“The truth?” Ruth said.
Beulah could hear the irritation in Ruth’s voice, but again, she forced her eyes to the ironing board, hoping her rebellious thoughts would pass, as they had hundreds of other times in three decades.
“You want to speak the truth? The truth lies in the Good Book, and nowhere else,” Ruth said, pointing to a table where a Bible sat. “And we should be grateful to the Man above that He has given us leaders like Jamin and Malachi to show us the way, to teach us wrong from right, and if we’re lucky, to turn a few souls away from the devil. But there are times when the devil is so embedded in a person’s heart that it’s turned to rot. And what can grow in rot?”
Moriah shook her head. “Nothing grows in rot, Ruth. Nothing good anyway.”
“And Malachi could see that. His vision and wisdom are unlike any person who has walked this earth since Jesus. No one has told us that, but considering I’m well into my sixth decade on this planet, I know when I’ve been blessed to live with a prophet.”
With her jaw still and her fists clenching the shirt, Beulah lifted her eyes until they locked onto Ruth’s. “You truly believe that Malachi is a prophet? He’s nothing more than a—”
“Okay, Miss Beulah.” Shiloh had just walked into the washroom, apparently oblivious to the conversation. “I’m ready to take the next load of clothes.”
Ruth had started moving toward Beulah, but now stopped.
“My, you’re quick, Shiloh,” Moriah said. “Are you sure you did a thorough job? You know you can’t disappoint Malachi and his elders. Our work must be worthy of their wisdom.”
A foul taste crawled up the back of Beulah’s throat, and if Shiloh weren’t in the room, she wasn’t sure how she would have responded to Moriah’s latest ignorant comments.
“Miss Beulah, do you have another load for me?”
“Yes, dear. It’s right over here, stacked and ready to go,” she said, purposely avoiding eye contact with Ruth. She could feel the woman’s steely glare and knew that once Shiloh left the room, the tension would reach a boiling point. And right now, given what she had witnessed the day prior, she didn’t trust herself to not respond in a transparent manner. And she knew that might get her killed.
“I’ll tell you what, Shiloh. This is a big load. Why don’t I carry half and you take the other half?”
“Oh, thank you. I enjoy being able to have our conversations.”
As they marched out of the room, Beulah knew that poisoned eye darts were pelting her back, but she refused to turn around.
“Okay, these are Malachi’s laundered shirts and undergarments, so I guess we’re headed to the second floor, room 210, in the elders’ building.”
As they walked down the long hallway toward the rear exit, Shiloh looked up and gave her a sad smile. Then it hit Beulah. She’d momentarily forgotten that Shiloh had been inside Jamin’s room just two nights earlier. That had been the initial domino that had eventually led to Amber’s outburst and Jamin shooting Hodiah.
“Miss Beulah, do you think Hodiah is in heaven right now?”
“I’m sure she is, Shiloh.”
“But I thought everyone in heaven is happy. How can she be happy?”
Beulah pulled down on the metal lever to open the back door, and a rush of cold wind slapped her in the face. “Let’s hurry across the courtyard, Shiloh.”
The pair scooted through open space as leaves swirled all around them. For a brief moment, a rush of wind lifted Shiloh’s skirt to show her bare legs. She flapped it back down, and the pair finally made it to the landing of the elders’ building. Once inside, they both removed leaves from their hair, laughing a bit at their silliness.
They stopped off at the water fountain, and each took a sip. As Beulah wiped her mouth, Shiloh whispered in her ear. “Did you not want to answer my question?”
“No, it isn’t that, Shiloh. It’s…complicated.”
“How so?”
“We can’t really say what it’s like to be in heaven since none of us have been there.” She shrugged her shoulders and winked.
“But I thought that Malachi was the messenger. He has a special relationship and therefore sees and knows things others can’t.”
Beulah’s breathing became labored. She didn’t want to fill Shiloh’s head with thoughts that might one day get her in trouble. Deadly trouble. “I’m not an expert, Shiloh. I’ll just say that watching what happened was difficult. And I’m sure it was for you as well.”
