Anointed

by Charity B.

  His demeanor relaxes once more with his nonverbal invitation to sit on the blanket. “Please.”

  I adjust my dress as he takes cups and plates from the basket. He removes sandwiches and potato slices from a cloth, placing them on the plates. Using a glass jar of milk, he fills our tin cups.

  I look up at him and bite my lip. “Can I ask you something?”

  His smirk is a little sad. “When it is just you and I, you can always ask me anything.”

  I have a book of questions, though there is one that sits in the front of my mind. “Does my family know I’m coming back? Does the rest of the compound?”

  He brushes the hair out of his face. “I wasn’t completely secure in the fact that you would come tonight. I didn’t want to disrupt order if you were going to change your mind. So, no, beyond you and me, Ezekiel and Jacob are the only two who know.”

  I can’t decide if that makes me feel better or worse. “What’s it like? To talk to Him?”

  He laughs. “Enough questions for now. Eat your sandwich.”

  Surprisingly, I’m able to eat. The deliciousness of the ingredients nearly has me moaning. Crickets chirp in the distance as we silently chew. Tomato, chicken, and lettuce on rye. He inhales deeply in the silence before he takes my hand.

  “Will you make me an oath?” My curiosity is piqued, but I’m not about to agree to something before I know what it is. I tilt my head in question, and gust of wind blows my hair around my face. The heat beneath my skin ignites when he tucks the stray strands behind my ear. “I want you to make me the promise that no matter what happens after we enter the gates, you will know I still care for you deeply. Though you may not understand my methods, I need you to know that whatever I do is in your best interest.”

  I don’t particularly like how this is sounding. I also knew it probably wasn’t going to be easy. He’s preparing for the worst, as should I. Not a single soul has ever been brought back into the protection of the Anointed Land once cast out, so opposition from the fellow children is an understandable reaction.

  The fact is, I made the choice to come back. I must shift my thinking to that which is expected of me. Whether I am comfortable with it or not, Zebadiah is my Prophet, and trusting the Prophet is synonymous with trusting Zaaron. If he says he will only do what is best for me, I can accept that.

  “You have my word. I trust you…Prophet.”

  His fingers are long and have a slight roughness to them as he rubs his thumb over my knuckles. The light of the lantern makes him appear to be glowing. His lip lifts into a half-hearted smile before he turns and digs into the basket. Presenting a full pie and two forks, he sets them on the blanket.

  “We can’t bring anything back, so have at it.”

  I laugh, stabbing my fork right into the middle to scoop out a large bite. The filling and rhubarb pieces are sweet and tangy while deliciously topped with a flakey, buttery crust.

  “Mmmm.” My mouth voices its pleasure as I revel in a taste that will always make me think of my childhood. “This is delicious.”

  He chews his bite and smirks before he reaches out, brushing his thumb across my lip. Stray filling sits on his finger, and he looks at me, bringing it into his mouth. My heart stutters, and another feeling in my stomach, but…lower. I untuck my legs, and cross my ankles, keeping my mouth full of pie so I don’t have to occupy it with awkward words.

  “I don’t remember looking forward to anything with the excitement that I have for today. Thank you for coming home.”

  “Thank Zaaron. He’s the one who made it possible.”

  Leaning closer, he reaches out to touch my face like he did before, but this time, he presses his lips against mine. My chest explodes, sending aftershocks through my body as his kiss turns from tender and cautious to deep and desperate. His hand moves from my face to the nape of my neck.

  My mind is dizzy. I have barely been kissed, much less kissed like this! The ache below my stomach is now throbbing between my legs. This is wrong. We are not bound, and we are not trying to have a child. This is an act reserved for husband and wife. I know I should push him away, but Zaaron forgive me, all I want is for him to keep going.

  He groans against my lips and puts me on my back before lying on top of me. His erection is hard against my thigh, and I have the urge to scoot lower. What are we doing?! My mind hands over control to my body, and I gasp, rocking against his belly.

  Suddenly, he stills. He pulls his mouth away, nearly causing me to cry. I have never experienced anything like this.

