Anointed

by Charity B.

  9 years later…

  MY FATHER HAS HAD ME assisting him a lot more lately, doing things the Apostle would normally do. He’s grooming me for the day I become Prophet, and the thought is one I think I have finally accepted. The Anointed Land has proven to not be what I thought, and I yearn for the day I can speak with Zaaron myself—to ask Him if this is how He desired His plan to unfold.

  Things came to a head with my father about five years ago. I had just had my forty-sixth cleansing in less than seven years… I’d gone a little crazy after Serah’s death. At that point, it became less about what my father did to Laurel Ann and more about my anger at Zaaron and the unfairness of it all. I thought I had nothing left to lose, but I was wrong. My father will always find ways to threaten me.

  I realized that all my childish pranks weren’t ever going to bring her back or change anything. I decided the best way to make a difference was to prepare to be the best Prophet I could be. I put all my energy into studying Zaaron’s laws, and I can finally say that I think I’m following the path He desires for me.

  I climb the steps to the tabernacle with The True Testament tucked under my arm. Ezekiel’s birth mother, Sister Karen, has taken ill these past few weeks. It’s been emotional for all of us, watching our mother’s health dwindle. Father told me yesterday that he fears the worst. Then, this morning, I was awoken by him knocking on the front door of my home, announcing Zaaron had spoken with him and told him to gather the compound.

  We’re to have a revival.

  He ordered me to make the rounds through the Anointed Land, and inform the followers of the events taking place. It’s been many years since we’ve had a revival. The week-long service is constant worship of Zaaron, stopping only to eat and to get a few hours of sleep. The women of the compound take shifts cooking the meals, and anyone can ask for healing whether the ailment is physical or spiritual. On the final day, we present our animal sacrifice to Zaaron for all that he does for us.

  While the tabernacle is currently empty, within the hour that will change. Every man, woman, and child will be filling these seats.

  My father stands at the pulpit as my mother lights the candles around the room. He doesn’t look up from his notes to address me. “Has everyone been informed of the revival?”

  “Yes, sir. They are all making the necessary arrangements for the week.”

  “Wonderful. I need you to make sure there’s plenty of oil available for this evening. Bring out three jars from my office. Once you finish, check that there are plenty of candles, and then see if your mothers need assistance. I’m going back to the ranch to prepare Karen for the services.”

  Picking up his papers, he steps from behind the pulpit and walks past me between the pews.

  “Father?” He turns to me, so I continue. “Will Sister Karen be okay? Has Zaaron told you?”

  “I do not know, my son. Zaaron reveals what He believes to be necessary.”

  “Of course.”

  He turns his back to me before I finish speaking, and I make my way into the back hall that leads to the offices. I look everywhere for the damn oil, and all I can find is one jar. I don’t want to piss him off, he’s got a lot on his plate right now with Sister Karen. I’ll just run back to the ranch and sneak into his study. He always has extra jars of oil in there.

  I’m out of breath by the time I run from the tabernacle to the ranch, so I allow myself to catch it before I creep in through the back door. The last thing I want is to see my father and give him a reason to think I’m too incompetent to perform such a menial task. I’m in such a hurry to get the oil and get out that I almost storm into the kitchen without realizing he’s standing inside.

  I stop and wait behind the wall as he makes Sister Karen some porridge. I peek around the edge, tilting my head in confusion when he kneels on the floor and pops up a floorboard. What the hell is he doing? Removing a blue bottle, he holds it up over the porridge bowl. Blue liquid comes out, pouring into the food. He mixes it with a spoon before returning the bottle back beneath the floor. I duck behind the china cabinet as he passes to take the food to Sister Karen.

  Once he’s gone, I slip into the kitchen and grab a butter knife to loosen the board. I reach in, feeling an odd texture. I’m not sure what I’m looking at exactly. Antifreeze and Summer Coolant is written across the front. This didn’t come from the Anointed Land.

  Shoving it into my pocket, I hurry to replace the boards and rush to my father’s study for the oil.

