by Lily White
My eyes darted to where our father’s confession lay crumpled on the floor of this sanctuary. Trying not to think of the body hanging above me in some sacrilegious display, I angled my head toward that piece of paper and said, “You should read it, Jericho. Before you lose the opportunity to know the truth.”
If you stared hard enough, you could see the gears grinding in his head, the back and forth of indecision. He wanted to know. Of that I was sure, but he was having difficulty admitting it to himself. It doesn’t matter how evil a parent has been to a child, there is always a small part of the adult the child becomes that mourns never having the approval of the person that created them.
At least, for me, it was true. Perhaps Jericho’s madness had separated him so much from the past that everything had become meaningless.
Finding it difficult to remain calm when I knew there was little time for him to read the confession, I remained perfectly still, perfectly quiet in hopes it would spur his hand to reach for the crumpled paper. No matter what happened once the police arrived, whether Jericho was killed or captured, I wanted him to know that our father’s guilt had made his final acts in life a gift to his son rather than the God for which he’d always beaten us.
Jericho finally relented and snatched the paper from the floor. Quickly smoothing it out, his eyes moved as he read the first few lines, his brows pulling together in confusion before shooting up his forehead in shock.
“This can’t be true,” he muttered. “He would have never done this.”
“He did,” I answered. “I confirmed it with the priest who currently leads our former parish. Our father killed, Jericho. After you were expelled from the parish and left home, our father went out in search of the music director and priest that hurt you. I didn’t believe it myself, so I made the current priest search for them. I thought it must have been madness on his part. I didn’t believe he would stain his soul with murder before he died. But, he did. Both of those men died under suspicious circumstances. The priest confirmed it.”
Jericho dropped the paper, anger rolling behind his eyes that only led to more madness. Standing up, he paced in front of me, his mouth opening and closing several times before he finally stopped his movement and pivoted to stare down at me.
“Even this is beneath you, Jacob. You can’t possibly believe I’d fall for this. Coming in here like you’re delivering me some gift. Did you think it would stop me? Did you think it would make me fucking care about what I am doing to your insolent little town? What I’m doing has nothing to do with our father and everything to do with the fucking RELIGION that led to the abuse I suffered!”
Kicking at my leg, he caught my ankle so hard, the bone snapped. My mouth opened as a howling scream tore from my throat, the pain so intense that the room spun around me before once again coming to stop. Bending over, I reached to grab the ankle, but Jericho reached for it faster. Pulling me by it down the aisle, he relied on the pain to keep me from fighting against him. I was dragged over the floor toward the crosses, Jericho’s lips pursing as a shrill whistle blew over them. A door behind us opened and closed, the rumble of heavy steps approaching.
How that confession had angered Jericho, I wasn’t sure, but to look in his eyes now, I only saw hatred and death.
Dropping me when we reached the crosses, he stomped me in the chest with his boot fracturing several ribs. Again the pain consumed me, my mouth opening wide as I tried to breathe past it.
Turning to the man who approached us, Jericho demanded, “Help me bring down the second cross. It seems like we have another demon that needs to be eradicated.”
My eyes widened, my head shaking in disbelief. “Jericho –“
“The name is Elijah, brother! It would be best for you if you learned that. Jericho hasn’t existed since the moment he was raped in the parish as a small boy. He hasn’t existed since OUR FATHER refused to believe him when he finally confessed what was being done to him. Jericho died in that fucking parish and nothing you say or do will bring him back to life.”
His boot slammed against my abdomen, several hard kicks knocking the breath from my lungs. Walking away to bring down the cross that stood above my head, he left me in place struggling to breathe again.
By the time they’d brought down the cross to lay on the floor behind me, I was breathing again, but not without difficulty. Rounding my feet, Jericho knelt down to look me in the eye, his face red in color from his fury.
“Now that I have you here, Jacob, why don’t you tell me what you’ve done with my wife? Do you think I’m so stupid that I don’t see the coincidence that you reappear in town and she’s suddenly missing? You took me for a stupid son of a bitch when we were children and even as teens. Let me follow you around like a little lost fucking puppy while you enjoyed breaking women and teaching me how to do it. But I’m not that fucking puppy anymore and I don’t believe a fucking word that comes out of your mouth, so I’m giving you one chance to fess up and tell me where I can find Eve.”
I coughed up blood before trying to speak again. Barely able to move, I stared at the face of my brother, my thoughts racing with what I could say to stop him from doing whatever it was he planned to do. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied.
His expression twisted with feigned remorse. “That’s too bad, Jacob. And here I thought you would have become a smarter man after leaving the Church. But just like the rest of the fucks who called themselves holy, the only thing you know how to do is lie.”
Jericho looked up and within seconds I felt the other man grab me by the arms to drag me backwards and over the surface of the cross. I attempted to fight back, tried to roll both directions in hopes that I would evade them. But, the pain locked me in place, and each time I attempted to move, the man’s fist came down to slam against my face. For a minute, the room went black before coming into soft focus, my consciousness fading.