“Miss Beulah?”
“Yes, Shiloh.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been in love before, even though the elders keep trying to get me to date that boy named Abishai. He’s just a pest,” she said, swatting the air with her hand. “But seeing how they treated Jaala, and then how Jamin killed her mother like that, I didn’t get angry. I got real sad. It really broke my heart in two.”
Beulah rested her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “It’s okay to share this with me, Shiloh. In fact, I’m really glad you did.”
They walked down the hall and then took the staircase up to the second floor.
“Miss Beulah, I feel like I kind of started all of this, you know, being so possessive of that coat.”
“You were put in an awkward position, Shiloh. And you had nothing to do with anyone getting hurt. Please know that, okay?”
“I don’t know—”
“Shiloh, you must believe me. It’s okay to be sad. Squabbling over a coat should never lead to someone being whipped or, even worse, killed.”
Beulah knew she had taken it a step too far, but she couldn’t let Shiloh carry the burden of the death of Amber’s mother. It would eat her alive.
While balancing the pile of clothes, Shiloh curled some loose locks behind her ear. “Even still, I want to tell Amber I’m sorry for her loss. Do you know where she is?”
Shiloh’s kindness made her heart ache, but not for the most obvious reason. Beulah had not gone there, not wanting to think about the exile or excommunication that had likely taken place. Amber had most probably been sent into the mountains without any clothes or food or water, to die at the hands of the wild animals. Tears pooled in Beulah’s eyes as she let another memory slip into her frontal lobe—when Shiloh’s parents had attempted an escape when their daughter was just a baby. Their punishment? Malachi had kept their baby, Shiloh, at the camp, and he’d released the couple into the wilderness in the middle of a snowstorm that brought over two feet of snow to the area. They probably hadn’t lasted for more than a day. Shiloh had been told that her parents died trying to find food for those in the camp—a noble cause.
“I haven’t seen her around. I’m sure she’s somewhere trying to feel better about things,” Beulah said. “Okay, here we are.”
They stopped as they reached room 210, expecting to see a chair where they could put the clothes. But it wasn’t there. The door was cracked open. Beulah paused for a second, knowing that retribution would be handed out if they were to lay the laundry on the floor. She knocked three times.
“Hello, Malachi. It’s Beulah and Shiloh with your laundry.” The door creaked opened, and she stepped inside. It was more of a suite, with a dressing area, a small living area, and a bedroom.
The bedroom. She knew every little crack in the ceiling, even if it had been almost three years since her last sexual encounter with their leader. Like so many other aspects of her life, she’d been able to block out those memories, at least most of them.
“Malachi,” she called out again.
But there was no response.
As if she were programmed to move in that direction, she found herself at the threshold of Malachi’s bedroom, Shiloh somewhere behind her. Her eyes couldn’t help but find the things that had stolen her focus on her previous visit: a crucifix affixed in a three-dimensional frame nailed to the wall on the opposite side of the king-size bed. The figure inside seemed so real, as if she could reach out and feel the prick of the crown of thorns, wipe away the blood dri
pping from his hands and feet. She had examined every last detail of the figure that represented Jesus, all while Malachi grunted and groaned while pounding her insides with such ferocity that it not only brought tears of pain but also tears of utter disdain for Malachi. He was the man who had convinced her to take the leap of faith that would lead to an eternal life of happiness. He was the man who had persuaded her to leave her small child and husband and walk the path of humility and devotion to their Creator.
Malachi.
The Messenger.
She couldn’t turn away. She couldn’t stop the continuous playback of that last night. The humiliation. The horror. The self-loathing that lasted for months following. And her promise to herself to never let it happen again. No matter what.
A swell of emotion invaded her senses, her hands trembling as they held the clothes. A line of perspiration formed on her back, and she took a few steps, standing next to his dresser, the bed only a few feet away. As much as she wanted to set the bed on fire, or take an ax to it, she couldn’t move any closer. It still held a power over her. Feeling lightheaded, she rested a free arm on the dresser. Something moved. It was a piece of paper, a note written by Malachi—she knew his handwriting as well as her own.
