#2 White Sheets

by H. D. Gordon

  The phone on his desk rang, loud and shrill, shattering the wretched moment the way a stone breaks glass. He paused. Pulled back. Not enough. Not nearly enough, but I was more than willing to take any distance I could get. He looked over his shoulder. I thanked the Gods. He turned back to face me, that sly smile slipping back over his face, and he shrugged. Now I cursed the Gods I’d prematurely thanked.

  I found myself staring into those dark lenses again, drowning in the silver-blue of my own eyes. My mouth fell open. I heard my voice as if from somewhere far away; small, too small. “Shhh-shouldn’t you guh-get that?” I asked. Praying that he would. My one wish now would be that he would.

  His smile grew, and I knew the wish had gone ignored. He shook his head; slowly. “Whoever it is can wait,” he said.

  “Uh-are you sh-sh-sure?” I stammered, unable to think of anything better to say or do, anything at all. Anything beside his smell, his smile, his purred speech and proximity.

  He stared at me in silence for what seemed like a lifetime then, his prying eyes hidden behind those dark glasses, his mouth held in a slightly tighter line than it had been just moments ago, a big man glaring down at a woman who had just barely stopped being a girl. There was no question where the power in the situation was held. There was no question at all about it.

  He spoke his next words slowly, as if each one were its own sentence, the words riding on rapid breaths. “They…can…wait,” he said.

  And down he leaned again, closing the blessed little distance between our bodies. His hands left the bookshelves on either side of me and landed on my hips, his trifling fingers digging into the soft skin there just short of painful. His terribly wet lips met the side of my neck, his tongue snaking out and skimming my tender skin, making the most violent of shudders rock my body. My involuntary reaction seemed only to further excite him, which he expressed through a growl against my skin.

  I tried to scream then. I knew there was no one to hear me, no one to come and save me, but I tried anyway, and found that my vocal cords had gone on vacation. I couldn’t have screamed to save my life…or my purity.

  I stared in wide-eyed silence, my hands heavy and useless at my sides as he violated me with his tongue. I was certain that I could scrub my neck with sandpaper for the rest of eternity, and never stop feeling the scum of him there. And his hands were tightening, gripping my hips hard enough to leave bruises. I stared over his shoulder at the office behind him, as if a plan to save myself would just be lying atop his desk and—

  And that’s when I saw it. My only option. The last resort. The I’d-rather-that-than-this-if-it-came-down-to-it any day. And it had come down to it, all right. Today was that day.

  A silver letter opener. It sat atop his desk, gleaming in the dim office light, its edge sharp enough to slice open an envelope…or to kill a man if jammed through the ear with enough force.

  Several things followed on the heels of that thought, passing through my mind fast enough to make my head spin. Could I do it? What if I missed? What if he somehow stopped me and then killed me for obviously trying to kill him? What would I do afterward? Even if I could get past Psycho Jr., who was surely waiting right outside the door, then what? These people knew my name and would be able to find me. They wouldn’t even have to get me themselves. They could just send the police to get me. I would be a murderer. Again.

  That voice in my head snapped right back. Better than being raped by this dirty piece of shit!

  But it wasn’t my panic that made the decision. It was when his hands, still digging in at my hips, began to slip under my shirt, his fingers playing with the waistband of my shorts. Now, my voice was not far away, and it didn’t stammer, either.

  “The desk,” I breathed.

  He pulled back, his lips leaving my dirty-forever-after neck at last. His eyebrows rose over his sunglasses now as he looked at me; as I looked at myself in the lenses. “What?” he asked.

  I forced one side of my mouth to pull up in a half smile. That tiny task may very well have been the single most difficult thing I’d ever done. “The desk,” I repeated, batting my eyes a few more times than necessary, trying to ignore my tripping heart.

  For a long moment, he didn’t move an inch. He kept me trapped between him and the impenetrable bookshelf, his dark gaze hidden behind the dark glasses. Just when my panic was beginning to set in again, he released me and stepped back. A toothy smile stretched his lips and he chuckled shortly, shaking a gold-ringed finger at me.

  “I knew there was something special about you the moment I met you,” he said. “Mmm, I thought, ‘this here is a girl who could be a real contribution to the Family. All she needs is a little of Father’s love and kindness.’” He laughed again, and I had to bite my tongue hard to hide my disgust. “You want what Father has to give you, don’t you, Joe? You want it bad.”

  It took more effort than humanly imaginable to just maintain my smile and nod my head.

  “Well, come on, then,” he said, his hands hiking up his white robe to his waist, unbuckling his belt underneath.

  I moved over to the desk slowly, and watched him in a way that I hoped didn’t look as feigned as it was. I never took my eyes from him, but instead turned so that I could lean back against the top of his desk, where the little silver salvation was waiting. I scooted my backside up so that I was half-standing and half-sitting on the desk’s surface. Once I was in position, I breathed a silent sigh of relief. I could feel the letter opener just underneath my bottom. Now all I had to do was stick it through his skull before he could stop me. Just injuring him was not an option. All he had to do was yell and his son would come in and use that gun that had been tucked under his shirt. It was a detail I hadn’t overlooked upon entering.

