Healing the Broken

by Evangeline Anderson

  “I know it’s early…or rather late, to be getting to bed,” the woman said apologetically. “But you see, Tsandor’s been having nightmares and calling for you all night. I’ve tried everything to calm him down and nothing is working.” She made a worried face. “He’s so worked up he can hardly breathe from crying. I’m afraid he’s going to make himself have some kind of a fit if he can’t calm down.”

  Sazar felt a stab of guilt. Tsandor had had night terrors in the past but only Malinda had been able to calm the boy down. He thought about telling the care giver that—telling her that the only person who could calm Tsandor was dead and there was nothing he could do.

  But then he remembered Sarah’s words.

  “He abandoned me the same way you’ve abandoning Tsandor by never going to see him, by not giving him the love that he needs… Kids grow up fast…love him while you can.”

  The memory pierced deep.

  I abandoned her and hurt her and pushed her away as surely as her own father did, Sazar thought ruefully. The same way I abandoned Tsandor to the constant care house because I couldn’t deal with how much he looked like Malinda…because I couldn’t answer his questions about when she was coming home.

  Gods, he hated himself.

  “I know you’re a busy man and I probably shouldn’t have bothered you—” the caregiver woman said.

  “No.” Sazar shook his head. “No, don’t apologize. I’ll come. Tell Tsandor I’m on my way.”

  He got up and threw on some clothing. He had no idea what he could do to calm his son down—he’d barely seen him lately and it had always been Malinda the boy adored anyway. But he had an obligation to try—he was Tsandor’s father and it was time he started acting like it.

  It was a short trip to the constant care house and he saw that the lights in the front room were on as he knocked at the door. The woman who had called him—Lola, was that her name?—opened the door holding a sobbing Tsandor in her arms.

  Sazar’s heart clenched when he saw the small face, twisted in misery. Tears were pouring down his round cheeks and he was crying so hard he could hardly catch his breath. He clung to Lola tightly, his small body wracked with sobs.

  “Tsandor?” he said, feeling helpless and useless at the same time. “It’s me—Patro.” Patro was the Blood Kindred version of “Daddy” as Mamam meant “Mommy.”

  At first he was certain his son wouldn’t respond. It had been too long since Malinda had died and Sazar had made too few visits, always running from his own grief, unable to bear to see his small son.

  But then, to his surprise, Tsandor looked up, his crystal-blue eyes still filled with tears, and held out his arms.

  “P-patro,” he whispered brokenly and then he was in Sazar’s arms and Sazar was hugging him tight.

  Guilt flooded him but so did love—a love he had almost forgotten because it had been submerged in grief. A feeling of protective tenderness rose in his chest and he crushed the little boy to him, feeling the strong little arms wrap around his neck as Tsandor clung to him, still sobbing.

  “Tsandor,” he whispered, his own voice tight with emotion. “What is it? What has you so upset in the middle of the night?”

  And then his son said something which froze his heart.

  “Sarah,” he said, pulling back to look at his father with wide, tear-filled eyes. “The bad men took Sarah. And if you don’t get her back they’re gonna do something awful to her.”

  “What?” He looked at Tsandor in disbelief. “What do you know about Sarah? How do you know?”

  “It’s a bad dream,” Lola the caregiver said quickly. “When your new assistant, Sarah, came to visit Tsandor a couple of days ago he really took to her and he’s been talking about her ever since. I think he just had a nightmare because he misses her.”

  “No!” Tsandor insisted. “No, it’s not just a bad dream. I mean it is, but it isn’t just.”

  “Tsandor, honey—don’t you want to go back to bed?” Lola asked gently. “Come on now, I’m sure Sarah will come see you again soon.”

  “She can’t come because the bad men took her!” Tsandor broke into fresh sobs. “I saw her, Patro,” he said to Sazar. “I saw her walking down the street in her red shirt. And she was holding a big pink box. Then the men came and took her! I saw her!”

  The cold hand that had gripped his heart when Tsandor first mentioned Sarah’s name turned to ice. He remembered the red sweater Sarah had changed into before they left Alquon Ultrea. She’d been wearing it when she left the Mother Ship and carrying the pink carry-all cube which had all her clothing in it.