  I get out unseen, but it feels like everyone I come across knows about the bottle of ‘antifreeze’ in my pocket. Why did he bring it here? I want to think it’s a type of Philistine medicine, yet there’s a feeling in my gut that says it isn’t medicine at all.

  I need to find Benji. If anyone can tell me what it is, it’s him.

  He sits on his mattress, looking at the bottle as if it’s a priceless gemstone, and I roll my eyes. “Well, do you know what it’s for?”

  Quirking his mouth to the side, he rubs his nose. “I’m not sure, I can easily find out though. Where did you get this?”

  “I found it.”

  His expression tells me he’s unamused by my less than truthfulness. “I think I’ve earned a little more trust than that, don’t you think?”

  “Are you ever going to forgive me?”

  He scoffs. “Are you ever going to admit to it?”

  “Benji—”

  “He was stabbed to death by a pitchfork. The pitchfork.”

  We’ve gone around and around with this. He’s never going to let it go, and he’s never going to stop asking. I shove my hands in my pockets.

  “He must’ve fallen.”

  “Yeah, so you’ve said. Don’t you think that’s a pretty big coincidence?”

  “Zaaron’s plan will always prevail.”

  His nostrils flare with his harsh breath. “I have the right to know this shit, and I want to hear it from you. Did you kill my father, Zeb? Yes or no? That’s all I’m asking.”

  I turn to climb the ladder out of his secret cellar. “I’ll be looking for your attendance at the revival.”

  When I close the door, a loud clatter sounds as if he threw something. I sigh and make my way back to the common ground.

  On more than one occasion, I have thought of just admitting it to him. At this point, I think he’s angrier that I continue to lie to him more so than what I’m lying about. The truth is, telling him would give him something on me. Deep down I know that isn’t who he is, but I’ve used blackmail as currency multiple times, and I feel safer not giving him the chance. Besides, him thinking he knows is one thing, him actually knowing is something else altogether.

  The worst part is, the remorse I was expecting never arrived. Instead, I gained a sense of duty. Honor. The Anointed Land is a holier place without Jameson Johnson.

  My father has noticed my minimum participation in the revival. I just can’t seem to look at him without my mind thinking up worst-case scenarios regarding his reasons for using the Philistine concoction. While he hasn’t mentioned that it’s missing, he’s not a stupid man. If I don’t pull myself together, he’ll figure it out before I know what I’m dealing with.

  I’m regretting my choice of declining his offers to go with him outside the gates. Maybe if I would have, I would already know what antifreeze is.

  I served myself an abundance of food since I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and now I’m regretting my greediness. Forcing another spoonful of potatoes into my mouth, I look up to see Benji grinning at me.

  I swallow to properly glare at him “What’s that smile about?”

  “I found out what your little blue bottle was.”

  The milk I’m drinking goes down the wrong way, and I cough. “Not here, you idiot.”

  Carrying my plate and my glass to the dirty dish station, I wave for Benji to follow me behind the tabernacle.

  After one last check that nobody is around, I let out a sigh. “All right, what is it?”
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  He clicks his tongue and crosses his arms. “Not so fast. If you want me to tell you what I know, you’re going to have to tell me where you found it.”

  My jaw drops in shock. Maybe blackmail isn’t beneath him.

  “Are you serious, Benji? It’s important that I know what that is.”

  He tilts his head. “I’m not unreasonable. I’ll let you choose. You can either tell me where you found it or you can admit to me that you killed my father.”

  I rub my hand across my stubbly chin, reminding myself I need to shave before my father says something about it. “Fine. I found it beneath the floorboards in my father’s kitchen.”

  His smugness is exchanged for confusion. “I don’t understand…it’s for a Philistine contraption. A vrehickle. It’s like a buggy without horses.”

  “What does it do to people?”

  “Nothing good. The bottle says not to drink it and to reach something called ‘poison control’ if you do.”

  “Shit. I gotta go. Did you bring it?”

  He pulls it out of his pocket, and I snatch it from his hand before he grabs my arm. “What’s going on, Zeb?”

