by Watson, Meg
Bronson ran a freckled hand through his wiry hair.
“Well, it’s like they said, maybe, Rachel—”
“Exactly!” Rafe boomed. He took a step toward Bronson, leaving me in his shadow. “The Rachel you were tasked with procuring, yes?”
Heaving a frustrated sigh, Bronson cast his eyes around the room. He scratched at his pockmarked throat and sniffed.
“Listen, we already—”
“—I will not listen, Bronson,” Rafe said, his voice suddenly a low snarl. “Not until you have answers. Find out how those officers were dispatched here. And find Rachel.”
“I am!” Bronson bawled, then caught himself short. He ground his yellowed funhouse teeth together and stared at the floor.
“I will,” he finally said in an insolent growl. “I have a lot of questions that need answers too.”
His eyes cut toward mine and I stepped closer behind Rafe.
Rafe crossed his arms over his chest. I watched his muscles bunch under his silken shirt and felt the tremble in the air. What was he threatening to do if Bronson didn’t come through again?
After a few long seconds, Bronson shrugged casually and jammed his hands into his trouser pockets. Then he shook his head angrily and stalked from the room. When he was gone I finally took a deep, clear breath.
Rafe turned back to me and inhaled hungrily. His eyes narrowed and took a long while looking me up and down. I stood forward expectantly on my bare toes and arched my back. My mind raced with anticipation.
“That was not what I was expecting,” he murmured. His warm breath bathed my collarbones and seeped into the opening of my kimono. I said nothing but couldn't suppress the nervous smile on my lips.
“I suppose now that it is safe to say I have truly reached you, yes?”
I nodded slightly. “I promised you... obedience,” I said in a small, timid voice.
His eyes were shadowed as pools of dark liquid.
“You have exceeded my wildest expectations, Jolie… Or should I call you Julie?”
“I… I love it when you say my name,” I whispered.
He nodded slowly, his face as inscrutable as the Sphinx. Slowly he stepped toward me and I felt my body lean toward him. I could almost feel his arms around me and could hardly wait for him to make the move.
“You should be rewarded for your obedience,” he said slowly and I watched the very tip of his tongue trace the bottom ridge of his upper teeth.
I nodded, afraid to do anything else to break the spell. Then he leaned in and stroked the outer edge of my ear with his soft lips. My heartbeat hammered in my veins and I struggled to listen.
“But you have also lied to me, yet again,” he growled. “And for that, I'm sorry, but you must be punished.”
CHAPTER 2
Rafe dragged me by the arm just as harshly as Bronson had, his slender fingers digging into my skin, hard. He growled menacingly and I wasn't sure if he meant for me to hear or not.
“I told you... I told you to be truthful, but you didn't listen. Of course you didn't.”
I clutched the robe closed with one hand as he pulled me forward, my feet barely keeping up.
“Rafe, I’m sorry… I’m so sorry I just…”
“Quiet!”
Eventually, we reached a large open area, some sort of study. Bookcases lined the walls at either side, stretching up the full two-story height of the room. The ceiling was arched and cavernous, with dramatic, stained wooden support beams overhead.
My eyes were darting around, trying desperately to figure out where he was taking me, but I was surprised when he stopped. He turned to me, his eyes still burning with that anger and indignation.
“Stay.”
I stood with my head down and my hands clasped in front of me for a moment, waiting for his return. I heard a strange sort of impact, a low scratching thud. The silk robe left my body with a quiet billow and my skin instantly raced with goosebumps. He stood in front of me, his breath determined and even. I kept my eyes down as my core trembled.
His fingers reached for mine. In a flash, my hands were expertly bound. I chanced a peek at him and saw him gathering up the thick rope in his hands, having tossed it up and over one of the support beams. He pulled me up until I was barely supporting myself on my tip-toes before tying the rope off at a curtain hook.
He opened a tall cabinet, drawing out a short leather whip and weighing it against his open palm thoughtfully.
My whole body flinched. I found myself searching for any words that would lessen the punishment.
“I... I'm sorry. Rafe? Please don’t...”
A quick lash across my belly sent a wildfire of pain surging up through me, and my legs gave out beneath me, leaving me swinging by my wrists until I could get my toes back into contact with the slick wood floor.
“I'm sorry I didn’t tell you, Rafe. I didn't... I didn't mean to lie, I swear!”
He walked around to my back and gave several quick lashes there to my upper back and ass, each one of them causing my legs to reflexively draw up in some sort of protective instinct. I couldn't stop myself from trying to curl up each time I was struck with the whip, the high hiss of it sailing through the air preceding each of the vicious strikes. They only seemed to get more severe the more I apologized, but I continued until I was babbling a stream of both apologies and confessions.
“Please, Rafe! Why? Please… AaaahhhHH!!!”
The blaze of pain that filled my body was turning into something else entirely. I felt a deep shame for what I'd done, as if my apologies made what I was apologizing for more true. Exposed. Laid open. But then the strikes almost seemed to scrub them away. I found myself nearly leaning into each lash.
I deserve this. I do.
A buzzing sensation washed through me, followed by a cooler, drowning wave. Relief. After so long lying, hiding, running away... I was finally caught. I knew it would happen one day. I just didn’t know it would be like this.
