She exited the shower stall nervous and afraid, all three smears tucked into her bra. Doug was waiting for her with handcuffs and he slipped them around her wrists in silence. She figured he must have expected her to protest, even believing there was no point to it. Certainly she'd have known what she was getting into when she requested to be brought to the Beast.
Theda was now barefoot, and but for the handcuffs, she had the feeling she was going full circle. So many of the women she had accused of witchcraft a century earlier had worn the same type of dress. Councilman Prusser had forced her to wear the same thing when he'd bought her for his own personal snuff experience. It was no coincidence that this was the same thing the Beast expected her to wear when he executed her for religion mongering in front of the entire world.
She followed Doug from the shower rooms as docilely as she could, head down, but eyes up. Now wasn't the time for histrionics, now was the time to pay attention to things. She remembered an elevator around the corner, but she had no idea where it went to. For all she knew, it took her straight to the killing floor. She shivered. Maybe her best bet was the godspit after all.
Doug froze midstep. "What the--"
She smelled smoke just as Doug laid his hand across her chest, pushing her backwards to either protect her from harm or keep her from escaping. She shuffled behind him but peeked over his shoulder. The guard he had left outside the shower was gone. Doug started to sprint ahead of her and then froze, turning back to her as though he wasn't sure what to do. They hadn't yet rounded the corner, and there was a ways to go before they could make it to the elevator. The way into and out of the complex was at least a mile down the corridor, and Theda would have to pass any number of horsemen before she could even manage a few yards. She hedged her bets and ran toward Doug.
"Do you smell that?" she asked him.
"Stinks like burnt fuel."
He grabbed her sleeve and flattened himself against the wall, looking both ways before he pulled her with him to the corner. He eased his shoulder to the edge so he could peek around the corner. When he did, he swore.
"What is it?"
He shook his head.
"Then if you're not going to tell me what it is, tell me what we're going to do." She had the feeling he didn't like what he saw, and that could only mean things were looking up for her.
"We're going to run, that's what."
"How far?"
"The elevator."
At least half the distance of a football field. Barefoot. Wearing this stupid coarse-spun shift. The godspit stuck to her boobs.
She drew in a lung full of air through her nose. Definitely smoke. And now the sound of shouting. Screams of pain.
"What the Hell is going on?" she said.
Ezekiel. She told herself it was Ezekiel coming to save her. Or Cain. If she stayed here and did nothing, they'd never find her. If she ran along like some stupid lackey behind this horseman, there was a chance they might see her. She opted for the second one and hurled herself around the corner. Doug tried for her dress, but only caught at the hem of the sleeve and she pulled her hands free of him so that she could run. She'd run before handcuffed, when Ezekiel had first arrested her. She knew exactly how awkward it could be and she allowed for it, hunching inward and pumping her hands sideways instead of trying to fight the restraints.
She stopped dead a few yards down the hallway. There were no guards at any of the cell doors. Most of the doors closest to her were still closed, but some further down yawned open. Every few feet, there was a flaming pile of clothes. The smell of roasting fat mixed with smoke. She knew that smell. Burning skin.
Kat escaped and was taking her vengeance on the Beast in a manner she knew best. Theda wasn't sure whether she should laugh or cry.
Doug finally came up behind her and grabbed her by the elbow.
"We're not sticking around. I have to get you up there." He pulled her with him as he sprinted for the elevator.
"But your comrades..."
"There's nothing I can do for them." He mashed his palm onto the button several times in a frenzy. When the doors didn't open right away, he slammed his shoulder against them.
A sound from down the hall stole Theda's attention. She realized when flames shot out of an open cell door that it was someone screaming. Her first instinct was to run forward to help the person, but just then the doors opened and Doug pulled her into the elevator shaft. He pounded on the button to close it until the doors hugged each other. Only then did he lean against the wall in obvious relief.
He swung his gaze to hers. "He's not going to be happy."
