“Can we stop by the rose bushes?” I ask excitedly, lifting my face to the sunlight, wanting to enjoy it, but Mommy’s hand stops me. She pulls me back to her side, and I wince a little, my brows furrowing at her hold.
“No, honey. I told you we can’t be late,” she says harshly. My shoulders sag while my gaze casts down, and I dig the tip of one sandal into the ground, sending rocks flying.
“I’m sorry, Mommy,” I reply.
She sighs heavily then grabs my shoulders, kneeling in front of me. “I know everything is new here, baby. But this is the first church mass for us here. We can’t make any mistakes.”
Ever since we came here, she has been acting weird, trying to make everyone accept us.
At least I think so, because she agrees to everything they say without questioning their requests, and it worries me.
After our walk around town, the mean man who kept on insisting on changing my name gave us the keys to the small house squashed between two pink ones and told us we could stay here.
The house had nothing but empty rooms filled with dust, and I coughed for so long I thought I might die of it. The priest said we would be able to get furniture once Pastor sees us and for the time being to enjoy the mattress located right in the middle.
Then several ladies with their kids stopped by, bringing delicious pastries along with clothes for us for today’s mass, claiming they found peace here and we are in good hands.
I barely listened to them; instead, I hung around with their kids, all my age who weirdly sat on the floor without saying much. All my tries to get them to talk to me didn’t work, because they kept on staring into space, especially one boy, Caspian.
Mom’s pat on my cheek snaps my attention to the present as she leans closer, placing a soft kiss on my forehead. “Let’s meet the good man who gave us shelter, sweetie.” She traps my palm between hers, and we walk in the direction of the church with the birds squawking loudly above us in the sky.
People emerge from different houses, shutting their doors while yelling for their children to gather around. Some of them hold heavy baskets with both their hands, bright smiles on their faces as they hurry toward the church, and slowly the sidewalk fills with the hum of voices, one more excited than the other.
One of the women who stopped by yesterday, Lucretia, waves at us while her daughter runs ahead. “Come with me.” She hooks her arm with Mom’s, ruffling my hair and dragging us toward the massive brown door with the heavy metal lock. “You can sit with us for your first time before Pastor assigns your place.” My brows furrow at this and I mouth, My place, but thankfully she explains further. “He divides people by specific talents and their looks.” Her voice drops a few notches. “And then he decides what to give you and how you can contribute to our society.”
What does this even mean?
Like certain jobs people used to have back home? Mom worked two while Daddy stayed home with me; according to him, there weren’t good enough offers for his talent.
Mom shifts uncomfortably in her hold, stepping back a little and putting me between them as a buffer to protect herself. She usually did it with Daddy. Why is she already doing it here?
Organ music starts to play, sending shivers down my spine, and Lucretia gasps, pointing at the fifth pew. “That’s our seat.” Judging by how far and crowded it is, her family probably doesn’t have high social standing in here.
That’s a phrase Meghan once used on me; she is very rich and has the most awesome toys, but she doesn’t let me play with them. She says my family has such a low social standing she might catch a disease from me.
Is this why Pastor divides everyone?
We sit down on the pew, and I see the priest from yesterday stepping up on the platform holding the altar, the colorful glass in the windows splashing patterns on him. “Hello, everyone.” Everybody greets him, and he flips open the Bible, reading a few verses before clearing his throat. “We have Pastor with us today.” And that’s when I notice the man standing behind him, wearing a white silky mantle, and he raises his hand to everyone, a huge grin on his face.
At once, the people in the church stand, clapping at him, so we follow suit. Is he someone famous or did he do something good? We never clapped for the pastor in our church.
He motions with his hands for everyone to sit back down, and they do, quickly quieting down as he speaks up, his voice booming off the church’s walls. “I’m so happy to be here today.” His eyes scan the place from one side to the other, as if trying to memorize all the people. I once saw a snake watching rabbits like that on the animal channel before she ate them all. “Shall we proceed?”
He continues to give a long speech about love and forgiveness, life and death, God and mere humans. It’s long and filled with a lot of complicated words that make zero sense to me, but it must be something really special, because women sniff into their handkerchiefs, blowing their noses loudly. Men just nod with stoic expressions on their faces, their whole attention zeroed on the man.
“What is he saying, Mommy?” I whisper into her ear, and she hugs me closer, tears dropping on my bare shoulder, so I raise my head to her. She looks at the man in awe too, her mouth open, and she shakes her head from side to side.
Mommy never looked at anyone like that.
“We are going to be protected here, honey,” she finally replies, accepting the tissues from Lucretia to wipe away her tears. She must read my confusion, because she adds, “He is the king of this place, sweetie. He protects those in his kingdom.”
Oh, like princes do in the fairytales?
I take a deep breath and clasp my hands together, hoping to understand his words so they can make sense to me, especially if he promises us Mommy is never going to be hurt again.
Why are grown-ups so confusing?
I hear a snicker behind me and glancing over my shoulder, I notice Caspian laughing at me.
He stops though when my gaze lands on him and he lifts his brow, before leaning closer and whispering, “Welcome to hell.”