  (If it comes down to that maybe it won’t come down to it maybe he’ll change his mind maybe I’m mistaken—)

  I shut that stream of thought off immediately. That kind of thinking had no place in this situation.

  He closed the distance between us swiftly now, still working at the button on his pants as he did so, and once again his mouth came down to my neck. Once again his slimy tongue flicked out and licked my skin. Once again the sick smells of sweat and booze filled my nose and twisted my roiling gut. But this time, instead of fear, an anger as red as the reverend’s eyes flared up in me, and the voice in my head was stronger now, like an older version of myself, someone I had yet to meet. Or become.

  How dare he? The sick bastard. How…dare…he?

  I reached underneath me. I was going to put an end to this. To all of this.

  My hand closed around the silver letter opener just as his repulsive mouth mumbled my name. The last word he would ever mumble, and good goddam riddance.

  Chapter 47

  Sharon

  Sharon was up in her bedroom taking a nap before dinner when the phone on the bedside table rang. Its shrill cry cut through her sleep and made her eyes snap open. She’d been on edge lately, and so when the phone rang, it shook her. She let out a long breath and let it ring, because her husband would most likely answer it. This phone and the one in his office were the only landlines on the ranch, and it was used mostly for business and appearances. She didn’t feel like putting on a happy tone and spewing bullshit right now anyway.

  She closed her eyes and let it ring four more times before rolling over in the bed and picking up the receiver. Her husband must be out of his office at the moment, and he would be angry if she didn’t taken the call and caused him to miss something important. Clearing her throat, she flopped back on her pillow and put the phone to her ear, closing her eyes.

  “Hello,” she said. “You’ve reached Heaven’s Temple. We hope you’re having blessed day.” Her eyes rolled behind her lids at hearing herself say the stupid words.

  “Hello,” said the voice on the other end of the line, and Sharon’s eyes popped open as she sat up in bed. She recognized the voice. “Is this Mrs. Reynolds?”

  She had to swallow befo
re she could speak. It was that newspaper lady. Sara Ross. The one Dorie and Bobby were currently looking for. “Yes,” she said, and swallowed again. “Can I help you?”

  There was a moment of silence. Then Ross said, “That’s a good question, Mrs. Reynolds. Perhaps you can. I guess it depends on how much you know about your husband’s activities…How involved you are in your husband’s activities. I was hoping to speak to him directly, but you know what they say, behind every powerful man…”

  A million things went through Sharon’s head as she held the phone in a death grip at her ear. She wasn’t aware of it, but her mouth was hanging agape and she was losing feeling in the fingers that held the phone. She considered the possibility that this was some kind of trick set up by her husband to test her loyalty. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. And if it wasn’t a trick, that was also a problem. The fact that Sharon had wanted nothing to do with her husband for a while now would mean nothing if charges were brought up against him. She’d done too much over the years, too many things that were punishable by law at the least and would haunt her forever at the worst. And her boys…Ron Jr. and Bobby…so young…so much life left to live.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about, Miss Ross, now if you’ll excuse—”

  Ross cut her off midsentence. “So you don’t know that your husband is having sex with minors, indoctrinating children and physically beating people to keep them in line? Just to name a few things. I’ve got to tell you, Mrs. Reynolds, I’ve heard some seriously disturbing things over the last forty-eight hours or so, and you seem like such a kind woman, I would like to believe you. I would like to believe you don’t know…but then, how could that be?”

  Sharon snapped her mouth shut. It flopped open again. She looked like a fish gasping for air. Her head was spinning too fast to grab hold of anything. She couldn’t think of a single response to that, and she seemed to have forgotten that she could still just hang up.

  Ross filled the silence, and if Sharon wasn’t mistaken, she would swear she could hear a smile in the meddling bitch’s voice. “See, the thing is, I’ve got a few former members of Heaven’s Temple who have made some pretty serious claims about the things that happen behind the scene at The Family Ranch. They were scared to talk to me, which I’m sure is a testament in its own right, but all it took was one brave girl who spoke first, and the others weren’t too difficult to track down and convince to talk.” She paused. “Oh, and those family members who were concerned—you know, the ones on whose behalf I visited the Ranch in the first place—they aren’t too happy either.”

  Sharon floundered for another moment, but finally, she took a deep breath and hoped her voice would come out steady. “Your claims are ridiculous, Miss Ross,” she said. “You should really find a better hobby than sticking your nose in other people’s business. God be with you.” Then she slammed the phone down in the receiver hard enough to jam the tips of her fingers.

  A second later she was slipping on her shoes and racing down the stairs. Her eldest son, Ron Jr., was sitting at his desk outside of his father’s office, dutifully watching the television screen with all the camera angles. He looked up, and whatever look was on her face made him stand from his chair so quickly it nearly tipped over.

