by K T Rose
“Is that what you were so hot over?” St. Pete asked as he set another box, this one bigger than the one Jessica had under her knife, on the counter, closer to the register. “I look better than that guy.” St. Pete flipped his blond mop with his fingers, then waved his head as if to shake it dry. He flashed a square-toothed grin.
“I don’t think so, darling. You look more like Matthew if he’d done crack in his past life,” Sister Green said.
Jessica and Hazel chuckled.
St. Pete grumbled. “Whatever.”
“But thank you so much for bringing this in. I’ve only been asking Paul for a magazine from this decade for six years now!”
“No problem, babe.” St. Pete snatched the flaps of the box open and then he leaned over the counter with puckered lips.
Sister Green planted a finger to his face. “I’m not that thankful. Nice try though.”
St. Pete snickered. “Worth a shot.”
He turned to Jessica, who started pulling small bags of barbeque potato chips from the box. “This one treating you right?”
Sister Green rolled her eyes as she pulled plastic bottles of grapefruit and cranberry juice from the big box.
Jessica smiled. “Yeah, she’s cool.” On her notepad, she jotted, ‘Barbeque: ten bags’ before she continued pulling out chip bags.
“Good. If she starts to misbehave, you yell for me and I’ll rush over and whip her into shape.”
“Shut up, St. Pete,” Hazel said, as she restocked peanuts and chocolate bars on the shelf across from the narrow table she’d been organizing on.
“I’m serious,” he said. “And Hazel won’t be here to stop me.”
“Do you not know what abstinence means?” Sister Green asked him. She stopped stacking lotion and bodywash behind the counter just to toss him a sneer.
“What now?”
She scoffed. “It’s only a part of the oath.” She recited: “I vow to stay true to this home, the home of Father Paul, and back him on all investments and decisions with mind, body, and soul. I vow to refrain from the use of alcohol, drugs, and sex, as a pure body is a healthy body. I trust Father Paul as he trusts me, and I live and die by Father Paul for he is the savior, the true reaper, and the man of men who will carry me on into the next life.”
Hearing the oath and even reciting it on the night she killed Dale made Jessica’s stomach turn. Spitting out nonsense is what it felt like on her tongue. But the truth of the matter was, she didn’t have a choice. She kept her head down and continued counting inventory.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, all that good stuff and shit,” St. Pete said. “I saw how you went googly-eyed over that guy on the magazine. You can’t tell me you don’t think about getting a little dirty sometimes. It’s okay, babe. Nobody has to know.”
She scowled. “Except Father Paul.” She pointed to the camcorder in the far corner, over the counter.
St. Pete scoffed and turned to the camera. “Hey Techy!” he yelled as he waved. He chuckled. “You act like he can hear us. Techy was able to talk Paul into retaining some kind of privacy by voting down the mics. Even after little Miss Walker Texas Ranger here blew off Mr. French’s head and that damned Dale guy smashed Blue’s head into the fucking floor.”
Jessica’s chest tightened as she pretended to count and recount the barbeque chips. She hated when they talked about her as if she weren’t there. Though she didn’t say much, her ears still worked. She hadn’t forgotten how that night went. Dale, chocking Blue out on the cement floor of what felt like a dungeon with faint light. They sat there, chained up, waiting to die. Dale begged for her cooperation where she couldn’t remember what being civil was. She just wanted out. And they found a way out. Between Blue’s neck getting crushed and his head smashed in by Dale and Jessica lodging a bullet into Mr. French’s head with his own gun, they found a way out alright. And now she stood there, among the group of people that was sure to end her, counting snacks.
“Ah, so he went with the whole we’re not—” Sister Green started.
“—the enemies here angle, right,” St. Pete went on. “It wasn’t easy though. Paul was gunning for the mics, getting us ready to install them in every trailer, bathroom, and bedroom. Paul compromised though and the mic for the barn will be here next week. Then he threw a tantrum about how long a month is to get anything here, but I told him, ‘it’s either we walk into a post office and pick up a suspicious package, or we let our guy take his time and get here, off-the-grid.’ Thank Christ for his insane paranoia. Shit. But relax. I’m just poking fun. You’re still my babe though.”
