by M. D. Massey
Joshua grabs the gun. The odds are bad with it being a five round revolver, if it doesn’t shoot now Joshua will know he’s dead. Maybe this is a sick game of Jeremiah’s and he didn’t put a bullet in it.
“No, I love you, brother. I’ll think of you when I’m wed to Mary.” Dizziness overtakes my sight as time slows when Joshua squeezes the trigger. A shot echoes through the room as blood and brains spray the wall. Joseph falls back onto the floor, legs still crossed, his glasses askew and sprinkled with blood. At his angle, blood runs from the bullet hole into his hair, spreading into a puddle on the floor. The witnesses congratulate Joshua and proceed to pray.
Tremors take over my body as I stare at Joseph with blurry sight.
“May the Lord give him peace,” Jeremiah says. They were brothers. He shot his brother. A surge of anger erupts from my depths for allowing it to happen, for being weak, when I was needed the most. I’d rather Isabel shot me than have this haunt me for the rest of my life.
They leave the room, taking my pack with them. I curse under my breath as Joshua stands, staring at me. Walking over to caress my face, I flinch back from him. “Sorry my father hit you. I’ll take good care of you, Mary.” He thinks I flinched because of my aching head. A youthful, joyous smile crosses his features and I feel sorry for him. His dark eyes are compassionate.
“Sorry about Joseph,” I offer.
“A good spirit you are. He is with the Lord now.”
“It could’ve been you.” I state the obvious. Rudy is rubbing off on me. My eyes sting at the thought of Rudy and the way we left things.
“I guess I’m not the Lord’s favorite, but I have you. We’ll be wed tomorrow. I’ll see you then, sweet Mary.” He pauses. “Joseph would’ve rather I shot him than become forsaken.” After he shuts the door behind him, I bend over the bed to puke, turning over afterward so I don’t have to look at Joseph’s dead body. Isn’t there enough going on in the world? Why do people have to be so stupid? I peer at Mac’s shirt still covering my body. Tears slide down my face as I smell him on my skin, and taste him in my memory. I have to bide my time before I run. Earn a little trust first. This plan will take time, but I don’t want to sleep with a kid. Maybe he could be manipulated? Which is something else I don’t want to do since he’s being manipulated on a daily basis.
Isabel strolls in with a bucket of water. Two unfamiliar men carry Joseph’s body out, leaving a trail of blood.
“Get this cleaned up in memory of Joseph. You would’ve been honored to have him as a husband,” Isabel huffs, pushing her glasses up and blinking. Anger surges through me, and what I do next makes no sense, having to lash out at something. Jumping up, I kick the bucket and watch as the water spreads through the blood and bits and swirls into a pink river. The bed bounces from me jumping on it before getting my socks wet with Joseph’s watery blood.
A couple of hours later, Jeremiah walks through the door and immediately slaps me. The sting resonates over the entire left side of my face as I glare at him.
The cold steel of the gun touches my temple. “You will clean the floor. If not, I will shoot your knee caps, and then make you clean it while you bleed from your bloody stumps.” I’ve never felt such humiliation and belittling in my life. Managing to hold my tongue and churning stomach, I wipe at the remaining bloody water. I want to kill him, but Jeremiah’s a husky, robust man, and will either break me or shoot me first. Deciding to save my strength to run when the time comes, I take the abuse. He stands over me, and when I’m not fast enough he kicks my rear, and I fall face first to the floor in the nasty puddle. Getting back to my knees as watery blood drips from my face, I weep silent tears and daydream of one of my arrows through his head. By the time it’s over, I start feeling detached, almost as if I’m having an out of body experience.
I can’t sleep that night. My thoughts are full of Mac and our last moments. We thought we’d see each other again in an hour or so. I don’t know if I love him, but he makes me happy in every way a man should make a woman happy. Did he believe I left on my own? Surely not. I didn’t say goodbye to my friends or even good night. I had friends for the first time in four years and took it for granted, and I desperately want it back. Will they go on with their plans? I hope so. The flashes of Rudy’s pain cuts me, knowing it goes deeper than he lets on.