  In the lamplight, his jaw ticks as he shakes his head. “We can’t do this. I’m sorry.” I nod because I have no oxygen to speak or brain function to produce a response. He pushes himself away from me. “It’s time for us to go.”

  We silently gather the non-food items before I follow him back to the buggy. Once we’re both seated, he clicks his tongue and pulls the right rein.

  He seems uncomfortable, and while in my mind I know we just sinned, in my heart, I don’t feel the guilt that usually comes with it.

  “You know I won’t tell anyone about our picnic, right?” He nods at me, but I don’t think it relaxes him at all.

  The fence that wraps around the compound is difficult to make out in the dark, yet it’s still one of the most comforting sights I’ve seen in years. The buggy pulls up to the gates as the night guard yanks it open. Since I can’t see his face, I’m sure he can’t see mine. I would still guess he’s curious.

  Being back inside the compound gives me a tugging feeling throughout my body, and I can’t quite place if it’s unpleasant or not.

  We stop in front of the tabernacle, and he grabs the lantern, pointing toward the doors. He steps out of the buggy, and I follow him up the wooden steps. There are no candles lit inside the building, leaving the moonbeams and Zeb’s lantern our only sources for light.

  He leads me to the same holding room I stayed in before my soul cleansing twelve years ago. Ezekiel is sitting in the chair next to the bed reading The True Testament by lamp light.

  Zebadiah places his hand on the small of my back, nudging me in ahead of him as Ezekiel stands and nods. “Blessed evening, Prophet.”

  “Blessed evening, Apostle.”

  Zeb turns to me. “You are to give every article of your clothing to Apostle Ezekiel. I want you stripped of everything tying you to the outside.”

  I feel a twist in my gut at the memory of the photograph in my undergarments. “Yes, I understand.”

  He backs toward the door, looking to Ezekiel. “Bring her clothing to the waste site on your way home.”

  “Yes, Prophet.”

  Ezekiel exits the room to wait in the hall, leaving Zebadiah to stare at me. After a moment, he gives me such a genuine smile, returning it is automatic.

  “Welcome home, Laurel Ann.”

  THIS ISN’T MY QUILT…THIS isn’t my bed.

  Opening my eyes, I push myself up, allowing yesterday’s memories to flood over me.

  I’m here.

  I’m home.

  Last night Ezekiel gave me a long, button-down petticoat and bloomers to wear in exchange for my Philistine clothes. Reaching beneath my bloomers, I pull out the photo of me and Kaila. I hope she’s all right this morning. I have to believe that she will move on, and eventually, I will become a distant memory in her mind. Although that very thought causes the tears to prickle my eyes, her sadness would make me even more sorrowful. She has Brently, and if they don’t work out, she will find someone else who makes her happy. Getting a guy has never been a difficult task for her. I run my fingers over her glossy, frozen smile.

  “I miss you already.”

  Returning the paper piece of time to my bloomers, I push the blankets off my feet. I run my fingers over my personal cleansing scars and smile at that time in my life being over. There is a knock at the door before Ezekiel lets himself inside. I attempt to cover my arms as he places a plate of toast and a glass of water on the table.

  “Hurry
and eat. We must go.”

  Go? Go where? The placing dorms?

  I eat my bread along with my questions. I wash it down when I notice the rope in his hands. My stomach falls even though I expected it. Zeb had said I wouldn’t be able to walk back in here without paying some type of penance.

  He beckons me with his hand, and all hope for receiving a dress is demolished. I stand in front of him, and he wraps my wrists together with the rope, tugging me out the door. I expect the meeting hall to be full of people, but it’s bare. I don’t even get past the pulpit before I hear them from outside—angry voices urging one another on. The doors are pushed open, forcing me to close my eyes to protect them from the bright rays of sun.

  “This is not right!”

  “She doesn’t belong here!”

  “I don’t want her evil near my children!”

  Ezekiel leads me down the steps and through the angry crowd. As I strain to open my eyes, I see Zebadiah in the center of them. He is dressed in his hat and black jacket, looking every bit the Prophet that he is. They spit on me and hiss in my ear.

