The White Lily

by Susanne Matthews

  He placed a chair at the table for her and grabbed another for himself. “Do you want a beer now?” he asked.

  “Sure. I can be double-fisted. This smells fantastic.”

  He opened two beers, left the other four chilling in the bucket of ice, and removed the covers from the dishes. She reached for the miniature bottle of ketchup and added it to her burger and fries. While they ate, they watched the end of a made-for-television disaster movie about sunspots.

  She stood. “That was great—not the movie. It was a little too doom and gloom for me. What time is it?”

  Jacob checked his watch. “Four-thirty.”

  “Good. We’ve got at least four hours to work before my favorite television program comes on. I never miss an episode.”

  “Please don’t tell me it’s a reality show.”

  “It’s about as far from reality as you can get. Let’s move the table out of the way and get to work on that chart. I hope the tape won’t damage the paint,” she said, sticking another sheet of chart paper to the wall. She grabbed the marker and printed Utah at the top.

  Jacob shrugged. “I don’t think it will. What do we know about cults in Utah?”

  Lilith printed on the chart as he rattled off the information they’d been given about polygamist cults, nurseries, breeding stables, and at the bottom, she added FFOW.

  “What’s that?” he asked. He wasn’t going to tip his hand that he’d looked it up.

  “The Faithful Followers of the Word was the cult I was involved with, and so it seems Pierce was too and, by association, the Prophet and New Horizon. I never met the Lord, the man in charge whom I assume must’ve been your uncle. Rivers called himself the son of God. In reality, he was a pedophile preying on young girls and creating his own dynasty. The girls weren’t called mares, but there are a lot of similarities I never thought about before. Those he chose for himself lived apart from the others in what he called the holiest of holies and were referred to as vessels. God, that’s even worse than being a mare. It objectified them completely.”

  “Nice,” he said and shook his head. How had his uncle met all these wackos? “Anything else stand out?”

  “The women all wore long, brown robes and lived on the compound, but most of the men didn’t. They had jobs and came out to the place only when they had to report. Pierce was the re-educator. What he did to me was called re-education, but I remember him saying I could remain once I was broken. Isn’t that a term used by people who raise horses?”

  “Yes, but breaking a horse doesn’t mean beating it into submission. It means working with the animal to gain its trust so you can ride it or get it to do whatever you need it to do—more like cult indoctrination than torture.”

  They spent the next two hours adding all the information they’d learned to the charts. They went online to see what they could find out about the Templars, but there was nothing there. According to Trevor, Homeland Security would check its files for him.

  “I think that’s all we can do for now,” she said, stretching. “I wish we could get out of here and get some exercise. There’s an exercise room in my apartment building.”

  “Hold that thought,” he said, picking up the phone. “Yes, this is Mr. Andrews. My wife and I want to use the exercise room ... Good.” He hung up. “The exercise room here will be clear for us in fifteen minutes. Go get your gear on.”

  She smiled. “Thank you.”

  She placed a quick kiss on his cheek and hurried into her room. He grinned. He felt better now than he had when he’d struck gold on his first prospecting trip. Whistling “Waltzing Matilda,” he went into his room to change.

  • • •

  Lilith leaned back against the sofa cushions and yawned. It was after eleven. Despite the dismal beginning to the day, the rest of it had gone well. After she’d burned off a lot of her energy and frustration in the workout, she’d showered again and dressed for dinner, wearing her good black dress and the sassy black heels she’d chosen this morning. Jacob had been like-minded and wore a pale blue shirt with dress slacks.

  Dinner had been superb, from the frozen strawberry daiquiri to the cognac they sipped now. A chef with what seemed to be a portable mini kitchen had come to the suite and prepared the food for them, serving each of the five courses with the correct wine pairing. She’d never felt so pampered. Everything had been cleared away efficiently, and they were alone once more.

  “Tell me,” she said, “do you live like this all the time?”

