Lambs

by Michael Louis Calvillo

  But ugh.

  But yuck.

  But worry, worry, worry.

  Every twice-ordained male member of the church was to participate in initiating her.

  This included her dad, and her uncle, and her 5th grade Science teacher Mr. Schwinn, and Mr. Rollins the city Councilman, and on and on. At last count there were fourteen active, twice-ordained male acolytes. By her time next year there would be fifteen. Bobby Jones, an over-achieving, ambitious devout was turning eighteen next month and he was already ready for his second coronation.

  Like with this year’s Blood Rites she would be the only inductee.

  Like with this year’s Blood Rites she would receive all of the attention.

  Unlike this year’s Blood Rites there was nothing good about it, not even a tiny sliver.

  Melanie swallowed back the rising nausea. There had to be a way out of or around it. Perhaps she could dig up a bylaw or a loophole. Perhaps she could refuse.

  What then?

  Would they kill her?

  They sacrificed approximately seven humans per year (not including the Blood Rite Sacrifices made by inductees) and were no strangers to killing, but one of their own?

  Would they be able to kill one of their own?

  The Great Proclamation forbid it, but would they do it anyway?

  Would they disown her?

  Melanie didn’t know how she would make it on her own, but right now being cut loose was looking better than the alternative.

  She didn’t understand how her mom or her sister or any of the women in this century actually went through with it. Maybe in days of old, but now? Today? In this modern age?

  Times were ever-changing. Perhaps the Blood Orgy had run its course and it was time to retire it. Perhaps she was the first priestess to have the guts to put an end to it once and for all.

  Riding the pride and power welling within her bosom, Melanie popped three NoDoz and got dressed with renewed vigor.

  * * *

  By lunchtime she was freaking out. Melanie stomped around the back of the cafeteria.

  Still no Arthur.

  She took a long look to her right and then a long look to her left. Satisfied there was no around she sat against the building and put her head in her lap. Tears came violently and sobs attacked her with a barrage of shudders and shakes. The lack of sleep—she had been awake since yesterday morning, twenty-eight hours ago—was already beginning to take a toll on her and now Arthur’s no-show-status pushed her over the edge.

  The signs were clear yesterday. He just stood there looking sad and lost. Something was wrong. Melanie knew as much, but she didn’t want to push, not this close to the Big Day, she didn’t want to scare him off. She had to make sure he kept his word and snuck out with her Saturday night. The sacrifice wasn’t going to take place until Sunday (midnight, technically Monday morning), but she had to have him to the chamber for prep at least twenty-four hours in advance.

  Logistics bombarded her brain as tears continued to fall.

  Some were shed for potential failure. She didn’t want to face her mom and dad empty-handed. They had been preparing her for her entire life and she was about to stumble at the finish line.

  Others streamed over Arthur. For the past three months they hadn’t spent one school day apart. Yesterday he was standoffish. She played things off in front of her classmates and kept her composure around her parents, but once she got some time to herself she cried rivers over his distance. As she had confided in her mom over uneaten breakfast she had fallen in love with him and it hurt to be pushed away or shunned or whatever he was doing.

  He ignored her yesterday and he didn’t even come to school today. Had she done something to upset him?

  Could he have found out about her church and their designs on his innocent blood?

  Impossible. She hadn’t said anything to him and there was no other way. Information about her church was virtually inaccessible. If he knew something he’d already be dead.

  He looked pale yesterday, he could just be sick, but Melanie didn’t understand why he hadn’t communicated with her then or sent one of his little retard friends with word today.

  And why did it hurt so bad?

  And if he resurfaced for their date how was she going to bring herself to carry the ritual through and sacrifice him?

