The Brand of Anem

by Kaitlyn Deann

  “It’s dangerous,” he interrupted. “There are reasons we have rules, Carson.” He shifted his body to face him better. “Hell, you know this! You know this better than anyone! What’s going on, Carson, that you feel the need to break the rules? You’re acting like—” He stopped himself short, closing his eyes and taking a deep, deep breath.

  “I’m acting like...?” questioned Carson. What was he going to say?

  He sighed. “Never mind.”

  I knew it, Carson thought, though he didn’t dare confront his father in that moment. I’m acting like him, aren’t I? That’s what he was going to say. Carson would bet money on it, in fact. He used to break the rules when he was my age. I must be more like him than he likes.

  Suddenly, there was a loud knock on the front door. It echoed eerily through the silent house. Derek sighed and said to Carson under his breath, “Let’s go, son.” And he stood Carson up from the bed, one hand lightly gripping the boy’s bicep, only a few inches below the edge of his secret brand. He led his son to the on-duty officers standing on their front porch, ready to deliver his well-deserved punishment.

  CHAPTER SIX

  They held Carson in a cell and booked him for a noon whipping post session. The way they worded it made it sound like he’d be attending a Sunday evening picnic where the kids could all play together and teenagers could mingle. Carson knew better, and he wondered who would fall for such a simple tactic.

  Strange enough, they never strip-searched him, and they didn’t watch him change into the white uniform they gave him either. There was one camera in the cell, but it was all too easy to avoid it while changing. Still, he would have to remove his shirt prior to his noon appointment with the post and bullwhip. So far he’d been blessed, but he wasn’t sure how Anem could save him from the next obstacle.

  As noon approached, his stomach tangled into knots again. They gave him some oatmeal for breakfast at eight and then some toast at eight thirty when he didn’t touch the first option, but he couldn’t eat. He was on edge. The faintest voices down the hall made him tense. Yet, he practiced not showing his discomfort. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

  “Hey, Owens,” a voice said from the cell door. A gentle bang on the bars meant to grab his attention sounded softly through the cell. Consciously ridding his face of any expression, Carson looked over to William Lach from where he sat on the bed.

  “It’s only nine,” stated Carson, glancing at the clock on the wall.

  William unlocked the cell door and let himself in before responding. “Yes, but you have visitors.” His stomach flipped. “It’s your family. Would you like me to bring them here? Or would you prefer to meet them in the private lounge where they’re waiting?”

  Carson stood up. “I’ll meet them wherever they are.” They didn’t need to see the dimly lit concrete cell he’d been locked up in and would remain in for who-knew-how-long. Besides, he desperately needed to get out of that cage for a few minutes.

  The officer nodded curtly. “Very well.” He removed handcuffs from his utility belt and showed them to Carson. Carson detachedly gave him his wrists. “Sorry, Owens. It’s the rules.” He placed them on Carson, careful to make sure they weren’t too tight. “I do feel for you, you know. Sure, breaking curfew is a crime, but I’m sure you aren’t a bad man.” He patted Carson’s shoulder, just like he had at the engagement party after he’d bumped into him. Carson’s shoulder grew hot, just as it had previously. “You’re just a man, after all, and that can’t be helped.” He motioned Carson out of the cell then.

  I’m just a man, and that can’t be helped. Carson had never heard that before. That’s not what they were taught in school or at home or in church. How true was what William said? And who taught him that? Was it not blasphemy to blame one’s sin on simply being ? Carson was mostly sure it was.

  William took Carson to the private lounge where his mother and sister sat patiently on a white couch, sipping on something steaming in teacups. The walls were painted the color of lavender and decorated in paintings of beautiful landscapes. Potted plants were scattered throughout the room, and the soft scent of pine tickled Carson’s nose. He was glad he chose to come to them.

  “Carson!” yelled Casey excitedly when they walked in. She set her teacup down in such haste that the contents splashed onto the table. She ran around it, not caring about the spillage, and plowed into Carson. Her arms were wrapped around him tightly.

