Into the Light (The Light #1)

by Aleatha Romig

  I pulled away from his grip.

  My freedom was short-lived as Jacob recaptured my chin, his hold stronger than before. “I’m your husband. You’ll show me the respect—”

  Shaking my head violently, I broke free. If I had been thinking clearly, I would have realized the futility of my protest, but I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was done living someone else’s life.

  “Don’t touch me!” I screamed, blindly pushing against his unmoving chest with a new jolt of strength. Speaking came so effortlessly that I didn’t think about his warning or the consequences. The words spewed forth, louder and louder. “Stop! I’m not Sara! I’m not your wife! I don’t know you!” Each statement lifted the weight of helplessness from my chest. “I don’t belong here! You’ve all made a mis—”

  My right cheek stung with the force of his slap.

  Stunned back into silence, I covered my cheek and turned away. The hurt faded as I waited for Jacob’s next move. My earlier misjudgment was suddenly clear. No matter who I was, in my current condition, I was at his mercy—their mercy. With my lower lip tightly held between my teeth, new tears flowed, burning my eyes and leaving a trail of shame. For the first time, I welcomed the bandages that covered my eyes. I’d use them to my advantage, hide behind them and block out the world around me. I’d try to block him out.

  But I couldn’t. I felt his strong hold, pinching my chin, pulling my face back to his. The lunch I’d eaten earlier solidified in my stomach.

  “You. Are. Sara. Adams.” Jacob spoke each word staccato, as if saying them slowly made them true. He continued to hold my face painfully close to his as he took a deep breath. His exhalation skirted across my dampened cheeks. “Your speaking restrictions will resume, but first, since you apparently are capable of talking, repeat after me”—What the hell?—“‘My name is Sara Adams,’” he continued.

  The stone my lunch had become in my stomach moved to my throat. I didn’t speak, keeping my lip securely between my teeth. His grasp on my chin moved behind my head, forcing my tender neck forward.

  His tone morphed into a menacing whisper as he spoke through clenched jaws. “‘My. Name. Is. Sara. Adams.’ Don’t make me repeat your instructions.”

  My teeth released their captive and my breathing stuttered. “M-my name is Sara Adams.”

  Though his hand remained, the pressure eased.

  “‘I am the wife of Jacob Adams.’”

  I swallowed my tears, tasting the salty liquid. I’d say his words; that didn’t mean I believed them. “I am the wife of Jacob Adams.”

  He released my neck, and he moved to brush away my tears. Though his intent may have been gentle, I flinched at the contact.

  “Sara, do not pull away from me. I don’t want to punish you. Hurting you has never been my goal.”

  I stilled, holding my breath and concentrating on remaining motionless as he wiped my tears.

  “Our roles are clear. As your husband, I’m the head of our household. With that title comes responsibility. You’re my responsibility. Your behavior reflects on me. How do you think it looks when a man can’t control his own wife? When we said our vows, you promised to honor and obey.”

  Though I didn’t mean to respond, involuntarily my head moved ever so slightly from side to side. Had he not been holding my cheek, he might not have noticed, but he was and he did. With increased volume, Jacob said, “Sara? You’ve already disobeyed me by speaking. Explain why you’re shaking your head.”

  “It’s nothing,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

  “Nothing?”

  “I didn’t mean to shake my head,” I lied. I didn’t remember vows, and if I’d said them, I couldn’t imagine having said those. Do people really still say obey?

  “But you did. You meant to shake your head, and now you’re lying. You realize that lying is a sin, don’t you?”

  Oh my God! I nodded, not wanting to have this conversation. Suddenly I didn’t want any conversation. I wanted to go back to not talking, to both of us not talking.

  “No, Sara.” He was again speaking slowly and calmly. “Right now we’re talking. You may respond verbally.” When I hesitated, he added, “You will respond verbally.”

  Is he serious?

  “I’m very tired. I think maybe that when I hit my head in the accident it affected my memory. Things are fuzzy.” I lowered my chin again. “Please, let me go back to sleep.” I needed to use the restroom, but I wasn’t about to ask for his help. Maybe Raquel or Elizabeth would return, or the nurse who’d brought my lunch. Deborah.

