by Tillie Cole
“She found you,” I gasped, tears streaming down my face.
“She did,” Rebekah said as Grace reached out for my embrace. I wrapped the little blond girl in my arms and cried into her soft hair.
“You are safe now,” I murmured and felt Grace nod. I opened my eyes to see Rebekah watching on, such sweet love in her eyes. “Forgive me, Rebekah,” I pleaded. “For not saving you when I should have. For not protecting you when you were young. For what Judah did to you on that hill . . .”
Rebekah came closer, shaking her head. “There is nothing to forgive, Phebe. You saved Grace. We are happy now. You saved me by saving her.”
“Happy,” I cried. Happy . . . safe . . .
“Sister Phebe?”
I slowly turned around. There she stood, in a white dress, with that long blond hair and those deep dark eyes I knew so well. Our eyes met, and she smiled at me. I got to my feet, feeling the same overwhelming love build within me that I felt every time my eye lay upon her. “Sapphira,” I whispered. She had grown some since I had last seen her, reading scriptures together in the commune, lying amongst the bluebonnets in spring, hands held and smiling under the warmth of the sun. No men, no duties . . . just happiness in one another’s company. And she had grown even more beautiful, if that was possible. She ducked her head as I gazed at her. She was so shy, always had been. So quiet, but so beautiful in nature. I ran my hand through her soft hair and felt my heart flutter, then shatter apart. “I have not seen you in so long,” I said, my voice catching.
“I know.” A tear slipped down her cheek, and I caught it with my finger. It was warm, just like her. “I . . . I have missed you.” Her quiet confession tore my soul in two. In a heartbeat, I had her wrapped in my arms. She still smelled the same, still felt the same in my arms.
“I miss you too, Sapphira. So much. So much that at times I cannot breathe.”
“I wish to come back to you,” she pleaded, and held on to me tighter.
“It is not safe,” I said, crying. “Where I am is not safe for you.”
“I know,” she relented, but she did not move from my embrace. She wanted to stay with me, I could feel it in my soul. My heart soared. I wanted her to stay too.
I opened my eyes, smiling, happier than I ever dreamed I could be, but then the forest began to fade. The trees began to disappear into blackness, the sun dipping behind a too-near horizon. I tried to grip on to Sapphira tighter, but I began to lose the feel of her in my arms. Her body shimmered before me, turning into vapor. I blinked, to try and see her just once more, to kiss her cheek and tell her I loved her. But then I was falling, falling until I hit something hard, so hard it robbed me of my breath. I cried out, arms outstretched, trying to climb back into the forest, but the darkness began to lighten, then cleared to show me the inside of a small room.
I was back in my bed, chained, with my arms stretched high in the air. “No,” I whispered, devastation ripping through me. “No!” I cried again, curling on my side to try and bring back the light.
I wanted to go back into the light.
I needed more potion to help me return.
Then I heard him breathe.
Tears fell like waves down my cheeks as my euphoric high came crashing down into utter despair. Meister’s hand reached out and smoothed away the wetness from my cheeks. “Liebchen . . .” he murmured. When I looked to him—because I knew that I must—he had removed his shirt to reveal the huge black tattoo emblazoned in the center of his chest. The symbol that he had replicated on many other parts of his pale skin, the symbol that hung on large red, white and black flags around the room.
“You dreamed of her again?” he said softly, bringing his face closer to mine. The potion was fading, and I felt a deep hollowness in my stomach, in my heart. I opened my mouth to beg him for more. I wanted more of the potion. But before I could, Meister’s eyes clouded with darkness. “Answer me!” he ordered.
The hand that only a few seconds ago had been so gentle on my cheeks suddenly became cruel as he gripped my jaw and glared at me with menace in his eyes.
“Yes,” I said, pushing the words through my constricted throat. “I dreamed of her.”
