Anointed

by Charity B.

  His gaze shifts up to my face, staring at me in an unsettling way. “Y-you’re his son?”

  “Yes, though I did not inherit whatever agreement you two may have had.”

  He clutches the gate. “No, you don’t understand. He was…you’re my brother.”

  The oxygen evaporates from my lungs, and my chest feels as if it’s been punched by a fist. What he’s saying is impossible. This has to be a scheme. “I don’t know what you’re trying to get from us because that’s absurd. I’m well aware of all my siblings.”

  He laughs, “Sorry man, but you’re not. My mother isn’t from…here.” He waves his hand gesturing behind me toward the compound. “We live in Hobart.”

  My mind tilts, and I become dizzy with what he’s saying. I shake my head and rub my temples. “Excuse my hesitancy to believe you. My father would barely speak to a Philistine let alone lay with one.”

  His face falls as he swallows and reaches in his back pocket, slipping a folded-up paper through the gate. Taking the paper, I open it, making my knees turn to slush.

  It’s a photo of my father with his arm around a very young woman swollen with child.

  “I never met him. He gave this to my mother before I was born.”

  Slowly I straighten the paper, my eyes burning with tears.

  Shayne,

  You will never know me while you are a child. I am a powerful man, and knowledge of your existence could destroy everything my forefathers have built. Just know that you are my son, and my holy blood runs through you. When you become a man, find me. Your mother will tell you where, and by then, I will have a way to welcome you into the fold. You are a Fitch, and you have a calling. I will pray every night that when the day comes, you will honor it.

  Your holy father,

  Hiram Fitch

  This was written with a quill and ink in what is clearly my father’s penmanship. Crumpling the photo and letter into a ball, I throw it over the fence. “You have no calling and no place here. Apparently, that died with my father. Do not ever return to this compound.” I want to fall to my knees and scream. I want to curse my father and Zaaron. I feel like they have both lied and betrayed me.

  I march to Benji standing by his buggy. “Do you mind explaining to me how you know that man?”

  Licking his lips, he swallows before straightening his shoulders. “I met him as he was sneaking around the edge of the compound. He was trying to see inside and asked me about Hiram. He was a lot younger then…it was about four years ago. I liked him, he was curious, and I can relate to that. We made a deal. I would tell him about life here, and he would…uh, tell me stuff about life out there.”

  I could reach out and choke him. He could have endangered us all. “You will receive punishment for this. I should think it goes without saying that you are never to talk to him or any other Philistine again.”

  He’s intelligent enough to simply say, “Yes, Prophet.”

  I scoff at his idiocy and rebellion and storm away from him. My acknowledgements to the comments of passing followers are forced as I return to the tabernacle.

  Storming across the empty meeting hall, I go immediately to my office. I need to see what’s in that box. I go directly to my desk, yanking open the bottom drawer that contains the wooden case. Carefully, I place it on my desk directly in front of me. I can feel that there are answers in here. Answers I need desperately. Rummaging through the top part of my desk, I hold my breath when my fingers wrap around the skeleton key.

  I don’t understand why my heart thumps in fear when it slides into the hole so easily. After a large exhale, I finally turn the key. The lock clicks open, and my fingers gently lift the lid.

  Disappointment consumes me when I find nothing more than a stack of notebooks. Sighing, I pick the one off the top and open it. The date scrawled across the heading of the first page is July 1907. When my eyes travel to the inscription on the inside, a blanket made of shadows is laid over me.

  Nothing in this world is more powerful than fear. Create terror within them while becoming their only means of escaping it, and you will rule the earth. They will follow blindly, and you will become their God. -Zaaron Fitch

  I’m unable to swallow or breathe as my eyes continue to travel through the words. It takes many pages before I understand what I’m reading. These are plans for the Anointed Land and our entire belief system.

  There is power in numbers. Breed within the followers, and we can mold the minds of generations to come.

  Page after page of the lies my ancestors told throngs of people. He had planned for the Anointed Land to expand much further than it has. Tears roll down my face as everything I have ever thought to be true is ripped away. This elaborate ruse has been followed by every Prophet for over a hundred years. There are instructions outlined for future Prophets to maintain his plan. I killed my father before he was able to tell me the family secret.

