Fear the Wicked

by Lily White

And although the message had been perverted by a man who’d used it for pure evil, we were to forgive the acts committed against us so that, in the end, we could forgive ourselves.

  I wanted to forgive, but my brother wasn’t so sure. His stubbornness made me smile.

  “I’m doing this, and if I don’t get up now, I’m going to be late. You’re welcome to come with me.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t. I know I shouldn’t feel like this, but I can’t help worrying about you. Are you sure, Sedra? Are you positive you want to do this?”

  “I’m sure,” I said one last time before standing from my seat to walk to the doorway leading to the interview room. Casting one backwards glance at my brother, I smiled sweetly. Opening the door, I blinked against the harsh lights that illuminated the grouping of chairs that were arranged to be a small seating area for the interview to be conducted.

  On furtive steps, I crossed the distance between the door and the seating area to take my seat. A few minutes later, a man walked through a door on the opposite side of the room, a pen tucked behind his ear and a notepad in hand. Laughing to myself, I thought of how he reminded me of the doctors that had spent countless hours convincing me that all the beliefs inside my head were only illusions put there by a madman.

  There had been so many that it took months for me to return to using my own name.

  Taking a seat in front of me, the man pulled the pen from behind his ear and scratched out a few lines on the pad in his lap. He smiled at me finally and said, “It’ll be just a few minutes. We’re waiting on the last of the attendees.” He leaned forward and offered his hand. “Thank you for agreeing to this. I think it will be helpful for people to understand what happened to you. How something like that can happen in this day and age.”

  I nodded, my throat suddenly swollen with fear and indecision. With no choice but to push past it, I leaned back in my seat and waited.

  Eventually another woman walked through the door that I didn’t recognize. Petite and with pretty blond hair, she took a seat next to me. Turning, she offered me her hand. “I’m not sure if you remember me. My name is Molly Harrison. We only met a few times at the parish.”

  Shaking her hands, I tried not to stare at the scars crossing her face. Looking down, I noticed those same scars were white lines across the tops of her hands. Although, I didn’t remember her from my time spent with Elijah, I did recognize Richard’s handiwork. Thankfully, he had been shot dead when the police raided the compound.

  My heart hammered in my chest as we waited for the last guest, the minutes dragging on until I felt like I would scream in frustration. I was so scared, but it wasn’t something I would admit to Joshua before coming into this room. He would have never allowed me to take part in this interview if I had.

  But I needed to face my demons, the true ones and not the ones Elijah had sworn were consuming me. In the end, we all have something inside of us that can be considered evil or tainted, but it’s what we decide to do with that part that matters.

  Elijah had taught me to hate my own humanity, had convinced me that the dark parts of myself were only a symptom of the evil he believed plagued the world. But I knew now that what I had been taught was just another illusion, one that had led me further into darkness because I couldn’t accept it existed.

  I accepted it now, knew that to be human was to make mistakes, and that to find divinity, we only needed to believe that no matter what, we were perfect in both our light and our darkness.

  A door popped open behind me, but I couldn’t turn my head to look at it. I knew who had walked through and I wasn’t sure how I would react to stare into that face.

  The shuffle of shoes against the floor was punctuated by the hard thump of a cane. It felt like hours before a fourth body sat down in the seat beside me. Taking a breath, I turned and faced a man who was identical to the one who’d abused me.

  It wasn’t fear that clogged my throat to look at him, it was something else.

  The reporter conducting the interview cleared his throat and said, “Thank you, Jacob, for agreeing to be here. I wasn’t positive you’d actually show.”

  Although he was being spoken to, Jacob didn’t release my stare. He simply nodded his head and continued looking at me with some unspoken thought rolling behind his blue eyes. I, too, was caught in a state of shock, having to fight to pull my face away and return my attention to the reporter.

  I won’t bore you with all the details of the interview. You know what happened by now, but what I will tell you is that something came to life inside me on that stage, something I doubted could ever exist again without driving a spike of pure panic through my battered heart.

  We were questioned about how each of us had been affected by Jericho Hayle. Jacob answered the questions regarding Jericho’s past, about the abuse he’d suffered at the hands of his father and other men, about his intention to bring down the Church through the use of that small rural parish. He also filled in the parts about what happened in the compound when he’d been saved. Barely surviving the wounds inflicting, Jacob had been pulled from the compound before it caught fire. But due to the nails that had been driven through his feet, he would never walk unassisted again. Tears burst in my eyes when he admitted how even when Elijah hammered the nails in his feet, Jacob had only repeated that he loved him. And my heart warmed toward a man who admitted that despite what his brother had done, he’d still found it in his heart to forgive him.

  I filled in the parts about life inside a cult, about the daily activities and the sermons that had been used to confuse us all.

  While Molly spoke about her experiences within the small town, I dared a peek at Jacob who sat at my side, his head turning my direction as if he could feel my eyes studying him.

  Warmth burst inside me that I hadn’t felt for a long time. It caused my hands to shake and my lips to part open as I struggled to drag in a deep breath. His eyebrows drew together in concern, but he didn’t speak or say anything to me about my reaction.

  I remembered him in that instant, remembered the time I’d spent with him in the parish believing that he was my husband. He had been kind to me in that week, but I was still left with so many questions.

  The interview concluded after several hours and we all got up from our seats to go our separate ways. But before I could take a step toward the room where I knew my brother was waiting, I felt a hand touch my shoulder, and heard a familiar voice asking me to wait.

  Turning, I stared back at Jacob, my face a blank mask because I didn’t know what I was feeling.