  It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Acolytes of her church in their seventeenth year were to obtain a victim and then perform a Blood Sacrifice, binding their souls to the Lord Father’s. There were rules in place to protect the church. They were a powerful, well-connected group that operated above the law. Young members were to lure their victims as stealthily as possible. Getting a sacrifice to sneak out, as Melanie had intended with Arthur, was ideal as it obfuscated whereabouts and encapsulated the ensuing missing person’s case in a cloud of doubt. With Arthur, the cops would definitely come knocking, a few people knew he was sneaking out with her, but nobody would actually see anything and all her dad had to do was make a few phone calls to crush the investigation.

  Melanie targeted Arthur for a number of reasons. First and foremost the victim had to be a virgin. Their blood had to be innocent and their mind had to be pure. Special Education students fit that criteria to a T, so despite her friends’ raised eyebrows and off-color jokes, Melanie began hanging around the SDC rooms during passing period and lunch. She chose Arthur because he was the cutest of the bunch and after getting to know him he didn’t seem as pure as she had initially assumed, but he was sweet and a virgin and in the eyes of the Lord Father that should serve.

  Familial ties had to be minimal. Arthur’s group home status was perfect. Families would take the police to task and force thorough investigations, but the state? The faster the case dried up the better.

  Love and trust had to be formed between acolytes and their victims. This had been stressed her whole life and Melanie never gave it too much thought. Her mother told her the easiest way to achieve the proper bond was to take on a boyfriend, so she did and here she was—in love.

  Love.

  Or at least she thought it was love.

  She had no frame of reference with which to compare it, but she never felt this way before and she was never in love before so there you have it: love.

  She thought about Arthur nearly every second of nearly everyday. The Blood Rites intruded and mucked up the pleasantries of lovelorn-heat-desire, it was hard to think about your boyfriend’s soft lips and warm gaze with your hands deep inside a thrashing, screaming pig, but even then, even revolting over next year’s impending orgy, a sliver of Arthur was still pulsing within her cerebration.

  It was never supposed to be like this. He was stupid (or so she thought). He was retarded (or so she thought). He was nothing more than a lamb fit for the slaughter (or so she thought). She never expected him to be funny and smart. She never expected his looks to grow on her like they did, infecting her physiology to the point where all she had to do was close her eyes and his smiling face was there.

  Each day they parted, it hurt.

  Each morning when they met, it hurt (in a good way).

  Weekends were sheer agony and she spent hours upon hours writing him letters and drawing his name inside garish hearts.

  When he was around butterflies pirouetted in her stomach.

  When he wasn’t around butterflies slamdanced in her stomach.

  How was she going to kill him?

  The plan was to sneak him out on Saturday night and then turn him over to the Sentinels for prep. As usual Bill Hanlon and Charles Pickett were running the chamber this year. Outside of the church, in the real world, they were two of the nicest guys around, Bill was a veterinarian and Charles operated the go-carts at Scandia Fun Park, but get them in sentry gear and look out—they were devils in the service of Satan. They each wielded a mean knife and were known for their effective, efficient subjugation methods. The church lovingly referred to them as The Torture Twins.

  At the beginning of
each year the church held a series of Blood Rite elections and each year the two men won the Sentinel post hands down. They made it clear they enjoyed their work and the constituency of the church was happy to comply.

  Melanie couldn’t bear turning her Arthur over to them. Since there were no other initiate sacrifices this year, he would receive the full brunt of their services. Though fate and circumstance determined timing and inductees did the best they could to meet the Sentinels preferences (she was supposed to have gotten him there at least a week early, it made things easier, safer), the way things were working out she wouldn’t be getting Arthur there until the last possible minute. Which was a good thing, it gave the Sentinels less time to do their torturous thing, but Arthur would still be in their care up until the actual Blood Sacrifice ceremony at midnight on Sunday. She didn’t even want to think about the things they were going to do to him during the interim.

  How was she going to concentrate on the ceremony while the boy she loved was locked away with The Torture Twins?

  While the Sentinels had their way with him she was supposed to be meditating, communing with the Lord Father and finding the strength within herself to carry out the sacrifice and bring the sacred dagger down into Arthur’s heart.