I blink in surprise at this, my mouth dropping, but before I can say anything, his mom pulls him back roughly, trapping him in her hold as if not letting him talk to me.
A smile spreads on his face that reminds me more of a grimace before he shifts his stare back to the altar, and I turn around, uneasiness rushing through me at his words.
Shouldn’t this be heaven and not hell?
Finally, the man finishes his speech to more loud applause from the congregation, which only earns them a wink from the man.
He walks toward the huge chair—more like a throne really—drops onto it, and crooks his finger at the priest. He whispers something in his ear; the priest nods and then comes to the podium, his voice exceptionally screechy through the microphone. “The Pastor would like for everyone new to come to the altar right now. After that, you can ask him your questions.” Several people jump up at the opportunity, elbowing each other and almost falling because of how fast they move.
The huge line builds toward the throne-like chair, and Lucretia pushes us lightly in its direction. “Go, go now.” Mom once again listens, taking my hand, and we stand in line.
Moving slightly to the right, I peek through all the people and see how each new family, mostly only women and their kids, go to him, and how he watches them for several seconds before uttering something.
Some cry and some nod, but mostly everyone walks off with a smile on their face.
It’s so crowded I barely have any room to wiggle. Maybe the sooner you come the better social standing you get?
Finally, Mom pushes me toward the stage. “It’s our turn, sweetie.” With a deep breath, I go toward the throne, standing right in front of the man who scares me so much with his cold stare.
The priest announces, “This is Carmen and her daughter, Callista. I think the name Chloe is more suited for her.” A scream of protest is about to erupt from me, but the squeeze of my hand lets me know not to. “They came from an ab
usive household and would like to seek shelter here. For now, they are staying in the green house.” The Pastor nods like it explains everything, and I wonder if a specific color means certain occupations?
“Chloe indeed suits you better.” He rubs his chin with the back of his hand. “I once knew a girl. She had your eyes and hair. Unfortunately, we lost her.” My mood sours even more, and I want to run away from here, because they decided to name me after a dead girl!
“I’d be really thankful if we can stay.” Mom addresses Pastor, who focuses his eyes on her, and they flash in a way Daddy’s did whenever he stared at Mommy or her “damned beauty.” That’s what he called it.
“I never deny help to anyone,” he tells my mom, and she exhales in relief, “but I don’t think the green house is suitable for you.” The priest next to him frowns, while I keep glancing from Mom to Pastor who smiles brightly at her. “I think you girls deserve more.”
Some people say children always pay for the sins of their fathers or mothers, to restore the balance their decisions bring into this world.
And that’s inevitably what my life has become.
Atonement for my parents’ weaknesses.
Callista
Finally snapping out of my shock, I snatch his hand away from me and croak through my dry throat, “Who are you?”. Even though memories are still hazy, I remember how his hands wrapped tightly around me, depriving me of oxygen.
On a gasp, I place my hand around my neck and shift back only to bump against the wall, and the situation really sinks in.
There is no running away from here, because he keeps me in a cage.
A bubble of hysterical laughter almost slips past my lips, but I hold it in, searching for a solution in my head, but come up blank.
Why would any man decide to burn down the place I grew up in? As far as I knew, people didn’t even know it existed!
Otherwise, what explained the fact that outsiders never came to visit and all newcomers had to forgo their previous relationships in order to be part of our community?
The man continues to stay silent, his eyes trained on me, although I notice how they slide down my throat, zeroing in on the pulse beating in my neck before they go back up as a small smirk flashes on his face. “No need to be so nervous, belosnejka.” I blink at the unfamiliar foreign word, but before I can ask any more questions, he pushes back and coldness instantly replaces the heat he’d brought with him.
He walks toward the chair, picks it up, and pushes it under the table before turning his attention back to me. I waste no time in firing another question. “Are you from the FBI?” Did they finally find out what Pastor was doing and come to the rescue?
Granted, I don’t know much about them; I just remember the teachers in school in the outside world saying they are the good guys.
Agents who have the power to save the world and all that.
His laughter fills the room, sending chills down my spine, and my hands fist, but I show no other reaction, aware of the danger in front of me.
Even though men from back home can be very awful, at least they are familiar monsters whose modus operandi is easy to guess.
But with this man, I have no idea what to expect, and as odd as it sounds, I don’t want to die now or anytime soon. One might wonder why I want to hold on to this pathetic life of mine, but it’s the only one I have, so….
I have to study him, explore his character in order to find out how he operates. Only then will I be able to find a way out of this cell and this place; he couldn’t have taken me far anyway.
Right?
Maybe he took me with him, because he was afraid to leave traces behind? Before I showed up, he was just spreading gunpowder around. Surely he had no plans of kidnapping anyone?
“No, I’m not. They wouldn’t have helped you anyway.” With that, he goes toward the cage’s door and I rush after him, the heavy chain dragging behind me and pulling me back, but I pay no attention to the pain slowly spreading through me from the effort.
