“Do you want to understand, Rachel?” she asked, her words dripping with honey. She sounded different somehow, though her voice remained familiar. “Consider this meeting to be a consultation. What would you like to understand before we begin?”
“Many things don’t make sense to me.” she admitted. “Were you raptured?”
“Come now, Rachel.” Delilah Hale clucked her tongue at her. “You and I both know that’s a false concept.”
“Where is Paul?” she demanded.
“Suffice it to say, you’ll never see him again.”
Rachel swallowed the lump in her throat and winced. She couldn’t bear it if he was dead. “Did you kill him, you bitch?”
Delilah slapped her. “That was merely a warning. We cannot have you disrespecting me if we’re going to heal you.”
“Did you?”
“You’ll never know. And our time is limited today. Move onto another topic, please. This one bores me.”
“Who are you?”
“Delilah.” She answered simply. “I married Paul to have a cover, though he was unaware of my true motives. But my work here is almost done. Then I will move on to another Gated community. I’ve been watching you for a very long time now. Always knew you’d turn against the Kingdom. It’s in your blood. It was just a question of when.”
Rachel asked, “Why did you think I would turn against it? What made you so sure?”
“Your people have always been rebels against authority.” she responded. “You were the first such rebels. Unique in the history of mankind. And you continue to rebel, to blaspheme against any established order that you disagree with. You are the bearers of chaos and dissension. The enemies of mankind’s eventual evolved state of perfection.”
“What do you mean “my people”?”
“You’re a Jew, Rachel.” Delilah told her. “Not that it matters much. Most of you are dead, converted to the Kingdom, or have been shuffled off to the ‘final ghetto’.”
Rachel was quiet a moment. Delilah picked up Rachel’s daily sludge from the tray and began spoon feeding it to her gently, as a mother would a small child. Rachel said, “Anaxagoras told me the truth.”
“Did he now?” Delilah seemed disinterested.
“Yes. The truth about the history of the Kingdom, this religion, and how false it all is.” Rachel said. “It’s a “merchant church”. It married power and wealth and corruption and became what it once stood against.”
“Does it make you feel better, thinking this is truth?”
“Yes. Truth is important.”
“I agree. Truth is all that matters.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Rachel amended.
“Then truth is only sort of important?” Delilah smiled at Rachel.
“And what exactly is truth, then?”
“It’s what’s real.” Rachel stated simply.
“No.” Delilah corrected her, wiping her chin with a napkin. “Truth is merely what you believe is real. It’s entirely subjective. If it weren’t, then we’d all agree on everything.”
“I’ve read the Bible; the book the Profit’s interpretations of the divine word are based on. Although the Kingdom laws are a harsh, selective, literal interpretation and application, there is nothing in this Kingdom based on the teachings of its King.” Rachel pointed out. “He blessed the meek and the poor. He taught it was better to give than to receive; to love than to hate one’s enemies. Rich people will have the hardest time getting into heaven. Yet, the ideology of this Kingdom does not reflect any of this.”
Delilah laughed. “The hybrid faith we created is more beneficial to our agenda. We banned the Bible-and all other books- because the religion we put forth is no longer really what he taught. Rachel, you’ve mistaken the King of the Kingdom for a character in a book that for all intents and purposes doesn’t exist, and never existed.”
“The Bible isn’t necessary to find The Truth.” Rachel declared. “The Truth lay within our deepest selves.”
Delilah pitied her and patted her hand. “Poor, poor dear. What is this supposed truth?”
“My deepest self has a name. A divine name, like an angel, a messenger of the divine. And when I see someone drop something valuable and walk away unaware of their loss, it’s my deepest self that remembers The Truth, and picks it up and gives it back to them!” Rachel insisted. “And if I only see with the eyes of this world, and only remember my worldly name, by which I live and struggle daily to survive, then I will falter, forget The Truth, and keep the valuable item. Do you understand?”
Delilah raised an eyebrow in doubt. “It is illogical to do anything that does not benefit oneself. That’s how weakness develops and remains within populations.”
