Saved from the Cult

by Winter James

  A shy smile. Fuck. “I was just wondering how long you’d be working on the rest area.”

  I swallow a growl and shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “It’ll take a few weeks to get the rest area up to scratch. Then we’re working down the highway ‘til we get to Illinois.”

  “Wow. Illinois.” She says it like it’s some magical place, when in reality it’s just another long stretch of highway dotted with shitty construction jobs. “I’ve never been to Illinois.”

  “Not too special a place. Not like Washington State, which has the best apples growing on trees like nothing. You can just walk down a street and pull them down. Best you ever tasted.”

  “Ohhh.” Her beautiful eyes are wide. She’s impressed, as if it’s really something special to be a goddamn drifter. And I’m a damn peacock, because I can’t help but continue.

  “Not like Texas, either, which has these hills that go on for miles. And every so often they fill up with bluebonnets, thick as grass. Not like Illinois, though. Not much in Illinois.”

  I’ve never been outside the state.” She shoots a glance toward the main doors. “I’ve never been anywhere, except Leader Michael’s house. He has the biggest house, I guess, but it’s still—” She puts a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. I’ve already said too much, her eyes say.

  I want to hear her voice again. “Who’s Leader Michael?”

  “Well, he—he takes care of me.” Her hand falls away and the color on her cheeks deepens. “I’m old enough to take care of myself, but...” A rueful smile, a spark of fear in her eyes. “I shouldn’t be talking about him to strangers. I just wanted to see what it was like across the highway.”

  “Where do you want to go, little girl?”

  Her eyes blaze, meeting mine with the first sign of fire and confidence I’ve seen out of her. Her hand drops away, down to her side. Down to her hip. She’s indignant. It’s fucking hot. “I’m not a little girl. I’m a grown woman.”

  The door to the rest area opens with a rusty creak. Her friend, the redhead, comes in with her eyes on the floor, breaking the spell.

  Chapter Three

  Dove

  The House of Rapture is more than one house, of course, and now that we’ve picked the fresh flowers for the day it’s time to do the cleaning.

  Leader Michael’s house is the biggest building, in the center. I save that for last. There are twenty other cabins arranged in a loose circle, all of them facing his house like sunflowers searching for the sun.

  It’s my job—and Robin and Charlotte’s, too—to keep all of them in pristine condition. Mostly that means scrubbing the floors and the wood, getting splinters as we go. Fresh flowers are one of the only good things about the job, so we make sure to replenish them frequently.

  Dead flowers are an affront against the Lord. That’s what Leader Michael says, but I’m not so sure he’s right. He also says the Lord gives everything a time and place, which would seem to include a time for flowers to die and go back to the earth. But it’s not up to me to puzzle out those things.

  It’s only up to me to keep the houses clean for the members.

  Especially for Leader Michael.

  My hands shake a little while I go through the long list of tasks.

  I always start in the tiny kitchen area of each cabin. Most of the members take the commandment to maintain cleanliness seriously. Besides, they have daughters to order around so there aren’t usually dishes in the sink. But if there are, I wash them. Then I wipe down the entire kitchen with vinegar until the stainless steel shines. I dust every available surface where the grime of the physical world might have settled. I spray the windows and scrub off any smudges, and I shake out the rugs. Then I sweep.

  It might not seem like exciting work, but it gives me plenty of time to think.

  Maybe too much time.

  I try to keep my mind on Leader Michael’s wisdom while I work.

  There is a certain satisfaction in that last flick of the broom—the flick that sends all the dirt back out into the world and away from the holy members of the House of Rapture. There are worse jobs. Like being on a construction crew, all day in the hot sun. Like—

  No, I can’t. I can’t even think his name inside my head.

  If I start, I’ll never stop. The Lord would not be pleased if I spent the rest of my mortal life thinking about a big, sweaty man who works road construction and calls me little girl.

  That’s it—that’s the last time I’ll think of him, I promise.

