by Kate L. Mary
I look around, my head spinning with every move I make, and work hard to concentrate on my surroundings. Focusing on the furniture around me so I can figure out if the knife might have slid under something. There’s room under the desk, so I twist my body until I’m lying on my stomach and peer under it. The edges of my vision seem to get darker with each throb of my head, and I have to open and close my eyes a few times before I can get them to focus.
When they do, I spot the knife.
I crawl forward, and my bad hand throbs, reminding me that my head and the bald patch on my scalp aren’t my only injuries. I pause just long enough to see that the bandage we so carefully wrapped around my palm is now saturated in blood. I ignore it and pull myself under the desk.
When I reach out with my good hand, the tip of my fingers brush the knife’s handle, but it’s just out of my reach. I pull myself closer, pressing my face against the floor so I can get most of my body under. Almost there. I just need to stretch my arm a little more.
My fingers wrap around the handle just as a hand grabs my ankle and pulls me back.
I scream in frustration and fear and pain, kicking my leg back as I do, but all I hit is air. Then Father David flips me onto my back. He stares down at me, panting so hard his shoulders fall with every breath he lets out. The knife is still in my hand, which is shaking, and when his gaze moves to it, he gives me the plastic smile I’ve come to hate so much.
“What are you going to do with that?” he asks, lifting his eyebrows to tell me how foolish he thinks I am. How powerless. How stupid and useless and weak.
I’m so sick of men looking at me like this I could scream, but I grit my teeth and bite back the cry I desperately want to let out, refusing to allow my emotions get the best of me. This man may look at me and see nothing, but I know that’s not what I am. I know I’m strong. I ran once, got away and had a few weeks of happiness in my life, and even after I was brought back, I didn’t give in to the madness of this place. And I refuse to do it now. Refuse to let Father David win.
My palm is moist when I tighten my grip on the blade. I hold my breath, ignoring the pounding in my head and the throbbing in my hand and on my scalp. Pushing aside my panic at the fact that Jared isn’t making a sound. All I do is stare up at Father David, not moving, waiting. Biding my time for the right moment.
It comes when he leans down to grab me. His hands reach for me as he steps forward, moving his right leg closer to the knife, and I strike. The feel of the blade sinking into his fleshy thigh makes my stomach roll, but it’s nothing compared to the blood that spills out, covering the knife and my hand. My head, which was already spinning in circles, twirls faster and faster while the room heats up. It’s like a fire surrounds me, and in seconds, my shirt sticks to my back. Saliva fills my mouth, and I try to swallow it down, but I can’t. Can’t stop it. Can’t push it way.
I puke all over the floor and myself, and then fall back in a heap that’s as useless as Father David believed me to be.
Chapter 22
“Willow?” I open my eyes to find Jared leaning over me, concern etched on his face as he looks me over.
A trail of blood runs from the corner of his mouth down to his chin, and his left eye is swollen and purple. He’s alive, though, something I wasn’t sure of until now, but I have no idea what happened to Father David.
“Say something,” Jared implores.
“I’m okay,” I manage to get out. “I think I may have a concussion.”
“Can you sit up?”
I allow Jared to help me up, not because I’m sure I won’t get sick again, but because I want to find out what’s going on. The room seems to curve in on itself before it straightens, and the lights are much too bright for my taste, but I don’t pass out or throw up again once I’m sitting, so I’m satisfied with that.
The first thing I see is Father David leaning against the wall on the other side of the room. He’s panting and glaring at us. I don’t know why he isn’t fighting back at first, and then I notice his hands are tied behind his back. Under his leg, blood has pooled on the carpet, and I realize I may have cut him much deeper than I intended to. Not that it matters. He isn’t in danger of bleeding to death any time soon, and I’ll fix him up before Jared and I leave.
“It’s over,” Jared says, and I tear my gaze from Father David so I can focus on him. “When you cut him, I was able to get him down, and thankfully he had rope in his office. Although I don’t even want to think about why he has it.”
“That’s probably best.” I reach out to Jared, and he takes my hand. “Help me up.”
He does, and the room only twists a little. Good.
“Are you okay?” he asks, one of his hands still holding mine while the other rests on my back. The pressure is firm and gentle, and nice.
Through all of this, we’ve each gotten more used to him touching me, and even though it’s been a whirlwind of a day, I’m glad. I don’t want to be afraid, not anymore, and I know this man would never hurt me.
“I am,” I say. “I mean, I’m hurt, but there shouldn’t be any permanent damage.”
I reach back and feel the bald spot on my scalp, knowing it may be there forever but also that it could be much, much worse. A clump of missing hair, I can deal with. It’s nothing compared to the thought of losing Jared or being locked away in this hell for the rest of my life.
My gaze moves to Father David, who hasn’t stopped glaring or bleeding. “I should bandage his wound.”
Jared’s eyebrows shoot up, but he doesn’t argue. “What then? What do we do with him once you’ve stopped the bleeding?”
For a moment, we both stare at the man who has controlled our lives for so long.
