The Church

by Celia Aaron

  A sinking feeling rots my gut, and I turn her to face me. “You know, don’t you?”

  “I know it was her now.” She nods. “How long have you known?”

  Guilt adds to the sour tangle inside me. “A little while, but I didn’t know Georgia was your sister until much later.”

  “I have to find her.” She tries to get up, but I hold her close.

  “We’ll find her. Together. But I need to make sure you’re safe first.” I turn to find Noah standing with his back to me, staring down at my father who lies clutching his arm at center stage.

  “Is he dead?” I call.

  “No. Castro’s bullet just winged him.” He shakes his head as my father sits up. “That fucker always was useless.”

  Across the stage, the backgrounds billow, as if an outer door opened.

  “Someone’s coming.” I point and move Emily so that she’s behind me. The sanctuary has cleared out. Someone must have gotten the doors open. But we need to get out, too, before the whole place comes down around us. Dad isn’t the bluffing sort. I have no doubt the sanctuary is rigged to blow.

  My father groans and gets to his feet. Noah keeps his gun trained on him as he inspects the blood on his sleeve.

  I squeeze Emily’s good hand. “We need to go. You’re hurt.”

  “I’m okay,” she says, but the shake in her voice tells me otherwise. “I need to find your mother.” Her voice is flat. “I’m sorry, Adam, but I’m going to kill her.”

  “Just wait—”

  “He’s mine.” Jez emerges from across the stage, an automatic rifle in her hands. A dozen other women trail behind her, some from the Chapel and a couple of Maidens.

  “Eve.” Emily tries to rise.

  I help her, but once she’s up, she stands tall.

  My father takes a step toward me, his hands outstretched. “Son, you need to get me out of here. The Protectors set dynamite, and if we don’t—”

  “Shut up.” Jez jerks the barrel of her gun at him. “Girls, tie him up and gag him.”

  Noah turns to me. “Adam?”

  I shake my head. We won’t interfere. He walks over to me, standing at my side.

  Our father’s face crumples, tears in his eyes. “Boys, please. I’m your father.”

  I thought I’d feel at least some sort of grief when my father met his end. But all I feel is… nothing. Not a goddamn thing. Even when he starts cursing us in a language that’s been dead for centuries, nothing changes in me. There is no remorse or regret. Just the finality of judgment. His is here, and I’m merely a witness. I squeeze Emily’s hand in mine. She’s the only one who creates emotion inside me, who makes my heart beat. Only for her.

  “No!” The Prophet struggles as the women from the Chapel surround him, two of them grabbing his arms while a Maiden rips a piece from her dress and uses it to bind his hands.

  “You left her blood on your floor.” Jez circles the Prophet, her dark green eyes like glass. “My love. Her blood. All over your filthy floor. How could you do that?”

  He opens his mouth, but the other Maiden shoves a wad of fabric in, gagging him.

  “She was so beautiful. Did you know she could sing?” Jez presses the tip of her gun under his chin. “Like a songbird. That’s why I kept birds at the Chapel. They reminded me of her. And they would sing only for me.” Her voice is loud in the empty space, no speakers necessary to get her point across. “You took that song away. You took so much away from all of us. Now it’s time for you to pay.”

  My father cranes his neck to look at us, his eyes imploring. But once again, it doesn’t move me. I am resigned, and if I could get through to him, I’d tell him to resign himself to his fate.

  “Take him.” Jez shoves him back, and the women grab hold of him and hustle him off the stage.

  Jez walks over to us, her back stiff, her steps sure. “Do any of you have a problem with this?”

  “Make him suffer.” Emily’s voice is stark, but true.

  Jez locks gazes with her, then gives a short nod. With one more glance at Noah and me, she turns and strides out after her quarry. When the door shuts, the sanctuary goes silent.

  “Holy shit.” Noah drops to his haunches and dry heaves.

  “Your mother.” Emily’s eyes rove the empty church. “I have to find her.”

  I don’t want her to find Rachel. Simply because I want to shield Emily from any more death. But she deserves her revenge, and I can’t keep her from it.

  “Come on.” I take her elbow and lead her away.