  By passing the title of ‘Prophet’ to the first-born son, and claiming power is in the holy blood, control will remain within the Fitch bloodline.

  Five notebooks. Five notebooks that controlled the lives of throngs of people through the ages. It talks about being sure to keep us hidden, locked away from future advances, and to use the fear of the abyss and cleansings to keep our curiosities at bay. In the 1920’s, leaving the Anointed Land became highly discouraged. ‘Age of consent laws’ were changing across America, making sexual intercourse with a child illegal. By terrorizing the followers with stories of the outside, it minimized the risk of being found out. Stories I’ve heard from the elder followers say that by the 1930’s anyone other than religious officials became forbidden from leaving the gates.

  Spiritual laws are written as a way to control and deceive. Rituals are for implementing fear. Zaaron, as I know him, doesn’t exist. He was nothing more than a failed illusionist from New York City—a trickster. His vanity is apparent in his writing as he speaks of his intelligence being beyond that of the agents who rejected him. He moved to Oklahoma in 1906, convincing the original followers that he was God in a man’s body by performing ‘miracles’. He has lists of illusions, cons, and how to accomplish them—my father’s poisoning stunt among them.

  The same words are used throughout the pages.

  Fear.

  Death.

  Torment.

  Seclusion.

  Suffering.

  Control.

  Power.

  God.

  Zaaron was just a man; An arrogant, selfish man who wanted to be worshiped and was able to terrify and convince people of his deceits. A sinking feeling in my chest threatens to swallow me whole when I realize there is no Paradise Star. There is no abyss. Is there a God? Does evil even exist?

  I squeeze my eyes shut. In the darkness, I see Jameson Johnson defiling his son before swirls of oranges and reds blur my vision. The colors clear as my father beating my mothers and siblings flashes across my eyelids. Tossing me through the past, my memories run rampant, and I’m in the hall the morning after Laurel Ann was raped by my father. Tracing my tongue across my lips, I can almost taste her kiss. I can see the terror in my father’s eyes when I cut out his tongue, the beautiful shapes his blood made in the water. Like it’s playing out before me, I watch the light leave Jameson Johnson’s eyes as I seared the pitchfork into his chest. It all flashes through my mind on repeat over and over until I scream. Serah Johnson’s feet dangling in the barn, Laurel Ann lying unconscious in the tomb.

  Yes, evil exists. I’ve seen it. It was just hidden behind my beliefs.

  I’m scared and confused. I’ve always prayed during turmoil…now, no one is listening. I weep at the loss of my faith. I have disobeyed, yes, but I never doubted, never questioned if it were true. There was so much more security in that than I realized. Now that it’s been stripped away, I have no idea who I am.

  The emptiness inside me is washed away with memories of Laurel Ann laughing at me as I got in trouble in class, the beautiful way her cheeks pinked
the day I gave her the flowers for her crown. “I thought they would look pretty in your hair.” The way I was certain my heart would explode when I realized it was her at the butcher’s shop. Our kisses, her skin beneath my fingers, her moans, my name among her whispers.

  Our stolen vows.

  Not even in death will we part.

  I gather the notebooks, placing them inside the carved box then back in my desk before I run through the door to the meeting hall. She’s the only thing I’m certain of. I’ve always been certain, and in this moment, I need more than her memory.

  Sunlight streaks across the wooden floor from the foyer when Laurel Ann comes rushing into the meeting hall as if she could feel my heart calling for her.

  She drops the hem of her dress and breathes, “Is it true? There’s talk that a Philistine came to the gates. People are getting scared.”

  I don’t know how to tell her. I don’t know how to tell any of them. I rush down the steps to meet her in between the pews. I need something, someone that’s real. There’s nothing keeping me from her now. No honor, no devotion, no faith.

  I grab her hand and pull her back across the tabernacle. “Prophet, what’s happening? What’s wrong?” Squeezing her hand, I lead her to the back hallway and into the last holding room. Once the door is closed, I shove her bonnet off her head and kiss her as I walk her against the bed. She pulls her lips away and scrunches her brows, giving me an unsure smile. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  I untie her bonnet strings and pull her head back, exposing her neck to me. “Right now, the only thing I’m sure of is that I need to be inside you.”