She lifted her cuffed hands toward him. "At least you saved me for my execution. That's something."
He nodded as though he agreed, too stupid to get the sarcasm. "Yeah," he said. "Maybe you can tell him that for me."
The elevator shaft slowed and stopped. Theda's heart went into her throat. This was it. She wondered if she should take the opportunity to slip the smear from her bra, but even as she gave it consideration, the doors opened onto a well-lit arena. It reminded Theda of a theater, with staggered seating and a broad theatrical stage. She was horrified to discover that the seats were filled with people and that the walls were lined with horsemen holding Tasers and rifles. She wasn't sure whether the show of force was for her benefit or the audience's.
The Beast waited at the side of the stage dressed immaculately in a navy suit and blood red tie. Just behind him, between two heavy scarlet velvet curtains, sat a broad, cushioned sofa covered in what looked like the same crushed velvet. It was the kind of seat reserved for VIPs of the highest order, and it gave off an aura of importance and pretentiousness that revealed just how vain the man was. Even from this distance, Theda could see how triumphant he felt. He pulled at the cuffs of his sleeves eager, it seemed, to look perfect. She told herself not to look past him, not to take in the stage at all, but something pulled her eyes there anyway and her mouth went too dry to swallow when she saw that the only place on stage that was lighted was a gallows that stood front and center.
She stumbled from the elevator, frantically trying to think of a way to get the smear from her bra. Which one was the untouched one anyway? She needed to make sure she got the right square of godspit. The one with the backing. She couldn't risk taking either of the ones that might already be ungodded. Why had she kept those anyway? What was she thinking?
The trip down the aisle went too fast. She didn't have time to do more than remember the fully-wrapped smear was in her right cup when Doug presented her to the Beast with a flourish, bowing in front of him like a knight of old. When he straightened up, he leaned into his master and whispered in his ear. A look of annoyance passed across the Beast's face. He said something quickly to Doug, and then he turned to Theda with a perfectly composed countenance.
"How do you like my gallows?" he said and his voice reverberated through the room. Theda realized he was miked and she looked around for the cameras. No doubt the Promos across the city were lit and humming.
"It hasn't been more than 100 years since rulers have hanged traitors. Of course, hanging would be too simple an end for the likes of you." He extended his hand toward the stage and as he did, additional lights flicked on and a collective cheer rose from the audience. Theda's knees gave way and she found herself crumpled on the floor at the Beast's feet.
There was a short flash and a picture projected itself on the wall behind the chair. It showed a naked man sitting on the apex of a four legged, pointed stool with his hands tied behind him, his face contorted in obvious pain.
"I'm sure you recognize the Judas chair," he said.
She did. She'd used it on plenty of accused witches when she tortured them in Trier. Just seeing it made her nauseous.
"And the stake," he said, waiting with bated silence for another flash to project a man being vertically impaled on a stake in such a way that the point entering his anus thrust itself from his gaping mouth. Several women in the audience beg
an to chant. While Theda couldn't understand what they were saying, it got picked up by more and more of the audience until the sound filled her ears like a rush of wind.
The Beast made a slicing motion with his hand and the sound went dead.
"Not everyone understands how imperative it's been through the ages to impale enemies of the state or rebels or traitors." His perfect brow arched delicately. "I'd say you are all three, wouldn't you?"
Her head hung in front of her, and she couldn't for the life of her find the energy to lift it. Ezekiel had always told her the Beast would be imaginative with her execution. She found herself wishing for a simple hanging.
"Theda Jones, enemy of the state, religion monger, and enemy of the people, you have been accused of religion mongering in a world left devastated by the mere whisper of belief. Religion has been the cause of too many wars: brother killing brother, men killing children, children rising against their elders. Religion is something New Earth cannot afford." He paused for effect, and although Theda had the feeling he was looking right at her, she knew he was speaking for the audience beyond.
