“What do you mean, you spoke to God?” I couldn’t follow anything he was saying, and not just because he spoke with a crazed inflection.
He stood and gripped my arm, a too-bright light in his dark eyes. “You’ll see, son. All these men—” I cast a glance to the yard and found two-dozen men assembled there in the now-pouring rain, listening intently to my father “—they know the truth of my revelation. They’re coming with us. We leave tonight.”
Lightning flashed, the thunder coming a few seconds later.
“Dad.” I shook my head. “There’s school. I have homework. Noah just learned how to read. We can’t—”
His face hardened, and my skin crawled. “We can, and we will. We are here to do the will of God.”
“I thought that was what you were doing? You’re the preacher, so—”
“No!” He shook his head so hard his neck popped. “I am leading a pack of heathens who have lost God’s favor. We will build a new Eden, a new church, a new safe haven for believers.” He leaned closer, so close that I couldn’t see his eyes, which set the hairs on my arm standing on end. “And I know this because of my vision. Not only did God come to me, so did the Father of Fire.” His whisper ended in a triumphant note.
“The devil? I don’t know what you’re talking—”
“You don’t have to know, son.” He stood straight up again, the fervor still coursing through him like a high electric current. “You just have to follow me, your father, your Prophet. Believe in me, and you will live in paradise on earth and in heaven. It has all been shown to me. You’ll see. All of you will see.” Turning to the men on the lawn, he motioned them to come inside.
They walked past us, filling our home with low voices as Noah and I stood on the porch—me, dumbfounded and Noah, lost.
“What’s wrong with Daddy?” He took my hand, his little one cold and clammy.
“I don’t know. Maybe Mom can talk some sense into him.”
Noah’s chin trembled. “I don’t want Mommy to talk to him. He…”
“I know.” I squeezed his hand. He didn’t have to say it. Whenever Mom got too “mouthy” as Dad called it, there were consequences.
“You’re still bleeding,” he offered, his eyes downcast.
My father hadn’t even seemed to notice the blood on my chin.
I turned and stared down the street at the direction Brody had gone. It was as if he’d walked away and taken “normal” with him, a cape attached to his back, fluttering in the rain with a somber wave goodbye. Because nothing would be normal. That time had come to an end, right along with my childhood.
Both Brody and “normal” were gone. I never saw either of them again.
Chapter 22
Delilah
Sarah walks into the training room, the bruising on her face a mottled blue and purple. She doesn’t look me in the eye, even though I’m silently pleading with her to keep her chin up.
She climbs up on the nearest table, assumes the position on all fours, and waits for Abigail to hook up the inevitable enema.
I edge closer to Sarah as the other Maidens follow a Spinner toward the wall of pain as she explains the intricacies of various nipple clamps.
“Are you all right?” I keep my voice low, but the running water nearby helps muffle the sound.
“No.” She hangs her head. “No, I’m not. First, I got pissed on, and then last night—” The word cracks as she spits it out.
I swallow, my mouth dry. “What happened?”
“What did it sound like?” She finally meets my gaze, her left eye bloodshot, the center of a ruined flower.
I clamp my teeth together to keep my lip from trembling.
“You know, he made me suck his cock for the past few days. And, I didn’t want to, but I can disconnect. I can go somewhere else.” She shrugs. “I don’t have to be there, on my knees, getting my face fucked by a smelly beast. I can close my eyes and go wherever I want. But last night—” Her voice doesn’t crack this time; it shatters.
Abigail flips off the water and steps over to Sarah’s backside. “Lord almighty, what a mess.” She mumbles angrily under her breath and doesn’t seem to notice that I’m speaking to Sarah out of turn. Placing a bedpan under her, Abigail squeezes a sponge of what I hope is warm water.
Sarah flinches, and the water that pours off her body is tinged pink.
“Too rough.” Abigail keeps mumbling. “Supposed to be training them, not injuring them.”
“Everything’s going to be okay.” I stroke Sarah’s hair, a movement as forbidden as it is natural.
“No, it’s not.” She winces as Abigail makes another pass. “Not until…”
She doesn’t have to finish her thought. It’s not safe to finish it, anyway. She won’t be okay until she’s gone from here, free of the Cloister.