Lost

by Laura K. Curtis

  “Purification is necessary! The Powers have decreed that both shall suffer isolation for their lies.”

  The hiss of indrawn breath from the large room told her that isolation meant something more severe than simply having to do one’s chores alone.

  “Jacob shall be given three days’ punishment.” The Leader turned sad eyes on Tara. “Serena’s corruption of spirit goes deeper, however, and the length of her sentence is as yet indeterminate.

  “Aaron and Samuel. Take Jacob to the first shed. Joy, Jonas, and Crystal, take charge of Serena.”

  The five assigned jailers trooped up the stairs.

  “Come now, Serena,” Joy said, disappointment plain in her face and voice. “The sooner we begin, the sooner it will be over.”

  “What will? What is isolation?” But the older woman just shook her head and led Tara out a side door and around the back of the dining hall to where several sheds were set apart from the main group of buildings. When Tara balked at going into the farthest one, Jonas shoved her in the back. She stumbled inside.

  The shed had no windows, but there was a bare, low-wattage bulb in a fixture hanging from the ceiling just inside the door that came on when they entered. The back part of the room was partitioned into a six-by-ten cell by iron bars. The floor was cement, and a thin mattress lay in one corner with a single sheet, a thick wool blanket, and no pillow. A large bucket stood in one corner with a roll of toilet paper on the floor next to it. Lovely.

  This could not be happening. How had she lived among these people for five weeks and never heard a whisper about these rooms? She’d noticed the buildings, but from the outside they appeared abandoned and no one ever spoke about them, so she’d ignored them.

  “Take off your clothes,” Jonas ordered.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You have to,” Joy explained. “You need to be purified and reborn. It’s the only way to escape the corruption of your soul. Fighting will only make it worse. You can keep your panties.” The woman sounded truly miserable, and Tara wondered how many times she’d witnessed this process, been party to it.

  But she didn’t dare ask. There was something in Jonas’s expression that said he was eager for her to fight back. Heart in her throat, she stripped down to her underwear.

  “In the cell.” Jonas pointed.

  For Andrea, she reminded herself, stepping into the cell.

  Jonas locked the door behind her. “The light will come on for fifteen minutes every couple of hours. You will be brought water. Food will only slow down the purification process. The Leader will visit you to check on your progress.”

  With that, the three Chosen left, and she was alone. Her last thought before the light went out and she started feeling around in the blackness for the edge of the bed was that she’d get even with Jacob Nolan if it were the last thing she did.

  • • •

  JAKE SAT IN darkness worrying about TJ. She was tough, he knew. Even before they’d met, he’d heard great things about her from his friend Lucy. Lucy had told him all about Tara’s strength of purpose, her gutsiness, her determination. But when he’d met the woman, all he’d seen was her pale skin, her fair hair, her stunning blue eyes. She did a good job of hiding her curvy shape with boxy clothes, but Jake was used to seeing beneath the surface, and Tara’s outer shell hadn’t fazed him.

  And then, things had gone drastically wrong. He’d said terrible things to her, and before he’d been able to apologize appropriately, Tara had disappeared. She’d written and e-mailed a few times, but never with a return address. And then the letters had stopped, and Lucy—who wanted Tara Jean to be her maid of honor—sent Jake in search of her.

  And he’d screwed it up again.

  How would she handle the box? He didn’t foresee the decreed punishment as being terribly difficult for himself. He’d spent time in isolation tanks by choice, had lived rough for weeks in pursuit of the worst kind of madmen the world had to offer, had few illusions left. He was good at meditation, and he’d studied mind control techniques. He had a pretty good idea of what the next three days would bring for him. Tara, on the other hand, had been a local cop in a small town. What were the chances she had any experience with the kind of monsters who would lock someone up indefinitely in a dark hole? Slim to none.

  He hoped like hell the darkness and isolation were the only things Owen Stephenson, “the Leader,” had planned for them. Others of his ilk employed beatings, rape, hallucinogenic drugs, whatever forms of torture might break a prisoner’s spirit. Tara had to hold it together for three days. Then he could get her out. Whatever was necessary, he’d do it. He’d outsmarted and outmanipulated men like Owen Stephenson in the past, and though he was accustomed to having a team behind him, he could manage on his own if necessary.

  And then, he’d make it up to Tara Jean if it were the last thing he did.

  Chapter Two

  TARA HAD NO watch, timepieces being the first things the Chosen were encouraged to donate to the cause. Their days were measured by the horns of the compound, and they had no need for external counts. Thus, she waited in the dark. If the light came on every two hours, she’d be able to count the time that way. Twelve lights-on periods each day. She just had to find some way to stay sane between the lit times.

  But then, she had no idea how many days she’d be in this hellhole, so counting the hours wouldn’t help much. The shed retained the heat of the day, and sweat trickled down from her neck between her shoulder blades. She wished she’d put her hair up after removing the braid to pick out the twigs and leaves before dinner. Of course, they’d probably have taken her hair clip. Assholes.

  She sat on the edge of the mattress and stretched out her legs. They didn’t quite reach the cell bars. The darkness pressed down on her, the still air rank with mildew and old sweat. How much longer before the light came on? She couldn’t even see to make use of the bucket.