  I will not replay our conversation one more time in my mind, wishing that it had lasted longer. I will not imagine what it would feel like for a man like that to put his enormous hands on me. He has to be strong, to do the kind of work he does.

  Now I’m done. No more impure thoughts about him. I fix my mind on the infinite grace of the Lord and Leader Michael.

  I only slip up a few more times. I have a sinner’s mind, and it’s more...persistent, now that I’ve met Jake. When all my assigned cabins are clean, I go to Leader Michael’s house in the center. Robin’s jealous of this assignment. She didn’t hide her glare when Leader Michael assigned it to me. It used to be her assignment, until he changed it.

  His house is the biggest, and the nicest. And he has air conditioning.

  I go in through the front door and stand in the quiet of the foyer, letting the cool air soothe my skin. My face has been burning since I first saw that construction worker this morning. Nothing has ever felt so good as the chilled air on my heated cheeks.

  The lists of tasks for Leader Michael’s house is the same as everyone else’s, only there’s more to do. He has more things than anyone else in the cult--a bigger kitchen and more furniture. A big leather couch that has to be oiled every day. A TV that has to be dusted oh so carefully. As long as I’m alone, I won’t argue with more time in the air conditioning.

  I’m working my feather duster carefully over a row of polished rock figurines on the fireplace mantel when the wooden floor creaks behind me.

  A gasp crawls up my throat and I turn, heart pounding.

  Of course it’s only Leader Michael. Who else would it be? He stands in the wide doorway to the living room with both hands raised. His eyes have gone soft with that benevolent understanding he so often gives me, the kind that acknowledges my sins but loves me anyway. I’m not sure if I believe it. My body doesn’t care if I believe it or not—my heart beats hard in my chest in a steady rhythm of run, run, run.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He has a smooth voice. So unlike other voices I’ve heard today, all gravelly and harsh. “Are you working hard for the Lord today, Dove?”

  “Yes, Leader Michael.”

  He comes toward me, opening his hands wide. I stand perfectly still. My pulse is a jagged warning at the side of my neck. Is this when he finally hugs me? When he gives me the formal notice that I’m going to be his bride?

  Just before he reaches me, Leader Michael drops one hand to his side and strokes the other over my hair. He makes a sound in his throat and strokes again, this time working his fingers into the strands. “My little Dove,” he murmurs. “Such a good girl. You didn’t deserve to be frightened by me. It comes from the Devil, that fear. We have to scare him away. A warning. A gentle warning, just like you need.” His eyes trace a lingering path over my face and I have the strongest urge to lurch away. Instead I close my eyes and say a quick, silent prayer.

  Lord, please show me how to accept this from Leader Michael without wanting to run away or puke. Okay—maybe that was too candid. I know it would be an honor if he chose me as his bride. Help me be excited about that. Please. Amen.

  “I’ll pay more attention to my surroundings, Leader Michael.” My throat has gone dry and my voice has taken on a rasp. “I was so caught up in my cleaning. I want to do the best job for you.”

  His fingertips glide under my chin and he tilts my face up so I have to meet his eyes. Dark eyes, beneath a head of salt-and-pepper hair, treading mo
re strongly toward salt every day. He’s a lot older than me. That makes it even more of an honor to marry him. He has all the wisdom.

  “As you should, Dove. As you should. It’s only the devil working inside you, trying to make you afraid in such a holy house.” He gives a soft laugh. “Afraid of me. Can you imagine?”

  I cast my gaze downward. “I’ll fight the devil inside me, Leader Michael. I’ll do better.”

  He rubs his thumb lightly over my lips, back and forth, back and forth. It’s like he’s measuring the words I’ve spoken by how they feel against his skin. “Have you finished your work?”

  I do a quick tally of the tasks on the list. “Yes, I have.” A strange pressure fills my lungs. We’re alone in the house, and it’s different from being alone with the construction worker earlier. That was a sin, but it felt right. This isn’t a sin, but it feels wrong. I have to work to keep breathing.

  When I’m done with my tasks for the day, I’m allowed to go upstairs to my room. So why am I so afraid that Leader Michael might not let me? “I was about to go upstairs for prayers.”