“The Truth is to do the right thing. This is the mission of the deepest self in this world. All else can be taken from us, but as long as we have the mission...”
“And what is the ‘right thing’?”
“Treat others the way they want to be treated, and don’t be a dick. Everything beyond this Truth is icing on the bridal cake at the prepared table.” Rachel said. “The name of my deepest self is written on a thread that is woven with others like it, that combine into a rope attached to the anchor of The Truth.”
“And what, pray tell, lay at the opposite end of this mythical rope?” Delilah mocked.
Rachel smiled at her with inner peace shining through. “Our deepest selves are not separate from the person we are in our daily struggles. They are both the same, we have merely forgotten The Truth. We are the sinner, the saint; the first and the last. And none of us can come to the other end of that rope without remembering who we really are. Only then can The Truth set us free.”
“I’ve about come to the end of my own personal rope with this gibberish you keep spouting, Rachel.” Delilah murmured, annoyed. Then she turned to her again, smiling sweetly, patronizingly, and said, “In our future sessions, we will deal with the truth. I will show you my truth, Rachel. But for now, I grow weary of this philosophical banter. Ask more practical questions, dear.”
Delilah fed her the last spoonful of sludge, then tossed the napkin onto the plate. Rachel inquired, “Is the Profit real?”
“Yes and no.”
“Is there a person like me and you, who fills the role of the Profit?”
Delilah said, “The Profit is very real, because people believe in him. He is the embodiment of a divine, authoritative voice.”
“Was he born? Will he die like we will?”
“Don’t be silly,” Delilah responded. “The Profit will never die. Nor will the King, who is naturally the embodiment of the Kingdom.”
“What have you done with Temperance?” Rachel asked, frightened of the answer.
“Ah. She betrayed you, Rachel. Broke down sobbing like a child. Told us more than we cared to hear, really. All her heresy has been destroyed from within her. All her rebelliousness, her wicked deceits and games are gone.”
“You tortured her.”
“She lasted, let’s see, I think it was maybe three minutes.” Delilah told her. “Next question.”
“What will you do with us?”
“Terrible, dreadful, awful things. But then, you knew that.” Delilah informed her with a smile. “Rachel, we seek that none should fail to enter the Kingdom or go astray. Therefore, I am going to personally spend as much time and energy as it takes to cure you of your delusions.”
“Pardon me?”
“You are suffering from a delusion, Rachel.” Delilah told her. “You believe you know what’s real. But since your version of reality, your “alternative facts”, are nothing like what the rest of the Kingdom thinks, then you are the one who is, in fact, delusional. Reality is consensual, morality an agreed upon affair, Rachel, and you are stiff necked against this community.”
“What if I’m right, what if I know what’s real, and they are mistaken?” she pointed out.
“Now, that’s insane talk, Rachel.” Delilah looked at her with p
ity. “If we all know something is real, and you disagree, then you need treatment for your insanity.”
“One day, they will see the truth for themselves. It will set them free.” Rachel insisted.
Delilah sighed. “Yes, in your confession, you went on about having the heretical idea that if the Convicted could just be shown they are in error, or shown the truth of their cycle of oppression, they would take up arms in rebellion against the Kingdom. This is pure fantasy. They will never abandon their faith, no matter what evidence you present to them. To do so would be to fall for the lies of the Adversary, removing their eternal bliss in the Hereafter. And that’s the only hope they have to cling to.”
“But if I could show them...”
“There is nothing to show, Rachel.” she insisted. “They will never leave an un-walled city, they so fear anything that might be worse. And they are sure that everywhere is worse. They need the structure we provide them, lest they must face those terrible unknowns themselves. They prefer the security afforded them. It also helps that they consider themselves to already be “liberated”, particularly when compared to the plight of heathen foreign workers. They know they are utterly helpless and powerless against their own government. No, Rachel, the Convicted will never rebel. Particularly not since we have destroyed the central nest of the Illuminated Movement. Thank you for that gift, by the way.”