  “Not yet. You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Your question?” I couldn’t remember his question.

  “Lying. You remember what lying is, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I know lying is a sin.”

  “What happens to sinners?”

  “They go to hell?”

  “Was that a question?” He took my hand. “If it was, yes, when sinners die they go to hell. I’m talking about before that. I’m talking about what happens when sinners are still alive. As my wife, it’s my responsibility to keep you from sin. How do I do that, Sara?”

  The dryness of my mouth made speaking difficult. I truly didn’t know what he wanted, but at this point I’d say whatever it was to make him go away. “Jacob, I’m sorry. I won’t sin.”

  “That’s a big promise. One that isn’t your burden to bear. It’s mine. It’s my job to see that you live a virtuous life. It’s my job to correct you when you fail. That’s why I slapped you. It was punishment, punishment for disobeying, correction for your outburst.” He again caressed my cheek. “It’s up to you, Sara. It always has been. If you obey my rules and those of Father Gabriel, there’s no need for correction. The rules keep you from sin. You don’t want to be a sinner, do you?”

  I shook my head, not understanding why his words affected me. “No, I don’t.”

  Jacob lifted the end of my braid and his tone lightened. “We have a lot to discuss, and you said you’re tired, but first.” He paused. “It’s nearly three in the afternoon. Do you need to use the restroom again?”

  Damn. I hated that I needed him or anyone for such basic things. I nodded.

  “Sara? We’re speaking, so speak.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  The bed shifted as Jacob released my hand and stood. His footsteps moved to the right side of my bed. By the tugging, I figured that he was fumbling with my IV.

  “I’ve watched them hook and unhook this many times,” he said. “But I’m not sure how they did it.” Things clanked. “This pole is on wheels. I think I can carry you and move it at the same time.”

  I considered offering to hold on to it, but I didn’t know how the speech restriction worked. Would he tell me when it had been reinstated? Instead of talking, I waited until he pulled back the blankets. The cool air reminded me of Dr. Newton and his exam, and I shuddered.

  “Jacob?”

  “Yes?”

  “May I tell you something?”

  He smoothed my hair away from my forehead. The repetitive motion was beginning to remind me of someone petting a dog or a cat. “You’ve always been able to be honest with me.”

  Always? How long has that been? I raked my lower lip between my teeth.

  “Why are you doing that? Were you not planning on being honest?”

  “No, I was. It’s that it’s about Dr. Newton, and I don’t know if I should say anything.”

  “You asked to speak. There must be something you want to say.”

  I contemplated my words. Finally I replied, “I don’t remember him. That’s all. Should I?” My pulse raced. I didn’t remember Dr. Newton or anyone else, but that wasn’t what I’d wanted to say. I’d wanted to say that Dr. Newton gave me the creeps, that I didn’t like him, or Brother Timothy, or Sister Lilith, but could I? Could I be that honest?

  His arms moved behind my back and under my legs. “I’m going to lift you.”

  I started to nod, but changed my mind and r
eplied, “I’m ready.”

  As he lifted, I inhaled, clenching my teeth. By the time I exhaled through the pain from my rib, Jacob was speaking, his chest vibrating with his deep voice. I’d missed some of what he’d said.

  “. . . for years. I’m not sure why you wouldn’t remember him. What other things don’t you remember?”

  He lowered me to the floor, and directed my hand to the handle. I’d learned before that the handle slid across the room, supporting me from the shower, to the sink, to the toilet.

  “May I have some privacy?”

  “No.”

  What the hell? My shoulders tensed as I searched for an appropriate response. Oh, I had a response—I just didn’t think my husband would appreciate it. The words on the tip of my tongue were probably a sin too.

  “Sara, you’re not strong enough to move on your own. I told you that it’s never been my goal to hurt you and that I’m responsible for you. Do you remember me saying that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Very good. See, your memory’s improving.” Asshole, you said that a few minutes ago. “I’m sure you’ll remember more with time. For now you need my help. I wouldn’t want you to fall, or be injured. Now let me help you.”