Sister Green sighed and then looked at Jessica with a lightened face. “See how quickly he changed his tune?”
“Hey. Because I wanted to.” St. Pete dropped his gaze to the next box on his dolly and set it on top of Mr. Key’s dolly. The man had been so quiet that Jessica had forgotten he was standing there, waiting. “You’re all set, man. School supplies for the kiddies, and chow for the piggies.”
Mr. Key’s nodded and pulled his dolly toward the door. Hazel propped it open until he disappeared out into the cold.
“Anyway, what you guys up to today?” Sister Green asked as she jotted some numbers down on her notepad.
“Patrol,” Hazel said, as she pulled small bottles of orange and grape juice from her next box.
“Setting up for the barn,” St. Pete said.
Sister Green frowned. “For?”
“We’ll know when you know.”
She scoffed. “Well, what kind of half-assed answer is that? Is someone in trouble? Was Father Paul upset when he told you to set up the barn? I mean… give me something here.” She snapped her fingers rapidly. “Context clues!”
“Damn, you make it sound like someone’s dying!” St. Pete said as he sliced up a box, breaking it down. He grabbed Jessica’s, did the same, and stacked them near the trailer’s aluminum door.
“Well, yeah. I mean we’re overdue for a meeting, but since when do we go out to the barn in the midst of winter? We usually meet in the Center unless someone, well…”
“Like I said, you’ll find out when we find out. I know just as much as you on this, Sister Green. I only work and live here, just as you.”
“Amen to that,” Hazel said under her breath.
The door creaked open, allowing the winter breeze to rush through the trailer dropping the bumping seventy-six degrees down. Jessica never understood why Sister Green needed it so hot. If she’d asked to open a window, Sister Green lectured her on energy waste and how living off the land was the best way to be on such a fragile earth. Jessica wanted to call her out on it many times as it was a dumb contradiction, but she kept her mouth shut. Stay in your lane, she’d preach inwardly, only for someone older than seventeen, or an elder on the compound, to say something else that made as much sense as the earth being flat.
“Hey, Billy. Hey, Blaze! Whatcha’ guys looking for?” Sister Green’s loud introduction pulled Jessica back to her tasks: unload boxes, write up quantities, and stock. She had little to no interest in the other teens on the compound, especially Billy, who couldn’t help but stare whenever he thought no one was looking. In full army fatigue, his pasty, freckled face always found Jessica in the dining gazebo or on the walk to the Center where her room was. Sometimes, it seemed like he’d go out of his way to stop by just to stare. He’d only stopped by any chance he got outside of guard duty. She knew it too. She’d caught his deep brown orbs peeking at her over the shelves. Didn’t he know that sneaking around was pointless? The store was only big enough to fit two racks up the middle and a refrigerator against the far wall. A family dining table took up the other wall. That’s where Hazel stood, stocking magazines.
“Nothing. Just looking around at what you have,” Billy said. But Jessica knew that wasn’t what he wanted. She turned her back to him, faced the shelves behind the counter, and pretended to count body wash and bar soap.
Blaze hadn’t bothered answering. She walked over to Hazel with a b
ig smile on her face. “Hey, Hazel! How’s it going?” She put a hand on her thin waist and flipped her shiny hair over her shoulder.
“It’s going, baby doll. I got something for you.”
Blaze perked up and clapped her hands together. “Well, what is it? Show me, show me!”
“Isn’t that cute?” Sister Green said. “They’re like mother and daughter.”
St. Pete scoffed. “Haze gets that runt chocolates and sweets, but she only tells me to shut up.” He stomped another box. “That’s just… not fair.”
“Shut up, Pete,” Hazel said, as she handed the bonbons over to Blaze, who tore open the packet and shoved them into her mouth.
“Thanks. Strawberry is my favorite, but this is good too,” Blaze said, mouth full.
“Ow. Shot down by your own minion,” St. Pete teased.
“At least I know someone loves me,” Hazel replied. She winked at Blaze, who smiled as she chewed and made her way for the door, allowing snowflakes to fly free inside the trailer, soaking the floor as she left.
