One of Many (16 page)

Everything goes black.

*

Soft evening light streams through the window. I’m lying on Ginny’s bed, covered in soft blankets. My mouth is dry, and my body is stiff, making it hard to move. Someone sits at the foot of the bed, humming a worship song.

Pain shoots through me, reminding me of Father Weston on top of me not that long ago. I sharply inhale, causing the woman at the foot of the bed to turn.

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

I blink, and Caroline comes into view. She closes the Bible.
What in the actual fuck?
She’s playing babysitter to someone who was beaten, raped, then drugged, and she’s sitting there reading the
Bible?

“We need to hurry and get you ready for the night.”

I feel as if I’m moving through sand, and it takes great effort to sit up.

Kiev.

Where the hell is Kiev? My heart hammers with fear, and my nerves are shot. I blink away the fog in my head.
What the hell do I do?

What would
he
want me to do? Find a chance to burn this place to the ground?

I think of him, his strong arms wrapped around me, and push up.

I’m dressed in a pink silk robe, and my hair is dry. I couldn’t have been out for that long. That means someone brushed my hair and dried it with a hairdryer while I was passed out.

Yes, I’m finding the chance to bring this place down. I need to save anyone else from going through this.

I need to save myself.

I’m seated in the bathroom again, and Caroline starts brushing my hair, and Rachel comes in to apply my makeup.

“Hmmm,” she says, holding up my right hand. Bruises show on my wrist. “Be careful not to wash this off.” She slathers on concealer, hiding the marks. From the way she mixes colors and applies the creamy makeup, I know this isn’t her first time covering Father Weston’s abuse.

But it will be her last.

An hour later, my hair is pulled away from my face in two silver clips, and soft curls fall around my shoulders. My makeup is subtle, with virginal rosy cheeks and red lips.

The two wives strip me of my robe as if I’m a life-size doll to be dressed and undressed at their bidding. A matching white bra and panty set goes on, and then they pull a white dress over my head, careful not to mess up my hair.

“You look gorgeous,” Ginny tells me, not bothering to hide the envy in her voice. She roughly turns me around. I see myself in the mirror. I hate how I look because she dressed me, because this is what Father Weston likes.

But I can’t argue that the white dress, with sheer cap sleeves and pastel flowers embroidered along the hem, doesn’t look good on me. My breasts are pushed up to high heaven, uncomfortable. A silver cross hangs from a delicate chain, resting above the line formed in my cleavage, drawing the eye to my chest.

“I’m so excited for tonight!” Rachel says to Caroline. They are putting on fancy dresses too.

“Me too! I love when we all get together.” Caroline blasts her head with hairspray.

How can they go on like this?
How can they act like nothing horrific happened to me? How can they possibly be excited to spend the night with Father Weston, laughing and talking to the others in The Community?

I might not have technically been a virgin, but my innocence had been ripped away from me.

Father Weston beat his son into unconsciousness, raped me, hurt Anna, then almost killed me with hypothermia before locking me
and
Kiev in the basement.

None
of this is okay.

Ginny sprays me with perfume, and I cough. Then she takes my hand and guides me to her bed. I sit on the edge, my mind threatening to blank out. Am I still drugged?

I wish I was, because this is too much to deal with. I close my eyes, trying not to cry. I’m afraid of what will happen if I mess up my makeup.

“Put these on,” Ginny says, shoving shoes into my arms. I open my eyes and take a pair of tall, white heels from her. I wince when I bend over to slip them on my feet.

Without warning, Ginny leans in close, her nose brushing against mine. “I hope you realize what you’ve done. God chose you, and now you’ve put us all at risk. Do you think he’s going to save us when sinners walk among the flock?”

“You’re crazy,” I say in a low voice.

She leans back and shakes her head. “Come on. Don’t make us late.”

I swallow and stand, following her down the stairs. “I have to pee,” I say when we reach the top of the landing.

“Hurry up,” Ginny says and goes down the stairs. Rachel and Caroline follow.

