by Lily White
His eyes blazed with anticipation. "I think I can figure it out." He paused for a moment, his expression twisted with contemplation. "You sure this Gentry guy is ready for whatever you have planned? What if he runs to squeal to his brother? We haven't exactly introduced him to the family yet."
My voice dropped in tone, anger at being questioned sharpening the edges. "He was at the demonstration last night and came to me this morning seeking help. The seeds have been planted, Richard, now it's up to us to help them sprout and grow. I believe we should offer Mr. Holmes some special refreshments prior to the demonstration. Bend his mind a little. Make him more receptive to the truth we give him."
Richard laughed. "You're going to drug him?"
Grinning, I crooned, "That's a rough way of putting it, Richard. I only plan on tipping the scales in our favor. Not enough for him to know anything's different, just enough to make him feel more involved in the demonstration he witnesses. You catch my drift, I'm sure."
My fingers brushed through Eve's hair. She stirred just a bit beneath my touch, her eyes moving beneath the closed lids, her lips parting just slightly. "Give him a water downed version of the initiate brew. Enough to make him believe he's seen God, but not so much he can't drive home. I want him suggestible, not stoned out of his mind."
Grunting his approval, Richard couldn't hide a grin. "What are the two people for? The man and woman?"
“The man is for the demonstration. The woman is to prepare the man for the demonstration. I need to expose the demons in our world tonight, and I’d like to have several for Mr. Holmes to witness. They can’t all be sexual demons, can they? I think rage is another one that needs to be strung up and destroyed in order to lead Mr. Holmes to our side. Which is why I would prefer to pick up an intimate couple, husband and wife, boyfriend and girlfriend. Hell, even mother and son would do as long as that son is a grown man. Can you take care of that for me? Have them back here within a few hours?”
Pushing his considerable weight off the wall, Richard ran a meaty palm down his beard. “Of course, I can.”
I smiled. “Excellent, Richard. Trust me when I say you’ll be having fun in no time.”
JACOB
Returning home was just as hard as I'd imagined it would be. Driving into the city hadn't been so bad. With large glass towers and busy streets, the city had changed through time. The population was denser, the landscape constantly shifting as buildings were demolished and modernized. Creeping down the road through thick traffic hadn't clogged up my throat with memories and long faded emotions, but the same can't be said for the sleepy neighborhood where my childhood home sat empty, for the lazy sway of tree branches and winding streets that had stayed the same despite the amount of time that had passed since I last traveled this path.
Not even the parish, in all its holy glory, had affected me as much as the driveway I was now pulling into.
A semi-circle, the driveway took me up one side of the property, curving me around through the lawns and landscaping that had been meticulously maintained by the men managing my father's estate, right past the front door that sat deep inside a large, shaded portico. Slowing down as I approached the front, I stared at the driveway that kept going, that would lead me away from a place to which I'd never thought I'd return.
My hands gripped over the steering wheel, my eyes glaring at the house as I pulled to a stop. Even as a kid, I never understood the privilege in which I'd been raised, the amount of money my devout father had hoarded to himself instead of using it to help other people in need. What would Jesus think of the way he'd managed his godly life?
Standing proud beneath the glow of a bright, full moon, the house was a three story masterpiece, complete with a stone exterior, carved wood detailing, travertine tile on the front porch, diamond paned leaded glass windows and turret style risings from the roof. It looked like a small castle nestled in the center of a small quiet suburb, as large and pompous as my father had been.
I climbed out of my truck, slamming the door shut as I peered out at a house that had been abandoned for years. My mother died before my father and when I'd learned of my parents' fate, I'd inwardly enjoyed knowing that his last few years were spent alone. However, that joy washed out of me now, diluted until empty by the rush of anger and heartbreak pouring through my veins.
So many memories lingered inside that house like ghosts that would never go away. They followed me into sleep from time to time, begging for me to return and set them free. Those ghosts were the reason the walk to the portico took that much longer to make.
Pulling out a plain manila envelope from my pocket, I broke the sealed flap and extracted the bronze colored key given to me by the managers of my father's estate. He'd been surprised to see me arrive in his office unannounced, had told me he assumed neither my brother nor I would return to claim our inheritance. Ignoring the way he'd rambled on, I'd asked him for the key and ignored all the other information he'd given me.
Not caring about trusts, not wanting a penny of the wealth that had been left to me, all I wanted at that moment was to turn around, climb in my truck and get the hell out of town.
Yet, here I was, staring at an empty house, knowing I had no other choice but to walk in. Every step felt like a heavy stone was tied to my foot, each inch I crawled closer chasing a shadow across my bones stuffed full with the reminder of the pain I'd suffered growing up.
Jericho and I had been treated similarly by my father, but it was my antics mostly that were noticed. Many times when people reported some stunt we'd pulled or supposed 'sinful' act, I received most of my father's wrath. I was the darker twin in his opinion, the one closely tied to the devil in his attempts to influence us both.
After a while, I'd grown so accustomed to the constant crawling and vicious lashings that when Jericho had messed up alone and gotten caught by a teacher or a nosy neighbor, I'd lied and claimed it was me. He was always weaker in that regard, unable to bear the painful punishments and unhinged scorn on the part of my father.