  How could Tsandor possibly know that?

  “I saw them take her, Patro!” The little boy’s face was a mask of tears. “Please go get her—bring her back before they hurt her. Please!” He buried his hot little face in Sazar’s neck, his words muffled but still understandable. “The Goddess sent her for you and me. And now she’s gone.”

  Sazar felt like a big hand had reached down his throat and turned him inside out so that his heart was beating on the outside of his body.

  She’s in trouble…the Goddess sent her…the bad men took her…

  He remembered the things Sarah had told him about The Brotherhood of Peace. She hadn’t wanted to talk about it much but she’d admitted it was a cult she had escaped from—and that they would be looking for her. It was why she’d wanted to take a job on the Mother Ship to begin with—to keep away from those she’d run from.

  And I drove her away—drove her back down to Earth, Sazar thought, feeling sick. It’s my fault she left—my fault if she’s in the hands of The Brotherhood right now.

  He had to go find her! He would call the shelter first—maybe she would be there. Maybe Tsandor’s dream was just a nightmare, not reality.

  But somehow Sazar didn’t think so.

  “Tsandor,” he said, stroking the golden curly head gently. “I’m sorry but I have to go now.”

  “Are you going to go find Sarah?” The little boy looked up hopefully. “Please Patro—please find her.”

  “I’m going to try,” Sazar said grimly. “Did you dream anything else? About where they took her?”

  Tsandor shook his head.

  “No—just that it was someplace bad she didn’t want to go.”

  The Compound, Sazar thought. It must be the Compound place she talked about, where the Brotherhood’s headquarters are at.

  But where was the Compound? Somewhere on Earth was all he knew. Probably in the vicinity of Tampa.

  Well that really narrows it down, whispered a sarcastic little voice in his head.

  I’ll find it—I’ll find her. I have to!

  He kissed Tsandor’s flushed cheek and handed the little boy back to his caregiver, Lola.

  She looked back and forth from Sazar to the quieted Tsandor uncertainly.

  “So…you’re going to go get Sarah to make Tsandor feel better? Isn’t she somewhere on the Mother Ship?”

  “I’m afraid not.” Sazar felt his jaw clench and his hands fisted at his sides. “She’s somewhere down on Earth. But I’m going to find her.”

  “Hurry, Patro.” Tsandor’s crystal blue eyes were wide and worried. “Hurry—they’re going to do bad things to her soon. I know it—I saw it.”

  “I swear I’ll hurry.” Reaching out, he stroked the boy’s flushed cheek. Tsandor’s face was so like Malinda’s but for once the comparison didn’t hurt. “I…love you,” he said, nearly tripping over the unfamiliar words.

  “Love you too.” Tsandor spoke with the uncomplicated sweetness of childhood and gave him a tiny smile. “Find Sarah, Patro,” he whispered.

  “I will,” Sazar vowed. “I promise.”

  “And then we’ll all live together and be a family, right?” Tsandor asked.

  Sazar felt his heart lurch in his chest. Though he could promise to track Sarah down and keep her from harm (or at least try to) he couldn’t promise anything like that. After what he had done, she would still hate him, eve
n if he saved her. He was sure of that.

  “I’ll find her,” he repeated. And with a last look at his son, he left the constant care house.

  It was time to go hunting.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  “Well, well—so the prodigal returns.” Father Caleb steepled his wrinkled, liver-spotted hands under his jowly chin and regarded Sarah with interest. He could look charming to the world when he wanted to but when he was at rest in his own office, he looked like a big old lizard sunning himself on a rock—at least to Sarah.

  “Not by choice.” She glared back, heedless of the way Charlie and Amos, standing on either side of The Prophet’s plush leather office chair, were smirking at her.

  “You look a little worse for the wear, my dear. If you don’t mind me saying so,” Father Caleb remarked.

  Sarah was a disheveled mess and she knew it. After bringing her back to the Compound in the trunk of their car, Amos and Charlie had locked her in a small storage closet and left her there for the rest of the night. She’d been allowed out exactly once to use the bathroom and that was only after she banged on the door and threatened to go right in the closet if they didn’t give her a break.