  Had Andrea been punished in this same shed? Had something happened to her here? Jonas had said someone would bring her water, but how often? If Andrea had gotten sick while she was in isolation, would anyone even have noticed? But that didn’t explain John’s disappearance. Could he have objected to the punishment and been silenced for it?

  The pieces didn’t fit, though. Andrea had been eager to join the Chosen. She had loved everything about the compound. The first day she’d brought Tara up to the commune, she’d been so excited. She’d shown her the fields, explained how the group collected so much solar energy that the excess was sold to the local electric company, prattled on about the ecological benefits of living the way they did and how happy everyone was there. They’d worked in the gardens together, and Andrea had paid close attention to every word the woman showing them around had said. Tara couldn’t imagine Andrea doing anything that merited “isolation.”

  The bulb flickered to life, and Tara forced herself to use the bucket. Afterward she lay back on the mattress, trying to ignore the need to wash. How could they not even give her a sink? After a while, she started counting backward from a thousand by threes, a trick she often used when she had insomnia.

  Somewhere in the middle of her third thousand, she slept.

  Throughout the night, Tara woke every time the light popped on. Each time, the dimly limned scenery, or lack thereof, surprised her. Each time, she had to begin anew the counting trick to fall back to sleep.

  After the fifth or sixth time, the door opened. Faint light came from outside the shed. Early morning, she figured, before breakfast horn. Aaron passed a large bottle of water through the bars and left without speaking.

  How long did they intend the water to last? If she finished this, would more be made available to her, or would the Leader simply see her thirst as greed and try to “purify” her further by withholding that as well? She sipped cautiously from the bottle and sat cross-legged on the mattress with the blanket around her to ward off
the chill morning air. She tried to keep her breathing slow and steady, to marshal her thoughts into some kind of order so she could create a plan for what she would do once released, but they kept drifting away from her, out of her control.

  The lights came on again and she used the bucket. Would someone come to empty it, or was she supposed to live with that for several days, as well? In the far corner of the shed, something shifted in the shadow. A roach, she thought with a shudder. Insect companions: just what she needed.

  When the darkness returned, she imagined she heard bugs. The scratchiness of the blanket felt like ants, and she found herself brushing imaginary critters from her skin. She stood and started to pace, hoping the activity would settle her somewhat, but her heart wouldn’t slow and her mind created more phantom creatures to share her space. She drew deeply from the water bottle in an attempt to slow her heart. Something scurried along the wall in the corner, and she hurried back to the bed.

  Okay, she thought. Two hours until the light came on. One hundred and twenty minutes. Seventy-two hundred seconds. She’d count it down if she had to. Then she’d see that the room was perfectly fine. Surely it had been at least a few minutes of that already. She could start with seven thousand. No problem. She drew herself into as small a ball as she could manage, pressed herself into the corner, and began counting.

  The numbers wouldn’t stick in her head, however, and she found herself constantly scrubbing at itchy spots on her skin. What was biting her? Where was it? She felt something buzz by her face, like a palmetto bug landing in her hair, and she jumped from the bed, shrieking and shaking her head. She ran her fingers through her hair, pulling at the knotted curls, searching for whatever had found a home there, but she detected nothing. Were the bugs in the walls? She should get away from the walls. She felt for the edge of the mattress and pulled it out into the middle of the cell, then seated herself in the exact center of the mattress.

  The light popped on again, and she stared frantically around the space. Nothing. No rats, no bugs, nothing at all. Even whatever critter had moved in the corner two hours before seemed to be gone. Not that that comforted her. If he could get out, he could get back in. And bring friends. Sweat broke out from her hairline to the soles of her feet, and she clutched her arms to her body, which was when she realized she’d scrubbed raw spots in them.

  Okay, Tara Jean, get this under control. You’re not afraid of the dark. You’re not even afraid of a few bugs. Your mind is playing tricks on you. But something touched her back, and she jumped. Even when she realized the blanket had merely shifted, she couldn’t control the racing of her heart. For the first time, she wondered whether she could make it through the punishment. She’d counted on being bored but not scared out of her wits.

  The bulb snapped off again, and she let out an involuntary whimper. Shut it, Tara Jean, she told herself. You are better than this. It’s just the effects of sensory deprivation. But the bugs came back, and their crawling legs touching her skin, their squeaks and flutters, left her a sobbing and sodden mess. She rubbed her arms and legs, feeling for whatever was landing there, whatever was biting her, but her hands never came in contact with them. Without seeing them, she couldn’t kill them, couldn’t even stop them from touching her.

  And when the light came on, they were gone, and the cycle of reason and terror began again.

  When Jonas arrived with more water, she’d lost track of time. Was it the next morning already? Or merely evening? Her skin was red and raw where she’d thought the bugs were landing, and a couple places on her legs had deep gouges in them.

  “Please,” she said. “I’m ready. I understand my sins.”

  But the man didn’t speak, just passed her the new water bottle and left. She poured what was left of the old bottle over the bloody spots on her legs, though it stung, and curled up on the mattress.