  She let go a hot second later when she remembered where they were. Her face reddened as she looked at William. “I apologize for my outburst, officer.”

  William smiled at her sweetly, and Carson was thankful that he was treating her kindly. But his friendliness to Carson’s little sister wasn’t going to fool him. He was still a prick, no matter what kind things he did or said. Carson was sure he would always feel a twinge of animosity towards Lach in his gut. “Don’t worry about it, little one,” the officer had said. “I’m sure your brother appreciates having such a loving sister. Especially right now.”

  Carson bent down to eye level with Casey. “Thanks for coming to see me, squirt.” He pinched her chin gently as he smiled warmly at her.

  She returned the smile with one of her own. “I asked Dad to come, too, but he said he’d have to come by later.”

  Carson nodded. “I’ll see Dad whenever he can come by.”

  She agreed with a nod that matched his. “Yeah, I’m sure he has a good reason.”

  He forced a grin but he could feel it faltering a bit. “I’m sure you’re right.” Actually, Carson was sure she wasn’t .

  Kayla sat on the couch a little awkwardly. The moment Carson made eye contact with her, she quickly stood and adjusted her ankle-length navy blue dress. Carson noted the puffiness around her eyes. Had she been crying non-stop since early that morning?

  Walking over to her, he also noticed how bloodshot her eyes were. The whole thing was surely taking a great toll on his dear mother. “I’m so sorry, Mother,” Carson whispered. She didn’t say a word to him. She caressed his face in the palms of her hands and tried to smile at him. “Don’t do that,” he told her. “Don’t try to make me feel better. I don’t deserve that.”

  She shook her head, suddenly pulling him into a tight hug. They embraced for only a few heartbeats. When she pulled away, her hands found his face again. She whispered through a throat squeezed tight with sorrow, “Don’t think about the pain. It’ll only hurt for a moment.” She shook her head again, as if trying to shake an image away. “If only I could take the punishment for you.”

  “No,” he quickly told her, taking her hands into his. “We reap what we sow, and you’ve done no wrong.”

  Her lip trembled. “Still…”

  Carson patted her hands, attempting to comfort her. “I’ll be okay. No need to worry.”

  “They assured me right afterwards you’d be seen by a physician.”

  He nodded. “That’s what I heard too.”

  “Your father will make sure it happens immediately. He’ll be right there with you the whole time.”

  Carson didn’t reply. Her lips continued to tremble, and tears escaped her eyes. “You won’t be there, right? When it happens?” wondered Carson.

  She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t be. Take Casey home when you leave here, and don’t leave the house today, if you can help it. Do this for me.” He pumped her hands once with a gentle squeeze. “Promise me.”

  She was silent for a long moment.

  “Mother,” he whispered so only she could hear. “Do it for Casey, then. She shouldn’t see such a horrible shaming.”

  She closed her eyes and many more tears fell. “It’s such an awful punishment after all, isn’t it? Meant to shame everyone into submission. I never realized before...”

  Carson glanced back at William, but he was speaking with Casey about the hot chocolate she spilled on the table, giving her a napkin to wipe it up. He turned his attention back to Kayla. “Go home, Mother. Plea
se.”

  She simply nodded after half a moment of consideration. She removed her hands from his face and wiped away the streams on her cheeks, then she called for Casey to prepare to leave.

  “Already?!” exclaimed Casey.

  “Hey, now,” Carson said playfully. “Do as your told, little sister. I’ll be home soon enough. Enjoy having the house free of me in the meantime.” He winked obnoxiously at her.

  She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. Mother draped Casey’s white cloak over the young girl’s shoulders and fastened it over her dress as she replied to Carson with a sister-sassy tone, “That’s not a good reason at all . The house is much more interesting when you’re there. You make funny noises and jokes, and you tell really cool stories.”

  “And I will be right back to my usual gags as soon as I can, okay? For now, do as Mother says.”

