Hold Fast (15 page)

I’m willing to die for what I believe in, but am I willing to let the woman I love die for what I believe in? A drop of blood slides down the edge of the blade, hanging near the tip. If I’m going to do it, it’s got to be now.

Emmanuel steps between me and the mother-daughter pair, and places his hand on my gun. A slight pressure pushes the barrel down and to the side. My decision is made. I can’t allow her to be killed in front of me. I’d survive, guaranteed. I’d be the only motherfucker walking away from this place, but I wouldn’t want to, not with the woman I love lying dead with her throat slit by her own mother. The female of the species, indeed.

“There, you see, Sister Courtney?” The old bastard beams triumphantly, and turns away from me. He doesn’t even bother to disarm me first. He took my measure, and knows I won’t do anything to get Courtney killed. God forgive me. No, fuck that. It’s Courtney’s forgiveness I’ll need, not God’s.
“Is there anything that you’d like to say to Mister Pearse, Sister Courtney? Or, no, I’m sorry-
Daughter
Courtney. Perhaps I’m a little ahead of schedule, but I’ve always thought of you as a daughter. And soon you will be.”

“Don’t hurt him!” Courtney’s voice is frantic. “Please,” she begs. “Please! I’ll do anything. I’ll be the best wife Jeremiah could ever want, I’ll have his babies, I’ll cook, I’ll clean--” Her voice breaks, cracks, as her mother jerks her head to the side by the hair, using leverage and pain to force my love to her knees on the floor. It breaks my heart to hear her plead like this. She doesn’t get it. Yet.

“You’ll do your duty to your husband and your sons,” Heather shrieks at her daughter. “You’ll do it
because
it’s your duty! Because it’s your punishment! For Eve’s sin! I’ve fought my whole life to overcome the temptation of Eve’s sin, and I’ll help your husband as he does his duty to purge the sin from
you,
whore! The Scarlet One, the Whore of Babylon, will have no part in my household!”

Where there’s breath, there’s hope. She’ll be alive, at least. So long as she lives, she can fight. She can escape. Even if I’m dead, she can live to fight another day.

“You wish me to give him mercy, my daughter?” Emmanuel shakes his head sadly. “I’m sorry, child. There are some things beyond my power to grant. Mister Pearse has committed a great wrong in the eyes of The Lord.” Courtney’s eyes go huge as she understands.

My father’s pistol is dead weight by my side, useless to me. I could save myself, but Courtney’s life is more precious to me than my own. Anything I do to save myself will doom her. Out of the corner of my eye, I can pick up movement. Lucas and Jeremiah are on their feet again. Jeremiah has the bat again; Lucas has a sawed off double-barrel shotgun. My window of opportunity has closed.

Emmanuel pulls a radio out of his pocket and makes a quick call, ordering a truck to be brought around. While issuing his orders, he waves idly at me, and Jeremiah takes the pistol away from me.

“You’re finished,” he whispers in my ear. His voice is fuzzy, he’s lisping.
Finissed.
I must have broken some teeth.

I’m oddly pleased by this. I hope his balls are in worse condition.

Through it all, Courtney and I do not break eye contact. The red line on her throat stands out in stark contrast to her tanned neck, droplets welling up along the length of the cut.

“Sister Heather? If you would, please escort my future daughter-in-law to the truck.” Emmanuel stoops to pick up the revolver, and points it at me. “Jeremiah?”

Jeremiah’s look of triumph is spoiled a bit by the swollen lip and rapidly blackening eye. I know he’s missing some teeth. I hope I broke his jaw. He’s hunched over a bit, too. Maybe I didn’t get him in the balls quite as hard as I’d thought. Heather and Jeremiah each grab one of Courtney’s arms, and Heather still has a hand tangled in her hair, but my love drags her heels and twists to keep her eyes locked to mine. I think she understands, now.

“I love you,” Courtney says. My heart breaks. It’s the last thing I can say to her. The last memory she’ll ever have of me. What the fuck do I say?

“I know” is all I can come up with, and then she’s gone, whisked out the door and away from me. Forever.

With my love out of the cabin, I’m alone with Emmanuel and Lucas.

“All right, asshole.” My voice is steady. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Hm?” The bushy white brows furrow in a question, then he laughs. “Oh, Mister Pearse. You misunderstand me. I’m not going to kill you.”

“You’re going to have wife beater here do it?” All the scorn I can muster is layered into those words. I’ll never have the chance to kill Lucas myself. It’s not the biggest regret of my life, but it’s definitely on the list of things I wish I’d managed to accomplish.