  I pull away without answering. How would I begin to say the words anyway? My father has been poisoning one of my mothers so he could ‘heal’ her? Why would he do this? Why would he need to? The entire compound kisses the ground he walks on. What does he have to prove by nearly killing Ezekiel’s mother?

  I walk as fast as I can without running while I search the common ground for Zeke. I finally find him talking with our younger brother, Jacob.

  “Hey, Zeke, I need to talk to you…now.”

  Jacob frowns at us, and Ezekiel steps to follow me. I lead us in the direction of the ranch. “Where are we going? The revival is about to start back up.”

  “We’re not going to the revival.”

  “What?” He runs in front of me to get me to stop. “What’s going on?”

  I sigh and look over my shoulder to make sure we’re far away from nosy eyes and ears. “I saw Father doing something today.” The words are thick like sludge, and I’m struggling to push them out.

  “And…?”

  I take the antifreeze from my pocket, handing it to him. “I watched him put this in Sister Karen’s porridge. According to Benji, it’s something Philistines use on their machines. It’s dangerous to people.”

  He’s looking at the bottle, yet his eyes aren’t focusing, they’re just getting darker. “Why would he do that?”

  “I think he’s making her sick so he can make her better. Perform a miracle.”

  When his eyes shift to mine, I feel a chill, and it’s not from the breeze. Even at his most furious, he’s never shown rage like this. He drops the bottle, storming behind me, back toward the common ground.

  “Wait, wait, wait. Let’s get him alone. Who’s to say what lies he’ll spin to turn the followers against us? We must be patient until he returns home tonight.”

  His Adam’s apple bobs with his swallow as he brushes past me toward the ranch.

  The hours stretch on with every tick-tock, tick-tock of the clock. The moonbeams shining through the window are our only source of light. We don’t speak. We simply sit with our thoughts and let the betrayal fester. Has he ever loved any of us? He always comes to his study before he retires to bed, so it’s here we will confront him.

  I must fall asleep because I am awakened by voices. I hear the ‘blessed evenings’ from my mothers, and see Zeke’s shadowed form in the darkness. When the knob turns, my heart stops, and neither of us move as my father makes his way across the study. He lights an oil lamp on the wall that illuminates his face before stepping to his desk.

  “She could have died,” Ezekiel murmurs, emerging from the shadows. “What if she would have died?!”

  My father jumps at the unexpected intrusion of privacy. “Son,” he grabs his chest, “you frightened me.”

  “You should be frightened. You tried to kill my mother!” He whispers with rage as he slams his fist on the desk.

  “Sit, boy. You’re on dangerous ground. You know nothing of what you speak.”

  “Then explain it to us, Prophet,” I say from my place in the corner of the room. “Was my mother next?”

  My father’s head jerks in my direction just as Sister Wanda calls through the door. “Hiram? Are you all right? I heard something.”

  His eyes flip to Zeke before snapping back to me. “All is well. Go on to bed.”

  We all three stare at each other, listening to the retreating footfalls. Zeke is the first to break the silence when he pulls the belt from his trousers. My lip tugs itself into a smile. He’s gonna beat him with it like he’s done to us endless times.

  “You have abused every single person in this family under the guise of being our Prophet and have allowed others in the Anointed Land to do the same. I don’t believe you’re blind to what goes on within these gates, you just allow what doesn’t directly affect whatever agenda you have.”

  Father’s eyes don’t leave the belt. He holds out his hand, and it’s clear he’s nervous even without the evidence of it in his voice.

  “I am not only your father, I am also your leader. Your Prophet! You will sit down, and I will tell you how you are confused. I don—”

  “Confused?” Ezekiel stalks toward the back of his desk. “No, Father. There are many things I’m feeling at present, though confusion is not among them.”

  Whipping his belt around our father’s neck, he squeezes it tight. My eyes widen, watching him eliminate his ability to breathe. This was not the direction I thought this was going.

  Father grasps at the belt, and I feel no pity for him. All I feel are recycled emotions from the past. The terror and pain of the beatings, the humiliation of his constant demeaning, and the white-hot fury for what he did to Laurel Ann.

