The Choosing

by Rachelle Dekker

  Carrington wanted to ignore the heavy look from the guard. She wanted to pull Larkin back into her embrace and tell her how good it was to see her. She wanted to take her home, confide every moment to her, but she knew she couldn’t be that girl anymore. “It’s fine,” she said.

  “You look good.”

  “So do you.”

  Larkin shrugged. “Just taking it one day at a time.”

  Carrington nodded. The urge to throw off her self-resolve was strong. She hated to play this game with Larkin, the only girl she had ever truly called friend. This fake, awkward interaction made Carrington’s stomach churn. She needed to escape or risk opening her cage again.

  “I should probably get back,” Carrington said.

  Larkin’s eyes flashed disappointment and she dropped them away. “Yeah, of course.”

  “It was nice to see you.”

  “Yeah.”

  Carrington turned, but before she could take a single step, Larkin placed a hand on her shoulder. Carrington stopped. Larkin took her hand and pressed something into her palm. “Don’t forget,” Larkin said and walked back to her escort’s side. The two disappeared, leaving Carrington alone with her thundering heart.

  She glanced down at her hand and opened her palm. A small, dried yellow flower sat delicately against her skin. Its petals were crumpled from time, its stem shriveled and frail.

  “Don’t forget,” Larkin had said.

  Carrington shook away the brewing thoughts and closed her hand around the dead blossom, feeling it crush between her fingers.

  She had to forget. That was the only option left.

  33

  Carrington sipped her tea and listened as Isaac talked through some inane detail about their impending wedding. She tried to focus, tried to mask the constant panic and fear that came in waves through her chest. Every time she stepped into this house, terror like a bull trampled her ability to think about anything other than being locked in a tiny hole. Isaac acted as though his display of madness had never happened, which made her unease greater.

  He was mentally disturbed and unpredictable. She wasn’t sure what might set him off. Every now and then she saw something dark flicker across his gaze and she found herself stumbling to retract what she had done or said. The pressure to say the right thing, to be the right way was exhausting. She hoped that one day she would be so used to walking on eggshells that it would come to her naturally.

  “I think the north chapel will be the most appropriate venue, don’t you?” Isaac asked.

  “Yes,” Carrington said.

  He paused and tilted his head as someone might do if a puppy did something adorably foolish. “Carrington, you are allowed to tell me what you really think.”

  “I know. I just think that if you believe it is best then it must be.”

  Isaac smiled in a genuinely frightening way. He returned his eyes to the documents he was reviewing and Carrington downed the last of her tea. They sat in silence, as had become common for them, and with her eyes she traced the outline of the furniture across from her to keep her mind busy.

  She had thought of Larkin more than once since seeing her the day before, and with thoughts of Larkin came thoughts of everything else she could not allow herself to remember.

  A guard walked into the room, leaned over, and whispered something into Isaac’s ear. Isaac nodded and began to gather the material he had been reading. “It appears I am needed in the city for business. Would you like to stay here while I’m away or should I have a car take you home?”

  Carrington thought about having to face her family with their troubled expressions and constant worried sighs. The idea of having some time to herself was the first comforting thought she had experienced in weeks. “I think I’d like to stay here if that’s all right.”

  “Of course. I’ll leave a couple of CityWatch guards outside the house in case you need anything. I shouldn’t be too long.” He leaned down and placed a kiss on the top of her head. He had been doing that over the last few weeks—gently kissing her head or stroking her cheek, showing signs of affection. If he thought she’d appreciate the gestures, he was wrong. It took all of her strength not to recoil when he got that close to her.

  Isaac looked to the guard, who escorted him out and closed the front door with a heavy bang. She waited to hear the engine roar to life and fade, indicating the vehicle had moved away from the house.

  She uncurled her legs and released a loud breath. Soaking in the silence around her, she moved to the couch where Isaac usually sat and stretched out.

  The ceiling was lined with elaborate crown molding and she took in each piece of its decorative design as she let the time pass. She counted each swirl to keep her mind distracted. It seemed impossible that silence could grow, but each moment that passed brought another layer of quiet. She was running out of distractions and knew silence would be dangerous if she let it hold her for too long.

  She sat up and looked around the room. She listened for any activity; surely there was someone in the house somewhere for conversation. She walked from room to room—at least the ones she knew. There was still so much of the house she hadn’t seen, and since she and Isaac spent most of their time in just these few rooms, she wondered if she’d even get to see it all before it became her home.

  The thought made her pulse drop and she cleared it from her mind. She wasn’t going to think about that today.

  Carrington heard a thud coming from beyond the archway off the dining room and moved through it. She came upon a kitchen. The room was far more elaborate than the one in Carrington’s home. It held two of everything, which seemed unnecessary since as far as Carrington knew only a single family had ever lived here. The counters were dark granite, the cupboards dark oak, and the appliances sparkling stainless steel.

  The chef, Milo, popped his head out from an open cabinet and smiled. He had a kind smile that was perfectly placed on his chubby face. He wasn’t very tall—only a couple inches taller than Carrington—and an apron stretched over his pear-shaped form. He sported a chef’s hat that concealed his balding head. They hadn’t spoken much, but she always felt soothed when he was standing near her. Some people could make you feel at ease just by their presence; Milo was one of the only joys of being in Isaac’s home.

