Hidden Pearl

by Trueax, Rain

  Eyes glazed, Sharon looked at Christine. "Reverend Soul smiled." She frowned. "He got up and walked over to where George was getting ready to use a whip. He took it from him. They argued. I couldn't hear what they said, but then Reverend Soul looked into the half-breed's face. He pulled his hair back, lifting his head. He said, "'Are you ready to renounce your evil deeds?'

  "The half-breed just looked at him. Then Reverend Soul walked back to me. He held the whip out." She put her hands over her face.

  Christine bit down hard on her lip, forcing herself not to give in to the anger rising in her. "He told you to whip him?" she asked finally when she saw that Sharon was not able to finish.

  Tears rolled down Sharon's cheeks. "He said I had to do it. I didn't want to, but they forced it into my hand.” She looked into Christine’s eyes. “It wasn’t a real big one. Like a riding whip or something. Reverend Soul said, 'This half-breed has done wrong. Evil is in half of him. If the man is to survive, to… be whole, the evil must be driven out.’ So… I took the whip and I began to hit his back.”

  Sharon closed her eyes, then opened them, the expression tortured. “Reverend Soul stopped me. He said, you’re not hitting hard enough, and he said I had to strike him on his chest and… belly.” She made a little sobbing sound. “I walked around and…” She stopped.

  “You know how dark his eyes are, almost black,” she said when she began again, her voice as though repeating a memorized verse, nearly toneless. “He looked straight into mine, seemed to see through me, but he didn’t say a word as I began to hit him on his chest and stomach.” She shuddered again.

  "Reverend came to stand beside me. He smiled and said I had to do it harder.... He looked back at him, the poor devil hanging there and said, 'You can stop this anytime.' God help me, I kept hitting him, the whip striking his skin. The sound… All I can still hear is the sound of that whip." She stopped talking and put her hands over her face. “I can’t believe I did that, but I did.”

  "How many times… did you hit him?" Christine asked. She felt a desperate need to get to S.T. Could Sharon take her there? If she did, what would it help?

  "I don’t know. God forgive me," Sharon whispered. "The whip left marks, welts across his chest and belly. Once I accidentally hit him on the neck, barely touched his jaw with it, but it marked him there too. That’s when Reverend Soul, he got angry with me and said I couldn’t do nothing right.”

  She looked up then and met Christine’s gaze. “I didn’t want to hurt him. Didn’t want to see the pain in his eyes, like a wounded animal, but he didn't say a word, sometimes just grunted but didn’t cry out. Every time I hit him, his body flinched, I saw he was in pain, began to feel it myself with every blow, as though I was hitting me, but I didn’t dare to stop." She began to sob again.

  Christine straightened, took a deep breath. She felt furious at the thought of this woman whipping Storm. She wanted to slap Sharon, knock her out of the chair, but she forced herself to remember the girl had been brainwashed for a long time. There was no understanding why she'd gotten into Soul's cult, but once she had, she'd slowly had her own ability to think taken from her. Maybe now the trauma of what she had done would allow her to be reached, to get to that deep part of her that still remained.

  But she hurt S.T. She felt a renewed rage rush through her body and clenched her fists to get control of it. "Do they know you've come here?" Christine asked when she thought she had control over her voice.

  Sharon sniffled back a sob. "I... felt like I'd been the one who was an animal, like I've done something terrible awful. I didn’t want to tell nobody. I felt ashamed. Then Reverend said I had to bring you food and I thought maybe you could help me understand.” She looked into Christine’s eyes. “Why did he want to punish me too? Why would he make me do something like that?"

  “I don’t know, Sharon.” She realized she needed to find words to get Sharon to start thinking, to turn her to wanting to help them. Her mind was nearly blank though at the horror of what S.T. was going through. Finally she thought of a way to begin. “I’d like to know your real name, the one from before you came here. Do you remember it?”

  The girl swallowed as she considered, maybe even tried to remember. “Megan Richards.”

  “Megan, did Reverend Soul ask you to tell me what he is doing to S.T.?”

  “I swear he didn’t and please don’t give away my name. I think he’d be beating me if he knew I told you. We are supposed to never speak our old names again, like they are bad for us, draw demons to us.” She cried. “I just don't know what to do anymore.”

  "You could try to help S.T. before they kill him."

  "What can I do?"

  Christine walked to the narrow window and stared out. It was night. How much time did she have, how much time did S.T. have? What did they want him to do that he was refusing? She turned back to Sharon. "What about the other man?"

  "He's in the room, tied to a chair. He just stares into space. Is he crazy or something?"

  "Maybe. I don't know. He was in war. I guess that triggered something when he saw the guns."

  "I thought Reverend Soul was a saint, a man God talked to, but he isn’t is he?"

  “We agree. He’s not. Can you get out of here and go to the police with what is happening?" Christine asked, deciding she had to trust that Sharon was telling the truth, that Soul was not listening outside the door. This might be her only chance to get help before it would be too late.

  "No," Sharon said, wrapping her arms around herself. "I can't do that."

  "Why not? You know this is wrong. Bring in somebody from outside who can put a stop to it."

  Fearfully Sharon shook her head.

