by Celia Aaron
“Good.” He waves a hand at us. “Get the fuck out of here.”
Chapter 21
Adam
Twenty Years Ago
“That is so fucking lame.” I laughed as Brody, my best friend, did his best attempt at a skateboard trick.
“Shut up.” He grabbed his board, a wide grin on his face. “You try it, asshole. You’re the chosen one and all.”
I shook my head. “No, that’s my dad.” Taking the board from him, I walked up the street toward the cul de sac. We lived right off the campus of Briar Baptist Church in a row of houses reserved for clergy. A few curtains twitched in the low brown houses that lined the way.
Taller at twelve than anyone else in my class, my newfound height made me even worse at skateboarding than Brody, but I had to try to show him up. Noah sat on our front porch, his honey-colored hair flipping up in a light breeze as he played with toy cars.
I dropped the board with a clatter on the street. Thunder boomed to the west, another warm front coming to shake the spring into existence.
Stepping onto the board, I kicked a few times, then rode with both feet down the slight hill toward Brody. He stood with the same grin, his arms crossed over his bird chest. Noah stopped to watch, his mouth hanging open, the car race forgotten.
I bent my knees and jumped, trying to kick the board over as I went. It flipped, but not far enough, and I flailed for a minute with my too-long arms before falling and banging my chin on the curb. Lights out.
“…be in so much trouble if he doesn’t wake up.” Brody came into focus. “Oh, shit. He’s awake.”
I blinked and sat up. My chin ached, and Noah cried beside me, big fat tears rolling down his chubby cheeks.
“I’m okay.” I squeezed his shoulder. “It’s okay.” Gingerly, I touched my chin. My fingers came away bloody.
Brody made a show of wiping his brow. “Jesus, man. You scared the shit out of me.”
“I thought I had it.”
He laughed. “Not even close. Thank God you didn’t die. I’d never live it down. I can see the headline now ‘Brody Clevenger, Devilishly Handsome Young Man, Accidentally Kills Adam Monroe, the Preacher’s Son.’”
“You’re an idiot.” I struggled to my feet, the world going black for a second before coming back into focus with a boom of thunder.
“Seriously, I felt like Neville when he thought he’d killed Harry Potter.”
“We aren’t supposed to talk about those books.” Noah had stopped crying.
“You see any parents around, kid? Any invisi-parents waiting to arrest us for enjoying a little Hogwarts in our spare time?”
“That’s the work of the devil. If you watch that, you’ll go to hell.” Noah had gone solemn, a perfect mirror of my father.
I ruffled his hair. “Nobody’s going to hell.” I didn’t believe in hell. It seemed like an idiotic concept, but I never dared say anything like that out loud.
“Speak for yourself.” Brody grinned. “I just got tickets to the Rock Roundup at the Amphitheater. KISS is headlining.”
“Seriously?” I couldn’t tell if he was telling the truth or I was concussed.
“I wouldn’t bullshit you about music.” He punched me in the shoulder. “You know this. And yes, I’ve got an extra ticket for you. But you’ll have to tell dear old dad that you’re off to Bible study or something equally holier-than-thou for this to work. You in?”
At a concert? A real one, not the lame ones we have with only Christian music and chicks who wear too many clothes? “I’m in.”
Noah frowned. “Daddy won’t—”
“What Dad doesn’t know won’t hurt him, big guy. Keep this between us, okay?” I held my hand out. He gave me a reluctant five.
“That’s my Noah.” I smiled, and he couldn’t help but return it.
The first drops of rain began to fall, the scent of water on asphalt wafting around us.
“I’ve got to get to piano practice.” Brody held out his fist. His father was the music director for Briar. “Go in and put about ten Band-Aids on that, and you’ll be fine. Or maybe just rub some dirt on it.”
I met his fist with my own. “See you tomorrow.”
He waved and headed up the street, jumping on the grass as a line of cars sped through the sleepy neighborhood. I recognized my dad’s SUV at the head of the line. Noah and I watched from the porch as Dad pulled into the driveway and the other cars parked along the street.