  Just the thought of it turned her stomach and raised bile into her throat.

  No matter. No matter. No matter.

  Her fears and love-dumb worries would fade eventually. She had been trained her whole life for this moment and she couldn’t let her family down. She wouldn’t let her family down.

  And though it seemed impossible right now, in the chamber with her brothers and sisters at her back chanting, she knew she would be able to do what she must. Despite Arthur’s beautiful eyes, despite the place she had made for him in her heart, she would follow through and drive the blade home.

  Unless.

  Unless he cancelled their date.

  What then?

  She would embarrass her mom and her dad to high heaven (hell). Every year’s crop of priestesses-in-training had always produced. She couldn’t ever remember a sacrifice falling through. She didn’t want to be the first.

  So where was he?

  He always met her before each class, after each class, for lunch, but yesterday he was a shaky, nervous mess and today he was nowhere to be found.

  Was he going to show up to the movies tomorrow? They had talked about it for weeks and up until yesterday he had a permanent smile plastered on his face.

  What changed?

  Had her bitch friends said something to him? Melanie had to tell them something when she began dating Arthur. They were of different social classes and her friends weren’t exactly accepting of Melanie’s retarded boyfriend, so she acted like it was a goof, a prank. She fully intended upon staying the course, charming Arthur all the while throwing her friends knowing winks. Yet, as her feelings began to deepen she couldn’t pretend that what was developing between her and Arthur was a ruse. She couldn’t talk shit about him or let her friends belittle him behind his back any longer. Melanie blew them off and she found out of the way spots to visit with Arthur during the school day.

  She used to go out with her friends on the weekends to the mall or the movies or even a party (without her parents knowledge of course, they didn’t let her go to parties yet—they told her she was still too young), but over the past few months she had been too busy preparing for the ceremonies to do much else. Once the Blood Rites were over she would have to work at rekindling a few ignored friendships.

  Melanie wiped the drying tears from her eyes and dug her compact out of her bag. She couldn’t let anyone see her like this. Appearances were important. She couldn’t put the church at risk by drawing unnecessary suspicions.

  * * *

  When her seventh period English class let out, Melanie fast-walked for the back parking lot. Her mom was going to pick her up as usual in the front parking lot, but she had to intercept one of Arthur’s friends before they got to the van. The group home he lived at was strict as all get out—she couldn’t talk to him on the phone and this was her only opportunity to communicate.

  When she first started dating him she began to worry about getting him to the chamber before the intended date. The Sentinels would be on duty for a full five days before the sacrifice which gave her a reasonable window to get him there, but when it became clear the only day he might be able to sneak out was on a Saturday she got nervous. One day of leeway was cutting it way too close.

  What if something happened?

  What if their plans fell through? (Like they were beginning to.)

  Halfway into the parking lot she spotted the little spastic one with jacked up hair. Connor. Arthur liked him. Melanie picked up her pace to a run until she caught up.

  “Hey?” She smiled big and slowed to match his pace. She looked down at him (she stood a full head taller) and let her sparkling eyes do their magic

  The little guy looked over once, twice, a classic double take. His eyes went wide and he opened his mouth but no sound came out. After a second more of silence between them he tried again. “H-H-Hi.”

  “Can I talk to you for a sec?” Melanie put her hand on his arm to stop them.

  It was plain to see that he didn’t want to stop, let alone talk. Discomfort emanated from his pores in droves of get away from me vibes. Melanie put a little more pressure on his arm and he stopped walking, but not moving. He shuffled nervously from side to side and stared at the group home van at the far end of the parking lot.

  “Are you okay?”

  Connor’s eyes focused on anything but her. “Y-Y-Y-Yeah.”

  Melanie figured she best keep this short and sweet. “Have you seen Arthur today?”

  “H-H-He’s s-s-sick.”