His skin is pale, and he’s lost most of the authority that usually follows him, as if it’s dripped from his body along with his blood. Still, I know he won’t let us go without a fight, and leaving him here after patching him up would be foolish. If he got free, he’d come after us just like his son. In fact, I have a feeling that as long as he’s here and in charge, Father David will never let us go. Especially me.
I remember reading about the group in Waco while I was on the ranch. They were a cult, much like this one, but there have been others as well. Groups like the Children of David that were built by charismatic leaders who preyed on the weak and lured them into a lie. Not all of them have been involved in illegal activity, but I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that what happens here isn’t okay. I know from my short time in the outside world that fifteen-year-old girls should not be handed over to older men the way they are here. That was part of the reason the compound in Waco was raided. But most of those people were killed during the conflict, and even though I know Jared and I will have to go to the police, I don’t want that to happen here. I can’t imagine allowing the women and girls who’ve already been victimized so much to be mistreated even more. We’ll have to be very careful how we handle things once we leave.
“We’ll take him to the cellar,” I tell Jared simply, leaving the rest of what I’m thinking to myself for the moment. There will be time for us to discuss what needs to happen next.
I rest while he runs up to the hospital wing to get supplies, because my head is pounding. Father David, still leaning against the wall and still bleeding all over the floor, glares at me in silence. I do my best to ignore it, but it isn’t long before the hostility radiating off him gets to me. It’s thick and volatile and feels like a third person in the room, only one who is much bigger and more powerful than both of us combined.
“You should have let me go when I ran away,” I say, even though that isn’t what I want anymore.
Despite the way things turned out for Annabel and Abe or how lonely and horrific the past few years have been, I’m glad I came back. Glad I met Jared, glad I had a chance to find someone who could help me heal.
“God won’t let you get away with this,” is Father David’s only reply.
I sigh because I’m too weary
to have this conversation again. Too exhausted to argue about something we’ll never agree on. Father David is delusional, but he’s determined, and he’s obviously not finished telling me what he thinks.
“What do you think you’ll do out there, Willow? How will you and Brother Jared survive? In here you’re taken care of, looked after. You have a house and food and everything you need, including a husband who will lead you on the right path. The outside world isn’t like that. I know, because I spent most of my life there. I grew up with nothing. With less than nothing. My parents struggled to do what was right, worked and paid taxes, but it was never enough. They lost their house to the bank, and we had to move into a dingy apartment. That’s when my mother started cheating on my father. She’d never shown him much respect, but the way she ran around on him was pathetic.” He spits the last word at me like he’s trying to expel the memory, then leans forward as if trying to close the distance between us. “I watched it all happen, and even as a young boy I knew there had to be more. I was right. God showed that to me when I was nineteen years old. He gave me a vision of this place. Of a life where no one had to struggle and where women obeyed their husbands—”
“Don’t you mean where they cower in fear?” I snap.
Father David just chuckles. “I guess you would see it that way.”
“Just like your wife did. That’s why she killed herself, after all. She took control of the one thing she could and chose to die rather than live another day with you.”
Darkness clouds his vision and he presses his lips together for a moment before saying, “No. It was her time. Ruth was never a strong woman, that was why I chose her, but she served her purpose. Her time had come to an end because you’re supposed to take her place.”
He stops as if realizing that will never happen, or maybe that there’s a flaw in his logic because even if things had worked out the way he’d wanted them to, I never could have been the woman Mother Ruth was.
“You should have chosen someone else for your son,” I say.
I think about the girls I grew up with and how they’ve melted into the background of my life, almost like they were never a part of it to begin with. Most of them have fallen into their roles as wives and mothers without a hitch, but there’s no happiness there. No sense of worth.
Yes, a few are different. Sister Sarah, who worked at the hospital and seemed to always manage to find a smile despite her surroundings. Sister Kathryn, who made my wedding dress and fit into the role of submissive wife so well. Probably even Angela. It’s what she wanted, anyway, to marry the future leader. How anyone could fit into this world, I don’t know, but there are a handful of women who do. Maybe it’s a personality thing; some people are naturally more submissive than others. Whatever it is, Father David would have done well to choose someone other than me.
“Why did you?” I ask, voicing the question that’s been plaguing me since the day I was chosen. “Why did you choose me as David’s wife?”
“God told me—” he begins.
“Stop.” I cut him off with the wave of a hand. “You know I don’t believe that, so just stop.”
Father David looks down, and I hold my breath, wondering if he’ll give in. Wondering if I’ll finally understand why things have turned out the way they have.
“Just because you don’t like it doesn’t mean it isn’t true.” When he raises his head, he lets out a deep sigh. “David had his eye on you, and your mother is so pliable that it seemed like the perfect match. You were supposed to be as submissive as she is.”
Jared was right in a way. I was chosen for my looks, because David found me attractive. But he was wrong, too. Father David chose me because he could see how weak my mother was, and he expected the same thing from me.
“So, you admit it?” I say. “You admit God didn’t match me with your son?”
Father David just stares at me, but I don’t repeat the question. There’s no need. I have my answer, but it doesn’t bring me any peace.