“Ah, you saw that?” Emmanuel nods sagely. “In a way, that will make this simpler. It provides a framework, if you will, through which you may reach understanding.”

“Right. Because understanding is so important now.” I shake my head. “You gotta be shitting me. Is this the part, seriously, where you explain your evil plan before you kill me?”

“You mistake me, Mister Pearse. Sean, if I may.” He’s smiling at me, but it’s a ‘more in sorrow than in anger’ kind of thing. “Let me be clear: I do not intend, desire, or expect for you to die here today.”

“So, what, you’re going to just let me go?” Are you fucking serious?

“Your fate will be in the hands of The Lord.” Emmanuel steeples his fingers, bowing his head slightly. Beady eyes glitter underneath bushy white brows. “You have done great wrong in His eyes, Mister Pearse. You have stolen His property. But it is not for me to take your life today.”

“Why? ‘Thou shalt not kill?’” I should just shut the fuck up, but in spite of myself I’m curious.

“The Lord’s Commandment actually does not say ‘thou shalt not kill,’ it says ‘thou shalt not commit
murder,
’ if you read the original wording. It’s a fine distinction, but I’m sure you understand. The Lord himself commands killing, from time to time.” He looks at me expectantly.

“Oh, of course. It makes perfect sense.” No, no it doesn’t. You’re insane.

“You are no threat to me, to
us
, my son. Should you attempt to intervene, to stop The Lord’s Work and spirit her away again, it will not go so easily on you. You believed yourself hidden away securely, yet we found you in just barely twenty-four hours. You cannot hide from His eyes, my son. Even as Adam and Eve tried to hide their sin from The Lord in the Garden, you will
always
be found.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I was a little curious about that.”

“Sister Heather has not been well, of late,” Emmanuel says. “She has not, shall we say, been herself. She made a remarkable recovery, though, at my son’s description of a blue four-wheel drive Chevrolet with rather a loud engine. We did, at first, assume that it was her former husband driving it, though. When the truck was not found at her father’s place of residence, Sister Heather remembered this place. You, however, were a bit of a surprise. The Lord suggested a cautious approach to me, that we not confront you until we had something in the way of a lever with which to control you.”

“A hostage. Courtney.”

“The young lady’s life was my surety of your good behavior today, and she will remain so in the future. You care deeply for her, as she so obviously does for you. She will believe you to be dead, and she will mourn you, and then she will live out her life as the mother of the next prophet. I have foreseen it.” The crazy old bastard smiles benevolently at me, as if this explains everything.

“So, you’re going to murder her if I get out of line in the future?”

“No. If a death is caused in defense of myself, or of my flock, or of The Lord’s Work, then it cannot be considered murder.” His eyes go flinty, his voice cold. “And if you become a threat, Mister Pearse, even then I won’t kill her. Her mother will.” The engine idling outside revs twice, and Emmanuel looks at his wristwatch. “This has been a pleasant diversion, my son, but my flock grows impatient. We have an important matter to take care of at home. Brother Lucas, if you would please?” He points to his revolver on the floor, and Lucas wordlessly hands him the rusty weapon.

“Now, my son, we need to finalize today’s lesson. You need a couple days to think about this, and to understand that it truly
is
for the best. We don’t need you doing anything rash in the heat of the moment, you understand. Give me your phone, please?”

I pull it from my pocket, toss it to him wordlessly. The throw is intentionally short, and the old man is forced to stoop on creaking knees to pick it up.

“That was beneath you, my son.”

“I will not steal from you, and I despise the necessity of damaging your property, but, I’m sure you understand that you must have solitude to consider things. You will be as Our Lord in the wilderness, though I doubt you’ll remain here for forty days and nights.”

The gunshot is loud in the cabin, and turns my brand new phone into scattered wreckage of glass and aluminum. Even over the ringing in my ears and the truck outside, I hear Courtney screaming in grief and horror.

“Brother Lucas? If you will conduct the lesson?”

The big man slaps his palm with Jeremiah’s bat, stepping silently toward me.

“This gives me no pleasure, Mister Pearse,” the old man says. “None at all. I want you to remember this lesson and learn it well. I need you to remember that her life is surety for your good behavior. Repent of your sin, and never become a threat to us who do The Lord’s Work.”