My brother slapped at my face. “Careful, brother, I wouldn’t want you falling asleep during this process. It wouldn’t be as much fun.”
The two men held me over the cross, the one positioning my feet together over the rough surface of the wood while Jericho removed my shoes and socks. Once bare to the skin, Jericho placed a large nail above the skin, holding a hammer with his other hand, ready to pound the metal into my feet.
“Last chance, Jacob. Tell me where my wife is.”
I didn’t want to give away the fact that the police now had Eve. To do so would be to warn him that his game was done, the violence and evil he’d spread across this rural town coming to an end. There was nothing I could do to stop him, nothing I could say that would appease him. All I could do was buy time.
“Fine,” I answered, “I’ll tell you.”
His hand clenched tighter over the handle of the hammer, his eyes locking to mine with the promise of pain if I didn’t tell him where he could find the woman he’d abused for so long.
“She’s at the parish. I took her back there after you came here. She’s in the bedroom…waiting.”
His lips quirked into a grin. “That was, by far, the worst lie you’ve ever told.”
The hammer came down on the head of the nail, the metal piercing my skin as it was driven through the bone. The scream that tore from my lips was inhuman, pure pain pouring out of me because my body was helpless to contain it. After the first smack of the hammer against the nail head, Jericho held the hammer again over his shoulder, ready and willing to drive the nail further after whatever it was he had to say next.
“Did you want to tell me the truth now, or are you going to continue lying like all the other assholes who call themselves Christian?”
My heart broke for Jericho in that moment. Despite what he was doing to me, despite the blinding pain, I still found it within myself to feel compassion for my brother. Perhaps this had all been my fault for not standing up for him against my father. Perhaps I deserved this for not noticing the pain and torture he’d endured while those sick men used his
small body for their own twisted desires.
Perhaps this was my absolution for never giving enough of a damn to look for him after I left college. If I hadn’t been so concerned with my own sins, could I have prevented Jericho from slipping into madness?
Spitting out more blood, I stared my brother in the eye. If I was going to die today, I wanted to cleanse the wounds of my soul, wanted to confess to him how I had failed him.
It’s true I’d never been a good man – a good brother. I’d surrendered to the darkness more times that I could count, and for that I knew I’d pay eternally. But to carry these secrets to my grave would be a mistake I wasn’t willing to make. I’d failed Jericho in our youth. I’d failed him after we’d grown into adulthood. But I wouldn’t fail him in this final moment.
“I’m sorry, Jericho. I truly am. I never should have abandoned you.”
The hammer swung down, the nail being driven farther into my foot. I screamed again, the room spinning around me as the pain consumed my entire body. Like the savior who had died for us so many centuries ago, I endured that pain while allowing love to fill my heart for the man who was inflicting it.
Barely able to talk around the agony inside me, I forced the words out regardless. “I never should have stood by while he hurt you. I should have made our mother do something – anything – to stop his abuse. I failed, Jericho, and I’m sorry. I love you.”
The hammer came down again, the nail now being driven through the bottoms of my feet into the wood. The pain was blinding, the room going in and out of focus, my stomach heaving as my body attempted to expel the force of the torment.
How ironic it was that in this moment I learned my faith was still a part of me.
Closing my eyes, I opened them again, my throat torn apart by the volume of my screaming. I was losing the ability to think, much less speak, so I repeated the only four words that had any meaning.
“I love you, brother.”
“Shut up!” he screamed, bringing the hammer down one more time. The nail embedded the wood.
Blood leaked from the side of my mouth where my teeth had cut into my tongue. It dripped down my skin as quickly as the blood dripping from my feet. I was swimming in pure suffering, lost to the cruelty of a man gone mad. Even then, I wouldn’t stop trying to make him hear me.
“I love you,” I whispered, knowing full well they would be the last words to ever leave my tongue.
The words meant nothing to my twin. He brought the hammer down several more times until the nail was firmly embedded into the wood, my feet splitting apart as the bones were crushed. I couldn’t speak anymore, couldn’t think past the pain that consumed me. Realizing that I wouldn’t tell him where his wife was hidden, Jericho lost his patience.
“His hands,” he said, although, to me, the words sounded like they were coming from a deep tunnel. I felt my left wrist grabbed by the man holding me down, felt it pressed to the crossbeam. Jericho positioned the nail where he intended to drive it through, but then light flashed so brightly that it drew their attention away from me.
I existed inside that light for a moment, not understanding what it was, but believing that perhaps it was the beginning of death. My spirit soared as I felt warmth spread over me stealing the pain away and replacing it with comforting numbness. There was peace in the loss of sensation, peace that was lost as soon as I was returned to the present.
Voices shouted around me, a team of bodies moving through the room. So blinded by the pain inside me, I couldn’t make out one voice from another, didn’t understand that the compound was being raided around me.
“Jericho Hayle,” a voice called out, drawing my attention to the right. Blinking my eyes I attempted to bring the men into focus. “Put up your hands and surrender now.”