  Killing my father was never an option I truly entertained. Yes, fleeting thoughts of it have crossed my mind, but until this moment I never considered it a real choice. Watching him fight in Ezekiel’s grasp gives me a pleasure I wasn’t prepared for.

  The moments seem to skip as I walk toward them. The next thing I know, I’m beside my father, looking into his horrified, bulging eyes.

  Whether he is attempting to speak or yell I’m not sure, and it doesn’t matter. The time for listening to his lies has come to an end. I reach for the knife in his pocket, and squeeze the hilt. My skin burns hotter with every beat of my pounding heart.

  Bending over, I look in his red, watery, evil eyes while he spits and flails in the chair. “What does The True Testament say about those who speak with a false tongue?” His head shakes, and he tries to scream. Zeke’s expression holds wonderment, and he nods his head, ever so slightly, in approval. I force my father’s mouth open to pull out his tongue. He tries to wiggle it from my grasp, so I dig my nails into the slippery flesh to get a better hold. “‘The deceiver continuing to bear false witness loses all credibility, becoming unable to recognize truth.’” I press the blade against the side of his tongue, sawing through the muscle and watching it split and bleed. He attempts to shout, and Zeke straightens his arms, pulling the belt tighter. Once I’m halfway through, I tug harder to add tension, slicing through the slimy organ much easier. With the meaty tissue removed from his mouth, I throw it on the desk before walking over to the water basin. “‘Truth is imperative,’” His attempted wailing has faltered with the belt constricting his oxygen. I fill the large bowl with water and turn back to my father. “‘We must rid the Anointed Land of his falsehoods by removing that from which he speaks.’” I place the bowl on the table before turning back to face him. His eyes are droopy, and he’s fading. “23:4D and E.” I grab a fistful of his hair as blood drips from the sides of his mouth. “This is for our brothers and sisters.” Twenty-seven years of hatred for him forces fire through my veins, and I shove his head into the bowl. Blood ruptures in the water, blooming like a flower. Ezekiel keeps a firm hold on the belt. “For our mothers and e
veryone you’ve let down in this compound.” He thrashes beneath me, and I use all my weight to drown every bit of the man that has caused me only suffering. “This is for Laurel Ann.”

  I close my eyes and imagine Zaaron’s energy leaving his body and entering mine. He scratches my hand and pulls at my jacket. The more he resists the harder I hold him down and the tighter Zeke squeezes. It seems like forever until his limbs hang lifeless beneath me.

  It’s suddenly hard to breathe, and my heart ricochets hard in my torso. I look up to Zeke expecting to see remorse and sorrow. His smile is crazy and wild, his chest rising with heavy breathing.

  Fuck! Now what? I didn’t think past this point. Releasing my hold on his hair, I press my hands against my eyes.

  I expect Zaaron’s voice to be instant, to feel Him consume me, but there is only silence.

  You can talk to me now. Tell me what to do…

  I pace the floor, waiting. Zeke looks to me for the guidance that is now on my shoulders, and I spew out the first solution I can come up with.

  “We can’t let anyone find him.” I glare at my lifeless father, and there’s not an ounce of love lost. Even dead, he’s a scourge. “We’ll come back early, before the rooster crows, and tell mothers we have business with him. After we ‘find’ him, you go to Dealer Gunter and pay him whatever you need to for him to keep the details to himself. Tell him we don’t want to incite fear within the followers. As far as anyone else will know, he died of natural causes.”

  He scoffs with an impressed smile and pulls my father up, bloody water landing on his shirt. Ripping the sigil pendant from his neck, he holds it out to me with a bow of his head.

  “Of course, Prophet.”

  “WHOO! GO BEARCATS! THAT’S WHAT I’m talking about, Bronson!” Kaila screams from our seats in the stands. I shake my head at her theatrics as I sip my sweet tea through a blue striped straw. “Take that shit, Mangum,” she adds, pumping her fist in the air.

  I’m not sure what the appeal of watching teenage boys throw around a leather ball is, but football is a favorite pastime among Philistines, Kaila included, so I indulge her.