  He laughed. “No, not quite like this, but I do have a housekeeper who’s an excellent cook. She moves from one house to the other when I do. Right now, the growing season’s underway up north, so I’d be up there, but since I was leaving, she chose to go to Melbourne and be near her sister. She and Andrew were close.”

  “How old is she?”

  “I’d guess she’s in her late fifties. Her husband was killed in car accident about twenty years ago. She’s been with me nine years. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

  “I’ll bet she spoiled you both.”

  “That she did. She’ll really be in her element looking after Mary and Ruth and the boys, and having a pregnant woman like Faye to dote on will make her day.”

  “Where will you go when you get back?”

  “Probably Evergreen. I can get some of the local women to clean and cook for me. I may go walkabout first.”

  “You’ve said that before. I gather walkabout has more to it than just tramping around.”

  “In its purest sense, walkabout is a rite of passage for Aborigine youths moving into adulthood. They go off into the desert to live and think. In practice, they’d follow in the paths of their ancestors, re-creating their heroic deeds. Today, it refers to going off on your own to think. I might do some prospecting while I’m at it. I still have a few mineral rights I haven’t touched, and I renew my permit every year. My time in Supai with Andrew made me into the man I am. I need to find myself now that I’ve lost him.”

  “You haven’t lost him. As long as you remember the good times, he’s there.” She touched his chest gently. “I used to think I’d lost everyone when my parents and grandmother died, but they’re still a part of me, and I’d like to think they’d be proud of the woman I’ve become.”

  “I’ve told you before, beauty is on the inside,” he said. “It was one of the things Andrew used to say all the time. People look at the outside to see beauty, and they always miss it. The shell may be attractive, but it’s what’s inside that counts. He illustrated that quite effectively one day with an egg. The outside was white, perfect, flawless, but when he cracked it, it was rotten inside, and the stench ... You’re attractive on the outside and beautiful on the inside. You’re strong and dedicated, and I’m very glad we met and became friends, Lilith Munroe.” He clinked his glass on hers.

  Lilith stared into the golden liquor overwhelmed by his words. How long had it been since someone had spoken to her like that?

  “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in ages. Thank you.” She finished the cognac in her glass, and stood, swaying slightly. “I’d better get to bed. That car will be here at nine to take us to the helicopter. The chopper ride isn’t a long one.”

  “Goodnight, Lilith. Sleep tight.”

  “You, too.”

  She left him sitting on the sofa. She’d left the light on in her room earlier so its cheery brightness greeted her. The drapes were closed and she took in the beauty of the room. The hotel might’ve been built in the 1920s, but everything was clean and modern. She undressed, brushed her teeth, creamed her face, and put on the long-sleeved, short nightgown. Five years ago, she wore sexy nightwear, all of which she’d destroyed or given away. Leaving the light on, she went into the bedroom and turned down the bed, crawling between the sheets.

  She stared up at the ceiling. Tomorrow, she’d have to tell Jacob exactly what had happened to her and why she could never be the one to fill the void in his life.

 
; Chapter Twenty

  Lilith’s screams tore him out of his pleasant, erotic dream and propelled him toward her room. He didn’t even think about the fact he was naked. Those hair-curling shrieks demanded immediate action.

  He opened the door without knocking and saw her thrashing on the bed, deep in the throes of a nightmare.

  “Lilith, honey, wake up. I’m here. It’s Jacob. You’re safe. It’s just a bad dream.” He sat beside her and touched her shoulder. He didn’t know if it was the right thing to do, but he couldn’t leave her stuck there in whatever imaginary horror her mind had conceived.

  She stopped fighting and opened her eyes, looking straight at him, and burst into tears. He wouldn’t have believed it possible for her to cry again, but she did. He climbed into bed with her, keeping the sheet between them to hide his loins, and sat up against the headboard, pulling her up and into his arms, her head cradled against his shoulder.

  “It’s okay. I have you.” He rocked her gently.