Jericho, despite what he'd grown to become, had at one time been soft.
Dad had been right, I was the darker twin, the one more prone to questioning authority and seeking excitement and entertainment in areas and subjects thought perverse or shameful by the members of a conservative Catholic community. But I couldn't help my fascinations, especially when they were waved in my face every day as a possibility that was always just out of reach due to a religion I wasn't quite sure I believed.
So like any rebellious child, I'd explored and tasted the sinful things. I stole gum at ten, other higher priced items as I grew older. I lied to my teachers and parents. I slept with women once their beauty caught my eye. Slowly, but surely, I crept through the places my father always told me to avoid, acting in ways that went against everything he demanded of me, and found that my tastes only grew darker the older I became. Vanilla sex, hearts and flowers type love, innocence and finer things all fell into a state of perpetual boredom until I discovered the true ways to liven up the endless days I spent sheltered in privilege I didn't deserve.
Jericho was a different story. From the minute we were expelled from the womb, he had always shone brighter. The quietest baby, the respectful toddler, the child that found early on how much he loved to sing in the church choir, Jericho was a shining light that only became dim when he went along with something I wanted to do. He was made of the same glimmering gold as the treasures housed in the grand beauty of our parish, and I was the air that tarnished him.
He was also the twin who screamed the loudest during my father's punishments, the one who cried and genuinely repented for his sins.
I guess times have changed since then.
Now I'm the one left licking my wounds while he sits on the throne of evil he'd created in the cult he called his family.
Father Timothy told me the answers regarding my brother's issues might be found in this house, if only I could find where to look. Regardless of what Father Timothy ma
y have known or even suspected, by sending me here, he wasn't only sending me home...he was sending me straight to hell.
EVE
When I woke up, I had to blink my eyes a time or two to focus on the familiar surroundings. My stomach hurt so bad that I was curled over myself, cradling my abdomen beneath trembling arms, my hip and shoulder sore from having slept on a hard platform instead of a bed.
The cabin.
I hadn't been near this place since the week I spent with Elijah after we married, hadn't seen it this clearly since the morning I woke up, tired and in pain, foggy and unbalanced. Elijah had promised me the evil had been cleansed, that after the ceremony, I wouldn't get sick any longer. The memory of that conversation was broken and disjointed, but I remembered the promise nonetheless.
Why had I run? Why had I opened myself up to the evil he'd worked so hard to chase off? It only left me confused again, sick and in pain.
Like now, with this feeling in my gut that something was shredding me from the inside out.
It was late in the day from what I could tell, the crimson pinpricks of dying sunlight piercing the small natural holes in the wooden walls to stain the room in reds and golds. It wasn't much light to illuminate the room, but much wasn't needed with the plethora of candles lit and swaying on some soft breeze. Dust motes danced in the barely there movement of air.
I would have preferred to push myself into a seated position, but the pain in my abdomen was too intense. Instead, I lay there helplessly, my teeth clenched so hard I was sure I'd crack the enamel. Left with only a partial view of the cabin due to the position in which I lay, I wasn't sure I was alone. Groaning, I gave every indication I was awake. Elijah's voice didn't boom or even whisper in response.
Finally losing the patience to see if he would speak first, I called out his name. Nothing.
Leaving me unattended wasn't like Elijah, especially considering I woke up unbound and free to move around. Unfortunately, the pain inside me prevented it. And despite the oddity of the moment, being alone didn't last long. Within minutes the old door opened and the devil himself walked in.
"I brought you more tea," he said, his lips pulling into a practiced grin.
Devil. It hadn't occurred to me until he spoke that it was the word that came to me when I first saw him. The sickness must have been speaking inside my head. The sickness these demons caused each time they attacked me.
"Thank you," I barely managed to whisper, "but I think I need plain water, too."
I wasn't sure if his expression was sympathy or satisfaction. His lips ran a twisted line, his blue eyes glistened in the candlelight, his eyebrows pulled up just enough to cause small ripples in his forehead. His was always so beautiful, even when you couldn't tell what he was thinking.
"Your throat sounds like someone scrubbed it raw with copper wool. I'll give you some water first."
Setting the teacup on a small table littered with religious figurines and candles, he moved behind me. I heard the water pouring into a glass before he rounded my head to hand it to me. "You'll need to sit up so you don't choke."
"I can't. My stomach, Elijah, it hurts so bad."
Elijah reached out to wrap his strong arms around me. Lifting me from where I lay curled, he watched intently as I tried to straighten my body, each movement even more painful than the last.
"That's the sickness, my love, the evil that is infecting you. It wants out. Wants control. But I won't let it take you from me." His voice was whisper soft, a feather of sound against my senses that was only a tease of what it could be when he allowed it to boom across a room. Always hypnotic, he had a voice that captivated his audience, regardless of whether it was stern or soft. I could spend all day listening to him and never grow bored.
"The tea I brought you should help. I had to heat the water over a small fire outside."
My eyes flicked to the unused fireplace by the platform. "Why didn't you just heat it in here?"
