Damnable Grace

by Tillie Cole

  “You call if you need us, yeah?” Vike said.

  “Yeah.”

  I nodded at Flame. I knew he wasn’t happy. Then I pulled away from the clearing, out of the compound and onto the road. I kept the music off as Phebe slept. Thirty minutes in, she shifted in her sleep, her hand spreading out to lie across my thigh. I looked down at her hand, at her fingers lying open. I didn’t know what the fuck came over me, but I moved one of my hands from the wheel and threaded my fingers through hers.

  Her hands looked tiny and frail wrapped in mine. And for the first time in days, I took what felt like a real fucking breath.

  And I gripped on to her as we drove closer to the lodge.

  Where too many demons waited.

  So I just fucking held on.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Phebe

  I felt the weight of my eyelids before I even opened my eyes. It was hot, and my hair was sticking to my face. My cheek was stuck to whatever I was lying on. It smelled like leather.

  I moaned as soon as I tried to move. My head ached and my temples throbbed. I lifted my hand to my head and rolled onto my back. I inhaled a sharp breath when that little bit of movement caused nausea to creep up my stomach. I tried to stay still, praying it would go. But I had no such luck.

  Scrambling to my knees, I opened my eyes and winced at the sun creeping into . . . wherever I was. My hands fumbled around me, and I realized I was in a truck. My fingers found the lever of the door. I yanked it open and dropped my feet onto the dirt ground.

  I had barely felt the warm, sticky air on my face when I had to curl over and expel whatever was in my stomach. I held on to my hair as I purged, my eyes watering. When the need to vomit had ebbed, I stood up on shaky feet. The world spun, and my head felt clammy. I closed my eyes to stop myself falling over. I rested my back against the side of the truck and concentrated on my breathing. The minute I did, I thought of her. My face scrunched up in agony. But I welcomed the pain that came. It was my punishment, my reward for letting her down . . .

  “Where is she?” I asked Martha. My skin was still wet from my shower and it was late. Too late, really, but I had done well, and so Brother John had given me permission to seek her out. I had earned thirty minutes of uninterrupted time with her.

  A rare gift.

  “She is in her room,” Martha said, still dressed from the night’s mission.

  “Thank you.” I walked down the hall.

  “She received her first touch this eve.”

  I stumbled to a stop and felt a deep fissure split down my heart. It was not imagination—I actually felt it break. A true physical pain.

  “Who?” I whispered, fighting back the lump from my throat. The tears came to my eyes regardless. I had known this day was coming. I knew it was deemed a blessing, yet I could not feel the joy in my heart that I knew I must. All I could think of was little Sapphira.

  She was eleven years old.

  “Prophet David had sent some men here for a visit. One of them chose her from the lineup.” Martha came closer and laid her hand on my shoulder. Her smile was bright. “I can see the pain on your face, but she has won the prophet’s favor tonight.”

  I nodded numbly, knowing what I should be feeling. Yet I could not. I was aware the devil must have entered my soul to make me doubt our prophet and the ways of our faith, but I could not rejoice.

  “I must go to her,” I said.

  “Phebe, I love you. But you must sever the tie you have held on to. It is causing you to feel a burden you should be free from.” I looked at Martha’s face and saw only sympathy. “I was there with you, through it all, as you were with me. I have let go. Now you must.”

  “I cannot,” I said softly. I laid my hand over my heart. “I have never been able to comply.”

  I turned from Martha, and with heavy feet, walked to Sapphira’s room. I held my hand at her door, bracing to knock, but my hand remained suspended in the air. My breathing came too fast. What awaited me on the other side of the door?

  I entered the dimly lit room; only a single candle burned in the corner. Her bed was empty.

  “Sapphira?” My heart was in my throat.

  A gentle sniff came from beside her bed. Numbly, I let my feet lead me, and I found her in the corner of the room, her arms around her knees. Her long blond hair veiled her face, the ends curling on the floor.

  “Saffy?” I whispered, using my affectionate name for her, my tears thickening at the sight of her so tiny on the ground.