  We’re almost to the stage door when it bursts open and Zion rushes in with half a dozen men at his back.

  “FBI, don’t fucking move!” Zion aims his gun at my face, and I shove Emily behind me.

  “Davis?” I peer at the man behind Zion. It’s the same FBI agent I beat the shit out of a few months ago, the one who’d tried to infiltrate the compound.

  “Yeah, it’s me, motherfucker. Now, get on the ground, hands on your heads!”

  I fight past the surprise and focus on Emily. “She’s hurt. The woman behind me. She’s lost a lot of blood. Please help her.” I drop to my knees, my hands on my head, and Noah does the same.

  “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to get on the ground.” Davis lowers his gun as another agent rushes forward and cuffs me.

  “Yes, I—” Her voice cuts off as she falls forward.

  Zion rushes forward and catches her. “Medic!” He scoops her up in his arms, her eyes closed, her face pale.

  “Help her,” I choke out. Emotion closes my throat, and I know right then and there that I’d happily die to save her. “Please.”

  Zion carries her toward the door, then pauses. “Where’s the dynamite?”

  “What?” Davis cuffs Noah.

  “I hid it here behind this fucking makeup stand. A satchel full of dynamite. Fuck!” He kicks the makeup table onto its side, the light bulbs shattering. “Search this entire goddamn place. Don’t stop till you’ve found it!”

  When he carries Emily out of my sight, I sag, the events taking their toll on my still-healing body.

  “Please save her,” I whisper and clench my eyes shut, sending my prayer to anyone who’s listening.

  Chapter 31

  Delilah

  Zion lays me on a stretcher, the ambulance lights flashing red through the thin skin of my eyelids.

  “What happened to this one?” A woman’s voice, husky and sweet.

  “Not sure. Just fix her. She’s a witness. The others have run off, so we need her.” Zion’s voice is already distant. Good. I need him to be gone.

  I peek for a split second. A line of men are on their knees nearby, their hands cuffed behind their backs. I close my eyes quickly, but I suspect Zion has rounded up all the Protectors.

  The medic grabs my wrist and turns my hand over so she can inspect my palm. “Damn, honey. Going to need a lot of stitches here.” Her hands gently probe the rest of my body as more sirens—some distant, some ear-splittingly close—rip through the day. “Rest of this looks okay. Let’s see the back. Tommy, come over here and lift so I can check her.”

  Rougher hands grip my sides, but ease me gingerly over.

  “Shit, would you look at this?” Her warm fingers spread the fabric at my back. “Cut clean across.”

  My impatience grows with each comment, each touch. I need them to scatter so I can go. From what I could tell when Zion carried me out, I’m at the back of the church in the wide parking lot. From here, if I can get to the gate—which I’m certain at this point is no longer manned—I can take one of the Prophet’s golf carts or cars and follow Rachel. I know where she’s going. Her depravity only leads to one place.

  “We need to go ahead and take her in.” A man, his voice a little wheezy as if he’s been running. “There are some other injuries from the stampede, a few people trampled, but she’s the worst we’ve seen by far.”

  “Come on. Let’s get her in and light it up.”

  They la
y me back down, slide on some shoulder straps, and lift me into the ambulance. Once the doors close, I open my eyes.

  A woman with dark skin and her hair in tidy braids reaches for a blood pressure sleeve as the engine starts. “You know, I’ve always heard horror stories about this place, but I didn’t know they were true.”

  “Yeah.” The man in the front’s voice is hard to hear over the blare of the horn. “My cousin went here for a while until it got too weird for him. That’s saying a lot, especially since he married my other cousin.”

  She laughs, and wraps the cuff around my arm, then presses the stethoscope against me. I close my eyes before she busts me.

  Squoosh, squoosh, squoosh. The cuff tightens, and I try to plot where we are now. The ambulance seems to have turned toward the front of the church, away from where I need to go. I sneak a glance at the back windows and see the church’s façade, which verifies my hunch. Shit.

  “Look at this.” The ambulance halts as the horn blares again.

  “What?” The medic lets the air out with a hiss.

