“For your own sake, let this go. I would hate to see you end up on Isaac’s bad side.”
Remko nodded and pushed out through Dodson’s door. He hopped up into his CityWatch vehicle and punched in the coordinates for the barracks. The car pulled forward and Remko turned inward to his thoughts.
Warning bells were ringing in his brain, vibrating down into the rest of his body. His skin felt electrified. The same questions circled through his mind: Why have ventilation placed on both sides of the house if the basement only occupies one half? Could it have just been a mistake? Could he ignore the red flags? Should he risk digging deeper?
And why couldn’t he shake the final words Isaac had said? “‘Follow God and His holy mission, forsaking all others.’ I never understood it until I was much older. Now I know the truth in these words.”
Remko slammed his hand on the steering wheel and switched the car into manual. He yanked the wheel away from his current destination and onto a small side road that led into the woods. He jerked it to a stop and let it hover while his eyes bored into the darkness.
The desperation to find Carrington grew stronger the longer he stared. It seeped into his heart and pulled at his soul. The thought of living without her, of facing alone a world that no longer made sense, tore at him.
He reminded himself that even if he found her, she would still belong to another and would never be his. He didn’t want to own her; he didn’t want her to be his possession. He only wanted to love her, to protect her, to see her smile.
He leaned his forehead against the steering wheel and fought for control of his memories as they tumbled across his vision. Helms, Carrington, the dead Lints—all their faces, all the pain he’d watched them suffer—they were weights sitting on his neck, threatening to break it. He couldn’t save Helms from the murdering hands of spiteful men, and now Carrington would be lost to him as well.
Wave upon wave, crashing, rushing against his reality, his sanity . . . memories sharp as weapons.
A thought broke through the sea and Remko felt his heart beat once and pause. Mills’s words echoed in the back of his mind, words about the man who thought he was carrying out some kind of holy mission.
Remko pulled his head from the steering wheel and considered the possibility that had already sprouted in his gut hours earlier. Dodson had ordered him to ignore it, but he couldn’t—not if it meant possibly saving her.
He steered his vehicle back onto the main road and started toward Isaac’s house. He switched off his logic, ignored the warning that if he was wrong it would probably cost him everything.
Remko didn’t care about much anymore, but he cared about her. And, he decided, she was worth the risk.
Isaac dispensed a measured amount of water into the bleach swishing in the bowl before him. He never diluted it enough for the bleach to lose its cleansing power, just enough to allow God time to redeem His broken lambs. Carrington would be no different. He fought the desire to glance over his shoulder at her.
She had been unconscious when he entered the cellar, and he had heard nothing from her since. He had studied her face and still saw the beauty behind the bruises and swelling. He felt a hint of sorrow over her appearance, the way a father might feel after harshly disciplining his child. The saying, “This will hurt me more than it will hurt you,” seemed almost believable. Isaac had taken many sinful souls and offered them up to the deliverance of the holy one, but none had caused him so much personal suffering.
He hated to admit the struggle it took to accept she too must be cleansed. Perhaps the lesson here was that he must learn not to receive and keep but to receive and release. Isaac wanted Carrington to be his, and she would be . . . if she could be cleansed. The fear that she also would be deemed unworthy of saving made his heart ache even now.
He had spent some time this morning reading words of truth, which he now grasped for. “For we know, according to the holy book, that all things work together for the good of those who obey God and follow the law and are called according to His purpose.” The Veritas was clear in this. Isaac needed only stay true to the call.
He turned, the bleach mixture in hand, and walked to where Carrington sat. The room was beginning to smell of death as the rotting corpse of the other girl lay still tied to the post at Carrington’s right. Isaac had made the call for the body to be removed, but the interruption of the CityWatch guards had put a kink in his disposal plans. He had wrapped the body in plastic to mask the smell, but by the time his associate arrived in the early morning hours, the room would be filled with the stench of dead flesh.
Isaac tried to ignore the stink as he held the purifying solution in his hands and looked at his filthy bride. He thought through the steps, opening his mouth to bless the process but fighting to actually utter the words.
Panic opened in his chest. He had been promised a partner, promised a clean bride, had been offered a less lonely road with her at his side. The familiar anger bubbled slowly at first, and then, like a raging sea, crashed violently against all other emotions.
He tossed the container and it clattered against the stone as it bounced off the hard floor. The smell of bleach was strong enough to mask the putrid aroma of death for a short moment. His heart pounded. He felt heat course through his veins as the cold air froze his flesh. The words of the Veritas tried to push their way into his mind, but he threw them out. He couldn’t cleanse her, couldn’t bear the failure of the one who was appointed to be his.
But he couldn’t keep her here forever either. He needed to show her the light, help her see she could still be saved. He needed to break her until she begged to be saved, and then offer himself as salvation.
He would have her, and if he couldn’t, then he would end both of their suffering together.
37
Carrington watched the white clouds above her begin to turn to gray. The field of gold grass whipped harshly in the heavy wind. The air temperature dropped as the light faded from the sky. She turned to see Aaron’s eyes watching the ground, a solemnness falling over his face. She didn’t detect worry or fear, just somber reflection.
