She stiffens, her sobs increasing until it sounds like she’s hyperventilating, and from my viewpoint, I can’t see what he’s doing, but the sound cuts off abruptly.
Shepherd turns, his hand on the back of her neck, and pushes her forward, presenting her to us with a macabre smile.
“This, ladies and gentlemen, this will be our downfall. This whore went against the word of God, went against me, and now she will pay the ultimate price. Kneel, whore,” he screams, spittle flying from his mouth.
My mind can’t compute what’s happening and I immediately search out Cole, unable to believe that he would allow this to happen, but he’s clutching Marie to his side, his rigid back the only sign of his distress.
“Madge, take Susan. Take her to the room. That’s right, ladies and gentlemen. Susan will take a timeout, a timeout to realize that what she has done is wrong. To repent for the error of her ways. To allow God to come into her life and save her.”
Madge, the older woman who took a shine to Enzo and asked me about him at dinner when we first came, appears from the side door and leads the eerily quiet Susan toward another door closer to the exit.
It’s utterly fucking silent as we watch Madge take her away before Shepherd turns back to us and smiles. My back turns to a block of ice and I hide my trembling hands cold in the sweltering room under my legs while I stare at the fucking fanatical psychopath before me.
His eyes shine brightly as they flow across the room, surveying our reactions.
I can’t tell whether people are scared or enamored because the crowd has the best damn set of poker faces I’ve ever seen. I’m hoping to fly under the radar, but Shepherd’s eyes land right on me, and I mentally shrink. But I’ve never backed down from a fight. It may be the death of me, but I refuse to show weakness to this fuckface.
“Lola,” his voice rings out, and from the corner of my eye, I see Cole’s head shoot up.
Since I don’t want to cause problems for anyone but me, I keep my gaze on Shepherd’s and say as calmly as possible, “Yes, Shepherd.”
Meanwhile, I feel like I might have shit my pants and part of me wants to look at my chair to prove myself wrong. My heart is beating so painfully in my chest that I can feel the pulse fluttering in my neck. To be clear, I’ve felt fear before in many situations, but this is a whole new level of evil, and my throat is fucking tight with terror at the possibilities.
What happens behind those closed doors?
“Do you have a problem with the ways of God, Lola?” he asks, swiveling his head, reminiscent of a fucking monster in a horror flick. All he needs to do is wag his finger in my face and say, uh-uh-uh, to make the image complete.
I have to clear my throat twice before I can say in a dry whisper, “No, Shepherd.”
He smiles, the fanatical light in his eyes dimming and he stares at me so fucking long, I drop my gaze before he says conversationally, “You know, once upon a time, having a mental illness was considered a mark of the devil.”
Okay. I search for an answer to his abrupt change before it becomes clear. His comments are surely in direct relation to my anxiety attack from the day before. But what’s he trying to say? Am I now on his shit list for having a fucking physiological reaction to stress?
My pulse is still fluttering wildly in my neck, and I clench my hands against the tremors, raising my chin even though I have the distinct urge to cower away from this maniac.
“That’s right, hallucinations, delusions, were signs that the devil was trying to speak through you. A shame, really as he has eyes and ears all around us. But don’t worry, flock, I am always watching and always waiting to tear down the devil even as he slithers his way into our homes.”
I lose track of what he’s saying after that, slumping when his focus moves from me to his usual ramblings. Still, it takes a good fifteen minutes before my pulse slows down, and the sweat under my armpits dries into a cold, uncomfortable reminder of how close I came to I don’t even know what.
As soon as the sermon ends, I stand up and push my way through the crowd, ignoring the displeased stares as I escape out the door and breathe in the cool morning air. April is upon us, and the chilly mornings are complemented by moderately warm days, which is a nice contrast to the snow of the past several months.
I’m so fucking rattled that I can’t bring myself to eat with all the fucking people who sat there and watched this unfold. Instead, I walk quickly back toward my room and shove myself inside before locking the door behind me and leaning against it.
What the hell did we walk into? Who are these people? Sliding to the floor, with a sinking sensation in my stomach, I fight the terrible sense of aloneness I feel because, at this point, I’m afraid to even speak to Enzo, worried this might paint a target on his back. We’re not safe here, none of us, but how many of “us” realize it?
Disoriented, I sit up in bed and glance around tiredly before slipping out of it when someone starts pounding on the door. My watch reads two in the morning, and I know that whatever is on the other side is not good news.
This is why I pull on my pants and slip on my boots along the way before stopping at the door cautiously. I can hardly ignore it, but I’m fucking terrified of what’s on the other side. And with my heart slamming in my chest, I stand on tippy toes and glance through the peephole.
Unfortunately, all I can see is a dark shape, but I know it’s not zombies because they don’t knock. At least they didn’t the last time I checked.
“Fuck,” I whisper, jumping when the pounding on the door starts up again.
With a deep breath, I swing it wide to find David standing on the other side with his fist still raised, which he drops as soon as he sees me. David is the one who came and found us at Sam’s Club and brought us back here, and I’m starting to wish I’d never met the man.
He eyes me grimly before brushing past me with Madge on his heels, previously unnoticed, and I watch them stalk by me with a small smile because whatever they’re here for, I can’t let my hysteria bleed through. Still, underneath my placid expression, terror is pulsing through me so heavily, I’m afraid I might puke. Nothing good can come of this. Nothing.
“David, Madge,” I manage to choke out through my tight throat, “Is everything okay?”