"We as a collective have decided that religion will not be tolerated and because you have incited zeal in the hearts of those who are too weak to withstand your suggestion, because you have taken advantage of their vulnerability like many religion-mongers before you, you will be hanged until you are nearly dead."
He stepped forward to receive applause with his arms spread as though he were delivering a sermon, and all Theda could think about in the face of those horrific images was to wonder how had he ever managed to discover her last name.
And that was it. There was no more theater, no more pregnant pauses. She simply felt Doug grab her by the hair and drag her toward the stage where the gallows waited. She heard the Beast behind her issuing a warning to the world that this is what happened to religion mongers, and she suspected that while she was being delivered to the gallows, the cameras had tightened in on his face.
She remembered watching a documentary before the god had come about the science behind successful hanging. They needed to weigh a person, they needed to know height, the length of the rope, etc. If none of this was done, then the neck wasn't snapped and the death was a long and drawn out affair that ended in asphyxiation by strangulation. No one had measured or weighed her, and Theda suspected that long drawn out strangulation was exactly what they were going for.
She could hear her own breathing dragging in and letting go. It was so audible, she imagined the entire audience could hear it. With shaking legs, she mounted the three steps they had built for her to the small podium. Doug dropped the noose around her neck, and instinctively, Theda's hands went to the rope, trying to pull it free. It didn't feel right there. The knot in the back dug into her occipital bone. She needed to get rid of it.
She was still clawing at the rope when she heard a hollow thunk. Too late, she realized Doug had knocked the stairs out from beneath her feet and she was dangling, fingers still beneath the rope and against her voice box. She couldn't swallow, she couldn't breathe, she felt like her eyes were straining toward her cheeks.
She thrust forward with her feet, trying to find some kind of purchase to relieve the pressure. Something in the back of her mind whispered for her to be still. Don't give them the show. She wouldn't die here. She couldn't die here.
With more determination than she thought she owned, she was able to let her legs dangle. She focused on the back of the room, trying to find some place outside of her own body that she could send her mind to. This wasn't the worst of it; indeed, this was just the beginning and she needed to stay calm so that she could take the smear when the worst came. She needed to find a word to repeat that she could chant just like the audience was chanting, build herself up into a frenzy of ecstasy that she could disappear into. And just like that the word came to her: easy.
Easy.
Easy.
Easy.
And just as if she had conjured him, Ezekiel broke through the doors at the back of the room and in her delirium, she smiled. She watched in a haze of barely controlled fear and funneled determination as he swept the room with his knife in front of him, creating a fine mist of blood in his wake. Soldiers from every direction mounted an attack on him, but behind him his three other Riders fanned out to do their own damage.
It was a magnificent delirium. The killing was a thing of beauty even if it left behind a grisly slaughterhouse. Theda felt sick within her core, but it was a righteous anger they were demonstrating. Righteous. A grand word for grand chaos.
She was so busy following Ezekiel's path through a dozen horsemen that she didn't realize the Beast had sidled up next to her until he was there. At first she was merely annoyed that he would pull her from her dream, but then she felt the cold hardness of steel against her thigh and realized she wasn't lost in delirium at all. She blinked. She strained her eyes to the side, trying to see what he was planning to do with her. Panic made her legs strike out wherever they could. She could hear the sound of material being cut. Feel the draft of air on her bare skin.
The Beast gripped her legs with one hand and held them against his hip. She felt like a side of beef hanging from a hook.
"The camera sees what it wants, young lady," he said, lifting a curved knife to her gaze. "And all it will see is my victory."
She could do nothing but follow the path of the blade as it moved toward her navel. In the moment she thought it would slice through her skin, fingers wrapped around the handle and jerked it away.
She didn't have a chance to register a sense of relief. Panic bloomed in the Beast's eyes. There was a knife at his throat, a familiar looking knife. It was large and broad and held in a hand that Theda had once felt running over her body in delicious ways.
