The Choosing (25 page)

Before her better judgment could stop her, she was standing, moving. She took two steps before a hand caught her shoulder and held her steady. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from Arianna as the beeping on the machine slowed, and the rising and falling of her chest lessened.

“No,” Carrington said. She breathed more than spoke it, and no one heard her.

With a final breath Arianna closed her eyes and died.

Her body just lay there for a long moment. No one breathed, no one spoke, no one moved. The universe felt as still as the lifeless girl. Then the doctor pulled a long white sheet up over Arianna’s bloodless face, propelling the universe back into motion. People moved, slowly but with purpose, clearing the room.

Carrington stood with her eyes fixed on the sheet-covered corpse. A hand still rested on her shoulder, but the pressure eased and then lifted, leaving her feeling naked and alone with a dead girl. She could still see Arianna’s last breath, still hear her voice in her head, still picture the way she’d walked into the room. It was as if Carrington could close her eyes, hold them tight, and when she opened them again Arianna would still be there.

Another hand grabbed her arm, but different from the first
 
—hard and cold, full of force. It yanked her away from the sheet-outlined figure and toward the exit. The person connected to the hand was angry, and as the memories from the last few moments registered in Carrington’s brain, she knew it was Isaac.

He led her out into the sun, where the beams of light blasted her face and caused her eyes pain. She squinted
against their power as she was hauled into a vehicle to be transported away. Isaac joined her in the car, which meant she was not being taken back to her house.

Half of her mind was computing each moment, while the other half was stuck in that room, numb and dead with Arianna. Isaac was angry with her and taking her back to his place. Arianna was dead. Carrington had no say in anything that happened in her life. Arianna was dead. He yanked her around like a doll. Arianna was dead.

By the time they reached Isaac’s home, her thoughts were mostly reengaged, and fear for her own safety was in full swing. Isaac had said nothing to her the entire ride, but she could feel his fury oozing through his skin like an odor. He moved out of the car and strode across the lawn to his front door with fierce movements. Carrington was escorted behind him as though she might take off running, which was exactly what her head was screaming at her to do.

Once inside the house, Isaac nodded, releasing anyone who might have served as a witness, and a bottomless pit opened in Carrington’s gut. He paced back and forth in small, jagged steps, not walking too far in either direction before spinning around and heading back the way he had come.

Finally he stopped and stood firm, grounded like a foundation, facing her. He ran his palm across his skull and exhaled, hissing through his teeth. “Do you think me a fool?”

She struggled to find her voice and her hesitation cost her. His hand came across her already-bruised cheek and
sent her head careening to the side. She stumbled into a tall hallway table that kept her standing.

“Do . . . you . . . think . . . me . . . a fool?”

“No.” Her eyes stung with tears from the intensifying throbbing in her face.

“Do you think I should have chosen someone else?”

“No.”

“Why then do you continue to dishonor me?”

“I’m sorry
 
—”

“Shut up! It is bad enough that you feel such pity for that worthless traitor we just executed, but to move to defend her in the presence of the other council members!”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why
 
—”

“I know why, dear.” His voice fell into an eerie calm that frightened her more than his violent rage. He moved to her and wrapped his fingers around her arm. The pressure increased the longer he held her and she could feel his nails digging into her skin. “It’s because you have forgotten your place.”

He pulled her away from the table she was using to support herself and dragged her through the house. She cried out as her right ankle crunched into the sharp wooden edge of a chair leg, but he only yanked on her harder. He opened a tall, narrow door and threw her inside. She fell hard on the floor and knocked her head against the back wall. The space was no bigger than a broom closet.

“Look at me, Carrington. Look at me!”

She pushed herself off the ground and turned her gaze
to him. He hovered just outside the doorframe, blocking out most of the dim light.

“I have offered you everything and you continue to defy me. Like the sinners who spit upon God, you spit upon me. Do you think you are not in need of salvation? Do you believe you are better than the rest?” He spouted accusations like a crazed man, his saliva flying through the air.

“No!” she cried.

“You have forgotten your worth without me. Nothing! Worthless sack of flesh that God gave to me. You are supposed to help me carry out the work of the holy mission. Do not prove yourself to be as worthless and void of righteousness as the others.”

Carrington didn’t even know how to respond. Her face was soaked with tears, her entire body ached, and fear plowed through her at full steam.

“You are nothing without me.
I
give you purpose;
I
give you redemption. You will learn to behave and believe, or you will be nothing!” He stepped back, and before she could protest he slammed the door shut.

In the first few moments she was too shocked to respond. Then reality seeped in and self-preservation took over. She pushed on the closed door, banged on it, cried, screamed, kicked it with her feet, but nothing changed her situation. The space was small and dark. She felt around for another
way out, but the walls were solid and she couldn’t touch the ceiling.