Before I know it, several women of varying ages flock in the room to strip me naked, and I let them. I don’t care about them, or want to talk to them. They chat happily about how I’m going to marry a prominent bachelor, about how I’m lucky. Joshua’s good at killing the forsaken and getting food. He will take care of me and spoil me.
I don’t say anything, just let them scrub me in a tub. They pray cleansing prayers because, of course, I’m not pure. Anger sparks, but fizzles out as my female parts are washed and checked over, and they reprimand me for sinning. Humiliation doesn’t describe it. I’m being violated.
Washing the blue from my hair, the tinted blue water runs down my body, coloring the tub water. Glinda. I wonder how she fares with Reece. Tears spring to my eyes – I’ll see them again. I’m biding my time to strike in a detached way.
I’m left without shoes after they dress me. Guns train on me throughout the whole ordeal. They fuss with my hair as it’s drawn into a bun. I’m sensing a theme.
After they leave, I sit and stare at the wall, sipping a glass of juice, unfocused as the burgundy walls seem to wobble. How did this happen? Why am I sitting here like a duck? I can’t remember, and that’s bad. Struggling to remember the events of the day overtakes everything else in my drug-addled brain. Pistol-whipped and kidnapped. Joshua. Joseph’s blood. A sleepless night.
Yes, that’s it. Isabel came in with a drink during my tossing and turning. I haven’t been clear-headed since then. Focusing on the juice, I tip it with my finger. It spills across the vanity, dripping a puddle onto the floor and spreading to my feet. They drugged me, and I’ve been foolishly drinking everything they give me. Anger seeps into my fuzzy brain, but I can’t bring myself to care or do anything about it. Eating and drinking is out, if I can help it. No wonder everything seems so hazy and unreal. No wonder I can’t keep my thoughts focused.
Jeremiah stalks in with a few others, and they pray while flicking water in my face. I flinch when it gets into my eyes.
I’m escorted out, they grip my arms to get me down a stairwell. People and children amble all around with purpose. The room shifts as I attempt to assess my situation. Everything is hazy, like a dream around me. I can’t get a grip on my situation or what’s happening. What did they give me? Men with guns stand around me, and I flinch. I find women, wanting to make eye contact to see if they are in the same state. Something important wiggles my brain. I need to do something.
“Father, give her space. Mary is good.” Joshua’s voice resonates through the room, standing beside Jeremiah. My stomach rumbles as I take in the basic wedding setup. I can’t take in any more details than that. It could be a wedding for Frankenstein’s monster and his bride for all I know. I don’t have it in me to keep striving to focus.
Jeremiah makes a gesture and the men back off, but stay in my line of sight. I try to ignore them, but I want to run. That’s what I need to do, run. I make it to the altar without tripping over the white cotton dress. It’s too long, and it itches. Strong hands release my arms.
“The purpose and conditions of this marriage are what follows. You’ll bear a child within a year. If not, this marriage will be annulled and you’ll be married to the next in line.” Jeremiah flatly states, his face a blur. My eyebrows shoot to my forehead, even though my eyes are heavy. All this doesn’t mean anything to me. I don’t plan on being here the next twenty-four hours, let alone a year.
Everyone stares at me. I’m supposed to say something, but I don’t know what, so I shrug.
Jeremiah glares at me, but goes on anyway. “Do you, Joshua, take this woman, Mary, to be your wedded, even though her soul is not pure? Will you make her obe
dient as you’ll be her husband?” Jeremiah asks Joshua as he comes to hold my hand. It’s sweaty and disgusting as the scent of mothballs drifts to my nose.
Joshua nods. “I do, Father.” He looks at Jeremiah and this is all wrong and not just the words being spoken. I’m not a person to them but something to be passed around. Sorrow for these women and children gets the best of me.
Jeremiah turns to me. “Do you, Mary, take Joshua to be your wedded? Will you be faithful as your soul has proven not to be? Will you honor and obey?” I notice he did not ask Joshua these questions, but it doesn’t surprise me.
I shrug, and Jeremiah’s face blazes red. Gun’s cock, one points directly in my face.
Joshua’s eyes plead at me. “Please do not temp him, Mary,” he whispers, trying to show an intimacy that isn’t deserved from him. He lifts my hand to kiss it, but his cold lips do not move me. My face goes slack as I try to keep it blank.
