nothing to clean myself with when I finished.

  Hours went by, and no one came. It wasn’t hot in the room, but it was stuffy, and the stench from the bucket grew stronger as the day went on and I had to use it several more times. My stomach growled, and my throat was dry, and I couldn’t tell if the ache inside me was a result of loneliness or from lying on the hard floor.

  Hours passed, possibly days, too. Eventually, the lantern burned out, and darkness surrounded me. I had lost the will to cry, to even move. There was no water and no food, and eventually even the need to use the bucket went away, along with my strength. My mouth was parched, and my lips cracked and dry. Whenever I moved, my head pounded. Sometimes, I could hardly stay awake, and as time went by, I began to accept the fact that death was only a short time away.

  Just when I thought I couldn’t hang on any longer, the door opened.

  The light from above blinded me, and I had to cover my eyes. When Father David came down, I was lying in a heap on the ground, too weak to even move. He had a pitcher and cup with him, and he poured me a glass of water as he walked across the room. It took every ounce of strength I had left to push myself up, but I managed to sit up so I could take the glass.

  “Drink slowly, Sister Willow.”

  When that first sip of cool water touched my dried-out lips, I closed my eyes and sighed. Nothing had ever tasted so good.

  After I emptied the glass, Father David took it back. I waited for him to refill it, but he didn’t. Instead, he took a seat on the ground and motioned for me to do the same. I obeyed, thinking that if I cooperated he would give me more to drink. Maybe even let me out. He couldn’t leave me there forever, after all.

  Father David stared at me in silence for a few seconds, studying me. Then he poured another glass and held it out. “The Children are praying for you, Sister Willow,” he said, watching me closely as I gulped down the water. “They want you to repent. To rejoin the community and embrace the truth.”

  I stared at him over the glass as I drank. What did he want me to say? Everything was so confusing, and the dehydration and growling in my stomach were only making it worse. Sometimes, I even had to remind myself this was really happening, because it felt like a dream. Did Father David really believe locking me in a room with no food or water would help me see the truth? Even in my muddled brain the thought seemed insane. There was no way I would ever be able to believe in him after that.

  He must have seen something in my eyes that gave my thoughts away, because he stood and ripped the cup out of my hand. He climbed the ladder, and I crawled forward, sobbing so hard I couldn’t get anything out.

  The words he wanted to hear were on my lips. I would repent. I would believe in him. I would do whatever he wanted as long as he let me out of that room.

  But a small voice inside my head begged me not to give in, reminded me what he’d done to me, to Abe, and possibly to Annabel. He’d left so much agony in his wake, and giving in to him now would only add to the already almost unbearable pain inside me.

  Before he shut the door, Father David tossed a loaf of bread into the cellar. It hit the dirt in front of me and rolled across the floor, and I scrambled forward, grabbing it just before the door shut and I was once again thrown into darkness.

  My stomach growled greedily, but I forced myself to take tiny bites. Who knew when he would be back with more food? I needed to make this loaf of bread last as long as possible.

  So that was what I did. I nibbled on the bread over the next few days like I was a mouse instead of a girl. The hunger never left completely, but the small bites took some of the edge off. The water Father David had given me wasn’t nearly enough to keep away the dehydration, though, and within a day I was weak again. But I held on to my bread tightly, lying on the floor with it clutched in my arms. It was my only comfort in the crushing darkness surrounding me.

  This happened several more times. Father David came down, gave me water, talked to me for a few minutes about repentance, and then left. Each time I held onto my silence—I wouldn’t give in to his insanity—and each time he left looking more frustrated than the time before.

  It didn’t take long for me to decide I would rather die than leave that hole only to go back up and rejoin the prison Father David had created for me. The thought of marrying David and letting him touch me every day solidified it. I told myself to give up. Not to eat any more of the food Father David gave me, no matter how hungry I became. But every time he dropped a loaf of bread into my prison, the hunger overwhelmed me, and I gave in.

  The smell from the bucket grew worse, and Father David made no attempt to empty it. He was trying to wear me down, but even in my weakened physical state, my determination didn’t waver. My skin was gritty and sticky from sleeping on the sandy ground and being covered in my own filth. Sores had sprung up on my arms and legs, and when there was actually light, I was shocked by how bony I’d become.