He relaxed his grip. “Funny how the heroin makes you talk in your dreams, as if you are seeing everything in real life.” His head tilted to the side. “The way you cry for her. Want her in your arms.” Then he dealt his final insult. “But you didn’t fight for her, did you? You lost her, and now she’s gone forever.” He tapped my head. “Only in here does she need you. Because you failed her.” He tutted his disapproval. “You were a terrible, terrible protector. A horrible sister.”
His grip tightened again on my jaw, so tight that I cried out, terrified my bones would shatter under his great strength. He bared his teeth and hissed, “And Grace was there again too? The pretty little one you hid from me.” His nose slid against mine, seductively, affectionately, until his mouth touched my ear. “She would have made me a fuck-ton of money, but you let her go. You took her from me.” He released me and I gasped in relief.
His hand threaded through my hair. “But I got to keep you.” He smiled, a cruel and wicked smile. “And I won’t be letting you go. I love you. You know that, don’t you? My little red-haired whore.”
He reached for my wrist when I did not answer, so I quickly said, “Yes. I . . . I love you too, Meister.”
Meister pulled back his arm and nodded approvingly. “And because of that, you’ve earned yourself a shower.” Meister unchained me and helped me from my bed. I glanced down at my naked body as I unsteadily got to my feet. I could see my hipbones. I could see my ribs.
When I had gained my balance, Meister led me to the shower room. I wanted to cry with every step, it hurt so much. I had not been showered in days. My limbs were unused to movement. But more than that, with every step I took, I saw my dream of Sapphira drifting farther and farther away from me. And I heard the echo of Meister’s voice . . . you failed . . . you were a terrible, terrible protector . . . a horrible sister . . .
Because it was true.
I had failed her.
Everything had been for nothing.
My life had been for nothing.
Nothing . . .
. . . all I had left in the world.
*****
I let the water fall over my head. My palms were flat to the wall as the steady stream washed away the blood and grime of the last few days. My wrist ached from the harshness of the metallic handcuff, and my new needle marks throbbed as the hot water pounded the holes in my flesh.
I inhaled the billowing steam, praying it would clear my head. But it was no use. My ever-busy mind never rested. It was never at peace. The only times I had any kind of reprieve were when Meister’s potion would puncture my vein and enter my blood.
“Get out,” Meister ordered from beside me. He never left me alone unless I was chained to the bed. Whenever I was freed from my shackles, I was with him. And he watched me. Studied me . . . craved me.
I saw it in his eyes.
It had been that way since Judah gave me to him at New Zion, a sacred gift. The female Judah knew would please Meister beyond measure. And it had worked. I had seduced him, made him crave my touch.
Only now, it was worse. He could not give me up.
I was the air to his lungs and the very beat to his heart.
I was his ultimate obsession.
Meister walked to a nearby set of drawers as I tried to dry myself. When I heard the drawer open, the first morsel of hope I had felt in days blossomed in my chest.
When Meister turned around, holding a white dress in his hands, I had to stop myself from sobbing in happiness. He only ever dressed me when he took me outside. I almost dropped to my knees in yearning at just the thought of feeling the warm sun kiss my face and the fresh air inflate my heavy lungs.
Meister approached me, his nostrils flaring as he drank in my naked body. He took the towel from me, knocking it to the floor. I bowed my head as h
e stopped before me. I managed to keep completely still, perfectly obedient, as his finger landed on my breast and circled the skin around my nipple.
I let him. I would always let him. I knew the consequences of any act of defiance. It had taken me a full week to recover from my punishment when the devil’s men had invaded New Zion. Meister had found me hiding, but without Grace. I had let him down.
And I was paying the price.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Liebchen,” Meister said as his tongue landed at the bottom of my throat and lapped up the residual droplets of water, all the way up my neck, until he sucked my earlobe in his mouth. I closed my eyes.
I just breathed.
I knew men. It had been my role, my sole duty within New Zion, to know men. I was the female responsible for the Sacred Sisters of New Zion. We left the commune to recruit men, to draw more members to our cause. And I’d believed God would reward me for my service. I would pleasure the men like nothing they had ever known. I was skilled in seduction, a master at making my every touch a taste of the divine.