“Speak, girl!” Jeremiah stomps his foot, and I’m aware of the flash of triumph going through me for getting a rise out of him. I focus on him, wanting to come up with some smart ass retort before remembering I need to play along and be trusted, especially by my new spouse.
I smile wide at Joshua and look him in the eye. “I do.” It comes out slow and slurry, not sounding like me. That detached, out of body experience again. A pleased expression crosses Joshua’s face, and he turns to grin at his father. Jeremiah’s crazy eyes narrow. I think he’s looking at me, but his eyes seem to be taking in the room. I guess you can’t manipulate a manipulator.
Jeremiah picks up our clasped hands and puts a band on my finger. He doesn’t put one on Joshua’s. He says a prayer that feels odd. Something flickers in the back of my mind. I don’t get goosebumps like I normally do when praying or feeling the accepting presence of God. Usually I don’t talk to God through prayer, but more like I’m speaking to a friend on the phone.
I have faith, but it isn’t an overwhelming, take over my life, kind of faith. In truth, I haven’t had the nerve to talk to God in a while, but that’s God’s business and mine. These people wouldn’t know His presence if He came out and bit them on the ass.
“Husband and Wife!” Cheers erupt, and Joshua kisses me. I stand stock still as his teeth press hard against my lips, and his tongue swirls around jack-rabbiting in my mouth. A kiss where even if I’m into it, would be terrible, anyway. My body heaves from a gag reflex, but I think I hide it well. Maybe? All I know is, I’m going to have nightmares for life, and try not to dwell on the coming night. A shudder ripples through me.
Joshua smiles at me, and then a small reception with cake follows. They want me to eat some of it, so I claim an upset stomach from the drugs they gave me.
Finally being able to sit at a table, I do drink some wine freshly poured from a large jug, drinking several glasses, but Joshua tells me not to drink anymore. I almost slug him in the face. Alcohol is the only thing available, but I do need to keep my wits about me, realizing I can think a little more clearly.
“You look so miserable, Miss Mary.” I see who dares speak to me – a guy about my age, smirking. I glance around. “No one watching. I must say, I’m jealous of Joshua. You think you could hold out a year?” I glare at him. He laughs. “I’m kidding.”
Interest perks as I take him in. His tall form bends to me, searching my eyes. They’re as dark as his pupils, dark as his hair. Someone who didn’t know what they were doing cut it for him. Just like the other men here. “You’re a tough one, you can take him. I don’t think I’ll have to worry about you.” He wears the same homemade clothing as everyone else. Thin, dark, expressive eyebrows furrow at me. This man has sharp cheekbones, and a strong jaw line that’s covered in dark stubble, and full lips. Even with the crude haircut and weird clothing, he’s attractive. Handsome.
“Who are you?” I ask and he puts a finger in front of his lips. Someone fills their cup up with wine, and I want some myself, and pour some. When the drunk leaves, the guy bends down. “I’m Michael, but my real name is Dalton. I’m here to keep surveillance.”
Taken back a little, I ask, “Surveillance? By whom?”
“The Coalition, I’m a soldier in the National Guard.” A thought forms in my mind.
“Really? I don’t believe you.”
He shrugs. “It’s a way of keeping track until we can get things back under control.”
“Why tell me if you’re undercover?”
“There are a few women here who know. It looks like you need a little hope. I don’t agree with this lifestyle and want to be stationed elsewhere. Haven’t got a choice. They’re fucked up, you know?” I nod. “Most of these women were kidnapped like you. I can’t leave them. I can’t do anything about it yet either, without killing someone, anyway.”
This new information astounds me.
“Do you know Mac?” I blurt.
Tension visibly assails his body, and he looks at me with wide eyes. A grin spreads across his face. “The arrow. Is that why you have an arrow tattooed on you?” I guess he knows Mac, but how would he know about my tattoo? He must see the question on my face because he laughs. “It’s the scandal around here. Your tattoo, blue hair…” he trails off, looking embarrassed to mention it.
“Um, no. It’s something that Mac and I have in common, though. Archery.” I look at my hands, wishing for the billionth time I’d have waited on him to go target shooting.
