by Celia Aaron
“Yes!” he yells. “I remember. Please don’t—”
“You hurt her, killed her, and did so much more. I’m sure you remember all of it. What you did to me, my friends, Adam, my mother, my sister.” I stand and walk between his spread legs.
His eyes go even wider, the right one blotchy with blood. “D-Delilah.”
“You named me well, did you know?”
The women around me start chanting “punish him,” their voices low and strong.
“Deli—”
“In the Bible, Delilah takes Samson’s strength, but God gives it back to him, and with it, he’s able to destroy his enemies.” I line up, my right foot back. “Our story is like that, but even better. I brought Adam to his knees, and together, we rose up and defeated you. All of us tore down your temple.”
“No!” he screams as I rear back and kick him right between his legs.
The women around me yell with glee and pent-up fury. We are his fate, his justice. We are revenge for all those who have come before.
His chest convulses as he cries. I hope he drowns on his tears, drowns from the sorrows he’s forced on so many others.
“That’s nothing.” Jez smiles down at him. “When they’ve all had their fill, I’m going to cut off that pathetic thing between your legs and shove it down your throat.”
More raucous yells pierce the day as I back away. Jez gives me a quick nod as I turn and hurry to the golf cart.
My heart beats easier, my terrifying need for retribution temporarily sated.
Flooring the pedal, I race away and hope I’m not too late.
Chapter 32
Delilah
I skid to a halt in front of the Cathedral. No guard on the front door, but the place seems locked up tight. I don’t let relief in. Not yet. Not until I see the children and know they’re safe.
Stepping off the golf cart, I hurry to the large double doors. They don’t budge. Skirting around to the side, I try to find a window, but they’re all high off the ground and barred. I suppose the Prophet wanted privacy for his personal harem.
A faint scream filters through the woods. I shiver. It’s the Prophet. He’s suffering. And I don’t give a damn. I walk along the front, then turn the corner of the large building. A small lawn separates it from the woods all around. My steps are silent on the dormant grass. Up ahead, there’s a door and small walkway that leads to a paved area with a dumpster.
I check the door. Locked. But there’s a black button next to it that has to be a bell. Do I ring it? I scan down the long expanse of the stark building. I have to be midway along, likely at the kitchen. If anyone is inside, it would likely be a Spinner or a child. If it’s a guard, I’m screwed. If it’s Rachel… I’ll deal with that.
Steeling myself, I press the button tentatively. After a few seconds, I remind myself that there are dozens of innocent children inside—children that Rachel wants to destroy. So I lay on the bell harder, pressing for a full minute before letting go. No one comes. I’ll have to find another way in.
Returning to the grass, I move away from the kitchen entrance, but a squeak cuts through the quiet. The door is cracked open, a little boy of no more than five doing his best to keep the heavy metal panel from closing again.
I dash back and push it all the way open, ease in, then close it behind me. We’re in a tiled kitchen, everything stainless steel and industrial, the scent of harsh dish soap and lingering onion on the air. I pull him behind a prep table and drop to my knees.
“Don’t be scared. I won’t hurt you.” I put my fingers to my lips for a moment, then whisper, “Are you okay?”
He shakes his head, his dark eyes so like Adam’s. “Mommy isn’t here.”
“Is someone else here?”
He nods. “A woman. The one with the sticks.”
“Sticks?”
“Dynamite,” my mind chimes in.
“She told us all to stay in our rooms and that our mommies would be here soon. But I heard…” He looks back at the door and the bell above it. “Am I in trouble?” His eyes water.
“No.” I pull him to me, wrapping his small frame in my arms. “You did good. So good! What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Ezekiel.” He sniffs.
I know him. He’s Ruth’s son. God, I hope she made it out of the Prophet’s house. Pulling him back to face me, I say, “I need you to do something for me, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I’m going to open the door again. You run out to the woods and hide, okay? Don’t come out until you see someone in a police uniform.”
