18. Sixteen
Sixteen
Cecil
The drawl of the Reverend drones and I fight to keep my eyelids from falling. It’s Monday, the day we all gather in the Great Room of the Sanctuary, and I’m forced to disguise my boredom and disgust for obedience and intrigue.
Sitting in a pew at the very back, I gnaw the inside of my cheeks and look anywhere but the front.
Dust particles float through the slanted sunlight, and my eyes chase them.
The Reverend is finishing his sermon, reaching my least favorite part of his spiel.
Unfolding a piece of parchment from his breast pocket, he reads the names of last week's sacrifices.
Under the guise of reverence, the Brothers honor all of the Damned that they slaughter.
I see it for what it really is. Gloating.
“...Agatha Harlow, Christopher Munn, Vince Reddington, Mabel Evers—” My eye twitches, but that’s the only expression I can afford, lest someone take notice.
I read over the paper for that last girl, Mabel, five days ago.
Reverend Curran had tried assigning me to her Reaping, but I convinced him I was better suited for a different pursuit.
She was 7-years-old, and had been deaf all her life.
Voices rise around me as the entire room begins The Lord’s Prayer, the monotonous recitation robotic in nature. I’m out the door as the last word is spoken.
With hasty strides, I make my way down the corridor and toward the exit. My stomach churns as I remember the picture of that little girl. Missing a front tooth, her hair in a messy braid thrown over her shoulder. Innocent, pure, and sure as shit not evil.
“Brother Bastien,” a voice calls from behind me. My shoulders tense, but I keep my face neutral as I look back. Reverend Curran motions to the door to his private office.
Fuck.
There’s no denying him, not if I want to keep my position and my life, so I follow. The door closes behind us with a snick. I keep my spine stiff as he circles his desk, straightening things along the way just to keep me waiting. What I wouldn’t give to get my hands around this motherfucker’s neck—
“How did you enjoy today’s sermon?” He asks conversationally. This is always how it plays out: a comment on the weather here, a compliment on my watch there. Then, he’ll drop the bomb on my new assignment.
“Incredible as always,” I respond dryly. There’s no use playing into his facade. We know each other too well.
“Mmmm, yes. Well, I’ll bet you’re wondering what I called you in here for.” He sinks into his chair, fingers intertwined over his chest. The epitome of cool, calm, and collected.
Inside, I’m seething, like I am every time I have to stand across from him and take orders like a dog.
“Naturally,” I reply. He smirks. If he’s bothered by my lack of ass kissing, he never shows it. I’m too valuable a weapon.
“‘Naturally,’” he snickers, shaking his head like we’re sharing an inside joke. “We’re expanding our patrol for the next week or so, due to some unfortunate circumstances.”
I don’t bother responding; I only wait for the other shoe to drop.
“We’ve got men on foot in some of the more rural areas.
I know you hate rookie work, but we need all hands on deck until we’re able to locate some of our high priority targets.
The cities have been a dead end; the only place left to look is the outskirts.
” He says as if we’re making lunch plans, and not leading livestock to the slaughter.
“Of course, Reverend. Where would you like for me to begin?” I ask mechanically, staring at a point in the center of his forehead so I don’t have to meet his eyes.
He hums thoughtfully, tapping his fingers rhythmically against his shirt. Swiveling his head, he looks out the window and then to the watch on his wrist.
“It’s nearly nightfall now, so the men will be heading back any time. Tomorrow morning, meet your Brothers here and move from there. Depending on their luck, you might return to today’s location.”
The hairs of my neck prickle.
“They began today?” I question, fighting to keep any emotion from bleeding into my words.
He grunts in confirmation. “One of our more… unsavory locations.” There’s a bitterness to his tone.
It can’t be. It can’t be. The Brothers are too afraid of the house, of the “evil” that Eden’s father left behind when he took his own life.
“A bit out of the way, I know, but it’s possible the targets have crossed the river by now. I told the men to steer clear of the house itself, of course, but there’s at least 1,000 acres behind the estate.”
Panic has the edges of my vision blurring, but I can’t let it show. Mentally, I try to talk myself down. Creed and Eden never go further than the edge of the trees—the likelihood of someone seeing them is low.
But not zero.
“Good idea, sir. I look forward to the hunt,” I manage to spit out. The words taste like ash in my mouth.
“Yes, well, I suppose you’d better get home and get some rest. Fear not, Brother Bastien, you will return to Reaping in no time.” He shoots me a wink, and I envision jumping across his desk and snapping his neck.
