“Do you cast aside the sins of the flesh and submit your will and your body to the One True God?”
Was Father beta-testing this question or had he prepared it just for me? I shot a look at Eli and he, as well as Gabriel next to him, looked shocked. On Father’s other side, Moses’s lips slid into a smug smile.
I shuddered. With my own lips suddenly dry enough to sand wood, I finally said, “I, um, cast aside my fleshly sins and, uh, submit myself to thee.”
Father smiled. “Then, let the sacrifice be made.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
The women led me down the path behind the temple to one of the small storage sheds. Cozbi pulled out a key and unlocked the padlock. The door creaked open to reveal an empty room, maybe twelve-by-twelve foot square. The window had been boarded over, and it was too dark to see much. I balked at the door, a sudden atavistic fear freezing me in place.
“You’ll be fine,” Cozbi whispered. “We’ve all done this. Trust me. It will be the most spiritually enlightening experience of your life.”
Far from being reassured, the chance of a spiritually enlightening experience scared me just as bad as the dark hovel I would be staying in.
“Shoes,” Cozbi said.
I kicked off my sandals, but even though the frosted earth made my feet ache, I couldn’t walk into the room.
“Oh, hurry up,” Maliah said. She snapped her fingers under my nose. “Hand over the robe.”
“What?” I clutched the thin covering to my chest. Oh, hell, no.
Baara grinned at my shock. “It’s for purifying. ‘Naked I came from my mother’s womb…’ That’s in Job. Besides, the cabin’s heated. Oh, and the bathroom’s behind that door.” She pointed.
I forced myself to step inside, letting my eyes adjust to the dark interior. A braided prayer rug lay on the floor in the middle of the room. A small table, holding a water pitcher and a thin, yellow candle on it, stood flush to the wall. Other than those items, the room was empty.
Maliah snapped her fingers again. I had a sudden, highly satisfying fantasy of clipping each snappy digit off with a pair of garden shears. Rusty garden shears.
Slowly, I slid out of the robe and handed it over.
The door swung shut. The padlock rattled and clicked. Darkness enveloped the room. Then the dam I erected to hold back a tsunami of fear broke. My heart freaked out, thrashing against my ribs like a fish flopping on the dock. Lungs joined in the mutiny, suddenly declining to take in the appropriate amount of oxygen. Sweat ran in rivulets over my naked skin. I sank to my knees, engulfed in fear and darkness.
I lost track of time, but the first thing I realized after my brain finally gained the whole put-words-together-in-coherent-thought thing was that my left thigh felt pleasantly warm. My left butt cheek too, and the shoulder that was resting on the floor also felt warm. The heated floor.
Cool beans.
I hauled myself to my feet and, hands spread out, shuffled my way to the table, almost falling on my face when my feet tangled up in the stupid prayer rug. My brain, as if to make up for blowing a fuse moments ago, also supplied the fact that I could now see a tiny bit. The dark wasn’t as absolute as I originally feared.
Two chinks of light stole through the planks nailed over the window. The largest—about the size of a half dollar—was too high up for me to see out of clearly unless I stood on the table. I eyed the rickety-looking piece of furniture and realized that, even if I managed the climb without falling off and breaking my neck, I would only obtain a stunning view of tree branches and leaves. Maybe a squirrel or two.
The second, much smaller, chink provided less light but was accessible. I peeked out. Yup. There was the world. The sun had risen, bathing the suddenly inaccessible world with bright light and vibrant colors. A room with a view, indeed. Unfortunately, as expected, my chink offered a stunning view of branches and leaves. Nary a squirrel, though.
I pulled away and decided I needed to assess my situation. The table held an empty water pitcher, a candle the size of a cigar stub, and a box of matches. The prayer rug lay in a wadded mess on the floor. I crossed the room to the bathroom, which upon inspection was the size of an airplane cubicle. Dingy white toilet with iron stains in the basin. At least I hoped they were iron. Roll of cheap toilet paper. Sink with matching stain. The dripping faucet.
There. Situation assessed.