  Saffy lifted her head. Even in this soft glow, her dark eyes were huge and round . . . and filled with pain.

  “Phebe?” she said, too quietly. I stepped closer. Her beautiful face scrunched up, and sobs burst from her throat. Instinctively, I flew to her side, called by her pain, and took her in my arms. Her slim body fell into my embrace, and her tears soaked my dress.

  “Shh.” I tried to soothe her, rocking her gently. But I knew it was no use. I had been here too. I remembered that day as though it had occurred just recently. So I simply held her. I kissed her head as she expelled all her tears. I smelled her hair, trying to memorize the scent. I squeezed her tighter, memorizing how much she had grown since she was last in my arms—too long ago.

  I tried to savor everything about this moment.

  “Shh,” I soothed again and felt a morsel of relief when Sapphira’s sobs ebbed and her breathing calmed.

  “Saffy.” I guided her head from my chest and smoothed the hair back from her face. Her porcelain skin was mottled with redness, and her eyes were puffy and raw.

  “Sweetheart,” I said, looking into her searching eyes and feeling my own vision glimmer. I closed my eyes, chasing away my tears, and looked down upon her again. I forced a smile. “Martha told me.”

  Saffy edged closer to me, and I held her tighter. I did not think she would speak, too many seconds stretching in silence, until she said, “It . . . he hurt me.”

  Those words. Those simply spoken words, packed with such a heavy confession, were my undoing. I felt the fabric of my soul rip apart as I held her in my arms, helpless to do anything to help. “I know.” I pressed a kiss to her head. Saffy placed her hand on her lower stomach. “I . . . I did not like it as Brother John said I would.”

  I did not think I could take it. I did not think I could ever move from this spot. I could not let her go. I could not be sent away from her anymore.

  But I knew I had no choice.

  “I know,” I said again. The pathetic words tasted like acid on my tongue. “But . . . but it will get better. Next time will not be so bad.”

  Sapphira stared at me in panic. “I do not want there to be a next time. Please, sister, I cannot . . . I do not think I can . . .” Her bottom lip trembled. “Please . . .”

  Sister . . . The word cycled through my head.

  “I want to come and live with you.” She got to her knees, her little, beautiful face before mine. She had matured since I had been here last. Her face was losing her childish features and morphing into a young woman’s. I ran my finger over her cheeks, smiling through my tears when I saw the spray of freckles dotted on her nose. A few lay on her cheeks, one larger one to the side of her eye.

  It was beautiful . . . she was beautiful. So perfect in my eyes.

  “Please,” she begged again. “You are my sister. We are blood, Phebe. Let me come and live with you. I will be good.”

  This time I could not hold back my tears, and they fell, hot and salty, down my cheeks. “I know, my sweetheart,” I said with as much strength as I could muster. “But it is not the way. Brother John and Prophet David would never allow it.” I brought my forehead closer to hers and closed my eyes. “If I could I would take you to my home and keep you safe.” I smiled, picturing that heaven in my head. “I would care for you, and read to you at night until you fell asleep in my arms.”

  “What would you read?” She laid her head on my shoulder.

  “Whatever you wished,” I said, stroking the hair
from her face. I kissed her head again and felt her body grow heavy with tiredness.

  “I would like that,” she said sleepily. “I . . . I miss you, Phebe. I want you with me always. But when I ask, they tell me to be patient.” She shook her head. “I am not so good with patience, I think.” She sighed, nudging her cheek into a more comfortable position. I squeezed her as tightly as I could without hurting her.

  “I . . .” I clenched my eyes together, ridding them of water. “I miss you too, sweetheart.”

  I could not take the pain in my heart. Such devastating pain. I needed more drink. I needed to forget. The drink, the potion, made me forget.

  I opened my eyes and wiped away the water clouding my vision, preparing to search for more alcohol. When my focus improved, I took in the sight before me. A thick covering of trees surrounded wherever I was. My eyebrows pulled down in confusion, and I swallowed the dryness from my throat. Nerves built inside me as I tried to remember why I was here.

