by Genna Rulon
The little girl within was screaming for me to stop, but I had opened the door and there was no closing it now.
“Do you know how To Ieró purifies a five-year-old Omega for waving…at a young boy, no less? They remove the fingernails from the offending hand with a consecrated tool that amounted to a scalpel and pliers. The nails grew back after several months, but the lesson wasn’t so easily forgotten.”
I shuddered at the memory, involuntarily touching my nails to assure myself they were where they belonged. To this day, I couldn’t stomach a manicure or anyone with tools near my nails.
“I officially ascended as The Omega on my tenth birthday. Nothing horrific happened, but I made a promise that day. Before the congregation of To Ieró, The Alpha stared into my eyes and confirmed he saw Theós present and unsullied. He then ordered me to kneel before him and kiss his feet, not rising until he instructed. I did as he commanded because it what was expected of me. After twelve hours on my knees, I was permitted to stand—with assistance. Having proven my commitment and obedience, my mother was permitted to tend the wounds on my knees before the rite continued. Finally, The Alpha asked the question eagerly anticipated, ‘Are you The Omega, keeper of Theós and vessel of my heir?’—I said, ‘yes.’”
Anxious to provide explanation for my grievous error, I continued.
“It was a promise I didn’t fully understand, the ramifications of which were impossible for my ten-year-old mind to comprehend. I sold my soul in exchange for change with the ardent belief I was gaining something of value…a better life, a purpose—acknowledgement. I was wrong, of course. So fucking wrong.
“But the worst part, Wes—the source of countless years of self-loathing—it was my choice. I accepted the position carelessly, so desperate for affection that I willingly surrendered my life. What a pathetic, hasty fool I was.”
Appalled with myself, I rushed on to avoid the culpability that always followed my memories.
“In truth, the decision was never mine—my future had been established long before that day. Now I understand that I was only provided the illusion of choice. They zealously believed I carried Theós, which in their minds justified every conceivable heinous act to force my compliance. Still, I will never know how the outcome may have differed if I had said ‘no.’ Even now, I am haunted by nightmares where I’m screaming at the little girl I used to be to choose differently…pleading with her to be smarter than I was, to understand the consequences of her decision.
“That was my first mistake…many more followed. Shall I continue the story, or have you heard enough?” I asked, certain he would run for the hills. “I understand if you want to go, Wes. Everyone has baggage, but I have a cargo freight loaded with storage containers, filled to the brim with knock-off suitcases from China.”
I looked up from my hands for the first time since beginning my story, expecting to see disgust—instead I found compassion.
“Beautiful, you made me wait this long…no way am I letting you off the hook that easily. Come here,” he said, gathering me in his arms and dragging me into his lap before tucking the blanket around us both. When we were snuggled in close, he continued, “I have no clue what to say to all of this, though I suspect that was the easy part of your story. For now, I’ll just hold you so you know that even if you had to endure these experiences alone, you’re not alone now. I’m here, and I’m not leaving. Finish your story, baby.”
His hand rose to cup my head, which rested against his chest. After placing a kiss on my crown, he gave me a gentle squeeze, encouraging me to continue.
“Little changed after my pledge, except The Alpha would visit me on occasion. Our conversations were brief before he dismissed me. It wasn’t until later I ascertained that his visits had little to do with me. Despite my position, To Ieró customs dictated he could not take me until my seventeenth birthday to ensure Theós had optimal conditions to transfer to any child conceived. During the years between, my mother served as my sexual surrogate.”
Wes gasped in shock, causing me to chuckle. Why I found this humorous was a mystery, although it may stem from the knowledge that his head was likely to explode before I finished if that tidbit elicited a reaction from him.