Lucas is a big man, strong, and he swings the bat with authority. The first strike takes me in the gut, and after only a few blows I feel ribs crack. He’s untrained, used to beating people who can’t fight back. I could take the bat away from him in a heartbeat, but if I walk out of this building and these two fucks don’t, then Courtney’s dead and it will have all been for nothing.

“I believe the young man has learned his lesson now, Brother Lucas. We need to be on the road for home.” Emmanuel looks at his watch again, and pauses by the door. “Goodbye, Mister Pearse. I trust you’ll keep this lesson in mind?”

Never interrupt your enemy when he’s busy making a mistake. It’s a mistake to leave me alive, but if that’s what they want to do, then I’m certainly not going to argue the point. I’ll absolutely make them regret it later, though.

“Believe me. I’ll never forget it,” I say, gritting my teeth against the pain.

“Lights out, sinner,” Lucas whispers in my ear. They’re the first words he’s spoken since I arrived. He steps back, the floor creaking under his bulk as he winds up for a final swing of the bat.

Hold on, Courtney. I’ll come for you. Just hold on. I’ll come fo-

* * *

T
he stench
in the truck is horrible. The acrid reek of bile seeps into everything. My only consolation is that I’m not the only one who has to suffer through it. Yet, no one else seems to notice. Not Jeremiah because he can’t breathe through his nose. Not
her
because she’s in Never-Never land. I lost my love.

I lost my mother.

I lost my future.

I lost everything today.

The woman sitting next to me is not my mother. She’s just the shell in which my mother used to live, hollowed out and refilled by Father Emmanuel. By Satan.

A childhood memory burns through my mind with absolute clarity. It’s one of those moments when an adult’s statement, something that didn’t make any sense at the time, comes back to light after being tucked away in a dark memory corner for years. I remember my dad coming back from the nursing home one day and telling my mother that the hardest thing to do was to mourn someone who was still alive.

I get it now. I finally understand what he meant. Dementia had stolen my grandmother’s identity just as surely as Satan has broken my mother’s.

So today, I’m mourning the woman sitting next to me. My mother is gone. Strange how it doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would.

I’ve known for a long time where this was going. Is that why?

Or is it because the pain of losing Sean is so overwhelming?

My heart stopped at the instant I heard the sound of the gunshot inside the cabin. Of course, it started beating again, but I may as well be dead inside. As empty as my mother’s husk. The most precious part of me is gone.

Other girls dreamed of meeting Prince Charming, but not me. I always knew who my handsome prince was. Sean was always a part of my life, and even when he ran away, he still visited me in my dreams. The fantasy of a future life with him kept me going.

Satan has stolen everything from me. But I will get even.

Maybe I already did?

I was blessed to have had one night with Sean. Just one night, and that one glorious morning. It’s more than I imagined I would ever have, and not nearly enough.

The minutes tick away and time takes on a strange quality. The ride lasts forever and yet it seems so much faster than driving the opposite direction with Sean. It makes no sense.

Then again, what
does
make sense in my twisted little corner of hell?

It’s dusk by the time Satan parks the truck in the compound. The lights are out in the refectory already. We’ve missed dinner, but I don’t care. I don’t think I’ll ever be hungry again.

Jeremiah opens the door and slides out of the truck very slowly. He looks like he’s in pain. Good! There’s no kindness in me, not a caring bone left in my body. My own pain helps me hide the pleasure I feel watching him hobble away, but my exit from the truck is just as pitiful as his.

Heather – I can’t think of her as my mother, not anymore - is right behind me, catching me before I stumble. She’s so thin now, so wasted away, yet her strength amazes me. She props me up and pulls me in direction of the penance box. I don’t have it in me to resist anymore. Even if I did, what good could it possibly do me? Sean’s dead. Because of me.

But I get a reprieve from hell, issued by Satan himself.

“My dear, Sister Heather,” he coos. “We shall attend to your daughter’s …
correction
in just a moment. There’s a much more urgent matter that requires my attention first, and since it concerns her, she should be present.” His tone is so sweet that I fear the worst. Over the years, I’ve learned that the honey dripping from his lips is always the prelude to the bitterest taste. “Please take her to the chapel.”

My mother pulls on my arm, and in obedient silence I follow and enter our most well maintained building. The hard benches and uncomfortable pews have been moved around so the elders of the community can sit in one long line in front of the pulpit, facing an empty space where the congregation would normally be seated. Empty, but for two folding metal chairs.

They’re seated as judges, but Satan had said my punishment would wait? Who are the chairs for?