Dad hopped out and hurried over to us. “Boys, I’ve had a revelation. I told the elders at Briar about it, but they turned against me. Against God. Against their Prophet.”
“What’s a Prophet?” Noah cocked his head to the side as he stared up at Dad.
“A man who has spoken to God.” He knelt down and gripped Noah by the shoulders. “God revealed to me our path. He told me what we need to do, where we need to go, and the ministry we need to build.”
“What do you mean, you spoke to God?” I couldn’t follow anything he was saying, and not just because he spoke with a crazed inflection.
He stood and gripped my arm, a too-bright light in his dark eyes. “You’ll see, son. All these men—” I cast a glance to the yard and found two-dozen men assembled there in the now-pouring rain, listening intently to my father “—they know the truth of my revelation. They’re coming with us. We leave tonight.”
Lightning flashed, the thunder coming a few seconds later.
“Dad.” I shook my head. “There’s school. I have homework. Noah just learned how to read. We can’t—”
His face hardened, and my skin crawled. “We can, and we will. We are here to do the will of God.”
“I thought that was what you were doing? You’re the preacher, so—”
“No!” He shook his head so hard his neck popped. “I am leading a pack of heathens who have lost God’s favor. We will build a new Eden, a new church, a new safe haven for believers.” He leaned closer, so close that I couldn’t see his eyes, which set the hairs on my arm standing on end. “And I know this because of my vision. Not only did God come to me, so did the Father of Fire.” His whisper ended in a triumphant note.
“The devil? I don’t know what you’re talking—”
“You don’t have to know, son.” He stood straight up again, the fervor still coursing through him like a high electric current. “You just have to follow me, your father, your Prophet. Believe in me, and you will live in paradise on earth and in heaven. It has all been shown to me. You’ll see. All of you will see.” Turning to the men on the lawn, he motioned them to come inside.
They walked past us, filling our home with low voices as Noah and I stood on the porch—me, dumbfounded and Noah, lost.
“What’s wrong with Daddy?” He took my hand, his little one cold and clammy.
“I don’t know. Maybe Mom can talk some sense into him.”
Noah’s chin trembled. “I don’t want Mommy to talk to him. He…”
“I know.” I squeezed his hand. He didn’t have to say it. Whenever Mom got too “mouthy” as Dad called it, there were consequences.
“You’re still bleeding,” he offered, his eyes downcast.
My father hadn’t even seemed to notice the blood on my chin.
I turned and stared down the street at the direction Brody had gone. It was as if he’d walked away and taken “normal” with him, a cape attached to his back, fluttering in the rain with a somber wave goodbye. Because nothing would be normal. That time had come to an end, right along with my childhood.
Both Brody and “normal” were gone. I never saw either of them again.
Chapter 22
Delilah
Sarah walks into the training room, the bruising on her face a mottled blue and purple. She doesn’t look me in the eye, even though I’m silently pleading with her to keep her chin up.
She climbs up on the nearest table, assumes the position on all fours, and waits for Abigail to hook up the inevitable enema.
I edge closer
to Sarah as the other Maidens follow a Spinner toward the wall of pain as she explains the intricacies of various nipple clamps.
“Are you all right?” I keep my voice low, but the running water nearby helps muffle the sound.
“No.” She hangs her head. “No, I’m not. First, I got pissed on, and then last night—” The word cracks as she spits it out.
I swallow, my mouth dry. “What happened?”
“What did it sound like?” She finally meets my gaze, her left eye bloodshot, the center of a ruined flower.
I clamp my teeth together to keep my lip from trembling.
“You know, he made me suck his cock for the past few days. And, I didn’t want to, but I can disconnect. I can go somewhere else.” She shrugs. “I don’t have to be there, on my knees, getting my face fucked by a smelly beast. I can close my eyes and go wherever I want. But last night—” Her voice doesn’t crack this time; it shatters.
