White Heat (28 page)

“You're about to be purified,” he told her, “so that you enter the church untainted by the sins of the world.”

What did that involve? She would've asked except Ethan was now saying something theatrical into the microphone, something that sounded like Latin. As he moved away from the mic, he withdrew a sponge from the decorative basin and brought it down over her right breast and then her left, making the shape of an
X.

Gasping at the cold water, she nearly bolted. She wanted to put on her clothes, wanted to be gone from this place. She'd already sacrificed more for the sake of religion than most people; she couldn't bear to submit her will again. But the hope of saving Martha kept her standing resolutely on stage, even as Ethan knelt before her and ran the sponge down each leg.

Rachel longed for the robe, but Ethan wasn't done yet. He made another motion and each person in the congregation came up to run the sponge over her bare skin. They were chanting and wearing hoods. She had no idea where the costumes had come from. They made it impossible to see whether it was a man or a woman touching her, but she could sometimes tell by their hands. Not surprisingly, the men tried to touch her more intimately.

Closing her eyes, she struggled to endure the intrusion.
It'll be over in a second. Hang on. For Martha. You can beat Ethan at his own game….

Suddenly, the touching stopped. She opened her
eyes to see that the people were gone—probably back to their seats. Blinded by the spotlight, she couldn't tell whether they were still wearing hoods, but the thought of them staring at her through the eye slits made her feel as if she'd been thrown into a Ku Klux Klan meeting.

Ethan dabbed her forehead with a drop of water, and did the same over each of her closed eyelids and her heart. He spoke again—in Latin, if it
was
Latin—after which he had her kneel at his feet and gave her a morsel of bread and a sip of wine. “Praise the Lord,” echoed through the hall.

“And now, Brother Bart and I will do the anointing,” he said.

There was a rumble in the crowd, as if this was somehow unusual, but Rachel had nothing to judge by. She curled her fingernails into her palms and pictured Nate—the way he'd kissed her, the way he'd made love to her. It'd been the most difficult thing in the world not to give him everything she'd given before, but she was proud of herself for showing some restraint. He didn't want her love, only her body.

“Rachel?”

She raised her eyes to see Ethan and Bart, the light above their heads creating an imperfect halo. “Yes?”

“Do you covenant to love us as we love you?”

Another sacrifice for the greater good. “Yes.”

“The Great Alpha and Omega opens his arms and his heart to you,” he said, and he and Bart smoothed hot oil over her whole body.

The chanting started again. This time Rachel could make out the words. “Bring me your heavy-laden, and I will give you rest… Bring me your heavy-laden, and
I will give you rest… Bring me your heavy-laden…” The words and the motions seemed to blend and swirl. Bart's hands no longer seemed as callused as before. His strong fingers, together with Ethan's smooth ones, swept up the muscles along her spine, over her buttocks and down her legs in rhythm with the chanting.

Her goose bumps were gone by the time this portion of the ceremony was over. She was almost relaxed when Ethan told her to kneel so he could pray over her again. Some of his words were in English. Others seemed to be taken from some foreign or historic ritual she didn't recognize.

When he'd finished, he drew a
C
on her forehead with a stick that'd been charred in the candle flame. It wasn't hot enough to burn her, but it was sharp enough to scratch. As he etched the letter into her skin, everyone called out, “God be with you.” Then the lights went on and, at last, the women with the robe stepped solemnly forward to dress her.

“You make the perfect bride,” Ethan breathed as they belted her robe. He took her wedding ring off her finger, dropped it in his pocket and presented her to the crowd.

“I give you the High Vessel of the Holy One!”

W
hen Nate finally allowed himself to drive to Paradise, he was angrier than he could ever remember being. It was the helplessness and the worry that were getting to him. He wanted to storm Paradise, kick the Holy One's ass and take Rachel home. But even if he could figure out how to succeed against two hundred, he couldn't make the attempt, and that put him on edge. He was approaching the compound, knowing he might get his own ass kicked instead, and that pissed him off even more.

But it had to be done. And there was a bright side. He'd been looking for a target ever since he'd watched Rachel leave, and the man at the gate gave him one. Nate met the twenty-something guy halfway to the guard's station and left him on the ground, out cold. He could've taken the second guard, too, but he purposely hesitated long enough to let the man set off an alarm. He couldn't fight too well or he'd reveal his training.

When the bell sounded, people poured out of the Enlightenment Hall like ants. Nate could hear them coming, the pounding of their feet, the shouts that rang through the air. “It's Rachel's husband!” “There's a fight!” “Get Bart!”

Nathan knocked the second guard down and turned
to face the two men who reached him first. It was a relief to be active, to discharge some of the anxiety that'd built up over the past hours. He managed to plow his fist into someone's nose and to land a jab with his left hand, but after three or four punches they swarmed him. They were kicking him and hitting him from all sides, so he really let loose, but it was no good. There were at least forty—far too many.

“He's a tough son of a bitch,” someone grunted as his foot connected with one body part or another.

Nate tried to draw his arm back to throw another punch but couldn't move. They had a tight hold on every limb and were forcing him to the ground.