Judah could not resist me, even going as far as to make me his sole consort. That is, until he found a younger model more suited to his . . . particular needs.
But Meister . . . I had never handled a male such as him before. His strength, his possessiveness and his punishments . . . I was unsure of what to do in his presence. He paralyzed me with fear.
“Get dressed.” Meister handed me the thin white material. With shaking hands, I did as requested, brushing my long, wet hair from my face with my fingers.
Meister kicked a pair of sandals in my direction, and I slipped them on, stopping myself from sprinting toward the door. Then Meister was beside me, holding my arm with an iron-tight grip. He led the way forward, pulling me toward the door. The turning of the lock seemed to take forever. But when the door finally opened and daylight flooded in, I breathed in my first lungful of clean air and instantly felt calm.
I flinched as we stepped outside and sunlight blazed around me. I stilled, trying to gain my bearings as I blinked in the morning sun. Or maybe afternoon, or evening. I did not know.
I leaned into Meister to stop myself from falling, his huge body propping me up when I became lost to a sudden wave of weakness. When the world eventually came back into focus, I took in what was before me. The town, one unlike anything I had ever seen before, with its shacks of all shapes and sizes scattered around the dusty ground. Signs sat above the buildings: “Saloon,” “Jail,” “Dentist,” “Barber” and many more. I had no idea what many of these titles meant, or if these buildings operated as they were named.
A light breeze blew the dirt up into the air, swishing the sand around my feet. It blew the strange flags that hung from the buildings, the material flapping gently.
It was quiet, only a few men walking around the barren town. Many of them looked similar to Meister—they wore the same harsh black tattoos on their skin, had similar shorn haircuts. The coloring was the same; they wore similar clothes.
And they all stared at me.
Meister stiffened when one male passed and cast me a leering smile. He stepped forward, using his massive frame as a weapon of intimidation. “Get the fuck on before I break your motherfucking neck, cunt!” he snarled, sending the other male running into the large building whose sign read “Saloon”.
Meister wrenched me forward. I could tell by his aggressive hold that he was greatly displeased.
I stifled a moan as his hand bruised the skin on my arm. I did not know where we were going. I was simply grateful to be outside. We had barely taken a few steps when a loud shout and the sound of a gun shattered the silence.
My head snapped to the right, to the building where the noise had come from. Meister ground on his heel, his grip tightening.
“Fuck,” he spat when a man came barreling through the building’s door.
“Meister!” the man called. “Problem!”
Meister’s lip curled, and he gave a low growl of annoyance. He hauled me back toward the door of the shack he kept me in. My heart plummeted; I was to be locked away once again.
I gulped in as much air as I could, pathetically trying to savor its freshness and the velvet touch of the breeze as it lapped over my face. Another shot fired, and the call for Meister came again, even louder this time.
Meister groaned in frustration and slammed me back against the wall of the shack. The air was ripped from my lungs by the impact. Before I even had a chance to recover, Meister’s firm grip was caging my face, and his blue eyes bored into mine. “Stay here. Don’t even dare move until I get back.”
“Yes . . . sir,” I managed to reply.
Meister crushed his cruel mouth against my lips. He did not want to kiss; he simply wanted to ravage my mouth. He pulled back and darted across the dirt to the building which housed the trouble. The sign above the door read “Dentist”.
I slumped against the fragile wooden wall and cleared the water from my eyes. As if my body could do nothing but obey his command, I remained rigid and unmoving.
In the quiet, I allowed my eyes to scan the area. My head ached, and my mouth was dry. But worse, my arm itched, and my veins had already begun to swell with the need for Meister’s potion.
And I was tired. I was so, so tired . . .
Movement from across the dirt path grabbed my attention, and my head snapped up as I caught sight of a man hurrying from one of the buildings, dragging someone behind him.