  She was still wearing her jeans and the red sweater and the Alquon nipple jewelry under it. Her nipples felt sore and chafed but though she’d attempted to take off the jewelry herself—what else was she going to do while locked in a closet for hours and hours?—she hadn’t been successful. The gold and diamond nipple bands weren’t budging for anyone but Sazar.

  And he’s probably up on the Mother Ship enjoying his life and trying to forget me, she thought bitterly. There was no use hoping that the big Kindred would come riding to her rescue. She was on her own here—which was a very bad place to be.

  “Father Caleb,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady and even. “Please just let me go. I didn’t join The Brotherhood of Peace by choice—my mother brought me when I was twelve and I’ve never felt like I belonged.”

  “But you do belong, Sarah—you belong to me.” He smiled at her, a warm, charming, televangelist’s smile showing whiter-than-white teeth, but there was steel underneath it, like a bear trap waiting to snap shut.

  “You can’t own another person!” Sarah protested.

  “A mere mortal cannot, perhaps. But I am The Prophet!” He rose from behind his desk, spreading his hands and displaying his immaculate white suit.

  Dressed all in white and full of himself, just like The Lord Magnate, Sarah thought and choked back a hysterical laugh.

  “Praise be!” Amos and Charlie said together and Amos added, “He is the Prophet—he shall purify!”

  “Please, just let me go.” Sarah’s voice was shaking now, though she tried to hold it steady. “I swear I won’t say anything bad about The Brotherhood! I just want to go live my own life.”

  “But it appears to me you’ve already started living your own life, my dear.” Father Caleb came to stand in front of her. “For instance…what is going on here?” He nodded at her prominent nipples and Sarah felt her stomach do a slow flip.

  “We don’t know what’s going on with her, Father Caleb,” Charlie volunteered. “She was like that yesterday when we found her.”

  “But we didn’t touch her,” Amos said quickly. “We left her alone, just like you said.”

  “That’s very good.” Father Caleb nodded. “But now I want to see what’s going on with my sweet little Sarah. Charlie, come and lift her top.”

  “No!” Sarah took a step back but before she knew it, Amos was behind her, holding her arms behind her back and Charlie was lifting the hem of her red sweater. She struggled uselessly but the gold and diamond nipple bands and the golden breast chain with its diamond charms was quickly revealed.

  “Well!” Father Caleb’s pouchy eyes grew wide. “What have we here? You have been living a separate life—far from the upright and moral one you were trained to.” He frowned warningly at Sarah. “Is this some kind of Kindred thing? I know you got a job with those Godless alien heathens. ”

  “No, it’s not,” Sarah said defiantly. “It was a gift from a friend on Alquon Ultrea.”

  “Where?” Amos demanded, shaking her so that her breasts jiggled.

  “A planet I visited when…when I worked for the Kindred.” Sarah wished her eyes wouldn’t fill up with tears. But she couldn’t help wishing Sazar was here now—even though she was mad at him, the memories of everything they’d been through together made her long for the big Kindred horribly.

  “What kind of planet was that—a whore planet?” Charlie demanded and he and Amos laughed uproariously.

  “Never seen anything like it. Look how big her tits are! How come we never noticed it before?” Amos marveled.

  “Probably because she was always hiding behind those little glasses of hers and pretending to be all shy and quiet. Guess she’s not so shy now.”

  Amos shook her again, making her full breasts wobble. The float dots were still in place beneath them, causing her full mounds to stand up pertly, putting on even more of a show.

  Sarah was flooded with shame and anger as the three men stared at her bare chest. Even on Alquon, walking around topless, she hadn’t felt so vulnerable…so helpless. Probably because on the alien world, she wasn’t the only woman who was topless and also, she’d been certain that Sazar would protect her if anyone tried anything.

  She had no such protection now.

  “You should take that stuff off her, Father Caleb,” Charlie remarked. “Bet it’s worth a fortune.”

  “I’m sure it is.” The Prophet eyed her speculatively. “But as sinful as the jewelry is, it’s also rather lovely, don’t you think?”