  Gradually, her weeping slowed to trickling tears, and she made the funny sup-supping sound he’d heard children make when they’d cried hard. She’d probably made the same sound that afternoon, but he’d fallen asleep with her in his arms. He probably would again if he laid down, which was why he was sitting up. Gradually, her tears stopped and her breathing eased, but she wasn’t asleep. Whether consciously or not, her fingers traced the welts under her hand.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

  “No,” she whispered, “but I should.” She took a deep breath and sat up more comfortably in his arms, but she didn’t move away.

  “After I was rescued, I had to be treated for PTSD. I’d have nightmares like this one every night, and I couldn’t function. Every sound terrified me. I couldn’t even leave the house. With the help of medication to calm my nerves, I was able to consign the ugliest of the memories to the back of my mind. The only thing I haven’t been able to get over is my fear of the dark, as you can see.”

  “That’s what bothered you in the car when we left your apartment.”

  She nodded. “I developed a coping strategy for my anxiety. When I’m feeling panicky, I go shopping for shoes. I probably have more shoes than I’ll ever wear, but the act of putting them on and taking them off calms me.”

  He chuckled. “I noticed that this morning. I read somewhere that a woman can never have too many shoes.”

  “I’ll bet Imelda Marcos said that. I’ve got about sixty pairs at home. Every now and then, I get up the nerve to give some away before I buy new ones. I only brought seven pairs with me, eight if you count my boots. Now I’ve got ten. Unfortunately, I don’t think a new pair of shoes will work this time.”

  “I’ll buy you fifty pairs if it’ll help. Why did you go undercover?”

  “Because I was cocky and stupid like most new recruits. Here I was the agency’s newest agent and cult expert. I figured I was the best one for the job. I was wrong. That cult had been under surveillance for some time because the DEA thought they were helping the Mexican cartel distribute drugs. FBI and DEA often work together on cases like that. Senator Kirk’s fourteen-year-old granddaughter vanished, and a surveillance drone flying over the FFOW compound got a picture they believed might be the girl. It was good enough for an ID, and the team leader notified our undercover agent to try to get her out. Before he could, they found his tortured body in the desert. I volunteered to take his place.”

  “The cult had already killed a man, and the FBI agreed to send you in? What the hell was the matter with them?’

  “Nothing, Jacob. It was my idea. I wanted the chance to prove myself, and I can be very persuasive when I need to be. The operation went south because I didn’t understand what I was getting into and made a foolish mistake. No one blamed me for its failure, but had I been less green, I might’ve rescued Kelly Kirk and the other children. Hell, we might’ve even caught your uncle and ended this before it started.”

  Jacob shook his head. “You can’t assume that. According to Trevor, Pierce must’ve been working on that case, too. He probably killed that agent. I’m surprised he didn’t know who you were.”

  She shivered, and he held her closer, pulling the comforter up over her shoulders.

  “I wasn’t with the Utah operation. I’d just graduated and joined the San Diego office. Pierce probably didn’t even know I existed. When I managed to infiltrate the cult, I didn’t see any drugs, but like I said earlier, the women stayed on the compound. I didn’t see much of the men who visited Rivers, and I stayed as far away from that old goat as I could.”

  She was quiet for so long he thought she’d fallen asleep.

  “I’d been there about six weeks when one of the women got sick—in hindsight, I think she was being punished for something. When she showed up a few days later, she looked like hell. While she was ill, they let me go in and look after the master’s vessels. They were all so young; the oldest was barely sixteen. I introduced myself to Kelly, told her that her family had sent me to rescue her. The girl really believed Rivers was the son of God and that she was carrying the next messiah. She told him I planned to kidnap her, and he turned me over for re-education.”

  “You don’t have to do this now,” he said, sensing her distress, understanding it as no one else could. Hadn’t Pierce claimed he was re-educating Jacob with every stroke of the lash?

  “No. There’ll never be a good time, and maybe when I’m done, you’ll understand why we can never be more than friends.”

  “Nothing you tell me will ever change the way I feel about you, Lilith,” he said and meant it. No matter what she revealed, he’d find a way to convince her to given him, give them a chance.

