The first thing he asked as he poked his head into her preparatory chamber was, “Are you okay?” He looked down the hall and then ducked into the room, shut the door and gave Melanie a hug.
“I’m fine Da—um Elder Collins.”
“Dad is fine right now kiddo.” They disengaged but he held one of her hands. “How ya holding up punkin?”
She shrugged. “I guess I’m supposed to be in deep meditation right now.”
“I know. And in a moment you will be. I can’t stay but a minute, but I had to make sure you were okay. Look Melanie, I’m not sure what’s what with Arthur, but the Diviner is going to check him out. Whatever he finds there will be a Sacrifice and you will be honored. Who is this second boy?”
“He’s Arthur’s friend. Connor. I—”
“Do you love him?” There was an urgency in her dad’s voice. It made her nervous.
Melanie stammered, “I-I don’t know.”
He raised his dark eyebrows. “You don’t know? Do you think you love him?” Hope lilted.
“No,” she sighed out.
“Not even a little?”
She shook her head no.
The anticipation painted across his extremely symmetrical face (he had cheekbones like a high fashion model) died. “Damn. Okay punkin, if Arthur’s mark isn’t ours things will proceed as planned. Your Sacrifice will go naturally. If his brand checks out, you have to go with Connor. You have to find a way to love him.”
“But—”
“No buts. It is what it is Melanie. The Sacrifice has to go on. You’re a big girl now; you understand the pressure and you know that if you fail, for whatever reason the church will eat us alive. Do you want that?”
“No.”
Politics within the order were vague, at best. She knew her dad was near the top of the food chain and other members were always clamoring for his spot, but that was about the gist of it. She didn’t know the specifics and, as it bored her to tears she didn’t really want to know, so she always just played along as if she did.
“Arthur or Connor, you have to make it work. Okay?” He smiled at her and nodded.
“Okay,” she echoed.
He gave her another hug and then turned to leave. Melanie called after, “Dad?”
“Kiddo?” He paused by the door.
“What about the Lord Father?”
“How do you mean Mel?”
“I mean, he knows if I love Connor or not. He knows.”
Her dad walked back over and put an arm around her shoulder. “He understands more than you and I can ever know. This is all in his plan. To deny him a sacrifice is like slapping him in the face.” He pulled her closer and whispered. “You wouldn’t be the first.”
Melanie pushed him away and smacked his shoulder. She shouted “Shut up!” á la Elaine from Seinfeld. Was he insinuating he faked his Sacrifice? “You didn’t love yours?”
He smiled knowingly, “Of course I did. We all do.” He winked at her and then returned to the door. “We prove our devotion in many ways kiddo. As a young woman you’ll discover that things aren’t always so black and white.”
“You have tell me who it’s gonna be though. As soon as you know, okay?”
He shook his head no. “You have to pray and then it’s off to Rumination. You’ll see your Sacrifice at the Face to Face. Just be prepared either way. Use your thinking time wisely.” He opened the door. On his way out he called, “Love you Mel. Your mom does too. Be brave. Now get in your robes!”
Melanie did as her dad said and got to it. She removed her street clothes and put on her prayer robe and then kneeled at the little stone altar. The proper tome was open to the proper page awaiting her study.
She whispered to herself, “We are the absence of light in the creator’s eye…”
More and more words caressed her lips, scripture to be memorized and recited while standing over her Sacrifice. She didn’t want to get stuck like she did with the pig and it was important that she used every minute she was afforded before Rumination to get the passages committed to memory, but her brain refused to fully engage.
It wanted to run scenarios instead.
Her dad pretty much told her that it didn’t matter if she loved her Sacrifice (well, not his exact words, but close) so if she killed Connor instead of Arthur the Lord Father would be just as pleased. So even if Arthur wasn’t one of them, couldn’t she just sacrifice Connor anyhow and spare Arthur and keep him as a boyfriend?
Technically she could, so long as a Sacrifice was offered up, but if Arthur’s mark was false he would be the one she had to kill. Her father would see to it. You didn’t have to love your Sacrifice like they had brainwashed her into believing she did for all of these years, but it was ideal if you did. Sometimes she hated adults and their mutable rules of convenience.
If Arthur’s brand checked out as authentic what then?
Could she still date him?
Would he become a member of her church?
He couldn’t go back to the group home. After the Blood Rites Melanie would pull her dad aside and ask if he could stay in Judy’s room. She was off at college and Arthur would need to stay with an Elder’s family until he could be properly inducted and welcomed back into the flock. It all made perfect sense.
Satisfied with a few workable solutions she pushed herself to get memorizing. Should Connor be tied to the Blood Altar she needed to recite her lines and emote. If it were Arthur she wouldn’t have to force emotion, but she would have to remember the passages despite her sorrow and disappointment. Either way the lines were going to be a bitch-and-a-half to remember.