  “Mom? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

  She came striding down the hall toward him, ignoring his questions. “Is he in there?” she asked, and when he just stared at her with worry etched over his face, she snapped, “Is your father in his office? Answer me.”

  Ron Jr. nodded. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, he’s in there, but what’s wrong? What happened? Are you okay?”

  She moved passed him, reaching for the doorknob to the office, but he slid in front of her, blocking her entrance. Her eyes narrowed. He would never have challenged his father in such a way, and she was beyond sick of the bullshit. His bastard of a father was the source of all their troubles. Every fucking last one of them. He didn’t deserve such loyalty.

  “I need to speak to your father,” she said, her teeth clenched.

  She watched as her son’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Uh, I can’t let you,” he said. “I’m sorry, but he’s…busy right now. He’s having a meeting with someone, and he doesn’t want to be disturbed.”

  Her anger was boiling now, overriding any fear she probably should have had. “A meeting with who?” she asked.

  For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t answer, and she was a second from slapping him upside his head when he said, “That new girl, Joe. The one with the dark hair and pretty eyes.”

  As if on its own, her hand reached up and grabbed a fistful of her son’s thick hair, yanking it the way she used to do when he was a child and had done something inexcusable. If it had been Bobby, her younger son, he might have hit her or pushed her back, but Ron Jr. was not so much like his father. He was a good boy at heart, just so terribly misled. He did nothing but stare with wide eyes as she yanked harder and brought his face down to hers.

  “You listen to me, boy,” she growled. “I am still your mother and I’m telling you to get out of my goddam way right now, or so help me God I will make you wish that you had.”

  Ron Jr. held perfectly still for several long moments, the battle so clear in his dark eyes. Finally, he held his hands up and stepped to the side, rubbing the spot where she’d had hold on his hair and looking more shocked than anything at her outburst.

  Sharon snatched the key from his desk and stuck it in the office door, then she flung it open wide.

  Chapter 48

  Joe

  The door to his office flew open just in time to save Ron Reynolds’ life. I mean just in time. My hand was wrapped around the silver letter opener, a hair’s width from doing what I’d come here to do; stop the madman once and for all. When the door flung open, I was so absorbed in my mission that it took me a split second too long to release the silver letter opener, to place it back down on the desk beneath me. As I turned my head and saw Sharon Reynolds, the reverend’s wife, standing in the doorway, and the way her eyes darted down to my just recently empty hand, I was sure she had seen me.

  The way her eyes narrowed as she took in the two of us, as the reverend’s head jerked up from the crook of my neck, I was certain she understood the intent I’d had with the letter opener as well. I cringed inside, gritting my teeth and steeling myself for what would surely happen next.

  But to my ultimate surprise, only silence spilled between us in those following handful of seconds that felt like an eternity, and it was not Sharon who broke it first. It was the reverend. He’d jumped back from me when the door had opened and had dropped his robe so that it hid his unfastened pants.

  “Sharon,” he growled in a voice I’d never heard him use before, but had a feeling was truer to his real self. I looked back and forth between the two of them, and knew despite the dark glasses that there was barely contained anger in his dark eyes. “You know to knock. What is wrong with you bursting in here like this?”

  I didn’t think those were the words he would’ve chosen if I weren’t in the room, but I held my peace. My adrenaline was still running at full tilt from what I’d been about to do. Add the fact that his wife had probably seen what I’d been about to do, and had certainly seen what he’d been about to do, my heart was beating so fast it was practically vibrating.

  “I’m sorry,” Sharon said, not looking at me and also not looking particularly sorry. “But something has happened, and it needs your immediate attention.”

  Another tense moment of silence. I used the time to try and calm myself, and once again wished that I was anywhere but here. This new situation was almost worse than the one I’d just been in. Almost.

  Finally, the reverend swiped his hand over his nose and moved around to sit behind his desk. He flopped down in his chair with a whoosh, as if he were having trouble catching his breath, which made my stomach flip in disgust again.

  “Fine,” he said, a
nd turned to me. I’d hardly moved a muscle since she’d entered. “I’m sorry for my wife’s rudeness, Joe, my dear, but I’m afraid we’ll have to continue our conversation some other time.”

  It took me a minute to realize I was being dismissed, but when I snapped to my senses, I nodded and made a quick retreat from that dreaded room. Sharon stepped aside when I reached the doorway, and though I knew it was wiser to keep my eyes downcast, I looked up at her face anyway. Her eyes flicked to me briefly, but to my surprise I didn’t see any hatred there, no jealously or animosity, the way you’d expect there to be in any women who’d walked in on what Sharon Reynolds had just walked in on.

  Then I was passing by Psycho Jr. in the hallway and bursting out the front doors of the big white house and into the warm evening, where the locusts were screaming their summer songs. Not until I heard the door shut behind me did I take a breath. A long, shuddering breath. I walked back to my room with shaking legs and a tripping heart, deciding to skip dinner despite my empty belly.