  “Fire trucks got this side blocked.”

  “I think I saw another way back—”

  “Yeah, I’ll head that way.” The ambulance turns.

  “Elevated blood pressure, sweetheart. Not good.”

  You have no idea. I lie still as she moves around some more, the crinkle and ripping sounds of unwrapping equipment up by my head. My mind follows the map of the church. We’re almost at the very back, the closest you can get to the gate without actually heading down that short stretch of pavement.

  “Yeah, we’re clear through here.” The ambulance speeds up.

  No. I give up my charade and slide out of the shoulder straps. The ambulance stops quickly.

  “Get out of the way, you dumbass!” the driver yells and lays on the horn. I slide down the stretcher and reach for the door.

  “Honey, no.” The medic reaches for me, but I push the handle and scoot off onto the floor.

  “Grant, hold up. She’s awake and trying to—”

  I jump out of the ambulance. It’s farther down than I thought, and my knees buckle. I hit the ground and roll, scraping my legs on the cold pavement. The momentum dissipates, and I stop, climb to my feet, and run. The gate beckons, and no one is there to stop me. Everyone is still at the church—the faithful and law enforcement.

  “Girl, come back!” The kind medic yells after me, but I’ve already ducked under the gate arm and am speeding down the smooth road to the Prophet’s house. The cold air stings against my face, and the wound on my back burns with each step, but I can’t stop. This is for Georgia. And it’s long past time I get it done.

  The house looms ahead of me, its stoic brick face watching my approach with trepidation. I pass to the side of it and turn around the back. My lungs scream at each intake of cold air, but my steps are light. I’m going in the right direction. I can feel it.

  Three white golf carts are parked along the back of the house. I hurry to the first one and look at the ignition. No key. Same for the other two. Shit! I try to lift the seats to search for a hidden compartment, but there’s nothing there.

  It’ll take me longer, but I’m not going to let this stop me. I turn on my heel and stride away toward the heart of the compound.

  The basement door opens behind me, the click familiar. I whirl.

  Hannah stops, then rushes out to me. “Oh my God!” She hugs me, her hands on my back wrenching a cry from me.

  She gasps and pulls away. “Oh shit. You’re hurt bad.” She points to the church. “Ambulances are up there. I’ll get you—”

  “No.” I lean on her proffered arm. “I have unfinished business.”

  She blinks, then her concern hardens into resolve, matching my own. “So do I.”

  “I have to get to the Cathedral, but I can’t find keys. Do you know if—”

  She holds out her open palm. A silver key shines in the sun. “I found it inside. Busted through a window and got in easy. Come on. I’ll chauffeur.”

  I sit on the passenger seat and glimpse a tendril of smoke floating through a broken window farther down the back of the house. “You?” I ask.

  She doesn’t even look. Just puts the cart in reverse, then guides it down the hill. “We’re going to burn it all down. Jez told us, and we’re doing it. My part is done. Now it’s time for the spoils.” Her smile is bright as she floors it. I grab the side rail with my good hand and hold on as the wind howls past my ears.

  “Did everyone get out?” I try to yank at my sleeve to make a wrap for my hand.

  “As far as I know.” She reaches over and grabs the sleeve, then pulls hard enough to rip it at the seams. “About half of the girls ran into the crowd, but the ones who wanted to stay are still here.”

  “Thanks.” I take the sleeve and wrap it around my palm. “Still here? You mean the ones—”

  “The ones who want justice. They’re still here. I want justice, too. For Sarah. For me.” She takes a hard turn past the Chapel, flames already licking along the roof line from the busted out windows.

  We’re all owed something from this place. Justice is really the only word for it.

  “I can’t believe it’s over.” She shakes her head. “The FBI are crawling all over the church. Protectors and Heavenly PD in cuffs. It’s done.”

  “It can’t come back from this.” I peer behind me, as if the church will be lurching after us like a villain in a horror movie. Nothing is there but empty road and a winter sky.

  “It can’t.” She reaches over and squeezes my knee. “We won’t let it.”

  We go deeper into the compound, passing the Rectory. To my shame, the first thought of my mother crosses my mind since this whole ordeal started in the church.