* * *
Brother Pickett escorted her from her preparatory compartment to the Rumination Chamber. Once inside the tiny room she had to remove her prayer robe and hand it off to Pickett. This made Melanie extremely uncomfortable. Though Brother Pickett waited in the corridor and Melanie handed him the robe through the smallest crack in the door, the chamber was mirrored so it was impossible for him not to catch a glimpse of her nude body at some angle or another. Pickett had always been civil, he had never done anything out of line, but there was a way about him that unsettled and made Melanie feel like a piece of meat.
Get over it, she chided inside (he already saw you at the Cleansing and he’s going to see a whole lot more at next year’s Blood Orgy—a shiver traversed her spine). And she did, but at the end of her first Rumination session (eleven hours of crampy kneeling) he’d be back with his leering, lingering grin to hand her the gown for her Face to Face and then after the Face to Face he’d stand in the hall so she could hand off the robe for her second Rumination session (a merciful hour) and then he’d get yet another peek as he returned to give her the Sacrificial robe.
It was best to get it done as quickly as she could so Melanie unzipped the gown stepped out of it and shoved it through the door in one quick motion. Just as quickly (quicker), the moment the robe traded hands, she pulled the door closed. Pickett was saying something, probably wishing her luck or asking if everything was as it should be (anything to prolong the peek), but the door cut him off. Melanie took in the fragrant, candle-scented air and let go a deep breath.
Eleven hours.
How was she going to hang in for eleven hours?
She stared at herself for a few moments, the 360 degree reflection made her head spin a little until she shook it off and concentrated vision on the mirrored wall directly in front of her. Her body was perfect, proportioned to societies’ standards, smooth, full in the right places, svelte in others, but she still crinkled her nose and pursed her lips in asinine criticism.
The jut of her hips could be smoother.
Her breasts could be bigger (or smaller).
Her ankles could be thinner.
And on and on, idiot denigration, symmetrical obsession, Melanie picked herself apart. When taken in all at once the total package was stunning, she knew this and when she let her eyes go wide she felt sexy and of worth, the candlelight painti
ng her exquisite form in soft, warm hues, but when the myopia set in (as it always does) little deficiencies made her cringe with disgust.
She had to mentally kick herself—This isn’t about you!
Again—Not about you!
And it wasn’t, not her physicality any way. It was about her spirit, so she let petty insecurity go and knelt on the silk pillow at her feet. The room threatened to close in on her a few times, claustrophobia clawing at her throat, but she fought and endured and assumed a stoic, straight-backed pose.
The Rumination Chamber was supposed to be a place of self-discovery. It presented inductees the opportunity to meditate on the impending sacrifice. Initiates were given the twelve hours to clear their minds and expel any apprehensions or fears or doubts. It was an intense experience. Just because they were members of a Satanic Blood Cult didn’t mean they weren’t human. Murder was still a big deal. The Sacrifice was a huge step. Melanie understood that the general populous viewed their way of life as disgusting or amoral or cruel. She was super-attuned to their differences and was all too aware of what the civilized world thought of as right and wrong. She had been battling the dichotomy her whole life. There were times when she wished she was normal or Christian or a member of some other religion that didn’t require so much of its flock. But then she felt sorry for those that were endeared to beliefs hinged upon lax faith and lazy worship. The Sacrifice drew a line in the sand. Once a member of the sect had crossed the line they were officially in league with the Lord Father forever. They were legion. An outsider could never understand. They hadn’t experienced the power of the Sacrifice and were regarded as lesser, as sheep, as lambs fit for the slaughter.
Melanie knew what she was supposed to think about, but getting her mind to stay on track was a chore. The strain didn’t help. Every part of her ached and burned. Why hadn’t the Elders made the Rumination Chamber a haven of comfort? If she could lie upon a bed she was sure the thoughts would come easier. It was always about pain and sacrifice. Which given her church’s edict made sense.
The Sacrifice.
Focus.
The Sacrifice.
School was going to suck. Melanie couldn’t wait for the end of the week. Tomorrow was going to be the worst, but she couldn’t miss as it was imperative she kept up appearances. Once she got home Monday afternoon she would be permitted to sleep, but only through the night (though she felt like she could sleep for days and days) as she had to be at school on Tuesday. Friday afternoon was going to be sweet. She planned on sleeping all weekend. And then it was back to normal (for a while at least). She had to start working at reestablishing friendships.
The Sacrifice.
Focus.
The Sacrifice.
The Blood Rites were murder on her TV watching schedule. Her DVR was filled to the brim with shows. Who knew when she would be able to catch up? Damn technology. Before her DVR if she missed something she missed it. She wasn’t skilled enough to program her old VCR, but this one touch recording thing made it too easy.
The Sacrifice.
Focus.
The Sacrifice.
And she had to spend some time with Louie her family dog. He was getting so old (fifty-three this year) and his legs were starting to give. Hopefully, Diviner Parks could do something for him. The binding spell couldn’t last forever, but it would be weird not having the slobbery guy around to finish her table scraps or lick her hand or offer his gargantuan head for scratching and petting.
The Sacrifice.
Focus.
The Sacrifice.