“Then who are you?” I repeat the question, which should be a shout but instead is just a raspy squeak from my throat. “And what do you want from me?” He still strolls to the door, so I grab his arm and halt his movements—although it’s probably only because he allowed me to. The muscles under my fingers are so strong I think he can easily knock me on my ass with the crook of his finger.
“I’m your greatest nightmare.” His husky yet low voice washes over me while everything inside me freezes from the unspoken threat it holds. “And you are my captive I’ve decided to keep.”
“Wha-what?” I stammer, taking a step back, not understanding the meaning of his words at all.
Why would a man come from the outside, who doesn’t even know me, then promise me hell just because I stumbled upon him?
Realization dawns on me. Of course, why didn’t I think about it sooner? “It’s about Pastor, isn’t it?” He tenses next to me and half turns, surprise crossing his face, but at what, I have no idea. “Did he do something to you?” My heart beats so wildly in my chest awaiting his answer, because surely that’s the only explanation there could be.
Did he come back to the town to end everything once and for all? Did he live there before me? He doesn’t remind me of any boys we had there.
Such strong relief travels over me I sway to the side a little, but a strong arm wrapping around my waist doesn’t let me fall and instead brings me flush against his chest. This simple action shows me he won’t hurt me if I tell him the truth; he just needs to hear it, and he will let me go.
“I have nothing to do with it. I’ve tried to escape for years.” Since he doesn’t say anything, I quickly continue to talk hoping he will see the reason behind my pleading. “I almost did today when you showed up. Please let me go. I don’t have any information.” He probably plans to torture me in the hope of acquiring some inside information that will help him to defeat Pastor.
Did burning down his entire town not help?
“You have a right for your revenge,” I whisper and then connect his stare with mine, not missing the slight annoyance in the silver pools. “But please don’t make me part of it. I just know a few names. If you want, I can tell them to you.” I breathe in harshly, needing air in my lungs after basically spewing all the words at him.
Surely he will see reason now?
And then I add, hoping it will sway him in my favor when making his decision, “My name is Chloe.” And even though I hate this name with all my being, I can’t tell him my real one.
No one gets to know that, because once I’m out of all these twisted games these men are playing, I will have an identity that will give me a clean start from all of them, and no one will be able to find me.
The man leans forward, his hot breath fanning my cheek before he finally speaks up again, each word sending me into a spiral of despair. “Revenge has no meaning for me. People become fools, devoting their lives to it, and give power to those from the past. I’m not controlled by my emotions or desires, because I don’t have them.” I try to get away from his arms, but he only tightens his grip on me. “I don’t give a fuck about your pastor.” The way he phrases it though—with a tight snarl—makes it seem like Pastor is an afterthought.
I’m almost afraid to hope that someone has finally killed him.
He twirls one of my dirty locks around his finger and then pulls at it harshly, making me wince as the sting travels across my scalp. “You are here to fill my purpose.”
“What does that mean?” I whisper, hoping deep down, despite the prison he has around me, he is not like the men from back home.
“It means always follow my orders if you want to stay alive.” He leans even closer, so that our lips almost touch. “If you accept, come with me.” For a second, I feel like I’m enchanted under his spell, wanting to do whatever he asks of me with his hypnotizing voice, but I shake my head.
The devil might be handsome and alluring, but even the most handsome face cannot
cover the rotten nature hiding behind the façade.
I know a manipulator when I see one, and he can go to the hell he speaks of if he thinks I will willingly accept all this shit. “Never. I will never accept this.” Raising my chin high, I muster all the courage I possess to stand against him. “I will never surrender.”
“Ah, my beautiful captive. I promise you will. And I’ll enjoy every fucking second of it.” With that, he pushes me away, and I stumble back while he leaves the cage, hitting the wall so the doors slide closed again before I can run to them.
Banging on them, I scream, “Let me go!” Despite the pain in my wrists, I continue to bang, hating this man with a passion… and myself too for believing for a second that he could be better than the others just because he destroyed Pastor.
He stays deaf to all my shouts though as he goes to the other door, opening it wide so bright light slips inside for a second and then shuts it, leaving me alone here once again.
I might have escaped one hell, but what good has it done? I ended up in another, and something tells me this monster is even more vicious than the one I grew up with.
* * *
The sound of a code being entered into the keypad wakes me up. I finally managed to fall asleep after pacing the cage back and forth searching for any weakness this place might have to escape from but found none. Even digging the floor was impossible, because they must have used some top-notch technology.
Nothing like back home.
I scrunch my eyes in time to see an elderly man stepping inside wearing a black-and-gray uniform consisting of a long jacket, pants, and white gloves. His hair is neatly combed and he holds a silver tray that has two plates on it along with a steaming mug. “Hello,” he greets me gently, smiling at me, which makes the wrinkles on his face deepen. “I brought you some food.” He waits a beat before adding, “And tea with medicine for your sore throat.” Since there is no reaction from me, with an exhale, he places it on the table and then picks up the mug, slowly coming toward me as if I’m a wounded animal and he is gauging my reaction to his nearness.
Arson’s Captive Page 5