  This was not Lilah’s home. It was not New Zion . . .

  Meister. Ice trickled down my spine and my heart kicked into an erratic beat. Had he found me somehow? A faint clattering noise came from somewhere behind me. I froze, my muscles strained.

  I steadied my breathing as I worked up the courage to turn. I was not sure I could move, but I had to. If it was Meister, he would not leave me alone for long.

  I turned and looked cautiously through the windows of the truck, using its body as a shield. A few yards away was a small wooden house, with what looked like a fire pit, and a couple of chairs beside it. The front door was open

  Another clattering noise drifted from inside.

  Fear ran thick in my veins as I tried to see through the windows. I could see someone moving inside, but could not see beyond blurred shapes and the reflection of the rising sun off the glass pane. I tried frantically to think of last night, of the days leading up to this moment. But my memories were scattered and difficult to pin down. The pounding in my head made it almost impossible to think straight.

  I glanced around me, looking for a path, a way out, when suddenly, I heard someone approaching the front door from inside. I crouched against the side of the truck, my heart racing. I peered over the hood, and in the gloom of the hallway I glimpsed a pair of booted feet, then denim-clad legs. A hand, holding three full trash bags . . .

  . . . and then he stepped out into the light.

  AK.

  I sagged against the truck. He brought the bags to the truck and threw them into the back. There were many bags there already. He wiped his head with his forearm. I could not take my eyes from him, from his large frame, his many tattoos, his dark hair in disarray.

  AK pulled a cigarette from his back pocket and brought it to his mouth. The smell of smoke drifted on the breeze. He moved to the driver’s side door, opened it and reached inside. He pulled out the leather that had cradled my head as I slept. It was his vest, the one that showed he was with the Hangmen. He put it on over his tank and looked around. I didn’t have time to pretend I was not hiding before his gaze met mine.

  I pushed away from the truck and brushed my fingers through my hair. I looked down and saw for the first time what I was dressed in. Soft black pants, which were too big but held up by the string around my waist, and a black tank with the devil on the front. On my feet were sandals.

  AK’s boots crunched on the gravel as he walked around the hood of the truck and stopped before me. I kept my head down.

  My face set on fire when I realized I was standing next to the vomit on the ground.

  “How you feeling?” AK’s deep voice cut through my embarrassment.

  I lifted my head and saw the concern in his eyes. I opened my mouth to give him the rote falsehood that was my usual answer to such questions. But something within me would not let me speak such things. The way AK watched me, the way his dark eyes penetrated mine, I knew he would sense the deception. So I answered honestly, “Terrible.” I felt my stomach sink at how weak I had become.

  “No doubt,” he said. “Come in. I’ve finished cleaning it now. Wasn’t gonna bring you in until I’d got it livable again.”

  I watched AK’s back as he walked away. He stopped near the front door and turned. “The sun’s almost up, and with the motherfucker of a hangover that’s gonna be coming your way, I wouldn’t wanna be standing out in the sun too long.”

  I looked up to the sky, to the cloudless morning and the bright sun beginning to spread its rays. The bright light felt like daggers in my eyes. I walked toward the small cabin. It looked different to AK’s home—smaller and less refined. Yet it still held a kind of charm.

  Arms folded across my waist, I walked across the threshold of the house. The walls were wooden, as were the floors. The floor was gleaming and smelled fresh, of lemons. To the right, there was a kitchen area with a small table. The white cabinets looked old and chipped, but they too were freshly cleaned.

  Faded sofas sat to the left, with a table in front of them. There were three other doors that led to somewhere else. I edged in further, noticing more. The walls were bare but for several heads of animals that were mounted on plaques. I stepped closer to one of the walls. Several faded spots marred the old wood. Square and rectangle shapes, where there had clearly once been pictures or paintings of some sort. But they were gone now.

  I caught a flicker of movement from my right. AK was walking out of one of the doors. He saw me at the wall, and his face clouded with something I could not decipher. He turned and walked to the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of orange juice. He poured it into a glass. “Sit at the table,” he said.