“Yeah, whatever,” St. Pete mumbled. As if blowing her off, he looked around the small space, then his gaze landed on Billy who’d been fiddling around with gummy bears. St. Pete said, “There isn’t that much looking around in the world. Aren’t you supposed to be on duty?”
“N—no sir. Domo and I switched about ten minutes ago.”
“Um. Carry on,” St. Pete said as he took up the cardboard boxes. “Hazel, you ready to head out? We got a lot to do before you have to switch with Domo and I have to cover the back end.”
Hazel nodded and stomped her box flat.
“Remember what I said,” St. Pete said, pointing a finger at Jessica and smiling at Sister Green. “I’ll get her!”
Sister Green sighed as they disappeared into the blinding whiteness of outside.
Sister Green leaned her hips against the counter and flipped through pages of her magazine. She oohed and aahed. Even folded the end of a few pages. “Don’t you miss wearing makeup sometimes?”
Jessica pointed at the shampoo that was shelved behind Sister Green. “No.” She wrote: Dread Shampoo: 1. Dandruff relief: 7. Shampoo for kids: 4. Original with deep conditioning: 11.
“What do you mean? I loved eyeliner and eye shadow. Oh all the colors I used to experiment with. I’d try forest green, golden yellow, and red ruby. How can you be a woman and not wear makeup?”
“I didn’t. My best friend did though.” She frowned. It’s only been every night for nearly three weeks that she drifted off to sleep in tears. Brandy used to try every makeup behind the counter at Red Pharmacy. But her favorite was glitter. She claimed it made her blonde bob pop and her blue eyes sparkle. But Jessica wanted to be here. She truly did. But the sparks died that night of her initiation. Somewhere between the nights in the dungeon and her hammer cracking down on Dale’s head, she lost her ambition to meet Father Paul, a father from afar. A role model that embodied everything she couldn’t find in her own family. She used to think, “How does a guy like this get away with so much shit?”
“Um. Billy? Dear, are you sure you don’t need help?” Sister Green asked, not moving her eyes from the magazine pages.
Jessica looked over to find his messy burnt orange hair peeking over the shelves full of chocolate, nuts, and cereal bars. He didn’t even try to hide the fact he was stalking her based on his mischievous smile when he saw her stare back. What the hell is wrong with this kid? What was wrong with any of the guards for that matter?
A group on their own, Domo, Billy, Blaze, and Orion, made up The Fury of Four. Blaze and Orion hung out in the trees, watching the road and the compound from an aerial view and Billy and Domo stayed on foot, walking around the perimeter. Jessica rarely saw Orion and Domo outside of breakfast as they sat there at one of the picnic tables in the dining gazebo, hawking down pancakes and orange juice before they slept off their shift from the night before.
Orion, the oldest of the bunch, reminded Jessica of a stoner with his rough beard and long dark hair. Rumor had it that McGee made him look like a god from the fronts of those romance novels when he went out to ‘recruit’ for the show. His hair would be slicked back and his beard combed and tidied up. Jessica had never seen him that clean before and it was impossible to imagine because at breakfast, he looked like a hobo, wearing holy dark jeans and a dingy white t-shirt with the neck stretched down his bare, tanned, taut chest.
Domo, on the other hand, stayed clean shaven and wore the best clothes. His afro was cut into a clean fade and his diamond earrings glitzed and glimmered more than the winter sun had. His tennis shoes, somehow, stayed fresh with all the walking around and his jogging suits stayed clean and finely pressed.
The Fury of Four task force kept Father Paul and the people on the compound on alert and safe from the outside. The last alert, sent out by Blaze, was the warning of a stray deer coming in and out whenever it pleased, nibbling at the garbage outside the kitchen trailer. She complained about how smart it was. How it just knew Mr. Key’s schedule for burning the garbage and that it only came around on Thursdays. Jessica thought this was silly, but Father Paul sent out a memo, “Kill it on sight and toss its carcass in the road, fifty miles out.”
“I found it,” Billy said. He snatched something without looking and marched up to the counter.
“Jessica, do you mind—”
“You get to keep your own name?” Billy asked. A look of confusion crossed his face.
“I guess,” Jessica said as she checked the back of his Mr. Nutter bar for the price. “$2.49.”