  “Children, I know this is a territory we have yet to discover. I am asking you to trust in me, and furthermore, to trust in Zaaron. This is His will and desire. If anyone wants to question His plan, you will see yourself at the receiving end of a cleansing ritual.” Their cacophony dies down into undistinguishable murmurs. “Zaaron has told me of His plan for Laurel Ann. Her soul has survived the dark, new world. When surrounded in sin and the absence of grace, she did everything possible to keep the tainting at bay. She obeyed spiritual law, and for twelve years never committed an unforgivable sin. Could any of you guarantee the same had it been you?” My heart swells at his defense. It’s working; they have all but fallen silent. He takes the rope from Ezekiel and holds up my wrists, showing the crowd my personal cleansing scars. “Though the fire may not have been Anointed, she paid with pain and scars to prove her devotion. I do understand your hesitance. She broke one of the most sacred of spiritual laws by denying the path Zaaron had laid out for her. He works in mysterious ways, does He not? He has a new path for her now. He wants you all to accept her back into the folds of the Anointed Land as if she had never left.” He pushes me to the ground, uncaring of the abuse to my knees. My eyes travel to the shallow hole in the ground forcing my heart to pound in my chest. I’ve never seen a demon exorcised, although I know what it entails. “I understand your fear of the evil she has brought with her and the possibility that she is possessed, looking for a way to taint our holy land.” Why would Zaaron choose this as my punishment? He must know I’m not being controlled by the Devil.

  Looking up reveals Ezekiel and Jacob carrying the tomb of abolishment. It’s no bigger than a coffin, and I feel nauseous as they remove the wooden lid.

  “I would never risk the safety of you or our land. If any darkness or evil resides in her, Zaaron will see that it is removed. Once this night has passed, any ill will you have toward her must be dissipated or a cleansing will be in order.”

  I inhale a breath so sharp I can feel it slice down my throat. I’m not secure in the fact that I can survive this. Shortly after my excommunication, I developed an aversion to small spaces. I don’t like things covering my face or being enclosed. I had something called a ‘panic attack’ in one of my foster homes when one of the other kids trapped me in a blanket. They wouldn’t let me out, and I thought I would die inside that place.

  This is where my faith must come in to play. Surely Zaaron’s wrath is vicious, though I do not believe He would dole out a penance I could not pay.

  My heart tries to escape my body as I watch Zeb’s boots disappear to walk behind me.

  I understand Zebadiah has to do this, but even knowing he has to remain a holy example, I still can’t push away the sting in my chest.

  “She will remain in the tomb for no longer than two hours. That is more than enough time for any evil she has obtained to be removed by the envoy.”

  I have to believe the time limit is a safeguard to try to protect me. Whether it’s Zaaron or Zebadiah, I’m not sure, though I suppose in some ways, they are one in the same. While the sun is too bright for me to look at their faces, I hear their whispers. Zebadiah instructs them to make a circle around us and the tomb of abolishment. Are my mother and father among them? Mia? She is a grown woman by now. This will be her eighteenth year. Will I even recognize her?

  Suddenly, my face is covered by what feels like a gunny sack and secured around my neck. There are holes that I can see through, obscuring my vision. The small opening for my mouth seems to do nothing to assist in my breathing. The sack puffs out from my lips every time I exhale, making me feel suffocated. My chest rises and falls rapidly as Ezekiel approaches me, lifts the ropes, and brings me to my feet. Everything inside me wants to fight him, to pull away and run, but this is what’s required for my soul. I will not deny it this time. He leads me to the tomb, and I lift my foot to step inside. I make the mistake of looking at Zeb in time to watch him take the envoy’s cage from Jacob.

  I feel like I’m going to be sick when I hear a familiar voice. “You have disgraced this land, me, and our God. I can still smell them on you. May Zaaron cleanse your disgusting soul.”

  It’s rougher and hoarser than I remember, but there’s no mistaking it’s my Pa. I know seeing the disappointment on his face will crack me, yet I look anyway.