She longed for his resolve as her chest seized with fear. What was happening to her perfect dreamland? Without a word she reached out and grasped Aaron’s hand and a soft ripple of calm spread into her arm.
“I’m afraid,” she said.
“I know.” He moved his gaze to her and spoke softly. “But you shouldn’t be. When you know who you truly are and the power you possess, fear disappears.”
“How can I know that?”
“By changing your perspective. By remembering who you are and what you are worth. Remember your Father.”
Carrington felt the ground tremble beneath her and closed her eyes. She tried to picture herself the way Aaron said she was—perfect, loved, worthy. It was hard to see through her fear, through the darkness that was clouding her vision.
“I can’t,” she said.
“You can. Listen to the call of your soul. It echoes the words of the One who created you. What does it tell you?”
Thunder struck the sky, the sound exploding inside her skull. Carrington pushed it aside and tried to listen . . . past the whispers of fear, past the small voice that sounded like Isaac’s telling her she was worthless, past the nagging reminders that she would always fail, into the deepest part of her soul.
Suddenly, like the whistle of someone lost at sea in a raging storm, a song reached her. One word over and over, a rhythm of love and warmth.
Beautiful. Beautiful. Beautiful.
The sound was so faint she lost it, and only the lies sang to her. She wanted to hear the true song, wanted to feel the identity that Aaron promised her existed. Could she really be worth something after all? Could she be perfect? Could she be loved? Her soul ached for the answer to be yes, and she pushed once more past the noise of doubt.
Beautiful. Beautiful. Beautiful is my daughter.
Carrington opened her eyes and saw darkness still r
olling over her, rain sprinkling from the sky. Yet Aaron’s face was filled with joy.
Tears dotted Carrington’s cheeks and she was filled with a peace she had never known before.
She was beautiful. She was worthy. She was loved.
A floodgate opened, warmth flowing into each cell of her body. The cage inside her opened wide at last, and what escaped was not delusion but truth. A complete abandonment to that truth made her feel as though she were floating in a bubble of light even in the darkening storm around her. She was at a loss for words and felt Aaron place a kiss on her forehead.
“How long I have waited for you to hear your song,” he said.
“I hear it.” Another round of thunder split the sky. Carrington glanced at the threatening clouds and then back to Aaron. “But the storm?”
“Hear and believe, even in the storm. When it grows dark, find your song of truth, and then even in the darkness you will know who you are.”
“What if I lose it?” The rain began to fall in sheets, soaking Carrington’s skin. It made it hard to hear, to think past the water on her face.
“Listen, and you will know who you are and to whom you belong.” Aaron’s voice felt distant and Carrington wiped the rain from her eyes.
He was gone. The place where he had stood was empty.
Her fear galloped over her and she struggled to hold herself up in the rain. “I will forget! What if I forget?”
The wind whipped against her face and the field around her started to fade. She knew it would soon be gone and she would be back with Isaac. She clung to the ground with both hands, desperate to stay in this place. How would she remember the pure peace of hearing her song when face-to-face with the devil?
“You are beautiful; listen to your song and remember.” Aaron’s voice floated on the wind. She squeezed her eyes tight and searched for the soothing melody of truth. Grasping it tightly, she let it fill her soul, pushing out the fear.
Beautiful. Beautiful. Beautiful is my daughter.
Carrington opened her eyes and found herself in cruel reality. The cellar’s smells hit her with force—decaying flesh and bleach woven together. The pain in her body flooded her senses and she moaned in reply. She was back in the pit of hell, the devil stalking her in the distance, and the beautiful song was silent.
“Welcome back,” Isaac said. He stood away from her, his face hidden by darkness, but Carrington knew the evil lining his eyes.
Her mouth was still gagged, her throat on fire, her lips cracked and bleeding. She knew that at any moment Isaac would start feeding her bleach, killing her slowly. She knew no one would be able to save her. The panic constricted her chest and the fear was thick enough to suffocate her. She wasn’t ready to die; she didn’t want this to be the way it ended.
Isaac grabbed a chair and pulled it to him. The legs scraped along the floor, setting Carrington’s teeth on edge. He sat and placed an object in his lap. She couldn’t see what it was, but she knew it could only be something that would cause pain.
“It is time to show you the light, to offer you salvation,” Isaac said. “We are running out of time, but I still believe you can be saved.”
Carrington didn’t even try to utter a response behind her gag, but she kept her eyes on the object in his lap. It was flatter than a bowl or funnel, dark, easily held in one hand.
“Are you ready to talk with me about being saved?” Isaac asked.
Carrington nodded and Isaac stood and moved toward her. As he approached he held the object at his side. He passed through a patch of light and Carrington saw what the item was as he reached forward to release her gag.
A gun. He was holding a gun.
A new round of fear injected itself into her brain. He wasn’t even going to waste his time with trying to cleanse her; he was just going to put a bullet through her head.
“I can sense your fear,” he said, moving back to his chair. “But you can be released from fear. I can save you.”
Carrington swallowed and tears sprang to her eyes from the pain in her throat.