“It almost seems to me that you cannot keep from lying, Jolie,” Rafe growled into my ear from behind. I nodded miserably, my face suddenly wet with tears and sweat.
“I’m so… so sorry, Rafe!”
Crack!
The strike was sudden, searing, and I couldn’t control it anymore. I dissolved into sobs, letting my weight hang fully from my wrists. Misery poured through me as though a dam had exploded, finally letting all that emotion flood my body. Everything I had been holding back for years, since before I left home. Since my mother left with Ricky, since Aunt Rinna grudgingly took me in, since I bit the hands that tried to feed me over and over, my whole life.
I wanted to tell him. I wanted to confess everything to Rafe, to be scrubbed back to shiny by his discipline and come out all new again. Worthy. I wanted to tell him everything so he could punish me for it for once and for all.
He circled me slowly as the sobs choked in my throat. I wanted to confess everything, but I couldn’t make my tongue obey. My jaw chattered as the words garbled on their way out, sounding altogether like an undifferentiated groan of defeat.
Crack!
I arched into the strike, letting my head fall back and the moan burble from my lips without stopping. My whole weight hung from my hands and I felt wrung out. Drained. Overwhelmed.
Rafe drew the whip up slowly between my legs, giving a quick tap at my clit, just enough to cause me to yelp out. He walked around me with purpose, surveying his work. Looking down, I could see crisscrossing red welts forming up at my stomach, and the same burn was spread over my back and ass.
He seemed to be calming down quickly, a slow smile spreading at his lips. I was relieved, and even found myself happy that he was enjoying it. The whip was turned on my breasts then, each receiving a single hard lash before he laid it aside.
The tears were still streaming freely down my cheeks by the time he stopped, and I could feel my own lips opening into a wide grimace as my body was racked with several hard, silent sobs. I didn’t even try to cover
up the ugly expression I must have been making. Let him see it all. I stared up at the ceiling, watching the rope that held me shift and strain.
Rafe brought his hands up my sides, his fingertips trailing just beneath my arms as he leaned in to speak softly at my ear. “Are you sorry, Jolie?”
I nodded desperately.
“I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, forgive me. Please, forgive me.”
“I only want your honesty from this point on, Jolie.”
“J-Julie,” I sobbed.
He chuckled softly. “That’s my girl,” he purred. “Such a brave thing you did. You’re stronger than you think, Julie.”
I nodded haltingly, my chest racked with sobs. He cupped my face in his hands, gently directing my gaze into his. I was flayed, bare. He could see right into the center of me, and I knew it.
“It takes courage to be honest, I know,” he whispered. “But you can do it. You will. For me.”
“Y-yes. Rafe,” I agreed, my voice wet and broken. “For you.”
He licked his lips slowly, nodding, his features thick with satisfaction and desire. “Now, for your reward.”
No sooner than the words left his lips, I found him kneeling in front of me. He grabbed my legs, throwing them over his shoulders, holding me up just as much as the rope was, wildly lapping and sucking at my clit. I knew that this was my reward—not for obedience, but for taking the punishment for disobedience the way he wanted me to. I suffered for him and was being rewarded.
His fingers never slipped into me. His hands remained strong and supportive at my lower back as he lavished me with that warm, silken tongue. It wasn't long before I took in a quick breath, holding it to keep from screaming as I reached the apex of pleasure. Rafe gave a sharp, hard nip at my clit, causing me to release the scream, bucking wildly against his face as he sucked and licked at me.
The moment I began to come down, Rafe stood wordlessly, letting my legs slip from his shoulders. He walked to the curtain hook, untying the knot quickly and letting me fall into a heap on the ground, my legs completely useless now.
He came to stand over me, his arms crossed, seeming more than satisfied with the punishment and reward.
“Your question, Jolie.”
I laid exactly as I was for a long moment before looking up at him, propping myself up on my palm with some effort.
What do I want to know? So much.
I swallowed hard, trying to control my throat. My voice sounded cracked and hollow.
“Are... you going to kill me?”
He stared down at me for an unnervingly long time before shaking his head slightly. “I don't think so.”
I took a deep, shuddering breath. Every part of me felt raw, inside and out, like I was covered in new skin that seared under the dimmest light.
The chime sounded and Rafe stood straight, his gaze going toward the chapel, his eyes suddenly distant and unfocused.
“I trust you can see yourself back to your—”
“—No.”
He quirked an eyebrow at me and tipped his head to the side.
“No?” he repeated, amused but plainly impatient.
I gathered myself up, commanding my legs to straighten underneath me.
“I… want to come with you,” I whispered. The sound of my own voice was strange and halting.
He shook his head. “I’m afraid not, Julie,” he said softly.
I nodded, determined. I needed to be near him now. I was too raw to be alone.
“I want to know you,” I said, surprising myself with the clarity of that thought.
He stared at me for long seconds, his eyes shadowed and inscrutable. Finally he plucked my discarded kimono from the floor and shook it out. Slowly he looped it over my outstretched arms, then arranged it over my shoulders. He knotted the sash snugly around my waist as I watched his fingers, fascinated.