  Kissing down her neck, I turn her around, and she softly moans as I bend her over the footboard. My cock is straining with the need to release. I unzip my trousers and shove them down just enough to fist my cock. I bundle the layers of her dress on her waist until I can untie her bloomers, pushing them down her thighs.

  My fingers fondle her slick pussy before I shove myself inside it. Her body constricts around mine, welcoming my intrusion. I groan and try to get deeper…as deep as I can.

  “Zeb!” She tugs on the quilt with her scream.

  “If I left, would you come with me?”

  Her head turns toward me. “What?” she whimpers.

  It makes me anxious that her answer isn’t immediate. Slamming into her hard, I ask again. “If I left the Anointed Land, would you stay with me?” She is having a hard time processing the question, so I fuck her harder. “Yes or no, Laur?!”

  “Yes!” she cries.

  I push her dress higher up her body and lift her hips enough for her feet to raise off the floor. My anger at all the lies mixed with the loss of the life I could have had, and the fear of what will happen next all erupts within me. Harder and harder I thrust. She whimpers, dripping on my cock as the door to the holding room swings open.

  “There you a—”

  Jacob is standing slack jawed next to Ezekiel, Mia, and Marybeth.

  I jump out of her to pull up my pants while Laurel Ann scrambles up the bed. Marybeth instantly starts crying, but Mia…Mia is angry.

  “Okay, listen,” I try to form some kind of justification when Jacob flies across the room and pulls Laurel Ann off the bed by her arm.

  “Adulterous witch!”

  “No, Jacob! Wait!”

  Laurel Ann squirms and kicks as he holds her arms behind her back. I lunge for him when Zeke pushes me against the wall, rage burning in his blue eyes.

  “Her evil has clearly tainted you, brother! How could you do this?” I try to move forward, and he shoves me back again. “To your wives? To Benji? To all of us?!” Once more, he shoves me so hard my head slams against the wall. “You are our Prophet!”

  Behind him, Jacob is dragging Laurel Ann out of the room. Mia glares at me and ushers away a hysterical Marybeth.

  “Please, Zeke! You can’t let him do this! You don’t understand!”

  “Then tell me, Prophet,” he snarls. “What could make any of this better?”

  I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. I don’t know how to say it. He scoffs and turns around, closing the door behind him. I rush to it too late, banging on the wood.

  “It’s not real! They’ve lied to us our whole lives. He lied to us our whole lives!” My fists throb as I punch, kick, and do everything to get this fucking door down. “I can prove it!”

  Letting out a breath, I drop my hands. I can’t let this happen to her. When the lock clicks my heart speeds up, and I step back to watch the brass doorknob turn. The door swings open to present Ezekiel standing there with crossed arms.

  “You have ten minutes.”

  JACOB’S FINGERS DIG INTO THE flesh of my arm as he drags me from the tabernacle and across the common ground to the medical hall.

  “You have poisoned and seduced our Prophet for the last time, you whore!”

  I hear Zebadiah’s child bride bawling behind us. This whole time I was so concerned with Mia’s feelings, I never considered her sister-wife. I half expect Zeb to chase after us and try to stop this, but I understand why he doesn’t. I accept that I am the harlot in this scenario because I am just as guilty. I allowed a man, who was not my husband, to take my body. Never mind the fact that we are both bound to other people.

  It will not take long for news of this to travel through the Anointed Land. It was destined to come out at some point. The thing that worries me the most is what happens to me and Zeb now. People will always be watching us, suspecting. We will have to fight for every moment, and while I’ll fight till I die, asking him to do that seems cruel.

  I know what they plan to do to me. I’m not the first adulteress to walk the grounds of the Anointed Land.

  Suddenly, a hard thud of agony rolls up my spine, and my body lurches at the impact. I cry out when I am hit again in the arm. A large stone falls by my feet, and I hear my sister behind me.

  “Marybeth, no!” Mia screams grabbing her arm.