A sense of foreboding comes over me, breaking through even the numb emptiness that’s—oh God, I can’t think about that
.
I shiver involuntarily. Last spring, the elders sat in judgement on an adulterous woman. She was stoned to death. Because that’s what the Bible says to do. But the Bible also says “let he who is without sin cast the first stone,” and when that horrible old man repeated Jesus’ words of mercy, every single one of those hypocritical bastards stepped forward with a rock in his hands.

Elders? More like apprentice demons, twisting anything good and right about Jesus and turning it into horror. Thugs, Sean called them.
Oh, Sean!

It was not supposed to have been a public execution, but it happened so close to one of my hives that I heard everything. Her screams will be etched in my memory forever.

The thugs end their hushed conversation when Satan walks in behind us. Surprisingly, he doesn’t join the elders but stops right beside my mother and me.

”Have you reached a decision?” he asks to the silent assembly.

“Yes, Father Emmanuel. We have,” says the eldest member of our community. “They were caught. They were witnessed in their unnatural act by your sons, Brother Jeremiah and Brother Nathan. There can be no defense of this…
abomination
.” He sneers at me. Why would he be looking at me? What do I have to do with anything here?

“I see,” Emmanuel says. He doesn’t seem affected or surprised. He knew all along what was going to happen. “The Lord is very clear on the matter. The Book of Leviticus,” he intones. His voice is deep, projecting. He’s on a stage, acting. It’s a performance. “The twentieth chapter, the thirteenth verse.”

I didn’t think my day could get any worse. I’ve been shattered already, destroyed. On top of everything that’s already happened today, there’s nothing that could break me further. Except that verse. I know it by heart, from a thousand sermons – rants, really, more than preaching – on sin, and how God will destroy America, and why God will destroy America, and it always comes back to this verse. I’m ready to vomit again when Satan continues.

“If a man also lie with mankind, as he lieth with a woman,” he recites, “both of them have committed an abomination: they shall surely be put to death; their blood shall be upon them.” There is an ecstatic glee painted on his face.

And that’s why I’m here. That’s why there are two chairs: Daniel and Joshua. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own pain, I couldn’t see what was plainly in front of me.

Despite my mother’s deadly grip on my arm, I turn around to face Emmanuel.

”No!” I scream, heedless of the danger to myself. “No, Father Emmanuel! You can’t do this! He’s your brother!”

He looks back at me and, just for an instant, sadness replaces the ecstasy in his eyes. He shakes his head, “Courtney, my child, I
must
. The Lord commands, and it is not for us to disobey. How could I face my flock if I showed weakness where my own flesh and blood is concerned? The Lord detests sin.”

This is twisted, this is evil! He’s going to execute his own brother!

My marriage to Daniel may have been a fraud, nothing but a convenient fiction to keep us both safe, but over the past five years, I’ve grown to care about him very much. He’s kind, sweet. He’s a good man. And now his own brother is going to murder him, simply because of who he loves.

”And yet, though The Lord’s commands must be followed, we may show some mercy,” Emmanuel continues. “I will
not
stone my brother.”

I let out a sigh of relief but tense again quickly as the silence grows heavy. “What will you do to my husband?” I ask. Daniel isn’t my husband, not anymore, if he ever even was, but I don’t want this to happen to him. He’s a good person, a gentle and loving man.

“The Lord’s Word tells us that these abominations must be put to death, but it does not say we must be cruel about it. My brother will be granted a quick death.” Emmanuel keeps on speaking but the buzzing in my ear is so loud I can’t make out what he’s saying. The words “merciful bullet” echo in the room but I refuse to hear them.

This can’t be happening. This is not real. This is just a dream, like one of Sean’s nightmares.

In full denial mode, led by my mother and Emmanuel, I follow the elders to a clearing in the forest, where a small backhoe sits next to a pit. Daniel and Joshua stand next to the hole, blindfolded, hands tied behind their backs.

“Daniel!” I scream out, and his blindfolded head turns, looking for my voice, but then his head droops, his shoulders slumped. I’d meant to offer him comfort, let him know I cared, but all I’d done was let him know I’d been found and brought back. He’d had such hope for me, for my future. For my happiness. Now he’ll spend his last moments without even that slight consolation.

I’ve only made things worse.

Jeremiah, standing behind them, roughly shoves both men to the very edge of the pit. Their hands are tied, but their shoulders brush together, and Joshua’s mouth moves as he says something I cannot hear. Daniel nods his head, and the two men lean against each other, looking for one last touch, one last moment together. Heather takes my hand, and for just a moment, I think – I hope – that she’s trying to offer me comfort, but when I glance at her, my mother’s teeth are bared in anticipation.