“Police?” He cocks his head.
I forget how stunted these children are, how sheltered. “Like the ones at the church who stand along the aisles. Blue uniforms and badges.” I tap my chest, then reconsider. “But not them.” I shake my head, because I know I’m confusing him, so I try something else. “Do you know your letters?”
He nods, a smile dawning on his face for the first time, his two top teeth missing. “Yes, I’m learning how to read. First one in my class.”
“Good.” I grab his arm. “That’s great. When you see someone wearing a vest with the letters ‘FBI’ on it, you can come out. Or if they say ‘FBI’ then you can come out. It’s like hide and seek, you know?”
“I’m the best at hide and seek.” His smile grows bigger.
“I know you are.” I turn him around and lead him to the door. “One more thing. I’ll be sending more children out this door, okay? Make sure they hide with you. Like a big game. And none of you come out until the police arrive. FBI.”
“F-B-I.”
“That’s right, Ezekiel. You got it. Go on, now, and watch for the other kids.” I shoo him out the door and he runs over the grass and into the woods, then disappears behind a tree.
Chapter 33
Adam
Zion yanks me up and walks me to the outside of the church. Davis hustles Noah out behind me. Protectors and guards are lined up against the wall, all of them cuffed, all of them scowling. Church members stand next to their cars or sit inside them with the engines running, warming their children. No one has been allowed to leave.
I limp alongside Zion who shoves me into a black SUV. Davis does the same with Noah on the other side. They get into the front, and Davis grabs the radio handset off the dash.
“Once the wagon gets here for the assholes in cuffs, I want everyone to form up on the front entrance. Our warrant is good for the whole compound, but we need to be careful not to destroy any evidence. A controlled sweep.” He replaces the radio and turns around to look at me. “It’s all going down, fellas. Your little empire is crumbling.”
Noah tries to pull his cuffed hands around to his side. “There are women and children inside. You know that, right? If your men go in guns blazing—”
“We know how to handle ourselves.” Zion shoots him a nasty glare.
“All I’ve ever seen you do is kick a man while he’s down and assault Maidens.” Noah shrugs. “But what do I know?”
Zion slaps the metal cage that separates us. “I’ve been undercover in this fucking pit for years, asshole. Shut your fucking mouth.”
“Oh, but I think you enjoyed it.” Noah grins.
“Motherfucker, I’ll—”
“Keep it cool,” Davis intercedes.
“Where’s Emily?” I keep my hands behind my back and pick at the stitches on my right palm.
“On her way to the hospital by now.” Davis points to the modified bus approaching on the main road. “Paddy wagon is almost here.”
“Agent Davis?” A voice comes through the radio.
He picks it up. “Speaking.”
“We’ve got a problem, sir. The woman escaped from the ambulance and ran onto the property.”
My heart leaps. Emily’s run back to the compound. I pick harder at the stitches, gratified when the blood starts to ooze. I pull my hands as far around as possible, trying to get the blood to my wrists.
“The woman?
” Davis slams his fist on the dash. “You mean our star fucking witness?” He starts the engine and pops the nearest curb, riding over landscaping toward the ambulance near the front gate of the restricted compound area. A paramedic stands outside the back doors and stares at the road leading to the Prophet’s house.
Davis parks next to the ambulance and hops out, slamming his door behind him.
“You boys better get yourselves ready.” Zion opens his door. “Because federal prison won’t be a picnic for assholes like you.” Another slam and Noah and I are alone.
“What’s the plan?” He rattles his cuffs.
“Emily’s gone to find Mom. We need to find her first.”
“Mom?” He clears his throat. “What are we going to do when we find her?”
“I can’t let Emily kill her. The guilt will eventually crush her. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but it’ll come crashing down one day.” I bow my back and bring my injured foot up to the bench seat. With a contortionist move, I slide my cuffed hands around my foot and up my leg.