Timing – Sarin implementation plan & final $$ transfer to SA account
She read the words two more times, until they finally broke through her foggy mind.
“What?” was all she could say, as the air from her lungs was sucked out by some unseen force. The laundered clothes tumbled to the floor as she leaned forward, hands on her knees, begging for more oxygen, wishing what she’d seen was a figment of her imagination.
She had to confirm whether she was losing it mentally or about to lose it physically. She lifted herself to look at the note once more.
“You have a fascination with my bedroom, Beulah.”
“Ooh!” she blurted out as she hopped into the air. She looked over at Malachi standing in the threshold, one hand gripping Shiloh’s neck. He dangled her small frame off the floor as if she were nothing more than an alley cat. She kicked and flailed her arms, but she did so with no more than a few quiet, desperate squeals. Horror rippled across her face, yet she didn’t cry. It was as if her body had bypassed that response. Perhaps she was too fearful to cry.
“Do not hurt Shiloh, Malachi. Please.” She took a single step in his direction.
His ruthless gaze made her feel like she was two inches tall, but she couldn’t back down. Not for Shiloh.
“Malachi, I’m sure we can talk this out. That’s why we’re here, to be a family, to support each other through good times and bad,” she said with as much compassion and care as she could muster.
He turned his head and looked at Shiloh, studying her as if she were more animal than human. Jerking his eyes back to Beulah, he said, “You have sinned in the eyes of the Lord…that I cannot help.”
“But we were just here to drop off your laundry, to complete one of the many chores that enables Camp Israel to run so smoothly, to carry out His work. Let us continue the goodwill, the acts of good faith. Would you like for us to join you in prayer down in the sanctuary?”
His blank stare screamed at her, yet he uttered no words. It went on for seconds, if not minutes, all while little Shiloh gasped a few feet away. Beulah wanted to reach over and pluck her from his hand, to hold her and tend to the bruise that was surely on her neck. And then to try to tend to the bruise that had formed on the inside. One of many, no doubt.
Slowly, he shifted his cold glare a couple of feet to the top of the dresser.
Had he seen her read the note?
Each time he blinked his eyes, Beulah’s pulse doubled in speed. She could actually feel blood racing through her veins. Was this the early stages of a heart attack? She never felt so much stress…for her life, for Shiloh’s. And yes, for everyone living in Camp Israel.
“Beulah, you will pay for your indiscretions. And Shiloh here will get a front-row seat so she can grow up to understand how women are supposed to act.”
Malachi marched to the side of his bedroom, dragging Shiloh like a small doll. He grabbed a chair and moved it directly in front of the bed.
“Sit,” he ordered Shiloh, who whimpered and reached for her neck as her butt landed on the chair with a thud.
He shut the door and used a key from his pocket to lock the deadbolt from the inside.
That was new.
Spinning on his heels, he looked at Beulah and pointed at the bed. Again, no words were spoken. She shook her head, her lips quivering, knowing what he had in store. But she couldn’t move. Her legs wouldn’t accept the signal from her brain that she had to give in.
Or did she?
Without thinking, she walked over to the door and turned the knob. The door didn’t budge. Of course it didn’t. It was locked. She had seen him do it, yet she couldn’t keep her flight instincts from triggering her desire to leave. She gripped the knob harder and yanked with all her might, hoping the laws of physics would magically change. Tears began to pool in her eyes as she balled up her fists and started pounding on the door.
He cleared his throat, and she turned to find him standing behind Shiloh’s chair, his veiny hands clutching each side of her head. Shiloh looked at her, confused.
Malachi smiled at Beulah. He was threatening to snap Shiloh’s neck. She quickly dropped her fists and stepped away from the door, drawing an approving nod from her leader.
“Over there,” he said, motioning with his head toward the bed. “Take your clothes off.”