“I’m grateful to serve you however the Lord sees fit,” I recite, repeating the same phrase I’ve uttered countless times since I began here.
Once I’m dismissed, I stalk out of the room on leaden feet. Keeping my posture rigid, I pass the dozens of men that are heading home for the night. Men with families, children, all coming together to murder innocents.
One day, I will burn this entire place to the ground.
The moment the door to my truck is shut, the pedal is to the floor and I’m spitting gravel up behind me.
It takes 37 minutes to get to the house, and I shout the entire way, barely able to focus on the road ahead of me.
More than once I smack my palm against the steering wheel, urging the ancient vehicle to go faster.
The entire cab shakes, but it never makes it over 80.
A sliver of sunlight still peeks over the horizon as I pull down the long dirt trail that leads to the property.
I’m frantic, eyes flickering side to side as I check for signs of visitors.
I can tell the front door is closed, and all the lights in the house are off but one.
The kitchen. Blowing out a breath, my anxiety ebbs by a fraction.
Creed is probably preparing dinner while Eden sits on the countertop, same as always.
I’m almost to the end of the drive when something near the pond catches my attention. I do a double, then triple take. The reeds are high, so I’m only able to make out pale skin and dark hair.
Dread roots in my chest, tightening like a vice around my heart. The truck lurches forward with the slam of the brakes, the transmission grinding as I throw it into park. I don’t shut the door, my entire focus on reaching her. Even from here, I know something is wrong.
“Eden?” I call out, hurried strides eating the distance between us.
She doesn’t turn to look at me. She doesn’t even twitch.
What little daylight is left glints off of something beside her, and it only takes a second for me to recognize the barrel of a shotgun. In an instant, I’m sprinting across the muddied ground.
“Eden!” I call again, panic lacing my words.
That’s when I see it. I’m so stunned, I trip over my feet and nearly tumble to the ground.
Lying next to Eden is the corpse of a man.
And he is… unrecognizable. Red rivers run from his eyes, his nose, his mouth, soaking every inch of him.
The veins in his face and neck bulge as well, as though each capillary burst beneath the skin.
It’s the most gruesome thing I’ve seen, and I’ve witnessed murder in every way imaginable.
It’s impossible to make sense of.
The vision of Eden’s face will haunt my dreams for years to come. She is covered in as much blood as the man beside her. Only wide, unseeing eyes peek through a sheet of crimson.
Dropping to my knees, I grip her by the shoulders. Violent trembles tear through her, and I can hear her teeth chattering.
“Are you hurt?” I ask frantically, my hands flitting over her body in search of a wound. There’s so much blood, and no way of knowing whose is whose.
I’m met with silence. Pushing her hair back, I grip her cheeks between my palms. The usual shiny locks are crusted over and stuck in place. Her skin is bitterly cold.
“Look at me, Eden. Is the blood yours?” I jostle her, trying to force some life back into the living statue between my palms.
Ever so slowly, her eyes shift until they’re staring directly into mine. A harsh murmur passes her lips, and I lower my head closer to hers.
“I killed, I killed, I killed, I killed.” Her voice is so hoarse that I don’t know how she’s able to speak at all.
With a curse, I pull her into my chest and cocoon her in my arms. I can’t imagine how she was able to fight this man off, but I have a feeling she wasn’t using her fists.
“You’re okay, sweetheart. Everything’s gonna be okay,” I choke out, scooping her into my arms and pushing to my feet.
I’ll take care of the body later. For now, I have to get Eden inside.
The muttering persists, and her words chill me to the bone.
Her cheek pressed to my collarbone, I do my best to speak soothing words.
In all honesty, I’m drowning out the admission of her sin. I can’t bear it.
“I’m gonna take care of you, alright? I’ve got you,” I whisper into her hair. Whether or not she can hear me, or if she’s listening in the first place, I have no clue.
The scent of copper is so heavy that I breathe through my mouth.
It takes a few tries to open the front door without her falling to the ground, but once the latch clicks I kick it the rest of the way open. My boots track mud across the old carpeting as I race towards the kitchen.
Having felt the vibrations of my heavy footfalls, Creed turns away from the stove and catches sight of us. All color drains from his face, and the tomato sauce covered spoon clatters to the ground, painting the tiles. It looks nauseatingly similar to the stains on Eden’s flesh.