I narrowed my eyes, trying to see more clearly. My eyes were getting so blurry, tiredness beginning to take hold . . . and then everything snapped into focus.
A blond-haired young woman. A white dress, the exact same design as the one I wore. Shocked at the very fact that I was not the only female in this place, I took a step forward. Just as I did, the woman pulled back from the man, fighting to get free.
She slipped from his grip, and as she did she turned, giving me a glimpse of her face. The recognition hit me like a blow to the head. I felt the blood drain from my cheeks, my limbs growing weak as I fought to remain upright.
No . . . no, no, no, no . . .
I rubbed my eyes, trying to see her better. I prayed that I was mistaken. I prayed . . . I shook my head, convincing myself I was wrong.
But I knew that face.
I loved that face . . .
Horror, devastation and a gamut of every sorrowful feeling swept through me like a hurricane as the male grabbed the girl by her hair and slapped her across the face. The girl swayed on her feet, then, unable to do anything else, she was dragged in the male’s wake toward a large barn-type building.
A girl.
Because she was a young girl.
No more than . . . I racked my brain, trying to remember, trying to clear this ever-present fog from my brain and grab on to some facts, some truths that had existed before Meister had burned them all away with his potion and his pain.
Fourteen . . . I thought as my eyes widened and my heart beat an impossible rhythm. My hands shook as I recalled the girl’s face to my mind, connected the memories to the present. Her long blond hair, her slim body, her dark-brown eyes . . .
“Sapphira?” I whispered, a red-hot slice of pain cutting though my stomach. Was it her? No . . . it could not be. She was safe in a faraway place.
He had told me she was safe.
She had been sent from New Zion. She had not drunk the poison . . . she had been safe, survived the mass death . . .
Devastating pain slashed through my head as I thought of her face again. The fear and panic as she pulled from the man. Her bruised lips, her split skin. No, it cannot be.
My focus spun and my vision swam. I could not think. I needed the potion to think. I needed what only Meister could give me.
But then a piercing, feminine scream came from the building to my left. Without thought, my legs propelled me forward.
I ran. I ran as hard and as fast as I could, stones from the rough, loose ground slipping into my sa
ndals and slicing my skin. My legs were weak as I pushed myself toward the building, but that did not matter when another scream followed—this one was softer, as though the screamer was being hurt. My Sapphira being hurt . . .
“Sapphira!” I choked out, almost inaudibly. Panic infused my every cell, rushing to erupt into the well of sadness building in the pit of my stomach. I reached the wooden door of the barn structure and pressed my hand against the dark-stained wood. The pulse in my neck beat so fiercely that it was the only sound I could hear . . .
. . . until I pushed through the door, and everything stopped—time, sense . . . life.
My body was motionless as I stared around the room. Bile and vomit crawled up my throat at the putrid smell clogging the air.
Girl after girl, mostly young and slim, lay still in row after row of narrow beds separated by flimsy curtains. I ran past a brunette, then a blonde, searching their gaunt faces. Their eyes were either closed or dazed—they were lost to the potion, their arms just as marked and bruised as my own.
And then I stilled. My lips trembled. I knew these females. Mary . . . Eve . . . Bilhah . . . Martha . . .
Martha!
They were from The Order. These girls, some as young as fourteen, were females from New Zion.
My people.
And . . .
A moan came from the far corner. “Sapphira,” I said, each syllable filling me with dread. I was not imagining things. I saw her face, her beautiful, angelic face.
This was not the potion playing tricks with my mind.
Not this time.
Sapphira was here when he had told me she was safe. I did not understand. My heavy mind would not let me process it. And the male from outside was pinning her down, one hand digging his fingernails into the flesh of her arm as he parted her legs with his legs. His other hand wrapped around her neck, choking her, cutting off air. Then suddenly, I saw her slim, fragile body go limp. A clear bag hung on a metal pole beside her . . . and the potion inside was dripping into the vein of her arm.
Sapphira . . . my Sapphira . . .