Addicted to the Light

by S. E. Amadis

  “N-no.”

  Tikvah shoved at the door.

  “Let me in. I want to get my sweater.”

  For someone so slight and wispy, she could sure act belligerent.

  “What sweater do you want? I can get it,” Lindsay offered.

  Tikvah scuffled and shoved against Lindsay with surprising force. I never expected someone so innocent-looking could ever behave so aggressively. She pounced her way into the trailer.

  Her expression, when she saw me, was accusing rather than surprised. For a moment she hesitated. Her gaze travelled from me to Lindsay.

  “So. Why don’t I find this unusual?” she asked with a snarl.

  Lindsay pumped her jaw up and down.

  “I-I-I asked her to come, Tikvah,” she exclaimed. “I asked her to come to... to try and talk her into moving in with us.”

  Her lie sounded lame even to me.

  Tikvah cast her a withering look. A minute later, she leapt for the door and began to hurtle towards the main lodge, shrieking like a police siren.

  Lindsay grabbed my arm and dragged me out the door urgently.

  “Get out of here. Run as fast as you can. Don’t let them catch you,” she cried, her voice on the verge of hysteria.

  Her reaction alarmed me immediately. I couldn’t understand what she was so scared of. But now wasn’t the moment to ask. Jolting into action, I lurched away from her and pelted towards the edge of the field, stumbling into deep puddles and floundering in the mud.

  I heard the lodge door banging open at the top of the hill and a swarm of excited voices drawing near at a run. Looking up, I could hardly believe what I saw. They were even carrying rakes, hoes and hand saws. They would use that on me?

  I doubled my speed.

  Chapter 25

  The rain lashed against me, filling my eyes, tossing my hair over my face. I stumbled and crashed face down in the mud, picked myself up, took off again. They were drawing nearer. I didn’t know what I had to fear about them, but something about Lindsay’s voice was a warning this time.

  This time they meant more than just a reprimand or a rap on the knuckles.

  This time they were dead serious. And they had something planned for me.

  Something sinister.

  Evil.

  I ran even harder. But on rough, unfamiliar terrain, with my scant five-feet-three legs, I was no match against some of the daddy-long-legs in the group. I felt them almost behind me. I could almost sense their breath ragged against the back of my neck.

  I caught my second wind, made one final attempt. But a hand reached out and grabbed at my arm. A burly fist closed about my wrist. Calloused hands surrounded me.

  I twirled around. Someone slapped me hard across the cheek. My teeth ground against my lips, I tasted the metallic taste of blood. As my head snapped back and I tottered across the ground, reeling, someone else pounded firm fists against the back of my head, pressing me towards the ground. I tried to arch backwards. The pointed prongs of a rake dug into the back of my neck, and I didn’t dare to move anymore.

  The prongs gouged in more sharply, pricking my skin. I felt thick, warm blood course down my neck and disappear into my collar. Someone snagged my arms behind me. I tried to twist about. My numb mind wondered vaguely what Rudolph Verenich, my former self-defence teacher, would have done in this situation.

  Before I could react and do anything at all, whoever was wielding the rake transferred it in front of me and stabbed the prongs into my breast. I pulled myself up stiffly, straining to avoid the pointed weapons, and someone wound thick cords deftly about my wrists, immobilizing my arms.

  After that they seized me by the shoulders and hauled me towards the mansion as if I were a sack of flour. They led me up the stone steps. I expected them to direct me towards the door, but instead we passed the door and they pushed me out behind the house, into the woods, through brambles and dense foliage until finally, we breeched a low stone wall and accessed a clearing, surrounded on all sides by impenetrable forest.

  There were crude wooden crosses driven into the ground in the clearing.

  Seven wooden crosses.

  Seven stakes.

  With the word “Maleficus” carved in shaky, garbled writing across each of the stakes.

  My legs began to tremble. I could hardly stand as they dragged me to the nearest cross and affixed me to it with more heavy ropes.