  She pinched her lips in disagreement, but continued to take her gloves from Mother and pulled them on her hands. Carson took his index finger, ran it down her nose and then gently pinched the tip of her chin. He had been doing that simple gesture since before she could walk, and Casey knew what it meant. “See you soon, little sister.”

  She smiled at him and then poked his nose gently with her gloved finger, which Carson knew was always her way of saying she loved him too. “See you soon, big brother.”

  They were gone moments later.

  ☽ ✵ ☾

  Time passed far too quickly. It was already half past eleven, and Carson’s nerves were eating away at his sanity, bit by bit.

  There was a light rattling at the cell door. “All right, Carson.” It was William again. Great . Go die in a hole, would you? “Time to prep you for the post.”

  Carson’s stomach pitched uneasily. “Prep?”

  William unlocked the cell door and propped it open. “Yeah, you have to wear a specific outfit. You’ll probably feel quite uncomfortable in it, but I guess that’s the point.”

  “Shame,” stated Carson aloud. It was all about the shame. The whipping didn’t really have much to do with the punishment. It was only a small fear-factor compared to public shame.

  William nodded and shrugged. “I didn’t make the rules. Enough chit-chat. Let’s go, Owens. Gotta pay your due.” Screw you, Carson had thought, yet he complied with the officer’s orders without any delay.

  The halls of the corridor shrunk in on Carson as Officer Prick—as he had dubbed the bastard—led him with a tight grip on his elbow. Carson rubbed the wrist of the same arm where his brand laid just beneath the white button up shirt. The handcuffs jingled with the motion. Their footsteps echoed in the otherwise quiet hall. William’s combat boots drowned out the plastic sandals they’d given Carson to wear. Occasionally, Carson glanced over at Lach with a wary eye. After all, he was the man that was betrothed to the woman Carson was bound, to the woman he had loved for a year yet the chief officer had only barely met. Betrothed to the one person with whom Carson shared the brand of Anem. What will happen once he realizes Margaret has a brand identical to mine? Considering the thought made him sick.

  They entered a sizable office at the end of the corridor where four other officers stood ready against the walls and—surprisingly enough to Carson—the judge himself sat at a desk, engrossed in whatever paperwork was in front of him. He lowered the spectacles on his nose as he gazed up at Carson. The look given caused his stomach to toss, and he had known then that it had everything to do with the fact that the judge was about to see his brand that linked his soul to Duchess James—the daughter of Judge James, the highest political figure in the city.

  Judge James set down his paperwork and removed the spectacles from his long nose. “Jerry Carson Owens, you have been charged with deliberately breaking curfew for which the punishment is ten lashes at the whipping post. How do you plead?”

  Carson’s voice was stuck in his throat. William nudged him with his elbow after a few short seconds, and Carson severely wanted to punch his face. “Guilty,” he choked out in place of hitting William. He hadn’t even really thought thoroughly about his answer either, and that pissed him off.

  Get a grip.

  Judge James folded his hands on his desk in front of him and leaned forward. “How often did you break curfew? Was it just once? Or perhaps you’ve gotten away with it for a while?” A couple of seconds passed, but he continued before Carson could consider an answer. “I recall when you were a tyke and your teachers at school made comments on how you would probably grow up into a mischievous man if your parents continued to allow you to be a mischievous boy. Tell me: Did you grow into a mischievous man as predicted? Or was this simply a one time offense?”

  Carson waited half a moment before responding. He made sure to tread lightly. “If it was not just one time, does that change anything?”

  “No,” the judge stated matter-of-factly. “I will only charge you for the one misdemeanor. So I assume this means you’ve done it several times, then?”

  Carson paused for one second. Eventually, he nodded once, a small nod that the judge could have easily missed if he hadn’t have been watching Carson’s body language so carefully. Carson shifted his weight to distract himself from all the eyes bearing down on him.

  “How many?” the judge questioned.

  “Is it important?” asked Carson quietly. The last thing he wanted was to get on the judge’s bad side. Anything Judge Mark James said went without question.