  I released the handle and held his shoulders as he lifted my gown and lowered my panties. My good leg stiffened and heat flooded my cheeks. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything.

  “Go ahead,” he continued, “hold on to my neck and you can sit.”

  This is so embarrassing. I did as he said. With my left leg straight in the cast, I wasn’t comfortable, but I was where I needed to be. Modestly I pulled my nightgown over my knees.

  “You do remember that we’re married, right?” The small amount of amusement in his voice brought a shy grin to my lips. Maybe this is progress.

  I nodded. It was a lie, but right now my whole life was a lie. I needed to get stronger before I could fight it.

  “I’ll step back to the room, but I’m leaving the door open. When you need me, you may speak.”

  I may? So much for progress. I waited until his footsteps moved away. When I was confident he was gone, I shook my head. I wasn’t sure why I did. Maybe I was rattling my brain in an effort to get everything to fall into place, to try to understand how I’d come to live this life.

  The recent events went through my mind. The smile at his amusement disappeared with the thumping of my temples. He’d slapped me. My husband had actually slapped me. He’d claimed it was justifiable. He’d called it correction.

  My temples entered a full throb, beating in time with my heart. I lifted my fingertips to my right cheek. It was tender, but not as tender as my left, and that had been hurt in the accident . . . how long ago?

  I was glad I’d distracted Jacob from his question about what I didn’t remember. I was afraid to answer honestly. After all, when I told him the truth, it earned me correction. As I thought about it, I supposed it could’ve been the way I said it, or more accurately, screamed it. Regardless, I didn’t know if I wanted to risk it again. I believed that deep down I was a fighter; however, I wasn’t stupid. I’d play this role until I figured it out.

  After I finished, I called out, and Jacob helped me to the sink. When I turned the knob on the sink, my throat clenched. I’d had a drink with my lunch, but I wanted another. As I blindly fumbled around the sink, Jacob directed my hands to the dispenser of soap. Though that wasn’t what I sought, I washed my hands. Once I was done, I searched again.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  Why do his questions make me uncomfortable? “I’m searching for the cup. There was one earlier when I brushed my teeth. I thought since I was here, I’d get a drink.”

  Handing me a towel, he replied, “If you want a drink, you need to ask.”

  “Well, that won’t do me much good if I’m not allowed to speak.” My pulse quickened as the atmosphere of the room changed. I immediately knew that I shouldn’t have replied and braced myself for more correction.

  Instead Jacob said, “Hold on to my neck, I’m going to take you back to bed.”

  I did as he said and reached for the pole attached to my IV.

  “If your speech is restricted, you won’t ask. You’ll wait until I offer. That goes for anything, not only a drink.”

  As he carried me back to bed with the pole following close behind, I contemplated his answer. Why would I need to ask for everything? I don’t remember my age, but I’m an adult.

  Settling back onto my bed, I took a deep breath and did as he’d said. “May I have a drink?”

  He didn’t respond as I heard him maneuver the IV pole back to the other side of my bed and felt him straighten my blankets. Just as I debated asking again, a straw touched my lips. I sucked, wanting to reach out and hold the cup, but cautious that I’d be corrected. Unsure when I’d have another opportunity, I continued drinking as long as he offered. It wasn’t until air filled the straw that he took it away.

  “Thank you.”

  “We do have more to discuss, but you haven’t officially been cleared to speak.”

  I nodded, waiting for more.

  “For right now, you may speak only to me and only when we’re alone. Is that understood?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sara, it doesn’t matter what anyone else says. No one has the authority to override my rules. No one except Father Gabriel. Remember that.”

  I nodded.

  “This is of the utmost importance.” He lifted my hand and intertwined our fingers. “Who is your husband?”

  “You.”

  “And who makes your rules?”

  Heaviness filled my chest. Though I didn’t like the answer I was about to utter, I’d learned my lesson—or Sara’s lesson—and didn’t hesitate. “You do.”

  “What will happen if you disobey me?” His warm hand tensed as he waited for my answer.

