The Tens: A captivating psychological thriller about a cult

by Vanessa Jones

  They were at the fire's edge before Sophie recovered from the momentary shock and realised what was about to happen. The warmth on her face peeled her eyes open and washed away the grogginess, yet her legs stilled remained comatose, so Clive had to drag her, the side of her hip grinding on the dirt. Sophie screamed and contorted herself away from his hand but it was futile without the use of her legs. Clive plunged her forearm into the fire and the pain radiated up through Sophie's chest and cheeks and rendered her silent. She felt as if her lungs had emptied themselves never to stretch to fullness again and her voice box had withered in an instant. She couldn't see, her blindness was fuelled by searing agony.

  Clive pulled back her arm and discarded it aside in the dirt, leaving Sophie gasping for air, her lips pressed into the dirt and bark, uncaring what fell into her mouth.

  As she ebbed in and out of fainting, Sophie tried hard to stay awake and keep her eyes on something around her, purely for survival. Confusion swam at her and it appeared as if the whole place was lit up, like a UFO had targeted the spot and washed everything in its white light. She could see everyone's face under the white light but she didn't remember even turning her head to look. She could still taste the dirt. Every inhale stuffed her nostrils with more and more sand. There was a flash of white and then the feeling drained from her arm and she, once again, surrendered to darkness.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  Sophie awoke in the dark, back in the tent on the unforgiving bed. A headache held her hostage and her teeth chattered like a battered typewriter. Each chatter hurt her wincing jaw and rattled her eyeballs, feeling gritty against an invisible sandpit. She peeled her eyelids apart and scanned the interior of the tent where she lay. The small movement of scanning the room made her whole body shudder with pain. It felt as if she was locked in a suit of iron that was clamping down and tightening on her. As the tent flaps opened she was reminded about the bright flash and the torture of having her arm burnt. 'My arm,' Sophie tried to whisper at Everley, who ushered in cradling a basket of items.

  'It's just temporary. I'll attend to it,' and methodically she unpacked the items from the basket: a small jar, some bandages, a bottle of yellow liquid, a small bottle of Whisky and a small tinder box. Everley sighed and placed her hands on the bed, looking up at Sophie after she had lined all her bottles up. 'Sophie, this is going to be unpleasant but I promise you, with all that I can promise you, that you will feel miraculous for it.'

  Sophie willed an ounce of relief out of Everley but it didn't come. 'What exactly are you going to do? And, once again, for the hundredth time, shouldn't you be getting me a doctor? Your backyard witchery shit is not going to even dent the crime, because that's what it is, I'll remind you. A crime that you all committed as you stood on and watched!'

  'Please settle down. There's no point getting yourself into a state. There is more at play here than you can see from your vantage point. And in time, it will all make sense.'

  'If there's ever a time where someone grabbing my arm and shoving it into a fire to give me third-degree burns makes sense to me, I should have my head read.' Pain stopped her from spewing any more anger as Everley grabbed at her burnt arm. Sourness forced its way up to her mouth and she opened it, salivating wildly down her face. Her eyes burned with tears and she searched for Everley's eyes, hoping if she could witness Sophie's tremendous pain, that she would somehow realise how much trouble she was in and seek medical help.

  Everley held her gaze like she was watching a road, her eyelids dropping in heavy, unfazed blinks. Everley pulled back Sophie's blankets and she felt the cool air swim around her chest, as she tried to look down at herself to see she had no top on. But really, she was angling for a view of her arm. She couldn't imagine what it looked like as she'd never seen a severe burn. The pain was so great, so intense and nullifying that she wasn't even sure that she still had an arm attached and she refused to move her fingers to test.

  'Righto, drink this.' Everley held out the whiskey bottle to Sophie, whilst keeping her eyes on the injury. Sophie clutched at the bottle with her working arm, which was half trapped underneath her torso and pushed her mouth towards it. Gasping, she gurgled as much back as she could before her throat begged for a break. She felt drips of whiskey hit her chin and chest and wished she could lick them off herself as if they were the answer to all the pain relief left in the world.

  'Alright, settle down,' Everley yanked back the bottle, not letting Sophie finish it. 'And here, drink this also.' She lifted an old milk bottle filled with syrupy blonde liquid, which slanted in the neck of the bottle with each movement.

  'What is it?' Sophie could smell something rancid escaping from the neck of the bottle; like sour milk and metal.

  Everley looked like she was already fed up with Sophie and the treatment had not even begun. She hit a sigh hard. 'It's a remedy we make. It will numb your body and will dull the pain enough for you to get back to your senses.'

  'What's in it? Just give me more whiskey. And surely you have some fucking codeine or something?' The alcohol had eased her headache and sent the slightest buzz through her skin but with the courageousness of whiskey Sophie's voice catapulted a little louder.

  'Honestly, this stuff is better than codeine or booze. Really, I don't care if you don't have it but you best stay still when I apply the treatment,' Everley said pointedly.