  My stomach sinks. “My mom. Wait. We have to get her. She’s—”

  “We freed everyone. Your mom, too. She’s still whacked out from withdrawal, but they took her to the Cloister. We’re going to regroup there, then light it up.”

  “Thank you.” I push my guilt down. “Thank you for helping her.”

  She just shrugs and gives one more glance to the Rectory as we pass. “Some of the girls have gone to the back of the property where they’re doing all that construction. Going to burn all that shit down, then bring the bulldozers up this way. Jez thought of everything.” She laughs. “I didn’t even know that woman existed until an hour-and-a-half ago, but now she’s like, my guru.”

  “She’s been hurt. Just like us.” I can’t tell her how badly Jez is injured, can’t speak about Chastity. Not yet. But I know the loss I feel is even deeper in Jez. The love they had defied this place, overcame the hell of the Prophet.

  “They started without us.” Hannah turns onto the road leading to the punishment circle. A group of women form a barrier around the center of the ring, and I can guess who’s in the middle.

  The Prophet’s scream is thick, as if he’s gargling blood. She pulls up next to a row of cars and golf carts.

  She hops off, but leaves the key in the ignition. “Let’s go.”

  “I can’t. I have another—”

  “You can’t miss this.” She takes my hand and pulls me with her.

  I don’t have time for this, but I let her lead me to the edge. She lets go and dives into the fray, hugging one of the women from the Chapel. The crowd opens enough for me to see the Prophet. He’s been stripped and staked to the ground, his legs spread. The gag is gone, and Jez twirls one of the Spinners’ black batons in her hand.

  “Oh, Prophet, where is your Father of Fire now?” She swings, nailing him in the knee.

  He howls, his bloody face contorting in even more pain. The women raided the Cloister’s training room. All of them hold whips, batons, floggers—and from the looks of the Prophet’s body, they haven’t been holding back.

  He spits blood. “If you release me now, the Lord will forgive you for—”

  One of the Chapel women aims a kick to his side. He screeches, and she knee
ls down next to him. “Remember when you told me that I was a good girl if I didn’t cry?” She pulls her shirt down to show scars along the tops of her breasts, as if someone cut her with a straight blade. “I remember every time you cut me. Every time you raped me. Every time you told me I was a good girl.”

  The women chant “punish him.” I join in, the power flowing through all of us, connecting us in a sisterhood of vengeance.

  She pulls a knife from her pocket and flips it open. “Now be a good boy for me.” Dragging the blade across his chest, she leaves a deep crimson line.

  Another woman kneels next to him, a gruesome story of torture and rape falling from her lips as she wraps a whip around her fist.

  “No, please—”

  “This is my perfect obedience.” She punches him hard in the face, his lip splitting again and blood spurting from his nose.

  I back away. Because I have somewhere to be… And also because I’m enjoying this so much it scares me.

  “Emily,” Jez points at me. “You’re up.”

  The women whoop and I’m jostled forward, wincing against the pain in my back and hand.

  I should go. They’re handling what needs to be done. But I don’t go. I can’t. My soul breaks a little more when I accept that I have to do this, that the darkness the Prophet has created inside me means that I need this. To end some part of my own torment, I have to cause him pain. And what’s worse, I want to.

  I kneel down, looking at the man who seemed so large, so powerful. But he’s neither of those things. He’s only a man, stripped bare, and staring over the precipice at his death.

  Looking him in the eye, I take a breath. “Remember when you told me I was a whore who ruined your son?” The words come easy from my lips as he shivers on the cold ground. I hold my hand out, waiting for someone to give me a weapon. Any will do. The hilt of a knife slides into my palm.

  “Delilah, Adam wouldn’t want you to—”

  “Shh.” I shake my head. “Remember my friend Sarah? You do. She was kind and strong, two things you hate. So you made your son cut her throat. I remember. You do, too.” I start over his heart, carving an ‘s’ as he screams and thrashes his head. Carving flesh is easy, far easier than I thought. The rest of Sarah’s name materializes in blood, and I sit back. “You remember her now?”