  He reached out his liver-spotted hand and circled one banded nipple with a wrinkled finger.

  At the feel of his hand on her, a wave of revulsion rolled over Sarah, so strong it made her nauseous.

  “Don’t touch me! Don’t you touch me you son of a bitch!” she screamed, thrashing in Amos's grip.

  Father Caleb backhanded her, hard across the face. The heavy golden ring he wore on his right hand—a symbol of his divine priesthood—cut Sarah’s cheek and her ears were ringing. Pain sang through her and the tears that had threatened earlier overflowed and spilled down her cheeks.

  “You bastard,” she whispered. "I hate you. I've always hated you!"

  “Watch that language, my dear—unless you want another,” Father Caleb murmured.

  “You better shut up and show respect to The Prophet,” Amos snarled in her ear, shaking her again.

  “That’s right—keep it shut,” Charlie echoed.

  “Wise advice, Charlie…Amos. Our Sarah would do well to listen to it.” Father Caleb smiled at her—an ugly, greedy smirk, much different from his radiant televangelist smile.

  “Just leave me alone! Just don’t touch me.” Her voice came out in a dry croak.

  “I touch what’s mine whenever I want to, Sarah. You should know that by now.” Casually, he straightened his immaculate white cuffs and used a fresh linen handkerchief to rub away the traces of her blood on his ring.

  “I’m not yours. I’ll never be yours.” But the defiant words came out in a whisper. Her cheek was already swelling and she could feel blood running down her chin.

  Father Caleb walked back behind the desk without even bothering to answer her.

  “Now let’s see—what else did you bring away from this Godless planet you visited?” he mused. “Bring it here, Charlie—let’s see it.”

  “I think it’s some kinda suit case.” Charlie lifted her pink carry-all cube and placed it squarely on Father Caleb’s solid mahogany desk.

  “Open it.” Father Caleb gestured impatiently and Charlie hastened to comply, unsnapping the silver latches and spreading the cube, which unfolded in six parts, open on the desk.

  “Well, well—just look at all these sinful, worldy clothes you got for yourself in your ‘new life’,” Father Caleb remarked, picking through the modest shirts
and jeans and business suits gingerly, as though they were piles of crotchless bikini panties and stripper gear. “And what is this?” he added.

  He lifted something out of the suitcase—a chample, Sarah saw. She’d packed a few in her carry-all, mostly because she’d been throwing everything she could reach into it in their hurry to get off Alquon Ultrea.

  “Tell The Prophet what it is!” Amos demanded, shaking her until her breasts jiggled again. Sarah could feel his greedy eyes on her every time he did it—it made her sick.

  “Looks like some kinda kid’s blocks,” Charlie offered, squinting at the brightly colored cubes scattered through the case.

  “No it’s not—it’s a fruit,” Sarah said unwillingly. She didn’t want to tell them anything but she knew they wouldn’t let up until she did.

  “A fruit, huh?” Amos remarked. “What, like a square alien apple?”

  “More like the forbidden fruit, right?” Charlie laughed hoarsely. “Like little Sarah herself. Can’t touch her—not yet, anyway.” His piggy little eyes crawled over her bare breasts, making Sarah want to spit in his face.

  “That’s right—she is forbidden,” Father Caleb said. “Your turn will come, Charlie…Amos. But first this little one’s virginity is mine.”

  Sarah felt another surge of fear. What would happen when The Prophet found out someone else had already taken what he wanted? And he would—there was no way around it. The Alquon stay-tight was still inside her, holding Sazar’s seed in her pussy. Though it was only supposed to stay in for twenty-four hours, it showed no signs of dissolving yet. She had to buy herself some time—but how?

  The chample in the Prophet’s hand gave her an idea.

  “Those fruits,” she said. “Be careful with them—they’re delicacies. Nobody but The Lord Magnate—the ruler of Alquon Ultrea—was allowed to eat them. They grew them specially, just for him.”

  “Is that right?” Father Caleb examined the brightly colored champles in her suitcase with considerably more interest. Sarah knew he liked to have things that were exclusive to his use alone.