  'Bullshit! What treatment do you think you're putting on my arm? You should be getting me to a burns unit!'

  'Sophie. Relax. The treatment will have your arm repaired by the time you wake up tomorrow. That is not an exaggeration. My advice, because I actually know what I'm doing, believe it or not, is to drink some of the elixir and shut up. And then I'll give you more whiskey.'

  Sophie, without much to lose, was frantic for more whiskey to help ease the dazzling agony that shot from her elbow to the centre of her chest. 'Fine. But please assure me that this isn't poisonous and won't kill me?'

  'It's not going to do either of those things. You've had it before anyway. You just didn't know it.'

  'Is this the shit that's been put in my tea that has paralysed me?'

  'Yes. A modification of, anyway. This is a special batch that is made for strong pain relief. It works. Trust me.'

  'Why in the fuck would I trust a snake like you? You're all a bunch of poisoners!' Sophie spat at her.

  Everley went to grab Sophie's arm to squeeze a little more sense into her but she stopped. Yanking her sleeve toward her elbow, she shoved the underside of her arm a few inches from Sophie's face. 'There. That's why you should trust me. You want the pain gone? Drink it. You want it healed quicker than you can believe? Let me do my thing.'

  Sophie looked at the bubbled lilac flesh where Everley had been burned. It had puckered into a small circle and lacked the anger that should have been there. 'Will I get paralysed?'

  'Yes. For a short time. It wears off after a few days. Sophie, we're definitely not going to kill you if that's what you're worried about. You're far too valuable to us. You'll see.'

  'I don't know what any of that means but I really, really just want the pain to end now.'

  'Good girl.'

  Everley lifted the bottle of yellow goop to her mouth and started to pour, Sophie took a tiny sip that barely covered her tongue and waited.

  'You'll need a little more than that. Have three big gulps and wait.' Sophie followed her instructions nervously and shut her eyes tight and waited, praying to nothing that she would be okay and that someone would find her soon.

  Before she even finished her prayer, her body started to slacken and her mouth lost its grip. Like being washed in the shallows, the pain, the muscle tension, the headache... it all just left her body and was superseded with relief. The agony had been so damming that the reprieve was as sweet as the morning sun. Endorphins shot through her, making her feel invincible. Until she remembered that she couldn't move anything but her head. She tried to mumble something at Everley but her lips were wonky so sh
e gave in to the sweet freedom while Everley worked away at her arm, concentrating hard and carefully selecting items from her basket.

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  Sophie slept through the night like she was on a tropical paradise vacation and all the stress had left her body. When she awoke the next morning, she held her breath as she waited for the pain to rush back in.

  But the pain never came. She could move her arms slightly, even with stilted joints. Her legs, however, were as lifeless as the dead birds by the door that awaited Sophie back at her home. She jiggled out of the blankets, eager to look at her injury. The blanket fell away and she looked at both arms with confusion. Her injured forearm was covered in a slimy clear film, shining like plastic. And underneath was the tiniest small star-shaped etching, the size of a gumnut. It was pink, like the raw skin of a dog nose. But there was no anger to it. No trauma, no peeling flesh. Barely any hint of burn at all. Whatever Everley had done, had worked. It had worked so well, in fact, that Sophie doubted she was even awake and stuck in some kind of bliss dream that would end all too soon. She summoned her limp fingers to pinch at her face to wake her from her spell but they did nothing but grab at her grimy face and slip off. Sophie felt her fingers on her cheek like she did any other day.

  Someone had put a jumper on her and she looked to the ground to see the bottle of whiskey empty, tipped over, the neck hovering over a dark wet patch.

  As she was scanning the ground, Everley appeared. 'You're awake. How's the arm?'

  ‘It’s… fine actually. How did you do that?’

  ‘We have our ways.’

  ‘What happened to Abigail? Can you send her in to me?' Sophie was more troubled by the Abigail disturbance than her own incident.

  'Abigail is being punished. As she should be,' Everley rolled her eyes.

  'Punished for what?'

  'You saw that pitiful display last night. She's barely one of us. Show me your arm.' Everley cuffed Sophie's wrist with her thumb and forefinger and slid it towards her. 'Well. That has cleared up astoundingly well, wouldn't you say so? No pain, I'm assuming.' She cocked an eyebrow at Sophie.

  'No pain,' she said reluctantly.

  Everley went and collected Clive to show him her handiwork and together they inspected the small remnants of the burn. 'Now, Sophie, you simply must forgive me for my actions. It may have seemed cruel, I know, but it was a necessary part of a bigger picture. Of a test that we all must go through. You especially,' Clive stretched his trademark smile at her.

  Sophie spat in his face. Nonchalantly, he wiped his face and continued to smile. 'Has it not healed spectacularly? We needed to do this Sophie. It's part of a process.'

  'What process? Keeping me here, drugging me and burning me is not some process. It's a series of crimes that you need to wake up from your delusion about and get me the fuck out of here.'