Aside from one or two close friends, I had always considered myself an introvert. For me, one of the bigger hurdles of attending A.A. was that it regularly forced me into larger groups of people. And I had always been comfortable living alone. Being alone.
But, I discovered, not alone alone. Alone with books or alone with the AMC channel or, nowadays, alone playing on the Internet—those were all good. But completely alone, with only my own thoughts and fears to keep me company, was a whole ‘nother animal. Because simply being alone wasn’t the problem; it’s where my mind took me that was the torture.
At least I had my panic attacks to fall back on. I had several and, as usual, they proved to be quite exhausting. After a period of time, I gravitated to the table. The craving to light the candle was almost overwhelming, but it was so small. I opened the box of matches. Two lonely little soldiers rattled in the cardboard box. Sunlight funneled through the lower chink in the boarded-up window and trailed across my left arm. I considered the chink, then scrambled on top of the table—which graciously did not splinter into a million pieces at my weight—and sat cross-legged, back to the wall.
I covered the chink with my hand. Dark. Uncovered it. Light. Back and forth. Rinse and repeat.
I finally found something I had control over.
To be fair, I tried to think. Most of my time at Megiddo had been spent reacting to events rather than analyzing them; I hadn’t had any time to sit and really consider all that was happening. I could use this time productively. So, I tried focusing on Maggie’s role in this place. How were we going to get her out if we couldn’t even find her? I tried to think about Enoch’s death. About crazy Moses and his budding harem. But thinking made me hyperventilate.
Back to playing with the chink in the wall.
I may have fallen asleep. The crick in my neck and the puddle of drool next to my face on the tabletop were clues. The light outside had dimmed considerably too. I peeked out and saw a world aglow with moonlight. Though I couldn’t see it, I was certain the moon was nearly full—a circumstance I was most grateful for as it allowed fragile white shafts of light to pour into my cell.
Cell. Was this a monk’s cell… or prisoner’s cell? Good question. From a cult point of view, the former would make sense. Enforced isolation was an integral part of breaking down personal identity. Or of any good torture program, for that matter. Even badass criminals feared solitary confinement. It would function as a rite of passage too. A way of creating a hierarchy within the group.
But something told me Father wasn’t happy with me. Which begged the question, why would he decide to “advance” me with the Naming Ceremony before others who had more history with the church? Unless it was for Moses.
I shuddered. Time to stop thinking again.
I might have fallen asleep on the table once, but I certainly wasn’t going to repeat that. For one thing, I would probably fall off and break my neck. Moonlight streamed through the two holes and lit the room with a soft glow. While I appreciated the light, I felt too exposed. There was something about night that made me desire a more enclosed space. A hidey-hole. I pulled the prayer rug underneath the table and curled up on it like a cat. I couldn’t get comfortable. The rug, only three-by-five feet, didn’t allow all of me to fit on it at the same time, and it irritated me when a leg or arm would slide off onto the floor. Even if it was heated, I didn’t like the difference in texture.
I didn’t like being naked, either. I would never be a let-it-all-hang-out sleeper. Exposed girl-parts just made me feel… exposed. And crabby.
But mostly exposed, especially when I heard
the sound of a key sliding into the padlock outside the door. I sat up so fast I banged my head on the table. The key inserter paused at the thump. I crawled out from under the table and grabbed the empty ceramic water pitcher. If I could get behind the door, I might be able to—
The padlock clicked open. I held my breath. The door, lacking only the eerie, slasher-movie creak, slowly opened.
A hand reached in, dangling a flannel shirt. A manly hand. I knew that hand.
I bounded across the room, grabbing at the shirt like it was the last life jacket on the Titanic. I heard the deep rumble of a chuckle on the other side of the door. My arms got tangled in the sleeves, and there were far too many buttons for my shaking fingers to cope with, but I finally managed. My butt hung out the back, but when I pulled the fabric over it, it rode up in the front. Much worse. Down in front, out in back—I would just have to keep Eli to the fore.