I turn, dashing to Kiev’s room. He has a cell phone. If I can get it, I can call for help! I can tell the police the truth and at least get out of here before Father Weston lays a hand on me again.

My parents will be at the Celebration. They’ll believe me, won’t they? It doesn’t matter. I’m getting them out safely too.

I push open Kiev’s door and turn on the light. The blankets are in a tangled mess on the floor. I madly search through them, not finding his phone. I drop to my knees and look under the dresser. Not there. Bathroom… nope, not there either.
No..no, no, no!

I don’t have time to waste. Doing my best to ignore the pain, I hurry into my room and flush the toilet in case anyone was listening. Ginny, Caroline, and Rachel are crowded around Father Weston by the front door.

I don’t know where Anna is.

“Oh, my dear,” Father Weston says with a smile. “You look stunning.”

He’s all smiles, like the others, acting as if nothing is wrong. It’s more than acting. It’s believing. And they believe I was wrong. I sinned, and Father Weston redeemed me.

I clench my teeth, ignoring the impulse to look down the hall and see if the basement door is still closed and locked.

Father Weston reaches for me, and I flinch.

“Jitters for your first celebration, I see,” he says with a chuckle. “Don’t worry, my dear. You’re going to be the belle of the ball.”

Oh yes, I will be. More than you know.

Kiev

Audrey's been gone for hours. I've worn a path from treading back and forth in the dank basement.

What are they doing to her?
The only consolation I have is that Weston beats anyone who threatens his power, then he puts them back together again like Humpty Dumpty's men.

In this case, it's women. The brides. The brides will be the ones who pick up the shards of what Weston has left behind.

They'll have taken Audrey and cleaned her up.

As usual, that fuck Weston is careful to keep his abuse only where it can be hidden by clothing.

I have to find a way to get that .380 away from Ginny. She's an excellent shot, the shallow cunt.

I grimace as I stand, squat again, and put in twenty more straight squats to limber me up. I do seventy fast push-ups. I kick, stretch. Lunge. I move to stay warm—ready. I move to abate my frustration.

Tonight the celebration is The Reckoning, carte blanche for Weston to go full perv on Audrey. It's where Father Weston justifies his existence as pseudo messiah of his diseased sheep. Tonight he'll drag Audrey around like a prized lamb so everyone will be further convinced of his treachery, sacrificing more lambs to the lies he perpetuates.

Have to find a way to get out of here.

Hopelessness washes over me. All the feelings of being small and helpless come rushing back, seeping into the fissures created by Weston long ago. They've widened with time, some of them like chasms in my psyche.

I get a flash of second grade, not long after my mother disappeared. Ginny was supposed to pick me up after school, and forgot. Phone calls were made, my father was contacted… and I got nailed for their mistakes. I was the only offspring of Weston who still attended public school, after all. And that was thanks to my mother, even after she was gone. Yanking me out of the system would have been too obvious after her disappearance.

It was because of my mother I was able to get a somewhat normal education that was good enough to get into college.

Fuck.
I blink, trying to shake off the memory my father’s rage-filled eyes, remembering the fear when my teacher called and said someone needed to pick me up.

But I'm not that tiny, helpless boy anymore. I'm a man. I've been out of his supervision for five years. Attending college.
Outside.
I know what the real world is. And it
is
evil. But his painted version of what's out there is more evil. False.

People deserve the truth. The freedom to make their minds up about what the world is, not as it's seen through the lens of The Community.

Gotta get ahold of Langley. Pretty sure that holding two people prisoner after raping a nineteen-year-old woman is illegal.

My smirk feels pasted on, my thighs, arms, and ass aching from the quick succession of exercises.

Stay focused, Kiev.

Get outta the dungeon, get to Audrey—get the cops.

A soft sound clicks above my head. I'd know it anywhere. It's the basement door's hardware freeing the striker plate.

A sword of light strikes the center of the scabbed, thick wood treads of the steep basement steps.