  His eyes searched mine before he finally admitted why he’d stopped me from leaving.

  “I wanted to apologize,” he said, his voice deep and soft. “For lying to you. For taking advantage when you didn’t even know your own name.”

  “I forgive you,” I answered, and I meant it.

  His smile stretched his face. Even though he looked identical to Elijah, somehow I felt that he was different. I thought it would hurt to see him again, thought it would throw me back into the mindframe of a helpless victim. But, in truth, seeing him only made me feel stronger. I’d survived a man who was truly wicked – one who’d hidden behind a mask of religion to hurt the people around him.

  Nodding his head, Jacob began to walk away, but I couldn’t let him. It was my turn to reach out and stop him in his path. Twisting around, he used the cane to slowly spin his body back to face me.

  “I have a question,” I said, a smile lighting my face.

  His eyebrow arched, his eyes sparkling beneath the overhead lighting. “You have my attention.”

  It was as if none of the past had happened, like we were two strangers meeting again for the first time.

  “Did you ever go back to the priesthood? Have you given your life back to the Church?”

  Sorrow filled his eyes, his mouth pulling taut as he dragged in a deep breath. Finally blowing it out, he laughed softly and answered, “No. There’s too much darkness inside of
me still. But that doesn’t mean I’ve lost faith.”

  Laughing at his answer, I reached out to run my fingers down his cheek. “Perhaps we can explore that darkness together. Now that I’m healed.”

  His expression betrayed his shock, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead as his eyes widened and then narrowed again. “You can’t be serious.”

  What can I say? In all the therapy through the year since I’d left the family, there was still a large part of me that hadn’t changed. I wanted to explore that part regardless of what anybody would say about it.

  “I’m serious,” I whispered, laughing again to see his face.

  A smile split his lips when he answered, “We should do this the proper way.”

  Keeping one hand on the cane while extending the other, he said, “It’s nice to meet you, Sedra. My name is Jacob Hayle.”

  Taking his hand, I enjoyed the warmth of his skin where it touched me. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Jacob.”

  Walking from the room together, we entered the room where Joshua waited. My brother’s eyes darted between Jacob and me, his breath rushing over his lips on a loud huff. But eventually, he stood to shake the hand of the man who’d saved us both.

  The three of us walked from the building together, all of us changed, but still the same. And as we made our way down the sidewalk to find a restaurant to have dinner, I let go of the past to look toward the future and a life where I would finally be safe.

  THE END

  CONTINUE READING FOR A SNEAK PEEK OF LILY WHITE’S FIRST DARK EXCLUSIVE, THE DIRECTOR.

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  SNEAK PREVIEW: THE DIRECTOR

  PROLOGUE

  I'm not sure how to say this. How does one go about calmly stating such a fact? Regardless, of the arrangement of words, the timber of my voice, or my inflection and tone, the meaning of that statement is still cutting.

  Perhaps simply spitting it out will do. I've discovered no other way.

  In three days, I will die.

  There, I said it - cast it out for you to know, to understand, to roll over your tongue until you have the exact flavor.

  I will die in seventy-two hours. Or, I guess, seventy-one since I discovered the truth and found even a semblance of the ability to process it.

  I'm a young woman. Twenty-three years old, with two months left before my twenty-fourth birthday. I have reddish brown hair that was once a sweeping cascade of silk down my back. I have blue eyes, one that tends to be lazy when I get tired. My body is slim, but not skinny. My breasts are a decent size, but nothing spectacular. I'm taller than most women at five foot nine, but shorter than most men. At least, the men I've known.

  Prior to an hour ago, I had dreams of a brighter future. I also had doubts - about myself, about Ethan, about the one-sided relationship I've had with him.

  Two hours ago, I gave Ethan my best performance. I screamed for the camera, bent over so that every part of my ass and useful places were on display. I'd begged for help, for mercy, for the man on top of me to find it in his heart to let me go. I fucked like a good girl should, while pretending I didn't want it.

  Ethan watched that performance with pride shining behind his grey eyes, the glimmer cut through with rage. As soon as my job was done, he'd jerked me from the stage and tossed me in a shower, practically scrubbing the skin off my body to remove every hint of the man who'd touched me.

  After I was clean - not out of care but of proprietary right - Ethan reminded me that the only man who could really scare me was him.

  There's a time limit on girls like me and my time, like those who have gone before me, is up. I knew it was coming, but foolishly allowed hope to dull the sharp, jagged edges of my fate.

  There's nothing I can say, nothing I can do, and nobody I can fuck to keep that from happening. My name has been written on the clapboard, the top pulled up, held and ready to slam down on my life.

  The statement is simplistic. Six, one syllable words that roll easily over the lips. Definitions aren't necessary. It doesn't boggle the brain to understand its meaning. Simple, ordinary, and chilling, I repeat the truth in my head.

  In three days, I will die.

  Ethan, as always, will be watching.

  TO LEARN MORE ABOUT THE DIRECTOR, PLEASE VISIT GOODREADS - THE DIRECTOR BY LILY WHITE

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  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Author Note and Disclaimer:

  Other Books by Lily White

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY ONE

  TWENTY TWO

  TWENTY THREE

  TWENTY FOUR

  TWENTY FIVE

  TWENTY SIX

  TWENTY SEVEN

  TWENTY EIGHT

  TWENTY NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY ONE

  THIRTY TWO

  THIRTY THREE

  THIRTY FOUR

  THIRTY FIVE

  THIRTY SIX

  THIRTY SEVEN

  THIRTY EIGHT

  EPILOGUE

  SNEAK PREVIEW: THE DIRECTOR