  He pushes his thumb into my mouth, and I freeze. “You’re a perfect reflection of our spirit in the House of Rapture, Dove. A shining example.”

  Thank you, Leader Michael. That’s what I should say, except his thumb is in my mouth. It’s keeping me from saying anything, from moving. Even breathing feels impossible with this violation. No, it’s not a violation, I remind myself. Anything Leader Michael does is through the Lord. Even the harsh metal flavor of him that drifts over my tongue.

  Finally he removes his thumb and steps back.

  “Thank you.” I force on a smile and dip my head so he won’t see the tears.

  Then I force myself to walk to the staircase with measured steps. I hang up my feather duster in the narrow closet beneath the stairs. I make my way up to my room, which is the second door on the left at the end of the long hallway.

  My door doesn’t have a lock, but I shut it tight behind me anyway.

  All the poise goes out of me and I sag against the closed door, all the heat from earlier in the day rushing back into my feet. The terrible truth—and one I can only admit in the privacy of my own room—is that I’m just not....curious about Leader Michael. I have to obey him because he’s an instrument of the Lord, that’s what he says. I just don’t wonder what he would be like as a husband. As a man I would climb into bed with me every night.

  Robin described it to us once, what she saw in the barn between Discipline James and his wife. The way she knelt in the hay and he climbed behind her. The way he kept slamming his body into hers until she made sounds so loud and scary. The way he pulled away and sprayed something white and liquid all over her dress and hair.

  God help me, I wonder what the construction worker would be like.

  Jake. It’s a relief just to give in and think his name.

  His rough voice still teases me, even though I’m doing my best not to think of it. We only exchanged a few words. That was enough to light a burning curiosity in me. A curiosity that has to be as sinful as desire. Worse, even. I should get on my knees right now and pray to God to take these feelings away so that I can please him. So that I can be good.

  Yes. That’s what I should do.

  I fall to my knees at the side of my bed, the skirt of my dress floating down to hide my legs. And I try, I try, to keep my hands clasped tight together. But my body wants something else. It needs something else. I wonder what it would be like if Jake knelt behind me, if he pushed his body against mine again and again, if he sprayed that white liquid on my hair.

  I squeeze my eyes shut tight and slide my knees just far enough to fit my hand between my legs. I don’t have to ask Leader Michael to know that this is forbidden, but I can’t help it. Something in me cries out for this, and it’s so simple to slide my hand beneath my skirt and work my fingers into the waistband of my panties. Two fingers against the tight bundle of nerves that needs and throbs and sins.

  “Forgive me,” I whisper through gritted teeth. Forgive me for doing this in my room at Leader Michael’s house. Forgive me for the awful, dirty sin. And forgive me for the scene that plays out in my imagination. The construction worker behind me, thrusting hard, holding me down.

  Chapter Four

  Jake

  The next day, I give in to one thing and one thing only—keeping my eye on the gate.

  The House of Rapture cult has a gate in the woods, set back a bit from the edge of the trees. The wood frame looks natural in the forest unless you know what it’s for. I guess it’s to remind cult members that they’re venturing out into the non-cult world and not much else. It doesn’t lock, far as I can tell, and I’ve been staring at it all damn morning waiting for those girls to come back and pick flowers.

  The morning goes by, and they don’t come out.

  I can’t waste time moping around and being disappointed. It’s a fucking weird sensation, anyway. Why would I be disappointed that a cute little piece of jailbait isn’t across the highway? I shouldn’t. She’s a ticket back to prison if I’ve ever seen one, no matter how old she is. What the hell is wrong with me that I’d even think about it? It’s not a real choice.

  Just because I want something doesn’t mean I can have it. That’s been true all my life. Nothing about yesterday changed that. Not even her pretty ankles in that white dress of hers. Not even all my bullshit fantasizing about stripping that dress off her and seeing what’s underneath. I press a knuckle to my teeth and banish that thought from my head. That’s just a good way to get Brad and Greg killed with a backhoe. It would be an unforgettable headline—Ex-con Daydreaming About Cult Girl Kills Coworkers. That shit would happen to me.