  The only comfort during those last few days was the knowledge that the end was near.

  Then one day Father David came down and his attitude was different. He didn’t keep the water pitcher in his hand, but instead put it and the glass on the floor in front of me before sitting down. I hesitated to touch it, but when he nodded, I poured myself a glass and drank it down quickly, followed by another. He watched me carefully the entire time. He didn’t talk or smile. He just watched.

  After I had swallowed three glasses of water, I put the cup down and met his gaze.

  Father David frowned and leaned back a little. “You’re a complicated person, Willow Sands.”

  It was the first time he’d called me by my name without Sister in front of it, but I didn’t know what it meant. He was impossible to read, impossible to predict, and I was much too weak to participate in guessing games.

  “I thought you would give in the first time I came down here, but you didn’t even budge. It took me three more visits before I realized you would rather die than be a part of the Children.” He sat up straighter so he could lean closer to me. “But I can’t let that happen. You were chosen to marry my son, and you will marry him.”

  “No, I won’t.” It was the first time I’d spoken since being tossed into the room. My throat was sore and my voice scratchy, but my words came out firm.

  He frowned even more and shook his head. “We need to come to an understanding, you and I, or you will remain in this room until you turn eighteen.”

  My stomach ached at the thought of three years in that dark hole, but I still shook my head. “There’s nothing you can say to make me repent. I don’t care if I die, and I’d rather stay in this room for the rest of my life than be a part of your cult.”

  “Cult?” He blinked and then smiled. “Where in the world did you hear such a thing?”

  “I read while I was gone, and I learned a lot. You’re not the first person to start a religion. History is full of stories just like this, and I read about them. All of them.” I spat the words at him, but his smile never wavered.

  Instead, he laughed. “This isn’t a cult, Willow. What we have here is real.”

  I searched his face, trying to figure out if he was being sincere. Did he really, truly believe that? It was impossible to tell because he didn’t blink or smile, didn’t give me any kind of indication that he was lying. Maybe he was just insane.

  Father David waved his hand as if brushing my words aside. “Regardless, an understanding needs to be come to, and I think I know how to get through to you.” He paused, and I found myself holding my breath. “Your mother.”

  He didn’t have to say anything else for me to understand the threat looming behind those words. I’d seen Abe lying on the floor, had endured Father David’s punishment for who knew how many days, and I was perfectly aware of what he was implying.

  Only I couldn’t wrap my brain around it. “You’re supposed to
be a man of God. You wouldn’t hurt my mother,” I said, but the words were shaky.

  His lips turned up, and my insides melted. The look in his eyes told me everything I needed to know. He would do whatever it took to get me to cooperate.

  “After a lot of prayer and reflection, this is the solution that was given to me. I hesitated at first, and you can understand why, but God has assured me that this is all part of His plan, and the only way you will be able to see the error of your ways.”

  Father David didn’t even blink, but I still refused to believe him.

  “You wouldn’t…”

  “What do you think happened to the couple at the ranch, Willow? They lied to us when we asked if you were there. I knew they were lying before David saw you at the window. I can’t allow someone who would interfere with God’s work to live. That would be blasphemy.”

  The room spun. I already knew he’d hurt Annabel and Abe, but hearing him say it out loud made the whole thing real for the first time. He’d killed them. They’d been so kind to take me in, and it had killed them. I had killed them.

  I put my face in my hands until the room stopped spinning. Desperately, I tried to think of another way, but I knew there wasn’t one. He would kill my mother if I didn’t repent, if I didn’t agree to marry David, or if I caused any trouble. I’d spent my whole life looking after her, protecting her, and no matter how I looked at it, I knew I couldn’t turn my back on her in the face of something so huge. It was instinct to keep her safe, leaving me only one option, and Father David knew it.

  “You win,” I murmured, unable to look up.

  “What did you say?”

  Slowly, I raised my head and met his gaze. A smile curled up his lips, making my insides freeze and then shattered into a dozen pieces. My life was over.

  “I said you win.”