“On my twelfth birthday, I was working in the vegetable garden behind our home when Jay showed up. He was hiding in the cover of trees not far from where I was working and threw pebbles at me to covertly gain my attention. I hadn’t forgotten the pain I’d endured six-and-a-half years earlier, but it had faded enough and my loneliness was so intense that I threw caution to the wind and inched my way nearer. I worked at the furthest edge of the plantings so he crept to the nearest section of forest until we were separated by only fifteen feet. He didn’t say much more than ‘happy birthday’—I didn’t say anything at all—but he kept me company and offered his silent support. It was my first taste of friendship and the first gift I’d ever received.
“After his first visit, Jay came to see me several times a week. Most of my days were spent working in the garden or—March through November—tending to the land, making it easy for him to approach me unseen. Thankfully, our cottage was the most isolated in the entire community, deliberately chosen for my mother and I to ensure limited exposure to anyone.
“For four years, Jay kept me company. At first, he remained silent with only a greeting or farewell—I later learned he was allowing me to become comfortable in the presence of another person, especially a male. After a couple of weeks, he began telling me elaborate stories. Some were about imprisoned princesses and their attempts to escape, others were of knights rescuing the damsels in distress, and still others chronicled a strange world with schools and people who thought for themselves and enjoyed freedoms I’d never even imagined. Those years were the closest I came to happiness before moving to New York.
“In four years he never came closer than ten feet, yet it was the most affectionate relationship I’d ever experienced. He introduced me to the concept of the individual—in short, he introduced me to me. Through his stories, he fostered the development of dreams and aspirations. I cherished his friendship, our time together being the only ray of light in my otherwise dreary existence.
“Several days after my sixteenth birthday, my mother noticed me ‘talking to myself’ and came to investigate, since time spent in contemplation was strictly discouraged. When she approached and realized I wasn’t alone, she dragged me to the meeting hall and told The Alpha what she’d discovered. Jay was immediately banished from To Ieró. He was twenty years old without a penny to his name. I can’t imagine what he must have gone through to survive—all because of me. His compassionate heart cost him the only family—deranged though it was—he’d ever known. You want to know why I am ashamed? Well, there’s another reason…my desperate need for connection cost Jay dearly, yet despite the price he paid, there’s a part of me that can’t regret those years and the gift he gave me—how selfish am I?
“After Jay was sent away, I was forced to undergo another purification. I was locked in a windowless closet for forty days and forty nights with only bread and water as subsistence, and I saw and spoke to no one for nearly six weeks. When I was finally released, I was brought before To Ieró to confess my wrongs and beg forgiveness from each member by providing an offering of myself. Each member shaved a section of my hair, representing the removal of the stain on my vessel. Once The Sacred finished, they each offered their tribute to The Alpha, burning my hair in a copper bowl at his feet. When the hair was reduced to ash, it was mixed with water and autumn crocus, a concoction I was required to drink as my final act of penance and cleansing. The potion triggered a violent sickness that lasted days, leaving me feeble for weeks.
“Despite my suffering, Jay’s punishment was far worse than my own—or so I thought at the time. Later, I learned he had been planning to leave for years, his stories of princesses and knights intended to plant a seed that he hoped would flower into a desire to escape with him. Jay’s skill as a
mechanic allowed him to leave To Ieró several times a month to obtain parts and tools needed to maintain The Sacred’s farming equipment. During these trips, he fell in love with freedom, slowing building friendships with the outside world. Biding his time, he saved the little money he was allotted each month, as well as pay earned from odd jobs accomplished during his time in the city.
“All that remained of Jay was a piece of paper with his name, an address, and phone number that had been left in a small bottle at the edge of the garden where I worked. He must have found a way to sneak back and leave it for me after his banishment. Without the means to contact him, I assumed the message was intended to give me peace in the knowledge that he had somewhere to go. The scrap of paper became my most treasured possession, a reminder that I once had a friend—I once hoped and dreamed, if only for a short while.