“In front of the child? Are you—” She bit her tongue until the metallic taste of blood coated her mouth.
He stood tall and pointed a single finger upward. “‘If you do not listen, and if you do not resolve to honor my name,’ says the Lord Almighty, ‘I will send a curse on you, and I will curse your blessings. Yes, I have already cursed them, because you have not resolved to honor me.’”
She recognized the second verse of the second chapter from the book that bore his name. He had repeated the phrase many times during her thirty-two years at the camp.
Turning her gaze downward, she began to disrobe as Malachi pulled a rope from a drawer and tied Shiloh to the chair. Then he snapped off a piece of duct tape and sealed her mouth shut.
A moment later, a naked Malachi straddled Beulah in bed as he secured her wrists to the headboard. Then he had his way with her, over and over again. All the while, she stared not at Shiloh, but at the tears running down the cheeks of Jesus.
It was the only way.
15
For the second straight day, Archie and I gathered at Mel’s Diner, just on the West Virginia side of its border with Virginia. I sat at the bar and took my time looking over the sticky, laminated menu while Archie sat in a booth, slurping another chocolate shake. From my vantage point, I could see this one had sprinkles.
He was happy as a clam, seemingly oblivious to the upcoming confrontation that could very well send the shake back up the same pipe it went down.
Just like the day before, the diner was brimming with action—waitresses and busboys hustling food and dirty plates back and forth to the kitchen, patrons pouring into the smallish establishment, sometimes one or two at time, and a few in packs of five or six. Just about everyone plowed into their meals while laughing and speaking at a high volume. It must have been a coveted event—a meal at Mel’s diner. Given the thirty miles of separation the small eatery had from any town I knew of, I recalled the famous mantra of real estate types: it’s all about location, location, location.
The cheap bell on the front door chimed, and within a few seconds I could hear the clip of hard-soled shoes walking past me. Those shoes were high end. Cole Haan perhaps. I slowly turned in my swivel chair to see Agent Vandiver scooting into the booth opposite Archie, who quickly wiped the chocolate mustache off his own mustache, sitting straight as if he were in the presence of a high-ranking military commander.
Bringing my menu wit
h me, I slinked out of my chair and walked six steps before plopping down next to Archie.
“This was your plan?” he whispered.
I ignored Archie and held up the menu, then shifted my eyes to Vandiver, who just now was removing his sunglasses. “Given what I saw yesterday, I’d stay clear of the tuna melt, unless you want to be hugging a toilet the rest of the day.”
Vandiver’s face immediately went flush. “Woods, what the hell is going on here?”
Archie scooted away from me like I had cooties. “I…uh, I’ve never seen her before in my life.”
I rammed my elbow into his rib cage. “You’re really going to act that way?”
Archie’s eyes went back and forth between Vandiver and me a couple of times. Then he covered his face with both hands. “Oh my, what have I gotten myself into?”
“Actually, that’s a good question for Agent Vandiver.”
The agent smacked his lips a couple of times, seemingly frustrated that he was being interrogated. “I don’t have to respond to the likes of you. Woods, your ass is grass, and I’m a fucking lawn mower. With your security breach, you might have just flushed the toilet on this entire operation,” he said, his teeth clenched as he leaned forward.
“Calm down, Vandiver.”
He shifted his deep, recessed eyes toward me. “Don’t tell me to calm down. We’ve been after this group for three years. And now, motor mouth here has just fucked it up.”
“How?”
“Your employer might be the FBI, Troutt, but you might as well be a member of the KGB on this one. It’s not your business.”
“Are you afraid I’ll steal your thunder? What’s your issue?”
“I don’t have a fucking issue.”
I let that statement linger for a moment. A waitress appeared. “Oh, hi there.” It was Dana, and she was looking at Archie. “I just started my new shift, and I picked up your table. I see he has a shake. What can I get the two of you?”
The Alex Troutt Thrillers: Books 4-6 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set Book 2) Page 65