“He's drunk. I can smell it on his breath.” This came from a man who shoved a knee in Nate's gut. But Nate wasn't drunk. He'd had a few beers and intentionally spilled some on his shirt, just to make his actions and demands appear authentic. The better he played his part the safer Rachel would be. Or so he hoped.

“Get my wife!” he shouted. “I want my wife. Rachel!” He sounded drunk, even to his own ears. Drunk and enraged. But only the enraged part was real.

“Where's Ethan?” someone called. “If this guy gets loose…”

“He won't get loose,” another man said. Then white-hot pain rocked through him as a fist slammed into his jaw.

Rattled, Nate shook his head to clear away the stars that burst across his vision, but the faces crowding around him, staring down at him, didn't immediately come into focus.

“Rachel!” Nate called again, his voice growing hoarse. “Get my wife!”

“Why? It won't do you any good to see her,” someone said. “She's one of us now. You're not getting her back.”

So they'd accepted her. That was a positive development for the mission. But it caused a fresh trickle of fear to pour through his blood. He didn't want her here, with these people.

“Ethan's on his way,” someone cried.

Another person began pressing the onlookers back. “Make room.”

“What's going on?”

Nate recognized the voice even before he saw the face that went with it. Bartholomew. Gazing up at the man he'd first met in the desert, he noted the unmistakable determination.

“Get back,” Bart said to the onlookers and, a second later, Nate realized he'd been making space for Ethan, who was the next to peer down at him.

“He's come for her, just like I told you he would,” Bart told his leader.

Ethan's lips pressed into a thin line. “So? We'll throw him out, just like I told
you
we would.” He nodded to the men surrounding them. They started to drag Nate toward the entrance, but he wasn't ready to go. First, he wanted to see Rachel.

“Wait! I'll leave on my own,” he said. “Give me a second. I promise I'll go in peace if you'll let me talk to my wife.”

“She has nothing to say to you,” Ethan responded.

“Then let her tell me that. Rachel!”

“Go home,” Bart snapped.

Nate wasn't willing to make it that easy. Not when he'd come this far. He wasn't leaving the compound
until he caught at least a glimpse of Rachel. But he was too restricted to be able to fight. So he went limp, hoping to convince them he'd given up.

While some let go, four men continued to drag him to the gate. The rest followed behind. But even the ones who'd hung on relaxed their grip when they thought they'd won. And that was when Nate poured every ounce of strength he had into getting free.

He almost managed it. He slammed one man into another, decked the third and felt the fingernails of the fourth scrape deep in his arm as he tore out of his grip. Then he found his feet and made a mad rush toward the Enlightenment Hall. But the crowd that had been following swarmed him again, and he was soon lying facedown in the dirt.

“This guy's dangerous!” someone yelled.

“I want my wife!” His words were muffled from the pressure on his back as they pushed him into the ground. “Tell her I'm here. Tell her I'm sorry. Let me see her. Please.”

“She's no longer your wife,” Ethan said. “She belongs here now. Don't come back.”

She belongs here…

As they yanked Nate to his feet, he was considering the wisdom of another attempt at escape. But then he heard exactly what he'd been hoping to hear.

“Wait! Don't hurt him! I can calm him down. Just…let me explain to him.”

It was Rachel. Suddenly exhausted and in more pain than he'd previously realized, Nate sagged.

“He's drunk. He won't listen.” Ethan tried to keep her from approaching, but she jerked away.

She was a more skillful actress than Nate had given
her credit for. The distress and concern on her face seemed real. “Oh, God, are you okay?” she asked as she knelt at his side.

He blinked away the dirt and sweat in his eyes. “They…they wouldn't let me see you.”

“I'm here.” She glanced at the men surrounding him. “Let go of him.”

They wouldn't, but she cupped his cheek, and her cool hand on his skin made him feel instantly better. “I—I'm sorry I hit you,” he said.

“I know. You're always sorry but…I can't come home. I—I know it'll happen again.”

It wasn't easy to pull his eyes away from her. She was wearing a white robe with gold embroidery, and it looked as if she was naked beneath it. He wanted to know what they'd done to her, if she was truly as okay as she seemed. But he couldn't stop acting just because he'd been somewhat reassured of her safety. He shifted his gaze to Ethan. “What's she wearing?”

Ethan's eyebrows went up. “That's none of your concern.” He put his hand on Rachel's shoulder, the movement as authoritative as it was proprietary. “Go back to your room, Rachel. I'll be there to speak with you shortly.”

Tears streaked down her cheeks. “But you've hurt him.”

“He got what he was asking for. He'll be fine.”

Her quick embrace made him wish he could use his arms. He wanted to clasp her to him, if only for a second. But his captors didn't trust him; they weren't giving him another chance to break free.

He caught the scent of some oil or perfume just
before he heard Rachel whisper, “Upstairs in the Enlightenment Hall, second room on the right.”

She'd told him where she was staying. Smart girl.

Satisfied, Nate stopped resisting and soon found himself tossed outside the gate.