  He stared at Carson for a couple of heartbeats and then said, “Not really, but I’d like to know. How many times, Carson Owens?”

  Carson glanced over at Lach who promptly motioned him to get out with it. Carson’s eyes pierced him, but he didn’t seem bothered in the least. Carson swallowed a hard knot in his throat. He wondered if his voice would betray him the moment his lips parted. As he gazed back at the judge, he kept his voice low. “A few times. It was only ever for an hour. Never longer.”

  “What would you do?” the judge questioned.

  “Walk around. Nothing special, really. I like the night air.”

  Judge James picked up the papers on his desk and glanced over them again before scribbling a few notes here and there on multiple pages. “All right,” he said, motioning to the other five officers in the room. “Proceed.”

  One of the officers handed Carson a strange piece of cloth as William began removing the handcuffs. Carson held up the cloth to examine it, wondering what it was.

  “It’s a loincloth,” the judge said, obviously noting the curious—and concerned, no doubt—expression on his face.

  Carson’s eyebrows raised. “But…” he protested. “I’ll be indecent in front of people. Isn’t that against the rules?”

  Judge James stood from his chair to lean across the desk. Perhaps he was trying to make a point with his body language, but Carson only took it as a threat and heat shot through him. It took a lot of effort, but he forced himself to cool down quickly. “The rules state not to be indecent in front of any person with the exception of criminals who must pay for their crimes,” stated the judge. “Just so happens this crime requires a shame-inducing punishment.”

  Shame. Of course. It was always going to be about shame.

  “Put it on,” ordered Officer Prick, voice a bit colder than previously. Perhaps the daggers Carson had shot him a moment prior got under his skin after all.

  Carson took a deep breath. He knew what was coming, and there was no avoiding it. He must pay for his transgressions. He first kicked off the plastic sandals. Then, in one swift motion, he removed the white inmate pants along with his undergarments. Quickly, he slipped the loincloth onto his body to cover the nakedness. The loincloth was long enough in the front and back to cover everything. Still, he felt exposed and vulnerable. But, his shirt he left buttoned. He would buy his time and wait to remove it until ordered to do so.

  “Do you feel uncomfortable?” the judge asked.

  Carson thought it was a strange question. “Yes,” he answered, glancin
g around the room at the five men other than the judge that just saw his nether region. Yes, one could make a case for Carson’s discomfort.

  “Good,” said Judge James. “That’s the point of this exercise.”

  Of course it is.

  Lach probed Carson suddenly with his baton, motioning to the white flannel shirt he still wore. “The shirt, Owens. Off with it. Then it’s straight to the whipping post.”

  Carson was frozen solid in that moment. As soon as his shirt was removed, they’d know his darkest secret. They’d know about his infidelity. They’d know about his major backsliding ways. And, they would never stop searching until they found the brand that matched the one he bore.

  Maggie . Her name was a heavy whisper in his brain. How could he protect her now? How could he have ever protected her? The events unfolding before him were always inevitable. How could he have ever imagined differently? What an idiot he had been all these years.

  “Carson,” the judge warned. His heart leapt uncontrollably at the idea of what would happen to Margaret. “Your discomfort is normal,” he said, “and expected. Do as you’re told.”

  Carson’s stomach twisted and turned and lurched and pitched as he bided his time unbuttoning the first button, then the second, then the third, his hands shaking all the while. He told himself once again to not show anything. Be brave. Be blank. Don’t let your face tell what’s on your mind. Damn you, Carson, if you give anything away that could hurt Maggie. Damn you to hell .

  Once he completely unbuttoned his shirt, he locked his eyes on the ground and clenched his jaw shut tight. Just do it, he told himself. Get it over with. Let them see the sin Anem carved on you . He finally removed the shirt with a moderate amount of grace and tossed it in the pile with his pants and sandals.

  It was silent for a very long time, and Carson didn’t dare look up at anyone. He remained fixated on the tiled flooring. He could feel the brand warming under the hefty gazes of the six pairs of eyes in the room. It burned like the very sin it illustrated.