  Christine tried to think of a way to reason with her when the door opened and she saw Peter Soul stand there, his gaze traveling from her to Sharon. She felt sure then that Sharon had betrayed her, but he looked at Christine, then at the tray. “You haven’t eaten.”

  "Did you really think I’d be hungry?" Christine snapped deciding righteous indignation was called for.

  Soul looked back at her. “You must eat though. You need your strength.” He glanced at Sharon. “You may go to your room now. I’ll explain all… of this to you later."

  Sharon looked at him, fear in her eyes, then she ran from the room.

  Christine wondered if he had been listening at the door. Was this another of his intricate little games? “Why are you holding me here? What have you done to S.T. and Hank?” she asked trying to keep her voice level. Thinking about how he’d had S.T. beaten, she felt a rage that made it difficult to be rational, to use her head. She couldn’t afford anger, not yet.

  Soul smiled and moved to sit in the chair Sharon had vacated. He pointed to the food. "Eat."

  "Is that an order?"

  "Of course not. I just thought you might be hungry."

  "Have you fed the others?"

  "They aren't hungry. Would you like some tea with your meal?"

  "It's hard to feel like eating when you're starving my friends."

  Soul raised his eyebrows. "Starving your friends?" He cleared his throat and smiled again. "How melodramatic."

  "Then they're being given water and food?" She made no move to touch her own food.

  He rose from the chair and went to the door. He clapped his hands loudly and a moment later a man stood before him. "Make sure our other guests have been given all the water and food just as we discussed earlier, and send a pot of hot tea up here." When he'd closed the door, he gazed at Christine. "Now, will you eat, fair lady?"

  It seemed the intelligent thing to do, but at this point Christine knew she was hanging onto her intellect by a thin thread. When she tried to think logically, she visualized S.T. hanging by his wrists, his beautiful body being whipped, and her wits were taken from her.

  Still, she sat on the bed and forced herself to eat some of the soup, then half the sandwich. By the time she'd finished what she could, the tea had arrived and Soul poured them each a cup
.

  She looked at him, sitting comfortably in his chair, his manner seemingly completely at ease and tried to understand what he was doing. It was as though they were having a nice social time. How could he have watched a man be tortured, order him to be beaten, destroyed a girl's will, then come to her acting as though nothing had happened? Was the evil she'd seen in his face in those first photographs all that existed behind the handsome facade?

  He looked at her over the rim of his cup. "You look unhappy. What can I do to ease your mind?"

  "Let us all go home."

  He smiled, sipping his tea. "Not quite yet.”

  “What is it you want?”

  “There is the little matter of a computer, of course. You're acting as though I'm the sinner here, but I didn't go into someone's home, someone who trusted me, and steal his private correspondence."

  She stared into her own cup of tea, trying to decide what the right answer was. How much did he know? Having seen S.T.'s tolerance for pain, she doubted he'd gotten any information from him but had Hank broken emotionally and physically. If she lied now, Soul might know it. If she told the truth, she might be condemning S.T. to death. She sipped the herbal tea trying to think of the right words.

  "If you're not going to let us go, what are you going to do with us?" she asked finally.

  His smile made her uncomfortable, especially as his gaze traveled over her body, then came back to her face. "You won't be hurt," he said. "Do you believe that?"

  "That’s not my only concern," she said, trying to keep her voice level.

  "Are you in love with the half-breed?"

  "He's got a name and you know it,” she snapped. “Why are you calling him half-breed?"

  "It's what he is, isn't it? Storm Walker. Is that a name for anything other than a savage?"

  "You didn't think so earlier, not when you wanted him to design your church."

  'I've made mistakes."

  "What have you done to him?"

  "Didn't Sharon already tell you?"

  "Sharon came to bring me food."

  Soul stared at her, his eyes considering, thoughtful. "Do you want to see him?"

  "I want to see them both."

  "You might as well tell me the truth about what the half-breed means to you because I'll recognize a lie if I hear it, especially when I see you together."

  "Why do you care what he is to me?" she shot back.

  He smiled again. "You have so much fire. So much beauty. It would be a shame to see that wasted on a man like Storm Walker."

  She walked to the window and stared out into the night, unable to look at his smug smile any longer without yielding to her urge to slap it away and be slapped herself. Overhead stars twinkled, but the sky was an ebony black with no moon visible through her narrow slit.

  "I have been married to my career."

  "For all that is possible in life, between a man and a woman, a camera is cold comfort as a substitute."

  "I've seen many unhappy marriages," she said.

  "Your own family?" he questioned.

  "No, they've been happy enough, but my mother gives everything to her husband, her children. She has no life of her own and now with the children grown, my father still busy at the university, she is feeling a lack. I haven’t wanted that to happen to me. Besides what man could ever understand my career, all that it means to me to go off and take photographs?"

  Those statements would have all been true a month ago before she'd met S.T. and known what the love a woman felt for a man could do to her, how compromises could be made, how many empty places inside that kind of love could fill.

  Soul rose from his chair and walked to stand behind her. She felt the air grow heavy, his presence intimidating, frightening. Whatever he wanted to do to her, no one else could stop it.

  He put his hands on her shoulders. "You know I'm attracted to you."