“I can do that.” Noah scoffs and pulls his leg up to the seat. His foot slides off when he tries to slide his hands beneath it.
“Yeah, good going.” I bend my good leg and slide the cuffs around it. With my hands in front of me, I’m able to hold them up and pick more at the stitches. Every moment that passes is another moment Emily is in danger. I harbor no illusions that Mom won’t kill her if she gets the chance. She’s too far gone, too mired in the lies and delusions of Heavenly.
“The fuck are you doing?” He tries again and gets stuck with the cuffs wedged under his foot.
“What am I doing?” I shoot him a wry look. “If you can get your shit together, we’re escaping.”
“I got this.” He arches and shakes the entire SUV with his efforts as I use my fingertip to spread blood along my wrist and the back of my hand.
With a grunt, he gets the cuffs looped over one leg. “Easy, see?”
“Do the second leg and get back to me.”
The whine of a firetruck starts up, and I peer out the window toward the compound. Smoke rises from the Prophet’s house, the dark tendrils blowing away in the cold breeze. The fire’s just started.
Noah finally gets his hands in front of him, his red, sweaty face smiling. “Like I said, easy.”
“Sure.” I hold my hands out to him and jerk my chin at the wrist covered in blood. “Grab the cuff and pull.”
Chapter 34
Delilah
Once Ezekiel’s disappeared into the trees, I snag the little brown plastic wedge from behind the door and shove it under the bottom, leaving it wide open. The door stays put, and I pull on it a little to make sure. It’s stuck.
Creeping through the dark kitchen, I pass the wide stovetop and another prep table. The white tiles are quiet underfoot, and I open the door to the dining room. It only creaks a little, but it’s loud in the still air. Nothing happens, so I pull it the rest of the way open and walk into the dining room. The lights are off, the high windows illuminating just enough for me to make my way through the tables and into the main hall.
A guard lies next to the doors leading to the children’s rooms, his head a bloody mess, a splatter of crimson on the wall. I skirt around him and push through to the children’s hall. Rachel isn’t here, the rooms dark. A baby cries in the nursery, so I walk to the next set of double doors and open one just a hair.
Rachel stands in the center of the hall and pulls sticks of dynamite from the black satchel, lining them up and twisting their fuses together.
“Shut that baby up or I’ll kill it right now!” she yells at someone I can’t see.
I duck back in the door and close it quietly.
The children’s rooms are silent, and I hope it’s because they’re gone. I go to the first room on my right and open it. Two little girls huddle between twin beds, their arms around each other, their eyes wide.
“Don’t be scared.” I drop to my haunches. “I’m Emily. We’re going to play a game.”
“But the mean lady said to stay here and don’t move.” The older girl’s voice trembles.
“We don’t listen to her. Come on with me.” I hold my hand out.
The older girl eyes me warily, but the younger breaks free of their embrace and toddles over. She has blonde curls and deep brown eyes.
“Hello,” she murmurs shyly and takes my hand.
When the older girl sees that nothing bad happens, she comes over, too.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Nazareth.”
“What a pretty name.”
She blushes.
“Nazareth, can you take your friend to the kitchen for me? We’re playing a little game. Ezekiel is hiding in the trees outside the kitchen door. I’m going to come try and find him in a little while. Would you like to play, too?”
Nazareth nods.
“Great. All you have to do is head out that kitchen door and hide with Ezekiel, okay? Can you do that?”
She takes the smaller girl’s hand. “We’ll hide, and then you come get us?”
“That’s the plan.” I smile.
“Okay.”
I open their door and peek down the hall. It’s clear, so I lead them out and into the main area, doing my best to put myself between them and the guard’s body. Once they’re through to the dining room, I head back to the children’s wing and go to the next room.
It’s darker in here, the windows along the roofline not giving enough light to see.
I shut the door behind me. “Hello?” I scoot around the little bed toward the darkest corner of the room. “I’m not going to hurt you. I promise. Just come out.”