Rachel felt ill. She turned her head away and closed her eyes, saddened. Delilah hadn’t understood a word she had told her. Rachel mumbled, “The kingdom is not of this world. Not of your world. Our deepest selves are already in the kingdom of heaven. We just have to remember who we are.” Tears fell down Rachel’s cheeks, for a humanity enslaved.
“You must begin to think correctly, Rachel.” Delilah said, zeal appearing in her eyes. “You must allow the King to change your heart, to change you from the inside out. The rule of the Kingdom is forever. Nothing can topple it. Nothing can destroy it. Nothing can alter it. It can only continue to become more perfect.” Delilah gently wiped her tears away with a tissue. “Tell me, Rachel, who is it that you think we all need to remember we really are?”
Rachel replied, “We are angels. We are the children of God, the sons of the Most High.”
Delilah leaned in close to her. She looked directly into her eyes, saying, “You will be a hard and challenging case, Rachel. A challenge indeed. But never fear, lost little lamb, I will spend however long it takes on your cure.” Delilah patted her arm reassuringly.
“You’ve been patting and touching me throughout our conversation. Why?” Rachel asked.
“When you were young, your mother failed to bond properly with you. You always were such a daddy’s girl, Rachel.” Delilah explained. “This caused you to idolize girls, and to become attracted to the female gender, to try to gain that missing bond. That’s why you’re a lesbian. And by the touch of a straight, strong female role model, you will begin to acclimate to the correct sexual orientation. I can heal you, Rachel. The less you fight the process, the better it will go for you.”
Rachel stared at her in disbelief. “You’re kidding, right? You don’t really believe that nonsense, do you?”
Delilah smacked her. “That’s enough for today. Your treatment regimen begins immediately. We will have another opportunity to talk soon.”
The nurse and orderlies returned and placed Rachel back into Spider-screen indoctrination treatment. They brought in an additional machine, and placed patches on her forehead that were linked by wires to the new machine. This time, however, they played images of women making love to other women. As the racy show continued, the nurse sat on a stool and began flipping a switch on the new machine. As she did so, an electric jolt struck Rachel, causing intense pain, followed by a severe headache. Rachel begged her to stop, to no avail. Now images came on of men and women making love. The machine was not used during these images. Next, the images were mixed up in sequence. Rachel was uncertain how long the treatment lasted. She passed out once the voltage had reached a certain intolerable level.
The Aversion Therapy, as the nurse called it, continued regularly, and began to include images of Anaxagoras, Lucius Benedict Judas, and the Bible. Without windows or clocks, Rachel was uncertain how many days, or weeks, were passing. But she knew much time had passed while she had been under treatment. The nurse would pat her, wipe her tears, speak to her sweetly and gently, and behave as though she were a friend or a mother, even as she twisted the knob higher and flipped the switch. Rachel developed mixed feelings for the nurse. She both wanted to kill the nurse; and wanted the nurse to protect her from the next wave of torture the nurse was about to inflict on her. Deep down, Rachel knew her torturer was not her ally or friend, not her mother. But she clung to her as the sole source of salvation from the electrical torture device. Pleasing her would cause the pain to abate.
The regular indoctrination treatment by the Spider-screen was nearly constant, and was the only time Rachel was released from the horrible torture of the electric shock machine. She came to look forward to an activity she once loathed. She noticed, as time went by, that her pain free indoctrination sessions lasted longer after she had displayed agreement with the principles and ideas she was being indoctrinated with. The more zealously she displayed these tenets of the Kingdom, the longer the next pain free session would last. Although she struggled against accepting the ideas, she eventually capitulated, to escape the pain of the Aversion treatments.
As she lay sleeping, someone came into her padded room. But no light came on.
“Who’s there?” she asked, confused.