  "You haven't said anything." She wanted to move away but forced herself to stand under his hands, allowing his touch.

  "I wasn't sure of your relationship to the half-breed." He chuckled. "Ah there I go offending you by being politically incorrect again. I mean, of course, Storm Walker."

  "I don't think that, whatever it is, is any of your business."

  "It might be if I had intentions toward you myself. For example, I would want my wife to be pure."

  "Wife?" She moved away, unable to bear his touch any longer.

  "Of course, what else would we be talking about?"

  "I don't know. I just never thought." She met his gaze. "You want me to marry you?"

  "I would seriously consider that option under certain conditions."

  "And those are?" she asked, playing for time to clear her thinking.

  "Your purity would be a major issue."

  She pressed her lips together. So there was a way out for her if she told him that she and S.T. were lovers. But would that be the end or cost her whatever chance she still had to turn this thing in their favor? She was in a game she didn't understand, didn't know the rules, and was being out maneuvered at every turn. "I am still pure. I have never been with a man for sex if that’s what you mean." It was a literal lie, but not one as she felt in her heart when what she and S.T. had shared had been not only pure but almost sacred.

  He smiled, turning her to again face him. "I thought not. All right, there are other things. I would want loyalty from a wife, loyalty to me and my work."

  "Your work is for God, isn't it?"

  "Of course."

  "Then we serve the same master." She didn't believe for a moment that was true, but this was no time to get into a theological debate with him. She had to fool him, somehow get him to release S.T. and Hank, after that she'd worry about her own situation.

  He put his arms around her. When she saw he intended to kiss her, she turned her head so that his lips met her cheek. He looked at her questioningly. "I don't give my kisses lightly either," she said.

  His smile returned. "All right, what would make you take me seriously, cause you to consider my proposal?"

  "Is this a proposal?" she asked, again trying to delay long enough to think what she should say.

  "It could be."

  She managed a smile. "That is so typically male."

  He laughed. "You are everything I would need in a wife. I can see it happening between us."

  In a million years, you murderer, she thought, casting her glance down so that her eyes didn't reveal her thoughts. "I cannot imagine marrying a man who would hurt my friends," she said, determined to somehow get S.T. and Hank free.

  "You want to see them?" he asked, smiling, "to assure yourself they are safe? The savage was disciplined, of course, but nothing… uh life threatening."

  "Yes, I’d like to see them both."

  He shook his head. "I'll come back later and let you know if it will be possible."

  She wanted to hit him, to beat her fists against his chest. She even gritted her teeth against the impulse to lash out verbally. "How is Hank?" she asked, forcing herself to concentrate on something besides S.T. "He seemed to be disturbed when I last saw him, is he better?"

  "I'll check on both of them, then get back to you."

  "How soon?"

  His gaze was probing. She knew she was walking a narrow line. It would only take one wrong word, and he'd know she loved S.T.

  "As soon as possible, my dear."

  "After I see them, could you let them go? I'm quite concerned about Hank's mental state."

  He shook his head. "I'm sorry I can't please you in all things. It would be irresponsible of me though. When stolen items have been returned and possibly an apology given, we might consider the next step." He smiled. "I'd do whatever I could for you."

  She knew that would never include freeing S.T. or Hank, and if she married Peter Soul, she would remain a prisoner the rest of her life--however long that might be. He’d find out on any phony wedding night that she had lied to him, but she had to make him think there was hope. Perh
aps that way he would try to please her. It was a slim hope, but the only one she had.

  #

  S.T. suspended from the ceiling by wrist manacles attached to a chain, his toes barely touching the ground, became aware of his surroundings slowly. The strain on his arms was almost as great as the aches and pains he felt from the torments that had heaped onto him.

  He knew Sharon had been used to whip him as a shaming as much as hurting. She didn't have the strength to do the damage George would've and did do with his fists. He didn't know if Soul had tried to save him from worse or believed the humiliation of being whipped by a woman would be greater than any pain inflicted by the whip.

  He closed his eyes, trying to sleep, to forget where he was, what had happened. He felt like an idiot. When would he learn? He cursed himself for not denying Christine and Hank when they'd insisted on coming with him.

  "Sarge." Hank's hiss penetrated his bout of self-pity. He swallowed against the dryness in his throat and turned his head enough to see Hank where he was tied to the chair near the wall of the warehouse-like room where they were being held.

  "Sarge, are you going to be okay?" Hank asked. S.T. might have been concerned for his friend’s sanity, but he saw the intensity in his gaze and realized he was telling him something as well as asking a question.

  "In a week... maybe two,” S.T. managed. “How about you?”

  "They won’t break me, Sarge. Don’t worry about that.” Hank nodded his head toward a table. “I know they got spies everywhere but I won’t break. You can count on me."

  S.T. tried to moisten his lips and found it impossible. So, Hank was telling him the room was likely bugged. Anything they were to say had to be coded in some way. He decided his role was to show concern for his friend’s delusion. “Hank, where do you think we are?”

  Hank chuckled. “You know that.”

  “I know but do you?”

  “The Cong got us, been torturing you,” Hank said, forcing a mock patience into his voice