Anna peers down with her battered face, her left arm folded over her stomach.

He beat her in the face
. I barely have time to consume that detail before she whispers, “Quickly.” She flutters her palm forward like a lost bird as she beckons me forward. “They're on their way to the celebration.”

I charge up the stairs, the balls of my feet barely touching the dusty surface as I break free of the basement.

Feeling lucky.

Wary.

Anna backs away from me, leaning against the wall opposite the basement door, breathing hard.

Half her face is swollen, one eye completely shut.

I gulp down my disgust that this man—my
father
—did this to a woman. Worse, she begins to shuffle, and a whimper drops from her lips like a sliver of shattered soul.

That sounds falls to the floor, breaking into a million shards. They clink together, echoing in my mind like all the remembered horrors I suffered.

That everyone tied to Weston suffers.

“Anna.”

The one undamaged eye rolls to meet mine. “Don't,” she says in a choked voice. “I—
we
—have to move fast. Or he'll kill me next time.”

Our gazes lock. “Or Audrey.”

She hands me the cell. It's a house cell. “Do you know the passcode?”

I don't want to be a dick but can't help it. “Are you fucking kidding? Weston wouldn't leave a cell lying around for any of us to use if our lives depended on it.”

Anna appears to swallow painfully. “They do.”

Our lives do depend on it.

I stare down at the black screen. I don't attempt to think about finding mine. It'd be in the north forty now. Weston would never leave a free phone sitting around after what happened.

Not after my 9-1-1 call that almost took down his house of cards.

No way.

I hit the bottom button. An image of a cross rises as his wallpaper selection.

My snort is pure disgust.

I swipe, tapping in number combinations. My palms grow damp, my fingers stuttering over the smooth glass.

Anna casts furtive glances around the hall, though we're alone. “Think, Kiev—what numbers would he put in there?”

I give her a hard enough glance to see a flinch. That wasn't the goal, but her pressure isn't fucking helpful. “Generally, I
do
think. I'm a fucking engineer, not a goddamned brainwashed whore.”

Her face crumples.

I'm officially a dick, but I've got more important things to worry about than Anna's hurt feelings. And the fact that she was brave enough to set me free after Weston worked her over.

I'm
it
. Anna knows it. She's too beaten and cowed to get out of here. Ten people would stop her from leaving once they got a load of her battered face.

I force my gaze to the cell that's gone dark again. I punch the home button.

Numbers.

What would be the least likely number combo?

An image of Mom slides through my mind. All the mental snapshots I have of her are fuzzy. Like an old-fashioned photograph, handled so much it has bends, creases—folded corners. I loved her.

I love her still.

Birthday!
My skin breaks out in a rash of goose bumps. Anna's eyes widen.

“What?” she asks in a breathy voice.

“Birthday. My mom's.”

I ignore her chin jerking back, the quick gasp of obvious surprise. None of it matters.

I slowly tap four digits,
one, one, six, eight.
The cross melts to a homepage riddled with brightly colored apps.

Bingo.

The little squares glow softly, covering the first page.

I swipe.

Male and female anatomy marches across the screen, fused together—the phone is filled with porn.

The blatant hypocrisy is puke-worthy.

“Mother
fucker.
”

“What?” Anna asks again.

“Forget it,” I mutter.

I tap in Langley's number, never so glad to have memorized something in my entire life.

He answers first ring. “Langley.” His voice is like gravel under tires.

“Officer Langley?”

“Yes?” My eyes close briefly, and when they open, Anna and I stare at each other. “This is Kiev Weston.”

I can almost feel him sitting up straighter in his chair.

“Yes, son, what can I do for you?” Sharper now. Compassion, concern, and interest come across the connection. It’s surprising that I could intuit emotion over a phone call. But I've lived by instincts and intuition for such a long time, I can't remember when I didn't.

Those traits had saved me in this house.

“I need you—”

A hammer clicks back.

Anna whirls.