  • • •

  Leaning into Jacob, breathing in the sandalwood scent that clung to his body, she let her fingers trace the scars on his chest. He’d been whipped, had suffered at the hands of the same monster she had. Maybe he’d understand a little of what had happened to her—understand and maybe be able to forgive her weakness. With her ear pressed against his chest, the steady thumping of his heart grounding her, she slipped into the past and the horror of her two days in Pierce’s hands.

  “They took me into a basement under one of the buildings at the back of the compound and stripped me of my robe. Rivers had the cell phone they’d found hidden in my mattress, and he crushed it under his heel. ‘If you expect someone to find you, you’re shit out of luck,’ but I was still cocky, too stupid to realize what would come next. I stood there in front of them wearing nothing but my panties and my grandmother’s locket around my neck. Rivers was going to remove it, but the re-educator told him to leave it—that he’d try to make it dance and then said a piece like that was too easy to trace to sell. Rivers laughed.

  “Between them, they pulled my hands up above my head and attached them to a large ring using handcuffs that bit into the flesh. It took months for those marks to fade, and I still make sure my sleeves are long enough to cover them. They pulled on the rope and strung me up until my feet didn’t touch the ground, and then they started questioning me. For each question I didn’t answer the way they wanted me to, I was lashed, the speed and intensity of it spinning me around. He’d wait until I faced away from him for the next question. I passed out somewhere around the fifteenth lash.” When she’d closed her eyes the last time, the only regret she had was that she hadn’t saved Kelly Kirk. She’d failed.

  She awakes in the dark, her cheek pressed to the cold, stone wall. Her back is on fire. A grinding sound of metal on metal tells her someone’s coming into her cell again. Bright light floods the room, piercing her with its intensity, making her moan. But she mustn’t make a sound. She can’t show weakness. She looks over her shoulder and the man in black is back.

  “That must hurt,” he says, smearing a numbing lotion over her back. Tears of gratitude fill her eyes.

  “Thank you,” she says, hoping he’ll release her now, praying he believes the lies she told him.

 
; “Such beautiful skin.” He caresses her back, moving down to her nylon-covered buttocks, touching her intimately.

  She squirms, trying to move away from the unwanted attention, but there’s nowhere to go. His hand slips around over her breasts, but she feels nothing as the same numbing that eased the pain on her back now makes her insensitive to his touch. She knows he pinches, touches her where he shouldn’t, but there’s nothing she can do to defend herself. Tears slip down her cheeks.

  He rips away the last garment she wear and begins to hum a familiar tune, one she herself has hummed for weeks now.

  “Mariah. Such a beautiful name for a beautiful woman, but you’ve been a bad girl, Mariah. You’ve lied to me and to the son of God. Who sent you here?”

  The sting of the cane on her buttocks shocks her, and she swallows her cry. He likes to hear her scream, but she won’t give him the satisfaction. If possible, the cane hurts even more than the whip did. Suddenly, his hand caresses the flesh where he’s struck her, but the numbing doesn’t come. Instead, he strikes her again, harder this time, and her stomach roils as she realizes he’s aroused by what he’s doing to her.

  “Tell me the truth, Mariah, who sent you here?”

  “I told you, Senator Kirk and his family,” she says through gritted teeth, clenched so hard her jaw aches, but it’s the only way to keep the screams inside.

  The answer isn’t the one he wants, and the cane comes down again and then the hand, followed by a question and the cane until they all mesh together in a vicious circle, and she no longer knows which comes first, the cane or the caress. On and on it goes until the oblivion claims her once more.

  The next time she awakes, the blackness of the tomb surrounds her. This time, she faces away from the wall. There’s no word to describe her torment; agony doesn’t even come close. Her arms and legs are stretched apart painfully and fastened tightly to the wall. Her breasts hurt, and when she looks down, her nipples have been pierced and a chain runs through the loops on each one. Her locket hangs between them.