  • • •

  JAKE KNEW THE water Aaron brought him was likely tainted. A man like Owen Stephenson would leave nothing to chance. He’d want the punishment to break sinners, to leave them in the kind of pieces only he could put together. And then he would want them to testify, to tell the others about the great revelations they’d experienced while in isolation.

  It was an effective strategy, allowing him maximum control over the largest number of people with the least effort. The majority of the Chosen, for whom the cult—or new religious movement, as he’d been trained to say in order to be more politically correct—satisfied some need, were perfectly normal, happy people, whose lives in the normal world weren’t working out. And most of the ones for whom the Chosen was not a good fit were allowed to leave with no problems. It was only occasionally that an example had to be made. But when an example was needed, it had to be one that showed the complete dominance of the Powers over the Chosen.

  So he figured the water was dosed with some kind of hallucinogenic. But dehydration would be deadly. He couldn’t ignore the water entirely. Too, Owen would want a report on Jake’s progress, which meant he had to react to the water appropriately. And without knowing exactly what was in it, he wouldn’t know what the proper reaction was in order to fake it. He’d just have to drink it.

  But there were ways to minimize the damage from hallucinogens, and one was to go into the “trip” with as positive images in mind as possible. And when he considered the road he most wanted to travel during his hallucinations, only one image came to mind: Tara. He had hurt her, and doubtlessly guilt would be part of his experience, but he was prepared for that. Besides, it would be totally in character for him to suffer guilt over the woman he’d supposedly cheated on.

  He sipped slowly from the water bottle, remembering Tara as she’d looked when they’d first met and firmly closing his mind to what she might be experiencing now. He’d gone to her apartment, hoping to find Lucy. Tara had answered the door in sweatpants and a T-shirt, her face sheened with sweat, her fabulous hair slipping loose from its short ponytail and curling around her face. He’d barely even noticed the Glock she held at her side with careless competence. He’d introduced himself and she’d put the gun away, but the spark of interest he’d noticed in her eyes at first had disappeared.

  His own fascination had just begun. During the days they’d spent tracking a serial killer in her hometown, he hadn’t allowed himself any personal feelings whatsoever. He allowed them now. He pictured her as she’d been that day, then rewrote the scene, imagined her welcoming him into her home, imagined taking her into his arms, slowly stripping off her clothes.

  The skin beneath her T-shirt would be soft, smooth, white. She was, he guessed, a cotton-underwear type woman, but this was his fantasy and in his fantasy she was in silk. He would slide his hands over her warm skin, heating it further, then he would kiss her. Not on the mouth. Not yet. He would start with her jaw, her neck, dangerously close to the nipples pebbling beneath her silky bra.

  His dick hardened and he shifted on the mattress. In for a penny, in for a pound. He took a long pull off the water bottle and, closing his eyes against the darkness, settled back into the fantasy.

  • • •

  THE FIRST TIME the Leader came to see her, he left the door open behind him. Midday light shone so brightly through the opening that Tara winced, her eyes unused to the brilliance. He was nothing more than a silhouette, but she recognized him. She stumbled to the cell’s bars and held them.

  “I’m sorry,” she began.

  “So am I, Serena.”

  “I understand my sins.” He didn’t seem inclined to let her out, though, and panic rose in her throat. What words did he need to hear? What would work? “I went against the will of the Powers. It was wrong. I should have told you immediately. It won’t ever happen again.” She knew she was babbling, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

  The Leader just shook his head, handed her another bottle of water, and left, closing her into the darkness, where the bugs waited. T
ara wept.

  • • •

  BY THE TIME the Leader came again, Jonas had been in twice more. And something else had happened, as well. Somewhere in the darkness, she had dreamt of Jake, of his voice and his hands. And she’d remembered his analysis of Owen Stephenson. A narcissistic sociopath. When the man returned, she knew what to do. And it was easier than it should have been, easier than she’d ever want it to be.

  Rather than approaching the bars on foot, she crawled to them, knelt before Stephenson, and begged forgiveness. Thank God she hadn’t eaten in who knew how long, or she might have thrown up. But it worked. He opened her cell and laid a hand on her head, the first human contact she’d had since she’d been incarcerated. Jonas had always been careful not to touch her when he’d brought the water. She steeled herself against the twin emotions of relief and revulsion.

  Joy waited for her outside along with Charity, whose eyes widened in shocked horror at the sight Tara presented. So this was the young woman’s initiation. Tara doubted she’d disobey the rules anytime soon.

  “Come on, now,” Joy said, draping a sheet over Tara’s shoulders and putting an arm around her waist. “We’ll take you to the infirmary and get you all cleaned up. Then things will be better. You’ll see.”

  Cleaning up would be a start, but in the sunlit afternoon, Tara could see the nasty scratches on her body where infection had begun to set in. And even here, in daylight, she could hear the insects chittering at the edges of her thoughts. No amount of bathing would help that.

  As they made their way toward the infirmary, which was attached to the main ranch house, Tara saw Jake leaning heavily on Aaron headed in the same direction. So she had been in the shed for three days. It had felt much longer. She wanted to be furious at Jake for his part in her punishment, but rage took too much energy. Instead, she found herself worried about how he’d survived the isolation.