There seemed to be nothing else in the room with her. No shelves of items, as if the sole purpose of the room was to serve as Isaac’s personal solitary-confinement unit. Carrington struggled to take in breath, beginning to choke on the thought of how little air could actually be in there with her. What if he never came back for her? What if she suffocated? Starved? This prompted more whaling on the door, more frantic pounding, until she realized she was only wasting precious air, and she began swallowing her own saliva to moisten her scratchy throat.

Time was impossible to measure when nothing around her changed. It could have been hours or maybe only minutes, but the darkness seemed to stall the progression of time.

As the stillness grew, Carrington’s mind ran wild. How long had Isaac had this room? Had he used it for others? His first wife? She recalled the time Larkin had mentioned how Isaac’s first wife had mysteriously died. Had
she
starved to death in this prison? The idea made her bones shiver. Was she sitting where another woman had died?

The thought of death made her think about Arianna and reminded her of why she was in here in the first place
 
—because of Arianna, because Carrington had lost control of herself, because ideas of worth and identity had impregnated the tiny spaces of her brain, the ones you
couldn’t locate even with a fine toothpick. Arianna had died because of those ideas and now Carrington would too.

She didn’t know whether she had her eyes open or closed. That was the kind of darkness she was in. She was exhausted but couldn’t sleep. Her stomach growled, but the sound fell on deaf ears because Carrington couldn’t do anything to answer it. Her mind was still going in circles but had slowed to a stumbling walk that nearly ended in a complete standstill.

Isaac’s words echoed behind her eardrums.
“You are nothing . . . worthless.”
This was a truth she had known but somehow forgotten. For a split second she had thought maybe worth was more than being chosen, more than being a wife and mother, more than status. For a moment she had started to believe that she could be free from the quest for worth, from the weight the word placed on her shoulders.

That moment had come and gone, though, and now she remembered. Life was not a series of forgetting and remembering; it was simply alternate states of delusion and awareness. She’d been playing with a fantasy, and it was safe to say her foolishness had put her in this hole; it was clear it was her own fault she was here.

Freedom: delusion.

Identity: delusion.

Worth: delusion.

Aaron: delusion.

The list grew the longer she thought, and at some point she decided to stop. Her mind slowly shut down, like someone dimming the lights until it was just dark.

When the door finally opened, Carrington thought she was imagining it. It wasn’t Isaac who helped her but a man she didn’t recognize. Maybe she was dead and this was an angel taking her to heaven, or a demon taking her to hell. She couldn’t really be sure of anything in her current state.

The man helped her up, walked her into a room not far from the closet, and attended to her needs. Food and water were delivered, along with a fresh change of clothes. The man surveyed Carrington’s face and gave her something for her pain.

As the fog began to clear from her head Carrington realized she did recognize the man. She had seen him around Isaac’s home before
 
—a member of the household staff. He gave her space as she changed and then, taking a final look at her, left.

She was only alone a couple of minutes before another man entered the room. This one she recognized immediately and her body reacted to his presence. She feared she might throw up the bit of food she had just shoved down her throat.

Isaac walked across the room and sat in a chair near the window. He kept his eyes on her and she tried to keep her stomach settled.

He sighed and rubbed his temples. “God never enjoys punishing a lamb. It hurts Him as it hurts me.”

She said nothing.

“All I do is for your benefit. I want the union between us to be strong and centered. But I need to know that you want the same thing.”

All Carrington wanted was to run for her life, but she knew that wasn’t an option. This was her place, beside him. She turned her eyes to his and nodded. “I do.” Even if it tasted like a lie, it was going to have to become something she believed or could fake well enough that she never ended up in that closet again.

“Good. I was hoping some time alone would help you see what you truly wanted. I want to hear you say it.”

She gave him a confused look.

“I want to know what you believe you are worth?”

Her shoulders fell as she opened her mouth. “Nothing.” That tasted like the truth.

He smiled and stood. “Don’t be sad, my dear. Being broken is a beautiful thing. Now you truly can be molded into your role in the holy plan, according to the
Veritas
.”

He stood from the chair and walked toward her, coming close enough that Carrington could feel his breath on her skin, and she braced for more abuse. He moved his hand to her face and she flinched. He paused and then continued slowly, placing his fingers under her chin and lifting her face to his. Their eyes connected
 
—his dark and filled with
lust. He leaned forward and before Carrington knew what was happening their lips met.

She blinked hard to stop the tears gathering in her eyes as Isaac’s soft mouth held her own. Had she not just been pulled from a closet, had she not felt his hand bruise her face, had she not seen his darkness, she might have enjoyed this moment. But now it felt like another form of torture, and she prayed for it to end.