  “Sick?” Melanie narrowed her eyebrows. Arthur hated being stuck at the group home. Even if he were sick (he did look pretty pale yesterday) he wouldn’t want to spend the day there when he could be here with her.

  “H-H-He w-w-wouldn’t g-g-get, g-get u-up. G-G-George s-said h-h-e h-has to s-spend the d-d-day in b-b-b-b-ed.”

  “What about tomorrow? Are you guys still going to the movies tomorrow?”

  Connor finally looked her in the face, “H-H-Hell y-y-yeah!” He smiled a goofy smile.

  “Is Arthur going?”

  “H-H-He b-b-better.”

  Damn right, he better. What if he didn’t? Melanie never even considered the possibility of him backing out. She dug through her purse and pulled out a letter she wrote during English class. “Can you make sure he gets this?” She presented the folded letter to Connor. Arthur was written upon its face in a flowery script.

  Connor took it and nodded. He took off his backpack and spent an uncomfortable minute trying to work the zipper. When at long last he got it open he shoved the letter inside and then spent another awkward moment trying to close it back up.

  “Thanks.” Melanie patted his shoulder.

  Connor nodded again and then ran off for the van.

  * * *

  Brother Pickett knocked on her compartment door (the preparatory room off of the main chamber was small enough to be called a “compartment”) at eleven fifty-five.

  “Sister Melanie, Miss, it’s time.”

  Melanie took a deep breath and sized herself up in the mirrored wall. She took one last look at the sigils drawn upon her bare stomach and chest. The pig blood dried nicely and the symbols were exact, just like the ones in The Great Text. Her mom and dad will be pleased. Removing her sweat pants, underwear and slippers she covered her naked body with the ceremonial bathing robe, secured it tightly with a sash and then opened the door. Brother Pickett, decked out in the black hooded robe of the ordained, the sentinel’s crest, a swatch of crimson run through with gold filament, tied around his right arm, motioned for her to walk ahead of him.

  The stone floor was cold beneath her bare feet. Melanie shivered a little and then began down the hallway to the center chamber.

  Charlie Pickett
made small talk from behind, “How you doing, Sister? Are you ready?”

  Tonight would be the easiest of the rituals, but Melanie still needed to keep her focus. All the Cleansing required of her was poise and about ten words worth of recitation. Not ridiculously easy like Saturday’s Blood Feast or Monday’s Silent Eve, but a cakewalk when compared to last night’s and Sunday’s sacrifices. “I’m fine Mr. Pickett—um, Brother Pickett.”

  “When you bringing in your kill?”

  Referring to a sacrifice victim as a “kill” was extremely insensitive and rude. Charles Pickett’s sentinel job was definitely going to his head. Melanie would have to remember to tell her dad. Perhaps he would get a taste of his own medicine. “Saturday.”

  “Cutting it close huh?”

  “A little.”

  “If you get him here earlier things might go a little smoother, you know?”

  “I know.” Melanie didn’t want to idly chit-chat. She was trying to keep her answers short in hopes Pickett would let the conversation die.

  “The cells are empty this year.” Disappointment sounded in his voice.

  Melanie simply nodded.

  Pickett got the hint and they finished their walk in silence.

  The claw-footed bathtub sat in the center of the chamber. Its brass finish shined a deep, luxuriant gold in the torchlight. The liquid that filled it near to the brim, a mingling of pig and human blood, glistened darkly.

  As Melanie stepped into the cavernous hall the entire church began the chant.

  A wall of bass, “Sins to blood to the Lord Father!”

  There were three-hundred and six members in total. Their voices danced in unison and reverberated off the walls. They all wore hooded black robes, hoods up shrouding their faces in imperceptible shadow, and stood in rows that curved into a horseshoe pattern around the bathtub. The twice-ordained, fourteen of the top ranking men in the church, stood in two rows of seven in the center of the horseshoe about ten feet away from the bathtub. They too hid within their robes.