She was almost out of her favorite perfume. She had to remember to ask her mom to take her shopping as many times as she could before she graduated from high school and went off to college. Poor Judy was already “too adult” for such mother-sponsored shopping excursions. The parents had put their collective foot down and laid down the law. Once she was out of the house (like Judy) she was expected to work and support herself (well, entertainment wise anyhow—they would still pay for her apartment, her tuition, her books, and her necessary clothes).
The Sacrifice.
Focus.
The Sacrifice.
Algebra II was a bear. She had to study.
The Sacrifice.
Focus.
The Sacrifice.
There was a summer music festival she had to start talking her parents into letting her go to.
The Sacrifice.
Focus.
The Sacrifice.
She had been thinking about darkening her hair. Melanie was sick of the blonde jokes and the unfair assumption that she was dumb.
The Sacrifice.
Focus.
The Sacrifice.
The trivialities went round and round until at long last her brain and heart fell into sync. They locked wavelengths and marched to one another’s pulsing rhythm. They pumped adrenalized sorrow throughout the fibers of her being and brought her heart, mind and soul around.
* * *
It was hard to remember the first time she watched a Sacrifice. She’d been present for fifteen Blood Rites—from birth on—but it was tough to pinpoint the years when her child brain actually kicked into gear and processed things for what they were. The Blood Orgy stood out. She was nine when she put two and two together about what was going on there and she couldn’t get her mind to sit comfortable for months afterward (she still couldn’t). The weight of the Sacrifice probably dawned on her around the same time, but since it involved killing a stranger rather than being molested by your entire church it didn’t have as much of an impact.
Over the years, the closer she got to tonight’s ceremony it became more and more serious.
She would have to take a life.
She would have to drive a nine-inch blade through a man’s beating heart.
She would have to look him in the eye and tell him of his fate.
She would have to suffer his cries on the Blood Altar.
She would have to drink his blood.
But, in the eyes of her church, her blood-bound family and friends, she would finally be a Woman and it would be worth every agonizing moment.
Hours in, the surface thoughts finally began to deepen and the Rumination Chamber whisked away.
Melanie became thought.
The delicate thrush of life at her center unhinged and wisped apart into eternal sparks. The brilliant motes flashed about the universe of her soul and spread her consciousness across the galaxy.
She became one with a legion of others.
Millions upon millions of translucent arms and legs, torsos twisting, faces contorting in pleasure and pain. The ethereal orgy descended through the cosmos and enshrouded the earth in a black cloud of anti-matter. Thousands of years of worship filled her essence with orgasmic pleasure—the chanting, the sacrifice, the image of her Lord Father’s dominant hand embodying the encapsulating cloud and squeezing life and blood from the secular world in its grasp.
Her being fell away from the collective. End over end it tumbled, speed beyond sound, until she was floating in the Rumination Chamber, staring down at the meditating body, her body kneeling on the pillow below her.
She was a picture of serenity. Well poised. Even breaths. Pure calm. Melanie was proud of herself.
Her meditating body’s eyes were closed, her meditating mouth tight with concentration. Suddenly, one eyelid, then the other, peeled away and floated past her hovering essence. Pink then red, pink then red, they flittered up and away, one-winged butterflies disappearing into the tiled ceiling.
Her eyes went next, each exiting her skull with a resounding “Pop!” then rolling upward. Melanie’s being watched the orbs disappear into the center of the ceiling pentagram. So this was kind of gross. Her being felt a little twinge, a little ooo-ahh, as her eyelids and eyeballs drifted off, but oddly enough there was no mortification or no fear. You’d think she’s start screaming her metaphysical head off, but instead the nightmare image of her physical body coming apart filled h
er essence with a warm feeling. It waved and promised salvation. Her body wasn’t merely disappearing piece by piece into the ceiling, it was passing beyond stone, through the warehouse, ascending into the ether, and making an ancient pilgrimage to become a permanent part of the mantle, that orgiastic black cloud, the Lord Father’s smothering grasp that surrounded the world.
Her golden skin curled and twirled up in yellowy ribbons.
Muscle unraveled.
Veins unspooled.
Organs deflated and whizzed by.
Biology on parade until all that remained was her still beating heart.
It beat, beat, suspended in the center of the room, dripping blood from its four unhitched ventricles. The blood spattered the floor and seeped in and around the grooves of the tiled pentagram until it was absorbed into stone. As the heart pumped, it slowly revolved. The Lord Father’s mark, her sect’s crest, a pentagram within a pentagram was emblazoned upon the organ’s slick, red-slimed face.
* * *
Legion.
* * *
Again, the Face to Face went well.
How could it not when she found Connor tied to the chair and not Arthur?
Melanie did her best to comfort the little guy. More importantly than his fears, she worked at allaying her doubt. She did love him. How could she not? He was so small and shaky and cute. Killing him would be like killing an animal, a pet that was so ugly it was cute and that in itself would be heartbreaking.
* * *
That last hour in the Rumination Chamber whirred by in a frenzied rush. The bulk of her thoughts centered upon the performance aspects of the Sacrifice. There were a million and one things to consider.
The walk from the Rumination to the Blood Chamber.
The placement of the dagger.
The chant, the verses, the invocation.
Lambs Page 17