  Still not knowing where we were or why we were here—why I was here with him—I did as I was told. As I sat down, I placed my hand over my stomach, fighting back the need to purge. I wondered if AK kept any alcohol in his kitchen, hidden in a cabinet somewhere.

  A glass of orange juice was placed before me. AK moved to another cupboard and took out a small bottle. “Take these with the juice,” AK said, sitting down in the other seat beside me and placing two blue pills on the tabletop.

  “What are these?” I took hold of the juice with shaking hands.

  “Gonna help with the head,” he replied. “Take them.”

  I forced the pills down my throat with the juice, then put the glass down when I could stomach no more. The silence was thick between us. The few times I found the courage to look up at AK, he was watching me. And his expression looked angry. His skin was marked with scratches, red and thick, on his cheeks, neck and chest.

  I had no memory of it, but I had a sinking suspicion it had been me who caused him such injury. “Your marks?” I asked, filled with dread. “Was . . . was that me?”

  AK raised his eyebrow. “You don’t remember?”

  Embarrassed at the confirmation, I shook my head. I was silent for a minute, then I asked, “Where are we? Why are we here?”

  AK pushed his fingers though his hair. I could not tear my gaze from his strong eyes and his handsome face. “I’ll tell you later. Right now, you need to sleep. You still got the liquor in your blood. And it’s gonna be a real fucking bitch when it’s all gone and it brings the fucking pain.”

  My pulse raced at the thought of not having the drink. I liked the drink. It numbed me from the thoughts that were always swimming in my head. I liked how it made me feel. “I need it.” My eyes roved around the kitchen, searching.

  “Ain’t none here, and ain’t none coming. Dry as a fucking desert.” His voice was harsh, his tone daring me to contest. But I was tired, and my headache was growing worse. AK rose from his seat. “Come with me.”

  Knowing I had no other choice, I followed him through one of the doors into a bedroom. There were two small, narrow beds; between them was small table holding a lamp. “Take whichever you want. I got fresh sheets and all that shit on there. Stopped at a store on the way while you slept in the truck. Got food too. We won’t need anything more until we’re
done here.” I understood what his words meant. He was to keep me here, where there was no drink and none of Meister’s potion. Just him and me and the thoughts I never wanted to acknowledge.

  I did not think I could do it.

  Feeling drained, pulled by the lure of the bed, I walked to the one farthest away and nervously sat on the edge. AK hovered in the doorway. “I’ll bring you food. But sleep for now.” He leaned against the doorframe, his muscles bulging in his arms. He was so tall he took up the entire space. “It ain’t gonna be pretty over the next couple of days. You’ve been on a seven-day bender and for that, you gotta pay the price.” My jaw clenched with a sudden flash of anger. He had no right to keep me from drinking if that was what I so wished. He must have seen my anger in my face as his expression darkened. “There ain’t none here, bitch. And I wouldn’t try and fucking cross me. No one’s gonna take your shit, especially me. Took on much worse fuckers than you. We’re miles from anywhere, and there won’t be no one coming here but me and you.” He spread his arms. “Welcome to hell.”

  With that, AK turned around and shut the door. I glared at the space he had been occupying, wanting to follow him and protest. But my mind reminded me of things he had already done for me, and I did not move. He was a hard and dangerous man, yet strangely, I felt no fear around him.

  Called by the comfort of the mattress, I rolled back the exceptionally neat covers and climbed inside. The frame creaked under me, and I closed my eyes. I must have been tired as I did not remember falling asleep.

  And for once, I did not dream.

  I did not think of her.

  *****

  When I woke, it was to purge into the bucket beside the bed. The room was darker than before, so I knew that night had fallen. I emptied my stomach of the food and liquids AK had been waking me to eat during the day, my body unable to keep them down.

  I groaned as I managed to thrust myself back to lie on the bed. I stayed still, holding my breath, until the room fell back into focus. I felt drained and sick and every part of me ached. I was thirsty, and when I looked at the table beside me there was a full glass of water and two pills waiting for me. AK had been giving them to me throughout the day. They helped some, but not enough.