When Jeremiah raises the gun, I close my eyes. I can’t watch this. This is evil! These are good men! They’ve never hurt anyone!

I flinch at each of the gunshots, and I don’t open my eyes again until I hear the backhoe’s rumbling engine and whining hydraulics. I can’t even cry yet. My tears have all been shed. I have none left for the kind man, that sweet, gentle, and naïve man that pretended to be my mate. I try to find solace in the fact that he and Joshua are now together for eternity.

Lucas pushes the dirt into the hole with the backhoe, covering the last two pieces of goodness in my life, but I manage to hold it together until Jeremiah comes to stand behind me, placing a hand on the small of my back.

“Now don’t be sad, my darling.” Jeremiah’s breath is hot, wet in my ear. “You’ll get to be with a
real
man soon enough. You didn’t need that
faggot
.” He spits the word in my ear, and the disgusting hand on my back slides down to my backside, cupping and squeezing.

“I’ve
already
been with a real man,” I whisper back to him. “And I’ll be with him again before I’ll
ever
be with you.” The emptiness inside me, the void created by the loss of everything that mattered to me in the world, is suddenly less empty. I’m filling with a white-hot rage.

“If you want to be a bitch,” Jeremiah hisses through lips swollen and cracked from my lost love’s fists, “then I’ll treat you like one. You can live on all fours like a dog, eat off the floor like a dog whenever I feel like throwing you some scraps.” He reaches around, grabbing my chin, and yanks my head around to look at him. “And I’m going to fuck you just like a dog.” I can smell the acrid reek of burnt gunpowder on his hand.

“Is that what you like?” I ask. I know that taunting him is dangerous, but I just don’t care. What more can he do to me? “Is that what gets you off? Do you like that? Fucking a dog?” The fury in his eyes gives me some satisfaction.

“You’ll pay for that,” he whispers, groping harder, deeper. He’s reminding me that I’m property, not a person.
His
property. “I’m going to enjoy our wedding night. Much,
much
more than you will.” Groping me has left him excited and hard, and my stomach turns again as he presses himself against my backside.
Sean must not have hurt him as badly as it looked.

“No, you won’t,” I tell him, surreptitiously making a claw of my hand and holding it straight down, hidden in my long skirt. Jeremiah leers at me, keeping eye contact, holding my chin steady. He doesn’t want me to look away when his other hand reaches its goal, touching me through the skirt. He wants to see in my eyes that I’m beaten, that I recognize his triumph.

Not. Gonna. Happen.

I quickly jerk my hips forward, away from him, and dig my hooked fingers into the softest bits of Jeremiah’s body, squeezing his balls, twisting them as hard as I can through his jeans, and I smile viciously at the gasp of shock and pain as his eyes go wide in breathless agony. You’re the one that wanted me to look in your eyes, you filthy monster!

For the first time in my life, I become a wild thing, giving in to every violent impulse. I jump on him, catching a fistful of greasy hair and clawing at his face with the other as I drag him to the ground. My nails are short and ragged, but I’m out for blood. Jeremiah’s fluttering hands bat at mine, blocking me while I try to gouge out his eyes with hooked thumbs. Even surprised and in pain, he’s stronger than I am, and he’s starting to catch his breath. Can’t let him recover yet!

I lift a knee and drive it squarely into his balls and fresh pain deflates him like a popped balloon, and his hands go limp for a moment. That moment is all I’m going to need. Snarling, I reach for his eyes again but never quite make it. My advantage ends when I feel fingers knotted in my hair, dragging me off him, leaving me sprawled on my back on the ground. The break is all Jeremiah needs, and he scrambles to his feet awkwardly, hunching over from the pain between his legs.

My mot- no, not my mother. Heather!
-and Father Emmanuel pull me to my feet, and Heather slaps me squarely, her face red with fury. She takes a deep breath, getting ready to scream, but Satan stops her with a raised hand.

“Now, now, Sister Heather,” he says. “It’s no longer your place to discipline her.”

“But--” she sputters, but Emmanuel interrupts coldly.

“It is
not. Your. Place!
” Satan turns to Jeremiah – could anyone ever by more accurately called ‘the spawn of Satan?’
- holding out his hand. “My son will provide correction for her. After all, she will be
his
wife.”

“Not yet!” I spit the words defiantly at him.