Jared comes back with the medical supplies, and I get to work cleaning the cut I made on Father David’s leg. It’s deep and will probably need stitches, but I’ll leave that to Dr. Jones. My only priority right now is to make sure this man doesn’t bleed to death.
He allows me to do what needs to be done, not fighting me but also not saying a word. I keep my eyes down, hating being so close to him, but anxious to get it done so we can leave. It’s nearly two now, and with each passing minute, Jared and I are losing precious time that will give us a head start. Many of the community workers get up early for their jobs, which means in less than four hours someone could discover David tied up in his house or Father David in the cellar where we plan to put him. It’s a long shot, since there’s no real reason for anyone to visit the house David and I were supposed to share or the cellar, but it isn’t outside the realm of possibility.
When I’ve finished patching Father David up, Jared does the same to me. He cleans the cuts on my hand and once again wraps them up, this time using bandages from the hospital.
I wince as he does it, and he pauses long enough to meet my gaze. “Are you okay?”
“I am,” I say. “You?”
“Yes.” He touches his hand to his side. “I think I have a bruised rib, but that’s all. It will heal.”
It will, just like my hand will, and the bleeding wounds on my scalp. The pounding in my head will fade, and whatever damage I did to myself when I slammed my skull into Father David’s will right itself. It’s the emotional scars I wonder about, though, and I can tell Jared is thinking the same thing when he lets out a ragged sigh and goes back to my injured hand.
We’ve been through a lot, and it’s just starting. It’s impossible to know what the repercussions of us walking out of this compound will be. What the authorities in the outside world will want to know and what they’ll do, what will happen to the people we’ve lived side by side with for so long. Many of them will have to answer for things, but some have done nothing wrong—at least nothing illegal—and I don’t know what will happen to those people or to this place. Or how turning our backs on all this will affect Jared and me.
After my hands are bandaged and the raw areas on my scalp are clean, Jared drags Father David from the room. The older man doesn’t struggle as I follow them down the hall, but walks resignedly at Jared’s side.
The cellar is at the back of the building, hidden inside a large storage closet. On the surface, everything looks normal. Shelves of items like toilet paper and school supplies line the walls, but Jared pulls the carpet back to reveal a square door in the floor, much like the one Father David had in his house in Texas.
Memories flood back at the sight of it. The smell of dirt and the stench of my own waste, the desperate dryness in my throat and the constant gnawing of hunger that plagued me. How hard it was to lift even a hand by the end, let alone sit up. Shaking, both with anger and exhaustion as I climbed the ladder to freedom, knowing it was artificial but much better than what I’d just endured.
I close my eyes and back away as Jared orders Father David to climb into the hole. A part of me wants to rush forward and shove him in, because that’s what was done to me. Not only will my legs not work to carry me across the room, but I also know I can’t do that. I won’t be inhumane or monstrous, or anything like the man in front of me.
By the time I open my eyes, Father David is descending the ladder, the tie that had bound his hands together now gone. Our eyes meet, and in his shimmers the promise of payback. Of retaliation.
Not this time, I want to tell him, but I don’t. I stay silent and force myself to keep my head high.
When he’s disappeared completely, Jared shuts the door. The click of the lock is a welcome sound, as is the carpet being thrown back over the door. I allow myself to breathe then, in and out, nice and slow. My body is tense, but there’s excitement surging through me as well. It’s done. We can leave.
Jared turns to face me. “Are you ready?”
>
“I was ready the moment we met,” I tell him. “It just took a while for me to figure it out.”
Chapter 23
When Jared presses his foot on the gas pedal, the truck lurches forward but steadies after a few seconds. We both let out laughs that are only a little nervous, because we’re finally on our way. The gates are right in front of us—open, thanks to Jared—and when we drive through them it feels like chains falling away after a lifetime of living in prison. The smile I give Jared threatens to cut my face in half, but I can’t do a thing to control it because we are finally free.
The tires bump over craters in the road, and on instinct I grab my seatbelt, clinging to it as if my life depends on it, which it kind of does. Jared has never driven before, but we figured we might as well take a truck. There was no one to stop us, and it will get us where we need to go a lot faster than walking would. Wherever that may be.
We don’t talk at first. I’m too busy studying the forest as it flies by, and Jared is too focused on figuring out how to maneuver the vehicle, but after a bit, he seems to get the hang of it and we both relax.
“How long do you think it will take?” I ask even though Jared probably doesn’t have any more of a clue than I do.
“My dad told me it would take a good three hours to get to town.”
I twist to face him. “Has he been there?” It’s possible. His father is an elder, although after this I don’t know if even he will be able to delude himself anymore.
“No, but he remembers from when we relocated.”
Makes sense. Back then, I was too lost in a world of pain to pay attention. I remember traveling the country by caravan with the other Children, stopping only to use restrooms and being closely watched by Father David the whole time, but very little of the trip itself. Mainly, I remember the scenery changing slowly as we drove, starting out brown and dusty before morphing into a world that was green and lush and rocky.