Ginny stares daggers at us, the .380 steady, like her hands.

“What—you need what, Kiev?” Langley asks.

Ginny cups her fingers, indicating that I need to give her the cell.

My exhalation is raw as I hand it over. She puts the cell to her ear. “May I ask who's speaking?”

Her face tightens. “Oh, hello, Officer Langley.” The black holes of her eyes fix on me, making dark promises for after she swipes
End.

“Oh, I apologize for that. Kiev is running a high fever and must have dialed your number by mistake.”

She nods into the phone, one eye on me, the other on the trigger.

“That's true, he
can
sound in his right mind when he's sick.” She travels my face with her eyes, a study of calm. “But that can fool a person,” she says thoughtfully, “Kiev is
quite
sick.”

Her smile is cruel. Like Weston's.

“Yes, I'll tell him.”

My body tenses like a coiled snake. I can't outrun a bullet.

Ginny swipes her thumb across the phone, and I'm in motion before she moves.

The noise from the gun is thunder in the tight space. Pain sears through my right leg as it buckles. I kick out with my left and foot-sweep her evil ass.

Ginny falls, and the gun clatters to the floor, spinning.

Anna scoops, picking it up.

Thank God.

Then turns and points it at me. “I'm sorry,” she says.

What?

Father Weston moves behind her, patting her shoulder reassuringly. “Shoot him, Anna. He is a sinner. He violated a Chosen.”

Tears trail down her wounded face, her hand shaking as she holds the pistol.

My leg throbs, and my chest feels like an elephant has parked its ass on me. “Don't do it, Anna. This fucker raped you, beat you. He did the same to Audrey. Don't let him frame you for my murder. Don't leave my brothers and sisters to suffer like I did.”

Weston jabs her with a finger, and she yelps, reactively shooting the gun. The bullet goes wide, embedding into the wall about two feet from my head, and I randomly think how little control she has compared to Ginny as the sound of discharge rings in the tight space.

She levels the barrel on me again. At this range, skill isn't essential. Sheer proximity will do the job.

She drags the slide back, and a bullet moves into the chamber with a dull thud.

Locked and loaded.

An angel in a white dress appears behind Weston's grinning face.

He thinks he's won.

But this was never a contest. My life—and the lives of the masses—wasn't a thing for him to claim as a victory, for him to be a champion over others.

Audrey raises the knife high, and I keep my face straight. I don't telegraph her presence with even an eye flick.

The gun in Anna's hand goes off as the metal from Audrey's blade winks in the ambient light draining into the murk of the hallway.

A punch from the bullet feels a helluva lot like a fist. I fall backward, my skull popping off the wood floor with a crack.

Weston had turned as he sensed her behind him.

That had allowed the downward arc of the knife to find his chest and the blackness within.

Audrey took care of the things I couldn't.

Her startled blue eyes meet mine. “Kiev!” she screams, running a circle around a staggering Weston. He hits the wall, leaving a trail like a bloody hand swipe behind.

I did it.

We did it.

He'll die so others can live. The way they were meant to.

Audrey falls to her knees beside me.

Blood seeps up her dress like wayward fingers.

“Audrey,” I say.

My voice is weak.
Why does my voice sound soft?
I force strength into it. “Good girl, Little Bride.”

I raise my hand, and she grips it. Hers is white and small against my dark, tatted skin.

“Don't leave me, Kiev.” Her voice is fierce. Strong.

I'm not leaving Audrey.
I love her.
I don't leave people I love.

Weston slumps against the wall, wheezing from his throat. His bright gray eyes laser in on me. “Die, fucker,” I whisper.

Audrey is fading in my vision. I struggle to see her, but she evaporates like someone is erasing her slowly.

“Kiev!” she cries.

She folds her body over mine. Her white dress becomes red.

A loud wail of sirens whoops in the distance. Ah... the police are coming after all.

Langley had a good nose on him. I sigh.

Solid arms go around me. “I love you, Kiev. Don't you desert me.”