  My head was in a swirl. What was “Maleficus”? Why did they have writing in Latin? Weren’t they supposed to be followers of the Twelve Tribes of Israel, the original Christians who first walked on the face of the earth? Those people spoke Hebrew and Aramaic. They chose names in Hebrew. So why were there things in Latin?

  Even as I watched, with my eyes surely bulging out of my face, they began to pile logs at the bottom of the stake, surrounding my feet. They formed a sizable mound.

  I began to writhe, flailing with my wrists against my bindings for all I was worth. These weren’t plastic strips. It was just hemp. I should have been able to loosen them. Perhaps I still could, if I struggled hard enough. The harsh ropes tore into my flesh. I winced at the pain. Warm liquid mingled with the icy rain pouring over my hands. Ignoring the pain, I struggled harder.

  I heard a shuffling of feet in the darkness of the forest. I glanced up. A row of what appeared to be medieval pilgrims, with their figures ensconced in ankle-length tunics of rough canvas and their faces shrouded in hoods, filed solemnly through the trees towards me. All the members of the community melted back and drifted away to a respectful distance, forming a circle around the elders. The elders drew together in a half-circle in front of me. The one nearest to me raised his hood.

  I wasn’t surprised to see it was Elder Brooks.

  “I know you,” he intoned, his voice devoid of all humanity. “You are the one who came to visit. Who accepted our hospitality, but gave us nothing in return. You flaunted our rules, I remember that. You refused to rouse your son for the all-important morning gathering. You even dare to blaspheme against us now.”

  He reached underneath his ponderous robes and produced a crisp newspaper clipping. The rain dripped through it, turning it into mush, but I could make out the blazing headline loud and clear before it wilted into his palm:

  “Eyewitness Warns Against Influential Local Cult”

  The newspaper article I’d turned over to Sasha Petrovic even yesterday. I had already forgotten about it.

  Elder Brooks droned on, his voice hard, implacable.

  “It is our mission to burn, cast away, destroy, rip apart and bludgeon to smithereens, all individuals who are evil. Most especially, we are called upon to bring revenge upon our own enemies, those people who dare to betray or rebel against the Children of the pulsing red Heart of Christ.”

  I recalled the entry I’d read in that child’s diary in the gathering room of the lodge.

  Elder Brooks continued. Scowls of wrath and indignation disfigured his countenance as he spoke.

  “Most unforgiveable of all, you have blasphemed against one of our daughters. Incited her to rebel against us.”

  He turned and gestured towards someone lurking about at the edge of the woods. The whole group turned. Yosef and the fierce-looking North African appeared, dragging someone aggressively by the arms. As they emerged into view, I realized it was Lindsay.

  Lindsay as wild and desperate as a feral cat caught in a trap. Lindsay with her golden waves tossing about her face chaotically, her hands clenched into fists, screaming hysterically until she was nearly hoarse. Rain streamed down her face and dripped from the hems of her colonial-era dress. Yosef and the North African drove her towards Elder Brooks until his face was almost touching hers. They glared at each other, their gazes evened, level. Lindsay blinked and dropped her gaze towards the ground.

  Elder Brooks spat disdainfully onto her cheeks.

  “You are the cause of all this chaos,” he declaimed, self-righteous. “You and this witch you call your best friend. We will
spare you, Tikvah, because you are one of us, and we know that you will repent and return to the fold. But it is our wish that you behold with your own eyes what happens to anyone who dares to oppose us.”

  He made another gesture, and some men broke ranks and loped away from the rest of the group. They returned a minute later bearing grimy plastic canisters. I started to flay harder than ever, my heart seeming to tear a hole through my throat.

  The men stalked right next to me and began to pour something from the canisters all over me. The pale gold liquid reeked of gas stations and kerosene lamps.

  I began to scream and scream and scream. Gasoline slipped into my mouth. I spat it out and screamed louder than ever. My wrists ripped so hard at the bindings around them that it felt like my skin was tearing off in strips. The stink of gasoline burnt my nostrils and my eyes watered.