He came in carrying a plastic grocery bag. Oh, please, let it be food. And underwear. He started to hand it to me, but his eyes locked on my bare legs and he froze.
“Shut the door,” I hissed.
As it swung shut, his grin spread like a Cheshire cat’s in the moonlight.
Keeping my priorities straight, I grabbed the bag and foraged through it. Apples. Grapes. Cheese. And another candle. Riches beyond measure. And at the bottom… I gasped. Was it…? The slick rectangular object slid away from my grasping fingers, hiding coyly under the grapes. I finally got it.
I didn’t need any more light to read the silver block letters practically glowing against the dark brown background. A Hershey bar. My man brought me chocolate.
By the time Eli had lit the candle and pulled the prayer rug out from under the table, I had devoured the candy bar and started on the grapes. We sat on the floor. I appropriated the rug by virtue of having a bare butt. I had to kneel to keep the shirt from riding up.
Maybe with chocolate in my system I could face reality. “What time is it?”
“Late. It’s about two-thirty. I would have been here sooner, but we had a couple of situations.
My feet, tucked decorously under my butt, started to tingle. I shifted, trying to ignore the fact that my own weight was cutting off my circulation. My shirt rode a little higher.
“What happened?” I asked.
Eli, eyes busily tracking the journey of the flannel shirt, didn’t respond.
I snapped my fingers under his nose. “What happened?”
“Oh. Uh. Well, first of all, Father announced that Maliah’s marriage to Enoch is dissolved on the basis of abandonment.”
“We’ve been expecting this. Why would it be such a problem?”
“He’s letting her keep her standing. It’s apparently unheard of for a single woman to be elevated without being married to a man. I can’t prove it, but I get the feeling she’s holding something over Father’s head. Maybe the properties that are in Enoch’s name? I don’t know. But the church is in an uproar. Plus, I hate to tell you this, but Justus has been busy making the moves on her. She’s letting him escort her to the dining hall and the temple. It’s a beautiful thing.”
“You said a couple of situations.”
His air of amusement dissipated. “Rachel tried to leave. Father heard she was meeting with the cops, and he’s confined her to her cabin. All hell is breaking loose.”
“That’s all my fault.” I covered my face with my hands. Every step I took forward turned out to be the wrong path. I was so tired of thinking. “I told Cozbi that Rachel was flirting with that detective. She must have told Father. Cozbi had seen them having lunch, so I thought if she knew they were flirting, she might keep it quiet.”
“It’s not your fault.” Eli tugged my hands down. His hands were warm and slightly callused. “Cozbi would have told him anyway. Or, if she told Moses, he definitely would have told him.”
“I don’t think she would have said anything to Moses. They aren’t close. In fact, I doubt they’re even… intimate.”
Our eyes caught in the flickering candlelight.
Eli leaned over me, and our lips met. Everything—Maggie, Enoch, Moses—everything fell away. The world narrowed, channeling all thought into a searing concentration of flesh and friction.
Eli’s fingers danced down the buttons of my shirt, far more swiftly and skillfully than I had managed moments earlier. I shivered as it fell away. Chilly air caressed my skin, and then his kiss, warm and urgent, traveled down my neck, to my collar bone, to my breast.
I sank down. Eli moved over me and I let him. No more thinking. I just… let go.
With my mind, anyway. My body had a more imperative mission, and it was not about to go all passive and “fade to black.” Eli didn’t need any convincing, but we got tangled up trying to pull his jeans off, and that slowed the pace a bit. Once freed, he rooted around in a pocket and come up with a little, square packet.
“Well, aren’t you the Boy Scout,” I said. “Somebody was pretty certain he was going to get lucky tonight.”
I could see his grin in the moonlight. “You’re alone, naked, and locked in a tiny cabin in the middle of the north woods. I was pretty confident nothing would go wrong tonight.”
Then he focused on the job at hand. Oh lord, did he focus.
After waiting so long and after so many hit-and-miss moments, I had imagined we would get right down to basics, and I was ready for it. Eager for it. Eli, however, had other ideas. Lots of ideas. Lots and lots and lots.