 

Rachel waited in her room as Ethan had instructed. Because she'd come to him for refuge, he had more power over her than he otherwise would. The way he'd acted when Nate showed up proved he'd take full advantage of it, too. He was behaving more like a father or husband, someone who had greater control than a prophet or spiritual leader. And there were even some indications that he was treating her differently from regular church members. As far as she knew, she was the only one ensconced in the Enlightenment Hall, under his direct supervision. And what was that business at the end of her initiation, the part about being the “high vessel” of the Holy One?

Elevated status or not, she wasn't sure how long she could last here. She was still nervous about Nate's missing computer, wasn't sure if that was a problem or not. And even if she couldn't find Martha—and she'd seen no sign of her since arriving in Paradise—she had to get close to Ethan to figure out a way to stop him. Or get close to those who knew him well. She'd been hoping to spot Sarah tonight, but Sarah hadn't attended either dinner or the initiation, at least as far as Rachel could tell. The fact that she was missing made Rachel anxious, eager to slip out and do some investigating. But Ethan had promised her a visit and she dared not leave until he'd said what he wanted to say and gone for the night.

With a sigh, she paused by the mirror. She was still wearing her new robe but only because she had nothing to change into. She wasn't sure what had happened to the clothing she'd been wearing when she arrived but her tank top and shorts hadn't been returned to her. And of course she hadn't packed anything else.

Already she regretted that decision. What she had on made her feel as if all freedom—and the confidence she'd developed since leaving her father's home—had been stripped from her. It didn't help that the lack of underclothing made her feel so vulnerable.

A brisk knock told her Ethan had finally deigned to make an appearance.

Battling a sudden case of nerves, she crossed to the door and opened it a crack. It was Ethan, all right.

“How are you feeling?” His pupils were dilated, and his eyes looked glassy and almost entirely black. She could tell he was on something.

“Tired. It's been an emotional day.”

“Yes, but one that's ended well. I hope you understand you're safe here. We've already proved that once, have we not? Your husband will never be able to hurt you again.”

He didn't mention that seeing Nate's face bloodied and bruised had obviously upset her but that concern had been too genuine to hide. Just the thought of Nate being kicked and hit by all those people made her willing to do
anything
to stop it.

Nate shouldn't have staged such a big scene. He could've come to the gate, demanded to talk to Ethan and been sent away without getting hurt.

But then she wouldn't have seen him.

“I appreciate the safe haven,” she said. “But being
here, leaving Nate, doesn't mean I want to see him injured.”

“Of course not. And he's not injured. Not really.”

“You're sure?”

“I'm sure.”

“Where is he now?”

“How should I know? Probably at home, sleeping off the alcohol.”

She hoped that was the case. She could survive this much better if she knew he was safe.

When she said nothing, Ethan glanced into her room. “So…are you comfortable for the night?”

“I'd like my old clothes back, please.”

“Don't worry about them,” he said with a dismissive wave. “You need to dress in clothes more befitting your station.”

“My station?” she echoed.

He swayed on his feet but retained his balance by catching hold of the doorjamb. “You're a Covenanter now.”

She'd seen Covenanters dressed in a mismatch of styles and clothing. Why was Ethan so picky about
her
wardrobe? “But I have this—” she indicated the new robe “—and nothing else.” She hesitated to mention her lack of underwear. She was nervous about Martha's assertion that orgies were quite common here. After the parade of people who'd watched her disrobe and then the many hands that'd helped “cleanse” her, she could believe it. Such intimate contact could easily mow down the typical barriers to that kind of behavior. She didn't need a psychologist to tell her that.

“Everything you need will be provided.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“And tonight?”

He lowered his voice. “Sleep naked, beautiful Rachel. Sleep naked and think of me as I'll be thinking of you.”

“Ethan!”

The sharpness of Bartholomew's voice surprised Rachel. Apparently, it surprised Ethan, too. He gave her a guilty “I've been caught” expression, then chuckled softly as he twisted around to see his head of security. “There you are,” he said. “I was wondering when you were coming to bed.”

“I was just about to retire to my room,” Bart responded. “But I had an important matter to discuss with you before you retire to yours.”

“Of course. I'm coming.” With a nod exaggerated in its politeness, Ethan left.

Rachel shut and locked her door, then pressed her ear against the panel, trying to hear what was being said in the hall. Bart kept his voice too low, but Ethan wasn't as careful. “I don't know what you're talking about,” he said.

There was more rumbling from Bart. Although Rachel couldn't make out the specific words, she sensed he was upset. Was it Ethan's visit to her room that had spurred his displeasure? Or was it her initiation? Or the fact that she was staying in the Enlightenment Hall? Or did his annoyance have something to do with Martha and Sarah?

“Of course I know that,” Ethan said. “I'm fine. I'll be careful. You're such a killjoy.”

Bart spoke again as they moved off. Then she heard a door close farther down the hall.

What did their interaction mean? She'd assumed Ethan was in control of Paradise, but the exchange she'd just overheard sounded as if Ethan had been trying to cajole a strict parent.

Maybe it was about the drugs. Martha said Ethan took drugs, and he'd obviously been tweaking tonight.

Either way, something was different from even a few days ago, something that gave Bart more power than before. Was it somehow related to Martha's recapture? What else could've happened?