“Life changed with Jay gone—the color leeched from my days and my hope dwindled until nothing remained but pain and loss. Looking back, I can see I was depressed. Although it wasn’t a concept or term I was familiar with, it was one I felt intensely. A penetrating, bone-deep loneliness consumed me, causing the girl that Jay had awakened to retreat, slowly withering away until the numbness returned. I once again became the robot I was created to be, continuing mindlessly throughout the next year.
“It wasn’t until my seventeenth birthday that I once again felt something—although they were not the feelings I would have chosen. I ascended and officially assumed my place as The Omega, accepting the role ambivalently and the responsibilities that followed. On a raised dais, before my mother and the watchful eyes of To Ieró, I surrendered my virginity to a man eighteen years my senior and for whom I held little regard. It wasn’t making love or sex…hell, it wasn’t even fucking—it was ritual and mechanical. I wasn’t prepared—physically or emotionally—for the act, so it hurt on every level. The only commendation I can give The Alpha is that he didn’t enjoy my suffering—nor did it dissuade him. But he was not a sadist.
“Luckily, the traditions of To Ieró dictated that I be given forty days between each ‘receiving’ to provide a sanctified environment for a child to take root. During my ‘cultivating,’ I was left in relative peace and The Alpha’s needs were attended to by countless surrogates amongst The Sacred. Mercifully, his chosen worshipers were all willing, although some were barely seventeen,” I paused to shake my head in disgust. “He is a truly vile creature.”
I collected my thoughts before continuing with my tale, not risking a glance at Wes’ face for fear of the disgust I would see.
“When biology confirmed that his effort was unsuccessful, the ritual was repeated before The Sacred. The second attempt proved fruitful—at first. I miscarried in my fourth month, which was an acceptable loss as Theós does not pass to the child until the seventh month. The loss provided a reprieve for two months at the insistence of the midwife.
“There was concern that my miscarriage resulted from my indulgence in ‘contaminated thinking,’ which led The Alpha to move me into his home, where I could be properly supervised at all times. For the most part, I was ignored, doing my part by remaining silent and virtually invisible during my stay—as was expected of me. The unforeseen byproduct of this arrangement was my exposure to the inner workings of To Ieró under The Alpha’s leadership. As primary counselor, The Mánti̱ often visited to share his visions and prophecies with The Alpha, as well as advise about various issues facing The Sacred community. During these meetings, I went unnoticed while garnering more awareness and secrets than I’d ever thought possible.
“I’d often suspected that The Alpha was not following in the footsteps of his predecessors as exactingly as law would dictate, but The Alpha was the law so any abnormalities went unchallenged. Without careful scrutiny, most would have overlooked the inexplicable fortune befalling To Ieró under The Alpha’s reign, attributing the prosperity to the virtuousness and obedience of the community. Yet from my position within his household, I discovered the truth…The Alpha—or this Alpha, at least—was a fraud. A charlatan professing the beliefs of To Ieró and purporting his divinity, while violating the tenets of the faith, breaking his covenant with Theós.
“The influx of wealth toted as proof of To Ieró’s divine compliance were, in reality, profits for the production and sale of crystal meth. The Alpha spent years learning to make meth, establishing conduits for distribution and selling to the top dealers in the neighboring three states. To Ieró’s location was the perfect base for manufacturing…off the grid in an established ‘religious community’ with no history of trouble or complaints. The self-sustaining agricultural efforts of To Ieró were well-known, enabling The Alpha to secure the necessary ingredients without raising alarms. So the supposed ‘incarnation of God’ was actually peddling drugs indiscriminately to anyone willing to pay, and no one outside his inner circle was the wiser.
“I was at a loss for what to do. The guilt of doing nothing ate at me, but every action I contemplated was thwarted. I knew none of The Sacred would stand against The Alpha—he was their god, above reproach. There was no phone accessible to me, and I was supervised like a child with a tendency to wander.
“Desperate for a solution, I took greater risks, eavesdropping in hopes of gaining information I could use to access a phone or escape. The last conversations I overheard revealed The Alpha had planned and experimented for over a decade before positioning himself as one of the primary meth suppliers in the Northwest, going so far as to kill his father—the previous Alpha—to gain control of To Ieró in pursuit of his goals. The man is a sociopath and a killer.