My brother looked at the men with their guns trained on his chest and head before darting his gaze to me. There was nothing left inside him, no soul that gazed out from behind his blue eyes. Even still, I wanted him to surrender, to live despite all the horrible things that had been done to him, and that he had done to others.
But his hatred was too much.
He lunged for me at that second, his mouth opening on a scream as gunshots rang through the air, the bullets striking him in the back as his body fell on top of me. I felt the bullets, too, felt them pierce my arm, my hand, my shoulder.
As my twin brother lay motionless on top of me, I fought to keep the room in focus, fought against the pull of death that dragged me from consciousness. It was too strong, that pull, the light returning with serenity and warmth beckoning for me to release the spirit.
And for the first time in my life, I decided to do what I should have done all along:
Rather than walking away from my brother and failing him, I put my own life aside to join him.
EPILOGUE
SEDRA
“Are you sure you can do this, Sedra? It’s only been a few weeks since you left the hospital. You should take some time before –“
Placing a hand over my older brother’s mouth, I smiled. Just as when we were kids, he still tried to protect me, still attempted to shelter me from the world that only wanted to devour me whole. But I was done being the helpless victim. Done being the scared little girl who couldn’t walk out on her own to find the path that life had always intended for her.
I was a woman now, one who wasn’t confused, wasn’t scared and wasn’t weak like Elijah had made me. I was healed finally, all because of a man who had pulled me from the clutches of evil and delivered me into the arms of safety.
“I’m sure about this, Joshua. It’s what mom and dad would have wanted if they weren’t killed at the compound. They would have been standing right beside me if they had been given the chance to learn the truth about the man they’d followed blindly. I need to do this. If not for me, than for others like me.”
It has been a year since I was taken from the parish by my brother, a year since I was rescued by a man who had failed in his vows as a priest and had fallen for the temptation that Elijah had molded me to become. After being dragged from the small hunting cabin on the final day I saw Jacob Hayle, I was taken to a hospital because I’d refused to believe that I’d been lied to. The first nights had been terrible and reminded me of Elijah’s anger. They’d drugged me and strapped me to my bed, restrained me so that I would stop fighting against them. I remember believing that the demons had finally found me again, believing that my brother had forced me from the light into which my husband had led me.
But as the weeks wore on and I was force fed and given other medications so that my body would heal, eventually I succumbed to the treatment and began the therapy I’d so desperately needed to overcome the lies that had been forced inside my head.
Day after day, I fought against the truth that Elijah had lied to me, but now, sitting here after being discharged from the hospital and proclaimed a healthy woman, I found it difficult to look back and believe that I had so easily been misled.
Joshua had been the only one to visit me in the hospital, and it wasn’t until he’d heard from the doctors that I was healing that he finally admitted to me what had happened to not only our family, but to the priest that had sacrificed himself in order to save me.
He told me about the fire that destroyed the compound, about the people who were trapped inside. He told me about the arrest of the town sheriff and the townspeople who had taken part in Elijah’s cruelty. He explained that in the wake of Elijah’s games, the news had spread like fire across the United States, the Church having to answer for all the evil committed by a mad man in its name.
It was hard to hear about what had been done to Elijah when he was a child, that he had turned around and hurt others because he wanted to bring to light the abuses that had been committed against him and covered up. And despite the Church not having anything to do with the injustice that had plagued the small Appalachian town, it still coughed up money to heal the victims that had survived.
I was one
of those victims, my image and name spread across the media as a survival story and a warning. It didn’t make me happy to become the poster child for what can happen when you are raised as a member of a cult.
Joshua sat back in his seat, but still kept his eyes on me, concern shadowing his gaze as he let out a loud sigh. “I don’t think you should do this. I don’t think it will be good for you, Sedra. You’ve worked so hard to leave the past behind you, seeing him will only remind you of what happened. It’ll only hurt you in the end.”
Smiling again, I reached out to stroke my fingers down my brother’s cheek. In truth, I was terrified of what I would think or feel to see him again. But I agreed to take part in this conference if it meant I could prevent this type of thing from happening again. The media had made me a victim in their stories, and now I was ready to take that image and transform it into what it should have been.
I wasn’t a victim, I was a survivor of every horrible cruelty that could be imagined.
“It wasn’t his fault,” I argued, shaking my head when Joshua’s expression twisted in disagreement.
Nothing would convince my stubborn brother.
It had been religion that almost destroyed me, and faith that had helped me heal. The hospital to which I’d been taken was run by a non-profit foundation that believed in faith healing as well as medicine. I’d learned that all the lessons Elijah had forced down our throats were twisted and construed in order to keep us afraid and alone. But in the year I’d spent learning the truth of the faith to which I’d always belonged, I’d seen the beauty in its message of love.
We weren’t to condemn others so easily.
We weren’t to be violent and wish for their death.
We were intended to find hope in the darkest places and to help others who also were lost.