  “Miss Hale, what can I help you with?”

  “Please call me Carrington.”

  He smiled. “I’m not sure Authority Knight would approve.”

  “Oh.” The thought of doing anything that Isaac would find unacceptable made her skin crawl.

  “You must have stumbled into my abode for some reason. Maybe you’d like something to eat?” Milo asked.

  Carrington thought and realized she was rather hungry. She grinned.

  “Ah yes, good. Do you like omelets, Miss?” Milo asked.

  “I’m not sure I’ve ever had one.”

  “What? Not had one?” Milo smiled again and started digging ingredients out of the fridge. “Well, then you are in for a treat. I make the best omelet in the entire city.”

  Carrington found herself grinning at the boastfulness of his claim. She climbed up onto a stool and watched as he broke eggs, chopped different-colored vegetables, diced and fried meats in a pan, and then combined them all together to fold into a spectacular masterpiece. The smells and sounds of the food cooking were as comforting as Milo’s quiet presence.

  He placed the result on a pristine white plate and slid it toward her. After handing her a fork, he stepped back and watched while she took a bite and smiled.

  “Wow,” she said.

  “See. The best around. Now, I need to run into the basement to get more rice. You enjoy that.”

  “There’s a basement in this house?”

  “Oh yes. This house is filled with many spaces. You will learn them all once you’ve lived here awhile.”

  Carrington smiled politely as the subject of her living here popped up for the second time.

  Milo left her to finish
her food, which she did quickly, finding every bite delicious. After a couple of minutes, when he didn’t return, Carrington went back to wandering the house.

  She came across rooms she had been in before and some that were new to her, all of them perfectly kept and barely used. She moved into a familiar room and considered turning around and walking right back out, but something stopped her and she remained. The pictures hung on the wall as they had the day Isaac brought her here. Each face solemn, as if they knew when the pictures were taken that they were being led to the slaughter.

  She saw a spot at the end that she knew would soon hold Arianna’s picture, and the thought made her want to vomit. She knew Isaac wouldn’t leave the picture off the wall just to spare her feelings, and one day she would have to come in here and see Arianna’s face among the others.

  Carrington turned away and dragged her eyes across the rest of the room. It was filled with books and she stepped up to each shelf to examine the titles. There was nothing she had ever heard of, but all of them seemed to have some religious theme. Not surprising. She reached up for a book that looked interesting. When she yanked it off the shelf, she must have knocked another less secure stack, because a handful of books tumbled to the floor, the clatter echoing off the hardwood.

  Annoyed, she sank to her knees and began collecting the fallen texts. Her fingers swiped the floor where the wood felt nicked and her heart sank. If she had scratched the polished wood, Isaac would notice and be furious. She set the books aside and examined the scuff more closely.

  It wasn’t actually a scuff but more of a gouge—a long thin line etched into the finish. She explored the gap with her fingernail and traced the line as it ran at least two feet back to the bottom edge of the bookshelf. There was no way a fallen book could have caused this.

  She stood and looked down. She couldn’t even see the mark from a standing position, and she dropped back to her knees to make sure she had seen it at all. Sure enough, there it was: a long, thin groove in the wood, looking almost as if it had been worn by something being dragged across it.

  She stood again and looked at the end of the bookshelf. It was pretty basic, just a black wooden case against the wall. She moved her fingers along the back to see if it was built in and found a small gap. It wasn’t built in, just placed here against the wall.

  She pressed her cheek to the plaster and squinted to peer down the slit behind the shelf. She thought she saw something about halfway down the wall, maybe a knob or hook of some sort. She pulled her face away and shook her head. If something was hidden behind here, then it was probably supposed to be hidden. She should walk away.

  She moved out of the room but stopped just outside the doorway. She had always been a curious person and curiosity was almost always stronger than common sense. Without another thought she walked back into the small library and tried to see if the bookshelf would move away from the wall. With a little effort it did, swinging open like a door and, following the line etched into the wood, it moved out a couple of feet.

  Her chest thundered and she took several heavy breaths. The bookshelf hid a door—a small one, about three-fourths the size of a normal door, but a door nonetheless. A small keypad lay beside the knob. Her imagination ran wild and she hushed it to a dull whisper. For all she knew it was just a storage closet, or another solitary-confinement space. It wouldn’t surprise her to learn Isaac had more than one.

  That was almost enough to make her move the bookshelf back into place. Almost. Milo had said this house was filled with many spaces and she wanted to see what this one was. She pulled on the knob but the door was locked. Isaac had given her a chip with all the lock codes to the house programmed into it; she pulled it from her pocket, swiped it across the keypad, and waited. Nothing happened for a moment, but then she heard a soft click and pulled on the door. It swung open easily and darkness greeted her.

  She looked down and saw stairs; this was not a closet. She reached in and felt for a light switch but found nothing. The blackness before her was thick, and fear crept along her arms. She had seen what it was not; did she really need to know what it was?