“My attempts at stealth must have failed because he grew suspicious of my lingering about when company was present. I had no doubt he would punish me severely—or worse, kill me—when he discovered all I knew. Time was running out, yet I remained isolated with no plan for escape.
“A stroke of luck provided by a small chemical fire in his workshop finally presented the opportunity to sneak away. I hid in the back of a box truck filled with meth, bound for Boise. During the four-hour ride, I strategized my course of action upon arrival. Having never left the compound, my knowledge of the outside world was sparse at best, and I didn’t know who was safe or how far The Alpha’s reach extended in the area.
“Since Jay was the only person I trusted—despite our two-year separation—my plan was to find my way to wherever he was. Thankfully, I had memorized the address and phone number he’d left for me. When the truck arrived at its destination, I remained hidden until the two Sacred were distracted, then ran for my life. Well over an hour later, I stumbled into a doctor’s office, begging to use the phone. The receptionist denied my request and insisted I leave before she was forced to call the police.
“Crestfallen, I exited, determined to visit every office, store, and restaurant I could find until successful. A woman followed me out of the doctor’s waiting room, offering me her cell phone, which I gratefully accepted. Before connecting, she explained that she was a social worker for the State of Idaho and recognized a girl in trouble when she saw one. Still unsure of whom I could trust, I simply nodded and dialed the number Jay had provided. I nearly cried when an unfamiliar man’s voice answered the phone—I’d gambled my one chance at freedom on my only friend’s willingness to help…and he wasn’t there. Jay’s name slipped from my lips, but I received no response. I was about to disconnect when the man said, ‘Oh my God! You’re her, aren’t you? The girl from Oregon. Holy shit! He’s going to freak. Hold on, I’ll get you Jay’s number, just don’t hang up—he’ll kill me if you do.’ After a moment, the man returned, rattling off ten digits that I forced him to repeat five times until I was certain I’d committed the number to memory. The good samaritan gestured to the phone as I pressed ‘end,’ granting me permission for a second call before I had to ask. Fingers shaking, I dialed the number, anxious until Jay’s voice finally came over the line.
“All it took was his name from my lips and he was ready to hop on
a plane to retrieve me. After a brief debate, we agreed it would be best if I left town immediately, which precluded Jay making the trip to accompany me. Air travel was impossible as I had no identification, so it was decided I would travel by bus. After speaking with the Good Samaritan, Jay told me we could trust her and instructed me to tell her my story, as well as call Oregon State Police before boarding the bus.
“My Good Samaritan, Wendy, drove me to the bus station, paid for my ticket to the tune of five hundred dollars, and listened to my story. Just before boarding the bus, Wendy lent me her phone to call the police and report the felonious activities at To Ieró. I left an anonymous tip detailing everything I knew and hung up with the reassurances the police would investigate.
“Two days, two-thousand miles, and four buses later, I arrived in Greensboro, North Carolina, where Jay was waiting to greet me.”
"The greatest happiness of life is the conviction that we are loved; loved for ourselves, or rather, loved in spite of ourselves." -Victor Hugo
Westly
Thirty minutes—that was how long it took to discover her secrets and the source of her shame. Thirty minutes of gut-wrenching, soul-shredding, mind-bending honesty that left me feeling violated on her behalf. Too many emotions fought for supremacy, tangled together, feeding off one another until it was impossible to separate or process. Hell, I needed therapy after listening to her story—experiencing such trauma through her eyes was harrowing. Nausea sat heavy like a boulder in the pit of my stomach as I fought to contain my desire to be sick. No way could I risk her misinterpreting my visceral response as a reflection upon her rather than what she’d survived. I knew enough to know she would internalize my reaction as a judgment against her instead of empathy for her. As if on cue, she confirmed my intuition.