  Elder Brooks began to recite something. I didn’t pay attention to the individual words, couldn’t have concentrated on them if my life depended on it. But they sounded familiar. They seemed similar to the Scriptures they sermonized from at every gathering.

  When he finished, he lowered his head and motioned towards one of the elders.

  “You dared to befriend this heretic, Elder Smith,” he stated. “Now show us your true colours. Prove your loyalties to us.”

  Elder Smith stepped towards me and smiled a rueful, sorrowful smile. His fumbling hands produced a box of matches from beneath the folds of his tunic.

  Without hesitation, he lit a match.

  Chapter 26

  A strong gust of rain-laden wind smooched down over Elder Smith’s match.

  He lit another one.

  The relentless downpour put it out again.

  A third match suffered the same fate.

  I thought he seemed to breathe a sigh of tremendous relief. Not that I had much energy to think about anything at all. The only thing I cared about was to break free. I continued tugging at my bindings, trying with all my strength to ignore the throbbing pain of rough hemp grinding into my flesh.

  I prayed that the driving rain would make it impossible for them to carry out their plans. It was my only hope.

  At last, impatience written across every pore of his features, Elder Brooks stalked towards me with a cigarette lighter clasped firmly in his fist.

  I yanked at my hands and kicked and battled against the pole behind me. My hands hardly moved. My shrieks mingled with those of Lindsay’s. The rest of the group observed us impassive, dispassionately, as if watching a pig roast rather than the murder of a human being.

  Elder Smith’s hands quivered, betraying his emotion, as his colleague held the lighter aloft, brandishing it before me and before all the crowd.

  Elder Brooks raised his hand, authoritarian, and stepped close to me. He pressed his face up against mine. His breath smelt putrid. His skin was like a raw, slimy fish against my cheek.

  “Annasuya.” His voice was an unsettling hiss. “I believe that is how you presented yourself to us, is it not?”

  I wanted to continue screaming but somehow I couldn’t anymore. My breath froze on my lips and my flesh became frigid, petrified.

  “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,” was all he said. Spit foamed and speckled on his swollen lips.

  Suddenly I felt something come to life within me. Something warm and agitated opened up deep inside me.

  “Isn’t that the King James translation?” I hurled into his face. “I thought you followed the original Hebrew Bible.”

  Elder Brooks didn’t say anything. His eyes started darting about.

  “So are you saying, that everything you teach is a lie? A fraud?” I continued, goading him on.

  I knew it was foolhardy, dangerous. After all I was the one trussed up like a turkey before him, doused in gasoline, surrounded by wooden logs and with the tickling of a lighter flame barely a hairsbreadth away from me. But I couldn’t help it. Something unfathomable greater and more powerful than me goaded me onwards.

  Elder Brooks stepped back, half amused and, apparently, also curious. Almost imperceptibly, he tilted his head to one side. So I continued. My heart pumped away so hard in my breast I was sure he would notice it but some force outside of myself seemed to drive at me.

  “Do you even know what the original Hebrew term was? It wasn’t witch, you know.”

  I glared at him. He glared back, seemingly intrigued, but still didn’t say a word.

  “The word in Hebrew was Mechashefah. Which means poisoner. Murderer. Someone who murdered by poisoning. So. The original commandment was: you will not allow a murderer to live.” I cocked my head at him.

  Deep down I thanked my lucky stars profusely for my years of study at a religious Jewish shul. Blood continued to rush through my ears, drowning out almost all other sounds.

  “That sounds pretty logical to me. In certain states around the world today, people still execute murderers. But I...” I peered into his eyes as hard as I could. “I am not a murderer.”

  I glanced around at the “tribe”.

  “And if you execute me now,” I exclaimed, loud enough that my voice carried over to even the last member, “you would lose the respect and faith of all these people. For not following what your Scriptures order you to. For inventing your own rules. And,” I added, for good measure, “for plain stupidity, for not knowing just exactly what those sacred texts of yours actually say.”

  Elder Brooks stiffened. His body grew tense, rigid. He glared at me for a minute more, then suddenly he stepped back, his expression unreadable. He reached out and snapped his fingers at Elder Smith. Obediently, Elder Smith deposited the matchbox into the authoritarian leader’s hand.