"You were sweating in your sleep. I didn't want to make the room warmer."
His palm caressed my face, the soft touch jarring and unexpected. Since moving back to the parish with him, he hadn’t treated me with kindness – only pain, only humiliation.
I couldn’t make sense of all the puzzles within this man who called himself my husband, couldn’t understand the subtle idiosyncrasies, the changes I’d witnessed in him firsthand. Perhaps it was the illness that made it impossible for me to think clearly, or maybe the demons had become more vicious in their game. I wasn’t sure of the cause of my constant confusion, but I had to believe it would end once Elijah had finally conquered the darkness inside me.
Why me? I’ve always wondered if my fate hadn’t been decided the moment Elijah had chosen me for a wife. He was so good – so pure – that perhaps I had become his weakest link, the only method the demons had to hurt him.
“Do you remember the time we spent here in this cabin, Eve? The days and nights that I fought so hard to free your beautiful soul?”
Shaking my head, I winced at the movement, my headache pounding even harder until I swore some hammer was chiseling away at the inside of my skull. “Yes and no,” I answered, finally taking a sip of the water he’d given me, the relief instantaneous as it slipped down and soothed my sore throat. “It’s a blur. I remember you fighting whatever it is inside me. I remember feeling ill all the time. But that week, those nights and days have blended together until only pieces are available to me. How did it return? Why am I infected again?”
He tsked his tongue against the top of his mouth before planting a soft kiss on my cheek. Standing up, he rounded the platform to retrieve the tea he’d brought in. Steam rose and swirled above the white cup, thinning out as a trail behind him as he moved to stand next to me.
Taking the water glass from my hand, he replaced it with the small cup of tea. “Drink up,” he instructed, his eyes studying me as I brought the rim to my lips.
The flavor reminded me of the time I’d spent in this cabin before, sweet, but also rancid. “What’s in this?”
“Some herbs I’ve found in the forest and dried. Did you know my mother taught me all about natural medicine? When I was a boy, we spent a lot of time studying the methods God has provided us for remedy of all that afflicts the body and soul. If you know where to look, you can cure almost any ailment without need of pills or other such medicines.”
I didn’t know that about him, didn’t know much about the man who I’d spent most of my life following. Taking another sip, I ignored the way it burned my tongue. It was good enough for me when it numbed my throat, when it chased away some of the pain in my stomach. “Did she also teach you how to fight against evil?”
His laughter wasn’t humorous, it was far darker than that.
“No. My father would have been the one to teach me that. He had to fight it in me when I was young. I can’t count how many times I was almost as infected as you. It seems evil knows exactly who to look for in this world, those people so good and pure that it wants to stop them from becoming what they will eventually be. My father told me I had a mission in this world and the Devil himself wanted to stop me.”
Caressing my cheek again, he placed his finger beneath the teacup and tilted it to my lips to encourage me to finish it all. “You have a mission, too. By my side, as you well know. It may be my fault you continue to become plagued by the evil forces keeping you ill.”
Once the last drop of tea had slipped down my throat, the pain in my throat and stomach subsided. However, the beat of my heart began to quicken in pace until it was a hard pulse against my ribs. Lightheaded, I reached to give Elijah the cup, almost dropping it in the process. He grinned as he took it from me, his blue eyes searching mine.
“Do you feel better?”
Why did it sound like he was speaking from inside a tunnel?
"Do you feel better?" he repeated.
Blinking my eyes, I felt them come into sharp focus. My heart rate continued to increase, my fingertips an
d toes feeling like pins and needles. Where the pain had once held court, anxiety now reigned, the rush of blood in my head like softly rolling thunder. "The pain is gone," I answered honestly, unsure why I felt out of breath and spoke with clipped words.
A familiar buzzing beneath my skin came to life, a need to move, to rage, to dance and sin. "What's happening to me?" I whispered, unsure how I'd gone from one extreme to the other. Confusion settled in, made more certain by the fact that the fuzziness inside my head had subsided, replaced with a desperation for something more.
"It's the tea," Elijah explained. "I prepared a blend that would alleviate the pain you suffer, but it comes with a kick."
A smile pulled at my lips. "It's quite the kick. I feel like I could climb a mountain, or run a marathon."
His hand brushed down my arm and I shivered at the sensation. The buzzing inside me was a pulse now, every sense I had coming into such keen focus that I felt like I could accomplish anything, if I tried. Was that pride I felt, or something else? My heart beat with the warning that pride was just another deadly sin.
"I'll chase the demons from you, my love. And you will feel many things as I do so. Some you'll remember, others not. But through it all, you can rest assured that I'm with you."
Gripping his fingers over my bicep, he drew me close to wrap me in the warmth of his embrace. I sucked in as much air as I could, my eyes rolling back as the lids closed. I wanted to move against him. I wanted to eat him alive. I wanted so much, so suddenly, that I couldn't understand what was happening to me. Trust. Such a funny thing. But it was the only option I had when it came to him.
He chuckled when my fingers traced up his sides, when my body inched closer to him hungry for the pleasure I knew he could give me. Catching my hand in his own, he squeezed it. Even that small contact sent a shiver through my bones.