She felt breath on her cheek, and a presence at her side. Large, masculine hands began running the length of her body, hands ripping through the flimsy fabric of her gown. She gasped in surprise, but was unable to resist, as she was strapped down. Lips tenderly caressed her neck, her earlobes, her face, her shoulders then her breasts. The stranger took her breast into his mouth and began suckling her nipple, while his thumb worked in circle on the nipple of her other breast. It had been so long since she felt pleasure or warm human contact not associated with torture. Rachel moaned in pleasure as her heart began racing and her breath picked up pace. The stranger’s free hand moved her thighs apart and began pleasuring her. Her hips moved in rhythm to his actions. Suddenly, Rachel remembered Temperance, her love. Tears streamed down her face even as she experienced pleasure with the strange man. Each time she tried to imagine he was Temperance, her head ached and she remembered the electric shock treatments. She stopped thinking of her lover.
The stranger removed his clothing and lay atop her now, his hands all over her. He kissed her passionately, and she returned the kiss. She knew resisting the experience was futile, and she would rather enjoy it than bring more suffering on herself.
“You’re mine.” he whispered to her, slowly entering her. He froze a moment once nestled inside her, then repeated, “You belong to me, Rachel.”
Rachel couldn’t argue. She was helpless to resist, and wasn’t entirely sure she would resist if she had the chance. Her hips moved in rhythm to his thrusts. She wished she had free hands to explore the stranger’s body; to pull him as deep inside her as she could. He grunted, and whispered, “Do you like my cock inside you? Do you like it?”
She didn’t want to answer. Weren’t her moans of pleasure, her body language, and her lack of resistance enough for him? He stopped moving inside her, and threatened to stop altogether. Then he asked her again if she liked it. This time, she answered, “Yes, I like it! I like it!”
He began ramming into her furiously, and soon she reached a divine, exquisite climax. He found his release immediately afterwards, and they lay together, shaking. He rose from the bed, and wordlessly dressed in the dark, then left her alone again. She wept, then fell back to sleep.
The next few days, there was no Aversion Therapy. Only Indoctrination Treatments and the nightly visit from the stranger, bringing her to climax each time, forcing her to admit she lik
ed it repeatedly. Soon, he forced her to beg for it before he would enter her body. Before he left her bed each time, he reminded her that she was his property. She didn’t deny it, though she still wept afterwards for her lost love, Temperance.
One night, the pattern changed and he did not come to her. The next morning, she was taken back to the Water Treatment room, where she begged to be killed rather than be subjected to that again. No one paid any attention to her words or tears. Instead, the guards resumed their torture with water, and demanded she tell them three fingers were really one. She did so immediately, and did so repeatedly. Yet she knew there were three. She could see three fingers.
He slapped her lightly. “You must stop lying to me. You tell me there is one, but you still see three. You must SEE one.”
He held up the same three fingers she had been looking at all day. She heard the water hose running on the floor near the board she was strapped to. The sound of the water running made her tremble in fear. It reminded her of what was to come if she failed to please them. As she looked at the fingers, suddenly there was but one. There was one. Rachel laughed with joy. “There is only one!” she told him excitedly. “There is one finger I see there!”
He smiled. “Good job.” There would be no more Water Treatments today. Maybe there wouldn’t be any more at all. Rachel fervently hoped this was the case. Already, she had trouble sleeping because of the nightmares, and couldn’t bathe without throwing up first.
She was returned to her room. This time, she was not strapped down, though she was locked in and a chain placed around her ankles to limit mobility. There was a clean dress of the Elect waiting for her and a fancy new bonnet. She put them on, joyfully, then rocked herself in a little ball on the bed. She was pleasing them, and they wouldn’t cause her anymore pain. She just had to keep pleasing them, and they wouldn’t have to hurt her. They wouldn’t have any reason to.
The Spider-screen remained on incessantly as it had in her old life before. Rachel recalled less and less of it now. Life was about avoiding pain, by pleasing them. She could be whatever they told her they wanted her to be, deny anything, believe anything, to avoid their tortures.
2042: An American 1984-Dystopian Thriller Page 17