  Elder Brooks pocketed the matches and his minuscule lighter, then waved at Yosef and the North African.

  “Take her away. Let her return to her trailer. As punishment for your misdemeanour, Tikvah, I order you to take on double duty for a week. That means both cooking and cleaning at every meal, in addition to your regular duties. Now leave.”

  Yosef and the North African dragged my friend away, disappearing from my view within minutes. Lindsay’s screams had subsided into inconsolable sobs. At the last moment, she raised her head and stared straight and unwavering at me, her blue eyes glistening and unsettled.

  With a haughty wave of his hand, Elder Brooks dismissed the rest of the Council of Elders. He stepped back and allowed the lowliest members of the community to unbind me.

  “Escort this heretic to the entrance of our community,” he barked out. “Make sure she doesn’t return. I want someone to be watching the entrance at all times tonight.”

  A group of perhaps three or four swarmed over me, loosening my ties, tugging me away from the cross. As soon as the ropes fell from me and there was nothing holding me up anymore, my legs crumpled into jelly and I couldn’t help toppling to the ground, unable to hold my own weight up.

  I landed heavily with my face buried in mud, pushing against the ground with arms that felt like rubber. People bent over me, rough hands grabbed at me and prodded me to my feet again. I wanted to stay there forever, burying my face in the wet earth and sobbing with red hot tears that stung and trickled into the mud. But I let them pull me up.

  As they were about to lead me away, Elder Brooks stepped close to me and raised his hands, imperious. The others drew back with bowed heads and waited in an obsequious stance.

  “Be warned, humble sons and daughters,” he intoned. “You have just seen for yourselves the dire punishment that awaits heretics and those sinners who dare to escape from us or betray us. I am showing clemency to this sinner because... because, as she says, she is not a murderer. And because she is not one of us and therefore, she is naïvely unaware of our teachings. She is but a poor, misguided member of the outside world, I fear. However...”

  He clapped his hands.

  “However. If any of you dare to ever disobey me, or any of my brothers, I can assure you there will be no clemency for any of you. Given that unli
ke this poor, misguided heathen, you are in full possession of the knowledge of the truth.”

  He turned to glare at each sectarian in turn. No one dared to face him.

  After that, he turned his attention to me again.

  “You might get away this time, Annasuya,” he hissed in a barely audible whisper, “but if I ever see your face around here again, next time I won’t be nearly as lenient. This is our land, our property. And we have the full and legal right to do as we please here. To defend our land through any means.”

  I squinted up at him.

  “It doesn’t matter where you are. It doesn’t matter if this is your own private property. You can’t legally murder me,” I countered. “Murder is illegal no matter where you carry it out. Even if you do it in your own home. You must know that.”

  Elder Brooks began to smile. His grin was slow to bud and when it reached full bloom, it was nothing more than a black slash across his wizened features.

  “I can do what I want on my own property,” he repeated. “And no one can stop me. If no one ever finds you, there’s no way anyone could ever accuse me of murder. We are outside of the law of so-called normal society. We have nothing to do with them. God has us protected here.”

  He reached inside his robe, pulled something out concealed in the palm of his hand. I saw the glint of something silvery and metallic.

  He slashed his hand towards me, dove it down towards my arm before I realized what he was doing. I felt a jolt of searing pain in my upper arm, something scalded me on the surface of my skin. It was like the blinding flash of a perfectly sharpened razor. A shallow knife cut.

  I snatched my arm away in alarm and glanced down at it. There was a tear in my sleeve and a pinprick of scarlet, quickly washed away by the rain.

  Elder Brooks smirked.

  “Just a brief reminder of what I am capable of, Annasuya,” he said. “A warning that I can do what I wish to you. With the passage of time you might start to consider what has transpired here today as nought more than a nasty scare. But flesh remembers. Flesh doesn’t forget. And your flesh won’t forget the pain I’m capable of inflicting.”