  “You’ll correct me.” I hated the words the second they left my mouth, but by the way his lips brushed my forehead, it was the right answer, or at least the one he wanted. “May I please rest?” I didn’t want to talk anymore.

  He petted my hair. “I’ll put the bed back a little so you can sleep.” As it began to recline, he said, “Sara, I want what’s best for you. The responsibility that Father Gabriel and God bestowed upon me as your husband is great. A component of that responsibility is your correction. It’s only one part of the overall picture, but it’s a part I’ve always taken seriously. We don’t want another incident like the one that got you in this bed. To help you, I won’t hesitate to reinforce your obedience. Remember that.”

  The bed stopped, and my thoughts drifted to the ache in my cheek. Obviously he wouldn’t hesitate.

  “As long as you behave appropriately,” he continued, “you have nothing to fear. Father Gabriel often says that this arrangement is a blessing for wives. As a wife you don’t question. By doing as you’re told, you’re relieved of the responsibility of decisions. Correction is at my discretion, and once it is delivered, the transgression is over. For example, today’s outburst, your disobedience with speaking—you’ve been punished and it’s done. Once the correction is complete, you no longer need to feel guilty. It’s as if it never happened. It’s a blessing. Don’t you agree?”

  Though I was sleepy, his explanation ricocheted around my brain. I didn’t agree. I wasn’t a child or a pet. Nevertheless I saw the appeal of putting things behind us and moving on. Then I remembered what Brother Timothy had said, that only Father Gabriel could decide if my punishment was complete. The anticipation of what was yet to come was unnerving. Instead of answering I asked, “Are corrections always corporal?”

  “See what I mean? Isn’t it better to not worry about that and move on?”

  I was fading into sleepiness. I wasn’t sure if the answer I was about to utter was mine or Sara’s, but either way, it felt like the easiest way to end this discussion and allow me to rest. “Yes, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Now get som
e sleep.”

  I nodded against the pillow. I didn’t want to think about the people with the strange familial titles or about governing bodies that held unknown power. As much as I hated myself for condoning any part of Jacob’s correction, I was thankful that my outburst was behind us. For my sanity I needed to fall asleep thinking about the man who’d defended and helped me, not the husband I couldn’t remember who claimed to be my disciplinarian.

  Is that what Sara did? Is that how she survived?

  CHAPTER 8

  Sara

  I can do this . . .

  To survive I needed to convince myself that I could reclaim my life. No matter how hard I wished, my current situation wasn’t a dream or even a nightmare—if it were, I could wake and it would be over. So far three days and nights had passed and I was still here, in Sara’s life.

  During the last night, I had awakened to the sound of Jacob’s steady breathing. Knowing he was asleep, I lay awake thinking about everything. I thought about the things that people took for granted and vowed to myself that in the future, I’d value the mundane knowledge that most people never questioned. I would, because I now knew what it was like to have it outside my reach. Simple, basic facts were gone. I couldn’t recall my own reflection, the color of my eyes or hair, or the shape of my face. My birthday and even my age were mysteries. I didn’t know if I had family, other than Jacob, though I assumed that if we had children he would’ve mentioned them, especially during some part of his responsibility discussion.

  Sadly, I didn’t know me.

  Yet there were some aspects of this life that had felt clear. Like Raquel and Elizabeth. With them everything seemed right, as if I were safe. The opposite was true about the strange people with titles that seemed unfamiliar. Merely the mention of their names and the brother and sister references caused my chest to tighten and pulse to quicken. Though I couldn’t recall my past, the anxiety those people and their power instilled in me was palpably real.

  Jacob remained unclear. As I had listened to his breathing, knowing that he was once again sleeping with his head upon my bed, I’d found myself conflicted by his dichotomy. His presence, even in sleep, gave me a sense of protection from the outside world. With him near, I didn’t fear the Commission, Dr. Newton, or even the apparently all-powerful Father Gabriel. Jacob was my husband and my protector. And yet a sense of uncertainty also nagged at my soul. Yes, he kept me safe from everything outside our bubble—it was inside our bubble that concerned me.