Abigail flips off the water and steps over to Sarah’s backside. “Lord almighty, what a mess.” She mumbles angrily under her breath and doesn’t seem to notice that I’m speaking to Sarah out of turn. Placing a bedpan under her, Abigail squeezes a sponge of what I hope is warm water.
Sarah flinches, and the water that pours off her body is tinged pink.
“Too rough.” Abigail keeps mumbling. “Supposed to be training them, not injuring them.”
“Everything’s going to be okay.” I stroke Sarah’s hair, a movement as forbidden as it is natural.
“No, it’s not.” She winces as Abigail makes another pass. “Not until…”
She doesn’t have to finish her thought. It’s not safe to finish it, anyway. She won’t be okay until she’s gone from here, free of the Cloister.
“Delilah!” The teaching Spinner finally notices my absence.
“Go.” Sarah lets her head hang again, dark hair creating a wall around her.
I join the other Maidens and get a sharp glare from the teaching Spinner. She glances at the splint on my finger and perhaps decides I’m not due for punishment again quite yet. At least that’s what I hope is going on in her mind.
“Eve.” She gestures for the girl to step forward. “You’ll be our first to demonstrate.”
Eve moves to the front of the classroom and turns to face the rest of the Maidens. Her eyes downcast, she doesn’t move as the Spinner attaches a metal pincher to each nipple. A chain runs between them and dangles down toward her belly button.
“These are on the lowest setting.” The Spinner gestures as if she’s a model on The Price is Right. “I would recommend they stay on that level if you’re just, I don’t know, trying to please a man by looking the part. The pain is minimal. But—” She pulls on the chain, and Eve exhales roughly. “The mechanism works by pulling here. Each pull will squeeze tighter. Now, plenty of men enjoy this done on their own nipples. It’s up to you to follow his lead, look into his heart, and discern what types of activities he enjoys.”
“What if I don’t want a man?” A strawberry blonde at the back of the class, her voice soft as silk, speaks up.
The Spinner drops the chain. “Who said that?”
The girl, her chin high despite the tremble in her hands, steps forward. “I didn’t sign up for this. I don’t want this. I want to go home.”
My heart sinks into the acid vat of my stomach. The first few days, there were several outbursts like this. Girls who actually thought this was a safe place. But they died down after the beatings. The Spinners’ batons could do wonders for any Maiden doubting her role at the Cloister.
“Get back in line, Sharon.”
“No.” She crosses her arms over her bare stomach. “I want to go home. Let me go.”
The Spinner pulls her baton free. “You need to reconsider.”
“No.” She darts to the wall and grabs a cane.
The other Maidens back away from her.
I stand, transfixed. This little slip of a girl, one who’d never so much as pinged on my radar, is ready to fight for her freedom.
“Abigail!” The Spinner calls. “Lock the door.”
The old Spinner looks up from her work on Sarah. “What in the world is going on?”
“Do it!”
She hustles to the door and pulls out a key ring from a skirt pocket.
Sharon swings the cane back and forth, warding off the Spinner. “Let me go!”
“You are safe here, Sharon. You are loved.” Menace laces each word from the Spinner’s mouth.
“Fuck you! I’m not some whore you can train and sell to whatever sadistic freak pays the Prophet!”
The air leaves the room as Sharon shouts the truth to the rafters.
“Those are lies whispered in your ear by the devil, child.” The Spinner tries to move closer, but Sharon keeps swinging. “The Prophet loves, cherishes, treats you as holy above all other women.”
Abigail is still fumbling at the door as Sharon backs to it, the cane swishing with each of her steps.
Wings unfurl in my heart, the tips brushing against each chamber. Hope. I can’t escape, but maybe Sharon can.
I stand next to Sarah who watches the scene with wide eyes.
“Sharon, this is your last chance to accept the Prophet’s teachings. Don’t follow Satan down his familiar path. Don’t let the filthy world twist your—”
“Shut up!” Sharon screams and shoves Abigail away, the keyring skittering across the wood floor. She wrenches the door open, then glances at the keys.