  She stepped onto the first stair and it creaked under her weight. Part of her wanted to back away, but a stronger part of her thought she needed to venture farther. She opened the door wider to admit more light and took the old stairs slowly. It wasn’t much of a drop; she counted only seven steps to the floor below. In the dim light she saw that the space looked like an unfinished cellar. Pipes lined the ceiling and walls, and load-bearing pillars ran from ceiling to floor. The walls were stone, the floor cement. She imagined the basement Milo had mentioned looked similar.

  She thought she heard something scamper behind her and she cringed. Clearly there was nothing down here that she wanted to encounter so she turned to head back up the stairs.

  A muffled cry bounced off the walls behind her and she froze. She turned back around and slowly scanned the room. She could tell the space continued farther back and the light from the door above only reached so far, but from what she could see there was nothing.

  The sound had probably been in her head, she decided. Then the groan came again and drew out a bit longer than before.

  Her blood turned cold. There was someone down here.

  Carrington moved deeper into the dark, her eyes adjusting slowly. She found more pipes and concrete but also saw a long table placed against one wall with a sink next to it. The materials on the table looked new, none of them covered in dust as she would have expected of something sitting down here uncovered and unused. She identified gallons of bleach, long thick tubes, funnels, buckets, and cleaning brushes.

  Carrington couldn’t even begin to understand what she was seeing. Her mind tried to piece together an explanation, but there was too much that didn’t make sense. The muffled sound echoed behind her and she spun to see several steel columns. She dragged her eyes down the wall and saw a body slumped against the floor.

  The body moved slowly, lifting its head and opening its eyes. The face was small; stringy hair stuck to its cheeks. The person’s hands were bound and pulled up above the head. The ankles were bound to the floor through a thick silver hoop. Then Carrington saw the dirtied gray uniform.

  She felt she had been punched in the chest and couldn’t recover her breath. This was a Lint. Something snapped her back to reality and Carrington rushed forward to the girl. The prisoner shivered and screamed, her mouth covered with a thick gag so the sound came out muted and strained.

  “Shh, shh,” Carrington soothed. The shaking in her hands intensified as she tried to figure out what to do. The girl probably couldn’t breathe with the thick gag and Carrington searched for the place to untie it. The Lint struggled against her touch and Carrington could feel the girl’s fear without looking at her face.

  “What has he done to you?” Carrington said.

  “I’m redeeming her,” a voice said.

  Carrington craned around to see Isaac standing several feet away. Panic shot through her body with a jolt like an electric shock and she stood. “You’re a monster!”

  “No. I’m saving this girl from hell. I’m an angel, my dear.”

  “You’re killing her!”

  “Only the worthy survive. God makes the choice, not I. I am following His holy instruction.”

  Carrington glanced behind him toward the stairs that led to her possible escape. He stood right in the center of the room; there was no way to get past him. Yet even though she knew it would be a failed attempt, her survival instincts took over and she rushed forward.

  Isaac reached out and grabbed her by the back of her hair and yanked her down. She screamed and felt her tailbone smash into the concrete floor. Pain shot through her lower back and she tried to scramble away. Isaac dropped to his knees beside her and started to wrap a thick cord around her ankles. “I tried to spare you from learning things the hard way, but you are quite persistent,” he said.

  Carrington tried to scream for help, but
Isaac shoved a thick cloth in her mouth and silenced her cries. Tears soaked the edges of the cloth as she continued to struggle against Isaac’s restraints.

  “I will save you, dear. You will be holy.”

  A heavy object connected with the side of her skull and the fear fell away as the world crumpled to blackness.

  34

  Isaac stared at the crooked man sitting in his living room. Crooked not just because he was a criminal willing to do anything for enough money but because his facial features were contorted and odd. It was as if God had made a mistake when forming his face. Isaac took a deep, steadying breath and tried to make sure the man understood exactly what was being asked of him.

  “I want to be clear,” Isaac said. “There can be no mistakes this time.”

  “Hey, don’t blame me for Mills’s screwup. I got away, didn’t I?” the man said.

  “And now Mills is dead. I don’t think I need to explain what will happen to you if things do not go according to plan.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I hear ya. But to pull off what you’re asking the price ain’t gonna be the same. Killing CityWatch guards who ain’t already behind bars is risky business.”

  “Just the two transport guards. I’ve arranged for the yard to be clear when they arrive. They will present a problem if not silenced.”

  The squirrelly man picked up a golden statue sitting on Isaac’s coffee table. “And the girl?”

  “I will deal with her.”

  “Suit yourself. Don’t muck it up. Terms as usual: I expect half up front and half when the job is done. I’ll be back tomorrow to collect the rest.”

  “No. Give it a couple of days. Tomorrow I’ll be busy.”

  “Don’t try and cheat me out of my money!”

  Isaac moved like a whip, reaching and wrapping his fingers around the ugly man’s throat in seconds. “Don’t forget whom you are talking to, boy.”

  The criminal choked and clawed at Isaac’s hand, finally offering a nod. Isaac released him and the man dropped like a sack of stones into the chair. He cursed under his breath and rubbed his injured throat.