“You must be something special. Mac…deserves to be loved. You love him?”
I blink back tears. I don’t know what to say to that, except, “In my own way, I suppose.”
A hand covers mine. “I’ll try to help you. I can see about contacting him.” Tears spill down my cheeks as I gasp for air.
“What are you saying to my wife?” Joshua bellows in outrage as he comes to stand behind me. He doesn’t look like a little boy at the moment, but a reflection of Jeremiah.
Dalton keeps his cool. “I was congratulating her. She is a pretty one. You’re fortunate, Joshua,” he emphasizes, before turning in retreat. I hear his words beneath the words. Mac is lucky.
One thing was left unspoken. Mac lives at the community to keep an eye on things. Maybe Dalton thinks I know, but it doesn’t matter. Mac could’ve told me, been honest with me. It explains things, his secretiveness, for one. I remember asking him about the men in black canvas and him not answering me, but changing the subject instead. I assumed he wasn’t in the army anymore, as he led me to believe. Does Rudy know? Of course he does. It all makes sense, except for the reason they kept it from me.
I’m shocked this doesn’t upset me. After everything I’ve been through, it seems nothing Mac could do would make me mad for long, except die, or cheat, which I doubt he’d do like I might have to do tonight. I swallow as fresh tears course their way down my cheeks. I wipe at them with the back of my hand.
We spend a long time at the reception, dancing. Well, I don’t dance, just go through the motions. Joshua brags about me to people the whole time, wanting our children to look like me because of my beautiful eyes, flowing hair, supple lips, and perfect facial structure.
I pretend as if I’m still drugged, not looking around too much to give myself away. Walking gives me the information I need for future reference. We’re in some kind of conference room. I vaguely remember walking down flights of stairs. Not to mention, the room I was held in making way to the rest of the apartment. The clues point to an apartment complex.
Not seeing Dalton the rest of the time, I have hope he went to the community and Mac’ll burst in at any moment.
After being taken to a bedroom in the apartment with a full-size bed, I want to vomit. The girls say a prayer of fertility, and I say my own of infertility. I know my cycle, and I’m not worried about it. Mac and I discussed this way before we slept together. I have to say the boy knows his stuff. It sure as hell doesn’t make him uncomfortable to talk about ovulation.
I almost smile when I recall him telling me he has a thermometer to ch
eck, if I’m worried about it, of course. Not pushy, but he likes to be prepared. I know why. It’s part of his personality anyway, but most of it stems from military training being ingrained. I remember asking him how he knew so much about it. He told me he picked it up to help the women at the community, so they’d know exactly when they couldn’t get pregnant. I realize now, it’s in the job description, looking over people at the community. I wonder if his cantankerousness is all an act. I can’t believe I don’t know his rank, or how he even knows all the medical information he stores in his genius. I hope I get the chance to know.
A thin nightgown slips over me. They lay me on the bed before leaving. While I lie there, I wonder if the team left for the famished camps. A dawning horror washes over me – Mac might be gone to the base with the team.
Joshua comes in and strides right for the bed, only wearing pajama bottoms. I’m glad no one follows with a gun. Being young, he doesn’t have chest hair, or even a trail leading down. Ribs poke out of his abdomen just as his pajama bottoms point to a tent in the front, more than ready to commence his wedding night. I squeeze my eyes closed. A cup is thrust into my hand.
“Drink this, darling.” His voice is smooth, happy, but the endearment stabs my heart.
“Don’t call me that. You haven’t earned the right,” I snap as his face hardens. He jerks the nightgown off of me. It seems I underestimated him. A chill sweeps over my body, having nothing to do with the cold.
He stands above me, staring at my body in fascination, like he’s never seen a naked woman before. I cross my hands over my chest, and pull my knees up.
Not liking this, he demands, “You will not cover yourself.” Jerking my knees apart, he looks at my most private parts as if he were looking through a microscope. My fists ball up. Not yet. I force myself to relax. Bending over, he groans, and makes a face I never want to see again. He falls to the bed, gasping for air. I move backward against the headboard, feeling satisfaction of his premature ejaculation, along with disgust.