Get them. I would throw them to her if I could, but I’d have to get past the Spinner to do it.
She swings again, not running, knowing she needs that set of keys if she has any chance of making it.
“The keys,” Sarah hisses.
Sharon lunges for them, right as the Spinner swings her baton, missing Sharon as she snatches the keys. The Spinner is thrown off balance and crashes to the floor.
“Run!” a host of voices cry. Mine among them.
She turns for the door, takes two heady steps toward freedom, and then Mary rushes forward and grabs a handful of Sharon’s hair. With a vicious yank, she rips her down onto her back, the flat smack of skin on the hard floor ugly and painful. The cane flies from her grip and lands in the hall.
I squeeze Sarah’s hand, having taken it at some point during the scene. The Spinner scrambles back to her feet and rushes to Sharon as other Spinners enter the room and surround the rest of the Maidens.
What ensues is a beating that makes my knees weak, and I struggle to keep from retching. Sharon’s cries and screams echo throughout the Cloister, but the Spinners guarding us show no emotion, though some of them join in at intervals. They grant Sharon no mercy, and eventually drag her away.
The Head Spinner enters the classroom, her baton bloody on one end, and takes center stage. “The devil is always at work. Even here in the Cloister. Sharon is evidence of this. Maidens, you must guard your hearts against the darkness, against the evil of the outside world. Here, you are safe. Here, you are loved. Sharon has fallen from the Prophet’s light, dragged down by demons, no doubt. Do not follow in her footsteps.”
We huddle together, a mass of naked women, trying to find some sort of comfort in each other. Except Mary, who stands proudly with the Spinners.
“That’s enough for today. Spend the rest of the morning in prayer.” She turns on her heel and leaves.
“You heard her.” The teaching Spinner herds us to our dresses, then escorts us back to the dorms.
I sit on my bed, everything inside me cold and brittle. Sharon’s cries still play in my mind, along with the thunk of each baton, each kick to her side as she lay helpless and curled in a ball on the floor. Where is she now?
My door cracks open. I forgot to lock it. Chastity enters and closes the door behind her.
“Are you all right?” She sits next to me, but spares a glance for the camera.
“I don’t know. Are you?”
“I have to be.” She shrugs. “This is the wa
y of the Cloister, the way the Prophet has instructed.”
“Do you ever…”
She looks at the camera again, then whispers, “Question the Prophet?”
“Yes.”
“No.” She shakes her head, the scar on her forehead more visible when she turns toward me. “He is anointed by God. You’ll see. At the winter solstice, you’ll see why he is special.”
“What happens at the winter solstice?”
“I’m afraid this wasn’t just a social visit.” She turns on a dime. “I have a certain chore to do today, and the Head Spinner has instructed I take you with me to do it.”
“It must be a bad chore, then.” I eye her warily.
She shifts, crossing her ankles beneath her skirt. “It’s not my favorite, no. But it’s necessary.” She clears her throat. “The Head Spinner also wanted me to deliver a message along with this assignment.” A blush creeps into her cheeks, and her discomfort trickles into me. I cross my arms over my breasts, as if this tiny defensive move can stop the Head Spinner’s wrath.
“Go ahead.”
Her kind eyes turn apologetic, but she follows her orders. “She says that you should ‘take note of the Chapel and how its whores act, since you’ll be one of them sooner than you think.’”
Chapter 23
Adam
The sun angles harshly on the motel room door, obscuring the faded numbering scheme for the rooms. But this is the right one. Heavenly Ministries owns a stake in most of the establishments clustered around the nearest interstate exit to the property, and Motel Rapture is no exception. The woman at the front desk gave me the rundown about Delilah’s mother, including her dirty little habit.
I knock and wait. Shuffling sounds from inside, and then the door cracks open. Blue eyes meet mine, though they are bloodshot and sagging around the edges. “What do you want?”