He pulled crumpled up dollar bills from his pocket. He unwrapped them and counted out three dollars.
She punched it into the register and the drawer slid open.
“Why do you get to keep your name?”
Perplexed, she swiped up two quarters and penny and held it out. “I do have a name. It’s Jessica.”
“Huh,” he said, taking the change and opening the candy bar. He took a slow bite as he looked her up and down.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Need anything else?”
He shook the bar and as he chewed, he said, “No. This is good. Have a good day, Jessica.”
She watched his silhouette drown in with the winter as he left.
“Does he always do that?”
“Hmm?” Sister Green said as she oogled at some woman’s lime summer dress. “Oh my, I would wear the shit out of that.” Her eyes seemed to glow with every page flip. It made Jessica wonder. Sister Green was as normal as a middle-aged woman got. So why and how did anyone end up here? Were they forced to kill, show their gratitude and allegiance to Father Paul the way she had?
“How did you end up here?” Jessica blurted.
Sister Green closed the magazine and set it on the counter. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask me that, ya know?”
“Why’d I have to ask?”
“Because I wanted to make sure you were comfortable. Everyone works here with me until they are comfortable to have other jobs.”
Jessica cocked her head. “I don’t follow.”
“Well, ya see, Father Paul likes for new members to be felt out before he puts them where he needs them to be. What better place to put them then—well—with me.”
“Okayyyy,” Jessica said. “Spill it. How’d you end up here?”
“Well, I was getting sick of the day-to-day. I was a self-employed therapist for fifteen years, had two kids which my husband (or has-been) and I spoiled the crap out of. I could lie to you and say everything was going well until one day… Bam! But that’s not the case. I fell into a deep depression. I was so miserable that my husband couldn’t talk to me anymore. Instead, he hung out at the gym with his fitness trainer, Samantha Brenton.”
Sister Green stared off with a faint grin on her face as if she were reliving the memory. “She was everything I wasn’t: happy, twenty- something, built wonderfully…mahogany hair. I knew about her for months, but I didn’t care. I was too busy
drinking myself to sleep or explaining to our grown ass kids that they had to leave the nest. But they guilt-tripped me into shutting up and my younger son even brought me some zanies to help me relax. Little did I know, he was lacing my brandy with it and he’d steal from my wallet or throw parties in my house once I passed out. When I caught him one sunny afternoon, I chased him around the house with a butcher knife. Once I sobered up, later that day, I knew I needed help. I checked myself into the psych ward out in Grand Rapids. But that didn’t seem to help. The drugs they had been giving me for my bipolar disorder had turned me into a zombie.
“Anyway, during game night, I overheard a conspiracy nut talking about The Silent Red Room and how it was led by this man, Father Paul, and how he accepted volunteers for money. Thousands.” Sister Green’s hands shivered as she rubbed them together. “I was no good for my family. I stayed in a broken marriage and I tried to kill my own son for drugging me. It wasn’t fun being a zombie, watching the world drag by, so I decided to investigate Father Paul myself; the least I could do to make it up to them was leave them a nice amount of money on top of my life insurance.
“And sure enough it was true. The Silent Red Room was real. It was a bitch to find, but I stumbled into it. I tuned in every month for a year, trying to feel anything that’ll talk me out of my sacrifice. But nothing came. I envied those people in the chair, for their pain was temporary and mine seemed to stick around, slowing my days and haunting my night. I signed up one day and the next, I was instructed to wait for a black SUV to pick me up in the Veggie Night Owl parking lot.” Her face lit up.
“When I got here, they treated me nice; I got to stay in a bedroom up in the Center and even got my favorite meal: mushroom risotto and flank steak, medium rare. It was the best last day of my life. Right before the show, Father Paul came to the dungeon and talked to me. He seemed to be more interested in my therapy degrees and the practice I left behind. He even asked what it was I wanted to do with myself and I said, even though it was too late in life, I’d open a corner market and serve the people in the community. Talk to everyone out in the open. Live among and love the many personalities as they were. Mix and mingle. Know what the regulars loved and even got them comfortable enough with me to where they’d tell me about their pets and family passing’s. Father Paul and I laughed and cried and the next thing I know, he’s offering me a job.”