  After all these years, he still hates me. My tears trickle down my face at the confirmation that I will not be welcomed back into my family without an abundant effort, and perhaps not at all. His words begin a downpour of hate, the children of Zaaron crying out their disgust.

  “Disgraceful!”

  “Filthy!”

  “Corrupt!”

  “Wicked!”

  “Shameful!”

  “Evil!”

  “Sinner!”

  They spew their judgments, confirming my mistakes and failures. I knew there would be some discord, I just never imagined this level of abhorrence. Their words may be different, yet what they say is the same:

  You are not welcome here.

  Ezekiel helps me lie down in the tomb, and I shut my eyes as if it will make the dread more bearable. It only makes the anticipation worse, so I look up at the clear Oklahoma sky.

  I can’t see him from my position, but Zeb’s voice fills the tomb. “The envoy is a miraculous creature. In Zaaron’s wisdom, He has given us the ability to remove the demons that may inhabit our fallen Sister. If she is possessed, His envoy will bite her, consuming any evil within her, allowing us to destroy it once and for all.”

  As he stands over the tomb, my breath becomes too thick to leave my body. He lowers the tarantula inside with me, and I freeze, trying to stay perfectly still.

  He looks down at me and whispers, “Keep your eyes shut.”

  I do as he instructs and hear him close the lid. My heart moves to my throat when the light weight of little legs crawls up my shin. The tears fall, and a whimper escapes to the sound of the followers praying for me. The tomb is lifted, and suddenly, I’m floating. My stomach flips as I feel myself being lowered into the hole. I try to slow my breathing as my heart hammers in my chest loud enough that I can hear it.

  Wait…that’s not my heart.

  Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

  The dirt drops against the lid as they bury me in the earth. Little hairs brush against my ankle, startling me and causing me to cry out. I involuntarily kick my foot at the sensation of light legs moving frantically around my feet, trying with all my might to stay motionless.

  Thud. Thud. Thud.

  The more dirt that falls, the faster my pulse quickens. I’m sweating like I’m being baked in an oven, and my throat is twisting closed. The harder I try to breathe, the more difficult it becomes. I gasp and attempt to lurch out from the closed space, enraging the creature more. A piercing pain stabs my leg, and I scream. Faster up my body it moves. I shriek, squeezing my eyes tighter closed. The hair of his legs t
ouches my chest, and I can’t stop myself from choking. Cries bursts through my diaphragm making the intake of oxygen impossible. Snot and tears roll down my cheek beneath the mask, and I claw at my throat, not only to breathe, but to knock off the spider.

  In my mind, I know the thrashing and screaming only makes him angrier. I also know I need out of this tomb, or I’ll die. I bang against the lid, praying for the darkness to take me, yet my mind forces me to hang on as if Zaaron Himself desires for me to feel every moment of this incursion. Bile rolls in my stomach, making my throat burn. I need out of here! My screams become razor blades in my vocal chords, and I imagine the tissue bleeding from tearing. Agony is from head to toe, and my lungs have stopped expanding. I don’t know if I can make it through this. The name ‘tomb’ is only to signify the death of the demon, though in this moment, I know I will spend eternity in this hole in the ground.

  Then suddenly, time temporarily stops. Well, it doesn’t stop, I just stop experiencing it before being flung into chaos. My body has taken over, and I am just the observer watching through cracked glass as my limbs flail me around the tomb.

  Back and forth.

  In and out.

  Here and gone.

  “Try to open your eyes, Laurel Ann. If you can hear me, open your eyes.”

  As much as I want to obey the command, the weight on my eyelids refuses to dissipate. It’s a masculine voice that I think I recognize, but cannot place. I try to communicate with my voice, though my throat feels swollen closed.

  “Will she be all right?” Zeb asks.

  I wish I could speak because I want to yell at him that I’m not all right. I’m just too tired. I know a penance was necessary, but he’s the Prophet. Couldn’t he have negotiated for a milder punishment? Zaaron has to know I was never possessed. Was I?

  Every part of my body aches, including my heart. How could Zeb put me through that? Seeing as there is no way what happened at our picnic last night was sanctioned, I know he is not unwilling to make his own choices.