And apparently, he subscribed to the gentleman’s motto of “ladies first,” because, using several of those ideas, he had me moaning and shivering so hard it must have looked like I was seizing. I may have spoken in tongues near the end.
If Father had put me in this cold, dark shed for a religious experience, I had it. Several times.
When I finally stopped twitching, our eyes met, and he flashed a slightly smug, I-got-her-now, smile. He wasn’t wrong, but he’d had the upper hand—so to speak—long enough.
I rolled till I was on top. My turn now. I had a few eye-rolling, toe-curling techniques of my own that I put to very good use. He shut his eyes and groaned.
At last, I fell back to the rug, limp, breathless, and remarkably well pleased with myself. Eli lay beside me, just grinning. My body was still settling back into itself when my gaze wandered to the chink in the wall. The moonlight poured in like milk, flowing over our sweat-glistened bodies.
And then it didn’t. Someone was watching.
Squealing, I fumbled for the flannel shirt lying discarded somewhere nearby. I couldn’t find it anywhere so I resorted to the universal female hand-over-boobs and hand-over-crotch cover, which left me with no hand to point to the chink with.
“Somebody’s watching.”
“What?” Apparently, Eli wasn’t nearly as adept at flipping the switch from passion to panic as I.
But somebody else was. The watcher drew back, and the moonlight flooded into the room again. Eli finally understood, and he scrambled into his jeans and ran for the door.
“Stay here.”
No shit. I finally found the shirt, put it on, and waited.
An eon of time later, Eli returned.
“Did you catch him?” I asked.
Eli gave me a do-you-see-me-dragging-him-by-the neck? look, but kindly refrained from suggesting that it was a stupid question. Probably because he just had mind-blowing sex and was feeling generous.
“Whoever he was, he was familiar with the property. He took off like a rabbit and lost me at the clearing.”
“That’s back where I found the hand,” I said, shuddering.
Eli pulled me into a hug. We rocked together for a long time, then his hands slid under the flannel and cupped my butt. He pulled me in even tighter.
I shoved him away. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Well, he’s gone now, so—”
I slapped at his chest.
He just laughed, then reached out to tug my shirt collar. “I’ll need this back. I’ve
got to get back to Moses’s cabin and catch him if he comes sneaking back.”
Moses—my first guess too. “What do you think will happen to us? When he turns us in, I mean.”
He shook his head. “If it was Moses, I think he’ll hold off on reporting us until after you present yourself to Father again.”
“Why wait?”
“He’s not going to miss that,” Eli said. “It’s probably one reason why he supported Father fast-tracking you.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. What am I missing?”
Eli frowned. “Cozbi didn’t tell you.” It wasn’t a question.
“What?”
“I was wondering why you agreed… Okay, listen. I hate to tell you this, but you need to be ready. Have you heard about Genesis 2:25? ‘And they were naked and were not ashamed.’ It’s from when Adam and Eve—”
“I’ve heard it,” I interrupted. “The women quoted that scripture when I had to take a shower in front of them, but they didn’t say… Are you telling me I have to… In front of…”
“I thought you knew.”
I punched him on the bicep so hard my knuckles crunched.
“Ow! Does sex always make you this violent?”
“You honestly thought I would agree to stand naked in front of some dirty, old man?”
“And don’t forget the bunch of dirty, young men too.”
My head buzzed. “The Seven? All seven?”
“I never thought there would be such a crowd the first time I saw you naked. With the lights on, I mean.”
I held back—barely—the urge to smack him again. “And you seriously thought I would be okay with this?”
“Well, I’m not going to say I didn’t have my own reservations about it. But then, you know, I’d get distracted by thinking about seeing you naked and all. Besides, I kinda liked the idea you might be kinky underneath all that repressed, therap—”
Smacking wasn’t nearly enough. And, yes, I enjoyed the yelp he made when I kicked him in the shin.
The Blood We Spill: Suspense with a Dash of Humor (A Letty Whittaker 12 Step Mystery Book 4) Page 21