"Not this time, John," Ezekiel said, and with that he ran the knife across the Beast's throat and a flood of fluid spilled down his white shirt to get lost in the blood red of his tie. The Beast dropped to the floor on his knees, his hands clutching his throat. Someone, a woman, she thought, took over, waving soldiers to her, gripping the Beast's shoulders as though it were a large sack of potatoes to be dispatched somewhere. Black hair moved in and out of Theda's line of sight, securing the man in some sort of sheet.
Ezekiel wrapped his arms around her torso, taking the weight off the rope.
"Oh my God, Minou. My God. My God."
Ezekiel. Covered from hair to heel in blood and body fluids. His face a ravaged mass of whiskers and blood-clotted hair. He had never looked more angelic.
She saw the flash of his blade move past her eyesight, heard the snicking of it slicing through the rope, and then she was in his arms as he laid her across his lap, crouched on the floor.
"Not this time," he muttered. "Not this time."
The pressure in her throat disappeared, leaving her with an irresistible need to cough. She wanted to say his name, but nothing would come out but a croak. He smiled into her eyes.
"I've got you, Minou. And it'll take Hell's entire army to keep me from you again."
Chapter 26
The auditorium either emptied out or was ransacked. It didn't matter which, Theda was just happy there was no one left in it but her and Ezekiel. He had released her from the handcuffs by picking the lock and rubbing her wrists until the pain subsided. She was certain there were still hundreds of massacred bodies littering the chairs and floors--Doug undoubtedly one of them--but she was too sore, too weak to move, to rubberneck. She chose instead to relish the feel of his thighs beneath her head, the smell of him in her nostrils, the site of those grass-green eyes fringed by those smoky lashes. She'd forgotten he'd had his hair shorn close to his head, that the curls were gone, but that didn't matter. All that mattered was that he was there, that she felt the thing coiled within her that had bound itself into a tight knot when he'd left, un-snake itself as she looked at him. A shiver of desire sent gooseflesh to her skin. He was hers, finally. All six-foot-six of him, all that muscle an
d sinew and deadly power belonged to her, would kill for her, had killed for her, would kill to have her.
Just realizing it made her understand why she felt so weak. It wasn't exhaustion or the near hanging; it was the relief that he had returned and he was hers.
"Bridget?" she asked him. It had taken her a while to figure out that the dark-haired beauty bundling up the Beast had been Ezekiel's sister.
He nodded. "I found her in the den just after you left me. The Beast had her so strung out on godspit that I had to carry her back with me to the isolation chamber. Her withdrawal was nasty. I can't even think about it."
He ran his thumb over her throat, probably testing for bruises. No doubt there would be some. It still hurt to swallow.
"Are you really okay, Minou? I can't believe I have you."
She reached for the hand that was brushing the skin of her cheek, and she tangled her fingers in his. She could hardly believe it either. It was just too much of a miracle. She worked to clear her throat, testing her ability to speak.
"How?"
The tone of his free hand moved to her jaw line, sending tremors down to her toes as he stroked the curve. "You wouldn't believe it if I told you."
She thought she would. "Kat," she guessed.
He looked surprised. "How did you--" he began to say, then interrupted himself. "No, don't talk. You have plenty of time to tell me later. All I know is I was lying in that damned tank sweating, barely able to breathe – I gave Bridget the lion's share because she seemed to need it more –although I must say it wasn't so bad when you're not alone. Still. It was pretty tight in there."
She made circles with a finger, trying to tell him to hurry up. He smiled indulgently.
"I'm in as much of a hurry as you, Minou." He picked up the material of the shift, piecing the two rent edges together and holding them over her navel. "Your fashion sense is driving me to distraction."
The way he looked at her made her think of the panties she'd been wearing the night he'd given her a bath. They'd been filthy and old and torn, but he'd acted as though they were still fresh and feminine.
Theta Waves Box Set: The Complete Trilogy (Books 1-3) (Theta Waves Trilogy) Page 54