  'Oh contraire, Sophie. You trespassed on private property, quite inebriated one might add, and must have somehow fallen into an open fire stumbling around. You're lucky you didn't get mistaken for a wild animal that could be shot.' And through all the smiles, the warmth and the welcoming act that Clive had been committed to since Sophie met him, his poisonous insides mushroomed.

  Despite his stuck grin, Sophie could see the flecks of gold in his eyes were never there, they were flecks of snake scales. With all her reserves, Sophie reigned herself in and set her face serenely as possible. 'Look, I'm really not interested in getting you in trouble. I'm just looking for my husband. You have my word that if you take me home, I'll never utter a word of this place to anyone. Least not the police.' Sophie pressed her lips together and nodded, in what she hoped was an earnest display of truth. He laughed venomously and left her alone in her tent.

  A short time later, amid Sophie’s pangs of hunger and as her head whirred over what had happened, Clive shuffled inside the tent and looked at Sophie sheepishly. He hung his head, grasping one wrist with his other hand and wiped the top of his bare foot with the other in nervousness. 'Listen Soph, our angel, I want to apologise. I haven't been acting right towards you. I've meditated over it and I came to see that I was letting my worry about you and distress over your own anguish come out as anger, as pettiness. I want you to know that I've atoned and I will no longer be treating you this way. You don't deserve it and it really has nothing to do with you. I especially want you to know that you are most welcome here. I hope you'll forgive me.' He hung his head even lower waiting for a response.

  'What is this atoning that you have done?' The power had shifted and Sophie felt like she was about to gain back some control.

  'The punishment is decided by the Tarot. I was dealt the ten of cups so I drank ten cups of copper water.'

  'Excuse me, the Tarot? As in playing cards? They decide how you make up for something? How does a little bit of cardboard dictate how you make up for poisoning and burning someone?'

  'I know it may sound absurd to a newcomer but we have much trust in mystical ways and the Tarot does not let us down. If you see that there's a better fitting punishment for the way I have treated you I will accept it now.'

  Sophie scanned her mind for something to torture him with. Surely, she could summon something better than a pack of cards could. 'Simple. Let me go.'

  'That is out of my control. A more personal punishment, perhaps?'

  'Curious, what would happen if you drew a pentacles card?'

  'Give away my money.'

  'I see. And wands?'

  'A spell would be cast upon me.' Clive looked worried.

  'Swords?'

  'Stabbed,' he mumbled at her.

  'I'd say you got off lightly then, didn't you?' Sophie was relishing in the new change of power dynamic. Did she have it in her to order him to be stabbed? Would she have to do the stabbing? Could she?

  Sophie watched as Clive's legs wobbled and he crumpled to his knees.

  'Please. Do not humiliate me any further. You think I am not humiliated enough living an existence that is unconventional? You think I don't feel like an idiot standing up in front of people and channelling a voice from another planet? On paper that's textbook lunacy. You think I didn't want for a life where I was happy being an accountant in my one-bedroom home, saving most of my wage for children that I would never have? Well, strangely I did. I was oddly content. And many parts of me still wish to this day that I could go back to that life now and be just as content. I did not choose to follow this path and accept these beliefs; they were part of my DNA before I was ever born and fighting them are futile.

  No one, outside of this group, applauds you for following the unbeaten track. The rewards that we flog ourselves for daily are not seen in our everyday lives. We do not have yearly family vacations to celebrate all our hard work. Our rewards come at the end. Perhaps near, although we have no real way of knowing, outside of gut feelings and our faith. If you seek to humiliate me then please know that it has already been done enough for three lifetimes and your efforts will be in vain.'

  Sophie could tell that he was right. Not knowing if it was her utter exhaustion or Clive's impassioned declaration and the first time she had seen him truly vulnerable, something within her softened. Seeing him weakened to his knees made her choke on pity and when pity rushes in, there is no room for anger. She found herself saying. 'I just don't understand why you act like you hate me? I don't want to be here anymore than you want me here. And yet, it seems as though you won't help me to get back home?'

  'I know, I know it seems that way!' He pleaded with her, grabbing her hand and pressing it to his forehead, like she was some Ancient Egyptian goddess. 'But believe me, we're just trying to make sure you are okay and healthy. We don't have a car to transport you back to the city and we can't risk you going to hospital or the police with traces of our special tea in your blood. It should be gone by tomorrow and then, I promise, we will walk you to the road and help you get a lift back home. I promise Sophie.' He lifted his eyes which had changed to the colour of cinnamon do
nuts and stared at her. She watched his eyelashes dart up and down for a bit while she thought.

  'I want to go home, Clive. I have no interest in going to a hospital really. They will likely section me and I just don't think I need that right now. It will make me worse and it will prevent me from searching for Alex.'

  'Good, good,' he nodded with relief. He stood up to leave but as an afterthought, he turned back to her, 'Sophie, do you think that since you have been here, you've been feeling... better?' He pointed to his head as he said this.