“You were created to be mine, Carrington. I was created to give you worth, to free you from your sin. Don’t you see what I can offer you?”
“How?” Carrington asked.
“Submit to me. Realize you are nothing, that you are filthy and worthless but that I can give you purpose. I chose you. Accept that truth and find your value.”
Carrington’s mind buzzed around the idea. Lies began to hum; she would be stupid not to accept his offer, not to see that what he spoke was truth. She tried to imagine Aaron’s face, his eyes, his calming touch, but she saw only darkness. She would die if she said no; he would raise that gun and end the worthless life she’d already suffered through.
“Be mine, Carrington,” Isaac said. “Without me you are worthless.”
She forgot. She forgot who she was, what she was worth.
How was she supposed to remember when death was calling to her? The lies screamed inside her ears, sang, danced. She was worthless; she was nothing without being chosen.
Isaac had chosen her; therefore she was nothing without him. He could save her. She didn’t want to die.
Listen and know who you are.
Carrington’s heart surged and for a split second she thought about the way that inner voice had made her feel—like she was beautiful, worthy, perfect. She longed for that, knew she could have it. Tears were already collecting behind her eyes from fear, but she pushed past her terror and strained to hear her song.
Muffled at first, it came. One word, like before, and her fear began to lessen.
Beautiful. Beautiful. Beautiful.
“Carrington, I control your future and your worth. Don’t be a fool,” Isaac said.
She fought against his words and the lies that erupted with them. She searched for the song and found it again. A bit louder, filled with love. It was enough to make the tears camping behind her eyes leak out.
Beautiful. Beautiful. Beautiful is my daughter.
Yes, she thought. Her entire being was flooded with peace that collided with her fear. Like tiny soldiers they began to fight one another, the fear strong and massive, the peace somehow becoming stronger still. Carrington focused on the song, letting the words flow through her soul and spread out through the rest of her. The peace and comfort rose up and began to overcome her fear.
“Time is running out,” Isaac said, his voice verging on rage. “Give yourself to me, to the holy mission.”
Beautiful. Beautiful is my daughter.
Another surge of warmth and love bled into her and she opened her eyes to a different room. It was still the same structure—the cellar, Isaac sitting several feet away with a gun perched in his lap—but the colors were different. Bright golds, reds, and purples danced around her vision. The dark shades of gloom lifted to reveal a sea of beauty that brought a smile to Carrington’s lips.
The song grew again in volume as her tears turned to joy, her fear to peace.
Beautiful. Beautiful. Perfect and chosen. Beloved daughter. Cherished child.
She let the song consume her fully—every cell, every inch singing her song of truth. She watched Isaac’s face go from cold to confused to angry, and a small thread of fear slithered into her heart, making her song skip once before she pushed it away and the song continued stronger and louder than before.
Beautiful. Worthy of the highest love. Powerful and perfect. Beautiful is my daughter.
“Do you think this is some kind of joke?” Isaac asked. His face was red and heated. He rose from his chair, gun clenched in his hand, his entire body shaking. “You will die without me! You are worthless and will die!”
“No,” Carrington said, “I’m not worthless.” Her words weren’t shaky; they were strong and she realized she believed them. As if she had been walking in the desert searching for water since the moment she was born, suddenly she felt quenched. She imagined Aaron’s face, his smile, his comforting laughter. She was not worthless; in
fact, she suddenly knew she was worth everything.
Isaac was dumbfounded, but his confusion passed quickly and loathing on a different level than she’d seen before sprang across his face.
He raised the gun at his side and aimed it at her head. “Then you will die.”
The gun shook. He waited for fear to fill her eyes, and when the small flicker of it vanished, snuffed out by the false sense of confidence she had somehow discovered, Isaac’s anger skyrocketed. His chest was a bomb, and it started to tick down the seconds before he was sure it would explode.
Pull the trigger; end this sinner.
The voice was his own and he cocked the gun, the readying click bouncing off the walls near him.
She thinks she doesn’t need you or the salvation you offer. Kill her.
The voice was right. He could see it in her eyes. Fear completely vanished, her mouth turned in a smile, her eyes dancing like a child experiencing joy for the first time. He had seen a similar look in Arianna the day of her trial. Arrogance, deception, self-delusion. It had gotten Arianna killed, and now it would get Carrington killed as well.
Still he hesitated. She was supposed to be his companion on this journey—on this road to cleansing the world. He could feel the conflict of his own emotions. He wanted her, was obsessed with the idea of possessing her, was consumed with a deeply rooted need to save her. Loneliness had been his curse since he was tasked with his holy mission, but she was supposed to be his blessing, his reward for remaining steadfast.
Could he survive without her? The very idea of having her was now a part of him. It gave him hope and replenished his resolve. Would he have the wherewithal to continue cleansing people of their sins alone?
You fool, kill her! She mocks you even now.
Isaac focused on the trigger lightly touching his finger. It would take such a small effort to pull it back and send her to her fate, but still he hesitated. His head ached with contradictions and he dropped the gun with a shriek and kicked the chair. It fell with a thud, its metal frame grinding against the stone.
The Choosing Page 28