  “Didn’t you see him with her?” Marybeth cries. “He’s my husband, yet he would rather lay with that whore than with me! She deserves to be stoned to death!”

  “You must let the law deal with her now,” Mia says, attempting to console her.

  People gather around to see what is happening, as Marybeth shouts at the top of her lungs. “She was not eradicated of her evil like we were led to believe! She has seduced our Prophet into her bed!”

  Murmurs sound behind me while Jacob drags me into the medical hall. Doc Kilmer has his glasses perched on his nose as he looks up from his medical texts at our entrance.

  “She was found fornicating with the Prophet,” Jacob announces, forcing my ears to burn from mortification. “She must have her womanly entrance closed.”

  Doc Kilmer shuts his book and rises, setting his glasses on his desk. Glancing over to the open door leading to the clinic, I see Sister Madeline peeking through.

  “Yes, Counselor. Of course.”

  Jacob shoves me toward Doc Kilmer and opens the door. “The Apostle will be here to read the scriptures since the Prophet is clearly unable at the moment.” I don’t fight my fate as Doc Kilmer leads me into the clinic.

  “What do you need of me, husband?” Sister Madeline asks.

  He rubs his temple. “Make sure her vagina is clean. I will prepare the needle and thread.”

  She nods to him, and when he leaves the clinic, her head jerks in my direction. “What have you done, child?”

  I feel ashamed, but it’s not because of what I did with Zeb, it’s because everyone now has to know of it.

  “I love him, Sister Madeline.” Even as I say it, I know she can’t understand. It’s not about love. It’s about duty, faith, and honor.

  “Oh, Laurel Ann. I warned you of this. There’s nothing I can do to stop it now.” Seeming to waver between anger and sadness, she guides me to a black chair next to the bed. “Remove your bloomers, lift your skirts to your waist, and sit.” I do as she says while she raises each of my legs into th
e stirrups attached to the chair. Fastening them to the supports, she elevates them to lean me back. “After the procedure, you must be sure to not open your legs too wide.”

  My heart beats wildly, and my yes gets caught in my throat with my sob. She walks to my side, fastening a belt around my torso and wrists. Opening the cabinet, she removes a dark brown bottle, a clear bottle, a razor, a jar of shaving cream, and a stack of cloths. She places the items on the table and looks down on me.

  “Was acting on your love worth this?!” she snaps in a whisper. “Don’t you think we’ve all loved those we cannot be with? It’s about obeying Zaaron and making oblations for your place in the Paradise Star. The Prophet was not yours to take.”

  Tears sting my eyes. I deserve to be scared. She’s right. I followed my feelings for Zebadiah into sin, allowing them to come before my duty to Zaaron. I desecrated holy implements in the heat of lust while leading the holiest man in the world toward wickedness. I deserve this penance and more.

  She picks up the razor and shaving cream after fetching a bowl of water from the basin. As she removes the hair from between my legs, Doc Kilmer enters carrying a plate. I turn my head to look at it when he sets it down. The suture needle is long and curved making me involuntarily swallow. The thread bundled next to it is white and thick. I think I might be sick. I know this is because of my choices, yet I whimper, trying not to beg. He threads the needle once Sister Madeline wipes me clean. When she applies the iodine over my sensitive skin it’s cold, and I gasp as a shiver shoots to my toes.

  “Is she prepared?”

  Sister Madeline nods, standing to allow Doc Kilmer to take his place in the chair. His spectacles rest on his nose as he straightens the thread. He looks between my legs, and my face heats with embarrassment. I squeeze my eyes shut, holding my breath, when I feel Sister Madeline’s hand grasp mine.

  His hands are much larger than hers as he runs a finger up my slit and spreads the lips apart. Tears fall in shame when he reaches into my hole, lifting the sensitive skin around my entrance. Gritting my teeth, the needle presses into my flesh, and when he forces it through to puncture the first side, the pain is hot, and my scream comes out loud. He tugs on the tight muscle of the other side, instantly pushing on the needle and pulling the string through the holes. The thread is yanked tighter when he shoves the needle in again, repeating the process, and sealing my lustful opening. My body shakes while I freely let myself sob. Sister Madeline squeezes my hand tight at the sound of a door.