“I can’t make that same promise.” Grace’s voice stops me, and she rushes at me from the shadows, the Prophet’s curved blade in her hand.
I leap backward, but the blade catches me on the arm and slices through my dress, leaving a shallow cut.
She lurches out, her face in shadow, the side of her dress dark with blood. “You’re going to die here.”
I dodge back as she swings again, but she seems to have used all her momentum on the first strike.
She staggers closer, one bloody hand at her side. “You ruined everything. Everything! You took him away,” Her voice breaks on a sob. “He was supposed to be mine. All this was supposed to be mine. Not yours.”
And, in her own mind, I think she’s the hero of her tale. The put-upon woman who loved a man despite all else, who sacrificed everything just to be with him. As sick and twisted as it is, I remind myself that to her, she’s a victim—of the Prophet, of Adam, of me.
But understanding isn’t the same as sympathy.
I unwrap the binding on my hand enough to pull out the knife I stashed there after I used it on the Prophet. “Drop it, Grace. If you stop this now, you could live. You could be someone else.”
Tears roll down her face, her eyes sparkling. “There is no one else but me. Just me. Weak, stupid Jenny who joined the Cloister and thought the Prophet was chosen by God. Dumb Jenny who followed every rule, did everything asked of her, but fell in love with the one man she shouldn’t have. Jenny didn’t deserve to live. She was a stupid bitch like all the other Maidens. So I killed Jenny.” She thumps her chest with her palm. “She’s dead in here. I don’t want to be anyone but Grace. Grace is strong, smart. She fights for what she wants. She is no one’s victim.” Her back straightens for only a moment before she gasps and grabs at her side. “But you took all that from me.”
I press my back into the corner as she shuffles closer. “Grace, listen to me. You can leave here. Start new. This is your chance. Forget about me. Forget about Adam.” Even as I say the words, I know they’re fruitless. She’s destroyed herself—Jenny or Grace or whoever she is—there’s nothing left.
She sways and holds the knife out as she approaches. “I won’t let you have him. I can’t.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” She cocks her head to the
side. “Sorry for being the thieving cunt who stole my man?”
“No.” I take a deep breath. “Sorry for this.” I propel myself off the wall and stab the knife deep into her chest.
Her eyes open wide, surprise turning her face into a caricature as she falls backward onto the child-sized bed. I follow her down, keeping the knife embedded.
She sputters and drops the curved blade to the floor with a clatter. “You—” A blood bubble pops on her lips.
Sorrow is a funny thing. You can feel it so deeply for someone you love, as if their tears are your own. But you can feel it for others, too. Your vilest enemy. I look down at her and remember my mother saying that the opposite of love isn’t hate. It’s indifference. That’s one emotion I’ve never had toward Grace. I’ve hated her with the strength of a bursting star. Because she’s horrible and cruel, and also because… under the right circumstances, I could have been her.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my eyes surprisingly wet.
She grips my knife hand with her bloody one, her eyes closing. Her breath surges. “Hate you.” With one more gasp, she stops moving, her chest going completely still.
I wait, but she never breathes again, and I know she’s gone.
Smoothing her hair back, I kiss her forehead. “Burn in hell, bitch.”
I hesitate over leaving the knife in her chest, but in the end I do and grab the curved one from the floor instead. Turning it over in my hands, I wonder if it’s the one that took Georgia’s life. The thought sends a rush of white hot anger through me. Grace is all paid up. Now it’s Rachel’s turn.
Easing from the door, I hurry to the room across the hall and round up the children in there. Taking them with me, I go room to room. The other kids are more accepting of my plan when they see their brothers and sisters in tow. Once they’re rounded up, I send them all to the kitchen, herding them like precious lambs—hopefully not to slaughter. They run to the woods and hide. Ezekiel peeks out from behind his tree with a shy smile, and I give him a thumbs up.