Then he raised one arm and held out his hand to me. I looked at his long fingers, the strong, wide palm. Then I put my hand in his and let him lead me from the room.
CHAPTER 3
The walk wasn't nearly as far as I thought it would have been, but Rafe's strides were long and purposeful. I struggled to keep up, even jogging to catch up a few times. He seemed to entirely disregard me then, his focus on the fading ring of the chime.
We came to stand in front of a large, unadorned white door. Rafe took a deep breath, exhaling a small, quiet declaration.
“The chapel.”
He opened the door, and I immediately recognized the room as the one I woke in after my encounter with Bronson. The featureless white walls and blinding light overhead made me wince, though I couldn't say whether it was from remembering the terror of being on the gurney or the intensity of the light there.
It did resemble a chapel, with the tiled white walls extending up very high, then arching together at a peak. The light fixtures were hung by gleaming chains from the peak and arranged in a cluster that glowed very brightly with no heat. There were windows along one wall that looked out over the garden, and I glanced up distractedly toward the barred window of my darkened room. Strange, to see the garden from the reverse angle. Everything was the opposite of where I thought it would be.
Rafe stepped past, walking swiftly toward a long table and turning his back to me. I bit my lips together and reminded myself that I had asked to come here. My bare toes curled against the cold surface.
The floor, like the walls, was also tiled in pristine, gleaming white porcelain. It dipped slightly toward the center and a stainless steel grate. Around the outside of the room were small rolling tables in steel and white enamel. Some held shining arrays of blades arranged by size, others held trays of complicated mechanical instruments. I wanted to take a closer look. Everything was so neatly presented, it was like a museum display.
A groan sounded from the middle of the room. I winced and squinted, trying to work up the courage to investigate the part I was unwilling to look at. Rafe turned around and nodded, scowling. He held a clear IV bag in one hand and a coil of plastic tubing in the other.
“Jolie — Julie… Are you absolutely certain that you wish to be here?” he said softly, his fingers tight around the equipment in his hands.
I swallowed hard, straightening where I stood and consciously trying to relax my arms.
“I want to know,” I said again.
Do I want to know? Do I, really?
But the look on his face told me everything. His expression calmed, as though I was watching him flood with emotion. What was it? Satisfaction? Relief? His eyes flickered toward mine and I felt it again, that connection. It sparked between us like a telegraph wire and I knew what it meant even if I couldn't parse the message into individual sentences.
I nodded again as if to encourage him. He blinked and straightened, then turned back toward the figure in the middle of the room.
Slowly I slid forward, tile by tile. In the center of the room, a simple medical gurney had been placed, and I recognized it well. There was the hard, cold surface. The leather cuffs at the halfway point and each far corner. The wheels were locked into place but I could almost feel the way the table shifted under me when I thrashed, like an instant replay of the physical sensation.
Rafe glanced at me as he threaded the perforated end of the IV bag onto a tall stand. He shook out the tubing and flicked the plastic gates open expertly. Stepping to the side of the figure on the table, he paused for a moment. His eyes swept back and forth over the trapped body, his fingers poised in midair with the hollow needle. I searched his features for an emotion I recognized. But it was almost beyond me. Was that tenderness? It couldn't be. I couldn't fit what I was seeing to any experience that I understood.
“He was practically dead when Bronson found him, you know,” he said distractedly. His dark brows knitted together as his fingers deftly placed the needle against and then through the bony wrist.
“He?”
I came forward slowly, overwhelmed and curious. The figure grew before me
as though in a dream, coming clear inch by inch under the bright, surgical bank of lights. The bolt of cloth across the eyes was not black as I had assumed. It was a deep purple. The strap across the shoulders was lined with sheepskin. I didn't remember that either. I thought it had cut into me cruelly, but now I could see it was almost humane. In all, it was a thoughtfully crafted table on which to keep a person completely helpless.
“I thought — it would be a woman,” I said, hearing my voice come back to me as the words spilled out.
Rafe chuckled slightly. He measured out a few inches of white medical tape and snipped them off, then fixed them across the IV needle.
“A woman?” he repeated, smirking.
I nodded tentatively and walked a few steps toward the feet of the figure, taking in each detail one by one. It was a man, dark-haired and slightly built. He looked to be around 30 years old… No. The skin below his neck was pale and delicate, but his face was lined and pocked like a much older person. I'd seen a few of the people I went to high school with go like this. It was meth, I was sure. Meth could age a person, mask them.
Rafe crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head at the man. He frowned, staring him up and down.
“Why would you think it would be a woman?”
“Well, the other one that I heard… Was a woman, screaming, I am sure?”
I watched him intently. He paused for a few moments then finally nodded, unfolding one of his hands from over his chest and waving it over the man's shoulders as though he were describing a specimen.
“This is Micah Humboldt,” he began. “He ran a youth ministry summer camp for six years under the banner of Fran Farnsworth. You’ve heard of it?”
I nodded uncertainly.
“They took in dozens, maybe hundreds of at-risk teenagers. Took them to the woods, taught them to fish and canoe, and then at night…”
He shook his head fiercely, his black hair sweeping in a fringe across his furrowed brow.