  They don’t come out, but I keep looking anyway. For safety reasons. Gotta make sure those cult members don’t run across the highway and throw themselves into the path of my equipment.

  Shouting from outside gets my attention, and I realize I’ve been sitting frozen behind the wheel of the backhoe, my hand hovering over the gear shift.

  “Hey, asshole,” Brad calls. “

  We finish pulling up the old concrete and tossing it into the back of an oversized dump truck. Brad and Greg give me shit about my peanut butter sandwich. I rib Brad about his mom. I think about the girl in the white dress and her basket of flowers every fucking second. It’s not right that picking flowers could have been that hot. Not fair to me when I have to keep myself in line.

  Finally, when the sun is high in the sky, Greg calls for a fifteen-minute break. We park our equipment in a row in the parking lot, and the guys sit down at the picnic table. I take a chance on the rest area. She’s not there, but a vending machine is, so I splurge on a soda and crack it open on my way back out. There’s an oak tree that will do the job.

  I’ve just leaned against the tree when I see her.

  It’s impossible to miss those girls with all that white and her especially with her fall of blonde hair down her back. The world is nothing but a spotlight for her. She has to know that. Still, she’s...sneaking. Opening the gate with delicate, furtive movements. The curve of her mouth is guilty as hell and nervous. It puts a smile on my face. One of those cult girls, looking for trouble.

  Looking for me.

  She scans the rest area with her huge blue eyes, looking. They go wide and relieved when she sees me. I don’t so much as straighten up. If anyone witnesses this, they’re going to know she came to me and not the other way around. The sun cascades over blonde hair while she looks both ways at the edge of the highway. I swallow down the urge to go and escort her across, like she’s a little kid. But I stay in my spot.

  Once she’s across she straightens up, shoulders back. I’ve never seen anyone so shy and so determined at the same time. She keeps her eyes locked on me while she picks her way across the edge of the parking lot and the fresh mown grass that separates us. Careful, but not timid. Not exactly.

  She joins me under the oak tree with a little wave. “Hey.
”

  I take a long drink of soda. “Hey, little girl.” The breeze kicks up and I get a breath tinged with her sunshine and clean cotton scent. “Where are your friends?”

  “I came by myself today.” Her eyes dart down to her shoes but she brings them back up to mine with a little effort. “I wanted to ask you about something.”

  “Shoot.” The soda is almost gone, but if I put down the can I’ll lose control completely. Best to keep it pressed into my palm. “I’ve got a couple more minutes on break.”

  “I was thinking about what you said yesterday. About going to Washington and Texas.” She licks her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue. “I thought you could take me.”

  “Take you where?” Damn, I sound composed for a guy living through this moment right now. Take me could have a thousand different meanings. I can think of two of them right now. One of them doesn’t mean anything good for this innocent little thing.

  “Illinois.” She folds her hands in front of her, probably some move they taught her in the cult. I want to pin her arms out to the sides and fuck her senseless. Doubt that was the effect she’s going for, but you never know. “Or anywhere.”

  Anywhere, anywhere. Would I go anywhere with this girl. Fuck, yes. If there weren’t other circumstances to consider. Like the fact that I’d be behind bars before we crossed the border. Paranoia scratches down the back of my neck and I shoot a look at the wooden gate in the woods. No hint of anybody there. Not a shadow out of place. Nobody’s watching us for the moment.

  I drink the last of the soda. It’s gone now, and I have to say something, because she’s looking at me with such an undeserved hope that it pins me back against the tree.

  “I don’t think your parents would approve of that,” I manage finally.

  “I told you, I’m not a little girl.”

  “What are you--eighteen? Nineteen?”

  “I’m twenty,” she says, looking so adorable I want to eat her up. That’s me, the big bad wolf. She’s the little girl in the red riding hood and a basket. Twenty means I wouldn’t go to jail for fucking her. Unless the House of Rapture decides to fucking go after me.